Things had been gradually getting worse for a long time, and now that the sentries were placed over us were so much worse than ever before that we began to give up hope. We reported their doings to the white man many times, but we soon found that he and they were as one man, and that if we told we almost invariably lost the palaver before the white man, and then the sentries found means of their own to punish us for having spoken against them. We frequently visited the other white men when we had the time to spare—I mean those who taught about God—and told them our grievances. They listened and wrote the things we told them in a book, and tried very hard to get things put right for us; but with a bad white man in charge of worse black men who were all armed with guns and given free scope in the villages, it was little they could do. On several occasions they did win cases for us, and we always knew that things would be worse if they were not in our midst to see and hear what was done, and to take our part against our oppressors. “Times were bad!” do you say? You are sorry for us? Yes, white men of Europe, they were bad, even then; but I have not reached the worst part of my story. Then, if you do indeed feel pity, your hearts will weep for us, and you will be filled with grief and with anger. CHAPTER V OPPRESSION, SHAME, AND TORTURE My new slavery—How our villagers fared at home—The white man’s meat—How it was got—The white men of God and their pity—How the women were enslaved—Feeding the idle—Endeavours to evade oppression—Results—How would you like our conditions?—Forest work—Its hardships—The day of reckoning—Back to the village and home—An ominous silence—A sad discovery—Redeeming our wives—An offending villager—A poor victim—A ghastly punishment—The woman’s death—Another village—The monkey-hunters—The old man who stayed at home—How he was tortured—No redress. I think you white people who hear my story will see that by this time my name Bokwala (slave) was being verified for the second time; for though the slavery to the black man was bad and caused me much shame, that which we had to undergo now was, in some ways, worse; and, though most of the very worst things were done by the sentries, the white man agreed to them. At least, we thought he did, as he scarcely ever lost a palaver for them. This kind of treatment, constant rubber collecting, no rest, and sometimes no pay—what can it be called but another kind of slavery? I want to tell you some of the things which happened during this time of oppression. It is not only we men who go into the forest who suffer; but also those who are left at home in the villages, our old fathers and mothers, our wives and little children.