Just as the deed was done, we all rushed into the village with our antelopes, proving the truth of what the old men had said. We heard all about the shooting from the woman who had seen it all, and whose husband was a workman of the white men of God. Kebocu himself ran away when he saw us all come into the village. Basofa, the son of Isekasofa, and another man picked up the corpse, put it on a bier of forest poles, and set off with many others of us to tell our sorrowful story to the white man of God. We arrived first at the school-house where Mama, the white woman, was teaching the children; when she saw us and our burden she was much grieved, for Isekasofa was a friend of the white people and had visited them only a few days previously. We went on to the dwelling-house, and told our story to the two white men of God, who sympathised with us in our sorrow, and wrote a letter to the white man of rubber about the outrage. We went on to the rubber compound, and waited there a long time, because the white man had gone to the river. He kept us so long waiting to show him the corpse of Isekasofa (he knew why we were there, for messengers had been sent to tell him) that, sitting there in the heat of the midday sun, we became very angry, and some of our people even set out to attack the village of which Kebocu, the sentry, was a native. At last the white man came and listened to our story, but he seemed so strange that we thought—of course we did not know—that he had been drinking the strong palm-wine of Europe which makes people dizzy in their heads. Once a white man gave some to one of our people, and he was quite foolish after it. We were persuaded not to attack Kebocu’s village, as the white man would see that he was punished; and we went back to our own place to weep for and bury our dead, and attend to the wounded man. It was but a few days after this episode that a great chief called a judge came from down-country to make inquiries about our part, and hear palavers. This was the first time a white man had come on such an errand, and numbers of our people gathered at the house of the white man of God and told our troubles to the chief. He listened and questioned us, and made inquiries of other people who had seen the things we brought forward, and another white man wrote many, many words in a book. That book, they said, would go down-country to another great chief, and then everything would be settled satisfactorily. As Kebocu had not been punished or even arrested for causing the death of Isekasofa, that affair was also talked about, and Bomoya was carried in from his home that the white man might see for himself the truth of our statements. His wound was in a terrible condition, and was turning green inside. All this was also written in the book.