The book was sent down-country; the white men both went their way; and we never heard any more. Kebocu was never punished, but lived in his own village a free man. Bomoya recovered, because the white men of God made medicine for his wounds, but he was always lame. It made us very angry when, some time after his partial recovery, he was imprisoned for some weeks—because he was found in his village, and not out in the forest hunting antelopes for the white man’s soup! Just as if a lame man would be of any use in a hunt with nets and spears! We continued our hunting week after week, not only to supply the white man’s table, but also to provide rations (either of meat or fish) for his sentries and workmen, and our women had to provide manioca for the same reason. It meant much work for us all; not only work, but constant exposure to the cold and damp of the forest. It was worse in the wet season, when many of our people contracted a sickness of the chest which is most painful and often ends in death. In fact, the providing of food was getting to be almost as great a tax upon us as the rubber had been. And we thought, “If the rubber work never ends, the food work will not; they will never give up calling for food!” We had no comfort at home, for we were rarely there. We had nothing to look forward to in the future but work—either rubber or food—so we gave up hoping; our hearts were broken; we were as people half dead! Two or three times white people came again to ask about our affairs. One was a very tall Englishman with a wonderful dog such as we had never seen before. He was very kind to us, made many inquiries about our treatment, and gave us presents before he left. We asked him to come back to us again, but he never did. We were told that he was talking about our troubles and writing them in a book in England, but that is all we know about him. Another who came was a white woman. She stayed for a little while at the rubber place, and used to ask us many questions and talked much to us and to the white men. But we could never really understand about her; why should a woman come to see about palavers—how could she settle them? She soon went away, and we did not think any more about her. Others came at intervals—great chiefs from down-river, I suppose they were—to some of whom we told our grievances; but we soon found that the rubber white men did not like us to do so, and sometimes we were punished or even imprisoned after the departure of the white men to whom we had made reports. So you will not be surprised when I tell you that we got to hide our troubles, and did not tell even when an opportunity presented itself.