Buying some boiled guinea-corn, I sat down outside a stall and munched my lunch. The woman who sold me the food was a garrulous old person, but perfectly good-natured. She asked me all about myself, and I told her that I had come from Zaria, where I had fled through fear of the white men. She informed me that I had nothing to fear from them; were it not for their guns they would be quite harmless. Then I asked her when it was that Kontogora intended setting out to drive the Turawa from Zaria. “Go round the blacksmiths’ shops and inquire at the smithies,” was all the answer I could get. I thought the idea a good one, and, bidding my new friend “Good day,” I sauntered through the crowded market-place, stopping at various booths. In one of these some blacksmiths were hard at work, making arrow and spear heads from bits of iron and tin. As I stood looking at them I gathered, from the conversation that was going on around, that some of the Emir’s sons were expected to arrive in Kontogora that day, and that they were bringing some of the white men’s guns with them that were taken at Hella, when Lieutenant Keating’s party was massacred. Here was a bit of news worth having! The conversation turning on matters that did not interest me, I strolled on until I arrived at the head blacksmith’s shop, near the Emir’s compound, where I watched the hammers pounding the red-hot metal. I could see that the whole town was busy making arms, which boded ill for the whites. Suddenly I heard a shout of “Gashi! Gashi!” (“There he is! There he is!”). Then there was a rush of feet, and a flash of swords in upraised arms. Evidently my pursuers had found me out. I backed into the blacksmith’s shop, followed by a yelling crowd, and caught a momentary glimpse of my tormentor of the morning. Then, without warning, something was thrown over my head, and I was dragged violently backwards, flung to the ground, and stunned by a succession of heavy blows. When I came to my senses I found myself being hauled unceremoniously to my feet, my arms bound firmly. In this ignominious state I was dragged amid curses and cuffs through the town, a yelling crowd of bloodthirsty ruffians surrounding me. They hauled me through a doorway into a compound surrounded with high walls, on into a big building, through many rooms and passages, and ultimately down some rough steps into a filthy, stinking dungeon, reeking of mould and damp. Here, with a violent push, I was flung headlong to the bottom, where I lay helpless in absolute darkness. The air was damp and chill, and the place was infested with all manner of loathsome crawling things; I could hear them tick-ticking and scuffling along the floor and walls. Shortly after my entry some filthy thing touched my fingers, and I shook it off with a yell. It was a dread place, and drove all hope of saving my life clean out of me.