A woman after an attempt to run away, or upon being brought back, is usually put in stocks until she becomes submissive. Her foot is passed through a hole in a heavy block of wood about four feet long, the hole then being closed by a bolt. She is kept thus night and day. The irritation of the rough wood often produces a very bad ulcer. A woman in stocks is a common sight in the Fang towns. One day while I was in a Fang town on the river, I heard a woman crying in the next town as if in great pain. I asked an explanation and said I must go and see what was the matter. Some men of her town being present tried to persuade me not to go by telling a variety of conflicting lies that made me suspicious. I went to the town, and found in the palaver-house a withered old savage punishing his young wife by putting her hand in a large and heavy block, with the help of his younger brothers. He had made a small hole in the block and was dragging her hand through it. The hole was so small that he thought she would not be able to get her hand out, and it would not require the usual bolt. The hand was about one-third of the way through the hole and was already badly bruised. I knew the Fang towns, and just how far I could safely venture to use force in each, for they differ widely. The individual counts for nothing; everything depends upon the feeling or attitude of the whole town towards the white man. The sight of the woman and her crying were unbearable; I ordered the old chief to withdraw her hand immediately. He knew just how to do it and I did not. He began to argue, but I said: “Argument afterwards: remove her hand instantly.” Still he talked, and the woman cried. But a moment later my hand clutched his throat and he found himself pinioned against the opposite wall. Thereupon he indicated his readiness to comply with my request. He dragged her hand out of the block; the women of the town, all assembled, led her away as they moaned pathetically in sympathy, the woman herself still crying. A little later I followed them into the house and found them pouring warm water over the bruised hand to soothe the pain; but the woman still cried. Meantime, the old man told me the story. It was typical of the extreme injustice often committed against the African woman: A young woman married against her will to a very old man, with the inevitable consequence that she despised him and cared too much for somebody else. I made the incident the text of my sermon and preached an up-to-date sermon on _Woman’s Rights_. The old man’s cupidity, always alert, suggested a happy expedient. In a suave manner he deliberately proposed that since I knew so well how to treat a woman, he would as a favour accept a proper dowry from me, renounce his claim upon her and let me marry her. But I exclaimed, at least to myself: “This is so sudden!”