For a time this way of working rubber helped us over some of our difficulties; it gave us a sufficient quantity in a short time, and so we were saved from the anger of the white man. But it was not long before we began to find a dearth of vines; for those we had cut were useless for future working, and therefore we had to take longer journeys into the forest than ever before.
If we went too far in any direction it brought us in contact with the natives of other villages who were also seeking for rubber, and regarded us as poaching on their preserves. True, there was some rubber on the other side of the river, [[76]]but there we dared not go, because of the age-long feud between the natives of that part and ourselves—we feared that if we went we should never return.
After much consideration, I thought there was just one chance of getting free; so I went to see the white man of God, taking him a present which I hoped would show him that I really meant what I said, and asked him to take me on to work for him.
He received the fowl I gave him, but not as a gift; he would insist on paying for it its full value, and giving me a few spoonfuls of salt over. (Truly the ways of white men are unaccountable! Some compel one to supply against one’s will what they want, and pay nothing or next to nothing for it; and then others refuse to take a thing as a gift, but insist on paying for it! Of course, we like the latter way, but should not think of doing so ourselves.)
Then he explained to me that it was impossible; he could not engage any man who held a “book” for rubber, and as I did hold one and my name was on the rubber workers’ list, it was out of the question. I pleaded with him, Bamatafe pleaded for me. We returned again on the following day to try once more, but it was in vain. I [[77]]had to go back to my rubber work in the forest.
Soon after this a day came when my rubber was short weight. I had failed to find a good vine, and though I soaked the rubber in water to make it heavier, the white man noticed and refused to pass it. As a result, I did not return home that night, but spent it and several more in the white man’s prison.
I had heard much about this place from Bamatafe and others, who had frequently been in it, and so was not so surprised as I otherwise might have been. Prison to us who are used to an outdoor life in the forest has always a horrible aspect; but such a prison as that was is beyond description. And yet I must tell you something about it.
The building itself was a long, narrow hut with thatched roof, bamboo walls, and mud floor. That was all; and it was crowded promiscuously with men and women of all ages and conditions. These were fastened together with cords or chains round the neck, in groups of about ten with a fathom of chain or cord between each.
There were old men and women with grey hair and shrivelled skins, looking more like moving skeletons than living people, with [[78]]scarcely enough cloth or leaves for decent covering. Strong, capable women were there who should have been working happily at home for their husbands; women with babies only a few days’ or weeks’ old at their breasts; women in delicate health; young girls; the wives of husbands who had somehow failed to satisfy the demands made upon them; and young lads who had tried to shirk paddling the heavily laden rubber boats—all these were there, crowded together in that one shed without privacy or sanitary arrangement of any kind from sundown to sunrise, and some of them for weeks together.
The smell was horrible, the hunger and thirst intense, and the publicity in some ways worst of all. I myself was not hungry that first night, and Bamatafe came to and fro with food for me on the following days; but much of it I never ate. Some of my fellow-prisoners were so ravenously hungry, that it was impossible to save any scraps, even if I had wanted to. Many of them, coming from a distance, had no friends to supply their needs.