A Liberian Journey

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Sun Sept 19^th

            Dr. Allen and I went hunting this AM but our haul was nil and we were at best discouraged with collecting in Liberia. When we got back to camp we found a Mr. Brownell , And Lt. Glenn had come to call. Mr. B. is a native of Liberia who is recognized as the best elephant hunter in this country. He is a short stocky man of the shape of Holbrook. Blum and is rather quiet and pensive in his speech. He was sitting back in a chair his elbows on the arms his finger tips together – his fingers spread quietly saying “yet – I – know – them” to Hal’s queries about Bongo, Chevrotain, pigmy Hippos, elephant, etc.  A quiet man – and one who requires time to let an idea sink into his mind. He cant understand why if we want one small elephant we don’t want 10 – he offers to get us a dozen or so of everything and doesn’t feel it worthwhile to get only one. We talked about the forest guinea fowl to him which he knew and of which he said he could get specimens which he would skin himself but he did not seem to feel too optimistic about our seeing them as they lived in the big bush. Hal made out a price list- what we would pay for each kind of animal and we explained the care of skins. Then we discussed maps and our prospective trip to the coast via Sino and River Cess.

            They said that it would be 5 days to Tappi and from there 4 days to the coast – we shall see.      

            And that lasted to lunch time. After lunch Dr. Allen and I skinned a pair of starlings Hal had shot before Mr. Brownell’s arrival. It was  very hot 86 in our camp and about 125 in the sun. I also wrote some more in my diary as well as skinned a couple of woodpeckers. About 400 as it began to get cooler we were summoned to the dance arranged for yesterday so we gathered up our cameras and went down to the market place where we found the chief and his people. The chief was seated on a kitchen folding chair with his feet on a leopard skin flanked by some 20 of his wives sitting 10 on a side – on mats. Behind these were the special male friends and relatives tho directly behind the chief the two musicians already described had their station. As we came down the chief arose and with much whirling first one way and then another danced over to us. We gave him some gin (1 bottle). He poured a spoonful on the ground and then drank 2/3 without missing a swallow, really a magnificent performance. Then he returned to his seat. With other gin he gave each of his women drink and each of his relatives – 3 bottles gone. Then he did another dance. In the meantime some of the women did foot dances without much pip – a mere shuffling. Hal and I took some pictures but I must admit the dance was not too potent and the sun was rapidly going down. Then the Mandingo people came with their chief dressed in flowing robes of Mandingo cloth – an arab head dress – for they are mohammedan – and high leather boots. His women were all dressed in spotless pink, white or blue blouses and skits and their hair was curled braided into a few little spits. Their music was supplied by an ingenious drum – two half calabashes of different sizes Each in a basin of water. They had a wonderful resonance. <Drawing of drum> The dance itself was going in a circle and when going properly all moved toward the center or away form the center simultaneously.

            After a while the chief disappeared to return on a well groomed gray stallion. He rode thru the people down to our camp and then back to the dance were he made the horse rear. The saddle consists mostly of a huge pad and stirrups like this <Drawing of stirrups> As he is a man The chief is well over 6’ and in his voluminous burmous -like garment he practically enveloped the horse whose head and tail sort of peered out in front and back respectively.

            After that we set off a smoke screen bomb for the benefit of the people. The chief of the town rushed over the Mandingos and said ‘Ya’ where upon all answered “ya” This showed his authority. The chief who was beginning to show the effects of his drinks yelled at everyone to flee which they did promptly and with great willingness. But they didn't go far and curiosity soon brought them back. The smoke certainly was plentiful and just belched out of that little box floating up into the still air like a serpent genie rising from an old Arabian wizards bottle.  Then the powder gave out and the chief rushed over to pick it up. It was still red hot.            

            In the evening I took a vacation and I walked down to the Mandingo village in the bright moonlight to watch the dance which was still carrying on. Swaying bodies still in their white or pink blouses – but not reflecting the silver light. And the half calabash drum – like kettle drums constantly weaving a song with its changing rhythm. Swaying bodies – shuffling feet – and native African songs going around in a circle. 

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