A Liberian Journey

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IV

Mr. and Mrs. William Whitman Jr.

78 Chauncey St.

Boston, Mass.

U.S.A.

Letter No. 4

Monrovia, Republic of Liberia, West Africa

July 14^th, 1926

Dear Family

            I will continue my journey. The last I wrote was, I think, on the Wadai in preparation for mailing at Freeport, Sierra Leone – about 10 days ago. Well here we are at Monrovia with a week passed since we landed. But I must write this chronologically. 

            We arrived at Freeport about 11.00 at night after slowly stalking the light house for several hours. It was  a beautiful starlit night and cool. We sat up on the bridge in the dark letting our imaginations play over the little colony of bright lights towards which we crept at about ¼ speed – a little cluster of lights with hills rising behind just barely visible. And never having been ashore in Africa, I dreamt of tanned white men in spotless white clothing flirting with one anothers wives, a whisky and soda (at their elbows while black servants padded discretely back and forth in the darkness. What would it be like in the morning? Probably very different . And it was.

            We went ashore in the launch to land at a cement dock on which two stream cranes sat perched on long legs – puffing and panting. We climbed up a rusted iron stain. - - - - 

            I will continue my narrative in just a minute for the first news from home has just come – x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x Well – Dearest Mother, I don’t find your letter at all dull as you say - not in the least and I only hope I can make my letters as nice and interesting. And please don’t try to compare my feeble attempts, with Gaurmys letters from India, they wont stand the comparison. You say it is raining – for which you are grateful – I will say that the sun is shining for which we are grateful. And I do hope that you wont do too much and get over tired. –

            But to continue – We climbed up a rusted iron stairs to be greeted on top by a jostling group of young blacks hoping to carry something – for money of course. We told them that we were well able to look after ourselves but they followed along for quite a while before they finally realized that we were firm – except one who attached himself to Coolidge and me. We could not get rid of him – so we weakened and let him carry my  cameras as well as act as guide. The rest of the party went off to the hospital while Hal and I went shopping with very little results. And of course it poured soon after we started so that we were forced to hire a taxi – the remains of an Essex I think.

            Freetown is quite a place – it even boast of a railroad station. It lies on a hilly side so that you must climb up an embankment quite a steep slope before you get to the main street which parallels the water. From then on everything is laid out in rectangles – about 4 streets each way, until you get out to the outskirts. And everywhere are beautifully built negroes in varying every manner of costume – both shape and color. The most startling was an orange and black head dress and loin cloth on a rich purple black strapping man almost 6 ft tall. Really very impressive. But we saw reds, blues, greens yellows – in fact all colors – giving a bazaar look to the population. And on all sides was the rich damp, fragrant tropical green foliage above a red dirt road. And everything was so fresh after the rain.

            We wandered out to the suburbs along a dirt road flanked by little native shops in front of which many blacks stood or squatted among the wares. And every where were dogs and small nondescript chickens. But we had to find the rest of the party – so we went to the three hospitals in search of them. As we were returning we passed the market – directly below us in a little amphitheater formed by a deep ravine opening on the beach. And in the center was a long building upon which vultures sat waiting patiently. Surrounding this was a veritable swarm of natives – a writing mass of jumbled colors – ceaselessly moving but getting nowhere. While out in the water were scores of little fishing boats rising and falling. But we must be going back to the Wadai. As we stood on the dock again queer crafts passed with loads of bananas or lumber etc – usually manned by a dozen stalwart blacks rowing with poles rather than oars. No speed – a drifting past of another world. 

            That night we had the Frau Consul General Hermann to dinner at our table and the Captain. It was quite a jolly affair with champagne etc. The in the evening we sat around and danced – with her until after 12 when the captain broke out more champagne for those present. Very gay – but in the morning - ! 

            But I forgot one incident – As I was dressing in the morning I looked out of my porthole to see a negro paddling along stark naked in a dugout canoe – I knew we were in Africa. And later in the day another native came out to diver for pennies or sing songs in pigeon English. He was quite unabashed and he sat on the bottom of his shallow craft singing away to plunge into the muddy water with a gurgle as a coin was tossed. And when he came up he would examine the treasure before putting it into his mouth. He was till there when we left at 12 oclock. – Another item – one boy followed us from place to place on shore whom we continually told to leave – still he persisted. As we left he asked to be paid – “what for?” we asked. For all the work he had done. – he even told us that he put some of our purchases in the car when we had done that ourselves. He argued for 15 minutes but we stuck to our guns – and as we finally rode away in the launch his associates cheered us for our firmness – at his expense.

            But we have arrived at Monrovia – a low green coast with sandy beaches – and small hill upon which perched a light house. The town or what was visible lay over the side of the hill and out onto the flats. But it is almost impossible to describe the place. As soon as we anchored we were surrounded by what appear to be big 30 life boats – double enders – manned by 12 husky blacks – each with a long oar. Two came up one side for the passengers – while about 12 finally worked along side for the luggage. Never have I heard such a chattering, jabbering group of people – they were not silent for a moment and they almost drowned out the rattle of the machinery as our boxes were perilously lowered into the side. There was quite a long roll, too, on that side so that the boats rose and fell, endlessly jamming and scraping against one another and the Wadai. The boxes – not even in a net – just a rope around them, would then be lowered among these restless boats amidst shouts and calls sometimes apparently diving right thru the bottom – at others dangling in mid air as the containers boats sank away from beneath them. I lost heart watching them and wandered off to the other side of the boat Wadai. 

            Several white men came aboard to get some good beer, a hair cut, and see some new faces. Dr. Willis – our present host – and Mr. Johnson had lunch with us. Dr. Willis has been in Monrovia a month. He is having out here as a change from New York where he was a surgeon – and probably. quite good. Pleasant and very obliging – I don’t think that he has yet got the spirit of the place and I am afraid that he will be very glad to leave long before his 18 months are up. He has been used to the very latest conveniences and appliances in surgery and the change to superstitious, unintelligent, disobedient natives must be tremendous. His wife is also very pleasant, indeed – also a New Yorker – and of the same type. Johnson, on the other had, has been here 18 years on the coast. A born handler of natives with many years experience behind him – and at the same time a lover of the bush. We are trying to get him as a chaperon for this trip as he is very congenial and of pleasant personality. He is really the “goods”. They all speak of him as knowing more about the country than any other white man here.    

            But After lunch we got into one of the boats and pushed off – Good-bye Wadai – Good-bye Captain and friends of the last two weeks – we are going to land in Africa – our home for the next few months. For a while the launch towed us until we reached the bar and breakers. Then with grunts and chattering the big oars were dipped in the water and we were headed in towards the white water. Unfortunately, it was a very calm day on the bar so that we had no excitement of any kind, altho I can see that a rough day would provide many thrills. The boys settled down to work – the leader, in a high voice, would say “chung” and at half time at the beginning of the catch, while the other men in chorus would grunt “chug” as the oars bent. It was a specialized rhythm and one which seemed to fit so well with the rippling, black bodies of the 12 oarsmen. But always somebody talking in rolling, labial syllables. We drew up to the customs house where all our luggage lay piled before us on the floor. Stacks of it thrown down helter skelter, no order of any kind. We set to work to get our tin trunks and personal baggage separated from photograph chemicals and boxes of foods so that we could get it thru and up to our houses. The room was quite narrow – more of an alleyway, in which there were packed our ten tons of baggage, plus guinea pigs – our own 8 selves and a mob of some 50 or more blacks of all ages, all wanting to work, and a few officials. At the end of the room was an iron fence thru which peered * another mass of black bodies, this time representing both sexes. I felt as if I were in a cage and should pace back and forth in front of the bars. We got out all our trunks finally and tacked him in two piles for we are staying in two houses. One lot of baggage was then sent off – carried on the heads of some30 boys, while I took the rest of Dr. Willis’ house in a Ford truck. Strong, Shattuck, Coolidge, and I are staying at the latter place, while Bequaert, Theiller, Allen and Linger at No. 5. <Map of Monrovia streets with numbers correlating to specific locations>

1 – The Mansion (President’s house)

2 – American Embassy

3 – Firestone headquarters

4 – Dr. Willis’ house (No 1)

5 – Where Bequaert is staying (No 5)

6 – Customs house

7 – Krutown

8 – A park

This plan of Monrovia is very crudely drawn but perhaps it will give you an idea. X – is the only big of cement road. It runs up the very steep climb from Water street to Ashman street where it stops with the slope. After that it is flat and the streets are mainly red dirt tracks where the automobiles have worn away the grass. White plaster buildings flank the streets on both sides – white, ugly buildings with large unscreened porches and corrugated tin roofs. And the sidewalks are red gravel with a cement curbstone. However, you usually walk in the street because the sidewalks may suddenly bulge up into a boulder or vanish into vines and grass. At the main corners are to be found traffic cops who place one hand over their heart and point majestically with the other in the direction you wish to go. Of course, you rarely meet another car. There is also a park – a red bare red patch of gravel-like earth – still being leveled in one corner – with four statues – the most touching is a simple spike with a plate on one side in memory of Matilda Peabody, who did a valorous deed. On the other side she is shown knocking the ashes of her pipe into the touch hole of a cannon before which stand countless figures, supposed to be people. I think that the Peruvians did better sculpture. But it is a pleasant dreamy place for all that, even though it does look a bit corroded and a bit as though it had been eroded by many rains. The people, too, are pleasant though somewhat passive. After all it is the monotony of the place which drives one into the feeling of passivity.

            There is one thing here – big, green mango trees, 100 feet high, very dense and spread out – and a few tall silk cotton trees with straight gray trunks and big horizontal branches near the top. Beautiful trees.

            The evening we arrived the customs man came around – 10 shillings per person was supposed to be, and actually appeared to be, sufficient, although he did ask Mr. Hines (one of Firestone’s diplomatic men) for a loan as he didn’t realize as much as he expected from us. Mr. Hines turned him down so he tried Dr. Willis, also to no effect. Poor man, his ambitions ran away with him. 

            Thursday we went to the bank and repacked. In the afternoon Hal and I went out to buy umbrellas – a necessary evil in this country where showers, and good ones, too, come at a moment’s notice. We also called on the young Firestone engineers – nice chaps from the States – and on Wolo.

            Wolo is the African graduate from Harvard, once credited with being a chief, now proved to be a very intelligent, educated negro, who was born in Liberia and lives in the town of Monrovia with no title except professor. We went for a walk with him out the main road until we could look over the beach along which waves were breaking – waves which come unchecked from America – thousands of miles away. Dr. Bouet, a Frenchman, who has spent the last 30 years in Africa, came up to call on us. About 60 years or more, with white hair and a big nose, he still has the impetuosity and vivacity of youth about him plus a very charming personality. He has spent probably more time collecting plants and insects – not to mention animals and birds – than he has practicing medicine, a really delightful man.

            Another man we met was Farmer – a tramp in his own estimation – he came out to work on the boundary survey but has now been enlisted in the government. He has 6 or more titles but no work and he is now getting discouraged by his inactivity. He is Chief of the Department of Public Works – and there is none. He is in charge of the harbor construction, which is not in progress. He heads the telephone service – distinctly limited – and so it goes.

            Dr. Willis’ cook has been arrested every other day, just before supper to make it more convenient. A native of the gold coast he has failed to pay his aliens artisan tax and after two years has been arrested. Each day following he is released – a note is sent to Dr. Willis asking him to pay and the fine goes up two pounds. Starting with 2 £10 – the cook finally paid 8 £18.

            The govt being financially shy they pick on fines as one source of revenue. It is said that an Englishman one misty morning stood on his front porch in a bathrobe, to be find about 500 £ for shocking the neighbors. He was smuggled aboard a boat in the harbor and so escaped. If you hit a black for any reason at all you are broken financially when you are thru and some of the Firestone boys, swimming in the river at night paid for destroying the morals of the people.

            The weather here has been very good – several nice sunny days and only one real snorter of a rain. But it is very unusual to get so much sun at this season of the year. The temperature is about 80 on the average with a relative humidity of 85 – 94 – rather high.

            The days so far have been spent making official and unofficial calls on secretaries of state, the war department, on American consulate etc.  – so I won’t try to catalogue them. Just days of drifting from one house to another, hoping that our supplies would get out of the customs soon.

            However, I had one very pleasant break at 7:30 Monday morning. Strong, Shattuck, Allen, and I, with Dr. Bouet and Johnson, left Monrovia to go up to the Plantations, 25 miles away. We drove out to the beginning of a small tropical stream, completely  arched over by tall trees with ferns, palms and streamers, down which we twisted in a launch to enter the big river, down which we rode until we came to its junction with the Du. <Map of Liberian coastline>

            Then up stream – a beautiful trip passing from brackish palm and mangrove scenery up into tremendous vine clad banks with towering 150 foot trees on each side or arching over the water – a thick dense tropical scene, very like good photographs have shown.

             We didn’t arrive at the first plantation until 3:00, where we had lunch before pushing onto No. 2. In the morning we went up to No. 3 where we expect to set up our first camp from Monrovia. They are cutting there and we hope to better satisfy the botanist by working there. Then we came back down the river to finally arrive back in Monrovia.

            This morning we talked to the President for a few minutes. 

            Please excuse this rush but I have been away and couldn’t write then and this morning must needs be spent in calling on the President and making arrangements for a permit of residence.

And the mail must be in in 5 minutes to catch this boat.

My best love to you all at home - And I hope you think of me as often as I think of you.

            Yours most loving son.

                        Loring.

            Harold sends his best.

            P.S. The Plantations are but huge ever increasing clearings. As yet they have only set out spikes on No. 1 over a limited area. Still when you realize that they only started clearing in November and have now several thousand acres on each it is quite remarkable.

            They fell the tress, brush them and then when its dry burn the whole shooting match – insects and weather do the rest.

            But I will write more and better later. 

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