THE LAND OF THE FREE IN AFRICA 



415 



largest town in the 

 Republic, and I should 

 say that few cities in 

 the world have a har- 

 bor so picturesque. 



Nature seems to 

 have lavished great 

 care on this out-of- 

 the-way tropical stop- 

 ping place. Monrovia 

 Bay is about seven 

 miles wide, and ves- 

 sels enter the harbor 

 in the center, with 

 Cape Mount far of! 

 toward the left and 

 Monrovia Point, high 

 and rocky, on the 

 right. Between the 

 Cape and the Point is 

 the oval background 

 of sandy beach and 

 majestic palms. 



Some two miles 

 from the Point, Mesu- 

 rado River empties 

 into the Bay with a 

 corkscrew turn 

 around the sand-bar 

 with which it has ob- 

 structed its own free 

 entrance into the At- 

 lantic. Just back of 

 the bar, the town it- 

 self nestles peacefully 

 on the hill rising from 

 the river bank, with 

 its white roofs emerg- 

 ing from unsurpassed 

 tropical verdure. 



Because of the bar, 

 steamers are forced to 

 more from the shore, 

 and freight are landed 



Often this landing is an exciting ex- 

 perience, and the passenger always mar- 

 vels at the canny judgment of the native 

 "headman" in choosing the wave that will 

 be the longest and safest to "ride in on." 

 Sometimes his twenty oarsmen will wait 

 a quarter of an hour just beyond the 

 powerful surf, then a wave mountain 

 high will be seen racing in from the sea; 

 the brawny native Krumen, clad only in 

 loin-cloths, lift their oars and brace their 

 bare feet against the cross-board in front 

 of them. 



CANOES AT MONROVIA, 



Photograph from Herbert Halloway 

 CAPITAI* OP LIBERIA . 



Kru boys paddle a mile out to sea in round-bottom dugout canoes 

 to the side of an incoming steamer. They will dive for pennies with 

 little urging. 



anchor a mile or 

 while passengers 

 in surfboats. 



The boat rises on the incoming moun- 

 tain of water, the headman gives a shrill 

 cry, and the men pull for their lives to 

 keep the boat balanced on the churning 

 crest. Spray flies on every side, and to 

 the uninitiated this is apparently their last 

 moment on earth, as the slender boat 

 shoots, at terrific pace and at some hor- 

 rible angles, over the bar. 



But soon the waters become more quiet, 

 the pace slackens, and the boat is pulled 

 along on even keel again, perspiration 

 glistening on the muscular brown backs 

 of the crew. 



Up and across the Mesurado River, they 

 go past pretty little Providence Island, with 



