-9- 
We were ready to sail about eleven o’clock, but the port authorities 
have made a new rule since the West Kebar was here last, forbidding 
any ships to sail unless the tide is just right. Our jovial Captain 
Bogdan was angry for the first time since we have known him. 
March 10 - 
We awoke to Sind a hot, liquid morning and an oily sea. 
Perspiration drenched us as we finished our packing. The Captain 
had said we would arrive at 3.50, and exactly on the minute our 
anchors went out, halting us about two miles off the Liberian coast • 
A low hill rises from the sea, and the tom nestles in a curving 
part of the beach - not a deep enough curve to make a harbor. Just 
south of the town itself, half way up the hill which looks pleasantly 
green, is Firestone ' s Number One house. Mamba Point, ana. beyona it^ 
the unfinished American Legation and beyond that the British Legation. 
Through our glasses we could make out the shap e s of boats coming out 
to meet us. All along the coast waves were breaking, and in places 
the surf looked rather high. In one spot a sand bar, with a brief 
open break in it, makes enough protection for small boats to get in 
to shore. Two, then nine, then fourteen surf boats cotild be 
counted, and slowly they came close enough for us to make out which 
ones were loaded with the Kru labor which the ship takes on here, 
and which ones were officials. The Customs loat had to reach us 
and its officials come aboard before anyone else could come on. Once 
our passports had been inspected and found satisfactory, the Firestone 
people came up the bouncing companion way - Bernice, Dr. end Mrs. 
Campbell, and several others. 
It was after five o’ clack ( and several beers ) when we were 
all ready to go ashore. I had wanted a ride in a mammy chair, 
so that West Coast contraption was rigged up and we all descended 
to the surf boat by means of it. It is something like an old- 
fashioned garden swing, with two seats facing each other, and holds 
four people. The overhead structure is a strong metal framework, 
into the top of which a big cargo hook goes; then the chair and its 
occupants are hoisted overside by one of the big booms, and lowered, 
with a great deal of shouting and a final bump, into the boat, where 
many black arms reach up to steady it. I vastly preferred it to 
climbing down the ladder and trying to jump from a rolling ship into 
a small, bobbing boat. 
Eleven oars rowed us ashore, and the black boys chanted 
»Ka - Bo, Ka - Bo” while the sun went down behind the West Kebar 
in the red haze of the Harmattan season. 
George was waiting for us on the dock, and we piled into 
automobiles for the ride out to the plantation. Of course it was 
dark as soon as we had left the town, but in the automobile * s head- 
lights I could recognize such old friends as sugar cane, palm trees, 
and miles and miles of rubber. It was the first time I had ever 
seen rubber in the flowering season, and the perfume was so strong 
and sweet that it was almost overpowering. 
The Seybolds ' house at Harbel is the typical plantation 
manager’s house — a big, white frame house built on c ement pillars 
