b. Development of existing trails, with their ultimate transformation into roads and railroad beds;
c. Restoration and development of agriculture—now neglected;
d. Education, especially along lines of manual and technical training.
Liberia’s greatest asset is her native population; only by imbuing it with the feeling of common interest and by securing its hearty co-operation can the government of Africa’s only republic hope to maintain itself and prosper.
A SOJOURNER IN LIBERIA.
(The Spirit of Missions. April, 1913.)
Anxious to see all possible of Liberia, we gladly accepted Bishop Ferguson’s invitation to visit Bromley and to inspect the work done at the Julia C. Emery Hall. On reaching the landing at Monrovia at 8 a. m. we found the mission steamer, the John Payne, ready. Our party consisted of ex-President Barclay, ex-Postmaster-General Blount, Justice T. McCants Stewart of the Supreme Court, Major Young, U. S. A., military attaché of the American Legation, Mayor Johnson, the Rev. Mr. Cassell and Bishop Ferguson—all residents of Liberia—my photographer and myself. He and I were the only white men. Of the colored men some were born in Liberia, others in the United States—North and South—one at least in the British West Indies. Ex-President Arthur Barclay is by many considered to be the ablest man of Liberia; he has had a wide experience and has gained exceptional knowledge of Liberian needs and problems. Mayor Johnson is one of the sons of the late President Johnson, who was the first “son of the soil” to occupy the presidential chair of the negro republic. Bishop Ferguson, born in South Carolina, has lived so many years in Cape Palmas and Monrovia that no one ever thinks of him as aught but a Liberian. He is a man of energy and ideas and his work speaks for his efficiency. We were soon off, and for three hours steamed up the river, a typical, tropical African stream. A dense tangle of mangroves extends far out from the shore on both sides, over the water, completely concealing the actual land; the trunks rise from pyramids of exposed roots; from the branches, slender shoots, round-tipped, strike vertically down, penetrate the water, force their way into the soft, oozy mud of the river bottom, take root and aid in spreading the tangled growth still further out over the water. Here and there straight gashes are cut into this mass of crowded trees to serve as landing-channels for native canoes. The first part of our journey was up a branch stream, the St. Paul’s River branching near its mouth and entering the sea by more than the single outlet. As we approached the main river, the mangrove thicket thinned, and the most striking feature in the vegetation was the dragon-palm. It, too, rises from a pyramidal mass of exposed roots, but in form and foliage it is totally unlike the mangrove; its long narrow leaves lead to its being often called the sword-palm. Here we could often look back over the land, and saw oil-palms with their delicate, graceful crowns outlined against the blue sky—truly blue sky, for by October 15 the period of rains is practically over. We had passed settlements, here and there, upon the way; single houses of “Liberians,” or little clusters of “native” huts; New Georgia, on our right, is quite a village but seems to bear an indifferent reputation—due perhaps to its history; it was settled with slaves rescued from slaving-vessels and such slaves were rarely considered as equals, in the old days, by the colonists.
When we reached the main river, the whole character of the scenery changed. The river itself was wider; the banks were cleaner and the flat land stood higher; the mangrove swamps disappeared; plantations showing considerable attention were to be seen here and there. While we had chatted and viewed the scene the Bishop had not been idle, and the smiling black boy now passed an abundant supply of sandwiches and sliced cake, daintily wrapped in paper and tied with narrow ribbons, all prepared beforehand by Mrs. Ferguson. Served with lemon and strawberry soda-water they were a welcome refreshment.
We had been so fully occupied that we had hardly noticed that three hours had passed when we saw Bromley ahead. The building stands on a level terrace well above the river. It is said to be the largest in Liberia; whether so or not, it is a spacious, plain, well-built construction, admirably adapted to its purpose. Its architect and master builder, Mr. Scott, met us at the landing. He is a native of pure blood, a Grebo from Cape Palmas district. He has never been outside of Liberia and has had to gain his knowledge and experience as he best could. He has had correspondence instruction from an American school and finds it of advantage.
The building is known as the Julia C. Emery Hall and serves as a girls’ school. The parlor is a fine room and upon its walls are displayed interesting cuts, portraits and documents, all relative to national, racial and mission history. We were shown through the building from tower—whence a splendid view over the river is to be had—to cellar. It is well equipped—dormitories, school rooms, chapel, dining room, kitchen, washrooms, storerooms—all suitable and neat and clean. Seventy girls are in attendance. There are not beds for all the children, perhaps not for more than half of them; half of the children sleep upon the floor on mats. This is no special hardship, as they are used to it; in my own opinion they are quite as well off without beds.