At Sierra Leone—eleven days from Liverpool—the ship’s company is augmented by a number of Kru sailors, who proceed to a spring-cleaning with a zest and enjoyment unmistakable.
The Kruman is the seaman of West Africa. His villages are on the seashore. He is put in the water and made to swim from babyhood. He can be seen coming to a ship, on rough, rolling waves, in a frail canoe crudely cut or burnt out from the trunk of a soft-wood tree. A couple of small boys will paddle such a canoe two or three miles out to sea. At certain parts of the Coast the lads dive for coppers thrown from an anchored vessel, and do it as unconcernedly as though they were in a calm river instead of a place frequented by sharks. Yet no fatalities are known, which is probably due to the noise the youngsters make. Should a shark be espied hovering near, several of the boys will even swim towards it, shouting, yelling, and splashing, and the brute, who is a coward, slips away.
At Axim, Gold Coast, three days beyond Sierra Leone, a further complement of Krumen are shipped. Each batch is of a different tribe. That from Sierra Leone consists of Nana Krus; at Axim they have come from the Beri-Beri country, on the French Grain Coast. Some years ago they clandestinely left French territory, where they were compelled to labour on public works, and founded a small settlement near Axim, for the purpose of serving on British ships. At one time the French prevented shipment from their own shore unless at a tax per man, but now there is no objection to enlistment at recognised ports of entry. Krus who have made homes in the British sphere prefer to remain there.
Considerable difference is noticeable between the two tribes mentioned. The Nanas are greatly inferior in physique and stamina. The degeneration is due to evils resulting from the “civilisation” to be found in certain districts of Sierra Leone. The Beri-Beris, who have been freer from these influences, are a much better type. In a set period, fifteen of the latter will do more work, with less effort, than can be carried out by twenty-five of the former in the same time.
Each body of Krus is under its own Headman, who will be either a village Chief or appointed by the Captain of the ship. The Headman can usually be relied upon to keep his folks up to the mark. He receives instructions from the officers as to what is required. They leave him to have it done, and, as a rule, it is sure to be done well. The Headman is given tea and other small luxuries, in addition to the usual rations of rice and fish, and he is allowed to bring a small boy, usually his son, to assist him in cooking.
At Sierra Leone there has also come on board the black laundryman and his “boys,” who deal with passengers’ linen. It is not turned out in the finished style of a first-class establishment in England, but what is lacking in other respects is made up by very liberal starching. A couple of collars feel they could support an anchor.
The laundryman frequently walks round with a broom. The article is not for professional use in connection with the tub; the handle is utilised for gentle persuasion and is applied to the cranium of the delinquent who needs stimulus or correction. When applied, the thwack can be heard many yards distant and is only rivalled in sound by the ship’s siren. A thin skull would be crushed by such a blow. The “boy” who receives one shakes it off as nothing, and sometimes gets a succession of them for laughing at the first. There is “Home Rule all round” for the various black departments of the vessel, and he is a wise man who does not attempt to interfere with local customs and usage.
The night after leaving Sierra Leone we are passing the Kru Coast, Liberia, probably the most uncertain and dangerous four hundred miles stretch along West Africa, because of the outlying rocks and reefs and the irregular insetting currents. Except at Monrovia, Grand Bassa and Cape Palmas, and even there the lights are of minor power, no illuminations or beacons mark the dangers. Often without warning the currents set towards the land. No precautions on the ship are considered superfluous. The deep-sea lead is cast at not longer intervals than every four hours, and anybody who owing to the heat has made his bed on deck and is awake may see the figure of the Captain frequently flit from his cabin during the night to join the officer on watch on the bridge.
When we are in calmer waters and the dark night has shut out surroundings and made us feel we are a little world to ourselves, we are now and again reminded of the vigilance maintained for our safety, as the look-out sings to the officer of the watch, “Light on the starboard bow, sir,” and you see, miles away on your right front, a small gleaming lamp which tells of another ship on these trackless areas. And if the officer of the watch is in light mood you may hear him humming the doggerel of the “rule of the road” at sea: