36 12 1226 https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/422e16fc0407f40f0675d2065a49403d.pdf f63ea771af17eff420cc0e17be196997 https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/a525cc16141234ee94c08193833199f7.doc 0d0788c278494441997664929e8f6172 Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter Text Any textual data included in the document On board the S.S. Wolfram Nov 29th 1926 Dear folkses, Cheerio, - Boy, Zwei Bien -. Well here we are again – Jimmie Galagher still hanging on. I got your letters and I must admit that I had some surprises. You see I got your middle one first – A definite break with no warning. Then came dawning suspicion followed by the first signs of restlessness. So I had to do some rather tall imagining to get the drift of the whole matter. However, I did get it straight in time. All I can say now is merry Christmas and keep a stiff upper lip. We may yet swing some rubles out of this trip. I am not going to write you a journal about this trip because I hope to be able to do that same once and for all in a small book which I hope to mail from Matadi. You will then get enough of the dull drip from my pen to make up for all that I am not going to write now. In fact, as you may gather from the start, I haven’t the slightest idea just what I am going to write. And I haven’t had a beer today – for a change. First of all – seeing that you wont get this until about the 5th of January and won’t be able to reply to me until the middle or end of April, I will ask after your healths. How are you? I hope you are well. – Now after that – How are the children? And so the formalities are over. But what I really wanted to say was twofold- first the black ladies are not very inspiring – hence I am as I was – secondly the German beer is – well very good indeed – these are my two great discoveries. Of course the first one may be my error and I might be persuaded to leave the pamelian paths should I be left alone for an unlimited time – but – well – as it was – no I prefer to be able to see my enamorata – (is that OK) in the dark. But the beer, I always like to have it either during the day or in the dark – It me fait rien. In fact during the last week Theiler and I have enjoyed it muchly – but as the bar closes at 10:00 – which is really too early to get anywhere – well I have decided what’s the use and have quit for the ay. Otherwise I have and will be very good much to your disappointment, no doubt. Why do you realize that I only had about 6 whiskey and sodas in Liberia in 4 ½ months – and those were not on the same night? I arsk yu, I arsk yu. But to get back to our a subject dear to both of our hearts – no I don't mean what you mean – (that for W. III) – I think that we may be allowed to write some article or maybe an illustrated book should there be enough material to do so. And altho my diary has been rather tired at places we may yet be able to yank something out of it which might (who knows?) turn something into our joint coffers. So don’t laugh and start sharpening up your pen for some sunny day. I have about 675 negatives of sorts many of which will be uninteresting to you – and very few of which are as you hope. – Still it is variety which is the spice of life and I hope that the Congo will produce something snappy. You know I dread settling down to the rather dry and depressing job of writing a detailed account of all that's happened from day to day – I feel that it is my duty and I will as Dr. Allen quotes from some nonsense poem. After all I have written the whole blooming thing once in my diary and I have to paw and maul it again. But I will. By the way talking of Allen – well he is a genius – And if you want somebody to compile an anthology of nonsense verses stories etc by all means look him up. And besides he can quote these darned things at will and always absolutely to the point. For example we had had a long argument about “chop” (Liberian for food both N. and V.) about 7/8 of the expedition had been complaining that they had not been getting enough lunch while Dr. Strong maintained that tea and a cracker was ample. Well after a couple of days all the party but Bequaert Allen and I had left and we were waiting over for fresh porters. As all our dishes were gone we were drinking tea out of a half cheese tin and were sharing rice out of a common cooking pot. There suddenly as we were reaching in for another fistful Dr. Allen murmured thru a rice crammed mouth – “And damned be he who cries ‘Ive had enough’.” Bequaert and I exploded. Another story, this time as an illustration. Dr. Allen was giving a very clever farewell speech – He spoke about our being friends and also that we knew one another well. “And still we are friends – as the little girl was heard to say – ‘A friend is a person who knows all about you – and still likes you’.” And occasionally he gets in a dig. Coolidge one evening was telling how his family had had something to do with building some public edifice and had been very disappointed when the mere Lt. Governor came (Cal. Coolidge). In fact they had felt quite hurt. “Now” says Hal “we find that he is a sixth cousin”. “What price glory” murmurs Allen into his collar. Oh well you cannot beat him. And for his kindness, consideration, cheery nature and industry he has no peer. Each of us felt as tho we had lost our best friend when he left for home. Look him up and stick by him – you will find it worth your while – And he has been collecting whaling material all of his life until the present antique wave sent prices too high. His collecting includes stories (and he has some very rare pamphlets of very early date), pictures and books. And the beauty of it all is that he has collected all the nonsense stories, pictures books and (I forgot them) songs with the same vengeance. There ought to be something well worth while there – He writes well, too. Dr. Glover M. Allen – To museum of comparative anatomy, Harvard University – Think it over, his acquaintance is worth a lot. Well we crossed the line today – to change the subject – and at last stopped the flow of pleasantry such as “well you’ll feel her bump when we go over” or “come here quick” and as you look over the rail expecting sharks or whales – “there’s the link” pointing at the horizon. After we had crossed “Do you notice we are going faster now? Well you see were going down hill and we have lost the influence of the N. Pole.” Well that's over at least. And in another 4 days we will be at Matadi. I have become the ornithologist of the expedition now and have already picked up a large collection of 16 birds as a nucleus. If all goes well I will probably get some birds and some pictures unless I get it out of my system. The worst of it is that Bequaert Linder and co. prefer my services as collector which annoys the chief. Still its going to be a devil of a job settling down again when I get home Still However, we shall see. There is only one thing more which comes to my mind at the present moment – Namely my future – for the present – if you know what I mean. I have two opportunities which I will give in order of preference. I Mombassa – Bombay Bombay via Agra and Delhi to Calcutta Calcutta to Rangoon or Moulmein. Then either by railroad or by the Saloen R. go up into the Shan (Sjan) states of Burma. And down thru the Lao states of N. Siam – past Kyengao and Kyeng Mei to Rahan and Bangkok. Then home via Hong Kong, Shanghai, Kopi Yokohama and the West. II Mombassa via the east coast of Africa to Beira (Mozambique). Then thru N. Rhodesia to Victoria falls and back – Southern Rhodesia to Pretoria – Theiler’s birthplace and home. From there to Durban and along the coast via Port Elizabeth to Cape town – and home via the Union Castle line to England. However, time, money, health and a few other things must all come up before I check out. We expect to leave Albertville the end of January and arr. Nairobi between April 15 and May 15th. I suspect the latter to be more accurate. Well folks I have enjoyed your company and letters very much indeed and I guess I will sign off until further notice. Good luck to yez and let me know how things stand. Your most affectionate brother Loring Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00048 Title A name given to the resource On board the S.S. Wolfram, November 29, 1926 to 'folkses' Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 11/29/26 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Atlantic Ocean, S.S. Wolfram Birds Food Leisure Specimens https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/f7f2505de1af14be575ea264bae54e22.pdf 77c5f2f0a228eaa2d83db7529b568929 https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/f7c6ab682f5d1fb640115d85546ba4a4.doc e961e46f961b289c86a570bb4c03e776 Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter To The name(s) and email address(es) of the person to whom the email was sent Ms. Ruth "Peg" Whitman Text Any textual data included in the document On board the S.S. Wolfram Nov 29th 1926 Dear Peg, I have been awfully ungrateful for not writing sooner but well – er – you see I haven’t had time. I enjoyed reading your very descriptive letters very much indeed especially with regards to your trip from England to Copenhagen. Really your vivid pictures still leap to my mind and I recall again the shimmering, shivering doughy pulp oozed into an undersized bunk. I can hear the draughts of air rushing between gold inlayed teeth. You see I am probably all wrong already. But what do you want me to say? I am in an awkward position, for I am writing a very dull, laborious long winded account of my travels and you certainly wouldn’t want me to repeat the whole thing again. But of course, How stupid of me. I picked up a few pieces of native jewelry which may interest you. These are for the most part made from an imported aluminum alloy which is brought in in the form of thin cylindrical strips about 8” long and the size of your finder. These are some times merely bent into a bracelet or an anklet without any further alteration. But its from these that they get the material for making the more decorated hair pins, bracelets or rings which I have sent home with Dr. Allen. They are all made by the Mandingo people and are then sold among the natives with whom they trade so that altho common – particularly along the border they are not of local manufacture and all come from a common source. Still they may be interesting to you. As for the brass “cuffs” those I think are local and of aboriginal design, and I think they are free from civilized influence. Otherwise I saw but little of what might be called native art. The weaving (again Mandingo) is primarily simple – a narrow coarse cloth in 4” strips of usually blue and white longitudinal strips. All the newer varieties such as adding cross patterns and checks are I think imported ideas. As far as that goes the whole system of personal adornment is but little developed and in consequence has but little representation in my photos. Tatooing is practically nil and scarrification (cicatrization) is but slight outside of odds and ends of crude lumps here and there. Occasionally one finds women with rather remarkable designs over their entire stomachs but they are more or less rare. Dave Linder has an excellent picture of two, however. In most of the country the use of a white clay as a means of decoration is common but at the same time its application is more like that of a beauty clay.- Their whole faces will be covered with it or they will dabble their hands in the stuff and make finger marks or “white band” insignia over all available portions of their anatomy. Among the Pessi we commonly noticed that they used a black thin pencil line which apparently was got from a plant juice. This system was quite popular among the more coppery members of the community and its form was chiefly long thing cats whiskers extending from the upper lip across the whole face. This design was also coupled with odds and ends of lines scattered over the body. As for the country, it is unromantic by comparison with the popular idea of the tropics. I had rather hoped for steaming jungles with ferocious wild animals roaming them – And as it was, Well I think my letter from Gbanga has covered that. By the way I got some more “love letters” from J.P.H. These, however, altho showing that he was still remembering me, were not up to the style of the one he presented to me in New York before I left. Otherwise he said nothing. How is he and what is he doing? Also, how is Marcel. You say that he was discouraged with Philadelphia. I just made a terrible discovery. I have become the ornithologist of the party since Allen left and have been lucky enough t get some fifteen specimens. In the And since we have been on this boat I have kept them in a drawer in my stateroom where they are flat and can dry without being squashed. Today when I looked at them, as I have every day. I found that a rat had removed the bill of my most recent specimen – and had not only clipped off a wing, a leg and half the head of a second but had also disarranged him most scandalously in his attempt to drag him out of the drawer. But I suppose that is the luck of the game. By the way I have another picture which I am sending home – a drawing of Principé – a portugese Isl. just north of the Equator. It is attocously drawn (How do you spell that word?) but it gives some what of an idea of the place. It really is a beautiful and quite isolated spot. And it will be a change from the photographs I have not been sending you. The reasons against my sending pictures might be summed up under the heading ‘Stolen thunder”. I think you get what I mean. By the way – you remember the offer to come to Monrovia and paint pictures etc. until we returned – well you could have had a swell time doing it. – And about the time we returned from the interior you would have been ready to murder us – slowly and with torture. You could have knit. You would have enjoyed many parts of the interior tho for a camping out place it is pretty poor and the sights are below par. And I am sure that you would have liked sailing from Sino to Monrovia – about 180 miles in an open, double-ended 30 ft. life boat with a sail like this. <Sketch of sail> We had a black crew of 15 who manned the oars when it was calm – or who loafed at all times. – It was a hard boiled piratical crew even if they did sing “Adeste Fidelis” out of the darkness of the bow our first day out. We sailed 2 days and 2 nights sleeping on our luggage in the rain. But it was great fun in its own way – and certainly a rather unusual experience. But, Peg, I must write on the family letter or I will never finish. So cheerio and the best of luck. Thanks again for your letters. Your aff. Brother Loring Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00047 Title A name given to the resource On board the S.S. Wolfram, November 29, 1926, to Peg, Ms. Ruth Whitman Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 11/29/26 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Atlantic Ocean, S.S. Wolfram Birds Boats Clothing & dress Drawings Jewelry Specimens https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/40b52a0a2be42e7b2e34961f5e0c2ca0.pdf 8903e26eeae01429df8da2b78d4b35c1 https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/a3c9cf681f87e191146ded6a8cb40dd4.doc 729af8d0f0ab2f250b52780334ef4336 Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter To The name(s) and email address(es) of the person to whom the email was sent Ms. Ruth "Peg" Whitman Text Any textual data included in the document Nov 29 1926 Letters to Pea and Wm Miss Ruth Whi 17 Commonwealth Ave Boston, Mass. U.S.A. Mrs. R.L. Goodal Tel – Unit. 2807 JK Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00046 Title A name given to the resource Envelope to Miss Ruth Whitman Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 11/29/26 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Atlantic Ocean, S.S. Wolfram https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/fd9e9057212958a126c92952e5a40da0.pdf 7bade957b0e094aabbe03022e1ed70ec https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/e94bfea717e06c994942374add9f06f2.doc e48067e9aa6fbf1083ec58edb74d6b0b Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter To The name(s) and email address(es) of the person to whom the email was sent Mrs. William Whitman Jr. Text Any textual data included in the document VII London W.O. Nov 21 12:45 AM Mrs. William Whitman Jr. 17 Commonwealth Ave. Boston, Mass. U.S.A. Monrovia, Liberia November 10, 1926 (Preliminary Report) Dearest Family, My last letter started with an apology for expected brevity and then dragged on indefinitely. This one, however will not commit that same sin – I shall be brief. The reason for this is as follows - I have been very busy packing in the last few days and seeing the other members of the Expedition, comparing notes on things seen and deeds accomplished and in general making up for the social gap in our party between Sept. 24th and November 5th. Now I feel that it is impossible to write either an accurate or a legible account of the last month and a half in a short time but as I have not written for so long and Dr. Allen is going to bring this with him I cannot hold back. Still this is not for information as much as it is to let you know that being far from home does not impair one’s memory or one’s thoughts of home. As soon as I have time to really write I will give you a more or less detailed account of my experiences since you last heard from me as well as a resume of my impressions of Liberia, the Tropics, and life in general, and it will take time. Now, first, I will answer some questions and doubts which are most frequent in the letters. 1. It is not as hot as you imagine. In the interior it averaged between 72 – 82 And at one time dropped into the 60s. And it was cool enough every evening to pull a blanket over one before morning. Sometimes we put on a sweater in the evening, too. The rains had also ceased and the humidity was in consequence much less. On the coast it goes up to 85 or so and is more muggy. But it is all quite liveable – we are used to it and it is never extreme as we have it in Boston. (103° In the shade in one letter.) We don’t have heat prostrations. 2. The flys are practically absent. Mosquitoes are noiseless and do not poison . They also stick close to the floor (or ground) so that mosquito boots give sufficient protection. Headnets and gloves are there for a waste of space and money. The tsetse flies also are local and I have only been bitten twice. Horse flies (tabanis) are at times a nuisance but it is very gratifying to cut off their heads and see them fly away – a morbid pleasure. 3. Our food is a case of not too wisely but too well. Chicken and race from the staples to be got from the country. (The natives eat rice and palm oil and cassava). This is embellished by sweet potato, squash, and pumpkin, Edo, bananas, oranges (few at this season, but good), limes (now nearly gone), plantains – and edo leaves or cassava leaves as spinach. Occasionally a pawpaw or a pineapple. To this collection of natural foods we have canned meats, evaporated fruits, jams, butter in tins, cheese, milk, bacon, (ah, yes, eggs, according to the locality – and occasionally a goat). So you can see that we eat in style – even to plum pudding with a cream sauce – or macaroni and cheese. 4. Our hardships have been restricted to a super-abundance of energy possessed by R. P. Strong, which keeps us busy either working or traveling (with an accent on the latter) from morning to night. Our beds are comfortable. We have been blessed with moonlight nights when forced to camp after dark in the forest, without any shelter whatsoever (twice) and we have been fortunate in getting our wants gratified. 5. My health has been excellent and my digestion of the best. My sleep has been long and sound and I am in first-class condition. Also, we have had no alcohol on our trip so Mother need not be nervous about my going to the alcoholic dogs as she implied or rather warned in one letter. There are likewise no aeroplanes so the abundance of newspaper clippings about a London-Paris accident have proved unnecessary. I hope that I have somewhat allayed the fear that I am treading thru perilous jungle with the steaming mists rising from tangled roots and vines, while pythons and cobras loop down from lofty branches to fell me should I not guard myself carefully at all times. And I am not constantly brushing the myriads of infected flies from out my eyes as I take careful aim at the charging elephant or bush cow. No, I haven’t even seen one – nor even smaller animals outside of monkeys and a few deer (duiker or antelope). So there you have t – I have spoiled the illusion and glory of this marvelous journey – but I hope that I have left a more peaceful frame of mind in its place. I don’t like to travel under false colors. But Dr. Allen is going to bring this letter home or mail it in England as he sees fit and if you get him to come to dinner immediately you will have not only the latest news but also the pleasure of getting it first hand from one of the most loveable men I have ever met or hope to meet. But I need pages to write about him and I must admit that I will have an unusually severe attack of homesickness when he leaves tomorrow. In fact, I have not written all day or all evening until he went to bed so as to see as much of him as possible before he is gone for good. Do ask him in and always keep in mind that he knows almost any nonsense book, or poem particularly, and in his quiet way can quote absolutely appropriate passages from them, or from Shakespeare, or the Bible (etc etc) at will. And his ability to change a word to better fit the occasion is supreme. See as much of him as you can – you will find that it is worth it. To briefly outline our trip, we went as follows. We split into two parties at Gbanga two days after I sent my last letter – Drs. Strong, Shattuck, Hal and I going to the west and south – the rest going to the north and east. Our party travelled fast and furious to Gbai (a la Greek), Qué Congo, Zicher (German) and Tappi – 4 days. At Tappi we spent (Hal and I did) four days elephant hunting to our great enjoyment but with no bags. We did see fresh tracks, however. I also took a day’s medical photography trip. - (I also spent one day in bed with a single malarial chill, hot period, sweat, and then normal – 3 hours.) And, I collected 5 birds, 4 of which proved new to the collection. Then for 18 days we travelled steadily with only occasional lay-off till to Sino (or Greenville). On the way we crossed the Cess River on a raft and at one time spent 4 days travelling thru high forest without a village. We should have done it in 3 but our porters ran away (they thought that we would forget to pay them) leaving only 18 of their number behind. We made our own boys carry and with them and the 18 got our immediate needs out of the “bush”. It took four days to send men in and back with the rest of the loads. 2 days later we got to Sino and after the customary delay sailed for a day and a night in our open surf boat with all our boxes and a black Kru crew to (Grand) Bassa where we landed between dawn and sunrise for breakfast and an early lunch. Then from noon to the same time we sailed to Monrovia. Of course we got there earlier and anchored in the pouring rain from 1 – 4:30, then we ran the bar and went into the town. But it was quite an experience. One of the best and will be written into a chapter in my real letter entitled “Cruising the West African Coast in an Open Surf Boat” and “Dodging phosphorescent covered rocks as we cruised the shore at night” can be a paragraph heading. It was quite delightful tho somewhat uncomfortable. And so that brings us back to Monrovia where we landed so fresh 4 months ago, so unused and green at it all, so willing to see vague, mysterious, tropical wonders – and now, so matter of fact and blasé. Oh, well, times have changed and I am planning on a trip from Rangoon up the Salpeen River to the Sjan Border (Shan) and down thru Siam to Bangkok, visiting Kyeng-dai and Kyeng-Mei. These are pronounced Chung-dow and Chung-my. Young Dolph Cheek’s Father, who is here now (the father, I mean) was born in the latter and recommends the trip both as being economical an the most beautiful place in the whole Far East. But it is very late and I am afraid that I must stop before I become entirely incoherent. By the way, I was quite disappointed to find that Dr. Strong was against having a set of prints made until he got back. I wanted to have Dr. Allen have them made for you but he is a bit afraid of stolen thunder, which he covers with the guise that you would prefer them more in September next when I can show them personally. And he wouldn’t change, so I guess you won’t see them until He gets back in June ( and, of course, I won’t be there to show them to you). However, Dr. Allen volunteered a set of prints of his own pictures. But enough. My bestest best love to you all and my bestest thanks for the many letters from all the family. And my congratulations to K, if I did not mention it in my last letter. Again love. (I don’t know why I should slight Chud – so, congratulations to you.) Loring. (Dr. Allen will handle all films – and keep all my Liberian purchases until I return. Some are Hal’s.) Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00045 Title A name given to the resource Dearest Family, November 10, 1926 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource September 12, 1926 to November 4, 1926 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Gbanga, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Gbarnga, Bong County, Liberia Monrovia, Montserrado County, Liberia Gbai, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Kpaai, Bong County, Liberia Que Congo, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Que Congo/Quellah Gar Town (Kpwessi), Nimba County, Liberia Ziche, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Nimba County, Liberia Tappi Town, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Tapeta, Nimba County, Liberia Sinoe Town, Sinoe County, Liberia Area now known as: Greenville, Sinoe County, Liberia Cess River, River Cess District, Grand Bassa County, Liberia Area now known as: Cestos River, Rivercess County, Liberia Birds Boats Cities & towns Flies Food Leisure Mosquitoes Rafts Rivers Specimens Villages https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/5eca152e594a8bf37872647cf5aee940.pdf b8df6583f75a1223471ef97943d6822c https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/deda8c2fee17b56b9439c7950528a57c.doc 2bf1fdbf65bd7354504a74180b62e156 Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter To The name(s) and email address(es) of the person to whom the email was sent Ms. Ruth Whitman Text Any textual data included in the document [1926] Miss Ruth W c/o Brown Shipley Co 123 Pall Mall London Eng. July 28 Dear Peg, If your letter to me is a sample of what you have sent home you have no further need of carrying about the comparison between yours and my steamer letters. And after all – the only reason I wrote such an elaborate one was because I was restless and there are so little going on. Since then I have slumped horribly. I received your letter in bed. Yes your little brother has spent the last four days in his bunk trying to get rid of a fever with only fair success. Just what the fever is we dont really know altho we suspect it of being Dengue fever – a common tropical illness carried by mosquitoes which is entirely harmless but rather uncomfortable. Aching head eyes and eyeballs. Occasional Rheumatic pains in the neck and a fever put to 103. – Only one chill, however, the first night. It was quite amusing to be curled up with my head under the bed clothes and two blankets my teeth chattering and shivering all over. And then how I did sweat for the next few days. But I am nearly well now. I am sending you two postcards which might be entitled – the African wilds. You ask me not to be too good but after this what do you say? Please note, too, the umbrella in the hand of the Vhey girl in NATIVE dress. Hey by the way is also written Vai and is pronounced as such. Ive picked out the best looking one s of course to give you the best impression of the place. In one way you are remarkably fortunate in not having taken Dr. Strongs offer to come to Monrovia – It's a hell of a place to live in unless you have something to do. Everybody runs in cliques so that one white man may never meet another for two or three months. And there is no social life that amounts to a hill of beans – no exercise – no rising or swimming – a little tennis. No, its no place for a white woman to come for the fun of it. Also its damned unhealthy. Since we have been here we have really done very little. It takes quite a while to move these americo Liberians altho I will admit that they have done “noble” in the end. It took one week to get our stuff thru the customs. In the meanwhile Dr. Strong, Shattuck, Allen and I went up the Du river to the Firestone plantations. The river was really just as one would expect a tropical rive to be – Tall trees hanging over the water, vines flanking the stream – a rich tropical green and a sort of hushed dampness. The foliage is so thick that very little light gets down to the ground and in places the vines and creepers shut off all view of the jungle behind. Occasionally we would pass a small notch in the bank where beside a couple of drawn up duport canoes would be standing four or five nearly naked savages watching us from beneath the almost impenetrable shade. The plantations are at present nothing but huge clearings filled with half burned stumps and logs for their system is to fell and brush everything and then bun the whole works – logs and all. What remains will be removed by rot and insects. On each clearing there is a bungalow in which lives the solitary white man who is in charge of the division. These plantations then are not very beautiful as yet but when you realize that they were virgin forests last November and now are 2 or 3 thousand acres a piece, now it is quite impressive. I was going to make some prints and send them to you but having driven my temp from normal to 101 by noon I guess that I must stay in bed without stirring. Another event of interest was going out to the Mt. Barclay plantation which was planted in 1912. Here the rubber trees grow to be 30 – 40 ft tall – slim trees half way between a young maple and a birch. And everything is so clean. There is no underbrush of any kind while the trees are evenly spaced in rows each with its little white cup attached to its trunk. The latex – like liquid porcelain it is so white and shiney, we gather gathered in the morning and is taken to the factory where they treat it in either of two ways. One method is to pour it into a wooden tray about 6” deep and 3x3’ square. It is then divided into about 10 partitions and that the result is a slabbe congealed product in a slab about 3 ft long 6 inches wide and 2 inches deep. The other method is to take the latex and poure it into ennamelled trays where it is pressed into a thin corrugated mat with Firestone printed on it. Now both varieties are smoked for 10 days, the former looking just like cured bacon, the latter like a somewhat transparent rubber door mat. Dear Peg I guess I will have to quit as my fever has jumped to 102 on account of my activities this A.M. However, Dengue is like that so there is nothing to worry about. And outside of a rather amusing meal at the Presidents and developing 165 negatives and 1100 ft./ movies nothing has gone on. Send me your further addresses and dates for I may get them before it is to late to use them. At least there is no harm trying. Give my love to all And good luck Your affectionate brother Loring. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00042 Title A name given to the resource Dear Peg, July 28, 1926 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 7/28/26 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Monrovia, Montserrado County, Liberia Du (Dukwia) River, Liberia Mount Barclay Plantation, Montserrado County, Liberia Area now known as: Mount Barclay, Montserrado County, Liberia Firestone Plantation No. 1, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Division No. 1, Firestone, Margibi County, Liberia Firestone Plantation No. 2, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Division No. 2 Firestone, Margibi County, Liberia Firestone Plantation No. 3, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Division No. 2, Firestone, Margibi County, Liberia Firestone Plantation No. 4, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Division No. 2, Firestone, Margibi County, Liberia Diseases Rivers Rubber plantations Trees https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/3cd4e9e357ef3d51cb239fc8d8acae5d.pdf 08a804f90580a4c4771d0b9410f846f3 https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/ee982f501cb46e54cd154bec800449bd.doc 0200db0b7440f5a0fce16cb10c0f1ff7 Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter To The name(s) and email address(es) of the person to whom the email was sent Mrs. William Whitman Jr. Text Any textual data included in the document 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 14th, 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. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00041 Title A name given to the resource Loring Whitman's letter, July 7 - 12, 1926 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource July 7, 1926 to July 12, 1926 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Freetown, British Colony, Sierra Leone Area now known as: Freetown, Western Area Urban District, Sierra Leone Monrovia, Montserrado County, Liberia Duport, Montserrado County, Liberia Bow River, Montserrado County, Liberia Du (Dukwia) River, Liberia Firestone Plantation No. 1, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Division No. 1, Firestone, Margibi County, Liberia Firestone Plantation No. 2, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Division No. 2 Firestone, Margibi County, Liberia Firestone Plantation No. 3, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Division No. 2, Firestone, Margibi County, Liberia Firestone Plantation No. 4, Hinterland, Liberia Area now known as: Division No. 2, Firestone, Margibi County, Liberia Boats Canoes Cartography Cities & towns Clothing & dress Coastlines Commerce Drawings Houses Leisure Luggage Plantations Politics &government Trees https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/977c5b855ee61d43c66445941f34c428.pdf e2f8afb6c744594a92929089766716e1 https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/1f2926efa1644773417048b11ea4c298.doc 01af12f4eb5d16b1a977d0522184767a Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter To The name(s) and email address(es) of the person to whom the email was sent Mrs. William Whitman Jr. Text Any textual data included in the document III Mr. Wm 78 Chauncy St. Boston, Mass. U.S.A. Letter No. 3. On board the S.S.Wadai En route to Monrovia. Dear Family, Once more we are bounded by blue water, through far to the east we can see the coast of France dimly showing through the haze. But we are in vastly different surroundings from those which graced our passage across the Atlantic. First of all the speed – its rather difficult to realize that we are going full speed ahead after the terrific speed of the Mauretania. For a long time we told one another that it was only half speed until we woke up this morning to find our pace unaltered. Still a slow boat is more comfortable and after all what is hurry? Secondly the size – compared to the Mauretania with its many layers of decks, its lounges, and sitting rooms, its long corridors and countless staterooms, this boat is but a toy or at best a small lighter. The water seems so close, even when standing on the top deck and one no longer has the sense of towering above the world. And it is necessary to walk twenty times round the deck to cover a mile. Then again instead of “Right you are” or “Righto” we are surrounded with “Ja” and “bitte”, although we don’t have to speak the language to be understood. “Kein Zutritt” or “Boots decken” are the types of signs that we see. And yet it is very clean and comfortable, the food is excellent and the passengers all German except four. Yesterday was the busy day – an early breakfast, a trip to the bank to get countless half crowns, florins, shillings, and sixpences. We had packed the night before so that we are comparatively ready to start. Then came tipping to the right and left – upstairs and downstairs – east and west. All the accumulated luggage for eight people was brought out and placed on top of a bus, five dress suit cases, 20 tin trunks, 1 tin hat box, 1 rifle case – all had to be counted several times to make sure that it was all there. Then the usual wait for something lost or still to be got and we were off from the hotel – off from London – off for Africa. The trip to Southampton was quiet and beautiful but instead of being the first green fields we had seen, it was the last we were to see for may days. It was interesting to compare the scenery from the train with that from the plane. The fields which had looked so tiny now locked quite large, while the green wool trees now were majestic oaks. Gone was the roar but in its place dust and cinders, gone was the constant rising and falling had given way to a steady constant jiggling and jarring and yet it is pleasant to be able to smell the freshness of the English countryside – a pleasure foreign to flying. We talked of cooks, of sleeping sickness and yellow fever, of travelling in the Orient. But above all, we dreamed of events to come in the future, of black people, of endless tropical forests shimmering in the reflected heat, of the Monrovia officials in silk hats and umbrellas. At Southampton we again counted our luggage before taking a taxi to the docks where we met Bequaert, who had stowed the rest of our supplies on board the lighter which was to take us out to the Wadai. We handed over our passports and tickets and once more filled out “Aliens Cards” before we could board the boat. Then came the anxious moment when they lowered the remainder of our supplies about in a net. But soon all was on board – a whistle blew – and we backed away from the dock – and England – to slowly glide down the harbor. Theiller, Hal and I sat and watched the white And then ea mice and guinea pigs, of which we hope to have plenty. They seemed so out of place there on the deck of a boat, constantly milling around to get as far as possible from the cool wind which blew into their boxes. Dr. Strong gazed wistfully in the meantime over our luggage – 3 ½ months food and a year’s scientific outfit for eight men. Still, he smiled. But we were alongside the Wadai and it was time for us to move once more. It was quite exciting watching them swing all our goods and chattles on board in the nets – guns, trunks, chemicals, and dress suit cases were all poured in together to fuse into a soft, jelly-like mass, or, so we felt, as the crane lifted them, hung them for a perilous moment over the water, to finally yank them on board and dump them.into the hold. I tried to turn my eyes away but the horrible fascination of the scene gripped me and I watched the last box being hoisted clear of the lighter to swing at last into the depths of the Wadai. Then up came the anchor – whistles blew for the final time and we swung round and away. For a while we watched the shores of England drift slowly by, the same shores which seemed so new a week ago but now waved to us as if we were leaving home. Dr. Shattuck and I stood on the top deck and commented on the slowness of the boat and how close to the water we were compared to the big trans-Atlantic boats. I then tried to inveigle (look’s wrong) him into having a cocktail as the sun was just over the yardarm but he confessed to a puritanical feeling at the moment. I then tried to seduce other members of the party – but no – and I refuse to drink alone. Ah, me, it's a lonely world. We had tea and coffee instead. <Sketch of box with “Harvard African Expedition”> At supper we presented a flag which Hal had had made – and an American flag with a little note to Dr. Strong. We then drank to the health of the absent ones and dinner was on. In the evening I went down to my cabin and played the uke by my lonesome in the dark. It was the first time that I had had it with me since we landed in England and I felt very glad to have it back. After an hour I wandered up to the deck. The sun was just setting behind low jagged clouds which floated above the dark land. There was just a faint line between the ever restless water and the cliffs which formed the end of England and over these dash faint rays shot down through little holes in the clouds giving the linking the sky with the earth and with these holes, as if framed, more billowy masses stood out each one rimmed with gold. If only I could paint. I ran across Mr. and Mrs. Mills. He was vice-consul for the British at Rio de Janeiro for the last three years and is now going to Monrovia to take over the post there. Interesting, but with no humor, he is setting out for a desolate spot with the usual English stoicism. His wife of two weeks is American, born in Chicago, lived in Greenwich – with much vivacity and humor. She has never been in the tropics before and –well, I pity her from the bottom of my heart. She seemed a little starved even in two weeks for news of the U.S.A. and to talk with somebody who was American. And every mile joke had to be explained to her husband. We had an awful time with breakfast. Before we went to bed they advanced the clock about one-half hour so we all got up by that time for breakfast, to be told we were only an hour and forty minutes too early. Fortunately, Hal and I had decided to sleep late so that by getting up at nine o’clock we didn’t have long to wait for early breakfast it was another beautiful day – a brisk breeze chasing little white cape over an otherwise calm sea. We walked a couple of miles (2 measured) around the decks before settling down to writing and otherwise occupying our time. Some of us slept – the after effects of London – some wrote letters home – and some just sat in deck chairs. Hal and I resurrected or guns from the hold but did not have time to really unlimber them. After lunch more exercise – deck tennis – shuffle board – mile after mile walks at rapid pace round the decks – even running – until by tea time we were completely worn out. Dr. Allen, Linder, and I spent a large part of our time watching the Jaegers, Shearwaters, and Gannets through field glasses, discussing them. After dinner, Hal and I were standing outside, when the only two frauleins came along. They speak practically no English and we absolutely no German. We had a wonderful time with a German-English and an English-German lexicon. You should have been with us. We danced with them to the pitifully slow music of the boat orchestra. The older one, Ada Fehling, is extremely handsome as well as German-looking with a rather statuesque bearing. The younger one (14) Elisabeth, on the other hand has all the spontaneity of a tomboy and took us in tow. We had a very amusing evening talking with them. We call Harold “Ick” now after his pronunciation of “Ich”. The only trouble was that we couldn’t shake the younger and even her family had no influence over her. Her Mother’s arguments were met by a pair of heels as he disappeared round the corner to meet us later as we headed for our cabin. Fri June 25th - I suppose I had better start putting in dates, otherwise, I will soon be lost. My day has been spent playing with Elisabeth, or “Fox” as she is called, meaning for-terrior. It is a very good name for her as she is never still for a moment. We started by tossing rubber discs until Theiller came along. Then we played shuffle board, Hal having joined us, for hours. Fox and I stood Theiller and Hal but T. was too good for us. Also we got into the minus ten square three times running towards the end of the game. But finally the game was over so that Hal and I could take our walk. We ended up with a thru ½ mile run which made us appreciate the cold shower all the more. After lunch I went up on deck to sleep in the sun. Unfortunately I picked a popular spot for soon the frauleins dragged chairs across and with them came their friends. My siesta was ruined. We lay around and talked until “Fox” kicked the foot-piece from under her next door neighbor’s feet or untied his shoes or otherwise made herself agreeable. I don’t think she sat down for more than five seconds at a stretch. Finally I got restless too and reverted to my arboreal ancestors, I climbed and clambered over whatever scaffolding I could find. It was excellent exercise. Fox joined me in this sport while Ada followed more majestically. But after a couple of hours of this harmless sport, I tired and went below to the peace and quietude of my cabin where Hal soon joined me. We wrote a few letters and cleaned up odds and ends before taking out our rifles for our daily practices. Theiller joined us so the three of us stalked game, fired rapidly, and generally made damn fools of ourselves as far as the audience (mostly crew) was concerned. But supper is ready and we must get dressed. As we sat at table looking out over the rolling water, the moon peeked over the horizon - like a large red disc slowly rising thru a golden haze from out a purple sea – as it rose it gradually changed to a brilliant yellow, casting a mellowness over the water – foreign to its usual lustre – a harvest moon. I went up to the top deck alone and just sat drinking in the sight. I don’t remember even trying to think – no, I just sat and absorbed the softness and peacefulness. Later Mr. and Mrs. Mills joined me. We sat there for hours it seemed, just talking. Mr. Mills had vanished in the meantime. And We talked of America, of Liberia, of Paris and Algiers. But even the glory of the evening was not sufficient to keep the cold creeping in upon us so we were forced at last to wander below. I took the opportunity and went to bed early. Sat June 26th I am afraid that these letters of sea life may prove a little boring. Still we must be complete and I am trying o make them as palatable as possible altho I will not guarantee their worth at the end of this two weeks’ trip. Today, for me, has been one of pursuit – I acting as the pursued. It is a very novel experience for me but it has its drawbacks especially when conversation is largely curtailed through limited vocabularies. Another unfortunate circumstances is that my pursuer is but 14 years old and although I am not immune to the cradle, still I do not believe – it’s the principle I mean – in flirting with the young. I made the very foolish mistake of showing her a photo of Donia and me which Hal too on the Mauretania and she practically tore off the picture of me to keep. I had to take it away by brute force saying that I was going to send it to my fiancée, etc. No dice and now I am pursued for a picture. It really is very funny though, she has taken to retaliation or better, revenge, which means that we must keep our cabin locked at all times. Today there was soap on the tooth brushes, coat hangers in the bed, pajamas in the wash basin, etc. However, many others on board have suffered in like manner. The ship’s doctor had perfume and powder sprinkled thru his blankets. But before all this complication arose, I had a very pleasant time talking to Fox and playing with the little half German, half Japanese kid. I resurrected my knowledge of past toys and built block houses out of shuffle board discs. In the evening I played bridge with two old men and Mrs. Mills. It was rather a sleepy game, in which she occasionally trumped my ace. Still we had a good time and I was spared the frauleins for a moment. Sunday June 27th - A day of rest for most of us, though Dr. Strong paced the decks with streaming brow. It is a dull, hot day, practically no breeze – the sea is oily and dull – the sky a smooth, creamy gray – and yet it is hot. In the morning I did my best to write but it was only with the greatest concentration that I could keep my mind on the subject. I gave up finally to make a few more “dampfers” or “schiffs” for Anita – the little half caste with oriental eyes and black hair. Then to the top deck with the “Diary of a Young Lady of Fashion” for a few hours quiet. After awhile Anita joined me again – sat down in a deck chair beside me and asked for more. Luckily the Doctor had some paper in his pocket. Then I took her down to lunch. In the afternoon I took my customary siesta in the company of “Luti” or “Fox”, on the top deck where the breezes blow and the sun shines. It’s very pleasant just to be able to sit in the sun and dream – no effort, no time – just sit – and the next thing you know its four o’clock and time for coffee. I tried to walk with the chief but Ada stopped us to take his picture. And then I must needs see some negative of me, and retaliate by taking a picture of Ada – so the afternoon ended with my talking to the two girls. After supper Mrs. Mills and I continued our game of bridge but set a time limit on the game. Of course, we lost again. Then came dancing once more to ghostly music – so slow that you almost stick to the floor you stay in one spot so long. But just before we started dancing a big yellow moon rose majestically from out the ocean to hang for a moment over the sea, before climbing up behind the clouds to disappear for the night. Ada joined asked Dr. Strong to dance with her. It was distinctly amusing to hear the chief’s suave excuses. We sat, Dr. Strong, Hal, Dr. Shattuck, Dave, and I with escorted by Ada, Luti, Frau Fehling, the Captain, for about an hour before going to bed, kidding one another along. Then I got my ukulele and the two girls, Hal, and I made much music on the top deck. Monday June 28th - The laziest day I have spent so far – no exercise at all. Still I did accomplish something by developing some of the pictures I had already taken. One of them, which I will include in this letter, is rather good – a picture of Ada. It was good fun to get back into the old dark room again, even thought I was working with unknown chemicals. I then went up on deck where I found Luti and sat for a couple of hours in the sun with her. After lunch, Hal, Dr. Shattuck, Ada, Luti, and I sat three-quarters asleep on the boat deck. It must be quite amusing to see give peoples’ eyes shut, slumped down in deck chairs, “jus’ settin’” without saying a word. Hours pass and rarely a movement on anyone’s part. But the sun crept in under our awning when I wasn’t looking and – oh, arms are very, very burnt. Later in the day – after coffee – I printed some pictures for Ada – not very good – which she then gave me. It seems to a custom among Germans to exchange the countless photos which they are taking without end. After supper I happened to hear Dr. Strong playing his violin in his cabin. I listened for a while, then getting my uke I sneaked up to the boat deck, lay down in a hammock beneath the stars and just enjoyed myself alone. However, after about half an hour Herr Bobzien and Fran ----- (?) came along and stopped. So did I. A minute later Frau Fehling came to listen. And when Hal came we moved to more quiet regions. Mrs. Mills joined us later so we serenaded her with all the songs we could think of. But we must join the ladies. Later in the evening I fetched once more my uke – by request – and played for an audience of about 10-. But, so ends the day. Tuesday June 29th Land Ho! The same calm sunny weather is still with us, only each day is hotter than the one before. And each day I get more and more crimson. Early in the morning we could see the peak of Teneriffe rising out of the water to the south, 100 miles away – a sharp pointed peak about which clouds slumbered in the morning sun. I developed some more of my own pictures and a roll of film for Ada. It’s hot in the dark room – especially with two in it. But when I finished and popped up again into fresh air and daylight, there was an island – close by now – towering sheer out of the water. No trees, no green of any sort – just ragged, red and brown cliffs rising directly out of the water, to end in irregular spikes and pinnacles. And behind all this rose the central peak, 1,000 feet high, its head now shrouded by clouds – the guardian of the Islands. We slipped along the shore to find occasional villages snuggling into some little pocket in the cliffs at the very water’s edge, while behind rose tier on tier of irrigation terraces – a mute testimony to the dryness of the country. Two little sail boats came bobbing across to waves to look us over, with a dusky crew of youths singing lustily in Spanish. But we were entering the harbor now – to be sure a mere curve in the shore line with a mole along which freighters lay with much clanking of machinery, as bale after bale of merchandise was swung up from the docks to hang for a moment before diving forever into the bowels of the ship. And along the mole were lines of people who had come to see the boat dock – mostly Spanish in overalls or other dilapidated clothing, though a few Europeans in white suits mingled with the crowd. No one was in a hurry – no one moved any more than was actually required – they just stood in one spot talking – gesticulating – and, as we finally drifted alongside, begging. The minute the gangplank was lowered we were boarded by a villainous-looking crew who swarmed the decks in countless numbers. We locked our cabin doors hastily. They were the longshoremen who were to unload what freight we had. Still a more formidable lot of cutthroats I have rarely seen. We disembarked and for the first time in six days set foot on shore. We were immediately surrounded by a loquacious group of beggars, hotel agents and guides, who jabbered at us in a mixture of all languages, of which Spanish made up the greater part. We were first pushed into a small Chevrolet, but five of us and a driver in a car really designed for four was more than we could stand. We therefore climbed out and demanded a new vehicle – pointing to a Fiat next us. We had been told it was a private car but they changed their minds when they saw we were resolute. Then the guide wanted to come along but we turned him down. More voluble Spanish and still more. Nobody seemed to want to go. However, by verbally prodding the driver into activity we at last got underway to the incessant tune of a squawking French horn. I promise here and now that if even I meet the inventor of that devilish instrument face to face, one of us will die. After leaving the dock we passed up through the town of Santa Cruz – typically Spanish (so I am told) with narrow streets paved with cobble stones and always balconies. Everything was closed even though it was only 4:30 but from every window and doorway peered the famous Spanish beauties. The shutters all are suspended from above so that you can put your head out and still be protected form the sun and I must admit that they make the best of these opportunities. The houses were plain, smooth plastered walls painted in pink, blues, whites, etc. presenting a rather a formidable exterior to the traveller outside. And always somebody looking out. But soon we left the town behind, to climb in snakelike fashion up, up, up – until we could look down onto the very rooftops onto the harbor with its toy boats, out onto the deep blue sea dotted by an occasional sail – out across to other jagged islands looming dimly thru the distant haze. We were in an arid land now – cactuses flaking the road while terraces of straw colored wheat or dusty corn stretched away on either side, and always the torn and jagged horizon around us. We passed person after person trudging alongside, the women carrying water, or sticks, or other sundries perilously perched on their heads. Men usually rose already overburdened, diminutive donkeys. Quite a change from the bustle of London. An occasional ox team passed and once two camels trudged slowly by, their noses in the air in haughty disdain. As we reached the top we found more extensive fields on each side of us while the road was shaded by tall eucalyptus trees – a relief from the hot sun which bores through everything. And then we plunged down to the other side to again return to the vari-colored terraces. It was just like a crazy quilt only done in yellows, greens, and browns, all in little patches, on the steep volcanic slopes which plunge into the sea. And way down below us, where there was an amphitheatre, lay the little town of Oratava, surrounded by endless fields of banana trees – really a forest of them. We skirted the edge of the island, coming round corners to gaze over the bright, arid slopes. While Occasionally we could look down on harvesters winnowing the wheat on some exposed knoll. A little wall would surround the bright yellow amphitheatre in which some six or more people diligently worked, tossing up yellow clouds which drifted slowly down with the wind. While the background rose the peak now bathed in mist, now towering above the clouds, which always nestled along its slopes. We stopped at the botanical gardens, a jungle of assorted tropical flowers, or rather trees, half of which are not labeled. Still it was beautiful. At one end was a little pool with black swans in it, while a dark blue, green tree, (like cedar) leaned over the water. This was all surrounded by ivy-grown walls. Our next port of call was the bathing beach – it consists of black lava pebbles and jagged rocks. One could hardly call it a beach – the swimming it more ducking up and down in shallow pools. Everywhere were Spanish families – the youngsters naked – sitting around a spotless tablecloth on which was spread wine and milk for the baby. The little ones were beautifully browned from the constant exposure to the tropical sun. But we had no bathing suits! On our way back we passed regular canons, now dry but which in the rainy season must be regular torrents as they plunge down the almost vertical slopes of the island. And across them are tall arched bridges. But I am afraid that I am unable to give you a picture of the place. We returned to Santa Cruz where we had supper. Then Theiller and I returned to the boat. On our way we decided to get some cigarettes and as neither of us knew any Spanish, we hoped to have a good time. But, of course, the first thing we saw was Camels and the man behind the counter spoke very good English. Oh well, such is life. But back abroad the Wadai there was still activity. Box after box was being swung clear of the dock in the blaze of electricity, while overhead the bright tropical stars gleamed and the water lapped against the breakwater. We sat on the rail watching the men working – bright highlights and deep shadows, till off in the east a yellow moon rose out of the sea. Wed June 30th. We awoke to find ourselves again drifting over the water – a hot, leaden sun was pouring through a morning haze, while a sort of breathlessness enveloped us. But as we were eating breakfast we entered the harbor of Las Palmas – a real harbor in which many boats were busily engaged in loading or unloading their cargoes. As soon as we dropped anchor – we did not dock – we were again boarded, this time by Indians who were selling every conceivable kind of trinket at outrageously high prices, although they were perfectly willing to accept one quarter of the original price. Bracelets, rings, ebony elephants, cigaret holders, lace, shawls, etc., all strewn over the deck. Dr. Allen, Bequaert, and I stayed on board while the rest of the party went sight-seeing ashore. I said good-bye to the frauleins, who are leaving us here, and then spent most of the time looking over the motley crew. One man rowed alongside with a cargo of assorted fruit, puppies and canaries for sale. Another had fish, still others offered cigarets while a few just begged. They looked so picturesque, floating on the brilliant blue water in the bright sun. And always the constant rattle of four sets of machinery as the four holds were emptied into huge barges. A water boat came alongside to pump endlessly. Into In the afternoon some boys came alongside to dive for coins in the clear water. It was fascinating to watch them swimming about under water for the flashing silver. But at last we finished loading – the anchor slowly clanked up and we were off again – for five more days before we arrived at Freetown in Sierra Leone. In the evening I developed some more pictures and tried to nearly spoiled them the water was so hot. Thur. July 1st Still another day at sea – a fresh following wind but rather dull. Hal and I took our first walk round the deck in two days. I am afraid that we were getting very lazy. I think disappeared into my dark room to make prints which lasted until lunch time. In the afternoon I spent most of the afternoon talking to Mr. and Mrs. Mills and walking with the chief. Really a thrilling day to write about. And in the evening I disappeared for nearly two hours to the top deck where I played music to myself – alone. Then bed – Fri July 2nd The dampness is getting more and more oppressive every day, altho the actual temperature is still low -75. And as it gets muggier we, in turn, slowly lose our activity. I spent the morning doing just two things – one was writing my diary which I had ignored for over a week – the other was playing with Anita. She sat on my lap for over an hour while I made vain attempts to draw pictures for her. My imagination was excellent even though my execution was poor. Then we hit upon the happy idea of tracing one another’s hands on one sheet of paper over and over again until there was practically no white left. She is really a fascinating child – black hair and dark brown, inquiring eyes, half oriental, and a roguish grin. She is absolutely self-contained and goes around by herself, singing and paying no attention to theirs. Her Mother is a mixture of Japanese and Polynesian – very oriental but with the charm of both races in her face – while her Father is German. Real In some ways she is going to lead a hellish life – with all the emotions of the occident and orient clashing one with the other and always a half-caste. I pity her although she will be very interesting. But now “she has my hear, my love an’ all, just as sure as stars done shine”. I suppose she is 4 years old. There is another child aboard – about 2 – with a round baby face and almost white hair, she is so blonde. Her name is Emeline Frauendorf. Her Mother is typical of the ultra blonde, healthy, outdoor Bavarian woman – about 25 – while her Father is a big, stocky, very pleasant looking, brown-haired German. Emeline and Anita form complete antitheses altho they enjoy one another’s society. I spent the afternoon in utter boredom. I was too lazy to read and too restless to sit down – altho I was not energetic enough to walk. So I spent most of the time wandering from one chair to another in search of entertainment. But it evaded me and I returned to my cabin to pick up Les Miserables – in French – and was soon engrossed. But at 4:30 I hove myself up on deck to walk 5 or 6 miles with Dr. Strong, as per usual. In some ways it is extremely uninteresting when one trip around the deck is only about 100 yards. Still it must be done both for my health and the chief’s pleasure, (we hope). And, too, it makes a shower and a cocktail all the more agreeable. By the way, the cocktails on this boat are vile - no other word for it. I asked for a Manhattan – ugh -. The next day I tried a Martini, to find it exactly the same. So, on the third day I ordered a Bronx to have still the same identical mixture shoved at me. So now we have a gin and vermouth (there are only two of us who practice this evil custom.) After supper I was summoned from the coolness and quietness of the boat deck to bridge below – of course, we lost some more – but we couldn’t get out of it. However, I said that I must top early to do some printing – and then I had to do it. But after perspiring for about an hour in the dunkle kammer (dark room), dressed only in sox, I re-clothed myself and went out on deck where I ran into Herr Feltmann – a very nice young chap (24?), who is going down to work on a plantation in Victoria for two years’ experience. We talked about planting and then switched to guitars and ukes. He has a flute with him. But while I remember it – as the chief and I were going round, round, and round the decks we sighted a school of porpoises which stretched in a band from one horizon to the other, all jumping. I have never seen so many before nor have any of our well travelled members. Miles of them leaping clear of the water to splash back into the water - And as we passed thru the cordon, the nearest of them converged upon us to disport themselves in the waves about us, then off again to fill the ranks as they slowly drifted north. Sat. July 3rd Hot weather is coming now – in fact, we had a rise of 7 degrees last night and 4 more during the day – a really hot, muggy day when the last drop of energy oozes out thru the pores of the skin. I spent a very pleasant morning reading “Hangman’s House” – charming book – I hated to lay it aside for lunch and immediately returned to it after the meal. It was very comfortable sitting in the light breeze without moving. The ship’s doctor joined us for lunch – a very pleasant young chap about 30, who has this job as a vacation. He is a research laboratory man in Hamburg – quite good-looking and very agreeable – and he speaks English quite well. We took turns sitting next him. “Come on, Allen, sit next him and tell him about Zoology” or “Tell him about insects, Bequaert”. Rather a hard bill to fill. This afternoon I wrote and helped Hal write his article on Admiralty Island until tea time. As we were having tea we looked out over the water to see flying fish skimming around – silver flashes with black wings which reflected the afternoon sun – and framed by the dark blue rolling waves. Yesterday the flying fish had silver wings but these have the black to make more brilliant their silver bodies. And in the evening came my last dark room work. Before The water is now too warm to use even when ice is used to cool the developer. Sun. July 4th HOORAY – and yet no celebration. The morning was spent in literary pursuit. Letters must be written in preparation for arriving in Freetown – diaries must be bought up to date, etc. The afternoon also passed in a similar manner, altho I did have a chance to play with Anita for an hour or so. But at supper we had the real festival. Mr. and Mrs. Mills joined us and we had a cocktail all around. Then into the dining-room. There we found an elaborate scaffolding on our table with snap crackers and American flags, ‘n’ everything. We really had a very pleasant dinner. The American flag had been made by the boatswain out of a bit of white tablecloth with red and blue crayons. It must have been quite a task and he did it very well indeed. In the evening we sat around in the breeze and talked. Mon. July 5th - More letter writing by all hands. They say that there will be an English boat at Freetown, Sierra Leone, which will take over our mail. Hence the feverish rush. And so I will bring this letter to a close. We will be in Monrovia tomorrow and will settle down for two weeks’ activity before disappearing into the bush. I will write again before that time comes. Give my best to all the family and write my occasionally. Your loving son LORING. The pictures enclosed are fair. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00039 Title A name given to the resource On board the S.S. Wadai, en route to Monrovia Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource June 19, 1926 to July 5, 1926 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Southampton, Hampshire County, England Atlantic Ocean, S.S. Wadai Tenerife, Canarias Province, Canary Islands, Spain Area now known as: Tenerife, Santa Cruz de Tenerife Province, Canary Islands, Spain Santa Cruz, Canarias Province, Canary Islands, Spain Area now known as: Santa Cruz, Santa Cruz de Tenerife Province, Canary Islands, Spain La Orotava, Canarias Province, Canary Islands, Spain Area now known as: La Orotava, Santa Cruz de Tenerife Province, Canary Islands, Spain Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Gran Canaria Island, Canarias Province, Spain Area now known as: Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Gran Canaria Island, Las Palmas Province, Spain Automobiles Boats Children Cities & towns Coastlines Commerce Drawings Harbors Landscapes Leisure Luggage Physical fitness Seascapes Ships https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/c15cec7878ded9b0f5c804f8b12cdc23.pdf 01f8ae09d3a1940eb08599485623d7a9 https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/564870ac0a1150a0d34fab97e6d26fc5.doc c18c57836a134afef8664d671a310a1a Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter To The name(s) and email address(es) of the person to whom the email was sent Mrs. William Whitman Jr. Text Any textual data included in the document Tues June 28th Woermann-Linie A.G. Hamburg Dear Family, This is to be just a note for I will not send my regular diary letter until we get off at Monrovia. First of all, we are having a very pleasant though quiet trip. It has been a week of sunshine and quiet seas, with siestas at almost all hours of the day. The boat, though small, is extremely steady, largely because it has not hurried since we left Southampton. The people on board are practically all German, except for a Mr. and Mrs. Mills and two ex-English (now West African) men, who like their bottle. There are only two frauleins – one 20 – one 14, of whom you will hear in my diary. The older one is very handsome - I took a rather good picture of her which I will send with my diary. We are now stalking Teneriffe – perfectly beautiful with a majestic volcanic mountain peak towering 10,000 feet above the water. The coast line of the island is entirely devoid of vegetation – jagged red and brown cliffs rising sheer out of the water. And here and there banks of clouds nestle in some valley or drift aimlessly among the high pinnacles. We are going to go ashore for the rest of the afternoon to see the sights. It will probably be a Blue Line tour but it will be very interesting and I am well equipped with negatives. Talking of negatives, I have spent the last two days in the dark room making pictures and prints for the frauleins, as well as for myself. This morning I made 12 prints of the best negative, of which 9 are to go to the subject. The Germans have a veritable craze for pictures. Every five minutes somebodies camera clicks. They do their own developing too. My pictures are limited to the girls – ah ha -. Please excuse this – I am writing against time with the - pen – and as I have said, I don’t want to split the diary letter. Dr. Allen delivered the families letters to me the other day - I was rather overwhelmed to suddenly find mail waiting for me at table. - He said it was sent by air mail and I believed him – almost – for the moment, I was so pleased to see it. Harold says he must reprove Peg for her slanderous remarks about his many girls, However I guess he can stand it. But by this time you will have got my last letter so that you will know all that has happened to me so far. And again - my regular letter will come from Monrovia - My best love to you all Loring. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00038 Title A name given to the resource Dear Family, June 28, 1926 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 6/28/26 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Tenerife, Canarias Province, Canary Islands, Spain Area now known as: Tenerife, Santa Cruz de Tenerife Province, Canary Islands, Spain Atlantic Ocean, S.S. Wadai Boats Cities & towns Coastlines Leisure Seascapes https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/fb7d8d1dc6652f96639411a32e310f5d.pdf b1dd3bdbf43da111e411f5aec85d0009 https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/c55cff10400c2bdc76857121750cd906.doc bb026e277d4974a9eb9e39848af574dd Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter To The name(s) and email address(es) of the person to whom the email was sent Mrs. William Whitman Jr. Text Any textual data included in the document From Mr Wm Whitman J Simsbury Conn. William Whitman J 78 Chauncy St Cortm Mau. July 17, 1926 Simsbury, Conn. Postal and Telegraphic Address Burlington Hotel, London Visitors’ Telephone Regent 3151-2-3 Burlington Hotel.W.1. Finished Tues night June 22nd 1926 Dear Family, It is time that I should continue my narrative – the history of pleasure – for soon so many events will have been crowded into my life that I will be unable to remember or describe them. I started to write before but on reading the first part I found it to be so illiterate that I was forced to throw it away and begin again. The last you saw of me I was aboard the Mauretania – the party over – the guests gone – and the host weary – yes, very weary. I wandered along empty corridors, around barren decks, thru deserted libraries, lounges, and smoking rooms – seeking nothing – just restless. The few people I saw lay stretched – vacant – upon sofas, while here and there a couple would be talking in hushed monosyllables. I went out on deck where a leaden sun was boring thru the haze, casting a dull metallic glitter over the water sea. Gone was the brilliant blue of the water at Cherbourg with its flashing diamonds and in its place an ever-rolling dull gray with its metallic lustre. I went aft – to the café – where Hal found me. We joined one of the few remaining damsels and had tea together. Still the party was very sleepy and conversation lagged frequently. Hal then left us to write some letters. So we wandered up to the bow to watch the shores of England slowly loom out of the haze. For a long while we slipped coasted along the coast before we finally entered the river. I felt as if we were some big prehistoric monster as we steamed along – on each side green lawns, not meadows, rolling down to the very water’s edge, while cool green trees dotted the landscape or formed barriers between the lawns. And guarding all this from the restless water was a neat stone embankment with an occasional tower. Small sail boats peeped up at us now and then before scurrying off like rabbits, while now and rusty, lumbering freighters drifted silently by on their way to other ports. The little red and black buoys which dotted our course looked more like match sticks than guardians of the channel. And over all lay a feeling of peace, of ageless, endless peace, which made me suddenly realize that I didn’t want to get off the ship. But we did get off finally and gathered our many crates, boxes, bags, and trunks we left together, leaving everything in bond, however, so that the Customs was soon passed and we were seated in a little English train on our way to London. Tho’ late it was still very light as we rode along, looking out on green fields separated by hedges, - on thatched roofed cottages peeping from beneath trees, on mares and foals in luxurious grass – or perhaps on little slate “tenements” with a pinkish cast and little crooked chimney pots. Everything seemed as quiet and peaceful – no worry and bustle – ah – there was a little donkey with his cart. We lay back in our compartment and just drank it in (with a Tom Collins), saying little, yet – oh, well, I could never express my feelings. And then came London – with its busy roar. We had to get the trunk off the van, so I stood guard over our dress- suit cases. Peaple passed back and forth in front of me – some running – some slowly sauntering – some looking for friends – some evidently just meeting wives or fiancées – or maybe just friends. I stood alone, saying nothing, just watching. Behind me was an ingenious advertising device made of many rollers, of which I have shown a cross section. <Sketch of rollers> In one case at least 10 different advertisements could be shown over and over again. A little girl – maybe 8 – came tripping across the station to stare at it with awe. She had probably seen it many times before but the fascination of it still gripped her. I notice one thing – the toilets are labeled “Gentlemen” instead of “Gents” or “Men” as at home. Perhaps that is one of the most fundamental differences between England and America. We got a taxi – covered with shiney brass and well-groomed leather – to take us to the Burlington Hotel. We rushed thru busy streets, round corners, always on the wrong side – really a ghastly experience for the newly arrived traveller – to end up finally at a very quiet and simple hotel. On the way our driver nearly ran down a woman to whom he would have introduced us had we so desired, - a true man of the world. We got our rooms and enquired after the rest of the party only to find that they were still in Brussels and would not be back till Sunday. However, Theiller came around to see us and we found learned the latest gossip. But we were tired – worn out, in fact, so we soon turned in to fall into a heavy sleep. I am not going to catalogue the next few days or even try to describe them for they remain in my mind only as a dream – a vague impression of rushing from one end of London to the other, buying clothes. Theiller had us in tow so that we did not have to bother ourselves with where we were going. We wandered thru narrow streets, thru broad streets, past little squares and parks – we rode on busses, in taxi cabs, and underground. We walked – and everywhere I felt as if I was invisible, intangible, slipping thru the busy street as an unseen spectator. And above all, I felt the endlessness of London. It was as if all direction was lost – no uptown or downtown no north, east, south, or west – no business and residential sections – no ordered traffic – just people trickling across streets while taxis, busses, motorcycles and wagons weave weird patterns as they filtered thru the people pedestrians. As I have said, London has no direction. I never know which way to turn, for to me all ways are the same. I walk down a street and am always surprised to find myself at the right place. I could just as easily have walked in the opposite direction without knowing the difference. If I take the underground I ask which way I must turn, when once more I see the light of day and yet with its confusion London has its fascination. The taxis are of interest both to me and to the archeologist with their little motors and their brightly polished brass fittings. I was even reprimanded by a driver for resting my feet against the seat in front. Then there are the little wee automobiles which come peering out from beneath massive busses. Some of them are apparently of mixed ancestry having a distinct motorcycle caste of countenance. And the busses themselves are a monument of advertising. But aside from the transportation, there are the store windows – which enough to make one gasp at the sheer volume of display – really there isn’t room left for a hairpin after they have finished cramming their wares into whatever free space that can be found. Canes lend themselves particularly to this form of sport and the final effect is truly overpowering. And lingerie (have I spelt it correctly?) tho not so formal when draped in every available corner lends a bazaar touch to the scenery. But the service – truly remarkable. No hurry and bustle – just six or seven people doing their best to be courteous to you all at once and never together. By the time you have told the last one what you want and he has gone into consultation with his fellow workers you begin to wonder whether you really have remembered your original wants and at the same time whether you will be finished in time for dinner. And then finally there are the fashions. Am I right in saying that an Englishman never goes out without a stick and gloves yet never wears out the latter? I have not seen any worn yet, although at the same time I have not seen an Englishman that I could recognize who did not have them in his hand. I am going to buy a pair if I don’t leave soon. But I must continue my narrative. I was waked Friday morning at 6 A.M. with tea and toast for breakfast which I ate in a leisurely fashion while dressing. Then into a taxi and off to the Hotel Victoria. It was cold and gray while a drizzling rain splashed down the pavements. But few people were stirring at that hour, and inside the hotel it was still dark and sleepy. A man and woman were talking quietly in one corner – another man was half asleep, sitting in a stiff chair. A bus drew up – a signal for a restless stirring up of those waiting. We nodded to one another and stepped out thru the rain into the waiting bus. Then we were off to Croyden. The conversation was spasmodic – mostly about no breakfast and the early hour. Then complete silence. For half an hour we spattered along deserted streets until we finally drew up alongside some long, low buildings partially shrouded with mist. “Passports, please – Fill out this Card, please”, and we were ready. I sat and talked to a singer, Ursula Greville – very pleasant and absolutely confident of her own ability. “I am going to give a remarkable programme in Boston next Winter – you’d better ask your family to come hear”. She gave me a rather charming letter of introduction to a man in Mombassa – as follows – “Dear Alick;- Be kind to this youngster. He is on some sort of expedition and he reminds me of Draggil-in some queer way. Make his stay in Mombassa good, Yours devotedly, Ursula Greville.” A door opened and a man dressed in leather entered and talked for a few moments to an official, and left. Then we were called. We slowly filed out of the room into the mist. No hurry – no excitement – just an every day event. We climbed into the waiting machine – “All ready? Yes.” There is a mighty roaring of motors – we start to move slowly, then with increasing speed – the ground flies by and imperceptibly we clear – a parting kiss the ground and we off to Paris by aeroplane. Ah – ha – the cat is out of the bag. I have been to Paris and back by air and honestly I am still gloating over the experience. As I have said, we lifted and then gave a final pat to the earth and were off. There was no lurch or sudden rising – just a slow steady climb to about 500 feet, at which height we banked sharply, swung over the flying field and settled on our course. I will quote from some notes I wrote in the plane on the back leaf of a book; - “For one who has seen but little of England, I recommend flying, unless of course, one suffers from car sickness. I also endorse it as a cure for self-importance. As I sit here now constantly bumping and swaying I can see mile after mile of beautiful fields – blue greens, gray greens, yellow greens, and the rich brown of ploughed land beneath me, all divided into little squares. They seem little and separated one from the other by hedges. The trees appear round and woolly sheep are but white specks. I can see a windmill below us, slowly revolving – ah, there is a train – a thin wisp of cotton over a slowly creeping moving black thread. I can see a small thatch cottage with a small thatch barn nestling between trees beside a small pond. There is another with a garden behind and white pigeons are flying about its roof.” And then came the channel with its little bobbing boats and infinitesimal white caps. It looks so quiet below. The coast of France came out of the haze. We flew for miles low down along the beach watching the fishermen or clam diggers playing their trade below us. We could see row after row of silly little breakers and the nets with which those diminutive specks were working. But soon we turned inland and again started the endless motion. From the air there is a distinct difference between England and France. Gone are the little hedges and the fields are now bigger and merge almost imperceptibly one into the other, and everywhere are parallel lines, a thing foreign to England. Then, too, there are more trees and in places we flew over veritable forests. Of green wool trees. Every now and then we would run into a rain storm to pop out the other side into clear weather again. We passed over diminutive cities with their red tile roofs – again different from L’Angleterre – each with its old greystone church. But at last the flying field appeared ahead and we were at the end of our journey. We circled around it until we were headed up wind, at the same time banking almost 90° - then the engines were cut off and we plunged down. The wings and struts hummed, the speed grew faster and faster and the ground fairly rushed up to meet us. We skimmed the tops of the hangars, still dropping, - then flattened out, a long coast and we oozed down onto the ground. No jar or drop, just a gentle transition. Really it was the most inspiring feeling. I’ve had in years and I would run any risk just to land again in that way. And then I am afraid that very few people can appreciate my state of mind on entering Paris. My ears were still buzzing – my mind was still in a whirl from London and here I was in a foreign city with practically no knowledge of the language. I suppose if I was suddenly dropped on Mars overnight I would undergo the same sensation again. I decided to call up Donia and get her to act as my guide and interpreter and at the same time have a very pleasant companion. However, I knew very little French and with the telephone as a medium I was completely lost. So, I gave up. I ordered a taxi and went address Donia have given me in case I should come to Paris. I arrived there to be greeted in French by the doorman, who assured me that I was in the right place but that though the Mll. Was out. But Mme. Was in. I went upstairs and ran the doorbell – would I be greeted in French by her friend or could she perhaps speak English. The door opened and Donia greeted met me. I was relieved. Now I have got myself into a very difficult position – for when a young man away from home flies to Paris to call on a young girl it looks extremely risqué, to say the least. However, he usually does not write home and tell his family about it. As it is, I am afraid that I cannot say that it was a pure accident altho I think that my reputation will not suffer in consequence. And I will admit that I could not have been introduced to Paris in a more pleasant way. To be sure, the majority of the time was spent shopping and trying to change American dollars into Polish money – still I probably saw more of Paris than a good many Americans do in two days. The firs thing was to find a hotel for me to stay at. We were very successful and fortunate in finding one in an out of the way place where no English was spoken by anyone. At the same time there was running water and in the room, nice curtains, and very clean. The price was 25 francs a day (about 75 cents). We then went over to the Crillon Hotel where I left mail I had brought over for Drs. Strong and Shattuck. They were out, however, so that I did not see them. We next got Donia’s tickets to Poland and were being through the day’s work went back to Donia’s place for tea. Mm. Chadyoska, with whom Donia lives when in Paris, is a doctor and is extremely interesting as well just as pleasant. She also speaks a little some English so that I could talk with to her with some understanding. Working from early dawn to late in the evening she never seems to lose her poise or restful calm appearance, altho to be sure she looks quite tired at times. I suppose she is about 50. We had supper at Romano’s before going to the Moulin Rouge. The first was very nice, the second rather interesting. They do wear less than we are accustomed to see in the Follies but they do not wear that little well. And it wasn’t as rough (so far as I could make out) as our New York plays. No bedrooms scenes for example. The next morning I was confronted with the task of getting breakfast without a guide. Now, as you know, Parisians don’t eat breakfast so that most of the cafes were still closed. However, I found one wherein the head of the house was busy on top of a step ladder, fixing the lights while his better half was just commencing to scrub the floors. All the chairs were stacked on the tables. I told him that my command of French was distinctly limited but that if he understood me I would like two eggs – a la plate – coffee and bread of some sort. He surprised me by asking me, without a smile, if I was Swiss. I beamed at him. While I ate he explained the reasons for his becoming an electrician and we chatted so far as my ability to speak and understand let us go. Then I thanked him and we parted. (I paid him, too.) I had lunch with Donia in a little Polish restaurant over near the Latin Quarter, off the “Boule Miche”. We then got a taxi (after walking thru the Luxembourg Gardens) and asked him the driver to drive take us through the narrow streets. He certainly was successful – down one alley and up another, through little squares and between sheer walls. Every now and then you could look through a door into some perfectly fascinating little court garden, completely shut off from the outside world. It was glorious and then we visited Notre Dam and La Chappele St. Germaine. When we got back to Mme. Chadnynska’s it was about 6:00 and we had a late tea which successfully ruined our appetites. So, without supper, we went out to call on some of Donia’s friends- a Ruth Spofford, who went to Columbia and is now working in the immigration bureau before going to Geneva – and a Sonia ? – (a Polish girl who lived several years in America and is extremely pretty, as well as capable. We stayed there for a while and chatted. Then we went up to Montematre. Mm. Chadnynska recommended “La Place du Gertre” and I am certainly glad that she did. It is a little open square with a gravel floor and a canopy of rustling leaves and branches. It is dotted with little tables, on each of which flickers a small kerosene lamp with an orange lamp shade. Orange beach umbrellas shelter each table. Here people sit and have something to eat or drink An orchestra consisting of a mandolin and a guitar was playing all kinds a mixture of weird and modern music. People were sitting around, some drinking, some eating, some absolutely oblivious of their surroundings, intent only upon one another. A group of students ate at a long table singing songs or drinking toasts, while an old man, a little full perhaps, sang French songs with a beautifully trained voice, about 55-60 perhaps with long gray hair and a twinkling eye, which constantly wandered over his audience. He swayed almost imperceptibly and trailed off into a really superb falsetto. We have him a franc, as did most of the rest. Everybody seemed oblivious to their surroundings, yet strangely conscious of their surroundings – an odd feeling. Men, women, even children (with their parents) were there – all cheerful, laughing, joking over their bottle of wine. Not a cross word or look. And then occasionally some giant sight-seeing bus would come honking along, filled with Americans in straw hats, some of whom stood up that they might better see the wild night life of Paris. I suppose some of them will write books on it. And with the arrival of each bus, catcalls, jeers and whistles (a Parisian way of saying you are not wanted) came from the crowd. I felt like joining in. We finally left – it was Donia’s first time there – and wandered home thru the narrow little streets of Montmatre. Well, I decided that I would do some graduate work in Paris after I finished the medical school. But that ended my stay. I paid my hotel bill the next morning and in with a rather jerky and hesitating manner told them that I was greatly pleased with the place. They gave me a card with the address etc. which I will show you.when I get home- Hotel Ideal – really a gem. And then I said good-bye to Donia and Mme. Chadzynaka, who to be sure made my trip to Paris a complete success. Then off to the flying field and back to London. On the place I met a Mr. Mitchell, who lives in Uganda, East Africa and wants us to look him up when we pass thru Kampala. We chatted about Africa and aviation whenever we could shout above the roar of the planes. The going was much less bumpy and the sun was shining thru holes in what proved to be a thin layer of clouds. Our pilot decided to get above them and started to climb up through – at first we sifted into the lower fringes but then, as if plunging into water, we disappeared into the thick almost sticky white fog. And then, almost as suddenly, we popped out into a brilliant sunny day , Below us and on a to float in majesty upon a billowy sea of cotton. The sun sparkled down upon the queer soft lumps, throwing them into relief, and nowhere could be seen a trace of the green earth below us. We were entirely detached from the world and all its bustle and were floating there upon a fairy sea of dewdrops. Still it was not for long, for soon nosing the plane down we plunged once more into white nothingness, to finally plane back into the realms of verdant fields and woolly trees. The landing was just as exciting as before and just as beautifully executed. Really I think I would risk my neck anywhere just for the pleasure of that final plunge to earth. But here we were back in London, when we only first arrived there London 4 ½ days ago. Since then little has happened of particular interest. We have shopped, and paid bills, and shopped some more. We have packed and we have loafed but we have done nothing that would really interest you all so I guess I am ready to stop letters and begin the official diary of the trip. We are all together here ready to be off tomorrow morning – all the trunks are packed and labeled – all bills are paid (I did a lot of them) and Bequaert has already gone to south Southampton to see about getting all that luggage ready there. Well I must admit that I have enjoyed myself so far and if it is representative of the trip that’s coming I will have no complaints to make. I have met new people and new ideas. I have been in new places by new methods of transportation, And I feel am sure that I have had the best time possible in the short week whe we have been on shore. Think of it – we landed late Tuesday night – I spent Wed. and thur in London, Fri AM in the air, Fri PM. Sat. and Sunday A.M. in paris, Sunday PM, Monday and Tuesday in London and then off again for African wed. However there is one thing – please use your discretion in showing this letter round. When a young American flies to Paris to call on a polish girl his friends are liable to suspect him of having – shall we say – a wild time. It is also true that thw Whitman family can make a fuss when they want to. However Still in my own way of seeing things it is too good a section of my carcer to leave out and by far the most pleasant. I saw new places with a person who understood and loved them, I practically had a home * instead of a hotel and at the same time I had a pleasant companion and interpreter. After all I will probably never see Paris so pleasantly and quietly again in all my life as I have this just now for the firs time. But enough – the trip will start tomorrow and a new life – an exciting tho possibly tedious life – will being. My best love to you all Your devoted son Loring. P.S. In glancing over the last page I was rather touched by my having a home – of course I meant at the Chadzynskas not at the hotel with the lace curtains. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00036 Title A name given to the resource Burlington Hotel, June 22, 1926 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 6/22/26 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Burlington Hotel, London, England Paris, France London, England Automobiles Boats Carts & wagons Cities & towns Coastlines Commerce Domestic life Drawings Food Leisure Luggage Performances Seascapes Ships https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/653792553ab78466e801f343a5f318fb.pdf 6634288acd8a9a14d5738f7130f96e5a https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/4304bb6cb974b3075c39ac2deeb7c235.doc 0c9aacaaca993b5141c64dedb8d80653 Historical Documents A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Letter To The name(s) and email address(es) of the person to whom the email was sent Mrs. William Whitman Jr. Text Any textual data included in the document Mrs. William Whitman Jr. Simsbury – Connecticut U.S.A London June 23, 1926 Burlington Hotel Dear Family, I am at a loss how to start. Hmm. – with many screeching of whistles the mighty steamer slowly oozed out into the river. – No, that won’t do. As the iron grayhound of the sea slipped silently from the dock, I realized with tears in my eyes and a sob in my throat that I was bidding adieu to the majestic turmoil of that marvelous city – New York – for years perhaps. I’m not so sure that that is an improvement. Oh, well, we are on our way. It’s remarkable the way a farewell, a sunset, and the slow, almost imperceptible, roll of a vessel will loosen one’s tongue along romantic and idealistic lines. Harold and I sat on the afterdeck and conversed, or, to be more truthful, I did, while Harold listened. Nothing was brought up, but without my being able to discuss it with complete understanding and couched in brilliant phrases. I hadn’t had a drink either. We completely characterized and codified all the members of the expedition, we saw to it that our families did not have a shred left to stand on. Our acquaintances were hastily dismissed, though to be sure we lingered over certain ones. And that brought us to matrimony which of course is but a stepping stone for a complete discussion of ideals – and how we did compliment ourselves. Really there is no pleasure in the world that can equal the feeling that one’s own ideals are far superior to those of the common herd. Ah, we did have such fun watching the sun slowly being swallowed by jagged clouds. And yet perhaps we both had a feeling, deep, deep down, that we were seeing our last sunset in our country for a long, long time. But I can’t mentally encompass a year. Fortunately one’s humor can never lie dormant for long and it was possibly a relief when I began to see the funny side of our conversation. I wonder how many thousands, nay millions, of people think themselves to be the only rational, philosophical, and at the same time, emotional beings on this earth, at the same time doubting the existence of inhabitants of other spheres. I’ve never met a person who didn’t at some time or other. But we finally went below to our cubicle and started to make a little room to stand in. Clothes were hauled out of boxes and trunks, which were cast into the aisle. Each little packaged had to be examined and its good qualities pointed out. Each photograph had to be placed on exhibition and discussed. Then a final discussion of the original and the day was over. We made the mistake of asking our steward, “ ‘Awkins” by name to call us at 8. I’ve rarely had such trouble in dragging myself up thru endless blackness to a heavy consciousness. However, we “drug” ourselves out and wandered aimlessly to our salt water baths, only to find them warm and decidedly soporific. Still the coffee won out and we were not removed from the tubs in a somnolent condition, and breakfast did help bring us to complete vivacity. Then came the mile after mile around the decks, up ladders, down ladders, thru drawing rooms, writing rooms, libraries, everywhere. Our only success was in meeting a Miss Sharpe, with whom the two of us chatted for the majority of the afternoon and evening. Otherwise there is a dear lack of promising material, altho you never can tell. We discovered a perfectly devilish game on the top deck. It looks gentle, delicate and altogether charming but after operations have commenced the evil geni pops out and gets you. The ball is placed on the central point x and the two combatants armed with sticks, as shown, stand at A and B. They touch their sticks together 3 times and then try to knock the ball into the opponent’s half and out thru the hole in the end. <Drawing of the game> If it is in your side of the box you must put it back thru either of the two holes in the central partition and before you are in a position to score. The sticks have no surface by which you can really get a grip on the ball and you vainly bat at the darn thing in an endeavor to get or keep it out of your territory. After getting completely worn out, with blisters on both hands, Harold and I decided that we had found the most violent of all deck sports, being superior to deck tennis. At 4:30 there was a horse race on B deck which was very exciting but for me a failure financially. Harold was more successful and came out all of a dollar to the good. In case of a tie the two winners are set back four places and race it off. I was in two of those and lost. Otherwise, I always came in straight second. However, it was very amusing to watch the crowd and make comments. In the evening we listened to them auction the pool on the run. There are 20 numbers and the lowest sold for 9 £, while the highest went for 16 £. Most were 12 £ and or thereabouts. Somebody may win some money. Then H., Betty (Miss Sharpe) and I went out on deck and played sweet music on the uke. Really a most touching party. I felt a “leetle” bit foolish. Today there is a nice breeze with fog in the distance tho’ the sun is shining. There are small which caps which give an added sparkle to the sea and which make the surroundings brighter and more lively. I sat in my deck chair and read “The Private Life of Helen of Troy”, occasionally letting my eyes rove over the dancing spray in an idle fashion. But what was that splash! It couldn’t have been a wave. No – there he comes out again – a big porpoise, clear of the water to crash at the surface amidst a sparkling halo. Time and again he jumped – as far back as I could see him, apparently in a frenzy of delight at the thought of putting himself above his surroundings. And yet, even in the distance, I could see a look of earnest endeavor in this countenance. This was a serious porpoise an even the pleasures of life were not to be treated in a light vein, though to be strictly truthful I did detect a look of cynical humor lurking around the corners of his mouth, which showed far better than his actions, that perhaps those foolish people in their little steel cockle shell were are not quite as wise or important as they are wont to think. With that he crashed back to his element flat on his side, sending up a contemptuous shower of spray as an offering to the lords of the sky. And that reminds me, for no reason at all, that it was very amusing receiving the presents which had been sent to us. First a package would come for Harold, then one for me. Each was greeted with an exclamation of surprised pleasure and was hastily divested of its wrappings. Two of these gifts stand out from the rest – one for its dimensions and one for its originality. The first, for H, consisted of the cream of Sherry’s offerings, chocolate, caramels, cakes, cookies, jams – everything that could be thought of, all in tin boxes with ribbons. There was so much that its outside container only acted as a tray, the contents rising high again as the open cover would permit. H. does not eat candy. The other present was from George Humphreys and started with a letter. He hoped to send me gifts for my my mind, body and soul. For my mind there was a book (Beebe’s Jungle Peace) – for my body o rather somebody else’s, there was a beautiful necklace “To grace the ebony throat”, and for the soul, there was music – an organ (of the mouth variety). It was cleverly thought out and done in that complete Humphrerian style – a gem of purest ray serene. In the afternoon I met Donia (Smoluchowska) and that’s another story. She is, as you might guess, Polish but after that – well, we shall see. After a year’s study in London she came to Barnard, where she has been interested in early Christian archaeology – especially manuscripts. After two years at Barnard she received her ØBK Key (last week, to be sure) and is now on her way home for the first time in three years. She has already taken her M. A. exams. And is going to Vassar next year to write her thesis. She also has the job of giving eight exhibitions of paintings for the benefit of the college and is planning to have plenty of modern art in hopes that it will inspire thought among the onlookers. The college gives the chosen victim $600 to pay for the transportation of the pictures which must be procured as temporary loans. I can foresee a busy time. She is only 22. But one thing, she doesn’t pose as an intellectual – no, she is perfectly normal and friendly and very much wide awake. We asked her to join us at our table, both for our pleasure and mayhap, for hers. She had three elderly ladies to sit with before, whose horizon apparent, at least during meals, was apparently limited to the dining table and the culinary art. In the course of the afternoon Donia and I played that devilish game – already described – until we were completely exhausted. Then H. joined us and we sat in the smoking room and chatted until it was time to dress for supper. In the evening we gathered together Betty and Donia and had our first lesson in Swahili, between dances. But the day is over and our partners have left us, so we much Zu Bett Gehen. Our steward, Hawkins, is a philosopher – always with an apt quotation, if we ask for it. Polite, cheerful, and in consequence, always in demand, he guides us on our maritime way. One boat he was on went ashore, another torpedoed, but still at the game. Married but no children, etc. In the morning he wakes us with coffee and hot water, a real luxury. I am afraid, however, that our joshing may occasionally seem a bit too personal and we are forced to modify our remarks to remove any possible sting which might be lurking unconsciously in the background. Donia had breakfast with us this morning. Of course, we were late and were forced to start the new regime with an apology. But we’ll improve. The amusing part is that heretofore we have had breakfast at least an hour earlier. Oh well – there’s no justice in the world! We actually settled down to work today. Harold and ‘Awkins went thru our “Library” and completely classified all the books, while I continued this semi-diary letter. I also checked over my accounts and had the pleasure of paying for a pool which I came next to winning. It so comforting to be second, never worse. I also walked the decks with Patsy, of whom we have seen too little, for which I feel truly guilty. However, she goes to bed early and spends a large part of her time reading so that we don’t run across her very frequently. Donia and Betty played together all morning and seemed to enjoy one anothers company so much that I am going to get Patsy into the gathering. The three of them are all entirely different. After lunch we had a chat with the baggage master. The subject turned to missionaries and I am afraid that our friend, Mr. Egan, was perhaps a little too hard on them. The younger sons of business men who went to college and spent all their money in the west end of London – “or the east end” as an afterthought – and instead of going into law or politics – “as most wealthy men do” – they were thrown out by their families and were forced by circumstances and the lure of idleness to spend a year preparing for the ministry. Then they could live off the land and build special houses for their black ladies with sand around them which would tell whether anyone had been round near. Of course they knew nothing of religion – and why should they when they can drink whiskey and soda? Mr. Egan thought the American missionaries to be a little better and have a neutral rather than deteriorating influence on the country. The police – ex-army men – who had failed to get their majority – “wear monocles and talk with a broad accent to impress the natives.” I tried to read in our statesroom but boredom got hold of me and I took to the decks in search for amusement. I ran across Betty on the boat deck. Just before dinner I looked up the Baizley’s and spent an hour or so getting the daily exercise and all that. The trouble is, that we have, shall I say corralled, three young ladies for whom we egotistically feel responsible. Its really a very difficult position. Of course you gather from this that we consider ourselves the only eligibles on board. After dinner I introduced Donia to Patsy while Harold wandered off. Then when it came time to dance what could I do? Donia disappeared below for a while so that I could dance with Patsy but when she returned we sat. Luckily Harold was conscious of my plight and returned to my assistance as soon as he could shake off his other friends. But enough for today. We are blessed with fog this morning – you might guess it was Sunday – and every few minutes the foghorn roars its message into the soft white mist which surrounds us, to be swallowed up and lost forever. While Harold attended church services, Donia and I walked the decks peeping thru the windows of those more conventionally inclined. We asked one of the officers on the bridge whether we could go out on the bow but he only said we might fall off. Of course on ship if they do not say No, you usually take it to mean Yes, so down the ladder we went and out into the bow. Soon a whistle blew and a seaman came out to inform us that we were treading forbidden paths. Still we got there. We continued our promenade until Harold found us and took me off to see the gyro compass. We were escorted by a very good-looking young officer who had come to the conclusion that it was boring to be pursued by the ladies and that, oh well, there was nothing really interesting aboard on this run. After asking many questions about - the compass, we toured the third and second class. He talked of the good times had by all on the Mediterranean cruise, of the people, the places and the parties, all couched in a very quick and humorous vein. And he was young and good-looking, really I know he was sorry for them. I do hate to be cruel, but I have had the pleasure, if you will, of meeting the dummest – yes, it's the only word for it – girl that I have even dreamed of. Possibly when you realize that she has visited Riggs’ Sanitarium you will understand, altho I pity Riggs. I couldn’t make a single remark that required thought but that I had to explain it. Humor was a complete loss. Boy, wot a goil! This evening I watched her dance. Never did her expression show any signs of animation and even her feet moved with the same regularity and which apathy which seems to have enveloped her. But to be more cheerful, Harold and I practiced shooting quickly, working the bolt of the rifle – getting into action and all that until the rain forced us to seek some less martial form of entertainment. We went down to our stateroom and overhauled an article which Harold is writing on his Alaskan trip. I had great fun trying to write a description of our his guide whom I have never seen but of whom I was able to form a vivid imaginative picture. It was really very entertaining to describe a landing in Alaska when one has never been there or even heard it discussed. Dr. Timme was the next on our program. We cut in on his exercises and promenaded the decks. Our conversation quickly became medical so that for an hour we had the pleasure of talking about the physiology of glands with a specialist in that line. Betty joined us for dinner which was followed by bridge and dancing (and on Sunday, at that). At 11:00 Harold had to leave us so that I was left with the two of them on my hands. We ended up by going down to Donia’s cabin and playing soft music on the ukulele until after 12:00, when the party broke up. Today has been, perhaps, the most pleasant of the voyage, yet I have absolutely nothing to write about. It would seem that outside of the very pleasant charming lunch I have nothing but sit in a deck chair with Donia – I mean beside – from (9:00 to 5:00 – a good 8-hour working day , and I won’t try to give an describe account of our conversation. However, I can say something about our Brazilian friend who has by now proved his sterling worth as a table companion. Short, round of face with a small slightly turned-up nose, which always peeking over the top of a Brazilian cigar, a florid complexion, and brown hair, and finally a slight foreign accent – this will give his type perhaps but will not enable you to discern the tact and humor that lurks behind all of his remarks which we now find all too few. Experience has given him a quiet, unassuming pose which, but for Donia, would have blinded us to his true value. He will enter a conversation when he has something to say and yet keep discreetly in the background if our chatter does not interest him. Always attentive he hears all but talks little. First he told us some interesting points about coffee plantations. Then we found Europe a familiar haunt for him. In fact, he is was on his way to Paris to spend 57,000 francs (maybe the sun was larger). This was his reply to the question of how long he was going to be there. But at lunch he really opened up. He has made two trips to Africa hunting and on one of them he met Col. Roosevelt and joined up with him. He has also hunted tiger in India and wants to get back there again before he dies. And what’s more, he seems to be speaking the truth. Yes, Mr. Carnalbas, we are very glad to have you at our table. But soon our voyage will be ended – a most pleasant voyage and as it is my first, the most pleasant. To be sure we have met few people but we have been extremely fortunate in meeting them. New ideas, new customs, and new thought processes have been opened to us for an all too short length of time. We arrived at Plymouth at about 5:00 A.M. but were too busy sleeping to take bid farewell to those of our fellow travellers who were leaving us there. After breakfast, for the first time ahead of the Brazilian, we started the long and rather sad job of packing. By the way, Mr. Carnalbas suffers from insomnia and in consequence a four hour sleep at night is a high average. At twelve we dined, Donia, Harold, and I for the last time together before the little tugs came bumping alongside to carry off the majority of our associates. Donia and I walked around the decks until the customs immigration men came aboard to deliver landing cards. The gulls were We leaned over the rail in the sparkling sun to watch countless gulls wheeling, rising, falling, on motionless wings alongside of the vessel. There was a stiff breeze which whipped the top of the small waves into flashing diamonds against a dark blue sea. The gulls, like giant snow flakes, weaved back and forth, without effort, tireless and undaunted and in the background were the green fields of France, hovering around the apparently tiny town of Cherbourg. But we are re-crossing the Channel again and will soon arrive at our destination, Southampton, where once more we will dive headlong into the mad whirl of customs, baggage transportation, and dusty trains. Our brief vacation from worry is over and again we will enter the stream of life as an integral part rather than a spectator. I hope this has given you some idea of our journey and that it may give a faint slight hint toward judging and understanding the people with whom we have been travelling. But poor as it is, I am afraid that my what muse I have has deserted me. Do not expect more than a travel diary in future, the kind that runs “Breakfast at 8:10 . befo Followed by packing and checking baggage – met an interesting fellow who is at our hotel. After lunch went shopping but was unable to get just what I wanted. After dinner the theatre and then weary to bed.” Harold has asked me to have this copied and sent to his family to give them some idea of the trip. Whether it will interest them or not I don’t know but I suppose that it will give them a different person’s ideas on the subject. Give my love to Grandfather and Grandmother and to all the friends you may meet. Your affectionate son Loring Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2036-U-00035 Title A name given to the resource Dear Family, June 9, 1926 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource June 9, 1926 to June 15, 1926 Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant Atlantic Ocean, S.S. Wadai New York City, New York, USA Plymouth, Devon County, England Southampton, Hampshire County, England Cherbourg, Manche Department, France Area now known as: Cherbourg-Octeville, Manche Department, France Birds Boats Cities & towns Coastlines Harbors Leisure Luggage Physical fitness Seascapes Ships https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/ad052d04bfdc8df4c191f2b93a3a5e23.jpg 8b06008dfc9e0c6f52bab17e025a8fde Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Loring Whitman's Photographs Still Image A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Negative Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2035-896 Title A name given to the resource Close-up of two feet on the ground Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman Expedition photographs https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/4001da6596b94eddcc37f8e9a51663eb.jpg 24555e8cd8acf914c3d87e8dcaad3253 https://www.liberianhistory.org/files/original/ae771002855f0c19bd87c331ecd588be.pdf 176785af25a3f5671771f85ad85ae062 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Loring Whitman's Photographs Still Image A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Negative Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context VAD2035-895 Title A name given to the resource Alternative view of suspected broken wrist Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Loring Whitman (Photograph), Martin Ford (Text) Diseases Expedition photographs