WESTERN LIBERIA. 111

must sit in the waning light of our two electric
torches. The mosquito-netting over the windows and
door was broken and anything came in, large horse-
flies, cockroaches, beetles, cockchafers, and moths.
Now and then to save light we sat in darkness. It was
a grim evening and our nerves were rather strained.
Big spiders dashed up and down the wall, the filter
in the corner slowly and regularly dripped, a tom-
tom was beating somewhere some message, probably
about the President's coming, and a big black moth
the size of a bat flapped against the walls. The only
thing to do was to go to bed early and sleep well.

But that was impossible; a great storm of rain beat
upon the roof and afterwards it was too cold to sleep
properly, just as in the day it had been too hot to
walk. I dreamed uneasily I was present at the
assassination of the President. It took place in
Bolahun close to one of the green leafy arches they
had raised in case he passed that way, between the
borders of the path where the pineapple plants were
sprinkled with white powder which meant "There is
joy in our hearts at your coming." He was shot in a
carriage by one of the drummers I saw at Tailahun
and I tried in vain to send the story to a newspaper.
At four I woke and got out of bed, without putting
on my shoes, and found my vest, it was so cold. I
knew some days later that I had caught a jigger by
my carelessness, the small insect which burrows into
the toe under the skin and lays its eggs and goes on
multiplying until it is cut out. I slept again and had
more restless dreams: that there was a case of yellow
fever in Bolahun and I was put in quarantine and my
diary was burnt; I woke weeping with fury. I began