THE LAST LAP 273

It was a seven and a half hours' trek to Kong Peter's
Town and a shabby village at the end of it, but we
were happier than we had been since we left Bolahun.
I scribbled a note in pencil to the manager of the
P,Z. store announcing our arrival and asking him to
send the lorry up to the end of the road to meet us,
and not even the warnings of the three extra Bassa
carriers I hired for the next day that Harlingsville
was "too far, too far," that it was a twelve-hour trek,
depressed me, I pretended for the sake of my own
men to disbelieve them, but secretly I put my watch
back a couple of hours, determined that even if it
were a twelve-hour trek, we should yet do it and sleep
in Grand Bassa. The messenger stuck the note into a
cleft stick and with some of our last oil in his lamp
set off to walk to Grand Bassa all night through the
forest. I remember a whistle blowing among the
shabby huts as Tommie marshalled a few ragged
uniformed messengers with rifles as useless as his own
before a flagstaff in the centre of the village and the
Liberian flag waved up and down again while
Tommie tried to make his awkward squad stand at
the 'present'. But they laughed at him and some-
one stole his whistle, and all that evening Tommie
went glowering up and down the village looking
for it,

Grand Bassa

We rose at four-fifteen, but the new carriers and
Tommie delayed us and we did not leave King Peter's
Town till six. I wasn't quite so cheerful then, the
Bassa men persisted that it was twelve hours ^to