Most of our dishes were of tin, which we called our silver service. Indeed, there was no want of tin, for most of our food was imported in tins—meats, milk and butter. Africa, as some one says, is a land flowing with milk and honey—condensed milk and tinned honey. There are many varieties of tinned meats, according to the labels, but they all taste alike when one has become tired of them and dislikes them equally; sometimes, when one is feverish, the smell of them is as much as an ordinary stomach can digest in that debilitating climate. During those first months our meats were chiefly Armour’s sausage and some anomalous concoction of strong meats and stale onions called _Irish Stew_. We bought from the natives bananas, plantains and sweet potatoes, and after some time we were able to buy a chicken on rare occasions. As soon as possible we began raising our own chickens; but it was only after several months that we had them frequently. Our cook, a young man from the coast, who spoke Kru English, would come to me and ask: “Mastah, what thing you go chop? Must I kill a chicken, or must I kill a tin?” He much preferred to “kill a tin,” for in that case the cooking was very simple and consisted in punching a hole in the top of the tin and then placing it on an outside fire—we had no stove. When we began to have chickens occasionally the cook informed us that he must have an assistant, because “one man he no be fit for do all them work.” Thus we lived for two months and a half, until our house was built. We bore the rudeness of our circumstances by making them a constant source of mutual amusement. And often we conquered defeat itself by laughing at it. The hill was crowded from dawn until dark with a pandemonium of naked and astonished natives, who had never seen white men before. They think aloud. Every impression utters itself in a yell. The habit of talking aloud to themselves is so common that some white men have accounted for it by supposing that they are talking to the spirits of their ancestors. I can only say that if this be so they evidently conceive of the other world as being very far away. Each separate act or movement of us white strangers produced a shout of astonishment. “He walks!” they shout, when he takes a step forward; or: “He sits down!” as they jostle each other for a front place to see the animal perform.