Each body of Krus is under its own Headman, who will be either a village Chief or appointed by the Captain of the ship. The Headman can usually be relied upon to keep his folks up to the mark. He receives instructions from the officers as to what is required. They leave him to have it done, and, as a rule, it is sure to be done well. The Headman is given tea and other small luxuries, in addition to the usual rations of rice and fish, and he is allowed to bring a small boy, usually his son, to assist him in cooking. At Sierra Leone there has also come on board the black laundryman and his “boys,” who deal with passengers’ linen. It is not turned out in the finished style of a first-class establishment in England, but what is lacking in other respects is made up by very liberal starching. A couple of collars feel they could support an anchor. The laundryman frequently walks round with a broom. The article is not for professional use in connection with the tub; the handle is utilised for gentle persuasion and is applied to the cranium of the delinquent who needs stimulus or correction. When applied, the thwack can be heard many yards distant and is only rivalled in sound by the ship’s siren. A thin skull would be crushed by such a blow. The “boy” who receives one shakes it off as nothing, and sometimes gets a succession of them for laughing at the first. There is “Home Rule all round” for the various black departments of the vessel, and he is a wise man who does not attempt to interfere with local customs and usage. The night after leaving Sierra Leone we are passing the Kru Coast, Liberia, probably the most uncertain and dangerous four hundred miles stretch along West Africa, because of the outlying rocks and reefs and the irregular insetting currents. Except at Monrovia, Grand Bassa and Cape Palmas, and even there the lights are of minor power, no illuminations or beacons mark the dangers. Often without warning the currents set towards the land. No precautions on the ship are considered superfluous. The deep-sea lead is cast at not longer intervals than every four hours, and anybody who owing to the heat has made his bed on deck and is awake may see the figure of the Captain frequently flit from his cabin during the night to join the officer on watch on the bridge. When we are in calmer waters and the dark night has shut out surroundings and made us feel we are a little world to ourselves, we are now and again reminded of the vigilance maintained for our safety, as the look-out sings to the officer of the watch, “Light on the starboard bow, sir,” and you see, miles away on your right front, a small gleaming lamp which tells of another ship on these trackless areas. And if the officer of the watch is in light mood you may hear him humming the doggerel of the “rule of the road” at sea: