Tuesday, 10 February 1948. A very heavy rain squall occurred during last night, long before bed time, and the inadequacy of this ship was very evident. There are not enough either of rooms for the passengers to sit in nor of chairs for them to sit on, in the event that they are unable to sit on the decks. Last night also was Wilmot's birthday and the final Imperial has now gone. At dawn this morning Pago Pago was in sight and very lovely; it is a pre- cipitous island, rising almost sheer from the water and is very mountainous. I should estimate some of the peaks at about eight or nine hundred feet but all are totally covered with a lush growth of green vegetation. The ship docked on the dot of 8 AM, according to schedule and there was a native band, actually drawn from members of the U.S. Naval Base, to play us in. Van had his glasses on the shore line all the way and did not stay on board for breakfast. Meals were served at the usual time so Wilmot and I did not get on land until about 10AM. The main dirt road was lined with natives, all with something for sale but there was nothing that interested me enough to warrant carting it around for the next nine months. My souvenirs will be bought on my return trip unless I see something that seems particularly lovely and desirable. The Naval Base and dock installations all seem to be made of corrugated iron and there is a branch of Burns Philp here; seemingly it is in the hands of a native so I imagine it is one of their very smallest stations. The few roads are all of baked dirt and the dock itself consists of a wharf not putting into the harbor but running along one side of it. There was a destroyer at anchor a few hundred feet ahead of us. The waters of the harbor were dotted with native canoes, very simple craft consisting of a hollowed-out log, with an outrigger attachment on one side. The natives are of the usual Polynesian type; physically well built and proportioned and apparently very good tempered. The souvenirs they had for sale were mainly shell necklaces, and not very different from the things one might see along the Jersey coast, and pieces of tapa cloth. The latter would make interesting wall tapestries and I might get some but the prices were atrocious. They dropped considerably when sailing time came near, of course, but I think I shall find stuff no worse later on. The houses of the naval personnel were like many summer cottages I have seen, with open walls, shaded by split bamboo and raised slightly on cement blocks. Those of the natives were in many cases simply circular roofs, with curtains of tapa dropping down to the ground; during the day and probably whenever there is no rain, the curtains are rolled up. Clothing for the women was largely the well-known Mother Hubbard but many of the men still wear the lava lava, a skirt- like garment wrapped around the waist, and a sort of pajama jacket. The port is said to have been shelled during the war but there are no scars; certainly it would be difficult place to bomb as it nestles so closely under the shelter of the mountains. Wilmot and I wandered around together, finally ending up at a beer place; no liquor is obtainable on the island, as far as we were able to find out. The beer place was cool, clean, as are the people and in fact all the village, and comfortable but we moved on to another. There we were met by the proprietor who told us mysteriously that his place was full, and it certainly was, to the point of smelling, but that he would direct us to the "best place in town". We both expected to be shown into the local red lamp when he sent us up a narrow lane