ABSTRACT
I Ron-Ore trickled then poured then thundered from the goods wagons. A steel hawser pulled the wagons one by one along the rail track, into the grip of a circular vice which lifted them off the ground. Pistons hissed as the wagons were dragged into the grip of the vice with a deafening bang. Locks clicked shut around the wheels as the wagon began to turn over and the ore inside spewed out into a funnel, feeding conveyor belts which rose thirty feet above ground and clattered out over the long grass and derelict huts and red-earth road of the goods yard, to a ship waiting at Buchanan's quayside. The ship, already weighed down heavily with Liberian ore, lay ready to steam out onto the Atlantic Ocean, which was calm and clear to the horizon, unmarked by the lights of ships steaming along the West African coast. Away from the emptying goods wagons, the ore conveyor squeaking overhead broke the silence of the warm, damp night, and cast a long silhouette across the darkening sky.
