A neglected gap was all the gate
it had, and the first glance at the place was enough to let you see the
flabby devil was running that show. White men with long staves in their
hands appeared languidly from amongst the buildings, strolling up to
take a look at me, and then retired out of sight somewhere. One of them,
a stout, excitable chap with black moustaches, informed me with great
volubility and many digressions, as soon as I told him who I was, that
my steamer was at the bottom of the river. I was thunderstruck. What,
how, why? Oh, it was 'all right.' The 'manager himself' was there. All
quite correct. 'Everybody had behaved splendidly! splendidly!'--'you
must,' he said in agitation, 'go and see the general manager at once. He
is waiting!'
"I did not see the real significance of that wreck at once. I fancy I
see it now, but I am not sure--not at all. Certainly the affair was too
stupid--when I think of it--to be altogether natural. Still . . . But
at the moment it presented itself simply as a confounded nuisance. The
steamer was sunk. They had started two days before in a sudden hurry
up the river with the manager on board, in charge of some volunteer
skipper, and before they had been out three hours they tore the bottom
out of her on stones, and she sank near the south bank.
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