I had a white friend with me, a nice man, but overweight and he kept fainting in the heat. It was annoying having to hold my coat over him while he recovered. I asked him why he was there. "To make money, of course!" he said angrily. Then he got sick and had to be carried. Because he was very heavy, I had many arguments with the carriers. They refused to work, ran away, or stole things at night. So, I gave them a speech, and the next morning, they carried him. An hour later, I found him beaten. The heavy pole had hurt his nose. He wanted me to punish someone, but the carriers were gone. I remembered an old doctor saying it would be interesting to study how people’s minds change in such situations. I felt like I was becoming a study myself! Anyway, that’s beside the point. On the fifteenth day, I reached the river and arrived at the Central Station. It was surrounded by bushes and forest, with muddy banks and a broken fence. The gate was just a gap in the fence, and it was clear that things were not going well. Some white men with sticks came out to look at me, then went away. One man, a short, excited man, told me my boat was at the bottom of the river. I was shocked. He said it was "all right," the manager was there, and everyone had done a great job. He said I had to see the main manager immediately.
I didn't understand the real importance of the accident right away. I think I understand it now, but I'm not sure at all. It was incredibly silly, when I think about it, almost unbelievable. But at the time, it was just a huge problem. The steamboat sank. They'd left two days earlier in a rush, going up the river. The manager was on board, with a volunteer captain. Less than three hours later, they hit rocks and the boat sank near the south bank. I wondered what I'd do now that my boat was gone. Actually, I had plenty to do – getting my things out of the river. I started the next day. That, and the repairs at the station, took months.