RECOLLECTIONS OF FULL YEARS
when the tide was high and had no trouble in getting up to the village, but we were earnestly entreated by the officer in charge of the launch to hurry with our business in order that we might start back before the tide went out. He assured us that it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to cross the bar at the mouth of the river at low tide. His entreaties were in vain. The Commissioners were engaged in interviews with Surigao citizens which they could not or would not cut short, so the ladies and children, having seen everything and met everybody, went back to the landing and sat in the launch patiently waiting while the daylight slowly disappeared. The launch captain was visibly agitated, and told us time and again about what a hard time we were sure to have getting back to the Sumner. And he was quite right.
The launch was not large enough to accommodate the entire party so it towed a cutter which also was fairly well loaded. When the men finally arrived, full of explanations and good-natured apologies, it was pitch dark, but, being optimists, we shoved off into the river, feeling sure that the fears of our commanding officer were groundless.
After steaming merrily along for a few miles, becoming more and more confident all the time, we suddenly got a shaking bump and found ourselves fast in the mud. It didn't take so long, however, to get afloat again, and we were just congratulating ourselves that the captain's bug-bear of a sandbar was behind us when we felt a violent impact followed by a terrifying sensation as if the keel were grinding over rocks.
The captain swore softly and said something about striking "the ruins of that old Spanish bridge," then hurried forward to see what damage had been done. The people in the cutter, riding the short waves in our wake, were thoroughly alarmed and were clamouring to know what had happened to us. We couldn't tell them, but it sounded very
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