This I did directly the simple funeral was over. We were going half-speed, keeping right in the middle of the stream, and I listened to the talk about me.

     They had given up Kurtz, they had given up the station; Kurtz was dead, and the station had been burnt -- and so on -- and so on. The red-haired pilgrim was beside himself with the thought that at least this poor Kurtz had been properly avenged.

     "Say! We must have made a glorious slaughter of them in the bush. Eh? What do you think? Say?"

     He positively danced, the bloodthirsty little gingery beggar. And he had nearly fainted when he saw the wounded man! I could not help saying, "You made a glorious lot of smoke, anyhow."

     I had seen, from the way the tops of the bushes rustled and flew, that almost all the shots had gone too high. You can't hit anything unless you take aim and fire from the shoulder; but these chaps fired from the hip with their eyes shut. The retreat, I maintained -- and I was right -- was caused by the screeching of the steam whistle. Upon this they forgot Kurtz, and began to howl at me with indignant protests.