Explore "Lieutenant Bones" by Edgar Wallace on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Viewed from the sea, the headquarters of Mr. Commissioner Sanders was a strip of golden sand, fringed to the seaward side by a green backing of trees. You caught a glimpse of the white Residency, with its red roof, and on a very clear day the little flagstaff, where the national standard hung limply. Perhaps you might even see the long rows of yellow barrack huts where the Houssas lived, but you saw little more.
Officers of passing steamers which came sufficiently near the West African coast would point out the mouth of the river, and show the passengers how the yellow waters ran far out, cutting a muddy roadway into the indigo blue of the sea, and sometimes a mail steamer would slow down and drop into a waiting surf-boat a small mail-bag. But the Territories and the three white men who ruled them had no personality to the ocean-going wanderers, until a certain day when a beneficent Government placed in the hands of the Commissioner a means by which he and his fellows might become at least articulate.