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Updated: May 3, 2025
The pilot eased back the stick. His face was craggy and very grim and very hard. The ship's tail went down and dragged. It bumped. Then the plane careened and slid and half-whirled crazily, and then the world seemed to come to an end. Crashes. Bangs. Shrieks of torn metal. Bumps, thumps and grindings. Then a roaring.
Always he had refused to let her go out upon the river mortally fearing it for her. Thrusting his skiff mightily forward, often it glanced, half-whirled by up-whelming and spreading spaces of water, the old Loyalist's heart was quit of his pangs, and sore only with certainty that he must abandon one human soul to death.
He was half-whirled about in the vortex of the thing's passage caused by the alarmed flirt of its tail. Shark it was, and not crocodile, and not so timidly would it have sheered clear but for the fact that it was fairly full with a recent feed of a huge sea turtle too feeble with age to escape.
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