A lot of officers closed round me, rushed me into a hut:  two of them began to button me into the coat, two more were ramming a cap on my head, others stood around with goggles, with binoculars. . .  I couldn’t understand the necessity of such haste.  We weren’t going to chase Fritz.  There was no sign of Fritz anywhere in the blue.  Those dear boys did not seem to notice my age—­fifty-eight, if a day—­nor my infirmities—­a gouty subject for years.  This disregard was very flattering, and I tried to live up to it, but the pace seemed to me terrific.  They galloped me across a vast expanse of open ground to the water’s edge.

The machine on its carriage seemed as big as a cottage, and much more imposing.  My young pilot went up like a bird.  There was an idle, able-bodied ladder loafing against a shed within fifteen feet of me, but as nobody seemed to notice it, I recommended myself mentally to Heaven and started climbing after the pilot.  The close view of the real fragility of that rigid structure startled me considerably, while Commander O. discomposed me still more by shouting repeatedly:  “Don’t put your foot there!” I didn’t know where to put my foot.  There was a slight crack; I heard some swear-words below me, and then with a supreme effort I rolled in and dropped into a basket-chair, absolutely winded.  A small crowd of mechanics and officers were looking up at me from the ground, and while I gasped visibly I thought to myself that they would be sure to put it down to sheer nervousness.  But I hadn’t breath enough in my body to stick my head out and shout down to them: 

“You know, it isn’t that at all!”

Generally I try not to think of my age and infirmities.  They are not a cheerful subject.  But I was never so angry and disgusted with them as during that minute or so before the machine took the water.  As to my feelings in the air, those who will read these lines will know their own, which are so much nearer the mind and the heart than any writings of an unprofessional can be.  At first all my faculties were absorbed and as if neutralised by the sheer novelty of the situation.  The first to emerge was the sense of security so much more perfect than in any small boat I’ve ever been in; the, as it were, material, stillness, and immobility (though it was a bumpy day).  I very soon ceased to hear the roar of the wind and engines—­unless, indeed, some cylinders missed, when I became acutely aware of that.  Within the rigid spread of the powerful planes, so strangely motionless I had sometimes the illusion of sitting as if by enchantment in a block of suspended marble.  Even while looking over at the aeroplane’s shadow running prettily over land and sea, I had the impression of extreme slowness.  I imagine that had she suddenly nose-dived out of control, I would have gone to the final smash without a single additional heartbeat.  I am sure I would not have known.  It is doubtless otherwise with the man in control.