I took the brakes off, felt the plane begin to move, checked the trim of the motors and braced my feet on the rudder bar, my left hand gripping the control column. The thing that worried me more than anything was the ash. How would the plane react when it gathered speed? What bumps did that damned carpet of ash hide? But there was no going back now. I opened out to full throttle. The ash was streaming past us now. Little grey bushes fled beneath us faster and faster, the villa on its lava outcrop raced to meet us. I braced myself, waiting for the tail to lift, my hands on the control column. We began to swing. I checked the swing with my left foot, checked too much and felt the tail swinging across in the opposite direction. For a second all my mind was concentrated on adjusting the rudder. And then at last I had it and at the same moment I felt the tail rise. The villa grew large till it seemed to fill the whole windshield and then I was pulling back on the stick, sensing the sudden lift of the wings, hearing the motor noise soften to a drone, and the red-tiled roof of the villa slid away beneath us.
I relaxed with a sense of relief. Hilda’s hand pressed mine. I looked out through the perspex and beyond the port wing tip I saw there was nothing left of Santo Francisco now, just a black welt of lava.
And then some Jinx got hold of the wings of the plane, shook them, slammed us down and then rocketed us up towards the black pall of the sky. I knew what it was even as we were flung upwards. We were caught in the uprush of hot air from the lava stream that had outflanked Santo Francisco. I fought to keep myself from panicking, to keep control of the plane. As the uprush lessened we began to bump about, tossed here and there like a shuttlecock in the turbulence of the air-streams and all the time I was fighting with stick and rudder to hold us on our course. The lacerated stump of my leg was agony each time I had to put on left rudder.
And then quite suddenly I was at home there in the pilot’s seat — at home and at ease. I knew we’d get through all right. I knew I could still fly. And as though in conquering myself the elements recognised defeat, the turbulence suddenly ceased and we were flying straight and steady without a bump as though we were floating in space.
It was then that Hacket burst into the cockpit. ‘Farrell. There’s been an accident. That damned mule. Can you land as soon as possible?’
‘What’s happened?’ I asked. I was banking now, turning away to the sea, clear of the lava.
‘It’s that doctor fellow. He’s badly hurt. The mule kicked him.’
‘Kicked Sansevino?’ I suddenly wanted to laugh. ‘That mule’s got sense.’
‘Don’t be a fool, man. He’s pretty bad.’
I straightened the plane up, flying along the coast, headed towards Naples. ‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘The mule couldn’t have kicked him unless he was behind it.’