And this is why Bill did not pull the ring on his manually operated, free parachute before diving out of the amphibian. Should the body or air bag of the chute come in contact with the plane, he would naturally crash with it.
Bill was not a trained parachute jumper. That part of an aviator’s training is usually confined to those who specialize in lighter-than-air craft, and Bill was a heavier-than-air pilot. The sensation of diving into the air, several thousand feet above the earth was anything but a pleasant one. But his nerves were steady. He kept his head.
“One,” he said to himself, as he sprang outwards and down...
“Two—” He felt his body twisting in his fall. He knew he was catapulting earthward at a falling speed of nearly 400 miles per hour.
“Three!” He jerked on the pull ring. Would the chute open? Would it be capable of withstanding the shock incurred by the weight of his body falling at this terrific rate of speed? (He knew that the average time required for an air chute to open and assume normal descent is approximately one and three-fifths seconds after the rip cord has been pulled). But that mere second and a fraction seemed interminable. He was falling ... falling...
There came a sudden jerk that wrenched every muscle in his tense body. His projectile-like speed decreased with uncomfortable suddenness, and he was swung round and upward to find himself sitting in what amounted to a swing, with webbing representing the ropes on either side of his aching body. Looking up, he saw that slightly above his head and within reach, the webbing divided into two, and that the shrouds or small cords leading to the outer edge of the parachute were here attached to the harness he wore, in four places. He was swaying wildly. In an effort to prevent that, he pulled the ropes, first on one side, then on the other.
All this had happened in an inconceivably short space of time. Three, possibly four seconds had elapsed since Bill had sprung out of the doomed amphibian. For the moment, his mind had been intent upon his own particular troubles, but now that he swung safely in his harness, memory came back. He turned his eyes earthward.
Almost directly below him, a column of black smoke smudged the clear green of the swamp grass. At the very base of the dark cloud, red tongues of flame shot skyward. Bill turned his gaze elsewhere. His former passengers were undoubtedly as cold-blooded, black-hearted a band of villains as had ever lived; still, they were, or had been human beings. And Bill had no desire to watch their cremation and the demolition of a splendid plane.
His eyes swept the horizon. Yes, over there perhaps a mile to westward two parachutes, one far below the other, were floating down toward earth. Even as he looked, the farther one disappeared behind tall trees on an island.
“Confound it all! I clean forgot to tell those two innocents anything about landing. Hope they don’t get into trouble—it’s my fault if they do!”