ENDING AS OUTLINED BY CHARMIAN LONDON
The small yacht sailing, spinnaker winged out, day and night, for many days and nights. The saturnalia of destruction—splendid description of the bonita—by the hundreds of thousands. The great hunting. The miles wide swatch of destruction. The gunies, bosuns, frigate birds, etc., increasing—tens of thousands. All after flying fish. When flying fish come aboard, they, too, rush to catch them. Saturnalia of killing gets on their nerves. Birds break wings against rigging, fall overboard, torn to pieces by bonita and attacked from above by their fluttering kind—frigate birds, bosuns, etc. Native sailors catch bonita to eat raw—as haul in, caught-bonita are attacked by their fellows. Sailors catch a shark—cut it clean open, none of its parts left. Beating heart in a man’s hand—shark heaved overboard, swims and swims, snapping with jaws as the bonita hosts flit by in the sun-flooded brine—beating heart shock to Grunya. Finally the madness of the tropic sun, etc. Here begin to shoot birds, fish, etc., with small automatic rifle, and she looks up and applauds. All killed or injured are immediately eaten by others. Once the Irish terrier goes overboard and is torn to pieces by bonita. Once, her scarf, red, struck and dragged down, etc., etc. Nothing can escape.
And so the end, tragic foredoomed, as they go ashore, sharks snap at their oar blades. And on the beach, a school of small fish, discovered, rush upon the beach. They wade ashore through this silvery surf of perished life, and find—Dragomiloff dying.