Death ended all.

He had always believed that, and been unafraid.

And at this moment, the boat fifteen feet above the water and immovable, himself fainting with weakness and without a particle of strength left in him, he still believed that death ended all, and he was still unafraid.

His views were too simply and solidly based to be overthrown by the first squirm, or the last, of death-fearing life.
He had seen men and animals die, and into the field of his vision, by scores, came such deaths.

He saw them over again, just as he had seen them at the time, and they did not shake him.
What of it?
They were dead, and dead long since.