It got to be like the hollow roar of a rapid filling his ears with mocking sound.

There was a perceptible current out in the river, and it hindered straight advancement.

Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear the bang of rifles, the spattering of bullets.

He tried not to look backward, but failed.

The fire appeared a little dimmer, the moving shadows a little darker.
Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were settling.
Bringing feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over the treacherous place.
This way he made faster progress.