Shipwrecked Six Pack (Illustrated)

Chapter XI-3

"No, dear child," said I, "only fearfully strong and ferocious. And it has no need to tear the flesh from the bones. It swallows them, skin, hair, and all, and digests everything in its stomach."

"It seems utterly impossible that the broad ribs, the strong legs, hoofs, and all, should go down that throat," exclaimed Fritz.

"Only see," I replied, "how the monster deals with his victim; closer and more tightly he curls his crushing folds, the bones give way, he is kneading him into a shapeless mass. He will soon begin to gorge his prey, and slowly but surely it will disappear down that distended maw!"

The mother, with little Franz, found the scene all too horrible, and hastened into the cave, trembling and distressed.

To the rest of us there seemed a fearful fascination in the dreadful sight, and we could not move from the spot. I expected that the boa, before swallowing his prey, would cover it with saliva, to aid in the operation, although it struck me that its very slender forked tongue was about the worst possible implement for such a purpose.

It was evident to us, however, that this popular idea was erroneous.

The act of lubricating the mass must have taken place during the process of swallowing; certainly nothing was applied beforehand.

This wonderful performance lasted from seven in the morning until noon. When the awkward morsel was entirely swallowed, the serpent lay stiff, distorted, and apparently insensible along the edge of the marsh.

I felt that now or never was the moment for attack!

Calling on my sons to maintain their courage and presence of mind, I left our retreat with a feeling of joyous emotion quite new to me, and approached with rapid steps and leveled gun the outstretched form of the serpent. Fritz followed me closely.

Jack, somewhat timidly, came several paces behind; while Ernest, after a little hesitation, remained where he was.

The monster's body was stiff and motionless, which made its rolling and fiery eyes and the slow, spasmodic undulations of its tail more fearful by contrast.

We fired together, and both balls entered the skull; the light of the eye was extinguished, and the only movement was in the further extremity of the body, which rolled, writhed, coiled, and lashed from side to side.

Advancing closer, we fired our pistols directly into its head, a convulsive quiver ran through the mighty frame, and the boa constrictor lay dead.

As we raised a cry of victory, Jack, desirous of a share in the glory of conquest, ran close to the creature, firing his pistol into its side, when he was sent sprawling over and over by a movement of its tail, excited to a last galvanic effort by the shot.

Being in no way hurt, he speedily recovered his feet, and declared he had given it its quietus.

"I hope the terrible noise you made just now was the signal of victory," said my wife, drawing near, with the utmost circumspection, and holding Franz tightly by the hand. "I was half afraid to come, I assure you."

"See this dreadful creature dead at our feet; and let us thank God that we have been able to destroy such an enemy."

"What's to be done with him now?" asked Jack.

"Let us get him stuffed," said Fritz, "and set him up in the museum among our shells and corals."

"Did anybody ever think of eating serpents?" inquired Franz.

"Of course not!" said his mother. "Why, child, serpents are poisonous—it would be very dangerous."

"Excuse me, my dear wife," said I. "First of all, the boa is not poisonous; and then, besides that, the flesh of even poisonous snakes can be eaten without danger; as, for instance, the rattlesnake, from which can be made a strong and nourishing soup, tasting very like good chicken broth—of course, the cook must be told to throw away the head, containing the deadly fangs.

"It is remarkable that pigs do not fear poisonous snakes, but can kill and eat them without injury. An instance of this occurs to my memory. A vessel on Lake Superior, in North America, was wrecked on a small island abounding in rattlesnakes, and for that reason uninhabited.

"The vessel had a cargo of live pigs. The crew escaped to the mainland in a boat, but the pigs had to be left for some time, till the owner could return to fetch them, but with the small hope of finding many left alive.

"To his surprise, the animals were not only alive, but remarkably fat and flourishing, while not a single rattlesnake remained on the island. The pigs had clearly eaten the serpents."

"But might not some other cause have been assigned for their disappearance?" asked Ernest. "Suppose, for example, that a great flight of secretary birds had arrived, they might have cleared the island of rattlesnakes."

"Oh, what is a secretary bird?" interrupted Franz. "I thought a secretary meant a man who wrote letters."

"So it does, Franz, and the bird Ernest spoke of has curious long feathers projecting from either side of its head, something like pens stuck behind a man's ear; hence its name.

"It is perfectly true that it lives on snakes, lizards, toads, and frogs, but, Ernest, I cannot give up my pigs; for, in the first place, the secretary bird is an inhabitant of Southern Africa, and is never seen in North America, neither does it ever fly in a flock; still, so ravenous is its appetite, that, no doubt, even one or two, had they by some miracle found themselves on Lake Superior, would have been able to give a very good account of the deadly reptiles, and at least shared in the glory of their extermination."

My wife having gone to prepare dinner, we continued talking as we rested in the shade of some rocks, near the serpent, for a considerable time. The open air was welcome to us after our long imprisonment: and we were, besides, desirous to drive off any birds of prey who might be attracted to the carcass, which we wished to preserve entire.

My boys questioned me closely on the subject of serpents in general; and I described to them the action of the poison fangs; how they folded back on the sides of the upper jaw; and how the poison-secreting glands and reservoir are found at the back and sides of the head, giving to the venomous serpents that peculiar width of head which is so unfailing a characteristic.

"The fangs are hollow," said I, "and when the creature bites, the pressure forces down a tiny drop of the liquid poison which enters the wound, and, through the veins, quickly spreads over the entire system. Sometimes, if taken in time, cures are effected, but in most cases the bite of a serpent is followed by speedy death."

The children were much interested in my account of the snake-charmers of India, how they fearlessly handle the most deadly of the serpent tribe, the Cobra di Capello—or hooded cobra—cause them to move in time to musical sounds from a small pipe, twine the reptile about their arms and bare necks, and then, to prove that the poison fangs have not been removed, make them bite a fowl, which soon dies from the effects.

"How is it possible to extract the fangs, father!" asked Ernest.

"No instrument is required," replied I; "I have read the account written by a gentleman in India, who saw a snake-charmer catch a large cobra in the jungle, and for the purpose of removing the fangs, hold up a cloth at which the irritated snake flew, and the fangs being caught in it, the man seized the reptile by the throat, extracted them, and then squeezed out the poison, a clear oily substance, upon a leaf."

"What does the rattle of the rattlesnake look like? and how does it sound?"

"At the tip of the tail are a number of curious, loose, horny structures formed of the same substance as the scales. A very good idea of the structure of the rattle may be formed by slipping a number of thimbles loosely into each other.

"The rattlesnake lies coiled with its head flat, and the tip of its tail elevated; when alarmed or irritated it gives a quivering movement to the tail which causes the joints of the rattle to shake against each other with a peculiar sound not easily described; all animals, even horses newly brought from Europe, tremble at this noise, and try to escape."

"What is the best thing to be done for the bite of a serpent?" inquired Fritz.

"Remedies are very various, very uncertain, and differ with the species inflicting the bite.

"Suction, ammonia, oil, the use of the knife, application of fresh mold, lunar caustic, leaves of certain plants, all these and more are mentioned. There is a creeping plant, called Aristolochia indica, the leaves of which have in repeated instances done wonders for fearful bites. It is found in many parts of the world, but most plentifully in the hotter regions.

"A mode of cure adopted by natives of India, Ceylon, and parts of Africa, is by the application of a remarkable object called snake-stone. These are described as flattish, something like half an almond with squared ends, rather light, bearing a very high polish, and of an intense jetty black.

"On being bitten by a cobra, the sufferer applies one of these 'stones' to each puncture, where they adhere strongly for a time, five or six minutes being about the average. They seem to absorb the blood as it flows from the wound, and at last fall off, when the danger is considered to be over.

"But now we must leave this fertile subject of discussion, and I can only say I sincerely trust we may never have cause to resume it from the appearance of another serpent here of any sort, size, or description.

"Come, Ernest, can you not give us an epitaph for our unfortunate friend the donkey?

"We must afford him more honorable sepulture than he enjoys at present, when we proceed, as we speedily must, to disembowel his murderer."

Ernest took the matter quite seriously, and planting his elbows on his knees, he bent his thoughtful brow in his hands, and remained rapt in poetic meditation for about two minutes.

"I have it!" cried he; "but perhaps you will all laugh at me?"

"No, no, don't be shy, old fellow; spit it out!" and thus encouraged by his brother, Ernest, with the blush of a modest author, began:

"Beneath this stone poor Grizzle's bones are laid,

A faithful ass he was, and loved by all.

At length, his master's voice he disobeyed,

And thereby came his melancholy fall.

A monstrous serpent, springing from the grass,

Seized, crushed, and swallowed him before our eyes

But we, though yet we mourn our honest ass,

Are grateful; for he thereby saved the lives

Of all the human beings on this shore—

A father, mother, and their children four."

"Hurrah for the epitaph! Well done, Ernest!" resounded on all sides, and taking out a large red pencil I used for marking wood, the lines were forthwith inscribed on a great flat stone, being, as I told the boy, the very best poetry that had ever been written on our coast.

We then had dinner, and afterward went to work with the serpent.

The first operation was to recover the mangled remains of the ass, which being effected, he was buried in the soft marshy ground close by, and the hole filled up with fragments of rock.

Then we yoked Storm and Grumble to the serpent, and dragged it to a convenient distance from Rockburg, where the process of skinning, stuffing, and sewing up again afforded occupation of the deepest interest to the boys for several days.

We took great pains to coil it round a pole in the museum, arranging the head with the jaws wide open, so as to look as alarming as possible, and contriving to make eyes and tongue sufficiently well to represent nature; in fact, our dogs never passed the monster without growling, and must have wondered at our taste in keeping such a pet.

Over the entrance leading to the museum and library were inscribed these words:

NO ADMITTANCE FOR ASSES

The double meaning of this sentence pleased us all immensely.