Part 31 (1/2)

Its movements appeared to become uncertain, as though puzzled by the trace of human habitation; it turned in different directions, coiling and uncoiling, and frequently rearing its head, but keeping about the middle of the s.p.a.ce in front of the cave, when suddenly, as though unable to resist doing so, one after another the boys fired, and even their mother discharged her gun. The shots took not the slightest effect beyond startling the monster, whose movements were accelerated. Fritz and I also fired with steadier aim, but with the same want of success, for the monster, pa.s.sing on with a gliding motion, entered the reedy marsh to the left, and entirely disappeared.

A wonderful weight seemed lifted from our hearts, while all eagerly discussed the vast length and awful though magnificent appearance of the serpent. I had recognized it as the boa constrictor. It was a vast specimen, upward of thirty feet in length.

I explained to the children that its name in South America is Boaguacu; the first syllable of that word, with the Latin addition, which indicates that it kills its prey by pressure, or ”constriction,” gives the name by which it is commonly known.

The near neighborhood of this terrific reptile occasioned me the utmost anxiety; and I desired that no one should leave the house on any pretense whatever, without my express permission.

During three whole days we were kept in suspense and fear, not daring to stir above a few hundred steps from the door, although during all that time the enemy showed no sign of his presence.

In fact, we might have been induced to think the boa had pa.s.sed across the swamp, and found his way by some cleft or chasm through the wall of cliffs beyond, had not the restless behavior of our geese and ducks given proof that he still lurked in the thicket of reeds which they were accustomed to make their nightly resting place.

They swam anxiously about, and with much clapping of wings and disturbed cackling showed their uneasiness; finally taking wing they crossed the harbor, and took up their quarters on Shark Island.

My embarra.s.sment increased, as time pa.s.sed on. I could not venture to attack with insufficient force a monstrous and formidable serpent concealed in dense thickets amidst dangerous swamps; yet it was dreadful to live in a state of blockade, cut off from all the important duties in which we were engaged, and shut up with our animals in the unnatural light of the cave, enduring constant anxiety and perturbation.

Out of this painful state we were at last delivered by none other than our good old simple-hearted donkey; not, however, by the exercise of a praiseworthy quality, such as the vigilance of the time-honored geese of the Capitol, but by sheer stupidity.

Our situation was rendered the more critical from having no great stock of provisions, or fodder for the animals; and the hay failing us on the evening of the third day, I determined to set them at liberty by sending them, under guidance of Fritz, across the river at the ford.

He was to ride Lightfoot, and they were to be fastened together until safely over.

Next morning we began to prepare for this by tying them in a line, and while so engaged my wife opened the door, when old Grizzle, who was fresh and frolicsome after the long rest and regular feeding, suddenly broke away from the halter, cut some awkward capers, then bolting out, careened at full gallop straight for the marsh.

In vain we called him by name. Fritz would even have rushed after him, had not I held him back. In another moment the a.s.s was close to the thicket, and with the cold shudder of horror, we beheld the snake rear itself from its lair, the fiery eyes glanced around, the dark, deadly jaws opened widely, the forked tongue darted greedily forth--poor Grizzle's fate was sealed.

Becoming aware on a sudden of his danger, he stopped short, spread out all four legs, and set up the most piteous and discordant bray that ever wrung echo from the rocks.

Swift and straight as a fencer's thrust, the destroyer was upon him, wound round him, entangled, enfolded, compressed him, all the while cunningly avoiding the convulsive kicks of the agonized animal.

A cry of horror arose from the spectators of this miserable tragedy.

”Shoot him, father! oh, shoot him--do save poor Grizzle!”

”My children, it is impossible!” cried I. ”Our old friend is lost to us for ever! I have hopes, however, that when gorged with his prey we may be able to attack the snake with some chance of success.”

”But the horrible wretch is never going to swallow him all at once, father?” cried Jack. ”That will be too shocking!”

”Snakes have no grinders, but only fangs, therefore they cannot chew their food, and must swallow it whole. But although the idea is startling, it is not really more shocking than the rending, tearing, and shedding of blood which occurs when the lions and tigers seize their prey.”

”But,” said Franz, ”how can the snake separate the flesh from the bones without teeth? And is this kind of snake poisonous?”

”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 crus.h.i.+ng folds, the bones give way, he is kneading him into a shapeless ma.s.s. 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.