Beyond the shadow of a doubt was Smythje standing upon a snake, or
rather, _dancing_ upon one: for as he felt the scaly creature crawling
and writhing under his feet with a strong muscular action, it was
contrary to human nature that he should remain at rest upon such a
perilous pedestal.
For some moments he hopped about upon this dangerous _dais_, expecting
every instant to feel the sharp sting of a bite. Any one who could have
looked on him at that crisis would have seen a face white with horror,
eyes starting from their watery sockets, and dripping hair and whiskers
doing their best to stand on end.
Through his dark sky of dread a gleam of light flashed upon his spirit:
he remembered having heard that in Jamaica there is no _poisonous_
serpent.
It was but a spark of consolation. If the reptile could not _sting_, it
could _bite_; and, being such an enormous creature as to cover with its
coils the whole floor of his _cylindric_ chamber, its bite should be a
formidable one.
Perhaps, after all, it was not a single snake? Perhaps there was a
whole family of serpents, crawling one over another, and wreathing
fantastic figures of eight beneath his feet?
If so--and this was probable enough--he might be bitten by all;
repeatedly bitten--torn to pieces--devoured!
What matter whether they were poisonous or not? He might as well perish
from their fangs, as by their teeth!
Fortunate it was for Smythje that the snakes--for his conjecture that
there were more than one was correct--fortunate for him that they were
still half asleep, else the danger he dreaded might have come to pass.
As it was, the whole band of reptiles had just been aroused from a state
of torpidity--the wash of cold rain having reached them in their crushed
cave, and scattered the mutual coil in which they had been cosily
slumbering. Still only half awakened, in the confusion of their ideas
they could not distinguish friend from foe; and to this was Mr Smythje
indebted for the circumstance that his skin, and even his silk
stockings, still remained intact.
Notwithstanding this, his dread remained undiminished, and incited him
to a fresh effort at escape.
Only one mode suggested itself: to clamber up the "chimney" as far as he
could go, and by that means get out of reach of the reptiles.
On conceiving this new design, he sprang upward, shaking the serpent
coils from his feet; and, after a few seconds of scratching and
scrambling, he arrived at an elevation of some ten feet from the bottom
of the tree.
Here a slight projection offered a tolerable support for his posteriors;
and, setting his toes well against the opposite side, he did his very
best to sustain himself in position.
It was an irksome effort, and could not have lasted long--as to his
consternation he soon discovered.
His strength would soon give way, his toes become cramped and nerveless;
and then, losing his hold, he must inevitably drop down among the
monsters below--who, perhaps, in a second collision with him, would be
less chary about using their teeth?
The prospect of such a terrible fate stimulated him to put forth all his
energies in preserving his balance and his place--at the same time that
it drew from him cries of the keenest anguish.
His cries at this crisis proved his salvation. His strength was
well-nigh exhausted; and he was on the point of letting go, when, just
then, an object came before his upturned eyes that determined him to
hold on a little longer--even should his toes be torn out of their
joints.
Above him, and half filling the orifice of the hollow, appeared an
enormous head, with a face black as Erebus, and two yellowish-white eyes
shining in the midst of it. No other feature was at first seen; but
presently a double row of great white teeth appeared, gleaming between a
pair of freshly-opened purplish lips, of a massive, cartilaginous
structure.
In the confusion of his senses Smythje was, for the moment, inclined to
believe himself between two demons--one below, in the shape of a
monstrous serpent, and the other above him, in human form: for the
grinning white teeth, and yellow eyeballs rolling in sockets of sable
ground, presented an appearance sufficiently demoniac.
Of the two demons, however, he preferred the company of the one who bore
something of his own shape; and when a huge black arm--like the trunk of
a young tree--with the hand of a Titan attached to it, was stretched
down to him, he did not decline to take it; but eagerly clutching at the
gigantic paw thus proffered, he felt himself raised upward, as lightly
as if elevated upon the extremity of a "see-saw!"
In another instant he found himself upon the summit of the dead-wood,
his deliverer standing by his side.
So much light rushing all at once into the eyes of the rescued Smythje,
instead of enabling him to see distinctly, quite blinded him; and it was
only by the touch that he knew a man was by his side, who, the next
moment, lifting him with one arm carried him down to the bottom of the
tree, with as much apparent facility as if he, Smythje, had been a
little infant!
On reaching the ground, Smythje's eyes had become sufficiently
strengthened to bear the light; and then he saw, in full length, the
individual who had rescued him from his perilous dilemma. He was a
jet-black negro of colossal size, nearly naked, with a number of straps
and strings passing over his shoulders, to which were suspended horns,
bullet-pouches, and other accoutrements of a more mysterious kind. His
head-dress was equally odd as the rest of his costume, and consisted
simply of the crown of an old beaver hat, with the brim closely trimmed
off just above the ears. This gave a ludicro-comic expression to the
face, which, though black as ebony, was otherwise not disagreeable.
Still there was a wild look about the man, which, combined with his
gigantic size, was calculated to impress one with the idea of his being
no ordinary character.
Nor was he, for the deliverer of Mr Smythje was no other than our old
acquaintance Quaco.
Smythje knew nothing of the Maroon. It might be a robber into whose
hands he had fallen; but even so, the Cockney was no longer in a
condition to be frightened. All fear had been scared out of him by his
adventure with the snakes; and perceiving, from his amiable smiles, that
his deliverer meant him no harm, he proceeded to give the latter a full
account of all that had befallen him.
As soon as the sportsman had finished his narrative, Quaco, without
saying a word, scrambled back to the summit of the dead-wood.
Fastening a cord, which he carried up with him, around the top of the
stump, he fearlessly let himself down into the dark, snake-tenanted
chamber, which Mr Smythje had been so glad to get out of!
He had not been more than half a minute out of sight, when a glittering
object was seen projected above the top of the stump. It was of serpent
form, and bright yellow colour. Wriggling and writhing, it hung, for a
moment, suspended in the air; and then, yielding to the laws of
gravitation, it came down with a thump upon the turf. Its large size,
and its lines of black and gold, rendered it easy of identification as
the "yellow snake" of Jamaica (_chilabothrus inornatus_).
Scarce had it touched the ground when a second and similar projectile
was ejected from the hollow stump; and then a third--and another, and
yet another, until no less than a dozen of these hideous reptiles lay
scattered over the grass, to the no small consternation of Smythje, who,
however, took care to keep well out of their reach.
After the dead-wood had been delivered of its last snake, an object of a
far different character was seen to issue forth in a similar manner. It
was a misshapen mass, of a dirty buff colour, and proved, upon
inspection, to be one of Mr Smythje's boots, still incased in its
fawn-skin covering! Its mate soon followed; and then, the "wild
turkey," which had led the sportsman into his deplorable dilemma, and
which now, with half its plumage gone, and the other half "drooked" and
bedraggled, offered but a poor chance for the garnishing of his
game-bag.
Smythje, however, too well contented at escaping with his life, thought
no more of his game-bag, nor of anything else, but getting back to Mount
Welcome by the shortest route possible.
His boots being restored to him, he lost no time in drawing them on,
leaving the bottoms of his trousers in the companionship of the
worthless "turkey," which Quaco, better acquainted with the ornithology
of Jamaica, on coming out of the hollow tree, assured him, was, after
all, no turkey, but only a turkey-buzzard--a John Crow--in short, a
stinking vulture!
Volume Two, Chapter VII.