Our garden in Ceylon had been laid out by a Dutch gentleman, and
consisted of terraces upon terraces out upon a hill-side. On these
terraces grew the most splendid mango and nutmeg trees. The garden was
famous then, and is still, for its wealth of fruit and spice trees. One
morning I was walking leisurely down the stone steps leading from an
upper terrace, when I saw at the foot a most horrible sight, that made
me quickly retrace my steps. But curiosity and pity mastered disgust,
and I turned to look at what I had fled from. I crept silently toward
the snake, and threw a stone at it; but it never moved, for it was
busily engaged swallowing a frog. I thought to release its unfortunate
prey, and threw another stone, with more force than before, but the
snake--a cobra, as I discovered--steadily continued its meal. Finding I
could do nothing, and dreading what the cobra might do when its appetite
was appeased, I slowly ascended the stone steps. When I reached the top
I turned to look again. Every vestige of the poor frog had vanished, and
the snake was gliding sleepily away. About three months afterward my
husband killed a snake, and from the description he gave me of it--for I
was ill at the time--I fancy it must have been the same greedy snake
that I had seen devouring the unhappy frog.
Now one more story, and I have done. Snakes are very fond of eggs, and
are great enemies to poultry. We noticed that a wise old hen used to lay
her eggs in the clothes-basket, or sometimes on the top of the bed, and
wondered at the reason. Often we discovered whole shells of eggs that
were quite empty, and could not account for so strange a fact, nor could
we get any eggs but those the wise old hen laid in the clothes-basket or
on the bed-top. The poultry-house was very comfortably arranged for the
convenience of its occupants. Baskets full of straw were made for the
hens, but still this wise old hen preferred laying her eggs in a more
public place. The reason we discovered at last, for we set a servant to
watch. A snake had hidden itself in the leafy roof that covered the
hen-house, and would watch its opportunity. As soon as the hen had
deposited her egg and left the basket, it glided down and sucked its
contents, leaving the empty shell with a small hole from which it had
drawn the juicy meat.
Probably the wise old hen had discovered her enemy, and sought refuge in
the clothes-basket. Much as she disliked the intrusion of human folk,
she preferred their presence to the snake's. But the reptile was doomed.
We watched for him, and had him quickly dispatched.
We no longer had to complain after this, and the wise old hen left off
paying visits to the basket, and we were no longer disturbed by her
cackle.