But all this time I am wandering from the real subject of this book, i.e., myself and my adventures, and as wandering from the straight path is an unpardonable error, it behoves me to return speedily to my subject, and recount a few of the soul-stirring incidents which befell me during some of my many bicycling expeditions alone into the depths of the jungle.
This bicycling out of sight of human habitation, into the depths of the jungle, sounds rather a brave and fearless proceeding, so I will not correct the statement, but in parenthesis, as it were, I will remark that once only did I venture more than half a mile from Remyo, and that whenever I had turned the corner of the circular road, which shut out the last view of my brother's house, my heart sank, and I became a prey to the most agonising fears. Every instant I expected a tiger to bound upon me from the jungle at the side of the road, a cobra to dart out its ugly head from the overhanging branch of a tree, or a body of dacoits to pounce down upon me and carry me off to their lair in triumph. My mind was filled with useless speculation as to whether I and my bicycle would be swifter than a panther, and with what "honeyed words of wisdom" I should best allay the wrath of the "Burman run amuck," should fate throw one of these in my way.
I derived no pleasure from that lonely mile and a half of the circular road, which must be traversed before again arriving at the haunts of civilisation; I never entered upon it without a shiver of nervous expectation, or left it behind without a sigh of relief, and yet I was forced by my overweening craving for adventure, to ride out at every opportunity to explore this dreary waste of jungle! Like the great "Tartarin" of "Tarasconnasian" memory, my "Don Quixote" spirit drove me to seek adventures, however gruesome, while my "Sancho Panza" mind ever timidly pined for home and safety.
The first time my Quixotic expectations were fulfilled, was one evening when I was riding later than usual. The sun had set, and the short eastern twilight was rapidly darkening into night. I was cycling along quickly, eager to reach home before being overtaken by the gathering darkness, when suddenly, on turning a corner of the road, I saw, about a hundred yards in front of me, a long black thing, presumably a python, stretching half across the road, and curving up its huge head, as though ready to attack.
I do not suppose any bicycle ever stopped so abruptly as mine did at that moment, and I must confess that my descent from the machine was rapid rather than graceful.
After I had sorted myself and the bicycle, I stood up, my senses somewhat steadied by the sudden contact with mother earth, and considered the situation. The python did not appear to have moved much, and had, apparently, as yet taken no notice of my appearance; could it be asleep? I suppose pythons do sleep sometimes?
If I turned back, behind me lay three miles and more of jungle bordered road, full of endless possible dangers, which must be traversed before reaching safety, and it was growing so dark. In front, if I could but pass the python, I had but a quarter of a mile to ride and I should be in Remyo. I felt that I positively dared not face that long, dark, ride back; but dare I face the python? It still made no sign of movement; but possibly it was shamming sleep.
Then suddenly there came to me in my need, not a mysterious voice, but a timely recollection. It was a recollection of one of the stories told me by the versatile policeman; a story of how he had behaved successfully under similar circumstances, except that in his case the obstacle was a leopard. I determined to follow his example.
Summoning all my courage to assist me in performing this fearsome deed, I mounted my bicycle, and with beating heart and trembling limbs, I rode straight towards the reptile, ringing my bell, shouting, and making as much noise and commotion as possible. Straight on I rode, almost desperate with fear,——and then suddenly I ceased to shout, I stayed my reckless pace, and finished my ride in gloomy silence, for on nearer inspection the mighty python, the object of all my terror, turned out to be nothing more alarming than the fallen branch of a tree.
Another adventure (which but for my habitual prudence might have ended more seriously) befell me at almost exactly the same spot, but in the day time. I was riding along cheerfully, feeling particularly brave, when suddenly I beheld about a quarter of a mile in front of me three strange beasts.