Here in the wonderful solitude, where the sun’s rays fell in silver rain upon the newly turned black earth, the dead captain was laid to take his long last sleep; and sad, but still lightened in heart, the party returned to the Planet to talk over their plans for the morrow, when the first exploration of the unknown land was to commence.
Still weary from the shock and exertions of the past days, bed was sought in pretty good time, and Oliver Lane lay in his berth close to the open cabin window for some time in a half dreamy fashion, inhaling the soft warm air, and fancying now and then that a puff of hot sulphurous steam was wafted in through the window. Then he listened to a dull low singing and murmuring noise, quite plain now in the distance as if steam was rising from the ground. Anon came a loud splashing and wallowing as of some large beast making its way through water, and this was followed by a series of heavy blows apparently struck on the land or liquid sand. Gasping sighs, the smacking of lips, and then again hisses and noises, which made the listener ask himself whether there could be dangerous beasts about, and whether it was wise for the mate to have a couple of stout planks laid from the gangway down to the sand in which the brig was bedded.
But somehow these things ceased to trouble him. The noises were undoubtedly caused by fishes or crocodiles, which would not come on board, and he dropped off to sleep, and then awoke, as if directly, to lie staring at the dim cabin lamp against the roof, and wonder what was the meaning of the heavy feeling of oppression from which he suffered.
“Was it a nightmare?” he asked himself. Certainly there was something upon his chest, and it was moving. He could feel it plainly stirring all over him, and he was about to give himself a violent wrench when something passed between his eyes and the cabin lantern—something so horrible that it froze all his faculties into a state of inaction. For he saw distinctly the glistening of burnished scales, and a serpent’s head at the end of an undulating neck, and directly after a forked flickering tongue touched and played about his face.
Chapter Four.
Snakes.
“It’s only a dream-nightmare; but how horribly real,” said Oliver Lane to himself, as a feeling of resignation came over him, and he lay there waiting for his imagination to be darkened over by a deeper sleep.
For there was an utter cessation of all sense of fear, and in quite a philosophical fashion, he began to think of how clear it all was, and how his mind could occupy mentally the position of a spectator, and look on at the vivid picture in which his body was playing so important a part.