CHAPTER XX
Snake Stories—Two Brave Girls
In the previous chapter I have spoken of Mr. Warner and his fruit orchard. The old saying that misfortunes, like blessings, never come singly was verified in their case. One day, not long after the previous incident, Miss Warner was in the orchard pruning some young trees. As she moved away from a tree she had finished with, she felt a sharp slap on her right thigh and knew at once she had trodden on a snake, which animals are very numerous in that part of the country. Her bush training had taught her that it is safest in such a case to stand quite still until you know which end of the snake you are treading on. Perchance it may be on its head, and if so you can easily dispatch it; and if, unfortunately, you are on its tail, well, no earthly power can save you from being bitten before you can jump clear. As ill-luck would have it, Miss Warner had trod upon the snake’s tail and it had retaliated by digging its poisoned fang into her thigh. It was just about to make another stab, when she struck at it with her pruning knife, cutting it in two and killing it instantly. Then she coolly wiped the point of the knife on her dress, and deliberately made a cross cut into her thigh where the snake had bitten her. Then, while the blood was spurting from the wound, she called out to her father who came running to her, knowing by the sound of her voice that something was the matter. In a few seconds he had torn his handkerchief into strips and tightly bound the leg above and below the wound. Then, saddling his horse and one for the wounded girl, they set off on their twelve mile ride to Newcastle.
You can imagine what that ride was like to Miss Warner, up hill and down dale as fast as the horses could go, the great gash in her leg was very agony of pain. It required endurance, nerve, and pluck—qualities our colonial bush-reared maidens are in no way deficient in. Her father, too, had a very good reason for letting her ride on horseback. Snake poison, as is well known, causes sleepiness, which, if succumbed to, knows no waking. Had Mr. Warner taken her in a trap, he would not have been able to prevent her from falling asleep, so had put her upon her horse, hoping to reach Newcastle before the poison took effect. They had ridden about nine miles when Miss Warner became very faint, and could scarcely keep her seat on her horse. Just then they met a young man riding out to the lake district, and as soon as he heard the state of affairs, he at once turned his horse round and went back to Newcastle to obtain a doctor.
Fortunately the doctor was in, he immediately ordered his carriage, and taking his instrument case and some antidote to counteract the snake poison, he set out and met Mr. and Miss Warner just outside the town. He at once helped her off her horse, then she was taken more dead than alive to the nearest house, and all that medical skill could do and suggest was done for her, but it was fully three months before she was able to return home, and then looked a perfect wreck in comparison to her former robust self. But the brave spirit was in no way quenched by the suffering she had gone through.
The other brave girl was the daughter of an old boat-builder name Parrell, who lived on the banks of Lake McQuarrie, with his wife and his one daughter, Jennie, who was seventeen years of age, and had been born in the bush of Australia. Like most of the girls reared in the bush, she was a fearless horse-woman, a strong swimmer, a first-class shot with a revolver, as cool as a cucumber at all times, and, to crown all, one of the prettiest girls in those parts, at least I thought so, and many a young fellow beside, but Jennie would have none of us, but would laugh and shake her head at our attempts to oust each other in our efforts to win her favour, but it was all to no purpose, Jennie remained heart-whole, and we sighed in vain.
The house they lived in was built of weatherboard, and stood at the mouth of a small creek, where it emptied itself into the lake. All the rooms were on the ground floor, and were divided by a thin partition about six feet high, thus making two bedrooms and a good-sized living room, all furnished very comfortably, the beds used being the ordinary trestle camp beds. One night I had gone over to try and get a chat with Jennie—the night was hot and sultry, there was not a breath of air moving, the day had been one of the hottest we had had, the mosquitoes were terribly vicious. When I got there I found that Mrs. Parrell and Jennie, unable to bear the heat and mosquitoes any longer for that day, had gone to bed under their mosquito curtains, so Mr. Parrell and I sat on a log outside the cottage door. There was some satisfaction in being near the object of my admiration at any rate, and her father always gave me a very hearty welcome, which was something in my favour, at least I thought so. They had been in bed about two hours—while we had been yarning—when Mrs. Parrell heard her daughter quietly calling her.
“What do you want, lassie?” she replied. “Can’t you sleep?”
“No, mother, there is a snake in my bed,” the girl answered. “It is lying on my naked legs. I dare not move or it will bite me. Tell my father quick.”
The terrified mother needed no second bidding, springing out of bed she rushed to the door and told her husband.