“Snake!”
“Whose is it?”
“Lynch the rascal!”
“Kill the scoundrel!” swelled on the air, mingled with the crashing of broken doors and chairs, the oaths and rushing of terrified men, and the screaming of still more terrified women, who knew not what to fear, while clear and distinct above the infernal melée arose the piercing rattle of the snake, who, writhing his huge proportions about, and striking at everything near him, seemed to glory in the confusion he had created.
A shot was heard, and then the coil collapsed, and the rattling slowly ceased. The snake was dead.
“Who brought him on board?”
“Let's lynch the scoundrel!”
“Are there any more of them?”
“Here's the box he got out of!”
My name was on it in large capitals.