Notwithstanding his cynicism, Appadocca was irritated by the numberless difficulties that fell to his lot to surmount.
‘But a feather breaks the loaded camel’s back’: he had undergone privations, borne sufferings, staked life, happiness—all that was dear and solacing to man—on the accomplishment of a design; after exerting himself to an extent that such as he, only, could exert themselves; after sacrificing the happiness that a lovely and angelic being was willing to confer, he was, at the eleventh hour, of his suffering, when hope began to beam again, now exposed to be devoured by vile unreasonable creatures.
These reflections might have been made on another occasion, without endangering the temper of the person who made them. But Appadocca was now almost maddened by fatigue and hunger. Famine makes the most steady violent, and human nature has already a sufficiently hard duty to contain itself, even when starvation is not present to gall it into rage.
In this mood he stood boldly on the shore, looking up at the wild beasts, with his chest heaving highly and quickly, and apparently desiring that they should rush upon him at once, and afford a but to his fury, and put an end to his unsweetened existence. His wishes were partly fulfilled.
The animals rushed to and fro and seemed to be looking for a footing to descend the crag; but their instinct apparently did not deem it sufficiently secure for that purpose, for they drew back and howled as if disappointed of their prey.
“Fools,” cried Appadocca, addressing them with more rage than reason, “go further down the ridge if you would have me to feast upon.”
One of the animals, bolder than the others, went as far forward as possible, and seemed to have found a means of descending, but as the creature endeavoured to rest the weight of its body on the projection, on which it had laid one of its paws, it gave way. Its balance was lost and headlong it tumbled down the precipice. It had no sooner reached the ground, than Appadocca, wild as the animals themselves, threw himself upon it and buried his thumb and finger into its neck.
“Now you must either kill me, or I shall kill you, vile creature that assails me, as if mankind could not inflict sufficient injury without your coming from your native wilds and forests to aid them. Die, by Heaven! or I shall”—saying this, he contracted his muscles as tightly as the sinews of a convulsive man.
The animal lay for awhile stunned by the fall; but as soon as the blood commenced to circulate again, it felt the pressure on its wind-pipe, and began to kick violently.