Poor Smythje! he had not yet reached the climax of his sorrows. A new suffering was in store for him—one in comparison with which all he had undergone was but a mild endurance. It was only when that slimy thing came crawling over his feet, and began to entwine itself round his ankles—its cold clammy touch painfully perceptible through his silk stockings—it was only then that he felt something like a sensation of real horror!
He was on his legs at the moment; and instantly sprang upward, as if coals had been suddenly applied to the soles of his feet. But springing upward did not avail him, since it only resulted in his dropping down again on the same spot; and, as he did so, he felt writhing beneath his feet the slippery form of a serpent!
Volume Two—Chapter Six.
A Dangerous Dance.
Beyond the shadow of a doubt was Smythje standing upon a snake, or rather, dancing upon one: for as he felt the scaly creature crawling and writhing under his feet with a strong muscular action, it was contrary to human nature that he should remain at rest upon such a perilous pedestal.
For some moments he hopped about upon this dangerous dais, expecting every instant to feel the sharp sting of a bite. Any one who could have looked on him at that crisis would have seen a face white with horror, eyes starting from their watery sockets, and dripping hair and whiskers doing their best to stand on end.
Through his dark sky of dread a gleam of light flashed upon his spirit: he remembered having heard that in Jamaica there is no poisonous serpent.
It was but a spark of consolation. If the reptile could not sting, it could bite; and, being such an enormous creature as to cover with its coils the whole floor of his cylindric chamber, its bite should be a formidable one.