Chapter Thirty Six.
Charming the Crotalus.
I was destined to witness still further proofs of the wonderful capabilities of my new acquaintance.
I felt the natural joy of one whose life has been, saved from destruction—singularly, almost miraculously saved. Like one who has escaped from drowning, from the field of slaughter, from the very jaws of death. The reaction was delightful. I felt gratitude, too, for him who had saved me. I could have embraced my sable companion, black and fierce as he was, like a brother.
We sat side by side upon the log, and chatted gaily;—gaily as men may whose future is dark and unsettled. Alas! it was so with both of us. Mine had been dark for days past; and his—what was his, poor helot?
But even in the gloom of sadness the mind has its moments of joy. Nature has not allowed that grief may be continuous, and at intervals the spirit must soar above its sorrows. Such an interval was upon me then. Joy and gratitude were in my heart. I had grown fond of this slave,—this runaway slave,—and was for the moment happy in his companionship.
It was natural our conversation should be of snakes and snake-roots, and many a strange fact he imparted to me relating to reptile life. A herpetologist might have envied me the hour I spent upon that log in the company of Gabriel the Bambarra.
In the midst of our conversation my companion abruptly asked the question, whether I had killed the snake that had bitten me.
“No,” I replied. “It escaped.”