Then the Kaffirs’ legend was indeed true! They had told us a story which we had regarded in the light of a fable. In spite of our ridicule, they had maintained that a serpent of gigantic dimensions had its haunt in the neighbourhood of our little church. They said that it would suddenly appear from out the bush when the organ was played and lie in the sun as if listening to the music. We had naturally received the story as a Kaffir superstition, and gave it no credence.
But—Heaven help me!—it was no idle tale, but a horrible fact, for there was the immense snake before me.
A tempest of fear seized me. My heart seemed to beat all over me at once, and a singing noise in my head drove me nearly distraught. After a while, however, it appeared to turn into a voice calling upon me to continue playing. “It is your only chance, your only hope,” it seemed to say.
With a supreme effort of will I controlled myself sufficiently to continue my performance. I compelled my hands and feet to move and perform their duty. Never once, however, did I move my eyes from the python, which was gradually drawing the vast length of its body into view.
A faint hope sprang within me that I might lull its savage proclivities with the music, and I forced myself to continue a monotonous droning on the little instrument. Calling to mind the snake-charmers of India, and imitating to my uttermost the mournful wail they produce on their reed whistles, I kept this going until the incessant thud, thud of the bellows seemed to pound on the nerves of my brain and be the only sound I extracted from the little organ.
Presently, with a fresh horror, I observed that the creature was rearing itself up, as if endeavouring to locate the direction whence the music came. Having done so, it gradually made its way round the heap of flowers and palms towards me.
Once the python reared itself to the level of the back rail of the chair where lay my choice white flowers, and for a space of time remained poised in that position, surveying its environment from that improved elevation. During this time its sinuous form quivered in perpetual vibration, and its changeful, scintillating eye gave indication of its exceedingly sensitive nature. It was evidently a creature so susceptible to sound that a human voice, far away across the Flat, borne on the scented, heat-laden air through the open window, smote its delicate organization and sent a tremor through its body, making the exquisite, shaded skin shiver, and bringing into prominence a wonderful iridescent bloom that glistened along the smooth surface of its coils.
Once, in its passage towards me, the snake pushed the chair that impeded its progress an inch or two from its former position, scraping it along the varnished boards, causing a sharp discordant sound.
Instantly the python drew back its awful head, assuming a swan-like attitude. The quivering tongue, as sensitive as a butterfly’s feelers, played and trembled, and its jewelled eyes narrowed and flashed. The creature’s whole position was one of threatening defence. How deadly it looked, how awful in its cruel beauty!
“Heaven send me help!” I inwardly prayed. “Oh, for some means of escape!”