“What for?” asked Martin, in astonishment. “It is the pig we want in the sampan, not this brute of a snake.”
“Sahib, yes—he not dead yet—we fasten rope to sampan—then drag him ’bout till no more ’live.”
“But that’s no answer,” replied Martin; “let him die here. What do we want with it on board the boat? Let’s take the pig.”
“Come, come, Martin,” I said, “let us humor Kati; he is a native, and understands what he is about.”
“Well, let us secure the pig first, and I will help you,” he replied, proud of his first game, and fearing to be robbed by some wild beast.
We complied, and by our united efforts hauled the snake to the river’s edge; then, fastening the rope to the stern, we got into the boat and dragged the reptile, still alive and swimming about in the water like an eel, up to the other sampan, the crew of which, having filled their casks, were about departing. At a word, however, from Kati, one of the men, taking the end of the rope that had been fastened to our sampan, ascended a tree till he reached a forked branch; throwing it over this, he let one end down to his comrades, who then hauled up the snake—some twenty feet in length, and as thick as the body of a boy twelve years of age. Then the man upon the branch, placing a sharp knife between his teeth, began to descend, holding on to the slimy body by means of his legs and one hand, ripping it up and skinning it as he came slowly down. By the time he came to the ground again, he had no pleasant appearance, his mahogany-colored skin being all besmeared with the reptile’s blood. But the result was worth the pains taken to procure it, for in a very short time the natives had emptied one of the casks and re-filled it with the fat, or rather oil—a commodity so marketable that it proved a valuable gift to Prabu.
Having thus shipped our prizes and dispatched them to the prahu, we pulled back in the direction of our hunting-ground, with the intention of looking after other game; for one pig, we knew, would be but a sorry store for the long voyage before us.
“I wish we could just bag a few of those Argus pheasants we used to have at Mynheer’s,” said Martin.
“About as probable as to find the golden pheasant of China!” replied I. “Why, the Argus pheasant is only found in Sumatra.” (Apropos of the common pheasant, my young reader is not perhaps aware that its progenitors were first brought to Europe from the banks of the Pharsis, a river of Colchis, in Asia Minor, and from which they derive their name.) “Besides,” I added, “it would be barbarous indeed to slaughter so beautiful a bird with a rifle-bullet. What would they think of such unsportsmanlike conduct in America?”
“Oh! bother about what they think in America, Claud, when we are dying for want of fresh provisions; still, I admire their beauty as much as you.”