The Nashville Daily Union

A Night With Snakes.
The following thrilling tale of horror is extracted from a volume of adventures recently published in Europe. The hero of the scene is a sailor, who, with his companions, were on an East India island, preparing to leave, but could not finish a sail they were fitting. He says:
We worked hard, and being bunglers, much of the work had to be done over again three or four times. We were, however, pretty near the end of the job, when an adventure befell me, the recollection of which reproduced in dreams, often makes me start up in bed in a cold sweat of terror. I have seen it, not quite correctly, in a popular periodical, probably by some one who had heard it directly or indirectly from me. It thus fell out: The sail, a lug, did not set well. I, having, or believing I had, more knowledge upon the subject than the others, remained by the boat, whilst my mates returned to the ship, turned in, and made themselves comfortable. I worked on till I had thoroughly wearied myself—for the Southern night, with its glorious moon and fields of splendid stars, was brilliant as the day, though cold for the clime, a chill wind having set in immediately after sunset. This, with the work I was engaged in—cutting and stitching the sail—did not induce warmth, so that I partook more freely than it was my wont to do of the excellent brandy I had provided myself with. At all events, tired, vexed—for I could not so set the sails as to bend it on shipshape—and perhaps more than half seas over (I was not an abstemious man in those days) I lay down under the lee of the boat, took a few pulls at the brandy flask and dropped off to sleep. Sleep! yes, the sleep of devils! Frightful, horrible dreams oppressed me. I was stifled, crushed with nightmare. That was the impression on my half unconscious mind. At last I fully awoke. Good God! the icy chill that ran through my veins, when I, by moonlight, discerned the cause of the nightmare which was stifling me.
The fetid, horrible smell of serpents was in my nostrils, and I saw that two cobras, one the largest I had ever seen, were lying on my breast—where they had no doubt crept for warmth—twined together, and, being quite motionless, were, I judged, asleep. To stir, to awake them, was certain death. In less than an hour, if I was bitten ever so slightly, I should be a mass of corruption. Paralyzed, fainting with fear, I lay perfectly still, but believing that the dreadful suspense could not be long endured; that I must soon start up and cast off the horrible reptiles at any risk. They were evidently asleep, and might be flung at a distance before being able to make use of their fatal fangs.
But merciful God! they begin to stir, to wriggle from each other. I am lost! Ha! is that the snapping, chirping bark of our pet mongoose, (ichneumon) which alarms the reptiles? Let me explain:
The mongoose is the natural enemy of snakes, and in a combat with one is sure to be the victor. The bite of the snake produces but a momentary effect upon the little animal—appears to make it giddy for a few moments, when it seems to recover itself by eating some herbs growing amongst the grass. This, however, is a disputed point. However it may be, the mongoose swiftly returns to the attack, and the snake, as I was told, is invariably killed.
The island furnishes ichneumons almost as plentifully as snakes. Lafrance and Duperré managed to tame and domesticate three of them—not a very difficult task—knowing that not one of the serpent tribe will approach where they are or have been recently, no more than a cockroach will venture out of its hole into a kitchen where a hedgehog keeps watch and ward. Our ichneumons were special pets of mine, and were they scenting the serpents, and missing me and the evening meal I had always provided for them, coming to the rescue?
Yes, by heaven! the quick ears of the serpents have recognized the rapid approach of the dreaded mongooses; their horrid snake glances glow with fear and rage, their hoods dilate as they untwist themselves, glide off in the hope of escape, but, finding that impossible, turn to fight. The ichneumons desire nothing better. They spring upon the serpents, bite them on the back part of the head, and carry on the battle of which I am a delighted spectator, with a spirit, a cheerful, chirrupy vigor which is, I feel, though I had never actually witnessed such a combat before, a sure augury of success:
The battle is not a protracted one; the snakes are dead, and my pets running after and leaping up at me, appear to know they have rescued me from death, and will have in reward an even more plentiful supper than usual. They are not mistaken. Our friends and my fellows were painfully excited by the incident which had, however, so happily terminated; and, for my part, I was not myself again for several days. I never slept in the open air again.