Part 4

Jessie always took their bamboo cage into her own room at dusk for greater security; and one night, just after we had all separated to go to bed, I was very much frightened at my poor little sister suddenly bursting into my room as pale as a ghost, and perfectly speechless with terror; she looked so horrified that my alarm was quite as great as hers, though I did not know what was the matter. She really could not speak, though she tried to do so, but seized my arm and dragged me towards her room, which, as I have told you, was next to mine, but with no door between. At first I thought Jessie must have gone suddenly mad, for everything there looked just as usual, and I could not see any cause for all this agitation. She did not, however, let my arm go, but pulled me towards a recess where the doves’ cage stood on a low table. There, indeed, I saw a horrible sight; a huge yellow snake, with loathsome black spots all over it, had forced its way in through the slender, elastic bamboo bars of the cage, and lay coiled up at the bottom, with its flat head raised, its forked tongue sticking out, and its small cruel eyes fixed on the only surviving dove. It had already swallowed one, and the end of the survivor was very near. Poor little ‘Selim’ was on the lowest perch swaying backwards and forwards, gazing at the snake; at last he sank slowly down, just as if he had fainted, and in an instant had almost disappeared among the coils of the horrid snake’s body. I never saw anything so rapid as the way the reptile crushed the dear little helpless dove the moment it dropped within its reach. Jessie gave such a shriek that I feared the snake would be roused and perhaps escape, but he was too intent on his supper to mind us, so I took courage, and proposed to go for our old Portuguese butler, who I thought would know what to do. Jessie still clung to me, sobbing, and we found the old man’s room, roused him up, and whilst he was dressing we remembered our schoolboy brother, who would be certain to enjoy a scrimmage at any hour of the day or night, and, in answer to our knocks at his door, he soon appeared, as quickly dressed as if he had gone to bed with half his clothes on!

When we returned with this reinforcement to Jessie’s room, the dove was dead, but the snake had not yet quite swallowed it; and here I must tell you how curiously it had prepared the poor little plump bird to go down its narrow throat. Those dreadful squeezes among its coils had broken all the dove’s bones, and the snake had carefully licked its feathers the reverse way, so that instead of being a fat snowy ball, it was of a great length, and so drawn out that it was quite thin; the snake was leisurely proceeding to swallow it, and we could see by the bulges exactly where the other dove was in its horrid body. The old butler first cut off the bamboos which formed a sort of dome to the cage, and then he and Harry prepared to kill the half-gorged snake, but, before they struck the first blow, Jessie and I went into my room, as we could not bear to see it.

In a few moments Harry triumphantly announced that it was all over, but he seemed rather disappointed at the snake not showing any fight. It was not venomous: none of the large snakes in Jamaica are so, being only dangerous to the poultry-yard, and particularly fond of newly-hatched ducks and chickens or even a baby-turkey. There is a very small snake, only two feet long, called the ‘whip snake,’ from its resemblance to the lash of a driving whip, which is said to give a poisonous bite, and is apt to make its way into cellars, as it is fond of a cold, damp place. I never heard, however, of any one being bitten even by this reptile.

I killed a very large snake once all by myself; and, though it was quite by accident, I felt as proud as if I had performed a great feat of strength or valour. I was dressed for riding, and had my whip in my hand, but being very thirsty I went into the bath-room to see if the water in the great earthenware Spanish jars was any cooler than that in my bedroom. The walls of this bath-room were made of jalousies, which could be left open all night, so as to allow the cool air from the mountains to get in and make the water in the big cedar tubs fresh and nice for our morning bath. Whilst I was drinking some deliciously cold water very slowly and with great enjoyment, a large snake suddenly thrust its head through the open jalousies, and began greedily drinking out of the very jar from which I had just taken a tumblerful of water. It was so thirsty it did not perceive me at first, but in a moment it raised its head and hissed at me. I thought this so impertinent that, without thinking I should hurt it in the least, I gave it a smart tap with my little riding whip. The snake shrank back, and I heard a heavy fall on the grass outside. Of course I immediately looked out of the window to see where it was going, but to my surprise it lay quite still, so I called Harry to back me up in case of danger, and we went to examine it nearer. It was actually quite dead. Harry was as much astonished as I was at my little blow having had such an effect, and he immediately proceeded to measure my victim, triumphantly proclaiming it to be over six feet long.

We used often to find the skins of these snakes in old stone walls, for they shed them every year, and the roughness of the stones helps the snake to pull its skin neatly off its head, turning it inside out like a glove. We generally found them quite perfect and unbroken: in this state they were very pretty, pure white, the little scales glistening in the light with all the colours of the rainbow, just as if they were made of the thinnest fibre of mother-of-pearl, and even the places where the snake’s eyes had been were perfect little circles.

But now I must come back to the pets. The tortoises were very quiet, but not very amusing _protégés_; they lived in a little pond with some rock work in the middle for shelter from the sun. They were no bigger than half-crowns when we first got them, and they grew very slowly. We used to feed them twice a day with raw meat cut up into very fine pieces; at our whistle the tortoises would leave the shelter of their rocks and come paddling slowly towards us, looking out carefully for danger. If anything alarmed them they would draw in their queer little heads, tuck up their fins, or rather feet, and sink down to the bottom of the pond; but we generally took care not to frighten them, and they would eat their dinners very leisurely off the point of a pin. They all disappeared in time; and as we never could find any trace of their bodies, we fancied they must have contrived to escape and make their way to some of the very large reservoirs which were in the paddocks for the cows and horses to drink from, as there was no river near.

Then we had owls and hawks, and once we had a beautiful pair of Egrets given to us. We did not know what these birds were at first, as no one had ever seen any like them, and it was only by hunting through the picture-books about birds that we discovered their likeness under that name. They were flying overhead when some tiresome person, who happened to have a gun in his hand, shot at them, wounding the female, who fluttered to the ground, and her mate would not desert her, and was easily captured. They were exquisitely beautiful, though with fierce wild natures. Their legs were bright red and rather long, but their plumage was very peculiar—milk-white, and the feathers which composed their tails and their large crests or topknots were fluffy, like marabout, or the down of the eider duck. We fed them on raw meat at the risk of having our eyes pecked out, and our fingers were soon covered with wounds, but we bravely persevered, and tried all the surgical art we possessed to heal the poor broken wing of the female but she only lingered a few days, and then died in great pain, I fear. Her mate became still more fierce and untameable, and we were afraid to let him out of his large cage lest he should share his wife’s fate. He ate well and seemed healthy, but very restless and miserable, and we could only keep him alive for three or four months.

I must tell you how we came by our most favorite owl. One of the spare rooms had a large open hearth in it which was generally covered up by a board, and against this was placed a chest of drawers, as the fireplace was neither ornamental nor useful, for it was never cold enough to make a fire really necessary, even on the high table-land in the middle of Jamaica, where we spent our summers. However, after a week of heavy rain, Jessie and I took it into our heads that we should like to have a fire in this particular room. I really believe our only reason was a wish to see a blaze again, it was so long since we had enjoyed one; and as some visitors were coming in a few days, we pretended to be very anxious lest the room might have got damp during the late rains. Nothing was easier than to have some sweet-scented chips brought and some great dry logs of cedar, which made a delicious perfume; and Jessie and I rejoiced in a splendid fire, though we were obliged to have all the windows open on account of the heat, and the fire was never replenished. We soon left the room, and one of the housemaids, who looked in on passing, thought the fire was quite out, as she could only see a heap of white feathery ashes, so she carefully replaced the board and moved the chest of drawers back again to its place against it. In a short time the house was filled with the most unpleasant odour; we all began hunting about for the cause; and although we tracked the smell to this spare room, it never occurred to us to have the board removed again until Mamma appeared on the scene and immediately had it taken away. I don’t know which was the worst, the sight or the smell. The great draught caused by putting up the board must have carried some of the light ashes which were not quite extinguished up to the top of the chimney, where a whole colony of owls had built their nests for years past. The twigs and straw were soon ablaze, and as the bottom of the nests gave way, the young owls came tumbling down the chimney to meet a lingering death on the hot bricks of the hearth. There were owls in every stage of roasting; some quite dead, and others struggling among the hot ashes. They were more hideous to look at than you can imagine, for, at its best, a young owl is a frightful looking object, with its awkward unwieldy body, quite bare of feathers, with patches of down on it; and then its wide face and great goggle eyes blinking and staring at you. Whilst we were in our first moment of horror and disgust, another victim fluttered and fell down the wide chimney, but before it could reach the hot hearth Harry had rushed forward and seized it, so it was quite uninjured, and Jessie and I immediately took possession of the ugly little creature, making a great pet of it, and rearing it most successfully. As soon as it came to years, or rather weeks, of discretion we gave it its liberty, but ‘Moses’ always retained a grateful recollection of our care; and if we called him at night when we saw other owls flitting about, he was sure to come to us and allow himself to be stroked and petted as of old. I used to like to bury my face in the soft feathers at the top of his head, and ‘Moses’ would perch quietly on my finger whilst I did this, only his claws became very long and sharp, and as he held on very tight by them to my hand whilst I was petting him, I soon got tired of having wounds all over my fingers.

We had also a cage full of ‘Cardinals,’ most beautiful birds with bright scarlet feathers. In fact, they were scarlet all over, their legs and even their eyes included. They were very healthy and apparently very happy in a sort of hut at one end of the verandah, with plenty of room to fly about, and, above all, a constant supply of water for their incessant baths; whenever they wanted something to do they took a bath! These birds do not belong to Jamaica, but are brought from South America, and so were our beautiful ‘Tropioles.’ Never have I heard such a clear sweet note as these last-named beauties possessed; it had all the gladness of the skylark’s, as well as the sweetness of the blackbird’s. They were our only musical pets, and their song awakened us at daylight. They seemed very happy, and were quite tame, eating fruit out of our hands. Their plumage was magnificent, rich glossy black, and the most brilliant orange-coloured markings. Such bright fearless birds they were, about as large as a thrush, but of a much more graceful shape.

The last pet birds of which I am going to tell you were not at all successful. Outside our window grew a tree called the ‘sandbox;’ its foliage is something like a horse-chestnut, and it bears a pod of a round shape, made up of the most symmetrical divisions like the quarters of an orange; when this pod is ripe it goes off like a small pistol, and scatters the seeds all about. In spite of this disagreeable habit of exploding suddenly, the tree is very popular on account of its deep shade, and on one of its lowest boughs Jessie and I watched a beautiful pair of ruby humming-birds build their tiny nest. They made it of tufts of cotton and an occasional horsehair to keep it all together, lining it with down from their own shining breasts. Presently, during the morning absence of the hen, we discerned two eggs, exactly like little white sugar-plums, and for some weeks we never wearied of seeing the cock flitting backwards and forwards with a drop of honey in his long slender beak, for his mate’s refreshment. He did not alight whilst he fed her, but would flit like a winged jewel towards the nest, and just hover over her for a second; we could see the dear patient little hen raise her bill, which he touched; then with a little cry he would dart off again into the brilliant sunshine. I cannot find words to tell you how beautiful the sight was; one felt as if it was fairy land, for such exquisite and tiny creatures did not seem to belong to this great big rough world of ours. Presently, after nearly three weeks of watching, we saw the hen also very busy carrying honey, and then by gently moving a sheltering leaf we peeped in to see two little birds, each no bigger than a bee. Can you fancy a bee with a beak? for that was exactly what they were like. We asked the opinion of several people as to whether it would be cruel to take the nest as soon as the young ones grew a little bigger, and at last we very carefully cut the twig it rested on, and transferred the branch to a cage, which we hung outside our window, under an awning. The parent birds saw it directly, and flew in and out of the open door, feeding their young ones just as regularly, till their feathers came and they looked quite full grown. The papa and mamma now deserted them, and Jessie and I shut the cage door and tried to induce them to feed themselves with honey out of the same flowers from which we had seen their parents bring them their incessant meals; but no, they were either too lazy, or too stupid. We then endeavoured to feed them ourselves with honey, or with sugar and water, but we saw in a very few days that it would only end in their death. They drooped and lost the burnished look of their plumage, so we very reluctantly opened the cage door, and after a few preliminary flutters our lovely little captives darted away into the free air. We watched them hovering over a bough of honey-bearing blossoms, and feeding themselves quite cleverly, and then they were off like a glancing sunbeam, and we never saw them again!

_AUNT ANNIE’S STORIES ABOUT HORSES._

No doubt some of my young readers have ponies of their own; but I am sure that even those who have not, like to hear stories about horses. Nearly all boys and girls in town or country have noticed in how many ways these strong and beautiful animals do good service to man; most of us, even grown-up people, take pleasure in watching a carriage go by with its well-groomed pair trotting proudly together, and have often admired the enormous creatures which drag with equal pride heavy carts and waggons. But you need not fear from this beginning that I am going to write you an essay upon the uses and habits of the horse, for you will learn all this in good time from natural-history books, or, what is much better, from your own observation; besides, ladies are not supposed to know much about horses, and I might make sad mistakes if I were to write of them in this fashion. But though my horse-talk may not be quite as accurate as a groom’s, still in my time I have seen so many horses of all sorts and sizes that I may perhaps be able to amuse you by some stories of those I have ridden or known; and I will begin with an account of our first steed ‘Grenadier.’

He was a shaggy little Shetland, no higher than the table, and more like a broad-backed Newfoundland dog than a pony. It was most absurd to see this tiny creature in its stall on a line with those of the big horses, and to read its name printed in large black letters on a white China tablet hung over its little toy manger; the name was so big, and ‘Granny’ (for we children soon shortened his name to that) was so small. He was an old pony when he was given to us, and so we could not expect to alter or improve any of his ways or manners. His chief peculiarity was his love of children: we must have teased him a great deal, yet he was always perfectly gentle and patient to us, allowing us to pull his tail, lift up his legs one after the other, creep under him, though we very soon grew too big for this; in fact, he would let us children do anything we liked with him. But the moment a grown-up person approached, Granny’s whole nature seemed to change; his eyes gleamed with rage under his shaggy forelock, he snorted with indignation, and the groom used to declare he was always in terror of his life whilst he was feeding or cleaning the pony. I remember well how delighted my sister and I were at some one saying, after listening to the stable-helper’s eloquent account of what he endured at Granny’s legs, ‘Why, my man, don’t you lift him up and put him in the manger, out of your way, whilst you clean his stall?’ It seemed quite possible.

One of my earliest recollections takes me back to a summer afternoon in the country; on the hall-door steps my father was standing with some other gentlemen, and they were talking about horses which were dangerous or difficult to ride. Grenadier’s name very soon came up in this discussion, and my father sent for him. I think I see the little creature now; a groom held the halter quite close to his muzzle, and he approached the group on the steps with many bounds and kicks, behaving in fact more like a lion than a discreet old pony, warranted ‘very quiet with children.’ He was so perfect of his kind that he excited a great deal of admiration; but all the gentlemen agreed that he seemed anything but amiable. However, at last the groom was induced by the promise of half-a-crown to mount Master Granny, but I don’t think he kept his seat for more than two minutes; then one of the gentlemen tried; and, lastly, my father, who was an excellent rider: but they all shared the fate of the groom, and were speedily deposited on the grass. By this time Granny had worked himself up into a fury, and would hardly let any one approach him: we were called to pacify him, and the moment we came near with our little hands outstretched, and our childish voices scolding him, Granny changed as if by magic, and first one and then the other little girl was lifted up and seated on the broad pad which was the only saddle on which we learned to ride. I can remember quite well the look of alarm on the gentlemen’s faces, and their entreaties to my father not to be so rash. I believe they expected to see us both—fearless little creatures that we were—killed before their eyes; but nothing was further from dear old Granny’s mind than hurting us in any way. With Jessie and I clinging to each other, and to his shaggy mane, he ambled gently and carefully about the lawn, taking the greatest care not to turn round sharply, or in any way peril the very slight amount of balance by which we kept ourselves on his back. As soon as he thought we had ridden long enough, he deliberately walked to where our nurse was, and stood perfectly still while she helped us down; indeed, I am ashamed to say that my favourite mode of alighting was to scramble to my feet _on_ the pad, and then with a whoop of defiance at my unfortunate nurse, to jump off, tearing or soiling my frock in this exploit. Dear eccentric old Grenadier! he died long ago at an advanced age, petted and tended to the last by his little child-friends; one of his tiny hoofs was mounted as an inkstand, with his name and age engraved underneath it, and for many years Jessie and I used to cherish the China tablet painted with his name as a precious relic.

[Illustration: _Master Granny and his Pets._—p. 82]