PAGE 4
A Crocodile Hunt
by
We followed it for a hundred yards in the direction of the river, and came upon the crocodile, covered with blood and mud. His own hide hung about him like a dress, and his one eye opened and shut at the throng of wondering natives about. It was not until he had been put out of his misery and his hide taken entirely off that we felt confident of his bona fide demise.
One day I had a real adventure while out shooting, which, like many real adventures, was made up principally of the things I thought and suffered rather than of the things I did. Hence I hardly know how to write it out so that it will look like an “adventure” and not a mere mishap.
My companion had told me of a trail some thirty miles up the river that led into the jungle about three miles, to some old gold workings that date back beyond the written records of the State. So one day we drew our little launch close up under the bank of the river, and I sprang ashore, bent on seeing for myself the prehistoric remains. Contrary to the advice of the Chief Justice, I only took a heavy hunting-knife with me, and it was more for slashing away thorns and rattans than for protection.
It was the heat of the day, and the dense jungle was like a furnace. Before I had gone a mile I began to regret my enthusiasm. I found the path, but it was so overgrown with creepers, parasites, and rubber-vines that I had almost to cut a new one. Had it not been for the company of a small English terrier, Lekas,–the Malay for “make haste,”–I believe I should have turned back.
However, I found the old workings, and spent several hours making calculations as to their depth and course, taking notes as to the country formation, and assaying some bits of refuse quartz. Rather than struggle back by the path, I determined to follow the course of a stream that went through the mines and on toward the coast. So I whistled for Lekas and started on.
For the first half-hour everything went smoothly. Then the stream widened out and its clay bottom gave place to one of mud, which made the walking much more difficult. At last I struck the mangrove belt, which always warns you that you are approaching the coast.
As long as I kept in the centre of the channel, I was out of the way of the network of roots; but now the channel was getting deeper and my progress becoming more labored. It was impossible to reach the bank, for the mangroves on either side had grown so thick and dense as to be impenetrable.
When I had perhaps achieved half the distance, the thought suddenly crossed my mind–how very awkward it would be to meet a crocodile in such a place! One couldn’t run, that was certain, and as for fighting, that would be a lost cause from the first.
Right in the midst of these unpleasant cogitations I heard a quiet splash in the water, not far behind, that sent my heart into my mouth. In a moment I had scrambled on to a mangrove root and had turned to look for the cause of my fears.
For perhaps a minute I saw nothing, and was trying to convince myself that my previous thoughts had made me fanciful, when, not many yards off, I saw distinctly the form of a huge crocodile swimming rapidly toward me. I needed no second look, but dashed away over the roots.
Before I had gone half a dozen yards I was down sprawling in the mud. I got entangled, and my terror made me totally unable to act with any judgment. Despair nerved me and I turned at bay with my long hunting-knife in my hand. How I longed for even my revolver!