for nothing. He had killed
several before now, he said, but had never been obliged to chase one in
this fashion. Perhaps there was a Jonah in the ship; for though I
sympathized with the boy, I sympathized also, and still more warmly,
with the otter. It acted as if life were dear to it, and for aught I
knew it had as good a right to live as either the boy or I. No such
qualms disturbed me a few minutes later, when, as the boat was grazing
the reeds, I espied just ahead a snake lying in wait among them. I gave
the alarm, and the boy looked round. "Yes," he said, "a big one, a
moccasin,--a cotton-mouth; but I'll fix him." He pulled a stroke or two
nearer, then lifted his oar and brought it down splash; but the reeds
broke the blow, and the moccasin slipped into the water, apparently
unharmed. That was a case for powder and shot. Florida people have a
poor opinion of a man who meets a venomous snake, no matter where,
without doing his best to kill it. How strong the feeling is my boatman
gave me proof within ten minutes after his failure with the
cotton-mouth. He had pulled out into the middle of the river, when I
noticed a beautiful snake, short and rather stout, lying coiled on the
water. Whether it was an optical illusion I cannot say, but it seemed to
me that the creature lay entirely above the surface,--as if it had been
an inflated skin rather than a live snake. We passed close by it, but it
made no offer to move, only darting out its tongue as the boat slipped
past. I spoke to the boy, who at once ceased rowing.

"I think I must go back and kill that fellow," he said.

"Why so?" I asked, with surprise, for I had looked upon it simply as a
curiosity.

"Oh, I don't like to see it live. It's the poisonousest snake there is."

As he spoke he turned the boat: but the snake saved him further trouble,
for just then it uncoiled and swam directly toward us, as if it meant to
come aboard. "Oh, you're coming this way, are you?" said the boy
sarcastically. "Well, come on!" The snake came on, and when it got well
within range he took up his fishing-rod (with hooks at the end for
drawing game out of the reeds and bonnets), and the next moment the
snake lay dead upon the water. He slipped the end of the pole under it
and slung it ashore. "There! how do you like that?" said he, and he
headed the boat upstream again. It was a "copper-bellied moccasin," he
declared, whatever that may be, and was worse than a rattlesnake.

On the