It was long past midnight, but we still sat listening to this
legend and others of a similar kind. At length the innkeeper sent
a servant to warn us of the dangers that threatened us if we
lingered too long on the verandah on a moonlit night. The programme
of these dangers was divided into three sections--snakes, beasts
of prey, and dacoits. Besides the cobra and the "rock-snake," the
surrounding mountains are full of a kind of very small mountain
snake, called furzen, the most dangerous of all. Their poison
kills with the swiftness of lightning. The moonlight attracts them,
and whole parties of these uninvited guests crawl up to the verandahs
of houses, in order to warm themselves. Here they are more snug
than on the wet ground. The verdant and perfumed abyss below our
verandah happened, too, to be the favorite resort of tigers and
leopards, who come thither to quench their thirst at the broad
brook which runs along the bottom, and then wander until daybreak
under the windows of the bungalow. Lastly, there were the mad
dacoits, whose dens are scattered in mountains inaccessible to
the police, who often shoot Europeans simply to afford themselves
the pleasure of sending ad patres one of the hateful bellatis
(foreigners). Three days before our arrival the wife of a Brahman
disappeared, carried off by a tiger, and two favorite dogs of the
commandant were killed by snakes. We declined to wait for further
explanations, but hurried to our rooms.
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