The steamer started into a cut-off leading through to the Bay of Bengal, the polite captain explained.  It was full of game of all sorts, including the wild buffalo, rhinoceros, tiger, leopard, wild hog, deer, and the trees and bushes were as full of monkeys as they could swarm.  It was agreed among the hunters that none of the latter should be shot, for they were harmless animals.

“Captain, dear, are there any schnakes forninst the joongle?” asked the Milesian, who was much exhilarated at the prospect of the sport, and easily slipped into the vernacular of his mother.

“Plinty av thim, Musther McGavonty,” replied Captain O’Flaherty, with a broad grin on his honest face.  “They air as thidck as broken heads at a Donnybrook fair.”

“Faix, ye’s air a brither o’ moine!” exclaimed Felix, grasping the hand of the captain.

“Air ye’s from the County Carhk?”

“Oi’m from the county and parish of Kilkenny; or mi mudther was, thou’ she’s dead now, long loife to her!  Wud I foind ary cobry in here?”

“All you’ll want uv ’em; and pythons too.”

“What is a poithon?” asked Felix.

“A big schnake; a boa, or loike him.”

“Is it the bore that runs up the river to Calcutty?”

“Not the same boa,” laughed the captain.  “But you speak English, for I have heard you do it; and I have about forgotten my native brogue.”

“If the boa is a snake, he is the fellow I want to see,” replied Felix.

“There’s one of them now!” exclaimed Captain O’Flaherty, pointing to one wreathed around a bush.

The young hunter brought his rifle to his shoulder, and fired before the captain had time to say anything more.  The python began to writhe and wriggle in the bush, and Felix fired again.  Then he dropped off into the water.  The rest of the company had been aft with the ladies, but they all rushed forward at the report of the rifle.  The captain stated what the hunter had done, as he rang to stop and back the boat.  They saw the bamboo on which the serpent had been, but the game could not be seen.  They wondered what had become of him.

The rest of the hunters began to shoot ducks, herons, and other water-fowls.  As fast as a bird dropped into the bayou he disappeared, and not one of them could be recovered.  Captain Ringgold wondered what became of them, and the Indian gentlemen only laughed at his perplexity.

“But what becomes of them, for they do not sink?” demanded the commander.

“You shall see,” replied Sir Modava.  “Don’t shoot the adjutants; but there is a long-legged heron.  I will bring him down, for he waits very patiently to be shot.  Now watch the water when he comes down.”

The bird dropped the moment he fired, and the instant he touched the water a pair of jaws closed upon him, and drew him under water.  The company were astonished, and looked for an explanation.

“I never counted the crocodiles in this river; but I should guess there were at least a million of them, and they steal your game as fast as you bring it down,” said Sir Modava.