There happened to be two casks, of a material lately invented in
England, which we were taking to France on trial; during the hurricane,
one had burst, and the stench proceeding from it was intolerable.
Although it had gradually evaporated, I perceived that whenever the
serpent approached any thing that had been defiled with it, he
immediately turned away, as if the smell was as unbearable to him as it
was to us. I don't know what it was composed of, but the English called
it _coal tar_. It struck me that I might save myself my means of this
offensive composition. I knocked out the head of the remaining cask, and
arming myself with a broom dipped in it, I jumped into the cask which
contained the remainder, and awaited my fate with anxiety. The serpent
came; as usual, forced his head and part of his body down the hatchway,
perceived me, and with eyes darting fire reached out his head to seize
me. I dashed the broom into his mouth, and bobbed my head immediately
under the coal tar. When I lifted it up again, almost suffocated, the
animal had disappeared. I crawled out, and looking over the side,
perceived him lashing the ocean in his fury, plunging and diving to rid
himself of the composition with which I had filled his mouth. After
exhausting himself with his furious endeavours, he went down, and I saw
him no more.
* * * * *
"Did you never see him again?" inquired the pacha.
"Never but that once; nor has the animal been seen before or since,
except by the Americans, who have much better eyes than the people of
Europe can boast of.
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