A Handkerchief Was At
Once Tied Round The Wounded Limb, With A Small Pebble So Placed As To
Compress The Brachial Artery Inside The Forearm, And With The Iron Ramrod
From A Carbine As A Lever, We Screwed This Rough Tourniquet Up Until The
Circulation Was In Great Measure Cut Off.
Luckily Dunmore had a
pocket-knife with him, for the sheath-knives we carried were but rude
instruments for surgery, and with the small blade he slashed the bitten
part freely, while Lizzie, applying her lips to the wound, did her best to
draw out the subtle venom.
Some of us carried flasks, containing various
spirits, and the contents of these were at once mixed - brandy, rum,
hollands, all indiscriminately - in a quart pot, and tossed off by the
sufferer, without the slightest visible effect. Had the spirit taken the
smallest hold upon him, we should have felt hope, for if a man suffering
from snake-bite can be made intoxicated, he is safe. But the poison
neutralised the potent draught, and poor Cato showed no indication of
having swallowed anything stronger than water. With the superstition
inherent in the blacks, he had made up his mind to die, and his broken
English, as he moaned out, "Plenty soon this fellow go bong," was painful
in the extreme.
"It's no use," said Dunmore. "I know these fellows better than any of you,
and Cato will never recover. I had a boy down on the Mary River, who was
knocked down with low fever. Half a pennyweight of quinine would have put
him to rights, but he had made up his mind to die, and when once they have
done that, all the drugs in a doctor's shop won't do them any good."
Everything we could think of was proposed, but speedily rejected as useless.
"Pour a charge of powder on the wound," said Jack Clarke, "and then fire
it, that will take the part out clean enough;" but we agreed that it would
be putting the boy to unnecessary pain, for the poison must be already in
the system and beyond the reach of local remedy; and the patient had become
drowsy, and repeatedly begged to be left alone and allowed to go to sleep.
"We must walk him about," said Dunmore, "it is the only chance, and painful
as it is, I must have it done. Remember, I'm responsible for the boy, and
no means must be left untried."
I had withdrawn a little from the group, and as I stood some distance off,
outside the circle of light thrown by the fire, I could not help thinking
what a scene for the painter's brush was here presented. The dark outline
of the lofty gums looked black and forbidding as funeral plumes, against
the leaden sky. The rugged range starting up in the rear, cast a
threatening gloom over the little valley in which we were encamped, and the
distant thunder of a falling torrent could, with little effort, be
interpreted as a dull voice of warning from the mountain. The fitful glare
of the fire, now sinking, now rising as a fresh brand was added, threw a
ruddy glare over the actors in this strange scene; showing the hopeless
face of the poor patient, the undemonstrative countenances of his sable
companions, and the anxious air apparent in the white men, more
particularly in Dunmore, as he knelt over his follower, and tried to
inspirit a little hope by dwelling on the chances of recovery. The
fantastic dresses, and the wildness of the spot, all combined to add a
weird aspect to the group; and recalled forcibly to the mind those scenes
of Pyrenean robber-life, so faithfully portrayed by the magic pencil of
Salvator Rosa.
But drowsiness was fast closing the eyes of poor Cato, and, as the last
chance, we compelled him to walk about, despite his piteous prayers for
repose. It soon became evident that our labour was thrown away, for he
dropped heavily down from between the two men who were supporting him, and
no power could induce him to rise. A heavy stertorous sleep overwhelmed
him, his breath came gradually slower and slower, and about two hours from
the time of the accident, poor Cato passed away, peacefully and without
pain.
Can no antidote be discovered for this virulent poison? Empirics are
common who profess to cure snake-bites, but I doubt if they ever really
succeed. It is beyond all question that in the early days of Australia,
and whilst this beautiful continent was held by Great Britain as nothing
more than a useful place for the safe custody of her criminal classes, a
convict named Underwood discovered a remedy for snake-bite, and in many
cases treated it successfully. The story has by no means died out in the
colonies, of the good old laws of brutal terrorism, under which, when a
bitten man was brought to Underwood, the latter proceeded to apply his
remedy, stimulated by the pleasing threat of a severe flogging, should his
treatment be of no avail. He appears to have been a man of great firmness
of purpose, for he never could be betrayed into divulging his secret,
though many unworthy means were resorted to for that end. The utmost that
he would acknowledge was that the antidote was common, and that Australians
trampled it under-foot every day of their lives. The way he became
acquainted with the remedy was by accidentally witnessing a fight between a
snake and an iguana. The latter was frequently bitten, and in every case
ran to a certain plant and ate it before renewing the contest, in which it
was ultimately victorious, leaving the serpent dead upon the plain.
Underwood demanded his pardon and liberty as the price of his precious
knowledge, and I believe a mixed commission of military men and civilians
deliberated on the case at Sydney, and decided not to grant the convict's
request. In due time he died, and with him perished his invaluable secret.
It is to be presumed the commission knew what they were about, but
undoubtedly their adverse decision has been a real misfortune to all those
whose lives are passed in a country inhabited by venomous reptiles.
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