A Pioneer Story

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This story was written by my Great-Grandma's younger sister.

Snakes and Goannas

I never did like snakes, I still don't; there is something about them that gives me an involuntary start. The horrible coiling and writhing length, the little glittering eyes and the forked, darting tongue seem to be Evil personified. I can well imagine how easy it was for the Ancients to associate the Devil with a snake.

We were told there were only a few snakes in West Australia; and perhaps that was an additional reason for our venture here. We had seen enough of snakes in Victoria, what with the big, evil born-snake of the Wimera and the deadly black, plus the fighting tiger-snake of Gippsland. So it was rather an unpleasant surprise to find there was more than an average quota of snakes in our new Land, and my first encounter with one was not very comforting.

I had been burning up dead timber for a house-site; had become very hot, dirty and tired, so declared it a day and came indoors for a cup of tea and a spell. After having brought up a bucket of icy-cold water from the well I proceeded to have a good wash. With my eyes closed I had just buried my face luxuriously in a towel, when a curious sensation ran from my booted foot up my leg, accompanied by a faint, papery, rustling sound.

For a moment I was afraid to look but when I did there was a large brown snake with his head down a mouse-hold and his tail still across my boot. He seemed to be quite unaware of me, and had obviously just taken a short cut across my feet on his way to the mouse-hole.

If the saying, "It's moments like these you need minties" had been coined then, it would have been most appropriate to this occasion. But after the first surprise and slight shock, I soon had my nerve back and looked around for a weapon. He was clear of my boots now, still further down the mouse-hole, so I was able to move without annoying him. I grabbed an axe from a bench in the bush verandah where I was standing (it was a awkward shape for the job but the only thing) and made a mighty chop at the unconscous hunter, and his body was in two pieces. I had to jump to avoid the taily portion which bounced madly around, but the head part was slower on the move and I was well out of the danger zone when it writhed around.

The bush was swarming with mice when we went out there, and it wasn't long before the Camp was invaded. The floor was only beaten-down earth mopped over a couple of times a day, with some bags placed on it, so it was an open go for the mice; and it appears that mice are always a great draw for a hungry snake.

My next encounter was worse than the first. I was sitting at the table writing and suddenly looked at the clock for the time, and as I did so I saw a shiny black head emerge from a kerosene-case full of old magazines on the floor. I made an involuntary leap and the head was at once withdrawn through the crack from which it had appeared. As there was a heavy case of jam on top of the box of papers I had to study the lay-out a bit before planning my campaign. I brought in a shovel with a short handle, having first blocked the exit with a chock of wood, then summoned up my courage and lifted off the jam-case. There was no sign of life or movement among the magazines, so I cautiously moved them around with the shovel and saw the mottled brown coils around and under the pink cover of a "Bulletin".

I chopped desperately down through the paper, there was a wild flurry and writhing and I chopped down again. When the wriggling ceased, I lifted out the papers and took the corpse out on to shovel - the bodies of several small mice dropped out of the gashes as I carried it out; he must have been there some time in and around living on the mice - I suppose we were quite a boon to the snakes. This one was one of those specially evil-looking, deadly snakes with a shiney black head and neck portion while the rest of the five foot body is mottled black and brown.

So that was number two in a little more than a week and I wasn't very happy about it. - If they must come, then why not when The Boss was around? ...

About a week later I came in from the burning off and as I opened the door, the kangaroo dog, Kit, leapt frantically out, nearly upsetting me. I was rather surprised but throught it was only annoyance at being shut in, so took no further notice. Setting the kettle on to boil, I washed, then lay on the bed to read. Kit returned to the room with caution and then her actions were so strange that I had to sit up and watch her. She seemed terribly nervous and jittery, trembing all over and with the hair standing up on her neck. She would sneak here or there, peer into corners and make little jumps - it was both curious and disquieting, but I just sat and watched.

Then she padded softly to a large tin truck set on a couple of boulks of wood near the wall under a window; leaned carefully to look behind and immediately stiffened into the posture of pointing. First a lightning glance at me, then the classic attitude with uplifted paw and straightened out body and tail - it was a marvel. I arose and tip-toed to the spot, and there he was - coil upon coil of him behind the trunk and only a few inches out from the wall. He was evidently sleeping off the gorge of young mice so I had a chnce to deal with him at my leisure. I was out and back with that shovel in a minute and again that chop-down strategy. The mutilated pieces of him threshed wildly around, but I gave him another chop on the head and that was the finish of my unwelcome visitor. It is wonderful what one can accomplish if put to it - if anyone had told me one year back that I could have done these things I would have denied it.

During that first spring and summer I killed fourteen snakes in and around our house. It became a joke with our neighbour - each Friday when he brought the mail he would enquie, "Get one this week?" and we began to feel a bit foolish on the subject; but there was the carcase to show, so we had to be beleived. I got so that I could jump up from a meal, crack a snake's neck, throw out the wriggling body and return to my dinner.

When we were digging on a likely spot for a well and were down about ten feet, The Boss decided a cup of tea was necessary. He climbed out, and as we stood looking at the reults of our labours and wondering as to our chance of striking water, a big brown snake flopped out of the sand in the side of the pit, well plop on the bottom and wriggled wildly round. Just in time had The Boss climbed out; evidently we had broken the wall of Mr Sankes's abode while digging.

"A man would have looked a fool with that **** thing walloping on his head," the Boss remarked as he smashed it with a well-heaved chunk of rock. "And I bet you'd have found some wings to fly out," I said and we both laughed at the picture conjured up.

I didn't keep pieces of heavy wire or fancy sticks handy as snake-killers, I trusted to luck and used the first thing that came to hand. One night it was the poker with which I settled a long, slithery black brute behind the stove. The stove stood on a large flat stone some few inches out from the wall, and there I sometimes placed a tray I wasn't using. This hot thundery night I was sitting reading at the table when I heard a queer noise from behind the stove. I carried the Miller lamp over and saw the snake trying to crawl up the tray; so the lamp was quietly set on the stove, I grabbed the poker and broke the back of the snake and bent the poker nearly double with one crack. I was too nervous to go to sleep that night. - I fancied snakes crawling over the floor and under the bed, and it was c ock-crow before I went to sleep. That was the only time I had any creepy sensations, and that was because the night was so heavy and thundery; I was quite alone, even the dog was absent with her Boss, so perhaps I could be excused for being jittery.

Another sultry, summer evening a neighbour had ridden up for a yarn and to exchange news; and we sat in the coolest place we could find - out in the garden where the seed wheat was stacked. We dragged out a couple of bags and sat thereon, while the neighbour regaled us with the sensational story of how his big kangaroo-dog, Boomer, had died from heat and exhaustion after a long chase that day. We were really sorry to hear that such a fine creature should have died, and we were equally sympathetic with the neighbour knowing his affection for his dog, so we expressed our regrets and required further details. These were quite interesting in a world of three homesteads shut off from the rest of the world. Then through the dark, still night there came a strong, loud, rustling noise gaining in volume as it came. "What's that?" The Boss cried and I said "A whirlwind!" But before anything further could be said, a snake came rushing towards us, and the light gleaming through the open door gave us a spectacle none of us had ever seen before. He was coming almost on his tail and coils with his head up about three feet from the ground and the rustling sound was like the rustling of paper. Before any of us could gather our wits together or move, the snake whirled between The Boss and neighbour and was in the stack of wheat.

There was a wild leap from each of us, but the snake was completely hidden in the stack; and although the men pulled some of the bags out while I held the gun ready, we saw nothing. "He'll be kept busy there cleaning out the mice tonight,"suggested neighbour; but I was rather doubtful - I had the uneasy conviction that sooner or later he'd be indoors. However we went to bed when the air was cooler, and a little later there came that dry rustling (which was getting unpleasantly familiar by now) across the floor. I heard it rasping across a big camp-oven in which the bread was stored and I could stand it no longer. I dug The Boss in the ribs - "Wake up! Wake up!" I hissed. He woke with a start - "Hey! What's up? Wassamatter?"

"The snake's out there,", I whispered; "Listen and you an hear him swishing round, Listen!" and sure enough there came again the papery rustling.

"Well, what the .... do you expect me to do with it?" The Boss was tired, sleepy and annoyed at being disturbed.

"You'll have to do something." I urged, and in return got, "If you want anything done, you can do it yourself". He then fumbled under his pillow for the match-box and I heard the rattle as it fell to the floor.

"D... it! The matches are on the floor now. .... the snake! It will clear out directly.!

But I remembered stories of snakes climbing up onto beds and I was not happy. It was so dark I could not see anything, and the dog was tied up over in the shed; the only thing was to trust to luck, forget the snake and go to sleep, which I did. In the morning we had a good look around but he was gone.

Once I had shot a kangaroo that the dog had bailed up, brought it home, and chopped the fore-quarters up on the wood-heap for the fowls, and was scarcely ten minutes indoors when I heard a hen squawking madly and flying at something. When I got to the door I saw the gleam of a snake's body lying across a chunk of meat - he took no notice of the distracted mother-hen whose chicks were running about in terror but was obviously busy with the meat.

I took the gun, which always stood behind the door loaded, and ran out to the wood-heap - the snake took no notice of me either so I let him have one barrel and that was the finish of another of Eve's enemies. He appeared to have been looking for a loose bit of flesh on the chopped-up carcase.

And on a later occasion another came after meat. We had killed a steer for meat and had chopped it up on a big salmon-gum log lying near the gate. The neighbours came in and took away a certain quantity; we packed away what was left, then I went to clear up the soiled paper lying on and around the log. I first took the hatchet I had used and was wiping it on a piece of paper when my eyes fairly popped at a coppery-brown snake hoisting himself on to the log almost at my knee. By now I could make pretty swift decisions when contacting snakes - I made one chop with the hatchet and took his head clean off. It was all so sudden that neither of the two men standing near had seen anything till the head flew near them. Again, that snake must have been attracted by the smell of fresh meat and was quite ready to eat it. Yet I have heard and read time after time that snakes do not eat dead things or meat but must get it alive.

We came across a snake one day very dopey, and sleeping in the sun - The Boss killed it with a stick and then noted a big bulge about three inches from the head; cut that open carefully and drew out the body of a frog squeezed out of shape and very much elongated. It had been an O.S. frog and the snake was not large at all, so no wonder he was dopey. When I noticed the nasty whitey look of the poor old Frog which could not have been there so very long considering the short distance it had been swallowed, I couldn't help thinking of Jonah in the whale's interior three whole days - Oh Dear!

We once had the pleasure of witnessing a fierce battle between a snake and a goanna. We were driving to a field for a load of chaff with the wagon and team, and at a sudden bend in the road the nearside leader gave a violent jump and pushed the other leaders well off the track. The Boss saw almost at the same instant what had frightened her, so we pulled the team well off the road and we sat and watched - ringside seats well out of the danger zone.

The brown snake was above five and a half feet long, and the goanna not much more than three feet, but he had far more science and far more fury then his opponent, and we had no doubts as to whom would fall the victory. The snake would write and twist, make wild lunges at the goanna's amoured body and the latter would leap aside, then dart like lighning, seize the snake by the neck and chaw for a moment, shake it and then throw it away...

Before the snake could collect itself into a coil, the goanna was on it again, the same tactics displayed again, and it wasn't very long before the snake was a mere, helpless, chewed-about loser. He still tried to coil and strike but grew slower and more inefficient in his strikes; so The Boss, seeing the best of the show was over, descended from the waggon, and taking a stick, moved to the battle-ground. The goanna, still full of fight, turned to face him; then as The Boss flourished the stick, it raced a few yards, turned, and standing well up on his feet made hissing noises and grunts. When the body of the now-dead loser was thrown towards him, he was on it with one wild pounce; and the last we saw, the goanna was dragging his dinner into a big hollow tree lying near the roadway. What terrific battles must be fought out to the bitter end in the forests and bush where no human eye can see or record!

The goannas, though respected as snake-killers, made themselves obnoxious to us through their depredation on the chicks and I was forced to shoot them - I did it regretfully. One morning after I had chopped up a kangaroo on the wood-heap for the fowls I heard the screeching of a hen and the frantic cheeping of chickens, and diving out to find what caused the commotion I found a goanna tearing at a fair-sized chick while the mother-hen squawked and fought him - she made no effect on his armour-plate.

I was back inside and out again with the gun but by that time one wing and half the brease was torn off the poor chick, but I bowled the brute over with a cartridge. And at that moment another goanna ran across the yard with a big chunk of meat in its mouth, then scuttled up a jam tree still holding the meat. I shot him and he fell into the fork of the tree dropping the meat - I didn't mind him having any quantity of meat, but my chickens were the forbidden fruit.

Another summer I found my chickens disappearing mysteriously and then I found one with one leg torn out. It died, but I had now a good idea of where they were going so I lay in wait at evening and morning whenever I had a spare moment. I was rewarded just at dusk - I had been sitting on the soak fence nursing the gun for half-an-hour when I heard a commotion at the coops, so hurried there just in time to meet a big husky goanna making off with a squeaking chicken in his teeth.

After I shot him I opened him and there were nine small feet of chickens still undigested in his stomach - I had got the culprit, sure enough.

I found, too, that the goanna was rather fond of eggs - good fresh hen eggs in particular. There were two nests at the foot of a haystack, and without warning the hens there seemed to have stopped laying, although I would hear the triumphant cackling with thich they celebrated the event. Being curious I made it my business to lie in wait one morning, and so caught the culprit "red handed".

I noticed two hens in the hay-nest, and first one hopped out "cha-cha-king" vociferously, but nothing happened. A few minutes later the second one completed her day's good deed and also gave tongue to that effect, then there was a vigorous rush around the stack and up came a big old goanna in a mighty hurry. He grabbed an egg, dashed back behind the stack for a minute or so, then scuttled up to the nest and siezed the second one; but at that moment I loosed my hold on the big dog's neck and sooled him on. There was a nip and tuck race for a few chains, then Caesar had the goanna in his jaws, gave it a few shakes and all was over bar the burying or burning. Later on I dosed some eggs with cayenne pepper and laid them in a nest, but they were disdainfully passed by - goannas take fresh and new-laid eggs, or none, it seemed.

I had heard often of Laughing Jacks killing snakes but never actually saw it being done; however I did see a Royal Hawk killing a four-feet-six copper snake one late spring morning. I was crossing the hay-field which was full of stooks, and noticed the handsome big hawk soaring and scouting at a fairly low level above the ground. "After mice," I thought while admitting the beautiful majestic and easy-poised sight. He hovered a couple of minutes over a certain stook, then made a lightning downward swoop and up again in a second with the writing body of the snake in his beak. I was a bit too far away to see just how he held his prey, but I saw the thing drop towards the earth, the hawk swoop again, catch the snake and settle on the ground with it. My dog, which as usual accompanied me, make a rush barking savagely, and the big hawk rose in the air again.

I reached the spot and saw the bright coppery coloured thing squirming around with several rips and tears on its body, as good as dead.

I kicked it out well away from a stook, and before I was more than a chain away, the bold hunter was back, and soared slowly towards the timber with the ******** form of the snake in his claws - evidently a meal for his nestlings, over in some high salmon-gum tree-top.

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After that I never shot a hawk unless it ravaged my poultry yard and I was forced to rid myself of it. It is a mistake, I have found, to interfere too much with nature and so upset the balance. Shoot the hawks and goannas, and you have gotten rid of the enemies of the snakes; clean out the rabbits and you leave the foxes no option but to live on your poultry and lambs; poison the birds along with the rabbits, and you find garden and crops pests unlimited - the Great Natural Balance destroyed.