to reckon up these active, wriggling, tangled fugitives? Nevertheless
his story found favour and has been subsequently recited as probable.
Chateaubriand believed the fact, and glowingly expatiates on the
‘Superb Reptile which presents to man a pattern of tenderness.’ ...
‘When her offspring are pursued, she receives them into her mouth:
dissatisfied with every other place of concealment, she hides them
within herself, concluding that no asylum can be safer for her progeny
than the bosom of a mother. A perfect example of sublime love, she
refuses to survive the loss of her young, for it is impossible to
deprive her of them without tearing out her entrails.’ Elsewhere, with
less of admiration for the exemplary _crotalus_, Chateaubriand says,
‘By a singular faculty the female can introduce into her body the
little monsters to which she has given birth.’

One of the early writers who witnessed this offer of refuge was M. de
Beauvoir, who saw a disturbed rattlesnake open her jaws to receive five
young ones. This amazed spectator retired to quietly watch the result,
when, after the lapse of some minutes, the mother snake recovered
confidence, and she again opened her mouth and ‘discharged’ her little
family. Professor Palisot de Beauvoir was an eminent French naturalist
of the beginning of this century, and the author of _Observations sur
les serpents_, published in _Daudin’s Histoire naturelle_, Paris,
1803. He was accepted as an authority on many other points of natural
history; and it is not improbable that he influenced Cuvier’s belief in
the ophidian maternal refuge.

It certainly does seem incredible that an occurrence so unprecedented
should have been conceived of in the first instance without some ocular
demonstration of it.

Another American traveller, whose testimony Professor Goode considered
of worth, was St. John Dunn Hunter,[132] who saw young ones rush into
the rattlesnake’s mouth, and reappear when ‘the parent gave a sort of
contractile motion of the throat as a sign that danger was past.’

Coming down to our own times, Professor Goode mentioned Dr. Edward
Palmer, of the Smithsonian Institute of Washington, a well-known
traveller and collector, who in Paraguay saw seven young _crotali_
run into their mother’s mouth. After the snake was killed, they all
ran out. The parent and her brood are now in the National Museum at
Washington, D.C. Similar occurrences were witnessed by Professor
Sydney J. Smith, of Yale College; the Rev. Chauncey Loomis, M.D.,
of Middletown University; Dr. D. L. Phares; Mr. Thomas Meham of
Philadelphia; a member of the Convention then present; and other
‘gentlemen whose statements as naturalists were not to be doubted.’
‘Due weight should be given to the wide distribution of the witnesses
and the remarkable concurrence of their statements,’ said the speaker.

Professors Wyman and Gill, and other physiologists then present, showed
that there is no physical reason why young snakes should not remain
for a time in the body of the mother. The gastric juice acts slowly
on living tissues, and as for respiration, it is almost impossible to
smother reptiles. ‘Snakes can live for a long time immersed in water,
and even in bottles hermetically sealed, and why not in a place of
refuge?’ argued Mr. Putnam. Instances were given of frogs escaping
from the stomach of snakes; also of other snakes swallowed by a larger
species returning to the light of day.

As a habit, if the swallowing ‘is not protective there is no parallel;
if protective, a similar habit is seen in some fishes of the South
American waters, of the genera _Arius_, _Bagrus_, and _Geophagus_,
where the males carry the eggs for safety in their mouths and gill
openings.’ Mr. Putnam instanced the Pipe-fish (_Syngnathus Peckianus_),
whose young when in an aquarium have been seen to go in and out of the
pouch of the male fish; and that a belief prevails among some sailors
that young sharks which suddenly disappear have gone into the mouth of
the mother. Some South American fishes carry their eggs in their mouth,
and why should there not exist an equally motherly regard on the part
of snakes?

Mr. F. W. Putnam, secretary to the Association, had made himself
acquainted with all the English ‘viper-swallowing’ literature of
any importance up to the date of his paper on the subject in the
_American Naturalist_, 1869. Previous to that date, _Science Gossip_,
the _Field_, the _Zoologist_, and other English journals had devoted
more space to the subject than subsequently; and from these Mr.
Putnam cited many records from intelligent observers, in proof ‘that
snakes _do afford refuge to their young_.’ Of especial importance,
as corroborative evidence, were the statements and anatomical
investigations of Dr. Edwardes Crispe, F.Z.S., etc., who had for a long
while been studying the physiological possibility of such a retreat.
On the question, Would not the young snakes be rapidly digested in the
stomach of the parent? this anatomist showed that they would not come
in contact with the gastric juice at all, and that there is ample room
in the expansile œsophagus to receive them. He had made experiments
with various snakes by filling the stomach with water, in order to
ascertain its capacity in bulk. In 1855, Dr. E. Crispe had read a paper
on this subject at one of the meetings of the Zoological Society, and
again in 1862, when his previous opinions had become confirmed. He
had ‘positive evidence enabling him to state with certainty that the
English viper and some other venomous snakes do swallow their young at
an early period.’

Towards the end of the last century, Gilbert White, in his _History of
Selborne_, refers to the prevalent theory, and the instances recorded
by him are by the earlier editors of his works regarded rather as
evidence than the contrary. In the edition of 1851, the editor Jesse,
himself a naturalist, took pains to ascertain facts concerning vipers,
and he believed in the evidence given him. He had found vipers in their
mother’s ‘stomach’ (he does not say oviduct) ‘of a much larger size
(seven inches) than they would be when first excluded.’

(In the later editions of the _History of Selborne_, it is much to be
regretted that doubts are again thrown on the subject; and this in face
of the opinions of men of eminence, who had written from observation,
and had physiologically shown the possibility of such a refuge.)

Mr. Putnam also quoted Mr. M. C. Cooke, the author of _Our Reptiles_,
and at that time editor of _Science Gossip_. Here is a herpetologist
well able to form an unbiassed opinion, and who in his work says on
this question: ‘Men of science and repute, clergymen, naturalists, in
common with those who make no profession of learning, have combined in
this belief. Add to these, gentlemen whose statements in other branches
of natural history would not be doubted.’ Among them were Henry
Doubleday, Esq. of Epping, a well-known entomologist; the Rev. H. Bond,
of South Pellerton, Somerset; T. H. Gurney, of Calton Hall, Norwich,
a well-known ornithologist; and several others of similar scientific
standing.

Curiously, no one appears to doubt a similar maternal instinct as
displayed in our little native lizard, _Zootica vivipara_! Mr.
Doubleday related the case of one being accidentally trodden upon,
when three young ones ran out of her mouth. It was immediately killed
and opened, and two others that had been too much injured by the foot
to make their escape were still within the parent. At the time when
a controversy on the viper question was going on, Mr. Edward Newman
edited the _Zoologist_, and he himself related a most confirmatory case
of this viviparous lizard. A gentleman who was collecting, caught one
with two young ones; all three were consigned to his pocket _vasculum_.
On reaching home the two young ones had disappeared, and the mother
looked in such goodly condition that he thought she must have made a
meal of her offspring. Next morning, behold! there were the two little
ones and their devoted parent all safe and sound. She had sheltered
them within her body! And, as Mr. Newman added, ‘the narrators are of
that class who do know what to observe and how to observe it.’

In May 1865 a clergyman in Norfolk communicated to _Science Gossip_
that he had seen six or seven young vipers run helter-skelter down
their mother’s throat. He killed the parent and ‘out came the little
ones.’ In July another correspondent of the same paper saw several
young vipers vanish in a like manner, adding, ‘By the way the mother
opened her mouth to receive them, he would say they were accustomed to
that sort of thing.’ Mr. J. H. Gurney recorded that a viper with young
ones was disturbed, when two of the latter ran into her open mouth, the
second one after getting half in wriggling out again. The viper was
cut open to seek a reason for this, when a recently swallowed mouse
was found stopping up the way. The first had managed to get into safe
quarters, but the second could not pass.

In Oct. 1866 the question was revived by Mr. Thomas Rider, who wrote
to the _Field_ newspaper that on September 21st he had seen a number of
little vipers about three inches long run down their mother’s throat.
His account was followed by a number of letters from various persons,
who very lamely tried to convince him that his eyes had deceived him;
that what he had seen was the wriggling tongue, and a good deal more
of such feeble talk, which Mr. Rider took in gentlemanly good-humour.
He further described that at first he clearly saw the young ones _at
a distance_ from the parent; that, the latter being killed, the young
were found _within_ her; that in carrying her, two of them had _fallen
out of her mouth_; that he felt quite sure that what he stated was
correct. His description was so graphic and evidently truthful that
the distinguished naturalist Thomas Bell wrote also to the _Field_ to
express his great satisfaction at so authentic an account, confirming
his own previous impressions. ‘I did not doubt the fact before,’ he
said, in the _Field_ of October 27th, 1866, ‘but such an attestation as
this from such an authority’ (an educated country gentleman) ‘must be
considered as settling the question.’

For the next few weeks in the Natural History columns of the _Field_
a number of letters from various persons appeared, the majority
taking up the cudgels to resent the insult offered to Mr. Rider and
the eminent herpetologist Thomas Bell, F.L.S., F.R.S., and one of the
Council of the Zoological Society; and to quote still other cases of
viper-swallowing. ‘Only a purblind, stupid person,’ wrote one of them,
‘could possibly mistake young vipers for a tongue.’

J. Scott Hayward, Esq. of Folkington, Sussex, wrote that three of his
men while haymaking found a viper, and one of them crushed its head
with his boot. A young viper ‘scrabbled’ about his boot after its
mother. They then cut off the viper’s head, and seven young vipers
crawled out at the neck. The other had been too late, but was evidently
trying to follow the rest. There was no possibility of mistaking
seven little vipers for one hair-like tongue in this case; but a man
‘convinced against his will,’ etc., and therefore the editor again
abruptly closed the subject.

Of the hundred or more instances occurring in America, and now
presented to the assembly, those considered of especial interest
were published in the Reports of the Association; and after some
further discussion Professor Gill said that he considered the evidence
sufficient to finally decide the matter. ‘Since many important facts in
biology are accepted on the statements of one single observer, these
testimonies are claimed to be sufficient to set the matter for ever at
rest.’

This was the conclusion arrived at by the members of the American
‘Science Convention on Snakes,’ in 1873.

Of the witnesses introduced on that occasion, Professor Goode dismissed
those who had only _found_ the young snakes within the parent, but had
not _seen_ them enter. ‘Let us not trust to untrained observations,’
he said; those whose testimony was accepted being, in addition to the
well-known men already mentioned—‘an intelligent class of farmers,
planters, and business men, intelligent readers of an agricultural
magazine.’ ... ‘The well-attested cases included many non-venomous
species, the habit probably extending to _all those which are known
as oviparous_, as well as the _Crotalidæ_. The examples embraced the
garter snake, _Eutania sirtalis_ and _E. saurita_; the water snake,
_Tropidonotus sipedon_; the rattlesnake, _Caudisona horridus_; the
copper-head and moccasin, _Ancistrodon contortrix_ and _piscivorus_;
the “_Massasauga_,” _Crotalus tergiminus_; the English viper, _Pelias
berus_; and the mountain black snake, _Coluber Alleghaniensis_.
Probably all the _Crotalidæ_ might be included. It remains to be shown
whether the habit extends to the egg-laying snakes, but as yet no
proof had occurred. The Professors then present invited still further
observations and reports, affirming that the breeding habits of more
than twenty-five of the North American genera were entirely unknown.’

The following are a few of the cases recorded.

A ‘water moccasin’ (probably _Ancistrodon piscivorus_) had been seen
for several days unwelcomely close to a southern residence. A gentleman
wishing to entice her away from the water so as the better to kill her,
had a rabbit placed near, which by and by she seized and had nearly
swallowed, when those on the watch made a noise to alarm her. She
quickly disgorged it, gave a shrill whistling noise, and five young
snakes ran from under a log down her throat. The men cut off her head
and found the five young which tried to get away.

‘A farmer who was mowing saw a number of little snakes and a large
one. He went a short distance to fetch a fork to kill them, and on his
return found only the large one left. He struck it on the back, and
seven ran out of her mouth.’

‘Another farmer saw a “striped snake,” and noticed a number of young
ones near to her head. He alarmed them, and the young ones rushed in
at her open mouth. He stepped back and watched to see what next would
happen, when presently some of them came out. He killed the mother, and
all the rest ran out.’

A gentleman in Ohio saw a water snake on a bank. He got a pole, and
with one stroke of it wounded her, but not so much as to disable her.
She instantly made for the water, swam about her own length, when
she ‘wheeled round’ with difficulty, and placing her under jaw just
above the level of the water, opened her mouth wide, when some ten
or twelve young snakes ran or swam down her throat; after which she
went in search of a hiding-place. She was, however, killed and opened,
and ‘about twenty’ living young snakes were found within her, ‘two or
three of which were seven or eight inches long.’ Out of the 120 cases
recorded, sixty-seven of the witnesses saw and described the actions
so distinctly as to leave no doubt in the minds of their hearers; and
of these, twenty-two heard the parents’ signal ‘whistle,’ or hiss, or
click, or rattles, according to the species observed.

A man Charles Smith was ploughing near Chicago, when his plough caught
and turned over a large flat stone (‘rock,’ as they call it there),
exposing a very large rattlesnake and her young ones. The mother
rattled the alarm, and all the young ones ran down her throat. Smith
killed the old one, and immediately the young ones began to crawl back
from her mouth and were killed by him. Thirteen of them were five or
six inches long.

Some of the witnesses, after killing the snake into which they had seen
the young ones retire, saw them shaken out again by dogs which had
seized the mother. A few of the observers went on several successive
days to watch a certain snake that was known to have a nest close by;
and on each occasion when alarmed, the young ran into the parent’s
mouth.

Mr. Putnam also mentioned a ‘striped snake’ (which he had considered
ovoviviparous) bringing forth live young ones at the end of August; she
‘having been a long while in confinement.’ (This was no doubt a case of
retarded functions.)

In vol. iii. of the _American Naturalist_, 1870, an interesting record
of the ‘blowing snake’ (_Heterodon platyrhinos_) appears. One of
these snakes had been wounded in her side, and over one hundred young
ones from 6 to 8 inches long came forth from the wound. They were
all active, all blowing and flattening their bodies like thoroughly
wide-awake _Heterodons_. Sixty-three of them being uninjured died in
alcohol, thirteen were much lacerated, as was the mother, and the rest
escaped. Says the narrator, ‘We _know_ that this snake is oviparous.
Had she swallowed them, or can she be also ovoviviparous?’ (Well, she
might be either or both as occasion demanded!) This is one of those
examples which might have given rise to the supposition handed down by
Aristotle, and explained p. 431.

One hundred snakelings from 6 to 8 inches long seems almost incredible
from the space they would occupy. Yet in bulk they would not be more
than one large snake which the mother could easily swallow. The
accommodating ribs render such habits more feasible than at first sight
would appear. _Heterodon platyrhinos_ is a wonderfully prolific snake.
In the _Zoological Society Proceedings_, vol. vi. 1869, S. S. Ruthven
states that he has observed it to bring forth over one hundred _live_
young at a time.

One more example shall be added, of what Professor Goode considered a
remarkable instance of hereditary instinct. In a hay-field was found
a nest of eggs, one of which was cut open, when a small but perfectly
formed ‘milk adder’ within immediately assumed a menacing attitude
and ‘brandished’ its tongue. Some of the other eggs were then torn
open, the young in which acted in a similar manner. Then the old snake
appeared, and after endeavours to encourage this unexpected family,
put her head on a level with the ground and opened her mouth, when the
young ones vanished down her throat.

It is worthy of notice that in many of the above cases the mother
snake made a signal noise, that the young ones understood this
signal, and that she opened her mouth in a manner which they readily
comprehended. ‘This concurrence of testimony is not to be disregarded,’
says Professor Goode. And the reader will admit the force of these
evidences. Those witnesses, dispersed over thousands of square miles,
had entered into no compact to make their accounts agree; nor did one
spectator in Kansas know what another in New Jersey was looking at or
writing about.

After such a weight of evidence, and in face of the decision arrived
at by the American Convention, it is greatly to be lamented that
the _Field_, so far from advancing like our American friends, now
retrogrades on this question. So lately as October 1881, when another
case was cited of the maternal refuge, the Editor closes his columns
against investigation; and refuses to be convinced unless he were to
see ‘the young vipers at the Zoological Gardens obligingly run in
and out of their mothers’ mouths,’ which is a performance we are
never likely to witness. For, in the first place, the young are often
produced in mid-day, in the presence of the crowd of visitors. Thus,
from their birth accustomed to publicity, they have not the motive as
when in their native haunts they are suddenly alarmed at the first
sight of an apparition in human form. And in the second place, the
young are generally removed at once into a separate cage, and they lose
all knowledge of their mother. Both mother and progeny are familiar
with humanity; and the former is much more likely at the sight of the
keeper to open her mouth for a mouse than to invite her children to
enter therein.

In the foregoing portions of this volume I have been able frequently
to bring personal observations to verify what books have taught me.
With the present subject this cannot be the case. I have neither seen a
viper in the act of giving refuge to her young ones by receiving them
into her mouth, nor have I ever had the circumstance described to me
by any one who has witnessed the proceeding. This is not surprising,
seeing that my studies have been prosecuted almost entirely in London.
For any information obtained at the Gardens I am indebted solely to the
keepers, whose opportunities of observation when aided by intelligence
and experience merit the confidence of the inquirer.

So astonishing a phase of ophidian habits—let us say only _reputed
habits_—was, however, to me one to excite very special interest, as
well as to induce inquiry and a possible solution of the mystery; and
towards this solution the facts related in chap. xxiv. and xxv. appear
to me to come foremost in our aid. All snakes that are ovoviviparous,
was the decision arrived at by the American ophiologists; or
_viviparous_, for we have seen that the two words have but little value
as a distinction. I would venture so far as to render it thus:—

_In snakes which are either viviparous, or in which from some cause or
other extrusion has been so postponed that the young are conscious of
existence before birth._ Conscious also when born that they had been
safer in that pre-natal condition than now when assailed on all sides
by dangers hitherto unknown. This idea—and probably an untenable,
unphysiological, and foolish idea, which science might laugh to scorn
in an instant—still the idea did flash into my mind one day in the
summer of 1873, when Holland, announcing a brood of young ring snakes
which had just been hatched at the Gardens, and describing their baby
terrors, said, ‘It is funny to see how they all try to wriggle back
into their shells again.’

‘Then those little Colubers had been conscious of security before they
were hatched,’ I reflected, ‘and conscious when they did emerge into
activity that the shell had been a safe refuge to them.’ (This was
prior to the American Convention, of which I knew nothing until long
afterwards.)

Consciousness of locality must, I think, have a good deal to do with
the maternal refuge; and that snakes possess this consciousness in a
strong degree has been already shown in their habit of returning to
the same spot to hibernate year after year: and not only for winter
quarters; but a strong love of locality and a memory of home are
observed wherever snakes abound. ‘They remain in a hole or a crevice
of the wall for years,’ Fayrer affirms. In his _Prairie Folk_,
Parker Gilmore tells of a family of ‘Puff adders’ (by which probably
_Heterodon platyrhinos_ is meant) that had taken up their abode under
the boards of a porch for several years and could not be routed out.
Nicholson, also, in his _Indian Snakes_, informs us that when he was
stationed at Kamptee in 1868, a cobra and a pair of _Bungarus acutus_
lived in his bungalow for a long while. He could not find where
the cobra lived, but the Bungari made themselves at home in a hole
of the wall under his dressing-table. He never saw either of these
interlopers, but identified them by the skins which they ‘periodically
cast;’ taking advantage of his absence, no doubt, or of his nocturnal
somnolence, to perform their toilet under his looking-glass!

The often recounted tale of an Indian who had a tame rattlesnake
that went away every spring, and returned regularly each autumn to
a certain tub which it had appropriated for its home, is only an
example of affection for locality; but by those who were not cognisant
of this habit, the story has been produced with a strong flavour
of the marvellous, and the Indian who knew by the season when to
expect his creeping friend, was not slow to attribute the regular
return to especial regard for his own person. That _crotalus_ coming
alone so regularly, was probably a lone widow or widower; because
we also know that the _pair_ of snakes are usually seen together,
and that they follow each other with strong conjugal affection. This
is not irrelevant to the present subject; because the _affection_
of ophidians, whether conjugal or maternal, is what we are now
considering. The quality was well known in classic ages, though it
has been denied them in modern times. Many writers on snakes, while
affirming that they ‘exhibit no phase of affection,’ describe their
constantly going in pairs; or the fact that they become ‘vicious if
their retreat is cut off.’ ‘In their peregrinations male and female
are always in company,’ says Catlin; ‘and when only one is seen, the
other is sure to be within hearing.’ When a female has been killed and
left on the spot, the male always comes. The Indians profit by this
knowledge of conjugal devotion to lie in wait and kill the mate. They
place the dead one near the hole of their retreat, and watch the egress
of the survivor, which is sure to come and inspect its dead companion.

Sir Emerson Tennant observed a decided affection between the sexes of
the cobra. In his _History of Ceylon_ he gives several proofs, as for
instance a cobra being killed in a bath, and the next day the mate
being found there. In Baird’s Report of one of the Pacific exploring
expeditions, a good deal is said about the Bull snake (_Pituophis_),
which follows its mate by the scent. Once a fine individual having been
captured and placed in a barrel near the tent, a large one of the same
species was shortly afterwards found close by, and in a direct line
from where its mate was caught.

So much for conjugal affection. As regards maternal devotion, we
certainly had a proof in the pythons remaining week after week on
their eggs. True, they took no notice of the little ones when hatched,
because they were well able to take care of themselves. The mothers
had fulfilled their duties beforehand. Snakes which are vicious at no
other time, menace those who approach their nests or cut off their
retreat. This is a fact universally recognised, alike in Africa, India,
Australia, and America: wherever a traveller, a hunter, or a resident
incidentally mentions snake habits, he confirms this home affection.

‘Snakes, if aggressive at no other time, are always spiteful when they
have young,’ says Fayrer. And an anecdote is related of a man who
stumbled on a nest of young Hamadryads, and was pursued a long distance
by the angry mother. Terror added wings to his flight, as she came
fast upon him. In despair he plunged into a river and swam across,
but on reaching the opposite bank, up reared the furious Hamadryad,
its dilated eyes glistening with rage, ready to bury its fangs in his
trembling body. Escape now seemed hopeless, and as a last resource he
tore off his turban and threw that at the enemy. With characteristic
stupidity the snake plunged its fangs into this, biting it furiously.
After wreaking its vengeance upon the turban, it glided back to its
nest and its young ones and so the man escaped.

_Apropos_ of Indian snakes, Nicholson, though a practical ophiologist,
never heard of snakes swallowing their young in India. This may be
because so large a proportion of them are egg-laying, and because the
only two vipers, _Daboia_ and _Echis_, are nocturnal, very shy, and
not so frequent. Most of the other members of the Indian _viperine_
snakes, the _Crotalidæ_, are tree snakes, which, like the sea snakes,
are more likely to be dispersed and separated from their progeny,
and to take refuge in flight. They are, besides, less frequent, shy,
nocturnal, or crepuscular; and belong more to Malay and Hindoo China,
than to the localities in which observations are more feasible. Fayrer
does not even state positively that they are viviparous. At the same
time Nicholson will ‘say nothing certain about the young going down
the throat, but sees no reason why not.’ ‘They can do without air for
half an hour or so, and a snake’s throat is sufficiently capacious to
allow a frog to croak _de profundis clamavi_ when he is two feet from
daylight.’

Among unprejudiced observers there are still some who are inclined
to attribute to optical delusion the sudden disappearance of young
snakes; arguing from their astonishing rapidity of motion, and the
almost inappreciable space into which they can creep and hide in their
mother’s coils. Mr. Arthur Nicols, in his interesting papers on Snakes,
published in _The Country_ newspaper, in 1878-79, describes a case of
this kind from personal observation when in Australia. He disturbed a
snake with a number of young around her, the latter quickly vanishing.
He discharged his gun, and the old snake was almost cut to pieces with
shot. Approaching, he found all the young ones hidden beneath and about
her, and when he stirred them up they persisted in hiding among the
shattered coils, returning thither to the last.

Mr. Nicols states only that it was a poisonous snake, not giving the
specific name. She had probably incubated her eggs, and the young had
remembered the shelter of their mother’s coils. That it was a display
of filial refuge is, however, undeniable.

A similar occurrence is related in the _Field_ of November 10th, 1866,
by a Mr. Brittain, as an argument against the swallowing process.
He had seen young vipers run to their mother for protection, and so
completely out of sight that only on disturbing them they were found to
have secreted themselves in her coils. These may have been at a more
advanced age, and had ceased to enter the mouth.

It is remarkable that hitherto, excepting in _Pelias berus_, we hear
of this maternal display as peculiar to America only. Whether a more
intimate acquaintance with the snakes of other countries will reveal
new instances in the course of time, we cannot conjecture. It is
to be wished that observations on this head may be published, and
investigations encouraged; or in the minds of the million, the maternal
œsophagal refuge will still be classed among the fables.

Taking it for granted, then, in deference to the American ‘Convention,’
that snakes do offer refuge to their young, it is curious to speculate
as to how the habit originated and became a confirmed one. Maternal
instincts have, without doubt, been strong from the first; and we must
suppose that similar dangers to those which induce a snake now to
summon her young ones had also been the cause of postponed functions in
the mother, and that hers were precocious little reptiles before they
ever saw light.

Because we cannot assume that in a state of _security_ an oviparous
snake would ‘retard its laying’ and become ovoviviparous or viviparous;
nor that a viper would intentionally retain her young until their fangs
were developed (see p. 360), so that they should be able to take care
of themselves; or a rattlesnake till its young had rattles as well as
fangs (see p. 299), these being the principal species which do shelter
their young. And the habit must have had a beginning; there must have
been some training, some development of instinct, to lead up to what we
now see, viz. a snake deliberately giving a signal, lowering her head
to the level of the ground or water, opening wide her mouth to receive
her young, and giving them a second sign when they might safely venture
forth again.

This is the state of things supposed to exist at the present time;
and it would seem to be an organized habit, perfected in process of
ages, and one in which the mother’s instinct, and a _consciousness of
harbouring active young ones before introducing them to surrounding
dangers_, must have had a considerable share.

In concluding this speculative chapter, I can only humbly beg to
‘second the motion’ put to the learned assembly at Portland, Maine,
in 1873, to the effect that the subject will receive the attention of
ophiologists in all the snake countries of the world.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

_SERPENT WORSHIP, ‘CHARMING,’ ETC._

IN the preceding pages it has been my endeavour to resolve some of the
superstitious myths into zoological facts, and to explain by the light
of science those peculiar features and manners of the Ophidia which
from the earliest traditions of the human race have been regarded as
supernatural.

In reviewing the general organization of these reptiles, their
marvellous powers and habits, can we wonder at the impressions they
have created in untutored minds? Let us picture to ourselves our
earliest ancestors with their dawning intellect contemplating the
instantaneous coil of a constrictor; or the almost invisible action
in a flash of time with which the death-dealing stroke of the poison
fang is effected. From a source which was incomprehensible, like the
burning, scathing fluid from the skies, came a ‘sting,’ an agony,
death! Awe-struck and filled with sacred terror were the beholders, as
before them lay the paralyzed, tortured victim. Can we wonder that the
slender, gliding ‘worm’ which inflicted this mortal injury should have
been regarded as an evil spirit, a devil, and invested with maleficence?

Add to the two great death-dealing powers of the serpent
race—constriction and venom—those other peculiarities which have
here been faithfully recorded, the seeming renewal of life after the
annual sleep, a mystery enhanced by the restored brilliancy and beauty
of the reptile on its change of cuticle; let us picture to ourselves
those wondering savages now watching the limbless creature as it glides
into sight and is gone again, or as with fixed and glittering eyes it
flickers that mysterious little tongue; let us imagine them crowding
near to behold a serpent feeding, or to witness the still more amazing
spectacle of a brood of young ones vanishing down their mother’s
throat. There is enough of the mysterious in an ophidian to excite the
awe and wonder of even a nineteenth-century beholder, taking each one
of these surprising doings singly; but considering that any one serpent
may be endowed with nearly all of these phenomenal powers, let us
imagine the effect produced by them in the savage mind. To worship such
an incomprehensible creature was only consistent with all we know of
the influences which first awakened faith in a supernatural Being.

Consequently we find that in every country where a serpent was known,
it plays its part in the mythology and religion of that country. We may
examine the antiquities of any nation which has left a monument of its
history and beliefs, and a serpent will be represented. Scarcely an
Egyptian sculpture (in its entirety) can be found in which the serpent
does not appear. The same may be said of the Hindoo monuments, their
temples, buildings, and sculptured caves; also of Mexican, Japanese,
Chinese, and other ancient mythologies.

Singularly, too, no other object in nature—no birds or flowers
or beautiful things—have been so universally adopted in personal
ornaments as the serpent idea. And in times of remote antiquity—as
relics prove—personal adornments, bracelets, coronets, and rings in
the form of serpents were as much in favour as at the present day. We
may, indeed, affirm that the modern bracelet is but a reproduction or
a restoration of those of antiquity, dating as far back as artificers
in metals can be traced. Rough and rude representations of still
earlier times are extant. And where the human race in its savage state
had no knowledge of art, the reptile itself, or such relics of it as
could be preserved, were adopted as personal decorations. Thus were
the American Indians found by the early colonists, with their belts of
snake skins, with the rattles of the Crotalus strung in their ears,
and with necklaces and chains of snake bones and ‘rattels.’ Mackeney,
Catlin, Schoolcraft, and other historians of the American Indians
relate numerous instances in proof of the universal veneration and
superstition with which the serpent is regarded by those savages. If
they kill a rattlesnake, it is immediately skinned and distributed
in small pieces among the tribe for their medicine bags, while the
captor is pompously decorated with the skin. If on a journey they
meet a rattlesnake in their direct path, this is taken to be a sign
that they must go no farther. Some of the Indian traditions bear a
remarkable resemblance to the prophetic symbols of the Hebrew faith.
‘If thou bruise its head, it shall bruise thy heel.’ This in their eyes
is regarded as ‘destiny,’ and they will on no account kill one that
lies in their path, lest it should cause the death of the destroyer’s
relatives. The Indians are also supposed to possess the art of
snake-taming to an extraordinary degree. We are assured by more than
one writer that they also pet rattlesnakes, investing them with divine
attributes, and sheltering them during the winter; though in this case
the ‘tameness’ may be partially due to the inertness resulting from the
season of the year. On returning spring they permit their _Penates_ to
issue forth again.

The ancient temples of Mexico were richly embellished with carvings
of serpents. One of them represents a serpent idol of not less than
seventy feet long, in the act of swallowing a human being. Also, there
is the ‘God of the Air,’ a feathered rattlesnake; and an edifice
known as the ‘Wall of Serpents,’ from the numerous reptilian forms
crowded upon it. But it is not necessary to enumerate antiquities,
with most of which the reader must be already acquainted, the object
here being rather to endeavour to account for those other attributes
which have grown out of serpent worship, such as ‘fascinating,’ taming,
‘charming,’ ‘dancing to music,’ etc.

Not that serpent worship is extinct by any means. In India it is still
so strong as to amount to a fatality; for the high annual death-rate
from snake bites there is not half so much because the natives can’t
be cured, as because they _won’t_ be cured of what they regard as a
just punishment from their deity. This we shall have occasion to show
further on. That serpent superstitions are still rampant among the
low-caste Hindoos, is borne out by all modern writers on the native
faiths or customs. A. K. Forbes in his _Hindoo Annals_, or _Râs Mala_,
tells us that cobras are looked upon as guardian angels. One cobra
‘guarded’ a cave in which treasures were deposited; another cobra
‘guarded’ a garden; and very good guards we should say they were, as
few persons would venture too near to such an ‘angel.’ One of the
supposed ‘Divinities’ is the _Poorwug Dev_, or spirit personified by
a snake, which is not allowed to be killed or injured; and if it bite
a person, that individual is supposed to be justly punished for some
fault. Fatalism forbids any attempt to cure that unhappy victim, and he
swells the annual death-rate. Due honours are paid to these ‘guardian
angels’ found in most hamlets. Periodical festivals are held to them:
their retreats are then garlanded with flowers, and, as already
stated, eggs and milk are placed as propitiatory offerings. One of the
Bengalese traditions is, that a male infant auspiciously shaded by a
cobra will come to the throne.

And is the reptile which brings such distinction and honour into a
family to be ruthlessly destroyed? ‘No Hindoo will willingly kill a
cobra,’ Colonel Meadows Taylor tells us, in his _People of India_.
Should one be killed accidentally within the precincts of a guarded
village, a piece of copper money is put into its mouth, and the body is
burned with offerings to avert the anticipated evil. The _najas_, or
hooded snakes, from their habit of erecting themselves on the approach
of persons, are those especially regarded as guardians. It was the same
in Egypt. In the _najas_ are also supposed to dwell the spirits of
highly-favoured persons, or those whose lives had been of remarkable
purity and goodness,—another motive for their being protected. It is
still the same in many parts of Africa, where the natives think ill
luck follows the death of a python.

In works where medical statistics are given, such as Fayrer’s
_Thanatophidia_, we learn the fatal results of these superstitions.
When the natives find a cobra in their houses, as is not unfrequently
the case, says Fayrer, ‘they will conciliate it, feed and protect it,
as though to injure it were to invoke misfortune on the house and
family. Even should the death of some relative, bitten by accident,
occur, the serpent is not killed, but caught and deferentially deported
to the field or jungle, where it is set free.’ No one can peruse the
above without seeing how largely the percentage of deaths is traceable
to native superstition. Fayrer also shows us the fatal consequences of
the confidence placed in the snake ‘charmers,’ who are considered to be
especially favoured by their deities, and endowed with curative powers.
Much interesting reading, apart from medical science, will be found in
the _Thanatophidia_ on the Hindoo faith in the _müntras_ or spells and
incantations used by the charmers in cases of snake-bite. Out of some
ninety such cases selected by Fayrer from returns sent in by medical
officers in the Bengal Presidency, nearly half proved that either no
remedies at all were tried, or that recourse was had to native nostrums
or _müntras_. Briefly to enumerate a few of the reports: ‘Boy bitten
by _keautiah_, charms and incantations; died in half an hour.’ ‘Man
keeping a krait (Bungarus) for “Poojah” (worship) was bitten, and
died in seven hours, notwithstanding native nostrums.’ A woman bitten
died in three hours ‘_in spite of incantations_’! ‘A man bitten while
asleep had “_leaves to smell_,” but nevertheless died in three hours!’
‘Woman bitten at night, got up and had _müntras_ (chantings) to expel
the poison. She died four hours after the bite notwithstanding; and
her infant at the breast died two hours after partaking the maternal
nutriment.’ And many similar cases. What wonder, then, with this
miserable fatalism prevailing over that vast and densely-populated
country, that death by snake-bites should amount to many thousands
annually? One more case must be recorded to show how deeply rooted the
faith. A tall, strong young man was bitten in the hand, while sleeping
out of doors. No medicine was given, but _incantations_ were muttered
over him. In an hour he was a corpse: yet the village where this
happened continues to do Poojah (adoration) to the cause of the evil.
By far the largest percentage of deaths is attributable to the cobra,
though this is not a proof that its numbers predominate so much above
other snakes, as of the religious veneration in which it is everywhere
held. It is found all over the peninsula, even as high as 8000 feet on
the sunny slopes of the Himalayas. The names of castes, _Nâg_, _Nâgo_,
_Nâgojee_, _Nâgowa_, etc., found among all classes of Hindoos, have
all reference to the _Nâg_ or _Nâja_ deities, says Colonel Meadows
Taylor. To this author, as well as to Forbes, Ferguson,[133] Fayrer,
and Miss Frere,[134] the reader is referred in verification of the
above. If further to pursue the subject of snake worship, _The Serpent
Myths of Ancient Egypt_, by W. R. Cooper, 1873; _The Serpent Symbol_,
by Squires, 1851; _Sun and Serpent Worship_, by J. S. Phené; and
_The Native Races of the Pacific States of North America_, by H. H.
Bancroft, are some of the many books that afford interesting matter.
These latter, however, allude more particularly to ancient nations.
Among many living and semi-barbarous tribes serpent superstitions
exist, though, perhaps, more strongly in West Africa than elsewhere,
excepting India at the present time. In Africa, not the venomous so
much as the large constricting snakes are the objects of care and
veneration. In _Dahomey and the Dahomeans_, F. E. Forbes relates some
amusing instances of the sacred devotion of the Fetish women, or
guardians and slaves of the python deities at Whydah. A Fetish house
or temple devoted to the snakes was built round a large cotton-tree,
and in this a number of pythons were permitted to roam about at their
pleasure. When they ventured beyond the precincts, their Fetish
attendants went in search of them, and by gentle persuasions (probably
in the form of poultry or other dietetic arguments) induced them to go
home: while all who met them bowed down and kissed the dust of their
path. Morning and evening the devotees prostrated themselves before the
sacred abode of these ophidian deities, either to worship the invisible
god _Seh_, or his representatives in serpentine form.

From frequent and gentle handling, snakes thus protected naturally grow
tame. The Fetish attendants become skilled in managing their reptile
gods, and are not slow in investing themselves with especial powers for
their office. And to this may the origin of the so-called ‘charmers’ be
traced; for ‘snake charming,’ like snake worship, dates back to the
very earliest ages. With a more intimate knowledge of the reptilian
class which modern zoology has brought about, comes happily a clearer
insight into the tricks of the snakemen, jugglers, and charmers of
Egypt and the East. Snake-taming to-day is not confined to _Saadees_
and _Samp Wallahs_; it is not even confined to non-venomous snakes,
of which pythons have always proved very amenable pets. Mr. Mann’s
tame pythons (see ‘Introduction’) were popular performers at the time
they were introduced in Chancery, and his pet constrictor, ‘Cleo,’ was
honoured with an obituary notice from the pen of Mr. Frank Buckland,
in _Land and Water_, after she died ‘of grief,’ as was said, at the
illness of her master.[135] The amiable ‘Cleo’ (or Cleopatra) was the
‘constant companion’ of Mr. and Mrs. Mann for several years, and they
soon learned her wishes when she ‘asked’ for either food, drink, or
fresh air. ‘A short time before her death she contracted a friendship
for a young kitten,’ was always ‘fond of children,’ who displayed no
fear of that sociable ophidian. But she was shy of strangers; and this
I myself realized on paying my respects to her; for not until she was
fully convinced that I had no evil intentions, and not without much
coaxing and persuasion on the part of her guardians, could Cleo be
induced to approach me.

Several of the constricting snakes at the Zoological Gardens of even
larger size than Cleo are exceedingly tame, permitting themselves
to be handled. One of them, a temporary inmate during the winter of
1881-82, was introduced to the public by Dr. Stradling through the
columns of _Land and Water_, April 3, 1880, as ‘Totsey,’ together
with her brother ‘Snap,’ the latter named ‘from a trifling infirmity
of temper when young.’ These two were the offspring of the Panama boa
who gave birth to 20 live young at the Gardens, June 30, 1877. Of
these twenty, Mr. Sclater notified, at one of the Zoological Society’s
meetings in the following November, that all but one were still alive.
Of the two which became the property of Dr. Stradling and were tamed
by him, he wrote, ‘Any one can handle them with impunity;’ and that
they recognised him among others in the dark, permitting him only to
touch them at such a time. ‘Lolo’ and ‘Menina’ are the pretty names of
two other tame constrictors belonging to this ophiophilist, and whose
amiable and interesting manners were recorded in the above journal. Of
‘Totsey’ the Dr. writes, ‘She is the most gentle and affectionate snake
I ever had.’ As this same Miss Ophidia happened to be an inmate at the
Gardens in January 1882, when the pair of illustrations (p. 205) were
in preparation, she adorns that page; though in truth it was one of her
brothers or sisters, then rather smaller, that really did hang thus on
the branch as I sketched it at the time, September 24, 1880.

That some of the most venomous serpents are also capable of being
tamed we have many proofs. They use their fangs in self-defence,
actuated by fear or hunger; and where no fear exists, a serpent
would not deliberately crawl about, expending its precious and only
protective power, _venom_, on any object it met with. Would a cobra or
a crotalus in its native woods approach any living thing it saw and
indiscriminately strike it with its poison fangs? No. Its primary
impulse would be to escape. It strikes only under provocation or
hunger. Therefore if a venomous snake in captivity become so familiar
with your presence as to cease to fear you, it would also abstain
from biting you. Not that one would recommend Jararacas or cobras for
pets, notwithstanding the assurance of some residents in India that
the latter are capital guards to a dwelling, and in some are even
encouraged instead of dogs, as the less liable to bite of the two! Miss
Frere, in her interesting reminiscences of India, _Old Deccan Days_,
gives instances of children playing with the cobra without injury.
She mentions a Brahman boy who could without any other music than his
own voice attract and handle with impunity any venomous serpents that
might be within hearing. They would come out of a thicket or a dry
stone wall—their favourite refuge. Such instances are sufficiently
rare to be regarded as miraculous, adds the authoress, still they do
occur. ‘How much is due to gentleness of touch and fearlessness, how
much to any personal peculiarity which pleases the senses of the snake,
it is difficult to say.’ The boy above alluded to was believed to be
the incarnation of some divinity, and the magistrate took note of his
proceedings.

But at last, through some inadvertency, he got bitten; when he
died, notwithstanding the divinity he was supposed to enshrine,
notwithstanding the spells and _müntras_ which might be pronounced over
him.

The cobra is supposed to have originally had seven heads, as we see
represented on Hindoo temples. The ‘hood’ is believed to be the remains
of these seven heads; and the _Gokurrah_, whose pattern of the double
ocellus had gained it the name of the ‘spectacled cobra,’ is held
in the highest esteem of all from the two spots being considered the
footprints of the god _Krishna_. These are the especial favourites of
the professional snake charmers.

When it is borne in mind that snakes have been tamed by persons of
only slight experience, we can easily comprehend that with a life’s
practice, and with inherited facilities, the Oriental jugglers must
acquire peculiar expertness in dealing with their ‘charmed’ specimens.
Originally, no doubt, the office of the professed snake tamer was
connected with the sacred rites of serpent-worshipping communities, but
has now greatly degenerated into the trade of jugglers and tricksters.
That some of these do acquire extraordinary skill in dealing with their
dangerous captives cannot be denied. Profound faith is placed in their
performances by the natives, who attribute to them supernatural agency.
From being close observers of reptile character, they know how far to
venture on familiarities. They thoroughly understand the movements
of the sluggish and timid serpents with which they are toying; and
while keeping up a perpetual gabble to divert the attention of the
spectators, aggravated by the tum-tumming and so-called ‘music’ to
which the snakes are supposed to ‘dance,’ they themselves keep just
beyond striking reach, and provoke the snake to follow the waving
motion of their hands. The true object or impulse of the snake is to
bite the irritating cause, the pretended motive is ‘dancing.’ To follow
the movement of the object which provokes them is instinctive, music
or not; and without any din and cackle and jargon, the cobras would do
this all the same. Long practice and an intimate acquaintance have
given the jugglers confidence and dexterity, while on the part of the
snake fear is the chief characteristic. Even the tamest cobra is only
watching the opportunity to escape, and the moment the juggler ceases
his performance, down it drops, and makes for its basket. Should
the performance not be ended, the snakes are called to attention by
being sharply pulled back by their tail, when up they rise with hood
expanded, and with just enough of power and spirit left in them to
recommence the ‘dance,’ more truly to make one more futile attempt to
strike their tyrannical masters. It is only a repetition of the same
kind of ‘obedience’ and ‘intelligence’ that was accredited to that
first rattlesnake ever exhibited in England.

That showman (introduced p. 285) had become well acquainted with
crotalus idiosyncracies, and knew how to turn them to account before an
ignorant crowd.

Those who have to deal with venomous serpents tell us, that with
caution and expertness they are not difficult to handle; and this
is verified by all who describe the performances of Oriental
snake-charmers. Not only cobras with fangs extracted, or mouths sewn
up, or composition ‘cerastes’ with artificial horns fastened on to the
heads of harmless snakes, but those with perfect fangs and well-filled
poison glands, are handled with equal facility. By pressing down the
snake’s head gently with a stick and then seizing it firmly close
behind the head, so close that it has no power to turn it, you fetter
its movements. Or to snatch up a venomous snake by its tail and quickly
support it festooned on a stick which you draw gently towards the
head, and then secure that as above, is another method adopted; or,
again, to seize the tail and pass the hand swiftly along the body
till the head is reached, and _then_ grasp the neck. These are among
the various ways of handling poisonous serpents, according to the
purposes required of them. Every movement must be carefully watched,
however, and the head not released until the entire snake is free to be
returned straight into its cage. Even wild and vicious cobras are thus
fearlessly dealt with by experts; and those which are in process of
taming are put through a daily training. They are made comfortable in a
basket, conciliated with food and milk, soothed by softly stroking them
with a brush and by kind and gentle handling.

I once stood by and looked on while the keeper unpacked a box of
cobras. He took each one out by its tail, and dropped it into another
box with such expedition that the fearful reptile had not time to turn
and bite him. Not that he ventured to lower his hand into the midst
of the writhing angry tangle of snakes, but first, at a respectful
distance (the writer still more deferentially contemplating the
transfer from afar), he, with a long-handled hook, contrived to draw
out a snake tail first, and getting the tip over the edge of the box,
this he seized, thus, one after the other, shifting eight of the dozen
cobras. Both boxes had lids, of course—glass slides, which were
cautiously but quickly drawn aside, and as sharply closed again.[136]
These deadly reptiles, after being some weeks, perhaps months, in
a small close box, were not, as may be supposed, in a very lively
condition, but sufficiently so to erect themselves and hiss like a
flock of geese, striking at the lid and the glass, and doing their
best to alarm the manipulator, and also to suspend the breath of my
awe-struck self. Calmly and safely, however, Holland concluded his task.

By pressing down the head with a stick, or seizing it quickly by the
tail, American Indians similarly manage the rattlesnakes. Not they
alone, however, are skilled in taming these deadly reptiles. Here, at
home in England, domesticated _Crotali_ are not unknown. Dr. Stradling
thinks they may be rendered as harmless as non-venomous kinds, by a
gradual training; and has succeeded in so far taming one that he felt
safe in offering it as a gift to even an unskilled non-charmer. ‘I have
a very _nice_ tame rattlesnake between four and five feet long, in good
condition and feeding well, which I shall be delighted to send you,’
he wrote me, August 1881. ‘It has got so tame that you might handle it
without fear at any time you wished to investigate any part of it.’ It
is perhaps superfluous to add that this amiable and exemplary reptile
was gratefully declined.

The reader’s devoted servant had not undergone a course of
prophylactics as the Doctor had. He is both an expert and to a certain
extent venom-proof at the same time; but for all that the snake was, as
he affirmed, tame enough to be handled with impunity by those who might
have sufficient courage to venture. That interesting and accommodating
rattlesnake is no more, but was even more honoured in death than in
life. A true martyr to science, it was sacrificed that its friend and
teacher might prosecute his experiments, and also swallow some of
the contents of its poison gland, in order to convince two or three
challenging sceptics that he could do this with impunity.[137]

As in all other trades, there are various grades among the Oriental
snake-tamers. The legitimate ‘charmer’ of India—the _Samp
Wallah_—prides himself on being a descendant of the prophet, and the
secret of his art is cherished as an heirloom in his family. This
also is the case in Arabia and Egypt, where the astonishing feats
which, without any doubt, are performed by professional ‘snake men,’
are attributed to special and secret powers, jealously guarded from
age to age. It may be possible that, like the Psylli of old, they may
have recourse to some drug which renders their person repugnant to the
serpent, and thus provides immunity from a bite. Not yet altogether
discarded, either, is the ancient belief that in the body of the
viper itself is found a specific for its poison. Since the days of
Æsculapius, decoctions of vipers and recipes enough to form an Ophidian
cookery-book and pharmacopeia combined, have found favour not only
among the ‘faculty’ of classic days, but among all our ancestral dames.
We are told that vipers abound in volatile salts that are cures for
many ills. Certain it is that ‘viper wine,’ viper broth, viperine
salts, the powder of dried vipers, preparations from the dejecta,
the oil, and even the slough have all enjoyed a high reputation,
and I believe are—_some_ of these at any rate—still in vogue in
secluded districts where the refinements of medical science have not
yet replaced them. It is remarkable, too, that for skin affections
their virtues chiefly commend themselves. The ancient belief that to
devour vipers proved a specific for their bite, has to the present
day prevailed among the snake-charmers of Egypt, who—whether or not
from this practice—are said so to assimilate their bodies that the
venom does not harm them. The Bushmen of South Africa, it is asserted,
swallow poison to render themselves proof against its effects; and
history records many other tribes who have had such confidence in their
own and an inherited immunity, that they hesitated not in exposing
their infants to deadly serpents. The Persian word _Bezoar_, a popular
drug, means counter-poison; in allusion to the immunity from poison
which persons who feed on venomous snakes are believed to enjoy.

Though much discredit has been thrown on these so-called ‘immunities,’
and though it is so very difficult to know what to believe where a
serpent is concerned, the possibility does appear to be borne out by
some authentic writers of our own time. The late John Keast Lord, when
in Egypt, had frequent opportunities of observing the tricks of the
jugglers; and not only he, but, as he assures us, many intelligent and
educated Europeans, fully believed that some secret power was practised
by the ‘high-caste’ charmers, who really did exhibit astonishing feats
with their snakes. Of these, the habit of devouring the reptiles alive
can here admit only of bare allusion.[138]

In _Dahomey and the Dahomeans_, F. E. Forbes tells of the natives
walking fearlessly bare legged in the grass where snakes abound, and
that on one occasion on alluding to the danger, a boy said to him: ‘No
fear; if my father is bitten, he knows of an herb that will cure him.’

Another recent authority whom we are bound to respect is Schliemann. In
his work _Troy and its Remains_, published in 1875, he writes (p. 117):
‘We still find poisonous snakes among the stones as far down as from
thirty-three to thirty-six feet, and I have hitherto been astonished
to see my workmen take hold of the reptiles with their hands and play
with them: nay, yesterday I saw one of the men bitten twice by a viper,
without seeming to trouble himself about it. When I expressed my
horror, he laughed, and said that he and all his comrades knew there
were a great many snakes in this hill, and they had therefore all
drunk a decoction of the snake-weed, which grows in the district, and
which renders the bite harmless. Of course I ordered a decoction to be
brought to me, so that I also may be safe from these bites. I should,
however, like to know whether this decoction would be a safeguard
against the fatal effects of the bite of the hooded cobra, of which
in India I have seen a man die within half an hour. If it were so, it
would be a good speculation to cultivate snake-weed in India.’

A correspondent in _Land and Water_, signed ‘R. C.,’ quoting
Schliemann, inquired the name of this snake-weed, but without eliciting
information. Most of the countries in which snakes abound would seem to
rejoice in ‘snake-weeds’ and ‘snake-roots.’ ‘It has pleased nature that
there should be nothing without its antidote,’ said Pliny; and though
‘the faculty’ tell us that no antidote for snake venom has as yet been
discovered, it nevertheless appears to be certain that the Arabs, the
Nubians, Egyptians, and other nations seek to procure immunity from
snake-bite by the use of certain plants, of which the _Aristolochias_
seem to be most frequent. The juice or a decoction is drunk, the root
chewed, and an infusion used for washing the skin. The South American
Indians are said to be able thus to protect themselves; and we have
the high authority of Humboldt in support of the theory that the
famous _huaco_, and other poisonous plants with which they inoculate
themselves, may impart an odour to their bodies which is repugnant to
the snakes.

It would be well to obtain definite information as to what the
‘snake-weed’ of Schliemann was, _botanically_. It is also important to
ascertain the species of ‘viper’ that is there so abundant; then there
would be a basis for investigation. The testimony of a traveller like
Schliemann is not to be disregarded. Besides him, Livingstone, P. H.
Gosse, and others have affirmed the same thing, viz. the existence of
antidotal plants, but which, in the hands of science, seem never to
disclose their virtues!

As a part of the present subject comes a serpent’s supposed love of
‘music,’ and on this head again the evidence is contradictory. Setting
aside the idea of ‘music,’ in the way of melody or harmony, we may
be able to arrive at a clue to the undeniable fact that snakes do
exhibit some consciousness of _noise_. ‘Music,’ properly so called,
is certainly very far removed from the gourd-rapping and tum-tumming
of the Oriental jugglers; yet the snakes display a consciousness of
these uncouth sounds. Mr. Mann affirmed that Cleo and his other pet
boas manifested undoubted feeling—let us call it consciousness—when
the piano was being played. Dr. Arthur Stradling, on the contrary,
tells us that his own snakes ‘are almost always within hearing of a
piano, and never show the slightest emotion at the sound.’[139] His
observations, I believe, refer chiefly to his life at sea, where his
cabin did duty as concert-room, menagerie, and all else combined, and
where, apart from piano, there would be ceaseless noise and jarring;
or even if on shore, the ‘always’ would rather support my own theory
or speculation as to any feasible solution of the fact that serpents
are affected by _noise_, not ‘music.’ And my idea is, that it is the
jarring or vibration _through solids_, and not the mere sound, that
thus affects the snakes. Since first venturing to express this idea
in the _Dublin University Magazine_, Jan. 1876, I have continued to
observe the effect on snakes of what we may call _disturbing noises_.
At the Gardens, where they become accustomed to noises of all kinds,
it is less easy to arouse them; but when the place is unusually quiet,
the experiment may be tried. The ‘snake men’ of the East, whose trade
is to hunt out snakes by means of sound, effect this by _rapping_ on
the wall or ceiling, or by making loud, clucking noises with their
tongue as much as by their so-called ‘music;’ and Pliny,—if we may
cite Pliny to suit our purpose and discard him otherwise,—or whoever
_he_ quotes, affirms that snakes are more easily aroused by the _sound_
of footsteps than by the sight of the approaching person. A custom is
prevalent in Ceylon, we are told, of using a jingling stick in the dark
to strike the ground in order to frighten snakes out of the path. The
jingling ‘music’ here is disturbing, not alluring, but as regards the
knocking it proves sensitiveness to vibration conveyed by the ground.
The American Indians are _experts_ in the way of ascertaining sounds
as conveyed by the ground. They throw themselves prone upon the earth,
pressing their ear close to it, and are able to decide with great
accuracy the direction, the distance, and the nature of a far-off
sound. May we not conclude, then, that the perception of sound to a
serpent is through solids, a feeling more than a hearing of noises?
The creature, always prone to the ground or other solids, and with an
internal aural apparatus, must be peculiarly sensitive to vibrations
thus conveyed.

‘Lizzie,’ the heroine of chap. xxvi., was proved to be sensitive to
disturbing noises, and her ophidian relatives are probably similarly
affected. As to _tune_, any sharp sound will answer; and as to time, it
is not the ‘music,’ but, as we have already hinted, the waving hand or
knee, or bright colours used by the _charmers_, to which the movements
of the serpents respond. This also is a subject quite worth scientific
investigation.

A word in conclusion about the ‘fascination of the serpent’s eye,’ a
fable of so remote a date that it is as hard as any to eradicate. Even
scientific observers admit that there is a _something_ that attracts
the eyes of birds or small mammals such as squirrels, timid creatures
which often stare fixedly at ourselves as much as at a snake. Dr. A.
Smith says: ‘Whatever may be said in ridicule of fascination, it is
nevertheless true that birds and even quadrupeds are, under certain
circumstances, unable to retire from the presence of their enemies, and
what is even more extraordinary, unable to resist the propensity to
advance from a situation of actual safety into one of danger.[140] He
has seen birds collect round the African tree snakes, particularly the
Boomslange (described p. 407), and fly to and fro, shrieking, until
one of them almost touches its lips.’ Exactly so. We are not _told_ as
much, but every one who knows anything of snake life will feel quite
sure that those tree snakes were making good use of their delicate
tongues in order to ascertain all they could about those enticing
shriekers; and that the birds were equally desirous of knowing what
dainty in the shape of worm or flitting creature that tongue might be.
In the case of the rattlesnake the ‘fascinated’ birds are probably
enticed by the insect they think they _hear_, as well as that they
think they _see_, in the supposed worm wriggling so temptingly and
vanishing so strangely. The snake remains rigidly still the while, the
only moving thing being that investigating tongue.

My observations at the Zoological Gardens first led me to this
conclusion. On the feeding days several years ago, when watching to
detect the ‘fascination’ one had been led to expect, I noticed that
the birds—even the sparrows and finches—were attracted by the tongue
of the snake, and would stop when hopping about the cage and look
intently and curiously on the vibrating tongue. Some would venture on a
closer inspection, and remain gazing, or would even peck at it, until a
movement of the snake told them that the motionless object from which
that wriggling thing protruded was a living animal. Then they might hop
away indifferently, happily unconscious that what they had perched on
as a branch or a log was animated with a hungering after themselves.

Any further ‘spell,’ or ‘fascination,’ or attraction might be
attributed to a soporific or paralytic rather than a pleasurable
influence; and arising from the noxious breath of a venomous serpent,
or the fixity of its eyes, never blinking. Horses, dogs, and other
animals have an intuitive perception of the vicinity of a snake, and
refuse to advance; is it therefore reasonable to conclude that the
lesser animals are not similarly affected? It is serpent nature to
wait motionless for its prey. Any creature coming unexpectedly upon
that rigid object, with its fixed, glittering eyes, would, actuated
by mingled alarm and curiosity, stop to make itself acquainted with
the extraordinary sight, the only life or motion in which would be
the tongue suddenly and silently appearing and disappearing. A bird
might be beguiled within striking distance, or might stop spell-bound.
We ourselves are sometimes impelled to approach an unaccountable yet
terrifying object. Fear has also a paralyzing effect, and we remain
motionless, breathless, with eyes as fixed as a serpent’s.

Observation of nature and an inquiry into causes will often present
very commonplace reasons for what appears to savour of the marvellous.
A snake has just made a meal of some fledgelings. The mother bird has
witnessed her offspring vanishing by degrees, and she frantically
hovers over the reptile, fluttering to and fro, and probably uttering
cries of distress or of enticement, in the hope of her young ones’
return. Birds have been observed thus endeavouring to rescue a
half-swallowed fledgeling. The naturalist at once comprehends the
reason; the poet thinks the birds are ‘fascinated.’

I am not aware that any other ophiologist than Dr. Stradling, in
discussing the ‘fascination’ idea, has attributed to the tongue of a
snake an allurement in the shape of a prospective meal. In one of his
papers to _Land and Water_ (April 2, 1881) he described a hen that had
been put into the cage for his anaconda’s dinner, making ‘a determined
dab at the snake’s tongue, sometimes two or three dabs in quick
succession,’ every time the quivering black line caught her eye. ‘Now
why does she do that?’ he asks. ‘Certainly from no animosity towards
the snake, in whose presence she has not the slightest consciousness
of danger, as she was otherwise engaged in pecking up the maize that
was in the cage. My own idea is that she mistakes the tongue for a
wriggling worm,’ adds the observer in almost the very words I had used
more than six years previously,[141] long before we had exchanged a
word on the subject or were even acquainted. He further described in
the same issue of _Land and Water_, and also in the _Field_ (June 3,
1882), how a scarlet _tanager_ in Costa Rica had been attracted out
of a tree down close to a snake by its quivering tongue, the only
moving thing about it. Dr. Stradling had seen a frog similarly snapping
at the tongue of a snake, and thinks that one of the chief uses of
the mysterious little organ is to attract insectivorous animals. My
own observations prove the tongue to be a _successful_ lure, which
may go a good way towards explaining ‘fascination;’ but whether an
_intentional_ lure, any more than an intentional intimidation, as
discussed in chap. v., I hesitate to affirm.

‘Fascination,’ then, may be sometimes imputed to curiosity, sometimes
to an anticipated morsel. It may partake of fear, or it may be an
involuntary approach; it may be the struggles of a poisoned creature
unable to get away, or the maternal anxieties of a bird or small mammal
whose offspring has fallen a victim to the snake. Divesting it of
all poetry or magic, it will admit of several matter-of-fact, albeit
sometimes tragic explanations.

CHAPTER XXIX.

_THE VENOMS AND THEIR REMEDIES._

ON a subject which has baffled research in all ages, viz. the endeavour
to discover an antidote for snake venom, it scarcely becomes me to
speak. Yet, as in the foregoing chapters, I may at least venture to lay
before my readers some general account of the various remedies used in
snake regions, and, for the benefit of residents in those countries,
describe the most approved means of treating the bites of venomous
serpents. Information of this kind will not, I trust, be wholly useless.

First, it may be as well to impressively repeat what has been already
constantly affirmed by all our scientific experimentalists on snake
venoms, that ‘as yet _no antidote to them has been found_.’ Remedies
there are in abundance; and it is just as great an error to believe
that all snake venom is incurable—_i.e._ that a bitten person must
necessarily die—as that there are countless ‘antidotes,’ as persons
broadly and loosely call the various means of cure.

At the time when Professor Halford’s treatment by subcutaneous
injections of ammonia were so popularly discussed, you might read week
after week of ‘Halford’s newly-discovered antidote for snake-bites.’
Professor Halford, so far from claiming the discovery of an ‘antidote,’
emphatically explained that ammonia thus used was ‘only a mode of
treatment.’ ‘It must never be forgotten,’ he said, ‘that ammonia cannot
_destroy_ the venom;’ by which we comprehend what the scientific mean
by an ‘antidote,’ something that effectually _destroys, neutralizes,
and annihilates_ the poison. Sir Joseph Fayrer, after long and
elaborate experiments with the Indian thanatophidia, prescribes various
remedies and modes of treatment, ‘but do not confuse these with
_antidotes_!’ he urges.[142] ‘To conceive of an _antidote_ to snake
poison in the true sense of the term,’ he explains, ‘one must imagine
a substance so subtle as to follow, overtake, and neutralize the
venom in the blood, or that shall have the power of counteracting and
neutralizing the deadly influence it has exerted on the vital forces.
Such a substance has still to be found, and our present experience of
the action of drugs does not lead to hopeful anticipation that we shall
find it.’

Notwithstanding these confident assertions, we are continually
reading of ‘an infallible cure for snake-bite, never known to fail;’
‘another antidote to snake-bite;’ or that ‘at length an antidote
has been discovered,’ which on investigation may be something tried
long ago, and occasionally with success, or it may be a plant or a
chemical preparation which under certain circumstances effects a cure,
but none of which will stand the above definition of _antidote_.
Each new attempt is announced as ‘an antidote’ nevertheless. Dr.
Arthur Stradling was severely hauled over the coals for ‘boasting
of an antidote,’ when it accidentally transpired that he had been
experimenting on himself ‘with a view to discovering, _not an
antidote_, but a prophylactic against the venom,’ to use his own
words.[143]

More recently still permanganate of potash has been announced as
an antidote; and no doubt in some cases it has proved a successful
_remedy_, as occasionally, but not invariably, other treatments have
been. There still, however, appears to be the same lack of substantial
evidence with regard to its being an ‘infallible antidote’ in the
chemical acceptation of the term; and indeed as venoms themselves
vary, a remedy that might prove effectual in one case might fail in
another. Dr. Stradling, than whom perhaps few are more competent
to offer opinions on the subject (he having for five or six years
subjected himself to experiments and carefully noted the effects on
his own person, as others have noted the effects on animals and birds
bitten), says that you might as well hunt through the pharmacopeia for
a drug that will be a specific in every kind of fever, or ‘to look for
a general antidote to opium, strychnine, bella donna, arsenic, and
mercury poisoning,’ as to expect to find one antidote for every kind of
snake venom. ‘When we know how many different venoms there are, we may
look for an antidote to each,’ he has explained.

Years ago the venoms were classed under the heads of _Viperine_,
_Echidnine_, _Crotaline_, etc.; but Dr. Stradling states that he has
found very different venoms in _Crotalus horridus_ and _Crotalus
durissus_, and that he prepared himself differently for each species
of snake with which he experimented, having in five different species
found five distinct and separate venoms. The bite of one snake more
rapidly affects the blood, that of another the nerves; while the local
and the constitutional symptoms also vary; but ‘all are attended
more or less with rigors, delirium, syncope, convulsions, paralysis,
and coma.’ Many of the so-called cures have not been cures at all,
because, as was afterwards found, the snakes that inflicted the bites
were not venomous. This we can understand from the indiscriminate use
of such vernaculars as ‘adder,’ ‘jararaca,’ ‘cobra,’ as explained
in previous chapters. Or, if undoubtedly a bite has been given by
an undoubtedly venomous kind, it does not follow that a full charge
of venom accompanied the bite. The glands may have been previously
exhausted, the snake may have been feeble, or it might not have
expended its poison. For among other marvels we are led to believe that
vipers, perhaps also the _elapidæ_, have a control over their store
of venom, and do not involuntarily expend it, that is, when _forced_
to bite. ‘Great doubt exists as to the efficacy of forced bites,’
says Nicholson. Dr. Weir Mitchel came to the same conclusion in his
rattlesnake experiments, viz. that a snake ‘is able voluntarily to
control the shedding of its poison when inflicting a wound or grasping
an object with its jaws.’ This accounts for many bites not having
proved fatal, and for reputed antidotes having effected ‘cures.’ Nor,
when we come to think of it, does this control of the venom appear
so extraordinary after all. The poison gland is a modification of
ordinary salivary glands; and, if we may have recourse to a not very
elegant comparison, a person or an animal can simulate the _action_ of
biting or of spitting without ejecting saliva. Again, as Dr. Stradling
expresses it, ‘snake virus is a natural secretion provided for the
distinct physiological purpose of enabling the reptile to secure its
prey.’[144] Fayrer also explains that some snakes, naturally sluggish,
‘bite reluctantly;’ but, if irritated and made angry, then ‘with great
force and determination.’ In the one instance a bitten person might
recover, in the second case die, because here the snake ‘thoroughly
imbedded its fangs’ (p. 379).

It is often asked, ‘Which is the most poisonous snake?’—a question
as difficult to answer as, ‘Which is the most poisonous plant?’ Dr.
Günther’s opinion is that the degree of danger depends less on the
_species_ which inflicts the wound, than on the bulk of the snake, the
quantity of its venom, the season or temperature, and the place of the
wound. Quantity for quantity, the virus of one snake is more active or
more powerful than another, and different in its effects; but then the
lesser discharge of poison directly into a vein might be more serious
than a full discharge in a part where absorption is slow. Also exactly
the same quantity, minim for minim, would more seriously affect a
warm than a cold blooded animal, more seriously affect a feeble and
timid person or animal than the brave and vigorous. Yet, as there is
a notable gradation in the development of the poison apparatus, the
perfection of which culminates in the viper, it seems not unreasonable
to decide that as a rule a viper is more virulent than an elaps of the
same size—let us say _bulk_, because the viperine snakes are short and
thick and the _elapidæ_ long and slight. Each snake is supplied with
venom adequate to its own requirements, that is, enough to kill the
prey on which it subsists, a large viper with a larger supply for a
larger animal; and a small elaps with enough to kill its little bird
or mouse. There may be exceptions; as, for instance, in the _Callophis
intestinalis_, whose glands are abnormally developed, though it is not
a large snake; still accidents or experiments rather go to prove that
a viper is more noxious than an elaps under similar conditions. Fayrer
proved the virulence of _Echis carinata_, the little Indian 18-inch
viper’s poison, by diluting a quarter of a drop of its venom in ten
drops of water and injecting it into the leg of a fowl, which died in
ten minutes; while the same proportions of cobra venom killed a fowl in
thirty minutes. Nicholson affirms that the Russell’s viper can eject
as much poison in half a second as a cobra can in three seconds. But
if the viper be in a torpid condition, it might eject little or none.
A strong Daboia bit a feeble bull, which died; but two feeble Daboias
bit a strong bull, which recovered. These latter vipers were moulting,
and their functions were inactive—the bites feeble, perhaps. In fact,
the conditions are so many and great, that after all it is hazardous
to form any definite conclusion. Some notes of the effects on bitten
animals, taken at the Zoological Gardens while the snakes were being
fed, shall be faithfully recorded in the ensuing chapter.

With regard to the many drugs used in various countries for the cure of
snake-bite, it is curious to note that, as a rule, they are procured
from the most deadly plants. As ‘like cures like,’ so poison cures
poison. Most of them are powerful stimulants, in which lies their
chief virtue. Among them are _aristolochia_, _opium_, _ipecacuanha_,
_senega-root_, _guaco_ or _huaco_, _asclepias_, _liatris_, _euphorbia_,
_polygala_, _ophiorrhiza_, etc. A long list might be written. It is
noteworthy, too, that the natives of the countries in which these
plants are variously found, have strong faith in them, and indeed
use them with more or less of success. The early writers on America
entertained no sort of doubt as to the efficacy of the plants or
preparations used by the Indians. Purchas, in 1626, after describing
the ‘_Ibiracua_, which causeth by his biting the Bloud to issue thorow
all Parts of the Bodie, Eyes, Mouth, Nose, Eares,’ etc., says: ‘But
the Indians are acquainted with a certaine Herbe that will heal their
Woundes.’ Lawson, Berkeley, and Catesby tell us the Indians were
never without a remedy, which they carried about with them, but the
preparation of which differed in each tribe. Border Americans of the
present day, also, are never at a loss when snake-bitten, though the
most popular of modern remedies is whisky. (Not that this offers any
exception to the rule, that poison kills poison; the comic philosophy
being that whisky, as the stronger poison of the two, ‘goes in for
first innings, so to speak.’)

Some of the poisonous antidotal plants in South America are used in the
preparation of the celebrated _wourali_ or _curare_, with which the
Indians poison their arrows. Snake-venom and pounded fangs are also
constituents of this, which is why the effect in the blood—as has been
shown in experiments—is similar to that of snake-bite. Some of the
tribes are said to acquire immunity from the most virulent snakes by
swallowing the potent herbs of their region. Inoculation with deadly
vegetable juices is another of their remedies; and Tschudi informs us
that after this inoculation, snake-bites are harmless for some time,
but that the process has to be repeated. Sullivan has not much faith
in the process; nor has Dr. Stradling. But there is one undeniable
fact connected with the poisonous snakes of most countries, viz. that
death by them is comparatively rare; and only in India do we hear of
thousands dying annually. Dr. Carpenter, Humboldt, and, I believe,
other writers of equal weight, have suggested that the poisonous plants
used by native tribes, both internally and externally, may impart to
the person an odour which is repugnant to snakes; and if this be the
case, how would it be to institute compulsory inoculation among the
low-caste Hindoos, who are the chief sufferers in India? Or, could
not a few pariah dogs there be inoculated with the juice of some of
the native plants, such as the ‘earth gall’ of Malay (_Ophiorrhiza
mungos_), as the Indians of the Orinoco protect themselves with the
_Vejuco de huaco_? Should the process succeed with valueless animals,
it might afterwards be attempted in human beings. Perhaps already it
has been attempted, and it would be gratifying could I flatter myself
that it was through my suggestions of several years ago. Or I may be
only betraying my own ignorance of surgery and of the pharmacopeia in
suggesting it at all.

There are many popular vegetable ‘antidotes’ of the log cabin and the
rough border-clearings of America, but the ‘faculty’ form no high
estimate of them. Dr. Weir Mitchel tested some twenty or thirty plants
which owe their reputation to Indian traditions, but without success.
‘In the hands of science they failed.’ But then is there not always
some delay before the patient can reach the hands of science? It is
the prompt treatment, and having the remedies always ready, that may
ensure success among the natives. Probably many a bitten person, if
alone in the desert, dies, and there are none to record his death.
Nevertheless we have good reason for believing that the natives do
learn how to manage deadly snakes or to avoid them. In South Africa
it is very rare to hear of a person dying of snake-bite; and the
natives go bare-footed there as much as in India. Some of the deadliest
serpents also are found in Africa. In Australia, where there is a
still larger majority of poisonous snakes (more than two-thirds of the
whole number), and also bare-footed natives, deaths are comparatively
infrequent. Krefft gives us a list which may be of interest to the
residents there, viz. the proportions of the venomous to the harmless
species of snakes:—

                   Venomous.  Harmless.

  New South Wales,     21 out of 30

  Victoria,             8    ”   12

  South Australia,     13    ”   15

  West Australia,      11    ”   15

  Queensland,          28    ”   42

Whereas in India, including Ceylon, the venomous families are five
to the thirty-five innocuous ones. In India alone Günther describes
twenty families of snakes, out of which four only are venomous. When,
therefore, we read the annual statistics of India, and the enormous
death-rate, which suggest resolutions towards the extermination of
snakes, we may again hint that education must join hands with science
in order to find remedies. Europeans are seldom bitten; you might count
the numbers on your fingers in as many years. Dr. Edward Nicholson
has shown that while in twelve years (1860-1871 inclusive) only four
British soldiers died from snake-bite, thirty-eight died from the bite
of mad dogs; and he thinks it would be more beneficial to the community
to kill off some of the hordes of these dangerous animals which infest
the country during the summer months. Moreover, that ‘_in comparison
with preventible diseases and a percentage of the entire population,
snake-bites are sensational trifles_.’ He thinks the savage crusade
against snakes worse than useless, and argues that it would be better
to seek remedies for diseases that harm more Europeans in a week than
snakes do in a century. Others tell us that the number of deaths is
greatly exaggerated, and that many by violence or through fatalism and
barbarities are set down to snakes.

But to return to remedies, one would suppose that drugs or plants which
kill venomous snakes would be also cures for their bites. It is an old
belief that vipers contain in themselves an ‘antidote’ to their venom,
and hence the number of popular medicines prepared from their bodies.
Conversely, some of the deadly poisons of the pharmacopeia are death to
snakes. _Aristolochia_ produces powerful effects on the African vipers;
the white ash (_Fraxinius Americanus_) is an equally rapid poison
to the rattlesnake, as Prof. Silliman proved. It is said that these
reptiles are never found in the vicinity of this tree. It was the white
ash which Oliver Wendell Holmes introduced into his story of ‘Elsie
Venner,’ as being destructive to _crotalus_ life, and the novelist
wrote from his experience of its effects. Similar cases have been
recorded in the _Philosophical Transactions_. Pennyroyal, says Charas,
was held to the nose of a viper, ‘who by turning and wriggling laboured
hard to avoid it; and in half an hour’s time was killed by it. This
was in July, at which season these creatures are computed to be in the
greatest vigour of their poison’ (1657).

Another drug which is poison to a venomous snake is _tobacco_, within
the reach of most persons. This, among native remedies, has always been
in favour, and we have heard of its efficacy ever since ‘the weed’
was known to Europeans. Various species of tobacco and its allies
are indigenous to most tropical countries, and probably were in use
for both man and snake-bites long before civilised nations took such
comfort in smoking. In classic ages it was believed that human saliva
was fatal to vipers, and it is even affirmed that the Hottentots often
kill a puff adder by merely spitting upon it. One must infer from this
that their saliva is saturated with some drug which they chew; and
from classic authors we might discover that the practice of chewing
tobacco, opium, or other drugs obnoxious to snakes, was in use from
very early ages. Those classic authors who tell us that human saliva is
fatal to snakes had not studied snake nature enough to assign a reason
for this, though in all probability a reason did exist. ‘Man carries
more poison in his mouth than a snake,’ said an old Virginian writer,
alluding to _nicotine_. ‘He can poison a rattlesnake more quickly than
it can him.’ Nicholson states that it also rapidly affects a cobra, and
he recommends it, should you wish to destroy the snake uninjured: ‘You
have,’ he says, ‘but to blow into its mouth a drop or two of the oil
from a dirty tobacco-pipe.’

Two young men chopping wood together in Virginia espied a rattlesnake.
With a forked stick one of them held its head close to the ground,
keeping its body constrained with his foot, while his comrade took
from his own mouth a quid of tobacco, which he forced into that of the
snake. The reptile was then released, and had not crawled a couple of
yards before it was convulsed, swelling and dying within a short time.
Leaves of tobacco as a plaister, or chopped tobacco as a poultice,
are applied to a bite by the American backwoodsmen, after the custom
of the Indians; or finely chopped tobacco, mixed with moist gunpowder
and some pulverized sulphur, formed into a plaister, and laid on the
wound, and then set fire to. Tschudi, in his _Travels in Peru_, p. 434,
saw this remedy successfully applied by an Indian to his wife’s bitten
foot. A nausea-exciting drug was swallowed at the same time. With the
copper-head snake (_Ancistrodon contortrix_) it is equally efficacious.
These and rattlesnakes are said to be never found in tobacco fields.

Strychnine appears to have a similar effect to tobacco on snakes.
Fayrer found cobras extremely susceptible to the influence of
strychnine. An almost impalpable quantity caused a cobra to ‘twist
itself up in a rigid series of coils and die.’

A good many experiments have been tried by a subcutaneous injection
of strychnine into dogs and other animals, immediately after being
bitten, but without sufficient success to warrant the adoption of it
as an infallible remedy. In some of the cases, indeed, the deaths from
tetanus suggest the question, ‘Did the cats and dogs die from venom,
or from strychnine?’ As virulent poisons are administered in virulent
cases, how would it be to _swallow_ strychnine in chemically-prepared
doses?

Carbolic acid is another drug which produces powerful effects, causing
the reptile to ‘double itself up in numerous folds, remaining as stiff
as if cast in metal.’ Creosote, also, snakes hate, Fayrer tells us, and
recommends that these two drugs may at least be of use in driving them
away from dwellings, as many of them have an objectionably domestic
disposition. A few drops of carbolic acid poured on the floor of their
cages kill venomous snakes in a very short time. A large _Bungarus_
died in ten minutes in this way.

Dr. Weir Mitchel approves of carbolic acid so far as to recommend
every backwoodsman to supply himself with a little of it, which is
easily portable and manageable in capillary tubes. In several of his
experiments with _crotalus_ venom, carbolic acid applied to the wound
was attended with success. But it must be _done at once_. The whole
secret of cures—when cures can be effected at all—lies in promptness.
It is celerity on the part of the Indians which ensures their success.
In an instant, if his comrade be bitten, the savage is on his knees,
sucking the wound, grasping the limb firmly, or strapping it tightly
above and below the bite, knowing quite well the importance of checking
the circulation. He has his ‘poison pills,’ and tobacco in his pouch.
He explodes gunpowder on the wound and loses not an instant. Nor does
the victim lose heart. He submits with courage and confidence, and
in these lie another element of success. Many cases are on record
of persons being at death’s door through fear alone, when bitten by
a harmless snake, but recovering on being assured that there was no
danger. And other cases are well known where bitten persons have died
of fright and the depressing influences surrounding the accident, when
they might possibly have recovered.

And assuredly the remedies are generally so severe as to be in
themselves sufficiently terrifying. ‘No time for reflection;’ ‘no
mercy must be shown,’ declares Sir Joseph Fayrer, in describing the
incredible rapidity with which the venom inoculates the blood ‘in a
moment of time.’ Where a deep wound has been inflicted by a highly
venomous snake on a small animal, death has been known to occur in a
few seconds, especially if the bite were on a large vein or an artery.
Therefore if the bite be on a limb, to tie a ligature is the first
thing to be done. A thong of leather, a tape, a string, a cord, a
garment torn in shreds, anything that can be caught up, must at once
be tied round the limb. Every instant of delay increases the danger.
Incredible force must be used to tighten the ligature, which even with
a tourniquet or a stick to twist the cord to the utmost is scarcely
sufficient to completely stop the circulation in the fleshy part of
a limb. So tight as to cut into the flesh is frequently necessary.
In the case of a dog whose hind leg had been bitten, such amazing
force was required, in one of Fayrer’s experiments, that with the
strength of a pair of hands it was almost impossible to tighten the
ligature sufficiently to effect complete strangulation. In another of
his experiments a chicken had a ligature tightened round its thigh
‘with the greatest amount of tension that a man’s hand could exert.’
The poor chicken (already half dead with terror and pain, as one must
conjecture) was then bitten below the ligature by a cobra, but in spite
of the thorough strangulation of the limb, the fowl showed signs of
poison in twenty-three minutes, and in three-quarters of an hour was
dead. These two among other cases are cited to show that the mere
tying of a tape or a pocket handkerchief round a bitten limb is of very
little use, provided it is not drawn tight enough to almost cut into
the flesh. Yet this is only the first step; for if assistants are at
hand, let them tie a second or even a third such ligature above and
below the bite when possible, while whoever is best able to operate
must scarify the wound by cutting it across deeply, or by immediately
cupping, letting it bleed freely; ‘better still,’ says Sir Joseph, ‘cut
it out deeply and quickly.’ In the case of a finger or a toe, ‘amputate
instantly; for if once the venom is absorbed into the system, there
is but the slenderest chance of life.’ If the wound be in a fleshy
part, force a red-hot iron to the very bottom of it, and burn it out
to the depth of half an inch, or when excised fill it with gunpowder
and explode that, or force a live coal into it, or burn it out with
carbolic or nitric acid! Agonizing though the remedies be, they are
inevitable, should the bite be inflicted by one of the larger and
deadlier snakes in a part where absorption is rapid. ‘Do not relax the
ligament till the part be cold and livid,’ adds Fayrer.

Nor, when we look at the effects of a bite, can we wonder at the
severity of the remedies.

‘Vomiting black fluid,’ ‘bleeding at every orifice of the body,’ are
among the horrible sufferings at the time; an injured constitution and
hideous sores likely to break out afresh periodically in various parts,
may be some of the after consequences should the patient recover.

As the effect of the bite is depressing, the system must be kept up
with strong stimulants. Food is of little use, because the functions
are too feeble to digest it. But great faith is placed in stimulants.
Hence the popularity of ammonia, which is quickly diffusible. The
venom exhausts the vital forces; therefore, excepting in the local
surgical treatment, all the best remedies are volatile and alcoholic
stimulants. Ammonia in the form of _eau de luce_ has long been
approved, both taken internally and rubbed into the wound. Professor
Halford’s plan of subcutaneously injecting it has been very successful
in some cases of Australian snake-bites, and the popularity of this
mode has been seen in the large number of hypodermic syringes purchased
by persons in the bush. But the use of these requires surgical skill;
and awkward attempts by the laity have produced wounds which have been
prejudicial to the originator; for though it is said that some attempts
of this kind were made by Fontana about one hundred years ago, Halford
could not have been aware of that, since he claims to be the first who
ventured to throw ammonia directly into the blood. ‘Previously to my
experiments in 1868,’ he says, ‘it had never been thought possible to
throw ten or twenty minims of the strongest liquid ammonia directly
into the veins without killing the man on the spot.’[145] He first
tried it on animals, and finding it successful, at length ventured
this ‘mode of treatment’ with human beings; since which other doctors
in Australia have also practised it. Still he does not claim for it
infallibility, though giving some cases in which the action of ammonia
on the blood and on the heart’s action produced rapid recovery in
persons apparently dying.

Any technical explanation must not be attempted by me; but those who
are interested in this subject will find Prof. Halford’s own accounts
in the _Medical Times_ for 1873 and ensuing years, also in his paper
‘On the Condition of the Blood from Snake-bite,’ 1867.

In India similar kinds of experiments were not attended with success;
leading to the conclusion that the Indian snakes were more deadly
than those in Australia. Climate, latitude, season, and many other
circumstances affect the virulence of snakes, as we may here repeat.
The ‘Brown’ or ‘Tiger snake’ (_Hoplocephalus curtus_), the ‘Black
snake’ (_Pseudechis porphyriacus_), _Hoplocephalus superbus_, and some
other of the larger venomous kinds _within the tropics_ are thought to
be equal in virulence to the Indian ones of the same bulk in the same
season. Many of them erect themselves and distend their necks like the
_najas_.

And now for a few words about the most popular and perhaps most
attainable of all remedies—alcohol! No wonder the backwoodsman resorts
to this, which without any chopping off of fingers or toes, or personal
pyrotechnics, or other local tortures, deadens his sensibilities,
renders him unconscious of suffering, and sends him into a happy
obliviousness of danger. It is not a refined mode of treatment, nor one
that presents many opportunities of exhibiting professional skill; and
it is no doubt somewhat derogatory to admit that to become dead drunk
is an effective victory against snake venom! Other old and inelegant
remedies we hear of as practised by the Bushmen of South Africa,
and savage tribes elsewhere, but revolting in the hands of refined
practitioners. Deference to science and loyalty to the profession
demand some more elaborate means. Yet the efficacy of whisky or brandy
is admitted by all, and the pioneer who has not a doctor within miles
of him has his demijohn of whisky at hand.

During a sojourn in Iowa some years ago, when wild and uncleared lands
formed the ‘streets’ of the town in which I was staying—Lyons on the
Mississippi river, and as lovely a spot as artists and botanists can
wish to revel in—it was by no means an infrequent occurrence to hear
of rattlesnake bites. ‘What was done to the man?’ ‘Is he alive?’ were
questions naturally asked.

‘He drank a quart of raw whisky, and got dead drunk.’

Generally a quart had the desired effect—that is, of causing
intoxication. Persons unused to intoxicants might be affected by a less
quantity, but so violent is the combat between venom and whisky that a
large dose must be swallowed before any effects at all are produced. In
the southern and hotter States it was similarly used. Indeed, a planter
himself told me that Sambo would sometimes prick his hand or foot with
a thorn, and crying out ‘Rattlesnake!’ fall into well-assumed agonies,
in his preference for a spirituous somniferousness to cotton-picking.
But when the fraud was detected and less enticing remedies were
adopted, rattlesnake or copper-head bites became less frequent. I
heard of a man in Nevada, George Terhune, a teamster (I give his name,
having every reason to believe the truth of the story), who was bitten
in the hand by a rattlesnake while stooping to reach some water out
of a spring. The man was alone and far away from human habitations.
It was an instinctive and momentary business to first kill the snake
then rushing to his waggon, he drew the bung from a keg of whisky and
took a large draught of the contents. After swallowing as much as
he could, he took some tobacco from his pocket, saturated that with
whisky, and applied this poultice to his hand. He then proceeded with
his team, drinking whisky at intervals until he reached a dwelling,
when he removed the poultice and found that the wound had turned green.
Applying another of the same kind, he resumed his journey and his
potent doses, reaching his destination next day ‘as sober as a judge,’
having imbibed enough ‘fire-water’ to intoxicate a dozen men with no
_crotalus_ venom in their veins. The quantity sometimes swallowed under
such circumstances is utterly incredible.

Professor Halford describes a case of snake-bite near Melbourne,
in which two bottles of brandy were drunk without any symptoms of
intoxication; and another of a girl of fourteen, who, when bitten by
an Australian snake, drank three bottles without being intoxicated!
She recovered. ‘Alcohol has powerful attractions for oxygen,’ writes
Professor Halford, on the theory that the venom has produced foreign
cells in the blood, ‘so that if alcohol engage the oxygen absorbed by
the poison, the cells perish and recovery ensues.’ Others among the
ablest experimentalists similarly recognise the efficacy of alcohol.
Dr. Shortt of Madras says: ‘Bring the patient under the influence
of intoxication as speedily as possible. Make him drunk, and keep
him drunk, until the virus is overcome.’ Dr. Weir Mitchel found that
delicate women and young children under the influence of snake poison
could take ‘quarts of brandy without injury, and almost without
effect.’ One man brought to him—a man of temperate habits—took
one quart of brandy and half a pint of whisky, which ‘only slightly
intoxicated him for about four hours.’ Another man bitten in the throat
was cured at the end of twenty-four hours, during which time he had
had two quarts of whisky in one night, and renewed as the pulse fell,
besides red pepper and other stimulants.[146]

In South Africa, too, the alcoholic remedies seem to be successfully
adopted, so far as we may judge by occasional reports of them which
find their way into print. In the _Field_ of January 14th, 1882, a
Mr. Walter Nightingale records that a boy of fifteen, bitten by a
puff adder, drank two bottles of brandy before it had any effect;
and a little girl two years old, bitten in the hand by a ‘horned
viper’ (which might have been a _Lophophrys_ or _Vipera nasicornis_),
had administered to her brandy and milk in occasional doses without
any visible effects, until a whole bottle of brandy had been thus
swallowed! The child recovered; and the force of the argument seemed to
rest on the astounding quantity of strong spirit that could be taken
to overcome the venom without producing intoxication. Under ordinary
circumstances, a wine-glassful of brandy would have made either of
those children tipsy, yet the infant of two years did not reel under
a whole bottleful, and the boy of fifteen under two bottles full—a
quantity that would have killed many outright.

Yet whisky is not an ‘antidote’ chemically, any more than is ammonia,
or tobacco, or artificial respiration, which latter has been tried
with success by Drs. Vincent Richards and Lauder Bruton. So rapidly
destructive to every vital function is snake venom, that anything that
will keep life going until the poison is eliminated is desirable; and
what would themselves be poisons in other cases here act only as
counterfoils. ‘A septic of astounding virulence,’ Weir Mitchel has
proved _crotalus_ venom to be; and the scientific experimentalists on
the Oriental thanatophidia confirm his words as regard the _najas_ and
vipers of their own regions. A subtle, malignant, mysterious fluid, to
which all animal life succumbs. Even vegetables are affected by it, as
Mitchel proved. Inoculated with it, they looked dead next day as if
scathed by lightning. So those old writers on Virginian serpents might
not have been so far wrong after all, so far as the injurious effect
of venom on a young tree; only they made a slight mistake in supposing
that the ‘thorny tail’ inflicted the mischief (p. 174).

It is not within the compass of this work to attempt to describe
in detail the many remedies which from time to time have enjoyed a
short-lived popularity; such as ‘snake stones,’ the ‘Tangore pill,’
and other preparations. Conventions have within the last twenty
years been held in India, in Australia, in America, and London; and
Commissioners from among our most distinguished M.D.’s have been
appointed to investigate all the reputed ‘antidotes’ and popular
remedies that could be got together. The names of Dr. Ewart, Dr. Lauder
Bruton, and Dr. Vincent Richards of the Indian Medical Department,
as associated with artificial respiration, must be familiar to many.
Dr. Shortt, of Madras, claims originality in the use of potash, _liq.
potassæ_, which both by the mouth and by injection has been attended
with success. He has recorded several cures by _liq. pot._, ‘not as
miraculous, but as rational.’ He affirms that it has the property of
neutralizing the venom, and that brandy expedites it by carrying it
rapidly through the system. Potash or soda plentifully applied to the
wound is a popular remedy also among the border pioneers of America,
who, on the theory that venom is of an acid nature, make frequent use
of alkalis. The child of a gentleman whom I knew in Virginia was bitten
on the foot by a rattlesnake; his whole body quickly exhibited the
symptoms of the poison. But the father was so confident of the success
of his own domestic treatment that he did not even send for a doctor.
‘_Saleratus_’ (used in cookery) was bound upon the bitten spot, and the
child was dosed with apple brandy until stupefied. Next day he was well.

From all the ‘recoveries’ above quoted, it may be said that the bites
could not have been very deep, or that the snakes could not have been
very virulent; and in the many hundreds of experiments tried in India
and elsewhere, the doctors have arrived at similar conclusions. _A full
charge of venom injected directly into the veins, should no remedy be
attempted, is almost certain to be fatal._ Within half an hour a man
might die from a vigorous _crotalus_, _fer de lance_, or large _elaps_.

It is important to impress this on the reader, lest from the cures
above cited, I appear to argue that snake-bite is not so serious an
affair after all. Notwithstanding that the South American Indians, in
the midst of the most deadly of the _Crotalidæ_, do fly confidently to
their _guaco_ and their traditional remedies, they know so well when
there is no chance of recovery that they attempt no cures whatever.
Travellers tell us they lay themselves down to die when bitten by
certain snakes; probably they know that, from the position of the bite,
or the accidental lack of essential remedies, there is no hope for
them. They are said to resign hope when bitten by the little Peruvian
viper (_Echis ocellata_), in the very heart of the tropics, and as
deadly as the little _echis_ of India. In every case the symptoms point
to the exhaustion of the nerve centres, and the rapid decomposition of
the blood.

The venom appears to be an indestructible fluid. Toxically it remains
unaltered whether boiled or frozen, or mixed with the strongest
corrosives. Diluted in water, alcohol, or blood, it is still equally
injurious. The blood of an animal killed by a bite, if injected into
the veins of another animal, kills that one also; and the blood of
the second one killed is similarly fatal to a third, and the third
to the fourth, and so on through a series of animals. Also so small
a quantity is fatal where no remedies are attempted, that a venomous
serpent can kill six or eight animals one after another; each one,
bitten in succession, succumbing more slowly, it is true, but still
dying at last. Fayrer found that no less than nine creatures could
thus be affected by one cobra. A dog, a pigeon, and seven fowls were
bitten one after the other: the dog, first bitten and receiving the
largest injection of venom, died in thirty-three minutes; a fowl, next
bitten, in three minutes; the third, in ten minutes; the fourth bitten,
in eleven; the fifth, in seventeen minutes; but the ninth bitten, a
fowl, when the poison gland was exhausted, recovered after a time. And
the same effect is seen in much larger animals than fowls. Fayrer also
tells of four men bitten in succession by one cobra, only the last one
bitten receiving treatment, and recovering-slowly after many days. The
facts prove the fatal confidence placed in snake-charmers, if further
proofs be needed. The four men, on payment of money, were to be taught
the ‘spells,’ _müntras_, etc., and, as they hoped, to be endowed with
curative powers. The professional ‘snake men’ bullied them into playing
with a cobra and irritating it, with the promise that no harm should
follow, even if they were bitten, which one of them very soon was,
falling senseless immediately, and dying within an hour. Not warned by
the utter failure of ‘charms’ to restore their comrade, the other three
permitted themselves to be bitten. The strongest charge of venom having
been expended in the first bite, the man next bitten did not fail so
rapidly, the third still more slowly, but both died the next day. When
the fourth was bitten, the police were informed of what was going on,
and they carried him off to the hospital, and the charmers to prison.
Thus is the death-rate swelled.

Though the venom may be swallowed with impunity by a thoroughly healthy
person, there is always danger of its being absorbed through the
delicate membranes of the throat and stomach. In cases of sore throat,
injured gums or lips, or internal maladies, the risk would be great,
of course. Animals killed by the venom are constantly eaten, Fayrer
states; and that the hungry natives eagerly carried off the fowls
upon which he had experimented. Since those celebrated experiments
at Florence by the ‘Florentine Philosopher,’ Redi, and those other
‘Knowing Physicians’ above two hundred years ago, the venom has been
swallowed by many. The great point of discussion then was to ascertain
the source of the ‘Mischiefs;’ whether they arose in the gall or the
‘Juyce of the Bag at the root of the Master Teeth;’ and Redi tasted
both the Gall and the ‘Spittle from the Bag’ in order to test this
great question, and found ‘the Gall sharp and the Spittle flat.’ As the
learned physicians of the nineteenth century have been again trying
effects, so did those ‘Knowing Physicians’ work out similar problems
in 1670, no doubt suggesting many things that have subsequently been
solved and perfected. One Francini was hard to convince that only a
tooth and not a demoniacal spirit inflicted the injury; whereupon,
to convince that unbeliever, they thrust a thorn and a pin into the
breast of a fowl, which betrayed no ill effects; but a splinter of wood
covered with ‘Spittle from the Bag’ killed a pigeon as quickly as the
‘Master Tooth.’ They showed, also, that a dissevered head was able to
bite, and its ‘Biting is as dangerous as when the Viper is entire.’
They proved other things, too numerous to recount; and particularly,
that venom was not injurious in a healthy stomach, the question from
which we have strayed to Florence.

Lately we have been led to think that it is something more than
harmless. Through the researches of Professors Selmi, Lacerda, Gautier,
and others, we learn that from the powerful peptic properties of
the venom it may become a valuable medicine. I think I am correct
in stating that a Dr. C. Hering of Philadelphia, when practising in
British Guiana some forty years ago, introduced the venom of our
celebrated Curucucu (_Lachesis mutus_) into medicine; and that since
then, serpent venoms have held an important place in the Homœopathic
Pharmacopeia. Already we have hinted at the digestive properties of
venom to the serpents themselves, that neither masticate nor take
exercise otherwise to promote digestion; and there are those among
us who, not lacking energy so much as time, and whose busy brains
permit them but little leisure for either exercise or the unhurried
meal, may be glad by and by to resort to a poison pill to cure the
‘dyspepsia’ they thus bring upon themselves. Our American cousins will
hail with joy such a discovery. Perhaps even now they are anticipating
a prize medal at the next Great International Exhibition, for a
newly-invented ‘Extract of Bushmaster’ as the infallible remedy.
_American Bothropine_.—‘One drop of this extract in a wine-glassful of
water taken immediately after dinner ensures that meal being swallowed
in three minutes with impunity.’ Would not this deserve a gold medal in
these days when one man tries to do the work of three?

Drs. Lacerda and Netto of Brazil have proved that crotaline venom acts
as a solvent on hard-boiled egg and other albuminous substances,—that
it can, as it were, digest living tissues; and Dr. Stradling thinks
that this solvent or disintegrating power will in some measure
account for the intense local severity of a venomous snake-bite, ‘so
disproportionately wide-spread to the tiny punctures made by the
needle-like tooth.’

The excision of the fang does not check the function of the poison
gland any more than the extraction of a tooth will check the salivary
secretions in a human mouth, because (as was described in the chapter
on ‘Dentition’) there are other fangs coming forward and requiring
similar supplies.

One great value in experimental snake-bites by subcutaneous injection
is knowing which specific venom, or how much of it, produces certain
effects. But there is this to be said with regard to the creatures
operated upon, that the restraint, terror, and pain necessarily
inflicted before the venom is injected, must do a great deal towards
rendering that victim predisposed to succumb under ever so small a
dose; and in some cases 6, 8, or 10 drops of venom have been injected.
If terror and timidity act so strongly on a nervous human subject,
they must act similarly on such feeble, frightened creatures as fowls,
rabbits, and guinea-pigs, that are held, strapped down, and tortured by
ligaments and lancets.

Human beings may take courage in reflecting that in some of the
experiments under which animals have died, _in spite of immediate
remedies_, a far larger dose of venom has been injected than could
possibly pass through the fang in one normal bite. The virulence of the
venom in ever so minute a quantity has been proved sadly enough; yet
the possibility and hope of recovery are also evident.

‘As prevention is better than cure,’ those who run risk in the tropics
can guard against bites by wearing thick coverings to their feet and
ankles in the way of gaiters, leather boots; and denser materials for
clothing, in preference to those which the finely-pointed fangs can
easily penetrate. The cloth or leather may then receive the principal
charge of venom. Silk as a lining is good, and has the advantage of
coolness. Anything rather than bare feet. Then supplies of ammonia,
tobacco, carbolic acid, and strong tape are easily portable, and
plenty of good whisky, if the bearer can courageously _keep it for
emergencies_.

The mongoose of classic reputation must have a passing mention;
though it is now pretty well understood that this little animal
owes its safety to its own bravery and adroitness, more than to any
supposititious herb to which it flies. Not but what instinct may
induce it to eat of the plants nature provides to animals as to men,
and as a cat eats grass when nature dictates a necessity for physic.
The mongoose has been known to die of snake-bite like other bitten
animals, though it certainly succumbs more slowly than many. Vitality
is stronger in some animals than in others. A rat is hard to kill;
and a cat will resist the poison as long as a dog of three times its
size. Then if mongooses feed on venomous snakes, they may enjoy in
themselves a sort of protective or prophylactic security. Their long
fur is also protective, leaving but few vulnerable points; and their
strong vitality enables them to escape and probably overcome the bite
if slight, or to hide away and die unseen.

The question of immunity from bites suggests yet one other point on
which some uncertainty exists, viz. Do snakes die of their own bites?
Dr. E. Nicholson only shall be quoted here, because I shall be able
to introduce some cases from personal observation in the ensuing
chapter, concluding this with just one foreign example which may be
relied upon. ‘According to my experience,’ says Nicholson, ‘the poison
of venomous snakes affects not only harmless ones, but also venomous
snakes of other genera.’ My own opinion is that they can kill not only
other snakes, but even themselves if the charge of venom be strong
enough. What has occasionally been seen in print of ‘snakes committing
suicide,’ is, I think, only from an instinct in the serpent to strike
at what injured it _where_ injured. It feels a sudden pain and turns
to avenge the injury, striking itself on the spot where the pain
directs. A case was recorded in a paper of a cobra having been struck
by a bullet, and instantly twisting round to bite itself on the spot,
and presently dying; and this was called ‘snake suicide.’ It died in
part perhaps from the bullet, and partly from its own venom, which
injected in anger would be powerful. Several similar cases have come to
my notice, where snakes have thus attacked themselves when the instinct
has been evidently to strike the _cause of pain_.

In vol. xxii. of _Nature_, p. 40, the case recorded by Mr. S. H. Wintle
from Tasmania will, I think, bear this explanation. He pinned a ‘black
snake’ (probably _Pseudechis porphyriacus_) to the ground with a forked
stick by the middle of the body; instantly coiling round the stick, the
angry snake turned and buried its fangs in itself, making the part wet
with viscid slime. Hardly had it done this than the coils relaxed; a
perceptible quiver ran through its body; in a few moments more it lay
extended and motionless, open mouthed and gasping, and in three minutes
was dead. Mr. Wintle examined the snake after death, and found the body
‘bloodless,’ as though the poison had destroyed the colouring matter.
He tried the blood on a mouse, which died in five minutes; and on a
lizard, which died in fourteen minutes.

If the saliva of an angrily-excited human being or a dog be more
injurious at one time than another, how much more so that of a venomous
serpent. The flow would be greater, the character more noxious. It
seems therefore a mere question of power or virulence, the greater over
the less. In some cases one serpent might kill another, in other cases
not.

CHAPTER XXX.

_NOTES FROM THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS._

ARRANGING the following examples, not so much in chronological sequence
as in elucidation of special facts, I will first give some cases of
venomous serpents killing themselves and each other. My notes began
in 1872, after the interest so strongly awakened in Cheyne Walk,
Chelsea, when those tame snakes were fed to gratify our curiosity (see
Introduction).

Holland was then the keeper at the Reptile House of the London
Zoological Society’s Gardens, and had occupied this place upwards of
twenty years, gathering much experience and knowledge of reptilian
habits. Incidents known to him, when not witnessed by myself, may
therefore be received as trustworthy.

On Sunday, July 20th, 1873, a ‘River Jack’ (_Vipera rhinoceros_), from
West Africa, really did kill itself, though the act can scarcely be
called intentional ‘suicide.’ It was from dashing its head against
its cage either in anger or pain. Holland was of opinion that it had
been severely bitten by one of the others of the same kind in the
cage at the time; for he had known snakes to die from bites in this
way, sometimes from their own bites. On one occasion three Puff adders
(_Vipera arietans_) all died through quarrelling and biting each other.
One of the three survived ten days, the others dying sooner.

One day in April 1873 or 1874, on going to the Gardens, I was informed
that a water viper (_Cenchris piscivorus_) had been found in the tank
in its cage, presenting a very unusual appearance, and enormously
swelled. On going his rounds that morning, the keeper observed it, and
touching it with his iron rod, he discovered that it was quite dead.
He said these vipers frequently quarrel, biting each other and causing
this great inflation of the body, as if blown out by wind. The vitality
of this species is very strong. From such bites the inflation is
sometimes only temporary, and they recover, but not always. One of them
lived a long while with a broken back. It was endeavouring to escape
by the sliding door, which was raised while the keeper was making some
arrangements. The movements of the reptile were so swift that Holland
was obliged to suddenly drop the slide; and though he succeeded in
partly pushing back the snake, it got caught and was jammed under it,
completely dislocating its spine. But it did not appear to suffer very
much, he said, and entirely recovered from the injury.

Some ‘viperine snakes’ (named from their aspect, but not really
venomous) not only bit each other, but killed and swallowed each other.

Several cases of cobras injuring each other and themselves are on
record at the Gardens. On one occasion a cobra got loose, and, as may
be supposed, created considerable terror. While being caught, it turned
and bit itself, burying its fangs in its own flesh. I could not learn
exactly the spot where it wounded itself; but it was no doubt where the
hooked rod, or the snake tongs, had been offendingly applied.

A couple of cobras were presented by Sir Joseph Fayrer. One of them
bit the other repeatedly, and in so many places that it was ‘torn
to pieces,’ in the language of the keeper. ‘The body was all over
sores.’ Notwithstanding this, it was several weeks dying. This painful
spectacle did not fall under my own observation, happily, but there is
no reason to doubt the occurrence.

Next to the rattlesnakes few are more nervously timid than cobras;
only, while the former displays fear by a shrinking retreat, a cobra
is aggressive, inasmuch as it raises itself with a threatening aspect
and distended hood. It is on account of their extreme timidity that the
cobras’ cages are screened with painted glass at the lower part, or
the reptiles, in aiming at offending spectators, would be continually
dashing their heads against the front, to their own detriment. In this
manner snakes wound themselves very seriously, producing various mouth
diseases.

Before writing another word of what, as a student, I have witnessed at
the Gardens, I must here affirm that any distressful occurrences are
not related to gratify a morbid curiosity in those who read only to be
amused, but to enable other students to acquire a better insight into
ophidian habits and physiology, and as a duty which I have set myself
to accomplish—a duty which has cost much moral courage to carry
out, and which demands, as I now discover, an equal amount of moral
courage to commit to writing. A good deal is painful, if not revolting;
therefore I would commend the perusal of this chapter only to those
who, as naturalists, wish to be informed on these subjects.

‘Lip fungus,’ gum boils, canker, and abscesses are among the
mouth diseases to which snakes in confinement are subject, and
for these, very delicate surgical operations have sometimes to be
performed,—‘very delicate’ often, by reason of the dangerous character
of the patient, and in consideration for the operator as much as for
the sufferer. The keepers have sometimes to lance the gums, sometimes
to wash the sores! One very venomous patient was so covered with sores
that the keeper’s only resource was to throw the lotion all over the
reptile.

‘Why not let the odious serpent die, or kill it at once?’ some will
exclaim. Well, in the first place, many snakes cost large sums of
money to purchase; secondly, humanity as well as economy demands that
their sufferings should be allayed wherever possible. And in return,
they frequently reward such care by recovering and entertaining the
visitors, climbing with renewed vigour about their cages.

On the other hand, so tenacious of life are some snakes, that they
might survive as disgusting objects a long while—not in a state to
be exhibited at all, but only to be an additional care and trouble to
those whose duty it is to attend to them. One very astonishing instance
of tenacity of life must be introduced. It was in a rattlesnake which
would not feed, and must have greatly suffered in some way, whether
physically or from nervous terror cannot be determined; but the
reptile struck its head so repeatedly against the side of its cage,
that, in the keeper’s words, ‘it completely smashed it.’ At last it
died, its head one mass of putrid sores; and in that state it had
sustained life for many months. It had eaten nothing for ten months.

It must be owing to the excessive and nervous timidity of snakes, that
some of them reject food for so long a time during the first months of
their captivity. I think for even more than two years snakes have been
known to fast, and to recover their appetite afterwards. So strong a
disinclination for food do cobras show, when first brought that it is
of no use whatever to put mice into their cages. Now and then, if no
one is near them, they will partake of a mouse or a sparrow, but never
until they become somewhat reconciled to their surroundings.

Almost equally alarmed and irreconciled was the Hamadryad, which is