SNAKES.
First Impression of a Tropical Forest--Exaggerated Fears--
Comparative rareness of Venomous Snakes--Their Habits and
External Characters--Anecdote of the Prince of Neu Wied--The
Bite of the Trigonocephalus--Antidotes--Fangs of the Venomous
Snakes described--The Bush-master--The Echidna Ocellata--
The Rattlesnakes--Extirpated by Hogs--The Cobra de Capello--
Indian Snake-Charmers--Maritime Excursions of the Cobra--The
Egyptian Haje--The Cerastes--Boas and Pythons--The Jiboya--The
Anaconda--Enemies of the Serpents--The Secretary--The Adjutant--
The Mongoos--A Serpent swallowed by another--The Locomotion of
Serpents--Anatomy of their Jaws--Serpents feeding in the Zoological
Gardens--Domestication of the Rat-Snake--Water-Snakes.
On penetrating for the first time into a tropical forest, the traveller
is moved by many conflicting emotions. This luxuriance of vegetation
revelling in ever-changing forms, these giants of the woods clasped
by the python-folds of enormous creepers, and bearing whole hosts of
parasites on their knotty arms; this strange and unknown world of
plants, harbouring in its impenetrable recesses a no less strange
and unknown world of animals, all unite in filling the soul with
pleasurable excitement; and yet the heart is, at the same time, chilled
with vague fears, that mix like a discordant sound with the harmonies
of this sylvan world. For in the hollows of the tangled roots and in
the dense underwood of the forest a brood of noxious reptiles loves to
conceal itself, and who knows whether a snake, armed with poisonous
fangs, may not dart forth from the rustling foliage.
Gradually, however, these reflections wear away, and time and
experience convince one that the snakes in the tropical woods are
hardly more to be feared than in the forests of Germany or France,
where also the viper will sometimes inflict a deadly wound. These
reptiles are, indeed, far from being of so frequent occurrence as
is generally believed; and on meeting with a snake, there is every
probability of its belonging to the harmless species, which show
themselves much more frequently by day, and are far more numerous.
Even in India and Ceylon, where serpents are said to abound, they make
their appearance so cautiously that the surprise of long residents is
invariably expressed at their being so seldom seen.
Sir E. Tennent, who frequently performed journeys of two to five
hundred miles through the jungle without seeing a single snake, never
heard, during his long residence in Ceylon, of the death of a European
being caused by the bite of one of these reptiles; and in almost
every instance accidents to the natives happened at night, when the
animal, having been surprised or trodden on, had inflicted the wound in
self-defence. Thus, to avoid danger, the Singhalese, when obliged to
leave their houses in the dark, carry a stick with a loose ring, the
noise of which, as they strike it on the ground, is sufficient to warn
the snakes to leave their path.
During his five years’ travels through the whole breadth of tropical
America, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, M. de Castelnau, although
ever on the search, collected no more than ninety-one serpents, of
which only twenty-one were poisonous; a proof that they are not more
frequently met with in the primitive forests of Brazil than in the
jungles of India or Ceylon.
The habits of the venomous snakes, and the external characters by which
they are distinguished from the harmless species, likewise tend to
diminish the danger to be apprehended from them. Thus, their head is
generally flat, broad, lanceolate; they have an aperture or slit on
each cheek, behind the nostrils, and an elongated vertical pupil like
many other nocturnal animals.
They are also generally slower and more indolent in their motions, and
thus are more easily avoided. No venomous snake will ever be found on a
tree, and on quietly approaching one in the forest or in the savannah,
it will most likely creep away without disputing the path, as it is not
very anxious uselessly to squander the venom which Nature gave it as
the only means for procuring itself food.
‘There is not much danger in roving amongst snakes,’ says Waterton,
who, from spending many a month in tropical wilds, may justly be called
an excellent authority, ‘provided only that you have self-command. You
must never approach them abruptly; if so, you are sure to pay for your
rashness; because the idea of self-defence is predominant in every
animal, and thus the snake, to defend himself from what he considers
an attack upon him, makes the intruder feel the deadly effect of his
envenomed fangs. The labarri snake is very poisonous, yet I have often
approached within two yards of him without fear. I took care to advance
very softly and gently, without moving my arms, and he always allowed
me to have a fine view of him, without showing the least inclination to
make a spring at me. He would appear to keep his eye fixed on me, as
though suspicious, but that was all. Sometimes I have taken a stick ten
feet long and placed it on the labarri’s back; he would then glide away
without offering resistance. However, when I put the end of the stick
abruptly to his head, he immediately opened his mouth, flew at it, and
bit it.’ But although accidents from venomous snakes are comparatively
rare, yet the consequences are dreadful when they do take place, and
the sight of a cobra or a trigonocephalus preparing for its fatal
spring may well appal the stoutest heart.
Prince Maximilian of Neu Wied, having wounded a tapir, was following
the traces of his game along with his Indian hunter, when suddenly
his companion uttered a loud scream. He had come too near a labarri
snake, and the dense thicket prevented his escape. Fortunately the
first glance of the distinguished naturalist fell upon the reptile,
which with extended jaws and projecting fangs was ready to dart upon
the Indian, but at the same moment, struck by a ball from the prince’s
rifle, lay writhing on the ground. The Indian, though otherwise a
strong-nerved man, was so paralysed by fear, that it was some time
before he could recover his self-possession--a proof, among others,
that it is superfluous to attribute a fascinating power to the venomous
snakes, as the effects of terror are quite sufficient to explain why
smaller animals, unable to flee the impending danger, become their
unresisting victims, and even seem, as it were, wantonly to rush
upon destruction. Thus Pöppig saw on the banks of the Huallaga an
unfortunate frog, which, after being for some time unable to move, at
length made a desperate leap towards a large snake that was all the
time fixing its eye upon it, and thus paid for the confusion of its
senses with the loss of its life.
A poor Indian girl that accompanied Schomburgk on his travels through
the forests of Guiana was less fortunate than the Prince of Neu Wied’s
companion. She was bitten by a trigonocephalus, and it was dreadful to
see how soon the powers of life began to ebb under the fatal effects of
the poison. The wound was immediately sucked, and spirits of ammonia,
the usual remedy, profusely applied both externally and inwardly,
but all in vain. In less than three minutes, a convulsive trembling
shook the whole body, the face assumed a cadaverous aspect, dreadful
pains raged in the heart, in the back, less in the wound itself; the
dissolved blood flowed from the ears and nose, or was spasmodically
ejected by the stomach; the pulse rose to 120–130 in the minute; the
paralysis which first benumbed the bitten foot spread farther and
farther, and in less than eight minutes the unfortunate girl was no
longer to be recognised. The same day the foot swelled to shapeless
dimensions, and she lay senseless until, after an agony of sixty-three
hours, death relieved her from her sufferings.
A great many antidotes have been recommended against serpentine
poison, but their very number proves their inefficacy. One of the most
famous is the juice of a Peruvian climbing plant, the vejuco de huaco
(_Mikania Huaco_, Kunth), the remarkable properties of which were first
discovered by a negro, who observed that when the huaco, a kind of
hawk which chiefly feeds on snakes, has been bitten by one of them, it
immediately flies to the vejuco and eats some of its leaves.
It is a well-known fact that serpentine poison may be swallowed with
impunity; it shows its effects only on mixing directly with the
blood. A tight ligature above the wound, along with sucking, burning,
or cutting it out, are thus very rational remedies for preventing
the rapid propagation of the venom. Suction is, however, not always
unattended with danger to the person who undertakes the friendly
office. Thus Schomburgk relates the misfortunes of a poor Indian, whose
son had been bitten in the cheek. The father instantly sucked the
wound, but a hollow tooth conveyed the poison into his own body. His
cheek swelled under excruciating pains, and without being able to save
his son, his own health and vigour were for ever lost. For such are the
dreadful consequences of this poison, that they incurably trouble the
fountains of life. The wound generally breaks open every year, emitting
a very offensive odour, and causes dreadful pains at every change of
the weather.
Although all the venomous snakes produce morbid symptoms nearly
similar, yet the strength of the poison varies according to the species
of the serpent, and to the circumstances under which it is emitted.
It is said to be most virulent during very hot weather, when the moon
changes, or when the animal is about to cast its skin. The effects are
naturally more powerful and rapid when a larger quantity of poison
flows into the wound, and a snake with exhausted supplies from repeated
bitings will evidently strike less fatally than another whose glands
are inflated with poison after a long repose.
Before describing some of the most conspicuous of the venomous
serpents, a few words on the simple but admirable mechanism of their
delicate but needle-like fangs will not be out of place. Towards the
point of the fang, which is invariably situated in the upper jaw, there
is a little oblong aperture on the convex side of it, and through this
there is a communication down the fang to the root, at which lies a
little bag containing the poison. Thus, when the point of the fang is
pressed, the root of the fang also presses against the bag and sends up
a portion of the poison it contains. The fangs being extremely movable,
can be voluntarily depressed or elevated; and as from their brittleness
they are very liable to break, Nature, to provide for a loss that would
be fatal, has added behind each of them smaller or subsidiary fangs
ready to take their place in case of accident.
Unrivalled in the display of every lovely colour of the rainbow, and
unmatched in the effects of his deadly poison, the bush-master or
counacutchi (_Lachesis rhombeata_) glides on, sole monarch of the
forests of Guiana or Brazil, as both man and beast fly before him.
In size he surpasses most other venomous species, as he sometimes
grows to the length of fourteen feet. Generally concealed among the
fallen leaves of the forest, he lives on small birds, reptiles, and
mammalians, whom he is able to pursue with surprising activity. Thus,
Schomburgk once saw an opossum rushing through the forest, and closely
followed by an enormous bush-master. Frightened to death and utterly
exhausted, the panting animal ascended the stump of an old tree, and
thence, as if rooted to the spot, looked with staring eyes on its
enemy, who, rolled in a spiral coil, from which his head rose higher
and higher, slowly and leisurely, as if conscious that his prey could
not possibly escape him, prepared for his deadly spring. This time,
however, the bush-master was mistaken, for a shot from Schomburgk’s
rifle laid him writhing in the dust, while the opossum, saved by a
miracle, ran off as fast as he could. Fortunately for the planter
and negroes, the bush-master is a rare serpent, frequenting only the
deepest shades of the thicket, where in the day-time he generally lies
coiled upon the ground.
Still rarer, though if possible yet more formidable, is a small brown
viper (_Echidna ocellata_), which infests the Peruvian forests. Its
bite is said to be able to kill a strong man within two or three
minutes. The Indian, when bitten by it, does not even attempt an
antidote against the poison, but stoically bids adieu to his comrades,
and lays himself down to die.
The ill-famed wide-extended race of the rattlesnakes, which ranges from
South Brazil to Canada, belongs exclusively to the New World. They
prefer the more elevated, dry, and stony regions, where they lie coiled
up in the thorny bushes, and only attack such animals as come too near
their lair. Their bite is said to be able to kill a horse or an ox in
ten or twelve minutes; but, fortunately, they are afraid of man, and
will not venture to attack him unless provoked. When roused to anger
they are, however, very formidable, as their fangs penetrate through
the strongest boot. One of the most remarkable features of their
organisation is a kind of rattle terminating the tail, and consisting
of a number of pieces inserted into each other, all alike in shape and
size, hollow, and of a thin, elastic, brittle substance, like that of
which the scales are externally formed. When provoked, the strong and
rapid vibratory motions imparted to the rattle produce a sound which
has been compared to that of knife-grinding, but is never loud enough
to be heard at any distance, and becomes almost inaudible in rainy
weather.
[Illustration: RATTLESNAKE.]
Naturalists distinguish at least a dozen different species of
rattlesnakes, the commonest of which are the Boaquira (_Crotalus
horridus_), which frequents the warmest regions of South America, and
the Durissus (_C. durissus_), which has chosen the United States for
its principal home. The chief enemy of this serpent is the hog, whom
it dreads so much that on seeing one it immediately loses all its
courage, and instantly takes to flight. But the hog, who smells it from
afar, draws nearer and nearer, his bristles erected with excitement,
seizes it by the neck, and devours it with great complacency, though
without touching the head. As the hog is the invariable companion of
the settler in the backwoods, the rattlesnake everywhere disappears
before the advance of man, and it is to be hoped that a century or
two hence it will be ranked among the extinct animals. The American
Indians often regale on the rattlesnake. When they find it asleep,
they put a small forked stick over its neck, which they keep immovably
fixed to the ground, giving the snake a stick to bite, and this they
pull back several times with great force, until they perceive that the
poison-fangs are torn out. They then cut off the head, skin the body,
and cook it as we do eels. The flesh is said to be white and excellent.
None of the American snakes inhabit the old world, but in the East
Indies and Ceylon other no less dangerous species appear upon the
scene, among which the celebrated Cobra de Capello is one of the most
deadly.
As long as it is in a quiet mood, its neck is nowhere thicker than
its head or other parts; but as soon as it is excited, it raises
vertically the anterior part of its trunk, and dilating the hood on
each side of the neck, which is curiously marked in the centre in black
and white, like a pair of spectacles, advances against the aggressor
by the undulating motion of the tail. It is not only met with in the
cultivated grounds and plantations, but will creep into the houses and
insinuate itself among the furniture. Bishop Heber heard at Patna of
a lady who once lay a whole night with a cobra under her pillow. She
repeatedly thought during the night that she felt something move, and
in the morning when she snatched her pillow away, she saw the thick
black throat, the square head, and the green diamond-like eyes of
the reptile advanced within two inches of her neck. Fortunately the
snake was without malice; but alas for her if she had during the night
pressed him a little too roughly.
This is the snake so frequently exhibited by the Indian jugglers, who
contrive by some unknown method to tame them so far as to perform
certain movements in cadence, and to dance to the sound of music,
with which the cobra seems much delighted, keeping time by a graceful
motion of the head, erecting about half its length from the ground,
and following the few simple notes of the conjuror’s flute with
gentle curves like the undulating lines of a swan’s neck. It has been
naturally supposed, before this could be done, that the poisonous fangs
had been extracted; but Forbes, the author of ‘Oriental Memoirs,’ had
nearly been taught at his cost that this is not always practised. Not
doubting but that a cobra, which danced for an hour on the table while
he painted it, had been disarmed of its fatal weapons, he frequently
handled it to observe the beauty of the spots, and especially the
spectacles on the hood. But the next morning his upper servant, who
was a zealous Mussulman, came to him in great haste and desired he
would instantly retire and praise the Almighty for his good fortune.
Not understanding his meaning, Forbes told him that he had already
performed his devotions, and had not so many stated prayers as the
followers of his prophet. Mahomet then informed him that while
purchasing some fruit in the bazaar, he observed the man who had been
with him on the preceding evening entertaining the country people with
the dancing snakes; they, according to their usual custom, sat on the
ground around him, when, either from the music stopping too suddenly
or from some other cause irritating the snake which he had so often
handled, it darted at the throat of a young woman, and inflicted a
wound of which she died in about half an hour. That the snake-charmers
control the cobra not by extracting its fangs, but by courageously
availing themselves of its timidity and reluctance to use them, was
also proved during Sir E. Tennent’s residence in Ceylon by the death of
one of these performers, whom his audience had provoked to attempt some
unaccustomed familiarity with the cobra; it bit him on the wrist, and
he expired the same evening.
The deserted nests of the termites are the favourite retreat of the
sluggish and spiritless cobra, which watches from their apertures
the toads and lizards on which it preys. On coming upon it, its only
impulse is concealment; and when it is unable to escape, a few blows
from a whip are sufficient to deprive it of life.
It is a curious fact that, though not a water-snake, the cobra
sometimes takes considerable excursions by sea. When the ‘Wellington,’
a Government vessel employed in the inspection of the Ceylonese
pearl-banks, was anchored about a quarter of a mile from land, a cobra
was seen, about an hour before sunset, swimming vigorously towards the
ship. It came within twelve yards, when the sailors assailed it with
billets of wood and other missiles, and forced it to return to land.
The Egyptian Haje (_Naja Haje_), a near relation of the Indian cobra,
is probably the asp of ancient authors, which Queen Cleopatra chose
as the instrument of her death, to avoid figuring in the triumph of
Augustus. Like the cobra, it inflates its neck when in a state of
excitement, and as it raises its head on being approached, as if
watchful for its safety, it was venerated by the ancient Egyptians as
a symbol of divinity, and as the faithful guardian of their fields.
Divine honours have, however, much more frequently been paid to the
venomous snakes from the terror they inspire, than from far-fetched
notions of beneficence. Several Indian tribes in North America adore
the rattlesnake; and in the kingdom of Widah, on the coast of Guinea, a
viper has its temple and ministers, and is no less carefully provided
for than if it were an inmate of the Zoological Gardens.
The Cerastes, or horned viper, one of the most deadly serpents of the
African deserts, is frequently exhibited by Egyptian jugglers, who
handle and irritate it with impunity: they are supposed to render
themselves invulnerable by the chewing of a certain root, but most
likely, as in the case of the cobra-charmers, their secret consists in
their courage and perfect knowledge of the animal’s nature.
Although the Boas and Pythons are unprovided with venomous fangs, yet,
from their enormous size, they may well be ranked among the deadly
snakes; for, as Waterton justly remarks, ‘it comes nearly to the same
thing in the end whether the victim dies by poison from the fangs,
which corrupts his blood, or whether his body be crushed to mummy and
swallowed by a Python.’
The kingly Jiboya (_Boa constrictor_) inhabits the dry and sultry
localities of the Brazilian forests, where he generally conceals
himself in crevices and hollows in parts but little frequented by
man, and sometimes attains a length of thirty feet. To catch his
prey he ascends the trees, and lurks, hidden in the foliage, for the
unfortunate agutis, pacas, and capybaras, whom their unlucky star may
lead within his reach. When full-grown he seizes the passing deer; but,
in spite of his large size, he is but little feared by the natives, as
a single blow of a cudgel suffices to kill him. Prince Maximilian of
Neu Wied tells us that the experienced hunter laughs when asked whether
the Jiboya attacks and devours man.
The Sucuriaba, Anaconda, or Water Boa (_Eunectes murinus_), as it is
variously named, abounds in the swampy lowlands of tropical America,
where it attains so enormous a size that, according to trustworthy
witnesses,[25] monsters more than sixty feet long are sometimes seen
slowly crawling through the submerged groves of the Buriti palm. While
lazily stretched out in the grass, it might easily be mistaken for the
prostrate trunk of one of these noble trees. It passes most of its
time, however, on the water, now reposing on a sand-bank with only its
head above the surface of the stream, now rapidly swimming like an
eel, or abandoning itself to the current of the river. Often, also, it
suns itself on the sandy margin of the stream, or patiently awaits its
prey, stretched out upon some rock or fallen tree. With sharp eye it
observes all that swims in the waters, as well as all that flies over
them, or all that comes to the banks to drink; neither fish nor aquatic
bird is secure from its rapid assault, and woe to the capybara that
comes within its grasp.
When preparing for an attack, it attaches itself with its tail to a
tree or rock, and then suddenly darts its prodigious length upon its
prey, the bones of which it breaks in its resistless folds before
slowly swallowing it. A large snake will thus engulph a horse and its
rider, or a whole ox as far as the horns, which eventually separate
from the putrefying body. Even water-boas of a smaller size are able
to swallow enormous masses; a deer and two pecaris were found in the
stomach of one forty feet long. The chase of these hideous reptiles is
not dangerous, for they are slow and cowardly, and a wound in the spine
soon renders them stiff and unable to move. Their flesh is unfit to be
eaten, but their fat is considered a remedy for consumption, and their
tanned skin makes excellent coverings for saddles.
The boas principally inhabit America, although some species are
likewise met with in Asia; but the still more formidable pythons are
confined to the hot regions of the Old World. They are said to enlace
even the tiger or the lion in their fatal embrace, and, to judge by
their size and strength, this assertion seems by no means improbable.
[Illustration: SECRETARY BIRD.]
The various serpent tribes are exposed to the attacks of many enemies,
who fortunately keep their numbers within salutary bounds, and avenge
the death of the countless insects, worms, toads, frogs, and lizards,
that fall a prey to their strength or their venom. Several species of
rapacious and aquatic birds live upon snakes, the American ostrich
thins their ranks whenever he can, and the African Secretary is
renowned for his prowess in serpentine warfare.
‘The battle was obstinate,’ says Le Vaillant, describing one of
these conflicts, ‘and conducted with equal address on both sides. The
serpent, feeling the inferiority of his strength, in his attempt to
flee, and regain his hole, employed that cunning which is ascribed to
him, while the bird, guessing his design, suddenly stopped him, and
cut off his retreat by placing herself before him at a single leap. On
whatever side the reptile endeavoured to make its escape, his enemy was
still found before him. Then, uniting at once bravery and cunning, he
erected himself boldly to intimidate the bird, and hissing dreadfully,
displayed his menacing throat, inflamed eyes, and a head swelled
with rage and venom. Sometimes this threatening appearance produced
a momentary suspension of hostilities, but the bird soon returned to
the charge, and covering her body with one of her wings as a buckler,
struck her enemy with the horny protuberances upon the other, which,
like little clubs, served the more effectually to knock him down as
he raised himself to the blow; at last he staggered and fell, the
conqueror then despatched him, and with one stroke of her bill laid
open his skull.’
The secretary-eagle has now been successfully acclimatised in the West
Indies, where he renders himself useful by the destruction of the
venomous snakes with which the plantations are infested.
[Illustration: ADJUTANT.]
Gravely, ‘with measured step and slow,’ like a German philosopher
cogitating over the nature of the absolute, but, as we shall presently
see, much more profitably engaged, the adjutant wanders among the reeds
on the banks of the muddy Ganges. The aspect of this colossal bird,
measuring six feet in height and nearly fifteen from tip to tip of
the wings, is far from being comely, as his enormous bill, his naked
head and neck, except a few straggling curled hairs, his large craw
hanging down the forepart of the neck like a pouch, and his long naked
legs, are certainly no features of beauty. Suddenly he stops, dips
his bill among the aquatic plants, and immediately raises it again
triumphantly into the air, for a long snake, despairingly twisting
and wriggling, strives vainly to escape from the formidable pincers
which hold it _in carcere duro_. The bird throws back his head, and the
reptile appears notably diminished in size; a few more gulps and it has
entirely disappeared. And now the sedate bird continues his stately
promenade with the self-satisfied mien of a merchant who has just made
a successful speculation, and is engaged in the agreeable calculation
of his gains. But, lo! again the monstrous bill descends, and the
same scene is again repeated. The good services of the giant heron in
clearing the land of noxious reptiles, and the havoc he is able to
make among their ranks, may be judged of by the simple fact, that, on
opening the body of one of them, a land-tortoise ten inches long and a
large black cat were found entire within it, the former in the pouch,
as a kind of stock in trade, the latter in the stomach, all ready for
immediate consumption.
The Marabou Storks, though so intensely ugly, furnish in their superb
white and downy plumes, which grow under their wings, a highly prized
ornament of beauty. To procure these valuable feathers, of which
each bird generally yields but four serviceable ones, they are bred
in some villages in the neighbourhood of Calcutta, but may also be
seen stalking about the streets of the ‘City of Palaces,’ where, on
account of their scavenger utility, a heavy fine is imposed upon their
destruction.
Brehin, who chased the Marabou on the banks of the White Nile, found
him a most provoking game, always regulating his steps after those of
his pursuer and keeping at a safe distance of two or three hundred
paces. Such is his caution that he places sentinels to give notice of
approaching danger, which is the more remarkable as he is one of the
most voracious of birds.
Trusting to his agility and the certainty of his eye, the Indian
ichneumon or Mongoos attacks without hesitation the most venomous
serpents. The cobra, which drives even the leopard to flight, rises
before the little creature with swelling hood and fury in its eye;
but, swift as thought, the ichneumon, avoiding the death-stroke of the
projecting fangs, leaps upon its back, and fastening his sharp teeth in
the head, soon despatches the helpless reptile.
The serpents sometimes even feed upon their own brethren. Thus a
rat-snake in the Zoological Gardens was once seen to devour a common
Coluber Natrix, but not having taken the measure of his victim, he
could not dispose of the last four inches of his tail, which stuck out
rather jauntily from the side of his mouth, with very much the look
of a cigar. After a quarter of an hour the tail began to exhibit a
retrograde motion, and the swallowed snake was disgorged, nothing the
worse for his living sepulchre, with the exception of the wound made by
his partner when first he seized him.
A python in the same collection, who had lived for years on friendly
terms with a brother nearly as large as himself, was found one morning
sole tenant of his den. As the cage was secure, the keeper was puzzled
to know how the serpent had escaped. At last it was observed that the
remaining inmate had swollen remarkably during the night, when the
truth came out.
[Illustration: MONGOOS.]
When we consider that the snakes have neither legs, wings, nor fins,
and are indeed deprived of all the usual means of locomotion, the
rapidity of their progress is not a little surprising. On examining
the anatomical structure of their body, however, it will be remarked
that while we have only twelve pairs of ribs united in front by the
breast-bone and cartilage, the snake has often more than three hundred,
unconnected in front, and consequently much more free in their motions,
a faculty which is still further increased by the great mobility of
the spondyli of the backbone. Between the ribs and the broad transverse
scales or plates which exist on the belly of all such serpents as move
rapidly, we find numerous muscles connecting them one with another, and
thus, amply provided with a whole system of strong pulleys and points
of attachment, the reptile, bringing up the tail towards the head, by
bending the body into one or more curves, and then again resting upon
the tail and extending the body, glides swiftly along, not only upon
even ground, but even sometimes from branch to branch, as the smallest
hold suffices for its stretching out its body at a foot’s length into
the air, and thus reaching another sallying point for further progress.
The anatomy of the serpent’s jaws is no less remarkable than the
mechanism of its movements. In spite of their proverbial wisdom, snakes
would not be able to exist unless they were able to swallow large
animal masses at a time. For, however rapid their motions may be, those
of their prey are in general still more active, and thus they are
obliged to wait in ambush till a fortunate chance provides them with
a copious meal. The victim is often much more bulky than the serpent
itself, but still, without tearing it to pieces, it is able to engulph
it in its swelling maw. For the two halves of its lower jaw do not
coalesce like ours into one solid mass, but are merely connected in
front by a loose ligament, so that each part can be moved separately.
The bones of the upper jaw and palate are also loosely attached or
articulated one with the other, and thus the whole mouth is capable of
great distension. By this mechanism, aided by the numerous sharp teeth,
which are so many little hooks with the point curved backwards, each
side of the jaws and mouth being able to act as it were independently
of the other, alternately hooks itself fast to the morsel, or advances
to fasten itself farther on in a similar manner, and thus the reptile
draws itself over its prey, somewhat in the same way as we draw a
stocking over our leg, after having first, by breaking the bones,
fashioned it into a convenient mass, and rendered its passage more easy
by lubricating it with its saliva. Slowly the huge lump disappears
behind the jaws, descends lower and lower beneath the scales, which
seem ready to burst asunder with distension, and then the satisfied
monster coils himself up once more to digest his meal in quiet. The
time required for this purpose varies of course according to the size
of the morsel; but often weeks or even months will pass before a boa
awakens from the lethargic repose in which--the image of disgusting
gluttony--he lies plunged after a superabundant meal.
The reptiles in the Zoological Gardens are offered food once a week,
but even then their appetites are frequently not yet awakened, though
great care is taken never to spoil their stomachs by excess.
This is the time for visiting the Reptile House, which otherwise offers
but little amusement, as the great snakes have either retired from
public life under their blankets, or lie coiled upon the branches of
the trees in their dens. Three o’clock is the feeding-time, and the
reptiles, which are on the look-out, seem to know full well the errand
of the man who enters with the basket, against the side of which they
hear the fluttering wings of the feathered victims, and the short stamp
of the doomed rabbits. The keeper opens the door at the back of the
den of the huge pythons, for these he need not fear, takes off their
blanket and drops a rabbit, who hops from side to side, curious to
inspect his new habitation, and probably finding it to his taste, sits
on his haunches and leisurely begins to wash his face. Silently the
python glides over the stones, uncurling his huge folds, looks for an
instant upon his unconscious victim, and the next has seized him with
his jaws. His contracting folds are twisted as swiftly as a whiplash
round his shrieking prey, and for ten minutes the serpent lies still,
maintaining his mortal knot until his prey is dead, when seizing it by
the ears, he draws it through his vice-like grip, crushing every bone,
and elongating the body preparatory to devouring it.
The arrangement for feeding the venomous kinds, is, of course, more
cautious. The door opens at the top instead of at the side of the dens,
and with good reason; for no sooner does the keeper remove with a
crooked iron rod, the blanket from the cobra, than the reptile springs
with inflated hood into an S-like attitude and darts laterally at his
prey, whose sides have scarcely been pierced, when it is seized with
tetanic spasms, and lies convulsed in a few seconds.
These instantaneous effects, almost as rapid as those of a mortal
shot or of lightning itself, might at first sight seem to warrant the
conclusion that the genius of evil had formed the venomous serpents to
be his chosen agents of destruction; but at a nearer view, they afford
but another proof of the beneficence of the Creator in providing weak,
sober, and by no means cruel creatures, with a weapon which makes up to
them for the want of speed, and at the same times abridges the torments
of their victims.
Though generally the objects of abhorrence and fear, yet serpents
sometimes render themselves useful or agreeable to man. Thus the
rat-snake of Ceylon (_Coryphodon Blumenbachii_), in consideration of
its services in destroying vermin, is often kept as a household pet,
and so domesticated by the natives as to feed at their table.
The agility of this serpent in seizing its nimble-footed prey is truly
wonderful. One day Sir Emerson Tennent had an opportunity of surprising
a coryphodon which had just seized on a rat, and of covering it
suddenly with a glass shade, before it had time to swallow its prey.
The serpent, which appeared stunned with its own capture, allowed the
rat to escape from its jaws, which cowered at one side of the glass
in an agony of terror. On removing the shade, the rat, recovering its
spirits, instantly bounded towards the nearest fence, but quick as
lightning it was followed by its pursuer, which seized it before it
could gain the hedge, through which the snake glided with its victim in
its jaws.
The beautiful coral-snake (_Elaps corallinus_) is fondled by the
Brazilian ladies, but the domestication of the dreaded cobras as
protectors in the place of dogs, mentioned by Major Skinner, on
undoubtedly good authority,[26] is still more remarkable. They glide
about the house, going in and out at pleasure, a terror to thieves, but
never attempting to harm the inmates.
The Tree-snakes offer many beautiful examples of the adaptation of
colour to the animal’s pursuits, which we have already had occasion
to admire in our brief review of the tropical insect world. They are
frequently of an agreeable green or bluish hue, so as hardly to be
distinguishable from the foliage among which they seek their prey, or
where they themselves are liable to be seized upon by their enemies.
They are often able vertically to ascend the smoothest trunks and
branches, in search of squirrels and lizards, or to rifle the nests of
birds.
The Water-snakes which infest some parts of the tropical seas, though
far from equalling in size the vast proportions of the fabulous
sea-serpent, are very formidable from their venomous bite. They have
the back part of the body and tail very much compressed and raised
vertically, so as to serve them as a paddle with which they rapidly
cleave the waters.
[Illustration: TOAD AND ANOLIS.]