‘_LIZZIE._’
THIS tame slow-worm was promised a chapter to herself in my book, and I
trust my readers will not tire of her doings, but vouchsafe their kind
attention to an exhibition of still other feats in which the little
_Anguis fragilis_ vies with the Great Anaconda.
In her maternal aspect we have done with her. The heroine of the
present chapter was for a much longer time in my possession than
‘Blackie’ and those other poor victims, and therefore tamer. When
my friends exclaimed, ‘Why on earth do you call that little snake
“Lizzie”?’ the simple reply was: ‘Because she is not a snake, but a
lizard.’ In what respects the slow-worm is a lizard my readers already
know; I will therefore describe what I hope may prove of zoological
interest. Already ‘Lizzie’ has ingratiated herself with the readers of
_Aunt Judy’s Magazine_,[131] as also with her personal acquaintance for
her gentle and innocent manners.
First let us briefly review her many wrong names, ‘blindworm,’
‘slow-worm,’ ‘deaf-adder,’ ‘brittle-snake,’ and endeavour to account
for them. Of her name ‘snake’ (_Anguis_), from its external aspect,
enough has already been said. The ‘brittleness’ shared in common with
several of her foreign relatives, known as ‘glass snakes,’ proceeds
from a power of contracting the muscles into rigidity when molested:
that is, when, on finding themselves in a helpless condition,
slow-worms grasp firmly whatever they can attach themselves to. In
fact, this little snake only displays constricting powers as far as it
is able; for it really does constrict the fingers which detain it, with
a force as great for its size as its cousin Anaconda uses in killing
its prey. Were the giant constrictors to entwine us with proportionate
power, they would gain the day. In the case of _Anguis fragilis_, _we_
are the masters; and were we to attempt violently to unwind one from
our fingers, it would break ‘in halves’ in its resistance, or rather
in its redoubled efforts to cling the tighter and so save itself. May
it not in this respect, also, claim kinship with its giant rivals, and
show their common ancestry? On pp. 183 and 187 reference was made to
the ‘blindworm’ in connection with other ‘brittle’ snakes, and in the
use of their pointed tails. Our native ‘blindworm,’ in not having the
hard point at the end, has escaped the imputation of trying to ‘sting’
with that imaginary weapon, although it uses its tail with equal
and similar force, and for the same purpose. In handling the little
reptile, you will feel it pressing the tip of its tail against whatever
part comes in contact with it, as a hold, a fulcrum, and motive power.
[Illustration: Lizzie; never at a loss.]
Upon a smooth surface it would be entirely helpless without this
assistant to progression, its scales being too even and polished to
afford hold of any kind. You will see it sweeping its long tail this
way and that, in search of some hold or obstacle against which to
push itself forward; and failing this, the point is pressed close to
the table or floor as may be. When in any unaccustomed position, as,
for instance, when held in the hand, you will see the tail instantly
twining itself about the fingers for safety, the creature trusting
itself entirely to its aid, and being helpless when its movements are
fettered in any way. If not strictly prehensile in the way of affording
support, as the tail of a true boa does, that of _Anguis fragilis_ is
not far removed from it. Hold one that is accustomed to be handled
and in good health, and permit it to hang by the mere tip, as in the
accompanying illustration. So far from falling, the little creature
will at once draw itself upwards and backwards with perfect facility,
till it feels itself equally balanced, when the tail will be sent in
search of hold; it will cling quickly round a finger, and then _Anguis_
feels itself safe once more. My tame slow-worms accomplished this with
perfect ease whenever so suspended.
Others, unaccustomed to such a position, or in a not very robust
condition, must be treated cautiously under this experiment, and not
permitted to fall; but in every case the tail will be seen to be a
very important agent to the reptile. It is longer in the male than in
the female slow-worm—more than half the entire length in the former,
and less than half in the latter. The males are, therefore, longer on
the whole, though the body itself is longest in the female. Regard
should be had to this, when, roughly speaking, they are said to ‘break
themselves in _halves_;’ because it is not the body which breaks, but
only the tail, or a portion of it, in common with other lizards.
The power of the tail in this reptile was again seen when its home was
a bell-glass, such as is used for gold-fish. The one in which my first
family of slow-worms dwelt, was almost as high as their own length,
so that I considered them sufficiently secure without any cover to
it. But after a little while they effected an exit. _How_, was at
first a mystery, until I saw them perseveringly raising themselves in
a perpendicular direction against the side. Many a slip and many a
trial had they, but they rarely desisted until success crowned their
efforts. When their head had once gained the edge of the glass, they
easily drew themselves up and over it, and let themselves down on the
outside, as you would draw a cord over the edge. The perfect smoothness
of the glass, the nice balance required, and the gradual lowering of
themselves, rendered this proceeding still more astonishing; for as
the glass was on a stand there was a considerable distance between
the edge and the table. A slow-worm’s progression is truly marvellous.
In this little creature one can detect no action of the ribs; they are
too fine and too close. Its scaly armour, moreover, is smooth and firm;
and as for ventral scutæ to ‘afford hold,’ it has none. Yet with ease
it draws itself over that polished rim, as it draws itself up and over
your finger, when suspended by the mere tip of its tail.
Soon the slow-worms accomplished this feat so knowingly that it became
necessary to cover them over, which was done with gauze having a strong
elastic cord hemmed into it. They practised their climbing powers all
the same, and though not able to get over the edge, tried and pushed
hard enough to stretch the gauze considerably; so that, unless well
pulled down, it lay only loosely and bagging over the top.
Judge, then, of my amazement one day to find Lizzie _outside_ the
glass, resting contentedly in the loose fold round the edge above the
elastic. The little creature had absolutely got over the edge, but the
tightness of the elastic baffling the outside descent, there it lay.
In _Nature_, vol. xx. p. 529, Mr. Hutchinson describes and illustrates
an exactly similar feat accomplished by a ‘little snake’ nine inches
long. It was put in a glass jar ten inches high, having also for a
cover a bit of coarse muslin secured by an elastic band. The reptile
was missing, the muslin and the band were intact, when, after a
mysterious surprise and search, the little snake was found under the
rim of the jar _inside_ the muslin. The writer does not say what snake
it was, but he afterwards observed it ‘ascending easily,’ standing
on the tip of its tail, and supporting itself against the side of the
jar by the abdominal scales creating a vacuum, ‘like the pedal scales
of a common house lizard;’ it was not a slow-worm, therefore. He felt
quite satisfied about this adaptation of the scutæ, a mode which, in
describing the larger snakes climbing up their glass cages, I called
‘compressure,’ p. 215. Mr. Hutchinson does not tell us, either, how
much earth or rubbish covered the floor of the jar, though there must
have been an inch or more, to enable a snake of nine inches to raise
its head over a ledge ten inches high. Lizzie not having ventral scales
to help her, used her tail only as a support, then nicely maintaining
the perpendicular. Many times she failed in achieving success, but she
did achieve it, and grew so enterprising in consequence that I shall
now confine my story to her. At first she lived in a box, the top of
which she could easily look over, and she was occasionally permitted
to get out and ramble among some ferns on the same table. Sometimes
this box was also covered with a muslin, having elastic hemmed into it,
and she soon discovered that this with persevering attempts could be
raised. The use of the tail was here remarkable. With it she maintained
her ‘stand,’ so to speak, while with her head and the forepart of her
body she tried to loosen the net; using persistent and powerful efforts
to lift it, by repeatedly tossing back her head. She acted in every
way as if determined not to be baffled, and with an apparent intention
or reflection that was, without doubt, the result of experience. In
higher creatures this application of force to produce a certain result
would be pronounced ‘intelligence.’ In the little slow-worm there was
undeniably a perception of cause and effect. On one occasion when she
had got her tail on the edge of the box, and her whole length in the
stretched muslin along the top, she so far succeeded with the forcible
action of the head that she worked the very strong and tight elastic
up, but not at all to her own satisfaction; for it instantly contracted
under her, bagging her most effectually. She was caught in a trap of
her own construction.
Seeing her so wonderfully energetic, and by no means ‘slow,’ either in
action or intelligence, the next thing was to ascertain whether Lizzie
was ‘deaf’ in addition to her other pseudo-failings; but by the various
tests used to exercise her aural faculties, I am inclined to think her
powers of hearing served her almost better than those of sight. When
permitted to ramble among the plants and over the table, the _sound_
much more than the _sight_ of her box and its contents attracted her.
Never averse to go home and retreat into her moss, the rustling of this
or the scraping and rubbing the sides of the box—any _noise_ with it
with which she was familiar, would cause her to turn towards it, when
the sight of it alone failed to entice her. After a time she turned
her head, if even from across the room I made a sudden and sharp noise
to attract her attention,—such as the tapping of a spoon against a
cup, or the peculiar talk I indulged in for educational purposes. She
undoubtedly became familiar with certain sounds, which were repeated
till she did look round. Not—as I am bound to confess—that it was a
strikingly intelligent look! rather the contrary, I fear: still, as the
object was to test her powers of hearing, the result was satisfactory.
The origin of this reputed deafness is difficult to conjecture. In
the way of external ears, those of the slow-worm are less distinct
than those of lizards generally, but more so than in snakes, which
have no visible aural apertures; whereas in the slow-worms they can be
discerned if sought for, though they are very small and indistinct.
Not much less perplexing is the supposititious ‘blindness’ of
the slow-worm. This must have had its origin in days long before
‘gentle-folk’ took rural walks for the purpose of observing natural
objects; long before Shakspeare’s time, and when slow-worms were far
more numerous than now. Probably those who saw most of them were the
peasantry, and that in winter time, when, in their out-door work, they
would discover a number hibernating. A score or two of slow-worms in
company with a few snakes and adders brought to light in turning up
stones or earth, would attract the rustics, when a stray one in summer
time would pass unnoticed or, at any rate, unexamined. Though the
larger reptiles would be equally torpid, their eyes would show all the
same, while the slow-worm’s eyes would be so tightly closed that their
place could hardly be found. Thus they were presumably ‘blind.’ This
is mere conjecture in seeking a reason, but ‘blind worms’ they were in
England long before the _typhlops_ (p. 187) of the tropics was known,
and long before any other ‘naturalist’ than Topsell and his like wrote
upon ‘Serpentes’ and the _Amphisbæna Europæa_.
[Illustration: Lizzie in a knot.]
Topsell, by the way, whom we quoted on the subject of tongues, thought
he knew all about slow-worms, and gave them credit for a length and
power of tail far exceeding those of the present day. ‘They have been
seen to suck a Cow, for then they twist their Tailes about the Cowe’s
Legges. The Slow-worm biteth mortallie, and the Cow dyeth!’ Consistent
this with the ‘Blind-worm’s sting’ of the poet of that day. Of the six
or seven that have been in my keeping at one time or another, not one
has, under any provocation, attempted to bite me. They were handled
continually, twirled about, and tied into knots (with gentle treatment,
of course), but not one of them ever broke itself in ‘halves’ or opened
its mouth with malice intent. Lizzie sometimes in winding about my
fingers got herself into very pretty knots, and in such tied-up fashion
when placed on the table she would remain motionless for a time, and
then begin to move away. Curious was the effect at this juncture. The
knot was not loosened at all; but as the little reptile began to move,
the knot passed downwards, and she crawled out of it, while its form
remained the same to the very end of the tail. It was similar to what
we saw when the little four-rayed snakes constricted their birds;
the form of their coils altering no more than would a slide passed
along a rope. Neither did such a knot disturb Lizzie. She appeared
quite unconscious of it, and simply crawled out of it. Perhaps any
‘brittleness’ discoverable may have been from rough handling, as one
can easily suppose a too abrupt untwining of the reptile when clinging
round the fingers would so alarm it that it would cling the tighter.
A gentleman assured me that he had seen one break in ‘halves,’ and
the two portions lying on the table. Not being a scientific observer,
he could not describe the appearance of the fractured part, except
that they seemed to contract; and this is what I have observed in the
tail of lizards when accidentally abridged. The owners do not appear,
however, to concern themselves about it.
The name ‘worm’ given to this little reptile is merely as a creeping
thing, a ‘worm of the earth,’ in common with many other small crawling
creatures which are not earth-_worms_. Its quality of ‘slowness’ is
only another name for caution. Quick and active it can be; but in
retreating down among the moss or hay, or whatever you provide in its
cage, then you see the perfection of slowness. Not a blade stirs, not a
sound is heard, and one may repeat here that the manner of progression
in _Anguis fragilis_ is not the least of all the ophidian wonders we
have witnessed. In the earth it can burrow itself to the depth of
several feet. In soft rubbish it simply vanishes slowly; its hard,
polished scales permitting it, as it were, to slide down into and among
the hay with that gently gliding motion which enables us to perceive
how very well it does manage without the ancestral limbs.
One other name it has, ‘adder,’ which, perhaps from association with
the true adder or viper, has gained it its evil character of being
venomous.
But this word ‘adder,’ like ‘worm,’ was formerly used for many creeping
things, and is derived from old Saxon and Danish words _atter_,
_eddre_, _ætter_, etc., and the German _natter_, which has a similar
signification, any low-lying or crawling creature. Even in this
nineteenth century the ‘slow-worm’ still bears an evil character in
some rural districts, and in Wales more particularly.
A few weeks ago, a Welsh lady, hearing me speak of my tame slow-worms,
asked if I were not afraid to handle them.
‘Why?’ one naturally asked.
‘Because they are so poisonous,’ she replied.
I explained that this erroneous idea had probably originated in the
little creature being sometimes called an ‘adder,’ and so forth.
My friend did not take the explanation kindly, but rather resented the
possibility of her being mistaken. ‘They are so very common in Wales,’
she said, ‘and I am sure they are venomous there.’
Another lady of the company, subsequently speaking of this, remarked,
‘I should certainly be inclined to believe what Miss F. says about them
(the slow-worms), because she lives so much in the country and is such
an observer.’
This speaker was a lady of really superior intellectual attainments;
but she had never attempted to overcome a strong prejudice against
anything in the shape of a snake. She would not _permit_ herself to be
convinced that any of them were either harmless, clean, or beautiful;
but, like the monks who would not look through Galileo’s telescope, for
fear of seeing what it was heresy to believe, my friend preferred to
hug her prejudices!
One little bit more of gossip in taking leave of Lizzie. The party
were young gentlemen, all of them of studious and intellectual tastes
and good position. ‘How _could_ I endure to touch those horrible slimy
snakes?’ one of them exclaimed, on hearing a lady inquire about my
pets. I assured him they were as clean and dry as the ruler on the
table. The young gentlemen exchanged dubious glances, and nearly all of
them attributed to my undue partiality the assurance that they were not
‘slimy.’ ‘I always thought they were,—didn’t _you_?’ they said to each
other.
A word must be added on the subject of skin-shedding in the slow-worms,
various processes having been described; as that it is ‘always shed in
pieces,’ ‘always splits on the head first,’ etc. As no two of my pets
doffed their coats at regular periods, or precisely in the same manner,
I judged that, as in snakes, the sloughing depended principally on
the health of the individual, or the temperature. They all invariably
began at the lips, rubbing their heads till the skin separated round
the mouth exactly as snakes do, and then crawled out of it. In one
case the skin was shed _unreversed_ throughout the entire length. This
was pushed off and left behind in a crumpled form, but in picking it
up it extended uninjured to its original length, perfect from mouth
to tail. Others were reversed as far as the tail, which slipped out
‘like a sword out of its scabbard,’ as described by Mr. Bell; others
were reversed throughout the length. Sometimes they were in pieces, and
this was, I think, attributable to insufficient moisture. One did not
change after August; others changed several times during the summer; so
that there appears to be the same sort of caprice, or more probably of
unascertained causes for variable processes, in casting the cuticle as
in snakes.
‘Lizzie’s’ bibulous propensities were mentioned p. 89. In vain was she
tempted with milk, but water appeared to be almost more necessary than
food; at least, after being deprived of both, she took that first and
eagerly.
So much has been said of the burrowing habits of the slow-worms, that
I must mention a remarkable exception. Never did I see mine _ascend_,
except when attempting to escape; nor, when placed among the plants on
a flower-stand, did they ever _raise_ their head, but would work their
way downwards, clinging and holding on by their tail till they reached
the floor. Always _down_ was their instinct, even down the stairs on
several occasions; never up. But since the completion of this chapter,
some slow-worms have been deposited at the Zoological Gardens that
evince a climbing tendency; and this strikes me as being so novel a
feat that I add a line. The little creatures—one of which is of a pale
flesh-colour, almost white—live in a cage with some tree frogs, behind
the door on entering the Reptilium. Here they are, May 1882, often seen
lodged in the branches of the shrub, and reposing there at ease, as if
in quiet enjoyment. The ‘white’ one I first observed in the tree, and
subsequently others. So frequently may they be seen reposing in this
way among the leaves, that to climb seems to have become a confirmed
habit or taste; and in concluding the history of _Anguis fragilis_, I
record this singular diversity of habit as one other strong feature in
common with the giant Anaconda.
[Illustration]