SNAKE-LORE--SNAKES SWALLOWING FROGS--SWIMMING--FOND OF MILK--TRAPPING
SNAKES--FROGS CLIMBING--TOADS IN TREES--THE BROOK--THE HATCH--
KINGFISHERS' HAUNTS.
There are three kinds of snakes, according to the cottage people--
namely, water snakes, grass snakes, and black snakes. The first
frequent the brooks, ponds, and withy-beds; the second live in the
mounds and hedges, and go out into the grass to find their prey; the
third are so distinguished because of a darker colour. The cottage
people should know, as they see so many during the summer; but they have
simply given the same snake a different name because they notice it in
different places. The common snake is, in fact, partial to the water,
and takes to it readily. It does, however, seem to be correct that some
individuals are of a blacker hue than the rest, and so have been
supposed to constitute a distinct kind.
These creatures, like every other, have their favourite localities; and,
while you may search whole fields in vain, along one single dry sandy
bank you may sometimes find half a dozen, and they haunt the same spot
year after year. So soon as the violets push up and open their
sweet-scented flowers under the first warm gleams of the spring
sunshine, the snake ventures forth from his hole to bask on the south
side of the bank. In looking for violets it is not unusual to hear a
rustling of the dead leaves that still strew the ground, and to see the
pointed tail of a snake being dragged after him under cover.
In February there are sometimes a few days of warm weather (about the
last week), and a solitary snake may perhaps chance to crawl forth; but
they are not generally visible till later, and, if it be a cold spring,
remain torpid till the wind changes. When the hedges have grown green,
and the sun, rising higher in the sky, raises the temperature, even
though clouds be passing over, the snakes appear regularly, but even
then not till the sun has been up some hours. Later on they may
occasionally be found coiled up in a circle two together on the bank.
In the summer some of them appear of great thickness--almost as big
round as the wrist. These are the females, and are about to deposit
their eggs. They may usually be noticed close to cow-yards. The cattle
in summer graze in the fields and the sheds are empty; but there are
large manure-heaps overgrown with weeds, and in these the snakes' eggs
are left. Rabbits are fond of visiting these cow-yards--many of which
are at a distance from the farmstead--and sometimes bring forth a litter
there.
When the mowers have laid the tall grass in swathes snakes are often
found on them or under them by the haymakers, whose prongs or forks
throw the grass about to expose a large surface to the sun. The
haymakers kill them without mercy, and numbers thus meet with their
fate. They vary very much in size--from eighteen inches to three feet
in length. I have seen specimens which could not have been less than
four feet long, and as thick as a rake-handle. That would be an
exceptional case, but not; altogether rare. The labourers will tell you
of much larger snakes, but I never saw one.
There is no subject, indeed, upon which they make such extraordinary
statements, evidently believing what they say, as about snakes. A man
told me once that he had been pursued by a snake, which rushed after him
at such a speed that he could barely escape; the snake not only glided
but actually leaped over the ground. Now this must have been pure
imagination: he fancied he saw an adder, and fled, and in his terror
thought himself pursued. They constantly state that they have seen
adders; but I am confident that no viper exists in this district, nor
for some miles round. That they do elsewhere of course is well known,
but not here; neither is the slow-worm ever seen.
The belief that snakes can jump--or coil themselves up and spring--is,
however, very prevalent. They all tell you that a snake can leap across
a ditch. This is not true. A snake, if alarmed, will make for the
hedge; and he glides much faster than would be supposed. On reaching
the `shore' or edge of the ditch he projects his head over it, and some
six or eight inches of the neck, while the rest of the body slides down
the slope. If it happens to be a steep-sided ditch he often loses his
balance and rolls to the bottom; and that is what has been mistaken for
leaping. As he rises up the mound he follows a zigzag course, and
presently enters some small hole or a cavity in a decaying stole. After
creeping in some distance he often meets with an obstruction, and has to
remain half in and half out till he can force his way. He usually takes
possession of a mouse-hole, and does not seem to be able to enlarge it
for additional convenience. If you put your stick on his head as he
slips through the grass his body rolls and twists, and almost ties
itself in a knot.
I have never been able to find a snake in the actual process of
divesting his body of the old skin, but have several times disturbed
them from a bunch of grass and found the slough in it. There was an old
wall, very low and somewhat ruinous, much overgrown with barley-like
grasses, where I found a slough several times in succession, as if it
had been a favourite resort for the purpose. The slough is a pale
colour--there is no trace on it of the snake's natural hue, and it has
when fresh an appearance as if varnished--meaning not the brown colour
of varnish, but the smoothness. A thin transparent film represents the
eyes, so that the country folk say the snake skins his own eyes.
A forked stick is the best thing to catch a snake with: the fork pins
the head to the ground without doing any injury. If held up by the
tail--that is the way the country lads carry them--the snake will not
let its head hang down, but holds it up as far as possible: he does not,
however, seem able to crawl up himself, so to say; he is helpless in
that position. If he is allowed to touch the arm he immediately coils
round it. A snake is sometimes found on the roofs of cottages. The
roof in such cases is low, and connected by a mass of ivy with the
ground, overgrown too with moss and weeds.
The mowers, who sleep a good deal under the hedges, have a tradition
that a snake will sometimes crawl down a man's throat if he sleeps on
the ground with his mouth open. There is also a superstition among the
haymakers of snakes having been bred in the stomachs of human beings,
from drinking out of ponds or streams frequented by water snakes. Such
snakes--green, and in every respect like the field snake--have,
according to them, been vomited by the unfortunate persons afflicted
with this strange calamity. It is curious to note in connection with
this superstition the ignorance of the real habits of these creatures
exhibited by people whose whole lives are spent in the fields and by the
hedges.
Now and then a peculiar squealing sound may be heard proceeding from the
grass; on looking about it is found to be made by a frog in the
extremity of mortal terror. A snake has seized one of his hind legs and
has already swallowed a large part of it. The frog struggles and
squeals, but it is in vain; the snake, if once he takes hold, will
gradually get him down. I have several times released frogs from this
horrible position; they hop off apparently unhurt if only the leg has
been swallowed. But on one occasion I found a frog quite half gone down
the throat of its dread persecutor: I compelled the snake to disgorge
it, but the frog died soon afterwards. The frog being a broad creature,
wide across the back--at least twice the width of the snake--it appears
surprising how the snake can absorb so large a thing.
In the nesting season snakes are the terror of those birds that build in
low bushes. I have never seen a snake in a tree (though I have heard of
their getting up trees), but I have seen them in hawthorn bushes several
feet from the ground, and apparently proceeding along the boughs with
ease. I once found one in a bird's nest: the nest was empty--the snake
had doubtless had a feast, and was enjoying deglutition. In some places
where snakes are numerous, boys when bird's-nesting always give the nest
a gentle thrust with a stick first before putting the hand in, lest they
should grasp a snake instead of eggs. The snake is also accused of
breaking and sucking eggs--some say it is the hard-set eggs he prefers;
whether that be so or no, eggs are certainly often found broken and the
yolk gone. When the young fledglings fall out of the nest on to the
ground they run great risk from snakes.
When sitting in a punt in summer, moored a hundred yards or more from
shore, I have often watched a snake swim across the lake, in that place
about 300 yards wide. In the distance all that is visible is a small
black spot moving steadily over the water. This is the snake's head,
which he holds above the surface, and which vibrates a little from side
to side with the exertions of the muscular body. As he comes nearer a
slight swell undulates on each side, marking his progress. Snakes never
seem to venture so far from shore except when it is perfectly calm. The
movement of the body is exactly the same as on land--the snake glides
over the surface, the bends of its body seeming to act like a screw.
They go at a good pace, and with the greatest apparent ease. In walking
beside the meadow brooks, not everywhere, but in localities where these
reptiles are common, every now and then you may see a snake strike off
from the shore and swim across, twining in and out the stems of the
green flags till he reaches the aquatic grass on the mud and disappears
among it.
One warm summer's day I sat down on the sward under an oak, and leaned
my gun against it, intending to watch the movements of a pair of
woodpeckers who had young close by. But the drowsy warmth induced
slumber, and on waking--probably after the lapse of some time--I found a
snake coiled on the grass under one of my legs. I kept perfectly still,
being curious to see what the snake would do. He watched me with his
keen eyes as closely as I watched him. So long as there was absolute
stillness, he remained; the moment I moved, out shot his forked black
tongue, and away he went into the ditch as rapidly as possible.
Some country people say they can ascertain if a hedge is frequented by
snakes, by a peculiar smell: it is certain that if one is killed,
especially if worried by a dog, there is an unpleasant odour. That they
lie torpid during the winter is generally understood; but though I have
kept an eye on the grubbing of many hedges for the purpose of observing
what was found, I never saw a snake disturbed from his winter sleep.
But that may be accounted for by their taking alarm at the jar and
vibration of the earth under the strokes of the axe at the tough roots
of thorn stoles and ash, and so getting away. Besides which it is
likely enough that these particular hedges may not have been favourite
localities with them. They are said to eat mice, and to enter dairies
sometimes for the milk spilt on the flagstones of the floor. [Note 1.]
They may often be found in the furrows in the meadows, which act as
surface drains and are damp.
Frogs have some power of climbing. I have found them on the roofs of
outhouses which were covered with ivy; they must have got up the ivy.
Their toes are, indeed, to a certain degree prehensile, and they can
cling with them. They sometimes make a low sound while in the ivy on
such roofs; to my ear it sounds like a hoarse `coo.' Cats occasionally
catch frogs by the leg, and torment them, letting the creature go only
to seize it again, and finally devouring it. The wretched creature
squeals with pain and terror exactly as when caught by a snake.
No surer sign of coming rain than the appearance of the toad on the
garden paths is known. Many cottage folk will still tell you that the
hundreds and hundreds of tiny frogs which may sometimes be seen quite
covering the ground fall from the sky, notwithstanding the fact that
they do not appear during the rain, but a short time afterwards. And
there are certain places where such crowds of these creatures may be
oftener found than elsewhere. I knew one such place; it was a gateway
where the clayey soil for some way round the approach had been trampled
firm by the horses and cattle. This gateway was close to a slowly
running brook, so slow as to be all but stagnant. Here I have seen
legions of them on several occasions, all crowding on the ground worn
bare of grass, as if they preferred that to the herbage.
Newts seem to prefer stagnant or nearly stagnant ponds, and are rarely
seen in running water. Claypits from whence clay has been dug for
brickmaking, and which are now full of water, are often frequented by
them, as also by frogs in almost innumerable numbers in spring, when
their croaking can be heard fifty yards away when it is still.
Labourers say that sometimes in grubbing out the butt of an old tree--
previously sawn down--they have found a toad in a cavity of the solid
wood, and look upon it as a great wonder. But such old trees are often
hollow at the bottom, and the hollows communicate with the ditch, so
that the toad probably had no difficulty of access. The belief in the
venom of the toad is still current, and some will tell you that they
have had sore places on their hands from having accidentally touched
one.
They say, too, that an irritated snake, if it cannot escape, will strike
at the hand and bite, though harmless. Snakes will, indeed, twist round
a threatening stick; and, as it is evidently a motion induced by anger,
the question arises whether they have some power of constriction. If
so, it is slight. In summer a few snakes may always be found by the
stream that runs through the fields near Wick Farm.
This brook, like many others, in its downward course is checked at
irregular intervals by hatches, built for the purpose of forcing water
out into the meadows, or up to ponds at some distance from the stream at
which the cattle in the sheds drink. Sometimes the water is thus led up
to a farmstead; sometimes the farmstead is situate on the very banks of
the brook, and the hatch is within a few yards. Besides the moveable
hatches, the stream in many places is crossed by bays (formed of piles
and clay), which either irrigate adjacent meads or keep the water in
ponds at a convenient level.
A lonely moss-grown hatch, which stands in a quiet shady corner not far
from the lake, is a favourite resort of the kingfishers. Though these
brilliantly coloured birds may often be seen skimming across the surface
of the mere, they seem to obtain more food from the brooks and ponds
than from the broader expanse of water above. In the brooks they find
overhanging branches upon which to perch and watch for their prey, and
without which they can do nothing. In the lake the only places where
such boughs can be found are the shallow stretches where the bottom is
entirely mud, and where the water is almost hidden by weeds. Willows
grow there in great quantities, and some of their branches may be
available; but then the water is hidden by weeds; and, being muddy at
bottom, is not frequented by those shoals of roach the kingfisher
delights to watch. So that the best places to look for this bird are on
the streams which feed the mere (especially just where they enter it,
for there the fish often assemble) and the streams that issue forth, not
far from the main water.
This old hatch--it is so old and rotten that it is a little dangerous to
cross it--is situate in the latter position, on the effluent, and is
almost hidden among trees and bushes. Several hedges there meet, and
form a small cover, in the midst of which flows the dark brook; but do
not go near carelessly, for the bank is undermined by the water itself
and by the water-rats, while the real edge is concealed by long coarse
grasses. These water-rats are for ever endangering the bay: they bore
their holes at the side through the bank from above and emerge below the
hatch. Out of one such hole the water is now rushing, and if it is not
soon stopped will wear away the soil and escape in such quantities as to
lower the level behind the hatch. These little beaver-like creatures
are not, therefore, welcome near hatches and dams.
If you approach the cover quietly and step over the decayed pole that
has been placed to close a gap, by carefully parting the bushes the
kingfisher may be seen in his favourite position. The old pole must not
be pressed in getting over it, or the willow `bonds' or withes with
which it is fastened to a tree each side of the gap will creak, and the
pole itself may crack, and so alarm the bird. The kingfisher perches on
the narrow rail that crosses the hatch about two feet above the water.
Another perch to which he removes now and then is formed by a branch,
dead and leafless, which projects across a corner of the bubbling pool
below. He prefers a rail or a dead branch, because it gives him a
clearer view and better facilities for diving and snatching up his prey
as it swims underneath him. His azure back and wings and ruddy breast
are not equalled in beauty of colour by any bird native to this country.
The long pointed beak looks half as long as the whole bird: his shape
is somewhat wedge-like, enlarging gradually from the point of the beak
backwards. The cock bird has the brightest tints.
In this pool scooped out by the falling water swim roach, perch, and
sticklebacks, and sometimes a jack; but the jack usually abides near the
edge out of the swirl. Roach are here the kingfisher's most common
prey. He chooses those about four inches long by preference, and `daps'
on them the moment they come near enough to the surface. But he will
occasionally land a much larger fish, perhaps almost twice the size, and
will carry it to some distance, being remarkably powerful on the wing
for so small a bird. The fish is held across the beak, but in flying it
sometimes seems to be held almost vertically; and if that is really the
case, and not an illusion caused by the swiftness of the flight, the
bird must carry its head then a little on one side. If he is only
fishing for his own eating, he does not carry his prey farther than a
clear place on the bank. A terrace made by the runs of the water-rat is
a common table for him, or the path leading to the hatch where it is
worn smooth and bare by footsteps. But he prefers to devour his fish
either close to the water or in a somewhat open place, and not too near
bushes; because while thus on the ground he is not safe. When feeding
his young he will carry a fish apparently as long as himself a
considerable distance.
One summer I went several days in succession to a hedge two fields
distant from the nearest brook, and hid on the mound with a gun. I had
not been there long before a kingfisher flew past, keeping just dear of
the hedge, but low down and close under the boughs of the trees, and
going in a direction which would not lead to a brook or pond. This
seemed curious; but presently he came back again, uttering the long
whistle which is his peculiar note. About an hour, perhaps less,
elapsed when he returned again, this time carrying something in his beak
that gleamed white and silvery in the sun--a fish. The next day it was
the same, and the next. The kingfisher, or rather two of them, went
continually to and fro, and it was astonishing what a number of fish
they took. Never more than an hour, often less, elapsed without one or
other going by. The fish varied much in size, sometimes being very
small.
They had a nest, of course, somewhere; but being under the idea that
they always built near brooks or in the high banks often seen at the
back of ponds, it was difficult for me to imagine where the nest could
be. To all appearance they flew straight through a small opening in
another hedge, at the corner of the two in fact, about two hundred yards
distant. Presently it occurred to me that this might be an illusion,
that the birds did not really pass through the hedge, but had a nest
somewhere in that corner.
Just in the very angle was an old disused sawpit, formed by enlarging
the ditch, and made some years before for the temporary convenience of
sawing up a few heavy `sticks' of timber that were thrown thereabouts.
The sawpit, to prevent accidents to cattle, was roughly covered over
with slabs of wood, which practically roofed it in, and of course
darkened the interior. It was in this sawpit that the kingfishers had
their nest in what appeared to be a hole partly excavated by a rabbit.
The distance from the hatch and brook was about 400 yards, so that the
parent birds had to carry the fish they captured nearly a quarter of a
mile. The sawpit, too, was close to a lane used a good deal, though
sheltered by a thick hedge from the observation of those who passed.
In another case I knew of, the kingfishers built in a mound overhanging
a small stagnant and muddy pond, in which there were no fish, and which
was within twenty paces of a farmhouse. The house was situate on a hill
about three hundred yards from the nearest running stream. This little
pond was full in wet weather only, and was constantly used by the
horses, the cattle in the field that came almost up to the door, and by
the tame ducks. Beside the pond was a wood-pile, and persons were
constantly passing it to and fro. Yet the kingfishers built there and
reared their young; and this not only for one season, but for several
years in succession. They had to bring all the fish they captured up
from the brook, over the garden, and to pass close to the house. Why
they should choose such a place is not easily explained, seeing that so
many apparently more suitable localities were open to them along the
course of the stream.
One summer I found a family of four young kingfishers perched in a row
on a dead branch crossing a brook which ran for some distance beside a
double-mound hedge. There was a hatch just there too, forcing the water
into two ponds, one each side of the mound. The brook had worn itself a
deep channel, and so required a hatch to bring it up to a level
convenient for cattle. I had known for some time that there was a nest
in that mound from the continued presence of the two old birds; but
could not find it. But when the young could fly a little they appeared
on this branch projecting almost over the falling water, and there they
took up their station day after day. Every now and then the parents
came with small fish, which they caught farther down the brook, for just
in that place there were only a few perch and perhaps a tench or two.
The colours are much less brilliant on the young birds, and they do not
obtain the deep rich hues of their parents until the following spring.
I have shot many young birds in the winter; they are by that time much
improved in colour, but may be distinguished without difficulty from the
full-grown bird.
Though so swift, the kingfisher is comparatively easy to shoot, because
he flies as straight as an arrow; and if you can get clear of bushes or
willow pollards he may be dropped without trouble. When disturbed the
kingfisher almost invariably flies off in one favourite direction; and
this habit has often proved fatal to him, because the sportsman knows
exactly which way to look, and carries his gun prepared. Wherever the
kingfisher's haunt may be, he will be found upon observation to leave it
nearly always in the same direction day after day. He is, indeed, a
bird with fixed habits, though apparently wandering aimlessly along the
streams. I soon found it possible to predict beforehand in which haunt
a kingfisher would be discovered at any time.
By noting the places frequented by these birds you know where the shoals
of small fish lie, and may supply yourself with bait for larger fish.
Often one of those great hawthorn bushes that hang over a brook is a
favourite spot. The roots of trees and bushes loosen the soil, and
deeper holes are often found under them than elsewhere, to which the
fish resort. These hawthorn bushes, though thick and impenetrable
above, are more open below just over the water; and there the kingfisher
perches, and has also the advantage of being completely hidden from
observation: if he only remained still in such places he would escape
notice altogether. When passing such a bush on the _qui vive_ for
snipe, how many times have I seen a brilliant streak of azure shoot out
from the lower branches and watched a kingfisher skim across the meadow,
rising with a piping whistle over the distant hedge! Near millponds is
a favourite place with these birds.
To that hatch which stands on the effluent brook not far from the mere a
coot or two comes now and then at night or in the early morning. These
birds, being accused of devouring the young fry, are killed whenever
they are met, and their eggs taken in order to prevent their increase;
that is, of course, where the water is carefully preserved. Here they
are not so persistently hunted. I have seen coots, and moorhens too,
venture some distance up the dark arch of a culvert. Moorhens are fond
of bridges and frequently feed under them. When alarmed, after diving,
the moorhen does not always come right up to the surface, but merely
protrudes its head to breathe.
One day I startled a moorhen in a shallow pond; instantly the bird
dived, and I watched to see where it would come up, knowing that the
moorhen cannot stay long under water, while there chanced to be scarcely
any bushes or cover round the edge. After waiting some time, and
wondering what had become of the bird, I fancied I saw some duckweed
slightly agitated. Looking more carefully, it seemed as if there was
something very small moving now and then just there--the spot was not
more than fifteen yards distant. It was as if the beak of a bird, the
body and most of the head quite hidden and under water, were picking or
feeding among the duckweed. This continued for some few minutes, when I
shot at the spot, and immediately a moorhen rose to the surface. As the
pond was very shallow the bird must have stood on the bottom, and so
resumed its feeding with the beak just above the surface.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. An extraordinary instance of this has been very kindly
communicated to me by the writer of the following letter:--
"Kingston Vicarage, Wareham, Dorset, October 27, 1878.
"Dear Sir--_Apropos_ of your reference to the notion that snakes drink
milk, I think it may interest you to hear of a curious instance of this
which occurred near here about three months ago. At Kingswood, the home
farm of Kempstone (Mr J.H. Calcraft's place, near Corfe Castle), the
dairyman noticed that something seemed to enter the dairy through a hole
in the wall and take the milk. Thinking it was a mouse or rat, he set a
common gin at the hole, and caught a snake every day until he had caught
seventeen! Mr Calcraft would corroborate this. My informant is Mr
Bankes, rector of Corfe Castle, who heard it from the dairyman himself.
"Faithfully yours,
"S.C. Spencer Smith."