The cobra loves music; and it is upon these serpents especially that the snake-charmers like to show their skill. They take them about, coiled up in baskets. When the performance is to begin, the lid of the basket is opened, and the charmer, seated on the ground, begins to play upon his pipe. Instantly the beautiful snake lifts its head, expands its hood—a loose skin about the neck which it makes large or small at pleasure—and creeps out, waving its body gracefully while the music lasts, and when it ceases, dropping down again into the basket.
Some people have power to charm serpents; I have read a story of a man who, by his music cleared a house of the snakes which infested it; having got into the empty rooms, and hidden themselves in the crevices in the walls. It was a strange sight to see them creep from their hiding-places at the sound of the pipe; but sometimes serpents are deaf both to the voice and music of the charmer—"like the deaf adder that stoppeth her ear; which will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely" to which David compares the wicked.
Since the bite of the cobra is so deadly, it is well that travellers are not likely to meet it; for in the day-time it sleeps in the depths of the forest, gliding silently out at night in search of food. The bold naturalist, of whose alligator-ride you have heard, says that he never saw any snake pursue a retreating prey; so that when a man, threading the mazes of a forest, sees a serpent gliding towards him, he has but to turn into a side path, and be safe. But if a snake is trodden upon, or otherwise roused to anger, it will dart forward upon its enemy, in self-defence; also, if one of the enormous snakes comes upon a man, it may seize him before he has time to run away. Waterton, however, did not know what fear was; and instead of being paralysed with terror at the sight of serpents, once [Footnote: Life of Charles Waterton, p. 55.] caught a large one, the "Bush master," and holding it by the throat so as to make it impossible for it to bite, walked home with its folds coiled round him. He showed his courage at another time quite as much by rescuing a little bird out of the very mouth of a snake in a tree, as by the famous alligator exploit.
[Illustration: RATTLESNAKE.]
The Rattlesnake of South America takes its name from its warning rattle, a sound made by some loose bones at the end of its tail, which knock together when it moves, and so give fair warning of such a dangerous foe being in the neighbourhood. Its bite has been known to cause death in two minutes, and when it does not kill immediately, it produces a dreadful burning feeling all over the body. Horses and dogs show very great terror if they see these snakes; but the country folk are not so much afraid of them as you would expect, for they know that it is the habit of the Rattlesnake to glide away at the sound of footsteps, and as long as the warning sound is heard, they feel safe. If the rattle is silent, it means danger, for the snake is about to spring.
A Frenchman tells us that he once disturbed a mother rattlesnake, and saw it coil itself up, open its mouth wide, and allow the five little ones which were lying beside it to glide in, and hide themselves there. He was very much interested, and waited behind a tree to see what would happen next. In about a quarter of an hour he saw the little snakes come out again; but when he once more showed himself, they hid as before, and the mother quickly glided out of sight.
The Puff-adder of Africa, when roused, will breathe in air and puff itself out to an extraordinary extent. Being, like all these cold-blooded creatures, very fond of warmth, it often comes at night to fires made by herdsmen or travellers; and so it happened that a traveller in South Africa, sleeping soundly one night beside the fire, wrapped in his cloak, was awakened by a weight on his chest, and found to his horror that a puff-adder had coiled itself up inside his shirt. His first thought was to seize the unwelcome visitor and throw it from him, but remembering that it probably would only injure him if disturbed, he had the presence of mind to let it remain in the warm nest it had found for itself, until, roused by a light, it slowly uncoiled itself and crept away.
Of the serpents which are dreaded—not for their bite, for they have no poison-fangs—but for their great strength and daring, and for the way in which they coil round their victims, crushing them to death in their terrible embrace—the most dangerous are the Python of the Old World, and the Boa-constrictor of the New.
In one respect all serpents are boa-constrictors, for a very small one has been seen in the act of thus crushing a bird; but the great boa which inhabits tropical America is a giant, which has been known to swallow even a buffalo whole, after it has crushed it to mummy, and broken all its bones. Boas can swim and climb; they will catch fish as they come near the surface of the water, and drag them ashore; or hang by their tails from some forest tree, and thus lie in wait to seize any animal which may be passing. They are now very shy of men, and not much feared by them; but these great snakes used to be worshipped as gods by the people of Mexico, and some of their serpent-idols have been found in ancient temples—showing how much they were once dreaded; for it is the habit of men to worship what they greatly fear.
The Python, a snake very like the boa, is an object of horror to the people of South Africa; yet they are unwilling to destroy it, because they believe it has an awful power, and say that no one has ever been known to injure a python, without being severely punished in some mysterious way. I have read an account of an adventure which a Dutchman had with one of these serpents, which I must tell you, because of the part played in it by his little dog. You shall have the story in his own words:—"I had in my cabin a large and strong cage, enclosing a python of considerable size, but which appeared to be dull and inanimate. We were lying off the coast of Borneo, where I was detained for some days. When I came again on board, I had not taken many steps before my little dog seized me by the trousers and endeavoured to hold me fast. I shook him off and proceeded, when the dog seized me again, and I again roughly forced him from me. At this juncture my attention was directed to several hatchet-marks on the deck, and I instantly inquired the meaning. The answer was, 'The snake, sir! the snake is loose!' And so it proved. The reptile had cast his slough, and assumed with renewed beauty all its natural energy. It had forced itself out of the cage, and after doing some damage below, found its way to the deck, spreading consternation among the men; by whom, as it appeared, it had been slightly wounded, hatchets having been used for its destruction. Hence the marks on the deck, and hence the fear of the dog, and its anxiety to detain me from advancing into danger.