‘A BEAUTIFUL RATTLESNAKE ALIVE.
‘This exotic Animal is extremely well worthy the Observation of the Curious: Its Eyes are of great Lustre, even equal to that of a Diamond, and its Skin so exquisitely mottled and of such surpassing Beauty as baffles the Art of the most celebrated Painter: It is about five Feet long, and so sagacious, that it will rattle whenever the Keeper commands it: There is not the least cause for Fear, though it were at Liberty in the Room: but that the Ladies may be under no Apprehension on that Account, it is kept in a Glass-Case. It is very Active, and is the first ever shown alive in England.’—From The General Advertiser, LONDON, Sat., Jan. 4th, 1752.
Any ‘sagacity’ displayed in this exhibition was on the part of the keeper, who had discovered the exceeding timidity of this reptile, and had observed that it used its rattle whenever alarmed or provoked. However, the timidity answered very well for obedience, and no doubt drew many spectators.
A notable feature in the rattlesnake was its fecundity and prevalence.
This we gather from all who in the early days of American history had anything to tell us of the country and its inhabitants. Whether the subject of their pen were Topography, Indians, or Productions, a rattlesnake crept in. Collateral evidence of this kind, given with no motive for exaggeration, nor even as ‘natural history,’ may therefore be accredited.
A slaughter of rattlesnakes was as much an annual custom as the slaughter of hogs. Regularly as a crop of hay came a crop of rattlesnakes. On account of the oil manufactured from their fat, the slaughter partook also of a commercial character; but more commonly it was a war of extinction, like the battles with the Indians. Usually an annual, frequently a biennial, crusade was undertaken, the settlers being well acquainted with their habits and retreats. It was a well-known fact that, towards the close of summer, and on the first indication of frost, the reptiles returned simultaneously and in vast numbers to a favourite spot. Not only hundreds but thousands make for this winter rendezvous year after year.
Catlin, the Indian historian, tells us that near Wilkesbarre, in Pennsylvania, his birth-place, was a cavern in the mountains called Rattlesnake Den; and to this cavern the snakes made an annual pilgrimage, collecting from vast distances, no matter what obstacles were in their way. Across rivers and lakes, and up mountain sides, straight to their Den they would go, and in those unapproachable caverns lie en masse in a torpid state until aroused by the coming summer, when they would venture forth again and descend into the valleys.
These were the times for the grand battues, one of which, an event of Catlin’s boyhood, is narrated by him.
One of the first spring days, when the creatures creep out to sun themselves for only a few hours, retiring again at night, was the time chosen for the onslaught. The snakes were known to come forth from Rattlesnake Den on to a certain ledge of rock near their cavern; and a council of war was held as to the best approach and mode of attack. Ten years previously a similar war had been waged, when the reptiles had been almost exterminated; but of late so many accidents had occurred among the inhabitants through the fast-increasing serpents, that the farmers agreed to climb to the den and once more reduce their numbers. The boy Catlin was privileged to be of the party, and he was told to creep cautiously to an overhanging rock, whence he could see the reptiles sunning themselves on their ledge below. The rest of the party stood in readiness, club in hand. At a signal young Catlin fired a fowling-piece into their midst. There was a knot of them ‘like a huge mat wound and twisted and interlocked together, with all their heads like scores of hydras standing up from the mass.’ Into this horrible cluster he ‘let fly,’ when the party, rushing with their clubs, broke the spine of hundreds by a single blow to each, while hundreds more were saving themselves by a quick return to their den.