I once stood by and looked on while the keeper unpacked a box of cobras. He took each one out by its tail, and dropped it into another box with such expedition that the fearful reptile had not time to turn and bite him. Not that he ventured to lower his hand into the midst of the writhing angry tangle of snakes, but first, at a respectful distance (the writer still more deferentially contemplating the transfer from afar), he, with a long-handled hook, contrived to draw out a snake tail first, and getting the tip over the edge of the box, this he seized, thus, one after the other, shifting eight of the dozen cobras. Both boxes had lids, of course—glass slides, which were cautiously but quickly drawn aside, and as sharply closed again.[136] These deadly reptiles, after being some weeks, perhaps months, in a small close box, were not, as may be supposed, in a very lively condition, but sufficiently so to erect themselves and hiss like a flock of geese, striking at the lid and the glass, and doing their best to alarm the manipulator, and also to suspend the breath of my awe-struck self. Calmly and safely, however, Holland concluded his task.
By pressing down the head with a stick, or seizing it quickly by the tail, American Indians similarly manage the rattlesnakes. Not they alone, however, are skilled in taming these deadly reptiles. Here, at home in England, domesticated Crotali are not unknown. Dr. Stradling thinks they may be rendered as harmless as non-venomous kinds, by a gradual training; and has succeeded in so far taming one that he felt safe in offering it as a gift to even an unskilled non-charmer. ‘I have a very nice tame rattlesnake between four and five feet long, in good condition and feeding well, which I shall be delighted to send you,’ he wrote me, August 1881. ‘It has got so tame that you might handle it without fear at any time you wished to investigate any part of it.’ It is perhaps superfluous to add that this amiable and exemplary reptile was gratefully declined.
The reader’s devoted servant had not undergone a course of prophylactics as the Doctor had. He is both an expert and to a certain extent venom-proof at the same time; but for all that the snake was, as he affirmed, tame enough to be handled with impunity by those who might have sufficient courage to venture. That interesting and accommodating rattlesnake is no more, but was even more honoured in death than in life. A true martyr to science, it was sacrificed that its friend and teacher might prosecute his experiments, and also swallow some of the contents of its poison gland, in order to convince two or three challenging sceptics that he could do this with impunity.[137]
As in all other trades, there are various grades among the Oriental snake-tamers. The legitimate ‘charmer’ of India—the Samp Wallah—prides himself on being a descendant of the prophet, and the secret of his art is cherished as an heirloom in his family. This also is the case in Arabia and Egypt, where the astonishing feats which, without any doubt, are performed by professional ‘snake men,’ are attributed to special and secret powers, jealously guarded from age to age. It may be possible that, like the Psylli of old, they may have recourse to some drug which renders their person repugnant to the serpent, and thus provides immunity from a bite. Not yet altogether discarded, either, is the ancient belief that in the body of the viper itself is found a specific for its poison. Since the days of Æsculapius, decoctions of vipers and recipes enough to form an Ophidian cookery-book and pharmacopeia combined, have found favour not only among the ‘faculty’ of classic days, but among all our ancestral dames. We are told that vipers abound in volatile salts that are cures for many ills. Certain it is that ‘viper wine,’ viper broth, viperine salts, the powder of dried vipers, preparations from the dejecta, the oil, and even the slough have all enjoyed a high reputation, and I believe are—some of these at any rate—still in vogue in secluded districts where the refinements of medical science have not yet replaced them. It is remarkable, too, that for skin affections their virtues chiefly commend themselves. The ancient belief that to devour vipers proved a specific for their bite, has to the present day prevailed among the snake-charmers of Egypt, who—whether or not from this practice—are said so to assimilate their bodies that the venom does not harm them. The Bushmen of South Africa, it is asserted, swallow poison to render themselves proof against its effects; and history records many other tribes who have had such confidence in their own and an inherited immunity, that they hesitated not in exposing their infants to deadly serpents. The Persian word Bezoar, a popular drug, means counter-poison; in allusion to the immunity from poison which persons who feed on venomous snakes are believed to enjoy.
Though much discredit has been thrown on these so-called ‘immunities,’ and though it is so very difficult to know what to believe where a serpent is concerned, the possibility does appear to be borne out by some authentic writers of our own time. The late John Keast Lord, when in Egypt, had frequent opportunities of observing the tricks of the jugglers; and not only he, but, as he assures us, many intelligent and educated Europeans, fully believed that some secret power was practised by the ‘high-caste’ charmers, who really did exhibit astonishing feats with their snakes. Of these, the habit of devouring the reptiles alive can here admit only of bare allusion.[138]
In Dahomey and the Dahomeans, F. E. Forbes tells of the natives walking fearlessly bare legged in the grass where snakes abound, and that on one occasion on alluding to the danger, a boy said to him: ‘No fear; if my father is bitten, he knows of an herb that will cure him.’
Another recent authority whom we are bound to respect is Schliemann. In his work Troy and its Remains, published in 1875, he writes (p. 117): ‘We still find poisonous snakes among the stones as far down as from thirty-three to thirty-six feet, and I have hitherto been astonished to see my workmen take hold of the reptiles with their hands and play with them: nay, yesterday I saw one of the men bitten twice by a viper, without seeming to trouble himself about it. When I expressed my horror, he laughed, and said that he and all his comrades knew there were a great many snakes in this hill, and they had therefore all drunk a decoction of the snake-weed, which grows in the district, and which renders the bite harmless. Of course I ordered a decoction to be brought to me, so that I also may be safe from these bites. I should, however, like to know whether this decoction would be a safeguard against the fatal effects of the bite of the hooded cobra, of which in India I have seen a man die within half an hour. If it were so, it would be a good speculation to cultivate snake-weed in India.’
A correspondent in Land and Water, signed ‘R. C.,’ quoting Schliemann, inquired the name of this snake-weed, but without eliciting information. Most of the countries in which snakes abound would seem to rejoice in ‘snake-weeds’ and ‘snake-roots.’ ‘It has pleased nature that there should be nothing without its antidote,’ said Pliny; and though ‘the faculty’ tell us that no antidote for snake venom has as yet been discovered, it nevertheless appears to be certain that the Arabs, the Nubians, Egyptians, and other nations seek to procure immunity from snake-bite by the use of certain plants, of which the Aristolochias seem to be most frequent. The juice or a decoction is drunk, the root chewed, and an infusion used for washing the skin. The South American Indians are said to be able thus to protect themselves; and we have the high authority of Humboldt in support of the theory that the famous huaco, and other poisonous plants with which they inoculate themselves, may impart an odour to their bodies which is repugnant to the snakes.
It would be well to obtain definite information as to what the ‘snake-weed’ of Schliemann was, botanically. It is also important to ascertain the species of ‘viper’ that is there so abundant; then there would be a basis for investigation. The testimony of a traveller like Schliemann is not to be disregarded. Besides him, Livingstone, P. H. Gosse, and others have affirmed the same thing, viz. the existence of antidotal plants, but which, in the hands of science, seem never to disclose their virtues!
As a part of the present subject comes a serpent’s supposed love of ‘music,’ and on this head again the evidence is contradictory. Setting aside the idea of ‘music,’ in the way of melody or harmony, we may be able to arrive at a clue to the undeniable fact that snakes do exhibit some consciousness of noise. ‘Music,’ properly so called, is certainly very far removed from the gourd-rapping and tum-tumming of the Oriental jugglers; yet the snakes display a consciousness of these uncouth sounds. Mr. Mann affirmed that Cleo and his other pet boas manifested undoubted feeling—let us call it consciousness—when the piano was being played. Dr. Arthur Stradling, on the contrary, tells us that his own snakes ‘are almost always within hearing of a piano, and never show the slightest emotion at the sound.’[139] His observations, I believe, refer chiefly to his life at sea, where his cabin did duty as concert-room, menagerie, and all else combined, and where, apart from piano, there would be ceaseless noise and jarring; or even if on shore, the ‘always’ would rather support my own theory or speculation as to any feasible solution of the fact that serpents are affected by noise, not ‘music.’ And my idea is, that it is the jarring or vibration through solids, and not the mere sound, that thus affects the snakes. Since first venturing to express this idea in the Dublin University Magazine, Jan. 1876, I have continued to observe the effect on snakes of what we may call disturbing noises. At the Gardens, where they become accustomed to noises of all kinds, it is less easy to arouse them; but when the place is unusually quiet, the experiment may be tried. The ‘snake men’ of the East, whose trade is to hunt out snakes by means of sound, effect this by rapping on the wall or ceiling, or by making loud, clucking noises with their tongue as much as by their so-called ‘music;’ and Pliny,—if we may cite Pliny to suit our purpose and discard him otherwise,—or whoever he quotes, affirms that snakes are more easily aroused by the sound of footsteps than by the sight of the approaching person. A custom is prevalent in Ceylon, we are told, of using a jingling stick in the dark to strike the ground in order to frighten snakes out of the path. The jingling ‘music’ here is disturbing, not alluring, but as regards the knocking it proves sensitiveness to vibration conveyed by the ground. The American Indians are experts in the way of ascertaining sounds as conveyed by the ground. They throw themselves prone upon the earth, pressing their ear close to it, and are able to decide with great accuracy the direction, the distance, and the nature of a far-off sound. May we not conclude, then, that the perception of sound to a serpent is through solids, a feeling more than a hearing of noises? The creature, always prone to the ground or other solids, and with an internal aural apparatus, must be peculiarly sensitive to vibrations thus conveyed.