PERHAPS in no other branch of natural history has such a degree of interest been awakened during the last decade, and such an advance made as in ophiology. The result of a spirit of inquiry thus set afloat is that information is being continually elicited from travellers and observers. Those who now entertain predilections for this branch of science, will many of them admit that whatever interest they feel in the subject has been of a comparatively recent date; that since they have at all studied snake nature, they have repeatedly had to combat with preconceived notions. Again and again they have been ‘surprised to learn that so-and-so’—some now established fact, perhaps—is the case, when they had ‘always thought’—probably something quite the contrary.
This has been frequently verified in my own experience in my correspondence with really scholarly men, who have generously admitted as much. Not a few, during my ten years’ study of the Ophidia, have traced their interest in snakes to my own enthusiasm. Preconceived errors are not to be wondered at when we consider that, apart from scientific works, so much that has been related of serpents has been mingled with prejudice, fable, and tradition, clouding our intelligence at the very outset. Nor need we hesitate in admitting our misconceptions, when we find scientific men themselves devoting page after page to a mooted question, and after all, sometimes venturing to sum up a given subject with a modest doubt only. (Would that the less scientific writers were equally cautious in their statements!) Whether snakes drink, and what they drink, have been among these debated questions.
Those who possess a love for natural history are, of course, acquainted with the works of the eminent naturalist, Dr. Thomas Bell, on our native fauna; and those who admit their interest in the much-maligned snakes have included in their studies his British Reptiles.[14] In one portion of that work, where science is so charmingly blended with personal observations, we are carried on to the heaths and commons to watch our pretty little agile lizards skim across the grass, and flit away with legs too fleet for us to follow them.
We linger on the banks of a stream where a ring snake lies in wait for a frog; and then we are conducted into Mr. Bell’s study, where the same harmless creature, now tamed, is nestling in his sleeve, or lapping milk from his hand.
Most of my readers also, whether naturalists or not, are familiar with some of the numerous works on India, its creeds, customs, and superstitions, where mention is so frequently made of cobra-worship, and of the natives setting saucers of milk near its hole to conciliate and propitiate the serpent. Familiar to us all, too, is the picture of a little child with a bowl of milk on its lap, and a snake receiving a tap with the spoon to check the too greedy intrusion of its head into the bowl, but into which, according to the story, it had been accustomed and permitted to dip its tongue. Some persons place that story in Wales; others, and with better reason, trace it to New England. The child and its surroundings, the size of the snake, all justify this latter belief, and that the intruder is the notorious milk-stealer so common in the United States, the ‘black snake,’ or Racer (introduced p. 64).
In the face of these well-known facts, it may seem strange to propose the question, ‘Do snakes ever drink?’ and still stranger to affirm that this was lately a disputed point among some of our scientific writers. ‘On s’ignore,’ says Schlegel, ‘si les serpents boivent, et s’il est juste d’opiner pour la negative; toutefois on n’a jamais aperçu des fluides dans ceux dont on a examiné l’estomac.’[15]
Schlegel, when he wrote, had not the benefit of Mr. Bell’s experience, and as a foreigner, probably he had not read Jesse’s Gleanings nor White’s Selborne; nor, as a scientific student, had he time to bestow on promiscuous works on India, which, by the way, were not so numerous then as now. But there are several well-known milk-drinking snakes in America which had been described by writers prior to Schlegel. This learned author, however, puts down the milk-loving snakes among the ‘fables’ and ‘prejudices;’ and, as we have seen, dismissed the water-drinkers with a doubt.
Mr. Bell’s work has enjoyed upwards of thirty years’ popularity, and his milk-drinking pet has been quoted by scores of writers of both adult and juvenile books. Thomas Bell, F.L.S., F.G.S., was secretary to the Royal Society; Professor of Zoology of King’s College, London; and one of the Council of the Zoological Society of London. He was also a ‘corresponding member’ of the learned societies of Paris and Philadelphia, and of the Boston Society of Natural History.
As a gentleman of widely recognised learning and veracity, therefore, it may be considered that Mr. Bell, and with good reason, entertained no doubt whatever as to snakes drinking, and also drinking milk. Mr. Bell, moreover, had known of the celebrated python at Paris (see chap. xxiv.), which in 1841 evinced a thirstiness that has become historical in all zoological annals. The circumstance was fully recorded by M. Valenciennes at the time; when a no less distinguished ophiologist than M. Dumeril,[16] Professeur d’Erpétologie au Musée à Paris, was especially appointed to the management of the reptile department there. That very distinguished ophidian lady, the python, need be referred to here only as regards the drinking question, the rest of her history coming in its place in this book. It will be remembered that she laid eggs, and to the surprise of all, coiled herself upon them to hatch them. ‘Pendant tout le temps d’incubation la femelle n’a pas voulu manger’ (she began to incubate on the 6th May); ‘mais le 25e de mai, après vingt jours de couvaison, son gardien, Vallée, homme très soigneux et très intelligent, la voyant plus inquiète que de coutume, remeuée la tête, et lui présenta de l’eau dans un petit basin; elle y plongea le bout de son museau, et l’animal en but avec avidité environs de deux verres. Elle a ensuite bu quatre fois pendant le reste du temps de sa couvaison: le 4 juin, 13, 19, 26.’ (Her eggs began to hatch early in July.)