Snakes: Curiosities and Wonders of Serpent Life

by Catherine Cooper Hopley

Lenz made many interesting experiments. In his work he gives us the result of these, and also what some other German ophiologists had seen and done. He observed how entirely the snake trusted to its tongue in any unusual circumstances; the all-important member was then in ceaseless activity. Confined in a glass jar containing wine or any liquid that the snake did not like, the tongue was ever agitated. Crawling up the side, the tongue was in constant request to feel the glass (as may be often seen at the Zoological Gardens); and on arriving at the top, the head was turned this way and that, and then bent over the edge, as if to make certain that no further obstacle existed; the tongue not for one instant quiet, but exserted sometimes as far forward as the whole length of the head, telling to its owner all that the other senses could not discover.

Permitting it to touch his hand, he felt it like the sweep of a thread, so light and delicate. Too fine and flexible to injure any surface, the slightest touch of one or both the tips suffices for intelligence. Nay, sometimes without even touching—that is, without positive contact, but by some subtle sense, it seems to act as guide.

When the snake is excited by fear or alarm, or when in a strange place, the activity of the tongue is so great, the vibrations are so rapid, that the eye cannot follow them. It is like the play of electricity.

So far from participating in deglutition, the snake withdraws the slender instrument into its sheath, which, while feeding, is safely closed. For this highly-endowed organ is so guarded against injury, that the reptile has not only a place of safety provided, but power to close the mouth of its scabbard, lest dust or other irritating particles should enter.

We have only to reflect upon and to observe the habits of snakes to perceive the importance of their tongue to them. For the most part nocturnal, winding their way under tangled masses of vegetation, often in dark caves, holes, crevices, and obscure retreats, with their eyes so placed that they can see neither before nor under them, and with other senses only feebly developed, the tongue with its sensitive papillæ feels its way, and conveys impressions to its owner.

Cats have their whiskers to help them in the dark; moles and mice have their quick sense of smell to guide them; all nocturnal animals are gifted in some manner or another, but snakes have only their tongue.

We can now imagine the helpless condition of the reptile if deprived of the tongue! Rudolph Effeldt, of whom Lenz speaks as the ‘most eminent observer of living snakes,’ found that when deprived of the tongue, they would neither eat nor drink, and, of course, died after a while. But Lenz had some snakes sent him which had been deprived of their tongues, and he observed that though for a time dull and declining, they did recover, and by and by ate as usual. From which we can only conclude that snakes, like other animals, differ in their powers of endurance. Some survive mutilation and suffering, some do not.

Another error in illustrations is to represent the tongue far extended while the mouth is wide open. Snakes very rarely open their mouths and use their tongues at the same time. Indeed, excepting to gape, the snake does not generally open its mouth; nor invariably keep it open while advancing on its prey, as illustrations often represent.

Nature has further provided for the safety of the tongue by leaving a small opening in the upper lip, or at the point of the muzzle, just where no teeth are in the way, so that the snake can use its tongue without exposing the sheath and mouth to injury. This ‘chink in the rostral shield,’ to use technical language, permits the free exit of the tongue and the independent actions of the two muscles of which it is formed, enabling the reptile to hold the two fine tips close together as one tip, while passing the tongue through the narrow chink, and to expand them afterwards.

Lenz never observed any dust or small particles adhering to the tongue; but Mr. Arthur Nicols, the author of Zoological Notes, informs me that he has noticed little fragments of rubbish cling to the tongue and carried into the mouth. Dr. Cantor also says: ‘Sea snakes make no use of the tongue while in the water, but considerable use of it as a feeler when out of the water.’ He has noticed ‘several Indian land snakes use it to bring into the mouth various small bodies, as stones, sand, twigs, which they swallow to stimulate digestion.’