In its wild state the snapping-turtle is distinctly a nocturnal animal, and does its hunting after sunset, when it emerges from its muddy home to look for food. In the presence of danger it becomes bold, defiant, and even desperate. When driven to bay it retracts its neck, head, and widely-gaping jaws into its shell, awaiting a favourable opportunity to thrust them forth slyly and bite savagely. Anything which it has seized in its jaws it holds with wonderful tenacity, at the same time vigorously scratching the earth with its sharp claws. There is only one way to catch the snapping-turtle, and that is to secure it by the tail. Some of the men at Mr. Hattori’s farm are very dexterous in seizing their victims in this fashion.
A little time ago a Russian officer visited the establishment and listened, with some incredulity, to the stories of the voracity of the reptiles in the ponds before him. He carried in his hand a stout cane, and was told to place it near one of the bigger animals. He did so, and was surprised to find that in a few minutes it was bitten clean through. Before now the snapping-turtle has been known to bite through the flat of an oar. Not only will this turtle catch all kinds of fish and frogs and devour them greedily, but it is not averse to hunting waterfowl. Mr. Hattori declares that, in addition to raising turtles, he could rear ducks and geese as well, but dare not, as the reptiles would only kill them. When a snapping-turtle detects a duck it cunningly makes its way towards the creature, seizes it by its legs, pulls it down under water, and then drags it to the bottom of the pond. Here it tears the duck to pieces with the aid of the long claws of its fore paws and devours it.
It is this snapping propensity which makes it desirable to keep the reptiles in ponds according to their ages; it would not do to put those just hatched in the same basin as the bigger ones, as they would quickly be eaten. Until they reach their sixth year they are never “mixed.” When they reach this age, however, they are capable of taking care of themselves and are allowed access to the bigger ponds. By this time the turtle has reached maturity and may begin to deposit eggs, though it is not at its prime till two or three years later.
WEST INDIAN TURTLES ON BOARD A MAIL STEAMER BOUND FOR LONDON—IN SPITE OF EVERY CARE, THE MORTALITY AMONG THEM IS VERY HEAVY.
[From a Photograph.]
What the Japanese epicure prefers are turtles not more than five years of age, when the flesh is soft and in desirable condition for the making of stews and soups. At this age the snapping-turtle weighs from sixty to eighty pounds. Those that are destined for the table are kept in a pond to themselves, and taken as required in nets or pulled out of the water by their tails. They are then placed in tin boxes or cases with air-holes, and sent by train to their destination.
The turtle that is consumed in this country is the green species, from the West Indies. The creatures are imported by Mr. T. K. Bellis, who will not hesitate to tell you that of edible turtles the green variety is the best. Mr. Bellis imports some three thousand turtles a year. They arrive in batches of one hundred or more every fortnight by the Royal Mail steamers from Kingston, Jamaica, and are obtained from the coral reefs lying to the north of the island of Jamaica. Twelve to fifteen small schooners are employed in the trade, and upwards of a hundred and twenty men.
A CONSIGNMENT OF TURTLES AT A LONDON TERMINUS.
[From a Photograph.]
These fishers of strange “fish” (the turtle’s technical name) stretch nets of twine from rock to rock, and the moment the turtle feels itself entangled it clings tenaciously to the meshes, and is then hauled to the surface. The schooners in due time return to Kingston with from eighty to a hundred and fifty of these remarkable creatures, which are promptly deposited in palisaded enclosures, flooded at every tide by the sea. Here they are fed upon a certain kind of herbage known as “turtle grass,” and taken as required. The bringing of these creatures overseas is a very delicate business, and frequently sixty out of a hundred perish en route, in spite of the most elaborate precautions, such as the constant spraying of salt water daily on board the mail steamer, and the use of foot warmers for the turtles in the railway vans from Southampton to Waterloo. Before now, Mr. Bellis has lost eighty-eight turtles out of a shipment of a hundred.