Report Real Sea-Serpent

1905

Rudyard Kipling has seen his second sea serpent, according to a story which comes with some seriousness from Cape Town. People who read Kipling's first sea-serpent story thought it was merely a brilliant piece of fiction. This second sea serpent story is not told by Kipling, but by the skipper of the steamship Armadale Castle. The sea serpent was seen — in fact, it was struck by the ship and probably killed — while the Armadale Castle was on her last voyage to Cape Town, in latitude 3 degrees south. Mr. Kipling was aboard the ship.

Commander Robinson is not sure whether the creature struck was a real sea serpent, a queer whale or a greatly overgrown shark. Whatever it was, the thing was hit by the bow or the ship where, in all properly regulated fishes, the pectoral fin exists. The head was doubled across the port bow and the tail trailed away along the starboard side. The violent struggles of the creature to free itself from its painful and embarrassing position led to its striking the soft brown paint of the "boot-topping" on the ship's side with the powerful fluke of its tail.

This was observed by the boatswain and some of the men who were watching the affair through the side ports immediately over the tail of the fish. The marks enabled the commander afterward to make fairly accurate measurements. From mark to stem it was forty-five feet. In girth it was apparently about the volume of one of the ship's lifeboats at the broadest part, say eight feet in diameter, very gracefully tapering away toward the tail. The body appeared to be of a greenish-brown color with large dark spots all over the back and sides, the lower parts being of a dull white.

It was first observed by one of the seamen, who heard a knocking against the ship's side. When the news was passed along the decks all the passengers, young and old. performed a mad stampede into the forecastle to look at the unhappy prisoner. The engines were stopped as soon as possible and reversed, but fully a quarter of an hour elapsed between the first discovery and the final clearance, by which time the creature was either dead or completely exhausted, for it sank slowly, tail first.

The Fear of Snakes

1893

Why Many Children and Some Grown Persons Dislike Them

There are many authenticated instances of children becoming attached to snakes and making pets of them. The solution of a question of this kind is sometimes to be found in the child mind. My experience is that when young children see this creature, its strange appearance and manner of progression, so unlike those of other animals known to them, it affects them with amazement and a sense of mystery and that they fear it just as they would fear any other strange thing. Monkeys are doubtless affected in much the same way, although in a state of nature, where they inhabit forests abounding with the larger constrictors and venomous tree snakes, it is highly probable that they also possess a traditional fear of the serpent form. It would be strange if they did not.

The experiment of presenting a caged monkey with a serpent carefully wrapped up in a newspaper and watching his behavior when he gravely opens the parcel, expecting to find nothing more wonderful than the familiar sponge cake or succulent banana — well, such an experiment has been recorded in half a hundred important scientific works, and out of respect to one's masters one ought to endeavor not to smile when reading it. A third view might be taken which would account for our feeling toward the serpent without either instinct or tradition. Extreme fear of all ophidians might simply result from a vague knowledge of the fact that some kinds are venomous; that, in some rare cases, death follows swiftly on their bite; and that, not being sufficiently intelligent to distinguish the noxious from the innocuous — at all events while, under the domination of a sudden, violent emotion — we destroy them all alike, thus adopting Herod's rough and ready method of ridding his city of one inconvenient baby by a general slaughter of innocents.

It might be objected that in Europe, where animosity to the serpent is greatest, death from snake bite is hardly to be feared; that Fontana's 6,000 experiments with the viper, showing how small is the amount of venom possessed by this species, how rarely it has the power to destroy human life, have been before the world for a century. And although it must be admitted that Fontana's work is not in the hand of every peasant, the fact remains that death from snake bite is a rare thing in Europe, probably not more than one losing his life from this cause for every 250 who perish by hydrophobia, of all forms of death the most terrible. Yet while the sight of a snake excites in a majority of persons the most violent emotions, dogs are universal favorites, and we have them always with us and make pets of them in spite of the knowledge that they may at any time become rabid and inflict that unspeakably dreadful suffering and destruction on us.

This leads to the following question: is it not at least probable that our excessive fear of the serpent, so unworthy of us as rational beings, and the cause of so much unnecessary cruelty, is partly at all events, a result of our superstitious fear of sudden death? For there exists, we know, an exceedingly widespread delusion that the bite of a venomous serpent must kill and kill quickly. Compared with such ophidian monarchs as the bushmaster, fer de lance, hamadryad and tio polonga, the viper of Europe — the poor viper of many experiments and much (not too readable) literature — may be regarded as almost harmless — at all events not more harmful than the hornet. Nevertheless, in this cold, northern world, even as in the other worlds where nature elaborates more potent juices, the delusion prevails and may be taken into account here, although its origin cannot now be discussed. For my own part I am inclined to believe that we regard serpents with a destructive hatred purely and simply because we are so taught from childhood. — Macmillan's Magazine.