A Seven Foot Adder.

New York, 1895

John G. Barker, a painter of Northport, went into his woodshed to secure his basket that he takes with him fishing, and was startled to find a large snake coiled up in the basket asleep. He killed the snake, which proved to be a flat-headed adder measuring seven feet long.

—The Long Island Farmer, Jamaica, NY, July 5, 1895, p. 1.

PESTS OF THE PLAINS.

1895

The Rattlesnake's Sting and the Bite of the Hydrophobia Skunk.

Major Wilcox, a veteran surgeon from Fort Huachuca, told the other day of the red racer snake, a deadly foe of the rattlesnake and who fights the latter on every occasion. He cannot kill the rattler by a poisonous sting, but awaiting an opportunity seizes his victim behind the head and gives it a crushing squeeze in his powerful jaws. This severs the rattlesnake's spinal cord and causes death. The red racer then swallows the rattler, poison and all. Occasionally, when in the field, Major Wilcox treated soldiers for rattlesnake bites and found it easy to overcome the effects of the poison.

One day a private came to him with a wound from a rattlesnake's fangs in his index finger. The major hastily scarified the wound, broke open a rifle cartridge, poured powder over the wound and exploded it. This cauterized the injured part and so effectually dispelled the poison that only one-half the hand was swollen. The patient soon recovered. On another occasion a man cut off a rattlesnake's head, and, desiring to preserve it, packed cotton into the dead snake's mouth. The jaws closed upon the man's fingers, inflicting a wound from which he soon died.

Rancher Leonard, owner of a vast cattle range in New Mexico, in recounting his experiences on the plains, remarked that he feared the hydrophobia skunk far more than he did the rattlesnake. The snake gives warning of his presence; the skunk does not. This variety of skunk is not only vicious, but aggressive, while the rattlesnake seldom attacks unless disturbed. The hydrophobia skunk is probably the only animal, excepting the coyote, west of the Rocky mountains whose bite induces rabies. Besides this and because of its fondness for occupying the tents of frontiersmen at night, the animal is much dreaded.

Occasionally a coyote will "run mad" and bite another, and thus hydrophobia is communicated to large packs of the fleet footed animals and they race over the prairies and mesas, making mad every living creature in their pathway that they happen to bite. One of the amusements of the cowboys is to capture a rattler alive and get the creature drunk. With a forked stick the snake's head is held down, its mouth is forced open and whisky poured down its throat in sufficient quantity to intoxicate it. The snake will then try to coil its body as if to go to sleep. The action of the alcohol makes it "groggy" and the coils won't coil. When a stick is shoved before the snake's nose, it tries to strike, but the head and body wobble from side to side much as does a drunken man in his attempt to reach a lamppost. — San Francisco Chronicle.

The Brazilian Anaconda

1895

An Immense and Formidable Reptile That Lives to a Great Age.

The late Mr. Bates in his 11 years spent in the Brazilian forests saw and heard more of the habits of the anaconda than most travelers, though, like other great serpents, the individuals of this species are so little common that their appearance in any one district is too infrequent to make a special study of their habits part of the day's work of a busy naturalist. Bates' first personal experience of the creature shows how impossible it is to avoid the python by the ordinary means of isolation sufficient to keep other dangerous creatures at a distance. He was at anchor, in a large boat, in deep water, in the port of Antonio Malagueita.

An anaconda swam out to the boat, lifted its head from the water, broke in the side of a fowlhouse on deck and carried off a couple of fowls. It was found that this snake had been stealing ducks and fowls from this part of the river for months, so a hunt was organized, miles of river bank were searched and the serpent at last found sunning itself in a muddy creek and killed. It was "not a large specimen, only 18 feet 9 inches long." But Mr. Bates measured skins of anacondas which were 21 feet in length and 2 feet in girth, and he adds: "There can be no doubt that this formidable serpent grows to an enormous bulk and lives to a great age, for I have heard of specimens having been killed which measured 42 feet in length, or double the size of the largest which I had the opportunity of examining." We must add a correction here. They were double the length, but the size of these great reptiles, like that of fish, increases enormously with every addition in longitudinal growth.

A snake of 20 feet in length would be probably four times the weight of one 10 feet long, and the bulk of a 40 foot anaconda would approach that of the largest crocodile. Since the publication of "The Naturalist's Voyage on the Amazons" an anaconda of 29 feet has been brought to the Natural History museum at South Kensington. A neighbor of Bates, in Brazil, nearly lost his 10-year-old son by the attack of an anaconda. He had left the boy in his boat while he went to gather fruit, and on his return found him encircled by the snake, whose jaws the father seized and actually tore them asunder. — Spectator.

Two Husbands Killed by Same Rattlesnake

1916

Woman Made Widow Second Time — Reptile Is Then Captured and Slain.

HATTIESBURG, Mississippi. — W. C. Cole, Hattiesburg grocer, has just received a dead rattlesnake which he says was responsible for the death of two husbands of a woman in the logging camps of Mississippi.

"I do not want to mention the woman's name," said Mr. Cole, "as she begged me not to. Some two years ago her husband was killed by a snake while logging. He was bitten, the fangs of the snake penetrating a high top boot.

"After his death another lumberman married the woman. Being poor, she offered him her dead husband's high top boots. He accepted them. He died a few days later from snake poisoning. It was found that the fang of the snake was imbedded in the boot and had penetrated the flesh of the second husband, also poisoning him."

Mr. Cole says this is the first case of the kind he ever heard and that several hunters captured and killed the snake.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Sept. 16, 1916, p. 7.

The Lady and the Cobra

1901

An English woman residing in India one evening found to her horror that a huge cobra had coiled itself about her veranda rails, near which she sat playing the violin. She was too near the snake to run with safety, so she continued playing while she gradually edged away. At first her only idea was to keep the creature thus engaged while she escaped, but when she had gained a safer distance and perhaps fascinated by the unwonted sight a strange inspiration seized her. She played air after air of different characters.

The effect was magical. That snake behaved like an ardent, hot blooded disciple of Paganini. Every variation in the music, whether of volume or of tone, produced instantly a corresponding change in the attitude of the cobra. If she played a lively dance, it swayed its body sideways in quick time and yet in graceful curves. Once she struck a number of false notes in rapid succession on purpose, The cobra winced and writhed in pain as if suddenly struck with a whip.

Thus the creature behaved like a mad musician till the lady, getting tired of the sport, gradually worked herself farther and farther and then made a sudden bolt into her room and banged the door, leaving the cobra to wander disconsolate to its lair in the fields.

A Rattlesnake Story

1910

In "Life and Sport on the Pacific Coast" Horace A. Vachell relates one of his narrow escapes from a friend's bullet.

"My cousin and I had been camping and hunting for several days in a sort of paradise valley. One day during a long ride on horseback we had seen a great many rattlesnakes and killed a few, an exceptional experience. That night my cousin woke up and saw by the light of the moon a big rattler crawling across my chest. He lay for a moment fascinated, horror struck, watching the sinuous curves of the reptile. Then he quietly reached for his six shooter, but he could not see the reptile's head, and he moved nearer, noiselessly, yet quickly, dreading some movement on my part that should precipitate the very thing he dreaded, and then he saw that it was not a snake at all — only the black and yellow stripe of my blanket, which gently rose and fell as I breathed. Had he fired — well, it might have been bad for me, for he confessed that his hand shook."

Snake Demands Its Eggs Fresh

1914

Species of South African Snake With a Dainty Appetite and Keen Sense of Smell

The South African snake called the eggeater has inherited from long generations of ancestors a sense of smell so acute that it appears never to be at fault. Professor Fitzsimons, director of the Port Elizabeth museum, gives in his book on "The Snakes of South Africa" an interesting instance of the wisdom of these serpents.

"Being short of fresh pigeons' eggs once, I went to my cabinet and took the clean-blown shells of a few doves' eggs. Beating up the contents of a fowl's fresh egg, I syringed them into the empty shells, and carefully pasted tiny bits of tissue paper over the holes. I put these in the eggeaters' cage, and watched, for I expected the snakes to swallow them as they did the other eggs. First one eggeater advanced. He touched each egg gently in turn with the tip of his nose or the point of his forked tongue, and crawled away in disgust. Another and yet another eagerly advanced, repeated the performance, and straightway retired. I began to get interested. Leaving the eggs, I returned in a few hours' time to find them still there.

"For two whole weeks those eggs remained in the cage untouched, although I refrained from giving the snakes any others. Then I procured some fresh pigeons' eggs and put them into the cage. The snakes approached, touched them with their noses or tongues, and instantly began to swallow them. I tried this experiment a second time with the same result. Frequently I have noticed that the snakes would eat some of the eggs that I gave them, and reject others. On breaking the latter open, I always found that they were either addled or else had a partially developed young bird inside. I could never induce an eggeater to swallow an egg that was not perfectly fresh.

"The eggeater is an expert climber, and his sense of smell is so sharp that he can discover birds' nests with the greatest facility. If you place an empty bird's nest in the cage of an eggeater, he will take no notice of it, except to use it occasionally for a cozy bed. But if you put fresh eggs in it, he at once detects their presence, although they are hidden from his sight." — Youth's Companion.

Man Attacked By Big Snake, Attacks Back

Lamoni, Iowa

Mr. C. F. Smith had an exciting experience with a snake Saturday. Driving through his feed lot he suddenly discovered a large snake chasing him with head erect, evidently greatly angered and bent on mischief. Mr. Smith continued to drive for about 200 yards while he plied the buggy whip vigorously on his snakeship. By that time the reptile was somewhat stunned and Mr. Smith alighted from his buggy thinking to complete killing it.

But in quieting his horses the lines broke and these had to first be repaired temporarily. Then he completed the killing of the snake which is thought by some to be a bull snake but is more likely a blowing viper and which measures 5 feet 8½ inches in length and 5-5/8 in circumference at the largest part of the body. Mr. Smith brought it to town and David Thomas has it bottled in alcohol. We are inclined to believe that the buggy must have disturbed his snakeship in some way which caused the manifestation of anger and the disposition to fight.

At any rate the experience is remarkable for this section and shows the presence of larger snakes than we supposed were lurking around here. — Lamoni Patriot.

This article is from an old scrapbook from the Leon, Iowa area. The entire scrapbook is online at this link, and this article is on page 57.

A Glimpse of Caracas

1896

What Correspondent Saw in Venezuela's Capital

Comparatively few of the men here ever venture into the street unarmed, writes a Caracas correspondent of the New York Herald. There are laws prohibiting the carrying of concealed weapons, but they are never observed. One of the professors in the university here assures me that he is convinced that every one of the students who attends his lectures has a revolver in his hip pocket. Weapons are often worn as much for ornaments as for protection or aggression. The caballero with silver spurs and gay trappings who prances about on a frisky mule or Peruvian horse is not fully equipped without a brace of revolvers. The humbler fellows who trudge the country lanes afoot or on burros' backs take special pride in the knives they carry in fancy sheaths at their waists, and which are equally available for cutting food or enemies. The far-famed machete is so long that the most convenient way to carry it is in the hand. It is the most terrible weapon in war and is used for every possible purpose in times of peace, opening virgin forests, cutting down trees, digging and building.

Human life is held very cheap in Venezuela, except by the law of the land in dealing with murderers. There is no capital punishment here, and a man who is caught red-handed in crime knows that the heaviest sentence that could be imposed on him is ten years' imprisonment. The worst cases, I am told, are sent to a prison in the marshy districts near the western frontier, where the man who survives his term is a phenomenon, and where two years is as much as most men can endure. Stabbing and shooting affrays are very common and rarely receive more attention than half a dozen lines in the local papers, in which sympathy is expressed for the relatives of the deceased.

The proportion of men that one sees in the streets of Caracas who are minus an arm or a leg is greater by far than it was in the United States at the close of the Civil War. Comparatively few of the cripples here were maimed in battle during the revolutions, most of them having been hurt in private brawls.

The Vargas Hospital, in Caracas, is a large institution, admirably located on a hillside and excellently managed. No public building in Venezuela is complete without a statue, and as one enters the main door of the hospital one sees in the central patio a statue of Vargas, who was, I believe, President of the Republic at the time the hospital was founded. There are ten wards for women, all opening on a long courtyard to the left of the entrance, and as many for men on the other side.

The tiny hack horses of Caracas are mainly skin and bones, and the drivers, like their prototypes all over the world, show them very little consideration. Besides the little native horses one sees in the streets many Peruvian horses, which are one size larger and are excellent for riding, and big American horses in swell carriages. Burros far outnumber the horses, and mules are very common.

Teams of oxen are used to haul the heavy wagons, and cows are driven by milkmen from door to door with their calves by their sides. Most of the calves have their muzzles tied in rags to prevent them from getting any milk before all the customers have been supplied. It is also a common thing to see a boy driving a flock of turkeys through the main streets, usually in the direction of the markets. In the corrals are usually many live animals that have been brought in from the country and left for sale — deer and wild pigs, with bristles like porcupines, predominating.

About the market place are kept the skins of huge snakes and wild animals, for which fancy prices are asked if they are in reasonably good condition. The prettiest fur is that of the leopard-tigre they call it here. The tigre is very ferocious and is dreaded by all who have occasion to travel. The puma, which is dignified by the name of lion, is far less common, and about equally dangerous to meet.

I fancy that the supply of dogs has always been large in Caracas, as the Cathedral here has an odd functionary called a perero, or dog boy. The office dogs bark to the colonial dogs, and the present occupant is an urchin with a black face, very bright eyes and a beautiful set of teeth. In the street he looks like any other little fellow who does not keep his face particularly clean, but in the Cathedral he is quite imposing in his long gown of dark purplish blue and his big white collar. He carries in his hand a stout whip, with a long, knotted lash, and he walks about with all the pride of a recruit in the army carrying a gun for the first time. He is quite expert, and loud yelps occasionally prove that his whip hurts.

Dead Snake In Beer Keg

Iowa, 1900

Poisoned Beer Results in the Death of Three Persons

Fort Dodge, July 21. — Four young men living in Cerro Gordo county, near the Minnesota line, purchased and drank from a keg of eastern brewed beer, and as a result three of them have died and the fourth is now in terrible agony and is reported to be at the point of death.

The day was warm and the beer was consumed hurriedly by the friends, who little realized that they were sipping a death dealing draught. They were all immediately taken sick, and although a physician was soon after summoned, the taking off of three of the young men could not be prevented.

To ascertain, if possible, the cause of the sickness, the keg was broken into and the decomposed remains of a genuine rattlesnake were found. Improbable as the story sounds, it is true, and is rendered plausible by the fact that empty kegs are often left lying around for weeks before being shipped back to the breweries. It is thus easy for reptiles and insects to crawl into the kegs.

The scalding out of the kegs upon their return to the brewery would naturally kill any living organism, which would remain in the keg. It was only a few years ago that a party here became sick from drinking keg beer and an investigation showed that a dead toad occupied the keg with the beer.


Lee Junior Stamping State

Robert E. Lee, Jr., grandson of the great Confederate soldier, is taking a prominent part in Virginia's political campaign. He is a son of William H. F. Lee, who has represented the Alexandria district in congress for several terms, and is a young man of considerable culture and oratorical ability.

Simply Cannot Kill This Man

1908

Marvelous Record of One Born For Narrow Escapes

Easton, Pennsylvania. — Granville B. Snyder, an Easton printer, has had more narrow escapes from death than most living men. Some of his friends will tell you that he bears a charmed life, but Granny, as he is commonly called, scoffs at that idea.

"I guess it was ordained that I should die a natural death," he says, "and luck always seems to have stepped in and saved me from shuffling off this mortal coil in any other manner."

The first time Granny faced death he was six years old. Leaving home one morning and walking a short distance to Mount Ida, an immense rock 110 feet high, overlooking the Lehigh canal and river, he determined to climb to the top to gather honeysuckles. The north side of the rock is a sheer precipice, and toward this perilous point the lad's steps led unconsciously. He found flowers growing in profusion, and in his enthusiasm lost sight of the danger he was in. He reached for a stem, took a false step, and plunged over the perpendicular wall 110 feet to the towpath. Although he suffered a fractured collar-bone, both legs and arms were broken, and he lost a great quantity of blood from three gashes in his scalp, the doctor pulled him through.

When eight years old Granny fell through the trap in the haymow in Peter M. Correll's stable, in Bank street, while playing chase with companions and landed in the water trough. The other boys, terrified, ran from the building. When a stableman pulled the boy out of the trough he was nearly lifeless.

The same year he was bitten in the hand by a copperhead snake while playing in a yard near his home. His arm swelled to an enormous size. To the surprise of the physician Granny began to recover, and in a short time he was running around again.

When ten years old, and again when 12, he had two more narrow escapes from drowning. Upon the former occasion he broke through the deck of a sunken canal boat in the Lehigh and was rescued in an unconscious condition by James Herrin. The second accident resulted through him falling through a raft that parted along the old sawmill.

He had a thrilling escape from death on the New Jersey Central railroad in 1877. In attempting to jump from a rapidly moving coal train as it passed the Fourth street station his right hand caught fast in the side rod, he was thrown to the ground and the wheels clipped off his cap. He was dragged 25 feet, struck a signal target, hurled back against the car and thus his hand was released. Outside of a few slight bruises and torn and soiled clothing he was none the worse for the experience.

Twice he narrowly escaped death while handling firearms. The accidental discharge of a self-cocking revolver he was handling sent a bullet into his hip. The ball struck a bone, took a downward course, came out and then re-entered the leg. The lead is still there.

Upon another occasion, during a Fourth of July celebration, he picked up a loaded revolver belonging to a friend and discharged it in the air five times. Then, jokingly placing the weapon against his temple, he remarked, "good by, fellows!" and pulled the trigger. The hammer caught and Snyder lowered the weapon to examine it. He almost fainted when he discovered that instead of it being a five-chambered weapon, as he had imagined, it contained six chambers, and there was still a loaded cartridge in it. Only the fact that the hammer caught saved him from blowing out his brains.

Czarina the Peevish Python Force-Fed

1910

Star Monster Made to Devour Two Eight-Pound Roosters

New York — The regal or reticulated python Czarina, measuring 24 feet in length, weighing 200 pounds and possessing a color pattern of a richness that rivals oriental tapestry, had to be fed on two eight-pound roosters, feathers and all, at the Bronx park zoo a few days ago, and now it is satisfied and preoccupied with digestion.

Czarina, the star monster of her kind, has been very peevish of late. The keepers in the reptile house notified Curator Raymond L. Ditmars that the big snake had refused food, and it was then decided to force the python to eat. So three husky keepers fearlessly took the creature from its glass cage out into the open. There the reptile wiggled for a half hour while the three keepers tried to straighten it out so that it could be stuffed. And they had to be extremely careful, for if the python should coil itself around the body of one of them it could with great ease crush him to death. After a hard struggle the big snake was forced to swallow two roosters which had been purchased in a Bronx butcher shop for the banquet.

In captivity the regal python is vicious and resents any familiarity on the part of the keeper. While confined it prefers to feed on poultry and can engulf without difficulty, as it did a few days ago, two eight-pound roosters in full feather. Two such fowls usually constitute a square meal, but a very hungry snake of this species will consume four chickens of this size and be ready for more within ten days' time.

During the first few months of confinement very large specimens of this variety of snake appear to suffer from the restraints of captivity, and refuse food. Whenever a large serpent is thus languishing and approaching a suicidal end, it is necessary to feed it by force and thus counteract its sluggish appetite.

Generally young rabbits are killed and tied together with twine; the snake is then held by the keepers as nearly straight as possible and by means of a pole the meal is forced down its throat a distance of about six feet. Food thus administered usually changes the snake's demeanor toward captivity. With such a meal once digested, there comes an appetite for food, which usually can be detected by the snake's actions, although for a time the reptile may lack sufficient courage to feed voluntarily.

Attention on the part of the keeper usually renders a repetition of compulsory feeding unnecessary, although occasional specimens are very stubborn, as in the case of Czarina at the park.

Wisecracks About the News

1911

That New York person who shot himself five times and failed to kill himself will probably die some day of the pip. You never can tell.

A Washington man has started suit for $300,000 for the loss of his wife. All of which leads us to remark that she must have been some wife.

"In the future," says Doctor Wiley, "the air will furnish heat, fuel and power." It might do so right now if some way to extract the coal from it could be found.

That Kansas City man, as we understand the case, did not want a divorce merely because his wife smoked, but on account of what she smoked.

Europe's wine shortage this year is said to be the greatest for a century. Still there will no doubt be enough for us who buy it only for medicinal purposes.

A writer in the New York Medical Journal says whisky is not a cure for snake bite, but kindly refrains from expressing an opinion as to its suitability for fish bait.

A Virginia Mountaineer's Influence Over Wild Animals

1896

An Extraordinary Power

He Can Summon at His Will Snakes, Squirrels and Wild Birds From Their Retreats

If Kipling were here, writes a Rockbridge Alum Springs (Va.) correspondent of the New York Tribune, he would write of another and elderly Mowgli, local genius of this green valley, with its cordon of hills and outlying rocky summits. Thomas Hostetter is his name and his age is absolutely uncertain. He thinks he is about eighty-five years old. The wrinkles on his bronzed face rival in number and complexity those of Loti's mummy. His eyes are small and deep set. He lives somewhere among the crags and blackberry bushes several miles to the north of this place, in the neighborhood of Collierstown, Va.

He suddenly appeared here the other morning with a well-fingered and timeworn fiddle slung over his shoulder, and a huge kohinoor of an alum diamond in his hand. He said he paid $10 for his violin ever so many years ago in Lexington. He seemed confident of the value of the gem, which only stern necessity compelled him to sacrifice for $1, and which the writer bought in the hope of drawing him out. He said his wife was dead. His nine children were all married or scattered. He had never been to a city and was absolutely unversed in knowledge of any life but one — that of the deep wood, with its multitude of silent creatures. Their habits and language were an open book to him. The old man had innumerable little packages of rattlesnake rattles stuck into every conceivable receptacle of his clothing. It seemed that the snakes had come to regard him without animosity. He had acquired an insight into their habits, and when he did not see them with his worn-out eyes he simply sat down on a log and beguiled them out of the nooks and crannies to his feet. He had no Hindoo "tomtom" wherewith to charm the snakes, and apparently exerted no influence upon them other than that which close sympathy always begets. Doubtless they had learned to regard him much in the light of a sorely overgrown and distorted brother.

The writer came across him one dewy morning seated crosswise on a log with a six-foot rattler coiled contentedly at his feet. Not until the stranger appeared on the scene did that flickering tongue protrude or those angry eyes glitter. The two seemed to be simply enjoying a quiet wood talk as the claw-like hand of the man stroked down the diamond patches on the snake's shiny back. Hostetter apparently did not think this situation at all out of the common. He had known rattlesnakes and blacksnakes and moccasins so long and so intimately that any loss of sociability between him and the reptiles would have seemed strange to him. So powerful was his influence over the coiled serpent at his feet that a little further endearment even reconciled the snake to the writer's presence at a reasonable distance.

When in the woods at night Hostetter always sleeps by the side of a convenient fallen tree, and it is no unusual thing for him to wake up in the morning and find a poisonous reptile slumbering between his legs or warmed into deep sleep on his body. He said that the blacksnakes in the mountain meadows actually coil themselves around the legs of cows and milk them, and that the cows actually grow fond of this unnatural milking and come to the same spot in the field each day at the same hour and low for the snakes.

Uttering an inarticulate sound, midway between a sob and a groan, Hostetter sent the snake into the bushes.

"Let me see you bring a squirrel into your lap."

He sat down on the spreading roots of a pine tree and gave utterance to a subdued chorus of chirrups and squeaks in minor keys, and soon the wood seemed to be filled with the pattering of little feet, and the queer old man became the motionless centre of a cluster of bushy brown and gray squirrels. They raced up and down his legs and arms, sniffed at the opening of his bulging pockets, and only avoided the smoke of his pipe. Again, with a sound half inarticulate and a half gesture, he dismissed the nimble footed throng.

"Can you call the wild turkeys, Hostetter?"

The old man seated himself again with his back to a tree, and the writer wandered off into the deep shadows. Scarcely was this done before a familiar "gobble, gobble" was heard, and then after five minutes silence the notes were repeated. A twig snapped and soon through the leaves the beady eyes of a wild turkey peered with hanging comb and one foot lifted. Again a low "gobble, gobble," and the leaves divided and the stately bird strutted directly to a place beside the old man and stared without blinking into his face.

Dine With Serpents "Adorning" the Table

1920

"Queen of Snake Charmers" Is Guest of Honor

NEW YORK, N.Y., Feb. 26. — With golden dragons as wall decorations, real, varicolored snakes upon the tables, and Jersey City's "Queen of Snake Charmers" present, the Reptile Study Society of America held its annual dinner in a Chinatown restaurant.

Jersey City's snake charming queen is Miss Alma Casals, blond and blue-eyed, who determined her vocation after a visit to the Bronx Zoo.

"They let me pick up a king snake," the young woman said. "Would you believe it, it was delightful. It formed a necklace for me and then a bracelet. I found snakes were easy to handle and I think they are just lovely."

Just to prove it, the "Queen of Snake Charmers" lifted a snake from a bag. She, as well as the other diners, was dressed for the unusual occasion in very usual evening dress. They represented the most prominent snake hunters in the country. Bags of snakes, with polysyllable names, testified to that. So did the discussion on the dear things, for the diners talked much of adequate legislation for the protection of reptiles.

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.

Snake Charmers Have Variety of Reptiles

1916

Kansas Boys Have Produced New Sensation In Vicinity of Home.

Salina, Kan.—Two small boys, Willie and Robert Shorl, the elder of whom is but fourteen, have produced a new sensation in the vicinity of their home at Five Mile, where they have a big cage full of writhing, twisting snakes of many varieties. They play with these reptiles without the least sign of fear, going through with all the stunts of professional snake charmers.

The snakes coil themselves about the boys' necks and bodies. The lads look in the eyes of their pets steadily as they play with them, and they handle them with the skill of a professional.

The collection consists of blacksnakes, blue racers, chicken snakes and three ugly looking "rattlers." On Saturday they usually go down on Snake Branch and hunt for more reptiles. However, these new reptiles are not placed with their "pets," but are kept in a separate cage and are usually shipped to owners of small shows and museums, from whom they get from $3 to $5 for each snake. Neither of the boys has ever been bitten.

The older boy gave a lecture on snakes before the pupils of the Shoal Creek school. He astonished teacher and pupils alike by his classification of reptiles, giving their Latin names and discussing the harmless or dangerous varieties, taking each from a box as he explained its varied habits.

Smallpox Doesn't Postpone Wedding

News Items Condensed For Hasty Perusal

1899

At Seymour, Ind., Frank Robinson, a merchant of North Vernon, and Miss Caroline Musser, also of that city, had sent out wedding invitations to be married in North Vernon. The smallpox having broken out in North Vernon, and the bride's father having exposed himself, the young couple had to change their plans. Robinson stole her from the house and they stood in a buggy and were married by a minister who stood some distance away.

When George E. Sterry, druggist, opened a package received by mail, an asp crawled upon his hand. Prompt action in shaking it off saved his life. Police are investigating.

Maz Haala, a bride of a week, committed suicide, at Bucyrus, 0., after cooking her husband's dinner. She said married life was not what she thought it was.

In London yesterday an American millionaire paid $2,500 for one of the only two copies of "The Troublesome Raigne of John," dated 1591, supposed to be the work of Shakespeare.

Mary Anderson, whose beauty, talent and fame to this day are the hope and despair of uncounted American women, the admiration of as many men, is in New York again. She has come to pay a long promised visit to her mother and stepfather and to the relatives of her husband. She is accompanied by her husband, Antonio de Navarro. They arrived by the White Star liner Majestic yesterday afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Navarro traveled incognito, as "Mr. and Mrs. A. I. Hope." But their effort to conceal their identity from fellow-voyagers was unsuccessful.

—Trenton Evening Times, Trenton, NJ, April 27, 1899, page 3.

Valuable Snake Gobbled by Fellow Captive

1911

THE SNAKE DISAPPEARED

Wehrle's Valuable Find Gobbled by a Fellow Captive.

On Thursday morning a little boy brought to R. W. Wehrle, the Indiana naturalist, a king snake about 11 inches long, the first of its kind which ever came into Wehrle's possession. The latter, of course, was pleased to receive the snake.

He placed his new acquaintance in a case with a milk snake about three feet in length and was away from the vicinity of the case for about an hour. When he returned he found that the king snake was not there. Acting upon an inspiration he killed the milk snake and found the king snake dead in the stomach of the larger snake. He extracted it and preserved it in formaline. Neither of these snakes is dangerous. It was not known that the milk snake was a cannibal.

The king snake is a very pretty one being of a gray brown color on its back and sides while the under parts are beautifully striped with yellow.

—Indiana Evening Gazette, Indiana, Pennsylvania, May 19, 1911, page 1.

Marlin Perkins Bitten by Poisonous Snake

1929

TRY TO SAVE SNAKE KEEPER

Reptile House Curator Is Bitten By African Viper

ST. LOUIS, Jan. 1 -- (UP) -- Physicians hoped today blood transfusion would save the life of Marlin Perkins, 24, curator of the reptile house at the St. Louis zoo who was bitten by a poisonous snake.

They said Perkins would have died almost instantly yesterday had not an assistant at the zoo dangered his own life by promptly sucking the venom from the wound.

The snake was a gaboon viper, one of the most poisonous of West African snakes.

--The Ogden Standard-Examiner, Ogden City, Utah, January 1, 1929, page 1.

Comment: This is the exact same Marlin Perkins later famous for hosting Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom on TV.