Connecticut Western News

A Chapter on Rattlesnakes.

The rattlesnake is perhaps the most sluggish of all the serpent tribe, for even the puff-adder of the Cape, which has that reputation in general, is very active when enraged; but the rattlesnake, excepting just after and just before its winter-sleep, never bites excepting in self-defence, and does not go out of its way to attack anyone. Unless molested, there is very little to fear from this snake; but the misfortune is, that you cannot tell when you are going to molest it, as, in coming down a bluff, or picking your way in a gulley, you may, with the best intentions in the world, put your foot on a rattlesnake. And then the terrific swiftness of his dart! Not even the cobra, which I had always considered rivaled the very lightning in its movements—movements which I will defy almost any eye to follow—is quicker than the rattlesnake in that one deadly act. Yet, to strike, it must be in a close coil, its head and neck being erect; it throws itself out about three-fourths of its length, supporting its weight entirely on the tail-part. I have, however, known two persons who have trodden on rattlesnakes, and have escaped; a third was still more remarkably fortunate. One, a gentleman who has killed more than fifty of them, recognized what his foot touched without stopping to look, and jumped higher than he had probably ever done before in his life; the other was not so quick, and the reptile struck him three times with electric quickness, but his trousers and long boots saved him. This disposes of a fallacy very generally held, that venomous serpents will not bite twice in succession. There were the three pair of fang-marks quite plainly to be seen in his white trousers. One young man who was bathing in the river Platte had a more extraordinary escape still, for, on emerging from the water, he sat down, being, of course, completely naked, on a rattlesnake which was basking in the grass. Whether he sat upon the reptile's head, or whether the creature was too astonished by his sudden descent, can never be known, but certain it is that the affrighted bather leaped up with a shriek, and escaped unhurt.
It is told that this particular serpent has a very offensive odor when irritated and that Dr. Hamilton Roe owed his life to a knowledge of that fact. The physician having opened a box directed to the Superintendent of the Zoological Gardens, London, put his hand—most rashly, it seems to me—under the dry moss which appeared, to see what was there. He touched something alive, and the smell told him it was a rattlesnake. Had he withdrawn his hand rapidly, he would have been bitten to a certainty; but he had the presence of mind to stroke the reptile, which allowed him to take his hand gently away. This is a well-known story; I only refer to it to add that this odor is so powerful and permanent that when a snake is irritated and made to bite the rake or hoe with which it is intended to kill him—and, as may be supposed, this is very often done—the implement will retain the same unpleasant smell for months. Once known, it is always recognisable.
As much cannot be said of the sound of the rattle. I have been on the prairie when opinions have been divided as to whether certain ominous clicking arose from the grasshoppers, which were there in great numbers, or a rattlesnake. It is not pleasant, at twilight, to have any doubt on this subject. The chief thing against the rattlesnake theory was, that these reptiles seldom move or leave their holes after sundown. But I would warn the reader not to depend too much on this, as some snakes are certainly of irregular habits, and have been known to crawl into tents, and into beds within the tents. This was for the sake of warmth. Very often the reptiles will content themselves with coming inside; and so true is it that use doth breed a habit in a man, that I have known men to sleep quietly all through the night when they were perfectly aware that a rattlesnake was within the walls of their tent. They rolled themselves tight in the blanket, knowing that the creature would not touch any one if it were not first attacked, and that, when light came, it would go away. In one instance, a man was bitten at night. He was on the prairie, and sleeping near his horse, which was fastened by a long rope to a log or stone. The horse broke away, and the man feeling after the rope in the grass, disturbed a rattlesnake, which bit him on the back of his hand. He was cured by a remedy which I think I have seen recommended in England. A friend cut with a penknife the skin round the puncture, so as to enlarge the wound and made it bleed; then he put a small heap of gunpowder on the spot, ignited it—no pain attending this—and the man was cured. I would just add here, that the stranger must not depend on always hearing the rattle when the snake moves; it is only violently shaken when the animal is alarmed, or is about to attack, and then the warning and the assault are too close together for the victim to escape.
The rattle has been too often described to need much to be said about it here; it is known to consist of a number of bones, looking like knuckle bones securely fastened together, yet so loosely that they make a clicking noise when shaken. These grow on the tail of the reptile; and the popular belief is, that the first joint, which is always of a darker color than the others, takes two years to grow, while afterward the snake has an additional joint each year. Some observers contest this, and argue that the reptile forms its rattle much faster than at this rate. The wearing of this rattle in the hat or bonnet is said to be an infallible specific against the headache, and is frequently worn on that account.