The Romance of Natural History Part 14

A most important witness on this matter is Dr Andrew Smith, the learned zoologist of South Africa, who thus soberly throws the weight of his own thoroughly competent and most conclusive personal observations into the affirmative scale. In his interesting account of the Boomslange, a serpent of considerable size found in that region, he says:--

"As this snake, _Bucephalus capensis_, in our opinion, is not provided with a poisonous fluid to instil into wounds which these fangs may inflict, they must consequently be intended for a purpose different to those which exist in poisonous reptiles. Their use seems to be to offer obstacles to the retrogression of animals, such as birds, &c., while they are only partially within the mouth; and, from the circ.u.mstance of these fangs being directed backwards, and not admitting of being raised so as to form an angle with the edge of the jaw, they are well fitted to act as powerful holders when once they penetrate the skin and soft parts of the prey which their possessors may be in the act of swallowing.

Without such fangs escapes would be common; with such, they are rare.

"The natives of South Africa regard the _Bucephalus capensis_ as poisonous; but in their opinion we cannot concur, as we have not been able to discover the existence of any glands manifestly organised for the secretion of poison. The fangs are enclosed in a soft, pulpy sheath, the inner surface of which is commonly coated with a thin glairy secretion. This secretion possibly may have something acrid and irritating in its qualities, which may, when it enters a wound, occasion pain and even swelling, but nothing of greater importance.

"The _Bucephalus capensis_ is generally found upon trees, to which it resorts for the purpose of catching birds, upon which it delights to feed. The presence of a specimen in a tree is generally soon discovered by the birds of the neighbourhood, who collect around it, and fly to and fro, uttering the most piercing cries, until some one, more terror-struck than the rest, actually scans its lips, and, almost without resistance, becomes a meal for its enemy. During such a proceeding the snake is generally observed with its head raised about ten or twelve inches above the branch round which its body and tail are entwined, with its mouth open and its neck inflated, as if anxiously endeavouring to increase the terror which it would almost appear it was aware would sooner or later bring within its grasp some one of the feathered group.

"Whatever may be said in ridicule of fascination, it is nevertheless true that birds, and even quadrupeds, are, under such circ.u.mstances, unable to retire from the presence of certain of their enemies; and, what is even more extraordinary, unable to resist the propensity to advance from a situation of actual safety into one of the most imminent danger. This I have often seen exemplified in the case of birds and snakes; and I have heard of instances equally curious, in which antelopes and other quadrupeds have been so bewildered by the sudden appearance of crocodiles, and by the grimaces and contortions they practised, as to be unable to fly or even to move from the spot towards which they were approaching to seize them."[170]

It may have been the Boomslange to which Le Vaillant alludes, who says that he saw, on the branch of a tree, a species of shrike, trembling as if in convulsions; and at the distance of nearly four feet, on another branch, he beheld a large species of snake, that was lying with outstretched neck, and fiery eyes, gazing steadily at the poor animal.

The agony of the bird was so great, that it was deprived of the power of moving away; and when one of the party killed the snake, the shrike was found dead upon the spot, and that entirely from fear; for on examination it appeared not to have received the slightest wound. The same traveller informs us, that a short time afterwards he observed a small mouse, in similar agonising convulsions, about two yards distant from a snake, whose eyes were intently fixed upon it; and on frightening away the reptile, and taking up the mouse, it expired in his hand.[171]

In a record, by Mr D. T. Evans, of some experiments with Venomous Serpents, made at the Zoological Gardens, mainly with a view to test the efficacy of a reputed remedy for their bite,--_Simaba cedron_--and which were pursued with the utmost philosophic care, we find the following interesting particulars:--"The att.i.tudes and movements of the serpent intending to bite were very striking and beautiful. In the first place, he made, with the posterior half of his body, a bold curve, having a strong prehensile 'purchase' on the floor of the cage, so as to secure a steady fulcrum for the rapid dart made at the time of the bite. The upper half of the body was raised some ten inches or a foot, the neck strongly arched, and the head, bent at nearly right angles with the neck, was poised directly opposite the prey. In such position the serpent remained a greater or lesser time (sometimes as long as twenty minutes) according to circ.u.mstances. During this interval, the slightest motion of the animal before him was followed by an instantaneous and correspondent movement of the head and neck of the serpent. The purpose seemed to be that of aim-taking, for the eyes were intently fixed upon the prey; but I am by no means sure that the snake, knowing that the latter cannot escape him, does not derive pleasure from this prolonged and intent gaze. At all events, in one experiment, where the head of a rattlesnake so engaged was sideways to the gla.s.s of the cage, and near it, I observed, and called attention to the fact, a remarkable vermicular motion along the course of the poison-gland to the opening of the angle of the mouth, which we thought might afford him pleasure, and this continued until the snake struck his prey.

"So far the Serpents. I now proceed to describe the peculiarities shewn by the animals on which we experimented. Some philosophers have denied innate ideas to man; these and some others have furthermore denied an instinctive apprehension of danger in animals. They say that of itself, as born, the hare has no dread of the hound: that its fear is acquired of experience. I concur in neither of these opinions, and think the latter altogether refuted by the conduct of the animals exposed to serpents in these experiments. Not one of the guinea-pigs or rabbits (which were all something under their full growth) had ever seen a serpent; yet when introduced to the cage they shewed unequivocal symptoms of distress and fear. In some instances they actually screamed before they were struck. They generally shewed restlessness at first, but when the serpent, intending to strike, poised himself in front, they became for a time, if not altogether, motionless. Is there such a thing as 'fascination?' If by this is meant a pleasurable paralysis of the animal's powers, I think it more than doubtful; but a deprivation of the power of motion from terror may, perhaps, take place. All, however, that I speak to is a perfectly motionless condition of snake and prey, lasting several minutes."[172]

Nor are there wanting examples of the same power exercised by the common Snake of our own country. I content myself with the following two, both of very recent record:--

"Up the hill above Tyneham," writes the Rev. Henry Bond, last August, "towards the sea, I was struck by the shrill cry and fluttering agitation of a common hedge-sparrow, in a whitethorn bush. Regardless of my presence, its remarkable motions were continued, getting, at every hop from bough to bough, lower and lower down in the bush. Drawing nearer, I saw a common snake coiled up, but having its head erect, watching the sparrow; the moment the snake saw me it glided away, and the sparrow flew off with its usual mode of flight."[173]

This anecdote brings out another by Mr John Henry Belfrage, of Muswell Hill:--"When proceeding down the avenue here one morning, at a turn in the path I saw a robin, which appeared to me spell-bound, so much so as to allow a much closer approach than is usual even with that boldest of the feathered tribe. On going nearer I perceived what I took to be the cause, in a large common snake, which was lying coiled up on one side of the path, with its head a little raised. My appearance broke the spell, and the robin flew away; at the same time, the snake dropped its head and a.s.sumed a perfectly inert appearance."[174]

A writer in the _Journal of the Indian Archipelago_ thus reports the mesmeric faculty exercised upon a certainly somewhat unlikely subject:--"On approaching an almost dry drain, I saw a snake slowly extending his coils, raising his head, and steadfastly gazing on what I saw to be an eel of about a foot in length. The eel was directly opposite to the snake, and glance seemed to meet glance, when the snake, having the requisite proximity, darted on the eel and caught it about an inch behind the head, and carried it off; but the captor was soon himself a captive, for with a blow on his head I secured both."[175]

The mystery is, as usual in such cases, attempted to be explained away.

Man does not like mystery; scientific man least of all: it is humbling to the pride of science to be obliged to confess that there exists anything unaccountable to the initiated. Mr W. C. L. Martin thus "explains" the statements of Dr A. Smith, and all such accounts:--"There is nothing mysterious in all this; the snake does not _mesmerise_ its prey, but merely so terrifies it as to stupify it; besides, the victim may feel an impulse similar to that which urges many nervous persons on the edge of a precipice, or top of a lofty tower, to throw themselves down headlong, and which we have heard such describe as resisted with difficulty; so may the panic-struck bird feel an impulse to rush into danger which it might escape by flight."[176]

And again:--"Fear, amounting to panic, solicitude for its young, and efforts to drive away the dreaded intruder, leading the bird to venture too closely to the snake for its own safety, produce the results erroneously attributed to the Reptile's fancied power of fascination by its glance, or by some mystic property."[177]

Dr Barton, of Philadelphia, who, at the close of the last century, published a memoir on the fascinating powers attributed to certain serpents, advocated the same views. He considered that in almost every instance the supposed power was exerted on birds at the particular season of nidification, and that the whole hypothesis originated in the [Greek: storge] which prompts them to protect their eggs or young. No doubt _some_ of the instances which have been reported as examples of fascination are capable of such an explanation, but surely not all; and the fallacy, here again, as in so many parallel cases, lies in the advocating of some theory which will cover a certain number of the facts, and the ignoring of all such as will not be so accounted for. Is it to be supposed that Dr A. Smith could not distinguish between the condition of involuntary paralysis of the faculties which he says he has _often_ seen, and the insane boldness of nesting birds? Had the mice, seen by Mr Pullen, had the frog, young ones to protect? Or the squirrel mentioned by Kalm? or the mouse seen by Le Vaillant? or the eel in the drain? But what is the value of a hypothesis,--so far as its claims to solve this question are concerned,--which will not touch these cases?

When Mr Martin denies that there is anything mysterious in the matter, and in the same sentence admits that "the victim may feel an impulse to rush into the danger which it might escape," he just yields the whole point. I venture to affirm that this _is_ something mysterious, something totally unaccountable. I ask _what_, and _whence_, and _why_, this strange impulse that overcomes the first of all instincts, the prime law of self-preservation?

It does not explain the cause of the phenomenon, though it possibly helps us to determine its proper seat, to learn that fascination belongs to other animals besides the serpent tribes. We shall perhaps not err if we conclude that the peculiarity resides not in the object, but in the subject; that it is a mental emotion capable of being excited by objects having little in common except the death-terror which they excite. I have no doubt that it is a phase of extreme terror; the singularity of the phenomenon consists in the reversal of ordinary instinctive laws which it induces. My readers will probably be interested in the details of some cases in which the exciters of the emotion were animals other than serpents. Here is one, apparently related with care and truthfulness, though anonymous, in which the fascinator was as unlikely as can be well imagined to excite, and the fascinatee to feel, the emotion:--

"One evening, being seated in a room at Garrackpore, the window of which was open, and the ceiling on one side sloped downwards towards the window, my attention was attracted by a b.u.t.terfly which chanced to fly into the room. I observed its motions for a minute or two, when I thought there was something that appeared unnatural in them, and the insect began to dart to and fro in one direction, occasionally, however, varying its flight about the room. I looked up to see what it could possibly be at, and instantly observed an ordinary-sized lizard on the cloth of the upper ceiling. I had not even then the most distant idea of what was really going on; but seeing the b.u.t.terfly dart every now and then at the lizard, I supposed it in play, till its motions became less quick and animated. The lizard remained all this time immovable, but at last suddenly shifted its ground to the sloping part of the ceiling. The motions of the b.u.t.terfly became still more languid, until at length, to my utter surprise, I saw the lizard open its mouth, and the b.u.t.terfly flew directly into it. The lizard was about half a minute swallowing it, wings and all. Until the last act of this curious scene, though I well knew the lizard's object, I supposed it would probably make a leap at the b.u.t.terfly, yet had no idea of its succeeding, and expected to see the b.u.t.terfly fly away. Had I had an idea of the cause, I should have broken the charm.

"From that moment I never had the least doubt of the power of fascination: that power I conceive to be _terror_, which, if the object was sufficiently terrible, I believe would act equally on man or any other creature."[178]

Still more strange is it to hear of scorpions fascinating blue-bottle flies! "On my arrival" says Mr Robert Hunter, "at Nagpur, in Central India, in 1847, I requested that the first scorpion found in the house might be allowed to live for a few minutes, that I might have an opportunity of observing its form and movements. In that part of India one has rarely to wait long for such a visitant, and on an early evening my colleague, the Rev. Mr Hislop, announced that there was a scorpion on the wall. A lamp was set down on the floor, and we took convenient stations for noting what might pa.s.s. Just then a large fly, of the genus Musca, made its appearance, and soon became aware of the presence of the scorpion. A strong fury seemed to seize it, irresistibly impelling it to an insane attack on the terrible occupant of the wall: it flew at it with all the little force it could muster, the scorpion meanwhile stretching out its lobster-like claw to catch it as it came. At the first charge, the fly rebounded from the crustaceous integument of its adversary, having done no more damage than if a child were to apply its hand to the well-mailed body of a cuira.s.sier. It seemed amazed at its own audacity; and in a state of great apparent agitation wheeled round, and taking precipitately to flight, soon put two or three yards of safe s.p.a.ce between itself and its formidable but wingless foe. We now forcibly hoped 'the better part of valour' might be allowed to prevail.

But no! the tiny creature stood--it ventured to look--there glared still in view the malignant form. What could the poor animal do but make a second brilliant onset, in which it again eluded the outstretched claw of its enemy, and, as before, was successful in effecting a retreat?

'Surely,' we mused, 'no further knight-errantry will be attempted: the most exacting would consider this enough.' But we were mistaken. Again and again did the fly return to the combat, till in an unguarded moment it flew exactly into the open claw, which closing, rendered escape impossible. The generosity of a Mouravieff was scarcely to be looked for in the scorpion, which, as will be readily believed, lost no time in devouring its gallant captive. Possibly the fly may have been partly dazzled by the glare of the lamp. But undoubtedly it was in the main fascination, induced by the sight of the dread figure on the wall, that impelled it to begin the unequal contest, which could terminate only in the loss of its life."[179]

After these cases, I fear my readers would see but little of the romantic in stories of stoats mesmerising hares and rabbits, or foxes paralysing pullets. The former are common enough,--the wretched hare creeping along with a bewildered look, as if its back were broken, or screaming in helpless immobility. I will confine myself to a single narrative furnished by Mr Henry Bond, to whom this chapter is already indebted for one case. As he was walking on the hillside above West Creech Farm, in Penbeck, Somerset, last August, where the down is scattered with very low furze-bushes, his attention was arrested by a cry of distress. It proceeded from a rabbit which was cantering round in a ring, with a halting gait. He watched it for some minutes; but, as the circle became smaller, and the rabbit more agitated, he perceived a stoat turning its head with the rabbit's motion, and fixing its gaze upon it. He struck a blow at the stoat, but missed it; its attention was thus withdrawn from its intended victim, which instantly ran away with great vigour in a straight direction.[180]

This is a remarkably good case; the circular movement of the rabbit; the ever-diminishing circle; the rotation of the stoat; the fixity of its gaze; the liberation of the rabbit the moment the stoat was disturbed; and the instant recovery of its faculties on the breaking of the spell;--all these are circ.u.mstances of the highest interest in a case avouched by so good a naturalist as Mr Bond.

Mr J. H. Gurney reports the account of a respectable gamekeeper, who, being much annoyed by the nightly visits of a fox to the poultry, could not imagine how Reynard managed to effect his purpose, as they roosted on a large spreading oak. One morning, however, just as day was dawning, he heard a great noise among the poultry, and, looking out of the window, saw a fox running round and round under the place where they sat, and soon observed that the fowls began to fall from the tree in great confusion. The fox immediately seized his victim, and the mystery was so far solved. A day or two afterwards the fox, a very large male, was killed in an adjoining paddock, and no further a.s.saults were made upon the poultry.

In this case the result was possibly effected by vertigo; the birds, bewildered and amazed in the dim light, followed with their eyes the course of the sly depredator, as he ran swiftly in a circle beneath, until the frequent turning of their heads made them giddy and unable to keep their balance. _But how did the fox know that such a result would follow?_

The same gentleman gives, from his own observation, a case that is more to the point. Here a bird is the mesmeric pract.i.tioner. "I once saw a golden eagle which appeared entirely to fascinate a rabbit that was put into the large cage in which the eagle was kept. As soon as the rabbit was introduced, the eagle fixed his eye upon it, and the rabbit intently returned the gaze, and began going round the eagle in circles, approaching nearer each time, the eagle meanwhile turning on his axis (as it were) on the block of wood upon which he was seated, and keeping his eye fixed upon that of the rabbit.

"When the rabbit had approached very near to the bottom of the eagle's perch, it stood up on its hind legs, and looked the eagle in the face; the eagle then made his pounce, which appeared at once to break the charm, and the rabbit ran for its life, but it was too late for it to escape the clutch of the eagle, and the instant death which followed that tremendous squeeze."[181]

I am not sure how far a parallelism exists between this animal fascination by the eye, and that attraction which fire is well known to possess for many creatures. Sh.e.l.ley sings of

"The desire of the moth for the star,"

as if it were a romantic pa.s.sion for that which is bright and beautiful.

This is, of course, a poet's aspect; the insect-collector, who wants to fill his cabinet--"my friend the weaver," who nightly pursues his "untaxed and undisputed game"--well knows that the glare of his bull's-eye lamp will attract the moths by thousands on a damp night in June. The little flitting atoms pa.s.s and repa.s.s across the field of light, suddenly flashing into full radiance, and in an instant relapsing into the darkness, unless his gauze net is too rapid for them. I have often sat reading late at night with a candle in the window, and observed with interest how many insects of all orders will soon congregate on the outside; now and then some large moth coming up with a dull _thud_, or a great mailed beetle dashing against the gla.s.s with a crash that makes one look sharply up to see whether he has not cracked the pane. In Jamaica I have taken many valuable beetles and other insects around the candle-shades at an open window, which were not met with in any other way.

So in Alabama, where it is customary in balmy autumn evenings for the family to sit in the yard under the broad sheltering trees, by the flickering light of the yard-fire. This fire is lighted at dusk on an iron tripod breast-high, and kept up till bed-time. It is the duty of a negro urchin to keep it constantly bright with splints of pine, so as to maintain a perpetual blaze, as the object is to illuminate the yard and its contiguous offices. The little "n.i.g.g.e.r" nods, of course, but the loud scolding voice of master, mistress, or overseer, or any one else, rates him, and rouses him to duty, as soon as the flame falls. It is pleasant to sit and watch the effect of the light, either transmitted through or reflected from the quivering leaves of the surrounding trees, the blaze now rising brightly and playing in tongue-like flickering spires, now sinking and dying to a ruddy glow, then suddenly reviving under the frightened watchfulness of the sable minister, who plays the part of vestal virgin at this altar.

Large insects often play around this fire. Beetles "wheel their drony flight" in buzzing circles round for a few turns, and are gone; and moths come fluttering about, and often scorch their plumy wings. I have taken some very fine Sphinges and other moths thus; and the only specimen I ever saw of that very curious insect the Mole-cricket alive (a species distinct from, but very closely allied to, our European insect) was one that suddenly dashed into the ashes of the light-stand--a curious and interesting circ.u.mstance, when connected with the opinion that I have before alluded to, that the _Gryllotalpa Europaea_ is one of the producers of the _Ignis fatuus_.

Birds also are attracted by light at night. I have read of a t.i.tmouse that was seen fluttering around a gas-lamp in the suburbs of London, and would not be driven away; it at length made its entrance into the lamp through the orifice at the bottom, and continued to flit around and across the jet. In 1832, a Herring-gull struck one of the mullions of the Bell Rock Light-house with such force, that two of the polished plates of gla.s.s, measuring about two feet square, and a quarter of an inch in thickness, were shivered to pieces, and scattered over the floor in a thousand atoms, to the great alarm of the keeper on watch, and the other inmates of the house, who rushed instantly to the light-room. The gull was found to measure five feet between the tips of the wings. In his gullet was a large herring, and in his throat a piece of plate-gla.s.s of about one inch in length.

Dr Livingstone gives some curious examples of the attractive power of fire over various creatures in South Africa, which he attributes to a sort of fascination. "Fire," he says, "exercises a fascinating effect on some kinds of toads. They may be seen rushing into it on the evenings without ever starting back on feeling pain. Contact with the hot embers rather increases the energy with which they strive to gain the hottest parts, and they never cease their struggles for the centre, even when their juices are coagulating and their limbs stiffening in the roasting heat. Various insects also are thus fascinated; but the scorpions may be seen coming away from the fire in fierce disgust, and they are so irritated as to inflict at that time their most painful stings."[182]

[164] _Peter Pilgrim._

[165] _Hist. of Carolina._

[166] _Amaenit. Acad._

[167] _Hist. of Carolina._

[168] _Dahomey and the Dahomans._

[169] _Visits to Madagascar_, 231.

[170] _Zoology of South Africa_--Reptilia.

[171] _Oiseaux d'Afrique._

[172] _Times_ Newspaper, November 9, 1852.

[173] _Zoologist_, 7273.

[174] _Zoologist_, 7382.

[175] Quoted in the _Zoologist_, 2397.

[176] _Pict. Museum_, ii. 107.

[177] _Reptiles_, (Rel. Tr. Soc.,) 206.

[178] _Bengal Sporting Mag._ for Oct. 1836; cited in the _Zoologist_, 5070.