University of Virginia Library

THE
FASCINATING POWER OF REPTILES.

1. CHAPTER I.

It was once my fortune to be arrested by
floods, in a certain village of the southwest;
where, there being few other means of amusement
in my power, I was glad to take refuge
in the woods, rambling repeatedly among the
grand old trees, and penetrating into shadowy
solitudes, where the strange and mournful
hum of locusts, perched in myriads among
the boughs, was mingled with the chirp of
nesting birds and the rustle of snakes and
rabbits, driven by the waters from their favourite
swamps.

In the course of one of these rambles, my
ears were saluted by a sudden squeaking and
wailing, of a very direful character, which I
by and by found proceeded from a catbird,
whose motions attracted my attention. She
was fluttering about a bush, occasionally

darting to the ground, from which she rose
with a shriek, to flutter and dart again; and,
in short, betraying so much, and such unusual,
agitation, that my curiosity was aroused,
and I stepped forward to unravel the mystery.

The mystery was soon explained. Beneath
the bush, was a huge black snake,
swaying his head to and fro among the
branches, as if looking for the easiest means
of climbing it; or, perhaps, engaged in wheedling,
serpent-like, the poor catbird to descend—at
all events so much engrossed in his
occupation, whatever it may have been, as to
take no notice of my approach—a slight
which I immediately avenged by catching
up a stick and despatching him at a blow.

“Bravo!” cried the catbird, or seemed to
cry it: certainly, she uttered a squeak strongly
expressive of delight, and fluttered and tumbled
about my head in a very antic and familiar
way, chirping and chattering what I
could not doubt were meant to be grateful
thanks for the service I had rendered her; and
then darted into the bush, where I found her
nest, containing three or four callow young,
which she suffered me to look at, and even
to handle, without seeming to be greatly

alarmed, or even moving more than a yard
or two from the bush.—It is a pity, poor catbird,
thou hast so greymalkin a voice! Were
it not for that, no bird would be a greater favourite
with man. None shows such a predilection
of his society, none so much confidence
in his honour and generosity; and
none, while admitting his familiarities with
her young, will more jealously and courageously
defend them from the attack of
enemies.

I sat down upon a fallen tree hard by, to
ponder upon these things—upon the good act
I had performed, and upon a question which
obtruded itself into my mind, namely, whether
this might not have been a case of charming,
of which I had previously heard, and read,
so much. It might be, for aught I could tell,
that the black-snake had been throwing his
spells around the poor bird; but, it was quite
as probable, the sable sinner was simply
climbing towards the nest, to make a dinner
of her young—an attempt sufficient of itself
to account for all her maternal agitation.

This little incident threw my mind into a
train of thought on the subject of reptile
fascination, which—the dead snake lying
at my side, the happy mother chirping in

her bush hard by—I indulged in, until I arrived
at the results to which I have endeavoured
to give expression in the following
chapters.

2. CHAPTER II.

For six thousand years—that is to say,
ever since the old serpent beguiled mother
Eve in the garden—the existence of the fascinating
faculty has been a subject of controversy
betwixt the profanum vulgus and the
sages of science, the one affirming the fact
as a thing observed, the other denying it, upon
the strength of arguments drawn from its apparent
impossibility. At the present day, the
question stands precisely where it did in the
beginning; the vulgar observing and affirming
as before, the wise man arguing and denying:
and in this vexed condition it may perhaps
remain for six thousand years longer,
unless it should be my good fortune in these
present pages, to settle the difficulty and lay
the question at rest forever.

And, first, I profess to be a profound and

devout believer in the whole doctrine of fascination;
having quite satisfied my mind, after
a long course of observation and inquiry, that
the faculty in question does exist, and has existed
from the remotest ages, in the reptile
family, to which I am inclined to limit it. I
am not, indeed, ignorant of the claims of animals
of another class to the possession of the
faculty—for example, the Syrens and Lamiæ
of ancient days, and the Mermaids of a later
period: but as the Syrens and Mermaids enchanted
merely with fine music, the “dulcet
and harmonious breath,” with which even a
mortal may draw souls of out men's bodies; and
as the Lamiæ were half-snake at the best; I
think, they cannot be ranked in the same category
with animals that charm—like Greek
Sorcerers and Yankee Magnetizers—by the
mere force of a look, the magic of an evil
eye. Such are your true fascinators; and
such belong only to the reptile race.

All reptiles seem, in former times, to have
been considered charmers; but the faculty is
now claimed to exist only among a few species
—the cobra of Africa and India, (the supposed
basilisk of the ancients,) the European viper,
and the rattlesnake and blacksnake of America;
of which the two last are, by general

consent, placed at the head of the tribe, as
possessing much higher, and more frequently
employed, powers of fascination than the
others. Their supremacy over the others
named, I do not doubt; but, as I am of opinion
the list of fascinating reptiles is much more
extensive than is generally supposed, so also
I believe that there are other reptiles, not
hitherto suspected as charmers, that possess
the faculty in a still higher degree of perfection.

The facts upon which observers have founded
their belief, will naturally form the first
subject of attention; many of these being,
apart from their extraordinariness, of a character
so well attested, that a very great philosopher,
no less a man than Sir Hans Sloane,
the founder of the British Museum, declared
“there was no reason to question them.” Indeed,
the facts themselves seem to be pretty
generally admitted among the philosophers;
who confine their opposition chiefly to the
inferences, and seek, by explanations of their
own, to rob the reptile of his virtue, and his
exploits of their marvel and mystery. But
let us examine the facts first, and the explanations
afterwards.

The chief victims of the magical power

are supposed to be the smaller birds and animals—sparrows,
catbirds, dormice, squirrels,
“and such like; which though sitting upon
the branch of a tree of considerable height,”
says the philosopher above mentioned, “shall,
by such steadfast or earnest looking of the
snake, fall dead into his mouth.”

According to the more modern belief,
the charmed animal makes many, though
unavailing, efforts to break through the
bonds of fascination, the birds, in particular,
fluttering for a long time around the destroyer,
before they finally drop into his remorseless
jaws. Instances of the fascination
of such small creatures are extremely numerous,
and authenticated by persons of the
greatest respectability. Thus we have an
instance of the charming of a bluejay by a
black snake, endorsed by the Rev. President
Dwight; another of a squirrel, authenticated
by Mr. Chief Justice Dudley of Massachusetts,
a Fellow of the Royal Society; and
twenty similar ones by Professor Kalm; not
to speak of other persons of equal weight of
character. A very circumstantial account is
given by Dr. Todd, of Vermont, of a case—
it might almost be called a double case of fascination—witnessed
by himself, and chroni

cled by the philosophic Samuel Williams,
LL. D., in his Natural and Civil History of
that state—a gentleman who laid the scientific
world under obligation by actually
counting the leaves on a maple tree! a feat
of arithmetical dexterity only rivalled by the
exploit of old Tom Fuller, the (in his day)
celebrated negro calculator of Virginia, who
began his mathematical studies by counting
the hairs on a cow's tail![1]

“Walking,” says Dr. Todd, “in a field in

Connecticut, near a small grove of walnut
trees, I saw a sparrow circling in the air, just
in the margin of the wood, and making dreadful
moans of distress. Immediately the former
circumstances occurred,” (he had seen an
instance of charming in his boyhood, but had
been frightened away by the charmer,) “and
I approached with caution within twenty feet
of a black snake, about seven feet long, having
a white throat, and of the kind which the
people there call runners or choking-snakes.
The snake lay stretched out in a still posture:
I viewed him and the bird near half an hour.
The bird, in every turn in its flight, descended
nearer the object of its terror, until it approached
the mouth of the serpent. The
snake, by a quick motion of its head, seized
the bird by the feathers, and plucked out
several. The bird flew off a few feet, but
quickly returned. The snake continued to
pluck the feathers at every flight of the bird,
until it could no longer fly. The bird would
then hop up to the snake and from him, until
it had not a feather left, except on its wings
and head. The snake now killed it by breaking
its neck, by an amazing sudden motion:
he did not devour it, but cast it a little off,
and continued his station. Now the tragedy
was to be again repeated; for another bird of
the same kind, which had shown signs of distress
during the first tragedy, was fascinated
to the jaws of the monster in the same circling
manner as the former, and suffered the
loss of some feathers. I could no longer
stand neuter. With indignation I attacked
the hated reptile; but he escaped me. The
living bird was liberated from his fangs.
The dead one I picked up and showed to my
friends, destitute of feathers as before mentioned.”

One may judge of the wondrous strength
of the charm exercised in this instance, when
we find the poor sparrows holding still to be
plucked, as well as eaten.

Equally circumstantial is the account given
by Colonel Beverly, in his history of Virginia,
of the charming of a hare (Americé, rabbit,)
by a rattlesnake, a spectacle witnessed by
himself and two other gentlemen, his companions.
“It happened thus,” quoth the historian:
“One of the company, in his search
for the best cherries,” (they had ridden into
an orchard by the roadside,) “espied the hare
sitting: and although he went close by her,
she did not move, till he (not suspecting the
occasion of her gentleness,) gave her a lash

with his whip; this made her run about ten
feet, and then sit down again. The gentleman
not finding the cherries ripe, immediately
returned the same way, and near the place
where he struck the hare, he espied a rattlesnake.
Still, not suspecting the charm, he
goes back about twenty yards to a hedge to
get a stick to kill the snake, and, at his return,
found the snake removed and coiled in
the same place whence he had moved the hare.
This put him into immediate thoughts of
looking for the hare again, and, soon he espied
her about ten feet off the snake, in the same
place to which she had been started when he
whipped her. She was now lying down, but
would sometimes raise herself on her forefeet,
struggling as it were for life, or to get
away; but could never raise her hinder parts
from the ground, and then would fall flat on
her side again, panting vehemently. In this
condition the hare and snake were when he
called me; and though we were all three come
up within fifteen feet of the snake, to have a
full view of the whole, he took no notice at
all of us, nor so much as gave a glance towards
us. There we stood at least half an
hour, the snake not altering a jot, but the
hare often struggling and falling on its side
again, till at last the hare lay still, as dead,
for some time: then the snake moved out of
his coil, and slid gently and smoothly towards
the hare, his colours at that instant being
ten times more glorious and shining than at
other times. As the snake moved along, the
hare happened to fetch another struggle;
upon which the snake made a stop, lying at
his length till the hare lay quiet again for a
short space; and then he advanced again till
he came to the hare,”—and, to shorten the
worthy historian's story, he swallowed it.

It would seem, that, in this case, the hare
actually gave up the ghost before the serpent
seized him, so mortally efficacious was the
charm. But at this we ought not to be surprised.
Levaillant, the celebrated naturalist
and traveller, relates two instances that occurred
under his own observation, of deaths
thus produced, the one of a shrike, which was
killed by a snake three and a half feet off, the
other a mouse destroyed by a reptile at double
the distance—the distances having been
carefully measured by the accurate philosopher.
“I stripped,” says he, “the bird before
the whole company, and made them observe
that it was untouched, and had not received
the slightest wound.” “Upon taking up the

mouse,” he adds, “it expired in my hand,
without its being possible for me to discover,
by the most attentive examination, what had
occasioned its death.”

Nor are we to consider the charming faculty
capable of being exercised only at the expense
of the smaller and meaner races of animals.
It will be easy to show, that, when a snake
has a mind for higher game, he has but to
turn his eyes upon it, and thus overcome any
animal he has a fancy for. It is but a month
or two since we had an account in the newspapers
of the killing of a huge rattlesnake in
Alabama, a monster thirteen and a half feet
long, in whose maw was discovered a full
grown fox. This, I take it, was manifestly
a case of fascination; for it is quite impossible
to suppose any fox in the world would
have suffered himself to be eaten by a snake,
unless the latter had charmed the cunning out
of him.

But let us skip all intermediate animals,
and prove that the fascinating faculty is sometimes
powerful enough even to enthrall human
beings—that men, women, and children
have been brought as thoroughly under its
sway as the meanest mouse or sparrow that
ever squeaked in vain to a serpent for mercy.

I might, I think with the utmost propriety,
include in this category the instance of a
little child of eighteen months or two years
old, who, a few years since, having had his
dinner crammed into his hand, stole out of
his father's cabin to munch it at liberty, and
was soon after, to the horror of his parents,
discovered under a bush, stuffing his apple
pie down the throat of a blacksnake. To
think that any thing short of fascination could
have choused a hungry urchin of two years
old out of his dinner, I hold to be midsummer
madness; and accordingly, I put this
down in my tablets as an instance of the fascination
of a human being by a serpent;
though sufficiently provided with other cases,
which the reader will perhaps hold to be still
more striking and satisfactory.

Dr. Williams, of whom I have already
made honourable mention, has added, in his
history, to the case mentioned several instances
of the fascination of human beings
by reptiles, all of them so well authenticated,
and so curious in themselves, that it would
be a sin of the greatest magnitude to pass
them by.

The first is a story, authenticated by
Samuel Beach, a naturalist, of two boys in

New Jersey, who, being in the woods looking
for cattle, lighted by chance upon a large
blacksnake; upon which, one of them, an inquisitive
imp, immediately resolved to ascertain
by experiment whether the snake, so celebrated
for its powers, could charm or fascinate
him; he requested his companion to take
up a stick, and keep a good eye upon the
snake, to prevent evil consequences, while he
made trial of its powers. “This,” says Mr.
Beach, “the other agreed to do; when the
first advanced a few steps nearer the snake,
and made a stand, looking steadily on him.
When the snake observed him in that situation,
he raised his head with a quick motion,
and the lad says, that at that instant there
appeared something to flash in his eyes, which
he could compare to nothing more similar
than the rays of light thrown from a glass or
mirror when turned in the sunshine: he said,
it dazzled his eyes; at the same time, the
colours appeared very beautiful, and were in
large rings, circles, or rolls, and it seemed to
be dark to him every where else, and his head
began to be dizzy, much like being over swift
running water. He then says, he thought he
would go from the snake; and, as it was dark
every where but in the circles, he was fearful
of treading any where else; and as they still
grew in less circumference, he could not see
where to step: but as the dizziness in his
head still increased, and he tried to call his
comrade for help, but could not speak, it then
appeared to him as though he was in a vortex
or whirlpool, and that every turn brought
him nearer the centre. His comrade, who
had impatiently waited, observing him move
forward to the right and left, and at every
turn approach nearer the snake, making a
strange groaning noise, not unlike a person
in a fit of the nightmare, he said he could
stand still no longer, but immediately ran and
killed the snake, which was of the largest
size. The lad that had been charmed was
much terrified, and in a tremor; his shirt was,
in a few moments, wet with sweat, he complained
much of a dizziness in his head, attended
with pain, and appeared to be in a
melancholy, stupid situation for some days.”

Another case is given on the authority of
Col. Claghorn, of Rutland, Vt., and relates to
two men of Salisbury in Connecticut, named
Baker and Nichols. “Going towards the
meeting-house in that place, they discovered
a large rattlesnake in a plain open piece of
land. The snake lay coiled up in a posture

of defence. To attack him with safety, they
procured a long slender pole or switch, with
which they could reach him without being in
any danger from his motions. As the snake
could not escape, they diverted themselves
with irritating him with their pole, without
giving him any considerable wound. They
had carried on this business some time, during
which the snake had repeatedly attempted
to spring upon them from his coils, and to
escape by running, and discovered uncommon
appearances of rage and disappointment.
Being prevented in all his attempts to escape
from, or to bite, his opposers, he suddenly
stretched himself at his full length, and fixed
his eyes on the man who was tickling him
with the end of the pole. The snake lay perfectly
still, and Mr. Nichols kept on the same
motions with his switch. When this scene
had continued for a short time, Mr. Nichols
seemed to incline his body more and more towards
the snake, and began to move towards
him in a very slow and irregular manner.
Baker, who stood looking on, noticed these
appearances, and called to Nichols to desist
from the business, and despatch the snake.
He took no notice of these admonitions, but
appeared to have his whole attention fixed on
the snake, was observed to be gradually
moving towards him, to have a pale aspect,
and to be in a profuse sweat. Alarmed with
the prospect, Baker took him by the shoulders,
gave him a violent shake, pulled him
away by force, and inquired what was the
matter. Nichols, thus forced from the scene,
made an uncommon mournful noise of distress,
appeared to be uncommonly and universally
affected, and in a few minutes replied
to the inquiries, that he did not know what
ailed him, that he could not tell how he felt,
that he had never felt so before, that he did
not know what was the matter with him, but
was very unwell.”

A third case is the fascination of a lady of
Lansingburg, on the North River, vouched
for by Mr. Watkins, a minister of the gospel,
whom she informed of the adventure. The
spell was in this case relieved by a passer-by;
when the disenchanted lady immediately felt
“as though she had been among poisonous
herbs, itching, &c. which issued in a long fit
of sickness, which her physician ascribed to
the fascination of the snake; and she had
not recovered,” says the reverend narrator,
“when I saw her.”

The fourth case recorded by Dr. Williams

is still more interesting, being the direct personal
account of the sufferer himself, a Mr.
Elias Willard, of Tinmouth, Vermont, whom
Dr. Williams characterizes as “a man of
much information, virtue, and veracity.”

“When I was a boy about thirteen years
old,” says Mr. Willard, “my father sent me
into a field to mow some briers. I had not
been long employed when I discovered a large
rattlesnake, and looked round for something
to kill him; but not readily discovering a
weapon, my curiosity led me to view him.
He lay coiled up, with his tail erect, and making
the usual singing noise with his rattles.
I had viewed him but a short time, when the
most vivid and lively colours that imagination
can paint, and far beyond the powers of the
pencil to imitate, among which yellow was
the most predominant, and the whole drawn
into a bewitching variety of gay and pleasing
forms, were presented to my eyes; at the
same time, my ears were enchanted with the
most rapturous strains of music, wild, lively,
complicated and harmonious, in the highest
degree melodious, captivating, and enchanting,
far beyond any thing I ever heard
before or since, and indeed far exceeding
what my imagination, in any other situation,

could have conceived. I felt myself irresistibly
drawn toward the hated reptile; and as
I had been often used to seeing and killing
rattlesnakes, and my senses were so absorbed
by the gay vision and rapturous music, I
was not for some time apprehensive of much
danger: but suddenly recollecting what I had
heard the Indians relate (but what I had
never before believed,) of the fascinating
power of these serpents, I turned with horror
from the dangerous scene; but it was not
without the most violent efforts that I was
able to extricate myself. All the exertions I
could make with my whole strength were
hardly sufficient to carry me from the scene
of horrid, yet pleasing enchantment; and
while I forcibly dragged off my body, my
head seemed to be irresistibly drawn to the
enchanter by an invisible power. And I
fully believe, that in a few moments longer,
it would have been wholly out of my power
to make an exertion sufficient to get away.
The latter part of the scene, I was extremely
frightened, and ran as fast as possible towards
home, my fright increasing with my speed.
The first person I saw was my uncle, who,
discovering my fright, ran to meet me, and
asked the occasion of it: I told him I had
been frightened by a rattlesnake, but was in
too great a perturbation to relate the whole.
He rallied me for my pusillanimity, and took
me by the hand; and we went to the place
where the snake was still lying, which was
soon despatched by my uncle. I then related
the story to him and have since told it to
many other persons. The night following, I
never closed my eyes. The same scene continually
haunted my imagination. Whether
the agitation was occasioned merely by the
recollection of what had passed, or whether
the operation of the charm still had some real
effect upon the nervous system, I cannot determine.”

To these instances must be added another
—also in the words of the victim—related by
Levaillant. The subject of the adventure
was a captain in the British army. “While
in garrison in Ceylon,” said the soldier,
“amusing myself one day hunting in a marsh,
I was, in the course of my sport, suddenly
seized with a convulsive and involuntary
trembling, different from any thing I had ever
experienced, and at the same time was
strongly attracted, and in spite of myself, to
a particular spot of the marsh. Directing my
eyes to the spot, I discovered with feelings

of horror, a serpent of enormous size, whose
look instantly pierced me. Having, however,
not yet lost all power of motion, I embraced
the opportunity, before it was too late, and
saluted the reptile with the contents of my
fusee. The report was a talisman that broke
the charm. All at once, as if by miracle, my
convulsion ceased; I felt myself able to fly;
and the only inconvenience of this extraordinary
adventure was a cold sweat, which was
doubtless the effect of my fear, and of the
violent agitation my senses had undergone.”

The above case is the more remarkable,
as the gallant captain was charmed even before
he had seen the snake that charmed him;
so that, it seems, the eyes of a reptile are not
his only tools of trade.

A very marvellous case, a year or two
since, ran through the newspapers, of a gentleman
in Georgia, who, being out fishing on
the banks of a wooded river, and having little
of the luck, and none of the philosophy, of
honest old Isaac Walton, stuck his rod in the
mud, and fell asleep; during which, he was, in
a very dastardly manner, set upon by a rattlesnake,
who charmed him, and would perhaps
have devoured him, had it not been for
a rival blacksnake (or king-snake, as it is

called in that part of the world,) who, luckily,
at that moment appeared, and ended the spell
by darting upon the enchanter, and squeezing
him to death.

To these cases I cannot avoid adding
another, perhaps more singular than any yet
recorded, and related to me by the subject,
an honest old negro of Delaware, for whose
veracity, in this particular case, at least, I
am quite willing to stand sponsor. Old Bob,
for such was his name, was ditching in his
master's meadow, a place famous for all kinds
of snakes, venomous ones excepted; a circumstance
no wise agreeable to Old Bob, who
held all reptiles in equal horror and detestation,
and had, in especial, a great dread of
their powers of fascination. While toiling
thus, in constant alarm, bare-footed in the
shallow trench he was excavating among
sedges and splatterdocks, he was suddenly
terrified at the sight of a snake's head peering
out of the mud and water within six inches
of his shins. “Lorra my! massa,”
—he was used to exclaim, while telling his
story, and endeavouring to explain his terrible
sensations—“saw his eyes a peepin' out
of his black head—saw de fiah a flashin' out
of 'em, guy! like fiah a flashin' out of a gun:

golly my! nebber war so scared. Peeped
me right in the face—Oh, pshaw! nebber
felt so in my life. Wanted to run, massa,
but no more run than a barn-door; stuck fast
in the mud—could'nt move—all over with
niggah!”—In short, old Bob, after a terrible
paroxysm of fright and fascination together,
that bound him for a moment, hand and limb,
bethought him suddenly of the ditching spade
still in his grasp; with which, urged by desperation,
he aimed a terrible blow at the head,
and succeeded in slicing off—not the head of
a snake, but the best part of his own great
toe!—which, tilted up by a clod, was the serpent
that had fascinated him, there being no
other, at that moment, in sight.

These remarkable facts, which philosophers
are loath to attribute to a magical faculty of
fascination in the reptiles that play so important
a part in them, they have endeavoured
to explain away by sundry ingenious theories,
which may now be briefly noticed.

The first which I shall notice, because the
most recent, and because it has most acceptance
among unbelievers, is that of an American
philosopher, the late distinguished Dr. Barton,
who, in a paper printed in an early volume of
the Transactions of the American Philosophical

Society, had the credit of demolishing all
previous theories, as well as of annihilating the
fascinating power itself—a credit which he enjoyed
until a very recent period, when the great
Cuvier petrified the philosophic world by declaring
that the subject of reptile fascination
was by no means cleared up, but on the contrary,
as liable to controversy as ever. Dr. Barton
explained every thing by referring to the
well known thievish propensities and hungry
appetites of reptiles, and the devoted attachment,
equally notorious, of the lesser animals,
especially birds, to their young; in the defence
of which from the attacks of the rapacious
enemy, the latter would naturally display
much maternal anxiety, and as naturally
sometimes, by mere accident, fall into the
power of the assailant. It is highly probable,
or indeed quite certain, that small birds have
often thus heroically sacrificed themselves,
and that observers have wrongfully attributed
their death to fascination; but as it does not
appear, that any of the human beings, whose
cases have been mentioned, had any callow
broods to take care of, it is quite evident the
theory of Dr. Barton will not meet all cases,
and is, therefore, not the true one.

Professor Kalm and Sir Hans Sloane were

of opinion, that the animals supposed to be
fascinated, had been first bitten by the charmers,
and that their agitation, cries, and fruitless
struggles to escape, were the natural effects
of an envenomed wound and approaching
death. This solution cannot be admitted;
because animals, as experience shows, when
bitten by reptiles, are always wise enough to
take to their wings, or heels;—because, bitten
or not, the moment the charm is interrupted,
the animal flees, or flies, away;—and because
it will not apply to animals charmed by blacksnakes,
whose bite is not at all venomous:
not to speak of the fact that the shrike and
the mouse so carefully examined by Levaillant,
and our human sufferers as above mentioned,
had in no case received so much as a
scratch.

Other persons have thought, that, as all
animals are subject to disease, and hundreds
of the smaller ones, especially birds, squirrels,
and rabbits, are daily left by gunners wounded
and half dead in the fields, the difficulty
might be settled by supposing these poor disabled
creatures the subjects of apparent fascination.
This is, however, met by some of
the preceding objections: sick or not, the animal
displays sufficient activity, the moment

his fascinating oppressor receives a good
thwack on the back.

Others, again, have supposed, with Blumenbach,
that the curiosity excited by the
jingling music of the rattlesnake, and terror,
operating to such an extent as to deprive the
animal of all power of escape, will explain
the whole mystery of fascination. But curiosity,
as an operating cause, must be thrown
aside; since all charmers are not rattlesnakes;
and as for the fear of a peril which can be
easily escaped, and is not imminent at first,
it is difficult to suppose that it should so completely
overpower the physical faculties of
any animal whatever. Where the occasion
is very sudden, or unusually frightful, it is
easy to conceive of such a paroxysm and
ecstasy of terror as shall deprive an animal
of all corporeal power. Such is the frenzy of
horses and cattle in a stable on fire. Pigeons
and storks have been known to dart down
into the flames of a burning city; and in the
same way, birds have been brought down
from the air by the shouts of a great army.
But there can be nothing similar in the terror
inspired by a serpent—a spectacle customary
enough to all the little dwellers of the woods
and fields. Besides, who can suppose that a

British Captain in India, who had doubtless
hunted his tiger, and shot his wild elephant,
should grow chicken-hearted at sight of a
cobra da capello? or that a full blooded Yankee,
who had slaughtered his cord or two of
snakes, should ever show the white feather to
a single rattler?

The last theory I shall mention is the earliest
in date, being recorded by Pliny, and revived
by the philosophic Count de Lacépède;
both of whom refer the phenomenon of fascination
to an intoxicating emanation, which
reptiles are supposed to throw out at will, inebriating
all animals within its influence. The
adventure of the bold Briton, who was charmed
before he saw the cobra, is somewhat in
favour of this doctrine; which is by no means
so absurd in itself as many may be inclined to
think. The effluvium of the vanilla intoxicates
the labourer who gathers it; the manchineel,
the elder, and other narcotic, shrubs produce a
baleful effect on persons sleeping under their
shade. That an animal should have the
power to exhale a noxious emanation does
not seem a whit more extraordinary than the
faculty which others possess of dispensing
light and electric shocks. Plausible, however,
as this ancient theory may seem, it receives

a death blow from some of the cases I have
narrated. In the instances of the two boys
and the two men, it appears that the snakes
were able to charm only one individual at a
time; whereas, had an intoxicating effluvium
been the means used, both the adventurers
must, in each instance, have been fascinated
together.

The bright and beautiful lights that seemed
to have attended each case of man-charming,
and the ravishing music heard by Willard,
are phenomena, which may perhaps assist
some happier theorist in building up a more
poetical hypothesis. As for myself, I do not
pretend to speculate upon the subject, being
content to believe, without attempting to play
the philosopher.

The facts of serpent-charming, as I have
mentioned, are generally credited by the
sages. Some, however, affect not merely to
doubt, but even to discard them, as being the
coinages, or idle imaginings, of ignorant
country-people, whose representations are,
of course, to be considered of no account
whatever. This is carrying scepticism too
far. The country people, from whom indeed
most of the accounts come, are, as no less a
man than Burke tells us, “better observers,

in such matters, than more civilized and reasoning
people, for they rely more upon experience
than theories.” And, moreover,
many of these relations come from men of
admitted intelligence and integrity.

Other persons attack the accounts, more
slyly and adroitly, with objections; two of
which, being somewhat striking, and apparently
conclusive, it is proper to notice.

The first objection is, that no snake ever
exercises a fascinating faculty in a cage.
This objection, unluckily for the makers, asserts
what is not the fact. An early number
of the London Philosophical Transactions
contains a perfectly well authenticated account
by Dr. Sprengell, of several experiments performed
upon female vipers in cages, with
mice; which being thrown into the cage, were
charmed, danced about, squeaked, and ended
by running down the vipers' throats.

The other objection is, that, however frequent
were the cases formerly told and recorded
of reptile fascination, none ever occur,
none are ever heard of now.

To this I beg leave to say, that it is a
great mistake—that cases are still of frequent
occurrence—that they happen, indeed,
every day, and under every body's nose—

and that any one curious on the subject,
needs but to open his eyes and look about
him, to see them—cases of fascination by
reptiles a hundred fold more strongly endowed
with the charming faculty than common
serpents, though belonging, as I believe,
to the blacksnake and rattlesnake families—
and producing effects proportionably greater
and more destructive.

Look—as any one may—at that crawling
thing, with forked tongue—the blackest of
blacksnakes—that has crept into the bower
of the innocent maid, upon whom he has set
his serpent glance—into whose ears he has
hissed the music of perdition!—Fascinated
by a look that seems of love, lulled by a
voice that has stolen the tones of tenderness,
the innocent maid dreams of joy and happiness,
of faith and affection; while, all the
while, the reptile is writhing his folds around
her neck, and burying his fangs in her
bosom.

And there crawls another of the blacksnake
family!—his basilisk look is upon the widow
holding her orphan upon her knee, and smiling
upon the reptile, in whom her deluded
eyes—for he has cast his spell upon her—see
only the form of a friend and protector—a

friend and protector that will grind her bones
and the bones of her little one to powder.

And here is one of the rattlesnake family
—a subtile beast, that bears upon his tail a
dice-box, with which he jangles such a melody
of fascination, that, presently, you shall
see that bright-eyed youth—a sparrow, or
pigeon, from whom he has already plucked
every feather—bitten to death, and laid, a
gory corse, in a grave of dishonour.

And here rolls another—a fat and swelling
monster, golden of hue, and on his tail, for a
rattle, a cask of dollars, labelled over with
price-currents and maps of town-lots, all glorious
to behold and bewitching to hear; and
around him a knot of hopeful fools, dazzled
by the glittering speculation of his eyes, all
pressing forward to be—devoured.

Another yet!—and behold how comely of
aspect and amiable of hue, with the crest of
a cobra on his head, whereon is written Philanthropy,
and at his tail a bundle of lucifer-matches
and tomahawks, wherewith, as he
charms the virtuous multitude, he supplies
them the means (for he himself harms not)
of knocking one another's brains out, and
setting a community in flames.

See yet another—a lank, homely, insignificant-looking

creature, yet a reptile more
powerful to charm, more strong to destroy,
than all who have preceded him. He crawls
through the multitude, hissing a song of liberty,
a collar round his throat with the name
of Patriot engraved thereon, and at his tail
a cluster of penny-trumpets and popguns,
with which he makes a music that sets all to
dancing with joy, and to knocking one another
upon the head; the while he crawls
upon their necks, wreathing them together in
hideous chains, and, as he wreathes, sucking
away their blood and substance.

Thousands of reptiles such as these, and
thousands of others of different hues and species,
creep round about us, plying their basilisk
arts every hour and every moment, making
victims alike of high and low, of old and
young, wise and weak, rich and poor; and he
who, from some safe covert, will look awhile
upon them and their operations, will never
afterwards doubt the existence of—the Fascinating
Power of Reptiles.

END OF VOL. I.