University of Virginia Library

THE RATTLESNAKE HUNTER.[1]

During a delightful excursion in the vicinity of
the Green Mountains, a few years since, I had the
good fortune to meet with a singular character, known
in many parts of Vermont as the Rattlesnake Hunter,
It was a warm, clear day of sunshine, in the middle
of June that I saw him for the first time, while engaged
in a mineralogical ramble among the hills. His
head was bald, and his forehead was deeply marked
with the strong lines of care and age. His form was
wasted and meagre; and, but for the fiery vigor of
his eye, he might have been supposed incapacitated
by age and infirmities for even a slight exertion. Yet
he hurried over the rude ledges of rock with a quick
and almost youthful tread; and seemed earnestly

searching among the crevices and loose crags and
stinted bushes around him. All at once, he started
suddenly—drew himself back with a sort of shuddering
recoil—and then smote fiercely with his staff upon
the rock before him. Another, and another blow,
—and he lifted the lithe and crushed form of a large
Rattlesnake upon the end of his rod.

The old man's eye glistened but his lip trembled, as
he looked steadfastly upon his yet writhing victim.
“Another of the cursed race!” he muttered, between
his clenched teeth, apparently unconscious of my
presence.

I was now satisfied that the person before me was
none other than the famous Rattlesnake Hunter. He
was known throughout the neighborhood as an outcast,
and a wanderer, obtaining a miserable subsistence
from the casual charities of the people around
him. His time was mostly spent among the rocks
and rude hills, where his only object seemed to be the
hunting out and destroying of the dreaded Crotalus
horridus, or Rattlesnake. I immediately determined
to satisfy my curiosity, which had been strangely excited
by the remarkable appearance and behavior of
the stranger; and for this purpose I approached him.

“Are there many of these reptiles in this vicinity?”
I enquired, pointing to the crushed serpent.

“They are getting to be scarce,” said the old man,
lifting his slouched hat and wiping his bald brow; “I
have known the time when you could hardly stir ten
rods from your door in this part of the State without
hearing their low, quick rattle at your side, or seeing
their many-colored bodies coiling up in your path.
But, as I said before, they are getting to be scarce—
the infernal race will be extinct in a few years;—and
thank God, I have myself been a considerable cause
of their extermination.”

“You must, of course, know the nature of these
creatures perfectly well,” said I. “Do you believe
in their power of fascination or charming?”

The old man's countenance fell. There was a visible
struggle of feeling within him; for his lip quivered,
and he dashed his brown hand suddenly across his
eyes, as if to conceal a tear. But quickly recovering
himself, he answered in the low, deep voice of
one about to reveal some horrible secret—

“I believe in the Rattlesnake's power of fascination
as firmly as I believe in my own existence.”

“Surely,” said I, “you do not believe that they
have power over human beings?”

“I do—I know it to be so!”—and the old man
trembled as he spoke.—“You are a stranger to me,”
he said slowly, after scrutinizing my features for a

moment,—“but if you will go down with me to the
foot of this rock, in the shade there”—and he pointed
to a group of leaning oaks that hung over the declivity—“I
will tell you a strange and sad story of my
own experience.”

It may be supposed that I readily assented to this
proposal. Bestowing one more blow on the rattlesnake,
as if to be certain of his death, the old man descended
the rocks with a rapidity, which would have
endangered the neck of a less practiced hunter. After
reaching the spot which he had pointed out, the
Rattlesnake Hunter commenced his story in a manner
which confirmed what I had previously heard of his
education and intellectual strength.

“I was among the earliest settlers in this part of
the country. I had just finished my education at the
University of Harvard, when I was induced, by the
flattering representations of some of the earlier pioneers
into the wild lands beyond the Connecticut, to
seek my fortune in the new settlements. My wife”—
the old man's eye glistened an instant, and then a tear
crossed his brown cheek—“my wife accompanied me,
young and delicate and beautiful as she was, to this
wild and rude country. I shall never forgive myself
for bringing her hither—never. “Young man,” he
continued, “you look like one who could pity me.—

You shall see the image of the girl who followed me
to the new country.” And he unbound, as he spoke,
a ribbon from his neck, with a small miniature attached
to it.

It was that of a beautiful female. She might have
been twenty years of age—but there was an almost
childish expression in her countenance,—a softness—
a delicacy, and a sweetness of smile, which I have seldom
seen in the features of those who have tasted,
even slightly, of the bitter waters of existence. The
old man watched my countenance intently, as I surveyed
the image of his early love. “She must have
been very beautiful,” I said, as I returned the picture.

“Beautiful!” he repeated, “you may well say so.
But this avails nothing. I have a fearful story to tell:
would to God I had not attempted it; but I will go on.
My heart has been stretched too often on the rack of
memory to suffer any new pang.”

“We had resided in the new country nearly a year.
Our settlements had increased rapidly; and the comforts
and delicacies of life were beginning to be felt,
after the weary privations, and severe trials to which
we had been subjected. The red men were few and
feeble, and did not molest us. The beasts of the forest
and mountain were ferocious, but we suffered little
from them. The only immediate danger to which we

were exposed resulted from the Rattlesnakes which
infested our neighborhood. Three or four of our
settlers were bitten by them, and died in terrible agonies.
The Indians often told us frightful stories of
this snake, and its powers of fascination, and although
they were generally believed, yet for myself, I confess,
I was rather amused than convinced by their marvellous
legends.

“In one of my hunting excursions abroad, on a fine
morning—it was just at this time of the year—I was
accompanied by my wife. 'Twas a beautiful morning.
The sunshine was warm, but the atmosphere
was perfectly clear; and a fine breeze from the northwest
shook the bright, green leaves which clothed to
profusion the wreathing branches above us. I had
left my companion for a short time, in pursuit of
game; and in climbing a rugged ledge of rocks, interspersed
with shrubs and dwarfish trees, I was startled
by a quick, grating rattle. I looked forward. On
the edge of a loosened rock lay a large Rattlesnake,
coiling himself, as if for the deadly spring. He was
within a few feet of me; and I paused for an instant
to survey him. I know not why, but I stood still, and
looked at the deadly serpent with a strange feeling of
curiosity. Suddenly he unwound his coil, as if relenting
from his purpose of hostility, and raising his

head, he fixed his bright, fiery eye directly upon my
own. A chilling and indescribable sensation totally
different from any thing I had ever before experienced,
followed this movement of the serpent; but I
stood still, and gazed steadily and earnestly, for at that
moment there was a visible change in the reptile.—
His form seemed to grow larger, and his colors
brighter. His body moved with a slow, almost imperceptible
motion towards me, and a low hum of
music came from him—or, at least, it sounded in my
ear—a strange, sweet melody, faint as that which
melts from the throat of the Humming-bird. Then
the tints of his body deepened, and changed and glowed,
like the changes of a beautiful kaleidoscope,—
green, purple and gold, until I lost sight of the serpent
entirely, and saw only wild and curiously woven
circles of strange colors, quivering around me, like an
atmosphere of rainbows. I seemed in the centre of
a great prism—a world of mysterious colors;—and
the tints varied and darkened and lighted up again
around me; and the low music went on without ceasing,
until my brain reeled; and fear, for the first time,
came like a shadow over me. The new sensation
gained upon me rapidly, and I could feel the cold
sweat gushing from my brow. I had no certainty of
danger in my mind—no definite ideas of peril—all
was vague and clouded, like the unaccountable terrors
of a dream,—and yet my limbs shook, and I fancied I
could feel the blood stiffening with cold as it passed
along my veins. I would have given worlds to have
been able to tear myself from the spot—I even attempted
to do so, but the body obeyed not the impulse
of the mind—not a muscle stirred; and I stood
still, as if my feet had grown to the solid rock, with
the infernal music of the tempter in my ear, and the
baleful colorings of his enchantment before me.

Suddenly a new sound came on my ear—it was a
human voice—but it seemed strange and awful. Again
—again—but I stirred not; and then a white form
plunged before me, and grasped my arm. The horrible
spell was at once broken. The strange colors
passed from before my vision. The Rattlesnake was
coiling at my very feet, with glowing eyes and uplifted
fangs; and my wife was clinging in terror upon
me. The next instant the serpent threw himself upon
us. My wife was the victim!—The fatal fangs pierced
deeply into her hand; and her scream of agony, as
she staggered backward from me, told me the dreadful
truth.

Then it was that a feeling of madness came upon
me; and when I saw the foul serpent stealing away
from his work of death, reckless of danger, I sprang

forward and crushed him under my feet, grinding him
in pieces upon the ragged rock. The groans of my
wife now recalled me to her side, and to the horrible
reality of her situation. There was a dark, livid spot
on her hand; and it deepened into blackness as I led
her away. We were at a considerable distance from
any dwelling; and after wandering for a short time,
the pain of her wound became insupportable to my
wife, and she swooned away in my arms. Weak and
exhausted as I was, I had yet strength enough remaining
to carry her to the nearest rivulet, and bathe her
brow in the cool water. She partially recovered, and
sat down upon the bank, while I supported her head
upon my bosom. Hour after hour passed away, and
none came near us,—and there—alone, in the great
wilderness, I watched over her, and prayed with her
—and she died!

The old man groaned audibly, as he uttered these
words; and, as he clasped his long, bony hands over
his eyes, I could see the tears falling thickly through
his gaunt fingers. After a momentary struggle with
his feelings, he lifted his head once more, and there
was a fierce light in his eye as he spoke:

“But I have had my revenge. From that fatal moment
I have felt myself fitted and set apart, by the terrible
ordeal of affliction, to rid the place of my abode

of its foulest curse. And I have well nigh succeeded.
The fascinating demons are already few and powerless.
Do not imagine,” said he, earnestly regarding
the somewhat equivocal expression of my countenance,
“that I consider these creatures as serpents
only—creeping serpents;—they are the servants of the
fallen Angel—the immediate ministers of the infernal
Gulf!”

Years have passed since my interview with the Rattlesnake
Hunter: the place of his abode has changed
—a beautiful village rises near the spot of our conference,
and the grass of the church yard is green over
the grave of the old Hunter. But his story is yet fixed
upon my mind, and Time, like, enamel, only burns
deeper the first strong impression. It comes up before
me like a vividly remembered dream, whose features
are too horrible for reality.