FLORIDA AND THE WEST INDIES 171 



One afternoon in May, when there was no fish- 

 ing in the Pass, a friend and myself took a stroll 

 over the island, armed only with a butterfly-net and 

 a killing-bottle, tapping tree-trunks and thrusting 

 at palmetto in the hope of dislodging such insect 

 rarities as might therein harbour. Blithely we 

 went in our sand shoes, having been assured that no 

 rattlesnake or mocassin dwelt on the island, tramp- 

 ing over sand and through grass and round the 

 uninviting embrace of prickly - pear. Then, 

 suddenly, we both stood still, and my friend, who 

 was a yard or so in front, drew back only just in 

 time to avoid stepping on a beautiful rattlesnake. 

 Subsequent measurement fixed its length at only 

 thirty-eight inches, but in that first moment of shock 

 I would cheerfully have believed it to be six feet. 

 It was not at the moment coiled for striking, but 

 lay full length, basking in the sun. Eyes met eyes, 

 and the moment we saw it, the snake raised its flat 

 head about two inches off the ground and seemed 

 lost in a moment's indecision. Our own was brief. 

 Doubtless, had we held our hand, the rattlesnake 

 would have vanished, giving us right of way. On 

 the other hand, to spare it meant creepy sensations 

 during the rest of our stay on the island, and, apart 

 from a general mandate to slay such dangerous 

 vermin, I remembered sundry chaff about enthusi- 

 astic zoologists hoping to find "rattlers" on an 

 island known to be as free from them as Ireland 

 itself from vipers. Unless, therefore, I returned 

 to the inn with the dead body of the enemy of 

 mankind — how instinctively we give the serpent 

 this position, yet denounce the snake-bound super- 

 stitions of the Voodoo worship ! — I should be 



