THE RATTLESNAKE. 
101 
win seldom attempt to bite, and if it does strike a foe, the poison is comparatively mild in its 
effects. But after August, and before it seeks its winter quarters, the Rattlesnake is not only 
more fierce than at any other time of the year, but the venom seems to be of more fearful 
intensity, inflicting wounds from which nothing escapes with life. 
The rapidity of the effects depends necessarily on the part which is bitten. Should 
the points of the teeth wound a moderately large vein or an artery, the venom courses 
swiftly through the blood, and the victim dies in a few minutes. But if, perchance, the 
tooth should pierce some fleshy and muscular part of the body, the poison does not have 
such rapid effect, and the injured person may be saved by the timely administration of 
powerful remedies. There seems, indeed, to be no one specific for the bite of this reptile, as 
the effects vary according to the individual who happens to be bitten, and the state of health 
in which the sufferer may be at the time. Immediate suction, however, and the unsparing 
use of the knife appear to be the most efficacious means of neutralizing the poison, and strong 
ammonia and oil have been employed with good results. Catesby, in writing about this 
reptile, remarks that he has known instances where death has occurred within two minutes 
after the infliction of the bite. 
The food of the Rattlesnake consists of rats, mice, reptiles, and small birds, the latter 
of which creatures it is said to obtain by the exercise of a mysterious power termed 
fascination, the victim being held, as it were, by the gaze of its destroyer, and compelled 
to remain in the same spot until the Serpent can approach sufficiently near to seize it. It 
is even said that the Rattlesnake can coil itself at the foot of a tree, and by the mere power of 
its gaze, force a squirrel or bird to descend and fling itself into the open mouth waiting to 
receive it. 
These phenomena have been strongly asserted by persons who say that they have seen 
them, and are violently denied by other persons who have never witnessed the process, and 
therefore believe that the circumstances could not have happened. For my own part I cer- 
tainly incline to the theory of fascination, thinking that the power exists, and is occasionally 
employed, but under peculiar conditions. That any creature may be suddenly paralyzed by 
fear at the sight of a deadly foe is too well known to require argument, and it is therefore 
highly probable that a bird or squirrel, which could easily escape from the Serpent’s jaws by 
its superior agility, might be so struck with sudden dread on seeing its worst enemy, that it 
would be unable to move until the reptile had seized it. 
Birds, especially, are most sensitive in their nature, and can be fascinated in a manner by 
any one who chooses to try the experiment. Let any bird be taken, laid on its back, and the 
finger pointed at its eyes. The whole frame of the creature will begin to stiffen, the legs will 
be drawn up, and if the hand be gently removed, the bird will lie motionless on its back for 
any length of time. I always employ this method of managing my canaries when I give them 
their periodical dressing of insect-destroying powder. I shake the powder well into their 
feathers, pour a small heap of it on a sheet of paper, lay the bird in the powder, hold my 
finger over its eyes for a moment, and leave it lying there while I catch and prepare another 
bird for the same process. There is another way of fascinating the bird, equally simple. Put 
it on a slate or dark board, draw a white chalk line on the board, set the bird longitudinally 
upon the line, put its beak on the white mark, and you may go away for hours, and when you 
return the bird will be found fixed in the same position, there held by some subtle and myste- 
rious influence which is as yet unexplained. 
Thus far there is no difficulty in accepting the theory of fascination, but the idea of a 
moral compulsion on the part of the Snake, and a perforced obedience on the part of its victim, 
is so strange that it has met with very great incredulity. Still, although strange, it is not 
quite incredible. We all know how the immediate presence of danger causes a reckless desire 
to see and do the worst, regardless of the consequences, and heeding only the overpowering 
impulse that seems to move the body without the volition of the mind. There are many 
persons who cannot stand on any elevated spot without feeling so irresistible a desire of 
flinging themselves into the depths below, that they dare not even stand near an open window 
or walk near the edge of a cliff. It may be that the squirrel or bird, seeing its deadly enemy 
