498 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Ocx. 18, 1913. 
The Whirr of the Rattler 
S PRING is the proper season for snake 
stories, for at that season one’s mind is 
almost in as unsettled a state as is the 
weather. The air and sunshine are intoxicating 
and the eyes are prone to magnify and the 
tongue to exaggerate. The woods loafer and 
fisherman see “snakes” and fishes, the size of 
which would puzzle a naturalist. These men do 
not mean to lie—it is all the fault of the 
weather—for at a later date they would hesitate 
to tell even to a confiding friend what only a 
few months before they were proclaiming from 
the housetops, as it were. With these facts in 
mind do not hesitate this warm Southern even¬ 
ing to jot down a few notes on that king of 
American reptiles, the deadly rattlesnake. 
Several days ago I started forth to make 
a tour of inspection through my orange and 
grape fruit groves. The growth of weeds was 
rather rank, so I carried a hoe along to cut 
down some of the larger ones. About a week 
before I had been over the same ground, and 
having no hoe on that occasion, I had bent 
some of the larger weeds down with my foot. 
One especially tall weed I had bent across a wet, 
mucky spot and had used it to step upon so as 
to not muddy my shoes. Before stepping upon 
it this time, however, 1 thought to cut it off near 
the ground with my hoe. and as I did so I un¬ 
covered about six feet of coiled rattler. The 
hoc descended a second time very briskly and 
his snakeship was severed in twain. Had I not 
carried the hoe, the chances are I would have 
stepped directly upon him; also the chances are 
about ninety-nine to one that had I done so, this 
articles would still be in the ink. The snake 
measured almost six feet and had fourteen 
rattles and a button. 
Two years ago, not fifty feet from the 
scene of this adventure, my brother, his wife 
and myself were gathering tomatoes and un¬ 
knowingly passed and repased within a few feet 
of a big rattler without the latter betraying his 
presence, but our dog trotting up just then 
aroused his ire and there was a loud whirr-r-r-r; 
there were two scared men, a scared woman 
and a very scared dog in that locality just then. 
Never before or since have I heard a rattle¬ 
snake make such a fuss, but a slight tap on the 
head quieted him. I pressed his fangs back 
with a stick and extracted what I judged to be 
about a spoonful of yellowish, greenish venom. 
No doubt we would have never discovered this 
snake had it not been for the dog, for the rattler 
seems to live in deadly enmity with the canine 
world. 
On the evening of the 5th of August last a 
neighbor was walking along a naxrow, grass- 
grown path leading from his house to his pasture 
lot, when suddenly his dog, which was trotting 
along ahead, uttered a loud yell of pain and at 
the same moment a rattler began buzzing. The 
dog howled pitifully for awhile, but the deadly 
venom soon did its work. In the darkness 
the snake made its escape. Whether the snake 
would have molested the man had he instead of 
the dog come upon the snake is a question. I 
have known a man to walk within a few feet of 
By C. A. V. 
a rattler without the latter making a sound or 
attempting to strike, but I never knew of a 
dog passing one without the snake making his 
presence known at once. 
Several years ago in company with my 
father, mother, my brother and his family I 
was camping on a high sand ridge at the edge 
of the St. John’s Marshes. Our camp was on 
the site of an old Seminole village known as 
"Billy Smith's Camp,” Billy Smith being the 
chief of that branch of the Cow Creek Semi- 
TWO DIAMOND BACKS. 
noles. Only a few decaying timbers, an old 
iron kettle and a few glass beads scattered 
about on the sand remained to mark the spot 
whereon had stood the town, but a deep smooth 
path zigzagging through the dwarf growth of 
saw palmettos to a well at the foot of the ridge 
was still plainly defined. 
We used the path every day with no thought 
of harm; but one day while father and brother 
were carrying water from the well, the latter 
brushed aside an old dead palmetto fan beside 
the path, uncovering as he did so a very large 
rattler. He showed no fight and had sev¬ 
eral splendid oportunities to strike the men had 
he so desired. This and several personal ex : 
periences convinces me that as a rule the rattler 
is not quarrelsome. I have no doubt that many 
times we are quite close to these snakes with¬ 
out arousing them. There has been much dis¬ 
cussion in sporting papers whether or not the 
rattler always sounds his rattle before striking. 
Well, he does not. and many hunters familiar 
with the Florida diamondback will attest this 
fact. 
During the summer of 1910 several negroes 
were grubbing up a rough palmetto patch near 
the rear of our chicken yard and discovered a 
den of seven rattlers. All were killed and soon 
after a neighbor killed another, making eight 
deadly snakes killed in a palmetto clump 
around which several little boys had been play¬ 
ing all summer without seeing or hearing a 
single snake. 
Sometimes a rattler begins buzzing at first 
knowledge of man’s presence, and again you can 
walk directly up to one without stirring him up. 
1 encountered two rattlers on the public road 
last winter, one in November and the other in 
February. Neither showed fight and both en¬ 
deavored to get away. I'wo quail hunters, a 
Mr. Wellbaum, of Ohio, and a Mr. Haverstick, 
of Pennsylvania, found two large rattlers, or 
rather their dog found them while hunting over 
the prairie in St. Lucie county a few winters 
ago. The men shot both snakes, but it ended 
Mr. Haversfick’s quail hunting in Florida. One 
experience with the big, death-dealing diamond- 
backs is enough for him, he says. I wonder how 
he would have felt had he had an experience 
like two neighbors of mine, Messrs. Beal and 
Ayres. They had been deer hunting and 
camped out for the night, spreading their 
blankets over some dry palm fans beneath a 
small Icanto and sleeping soundly all night, 
ignorant of the fact that a rattler was snoozing 
peacefully under Mr. Ayres’ blanket. As the 
night was rather chilly no doubt the serpent 
was too well pleased with his warm quarters to 
raise any objections. 
I could thus go on and fill pages with true 
rattlesnake stories, and were I to write all the 
questionable ones I have heard I could fill 
volumes, yet during the past five years there 
has been, to my knowledge, but one case of 
death from snake bite in this county (St. Lucie). 
The victim was Mr. Ryalls, a well known resi¬ 
dent of Sebastian. With some companions he 
was hunting along Padgett Branch, a small 
stream flowing into Lake Wilmington, and 
when returning to camp at dusk he stepped upon 
what in the darkness he mistook for a palmetto 
root at the ford of the stream, the root, how¬ 
ever, proved to be a rattlesnake, and as Mr. 
Ryalls had rolled up his trousers, preparatory 
to wading the stream, the snake sank its fangs 
deep into the unprotected calf of his leg. After 
shooting the snake, he cut out a large piece of 
flesh where he was struck. His companions 
soon joined him and did all that was possible 
to save the man’s life, but their efforts were of 
no avail. I crossed the creek at the scene of 
this sad occurrence some time later. It was 
perfectly bare of grass or undergrowth, and it 
is strange that the man mistook the snake for 
a root. A pair of thick, strong leggings would 
have saved this man’s life. I have such a pair, 
the weight of which somewhat resembles the 
armor of the ancient knights, but I feel safer 
