Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Thursday, December 28, 1922
Cougars, when hungry, will sometimes tackle a porcupine for a meal, and always with the result of sticking the mucous membrane of the mouth full of quills, from the wounds of which death is almost sure to ensue. When I was with an expedition in the Big Horn mountains, a fine mountain lion was found dead; upon examination it was soon ascertained that it has been the victim of an experience of this kind. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â – American Forestry Magazine
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Friday, October 21, 1898
A Catskill Mountaineer Who Prefers Reptiles to Wife and Child.
    Up in the Catskills lives one of those men who have an affinity for snakes. He prefers the companionship of any kind of reptile to that of the most genial man or fascinating woman. Wherever he goes he carries with him several of these pets, and on several occasions has sent women into hysterics and made men nervous and angry by taking from his pocket a shining black snake or poisonous copperhead and fondling it tenderly.
    In a moment of abstraction from his devotion to snakes he asked a woman to marry him, and for some incomprehensible reason she consented. It was not long, however, until she began to make objection to the numerous reptiles which the snake lover insisted on bringing into the house.
    Trouble began and continued. The sympathy of the neighbors was with the wife. They advised her to leave a man who could be little better than a snake himself to subject her to such indignities.
    She bore it until there was a baby in the family. Then the fond father took to wheeling the baby out in its perambulator and bringing it back surrounded by snakes. This was too much for the mother, and she left the snake collector for good and all.
    No one wanted to rent him a house, so he bought a little place of his own and lives alone with his snakes. The villagers give the house a wide berth, and the summer visitors hasten the other way when they see him coming down the street with a snake coiled about his neck.
    “Oh, yes,-is a beautiful place,” said a girl who had just returned home from a two weeks’ visit there, “but I wouldn’t go again as long as that snake man lives there. He says the horrid things are harmless as if that made any difference. The only compensation is that he has collected so many of the miserable things that there are fewer about the country than would be otherwise.” New York Press.
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Monday, July 22, 1918
Boa Gulps Down Companion as Both Are Endeavoring to Feast on the Same Live Pigeon.
    A snake’s method of swallowing is almost automatic; the internal mechanism begins its work as soon as the reptile takes the food into its mouth. In his book, “Of Distinguished Animals,” Mr. H. Perry Robinson relates an extraordinary incident that occurred a few years ago at the London zoological gardens.
    The attandants put some pigeons into a cage occupied by two boas, one ten feet long, the other a foot shorter. In the night the larger snake seized a pigeon, and his mate unfortunately selected the same bird. The tip of the smaller boa’s nose was drawn into the nouth of the other together with the pigeon, and after it the rest of the snake continued to go, although the eater must have been surprised at the almost intolerable length of what it had believed to be an ordinary pigeon.
    The next morning only one of the snakes was visible. Its enormously distended body no longer had the power of coiling, but remained stretched to its full length in a straight line, and appeared to be at least three times its normal circumference. It was almost painful to see the tightened skin, which had separated the scales all over the middle of the body. Twenty-eight days later the snake had not only digested its companion, but had regained its appetite as well as its normal size, and it immediately swallowed a pigeon put into its den.
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Thursday, September 21, 1922
South African Native Surely Exercised Some Kind of Influence Over Big Python.
    Many powers are said to be possessed by the African native which those of the Occident find hard to credit. Here is a story of “Muti,” or hypnosis, as performed, according to a reliable inforant, upon a hude python. The narrator says:
    “I was in the veld when the herd boy, very excited, came to me with the story of a big inyoko, ‘quite near.’ I saddled up, took the shotgun, and went with him. After covering some 200 yards, I asked where the snake was. ‘Quite near,baas.’ We covered a mile, which meant that the herd boy must have left the snake quite a time, possibly half an hour. I pulled up. ‘The snake won’t be where you saw it last, it’s no good my going farther.’ ‘Yes, baas, come, it is there.’ ‘How do you know? I made him stay fast, baas-I put muti on him.’ So we went on, and, quite two miles from where I had started, the boy pointed up a small valley. ‘He is there,’ baas,’ and sure enough there was a python lying straight out on the grass and quite still. I shot it, and then turned to the boy: ‘Now tell me why did the snake remain like this.’ The boy picked up a twig from a bush, ran it between his lips, and stuck it in the ground an inch from the snake’s nose. “I do so, baas, and the inyoko, he lay still. He no move.”
    The reptile remained with its eyes fixed cross-wise on the small twig before its nose. The distance from the stable was quite two miles, so that the python must have been staring at the twig for a full hour before the farmer reached it.
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, July 4, 1874
    Deacon Chas. W. Guilbert, furnishes the Galesburg Free Press the following cure for the bite of a rattlesnake.
    About 37 years ago I arrived in Galesburg. At that time there was a great many rattlesnakes. I used to kill thirty or forty every year. A few years after my arrival two little boys were bitten, and after suffering for several days they died. At that time I had four little boys and two girls and I felt very uneasy for fear they would get bit; I was very particular to have them wear high shoes and high boots. In the course of two years I had two very fine colts bit on their nose; I thought I would try spirits of turpentine. Their heads were swollen very large back to their shoulder; they could not suck; I rubbed them three times with my hand as far as the swelling extended, between the hours of six o’clock and midnight. In the morning the swelling was all gone. The next year I had one of my best cows bitten on the end of her nose and her head was swollen back to her shoulders so she could hardly breathe. I rubbed her thoroughly with spirits of turpentine as far as the swelling extended, with the palm of my hand three times between 5 o’clock in the evening and 12 c’clock at night, and the next morning the swelling was all gone. I have had several bitten and always cured them in the same way. The milk for two or three days should be thrown into the vaults as it is very poisonous.
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, September 15, 1877
    By the “Senator,” which arrived on Sunday, Mr. Wolcott of this city brought two young black eagles for Woodward’s Gardens. He says that this species of eagle is rare almost to extinction. They were secured by him on a very elevated portion of the Sespe range of mountains, about 70 miles north from Santa Barbara, where he put them on the boat.
    Having previously observed the parent eagles sailing down the valley, he claimed a tree twenty feet above the ground before a branch was reached, and then ten feet more to the nest, some of the sticks composing which were as thick as a man’s wrist. With some difficulty he secured the young birds, then about three weeks old and the size of large chickens. He secceeded in decamping with them before the return of one of the old birds, which came back shortly afterward with a young lamb in its claws. Though the old bird saw Mr. Wolcott, it did not see the young eagles he had, or there would have been a fight. Returning to the house at which he was staying, the birds were secured in a pen, and kept three weeks. They are now about six weeks old, about two feet in height, and can dispose of a jackrabbit or more at a meal without indigestion. A few days ago a coyote visited the house and destroyed all the chickens. The eagles were then placed in the chicken-pen. The next morning the coyote returned to get more chickens, and under the impression that these eagles would suit him, he got hold of one of them. The eagle also got hold of him by inserting his talons in his nose, but was unable to drag him into the pen, the coyote being equally powerless to drag the eagle out. The coyote then concluded he didn’t want any more eagle, and expressed himself to that effect loudly, but to late, inasmuch as Mr. Wolcott’s attention was drawn to the spot, and he shot the animal. He says that the full-grown eagles of this very rare species are eight feet in spread of wing, four feet in height and scarcely any man or animal could avoid being stunned if attacked by them in their usual manner.-San Francisco Post.
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Thursday, July 16, 1908
Terrifying Experience With a Deadly Lancehead.
    The Paris Eclair tells a blood curdling serpent story, the scene of which was the island of Martinque and the dramatis personne Sergent Legrand and Private Durand and the snake a deadly lancehead.
    The soldier had been punished with a night in the cells for some trivial offense, but as the night was very hot the sergeant had left the door open. In the morning at 5 o’clock Legrand went to wake his prisoner and, to his horror, beheld a lancehead snake coiled up and fast asleep on the man’s breast.
    The sergeant did not lose his presence of mind. He stole noiselessly away, ran to the guard room and, followed by all the men on duty, returned to the cell with a bowl of milk and a tin whistle. Placing the bowl of milk at the entrance to the cell, the sergeant began to play the “Blue Danube.” It is needless to remark that the weakness of the lancehead is milk and music. The serpent, which was a six foot specimen, awoke, glided from the soldier’s body toward the bowl, but it had no sooner buried its head in its beloved drink than ten cudgels descended on it with terrific force, killing it outright.
    The soldier Durand, who was in a swoon, was taken to hospital, where he lay for many days on the verge of madness. He finally recovered and related his horrible experience-how he had awoke in the middle of the night as the serpent was coiling itself on his bare breast and how he had lain there in agony for hours, not daring to move a muscle.
    Durand was sent back to France as soon as he had sufficiently recovered. The only trace of his horrible experience, adds the Eclair, is that his hair is now snow white.
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Thursday, July 16, 1908
Instrument Proves Incubator For Rattlers-Followers of a Superstitious Theory Almost Create Panic at Church Concert.
    Residents of Sparrow Bush, four miles from Port Jervis, N. J., got the inside facts from Gene Tisdell why he dropped his fiddle at the church concert in Lifting Rocks just as he was about to play “Pop Goes the Weasel,’ with variations.
    Gene was noted for his veracity. He is also famous as a fiddler, and his conduct at the concert caused a local sensation. He tells it thus; In the days when he first scraped a hog his teacher was a superstitious Frenchman, who confided to him that if the rattles of a rattlesnake were placed in a violin the instrument would surrender its sweetest harmonies. Gene says he recalled the advice three weeks ago when he killed a snake with sixteen rattles after a hard fight.
    He tucked the rattles in his violin and did not take up the instrument again until he started for Lifting Rocks.
    He saluted the audience and drew his bow across the E string. Simultaneously, with a discordant squeak, the instrument squirmed in his hand, and he dropped it in terror. The audience saw him reach for it and retreat to the vestry room.
    ‘I tipped up the old bandbox,” Gene reported, “and what do you suppose I discovered? It was packed with young rattlesnakes. They hatched out of the rattles; that’s what they did.”
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, June 13, 1874
    An ingenious Minnesota youth is to be credited with a novelty in the way of duck hunting. He lives at a beautiful spot known as Rice lake, from the wild rice growing on its margin as thick as wheat in a field. Ducks love this rice, and when they have partaken of a sufficient quantity their flesh becomes of a nature to tempt the palate of an anchorite. But the Rice Lake Ducks, either from experience, or an instinct which may be said to be wisdom intensified, do not like human company, and when they see a hunter approaching, generally hasten out of gunshot range. Dick, the youth before alluded to, was particularly fond of ducks and looked with contempt upon the futile efforts of his sire to provide the table with this delicacy. He determined to have some ducks for dinner if it took all the morning to accomplish the task. Proceeding to the cornfield, he selected a large pumpkin, cut a hole in one end, removed its internal arrangements, carried it down to the shore, divested himself of his clothes, placed the pumpkin over his head, and waded in among the rice. In a short time the pioneer of a flock of ducks approached, and imagining the vegetable to be free from guile, encouraged the others to follow. They were partaking of their mututinal meal, when astonishment struck them at the sight of the pioneer suddenly diving-not that there is anything astonishing in a duck diving-but this one dived feet foremost, and neglected to come up. A committee of one was appointed to investigate, and approaching the pumpkin, suddenly made a backward dive and was gone. This was enough for the others. They fled in dismay, and thenceforth numbered as among their deadliest terrors the ingredient of New England pies.
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Thursday, November 18, 1909
Charles Ballard Local Barber Said to Have Had Tussie With Bird Emperor.
Admits He Was Beaten.
Shot American Eagle He Says, and Then Tried to Capture Wounded King of Air But Met with Such resistance that Bird Got Away and Even Ballard Cannot Tell Exactly How he Did it.
    Charles Ballard, while out hunting on the flats near Dead river yesterday afternoon, claims to have shot and wounded a large American eagle and engaged in a combat with the wounded king of birds in which he was worsted, the result being that the eagle got away. Ballard, who conducts a barber shop on Market street, states that he noticed the large bird perched upon a dead limb of a pine tree. He fired one shot from his shot gun, wounding the bird in the breast.
    After falling to the ground the bird attacked him viciously. He declares that he did not desire to kill the bird outright, preferring to capture it alive. He describes it as measuring seven feet from tip to tip, possessing talons several inches long.
    How the eagle made its escape is a point he is not sure about, but says that in the excitement of the combat it got away. He did not offer much resistance, because when he had been struck once on the shoulder by the powerful wings of the bird, and saw the menacing talons, he was glad to escape without injury.
     George Brisock was near at the time when he shot the eagle but was not close enough to render any assistance in making the capture. Brisock confirms the story, which many of the friends of both are inclined to doubt. Hunters, however, state that they have seen a large eagle on the flats and Ballard and Brisock declare that they are ready to take an oath to the facts which they state.