Published in the Chicago Daily Tribune, Chicago, Illinois on Sunday, February 15, 1880
Where There Are 1,000 Cobras to the Square Mile-Remedy Worse Than the Bite.
Times of India.
The statistics show that during the last year the amount of rewards paid for the destruction of wild beasts and venomous snakes in British India was 99,189 rupees. As far as regards the destruction of wild beasts, the money was, no doubt, well spent, though the rewards are sometimes too easily earned. We have, for instance, heard of a young wolf, which was brought up domestically until it was as tame as a lady’s lapdog, falling victim to a greedy servant in the cook-room for the sake of the head money. But, after all, wolves are not very pleasant pets, and there can be little doubt that the offer of rewards for the destruction of really dangerous animals is in the main useful. Tempted by this, the village shikaree, though he may have no baby of his own, will sit up for the wolf that prowls about the precincts of the village at night thirsting for infants blood.
In reality, only three species of snakes dangerous to human life are to be met with in the Bombay Presidency-viz.: the cobra, the chain viper, and the small black snake, banded with white, which is known to naturalists as Bungarus arenatus. There is another prettily-marked little viper, which is common enough, but, as it is barely a foot in length, its bite is very rarely fatal. To these popular Anglo-Indian tradition adds several most deadly species, the carpet snake, the whip snake, the eye snake, etc. The last owes its name according to Dr. E. Nicholson, to an idea prevalent among otherwise sane Englishmen that it is in the habit of hanging by the tail from a branch of a tree for the purpose of hitting passers-by in the eye. Of these three species mentioned above, the Bungarus is very inoffensive, and not common, while the chain viper is extremely lazy, and generally gives warning of its presence by hissing furiously when anyone approaches, so that accidents from these two species are probably rare.
The cobra, on the other hand, is one of the commonest snakes in India, as it is one of the most fatal in the world. Dr. Nicholson, who was appointed in 1873 to superintend the distribution of the rewards in Bangalore, estimates the cobra population of that region at 1,000 per square mile. This calculation, if correct, will perhaps serve equally for any station in the Deccan, as, for instance, Poona, where the cobra finds both board and lodging on easy terms in the holes of the field-rats, and probably does man more service in a year than all the mischief it does him in a century. Throughout Bombay itself the cobra swarms, especially on places like Malabar Hill, and Cumballa Hill, and Parel. That the cobra is so rarely seen is only another proof of its extremely timid and a wary disposition. But snakes, indeed, shun man far more than man shuns them. Their first impulse on hearing his dreaded footstep is to run, and among Europeans who wear boots the possibility of being bitten is small.
Natives, walking noiselessly with bare feet, are, of course, much more liable to accidents, yet the statistics we have already referred to give the total number of persons killed by venomous snakes during the year 1878 at 16,812, or less than one in 10,000 of the population. And it is not unlikely that we should be nearer the truth if we cut down that number by half; not only because snakebite has been-since the days of Hamlet’s father-a most convenient explanation of doubtful deaths, but because in hundreds of cases, where the bite of the snake would not have sufficed to kill the man, native methods of cure complete the work, and put an end to his life.
A correspondent, in calling attention to the danger, sends us an example very much to the point that came under his own notice. A strong young Mussulman, an energetic and vigorous man, was turning over some rubbish when a speckled snake, about two feet long, bit him above the ankle. No one else saw the creature. He himself did not stop to look at it, but rushed headlong home, implored his friends to look after his children, and rolled over on the floor. In a few moments the whole neighborhood had gathered together, determined not to let him perish without attempt at rescue. A dozen chickens were at once procured, and the remedy was put into vigorous operation. It is, by the way, one of the commonest native specifics. Then some jungle men passing by were called in. They were practical men, and at once sucked the wound. They sucked and chewed the man in half a dozen other places besides, but this might have been designed to act on his faith and cheer him up, and by this time he needed cheering. Next some local savants suggested that the poison should be got out of the man’s stomach, and a good handful of salt was given him, with an immediate result. After this a concoction of neem leaves was administered, both internally and externally, plenty of it being rubbed on the crown of his head. Some other concoction was smeared under the roof of his tongue. Two men well versed in charms then came on the scene, and cutting some twigs from a tree of very great potency in such cases, belabored the man for an hour or two over the head and face, muttering charms the while.
All this was, we are told, only the beginning of sorrows. For four or five hours the wretched man was plied with drugs, and concoctions, and charms, every new comer putting some fresh abomination down his throat. At the end of that time he was quite sensible, and not a symptom of snake poison had shown itself. There was no pain in the bitten part, nor any swelling, as far as could be ascertained, considering how the place had been plastered, and blistered, and bandaged. Two or three hours later, however, some fresh dose, prescribed by a new arrival, gave the coup de grace. The man succumbed, became insensible, and soon died. There was a Government dispensary in the neighborhood, with an apothecary in charge, but no one ever dreamt of consulting him until it was too late. In this case there was not a particle of evidence to show that the snake was poisonous, and in all probability the man was simply cured to death. The victim was unfortunately a popular man and much respected, and had he had fewer friends he might have been permitted to recover. If the blame of half the snake-bite cases in the Government returns is laid to the snake account, the reptile has probably had its due, and after all the annual returns give one death only in each 10,000 of the population.