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A Wonderful Snake Hole.

Friday, December 9, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, June 17, 1876

     This seems to be the time of year when snakes are most abundant. We learn from Mr. A. J. Hoffman, who lives in the north part of the county, that on the last Friday, as one of the hired men was going down a small gulch, he came upon a perfect nest of squirming reptiles, the ground being covered with little and big coils of black, shinning bodies that were taking a sunning. Knowing the habits of these reptiles, the man went back to the farm and reported to Mr. Hoffman what he had seen, when it was decided to wait until evening, after the snakes had retired to their hole, and endeavor to kill them off. Just after sundown both men repaired to the place, to find not a vestige or tail of a snake to be seen, but found well-beaten trails which had been made this early in the season by the immense number of reptiles which had made their nest in the gulch. By following up this trail for a few rods they came to a hole in the ground about the size of a bucket, which went down slantingly under the earth. The ground was beaten down as solid as though it had been pounded with a mallet or used as a croquet ground for a whole season. Mr. Hoffman is somewhat acquainted with the habits of these animals, so he stationed the hired man at the mouth of the hole with an iron bar, having a sharp hook on the end, and began hauling out the ugly “critters.” The first to respond to his thrust was one measuring 8 feet and 3 inches in length, and was one of the black snake species. After working for one hour and a half or so, and having draw out 183 snakes, they quit for the day. Next morning before sun up, they began again and drew forth 247 more of the reptiles, when the mine seemed to give out. The rock and soil on top of the nest was then removed and an excavation about the size of a barrel was found. It is supposed that this family of snakes had held possion of the prairies for years, as many measured from nine to twelve feet in length, and were as large round as a good-sized leg.-Appleton [Mo.] Democrat.

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A Fight With A Shark.

Friday, December 9, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, July 8, 1876

     The Pensacola [Fla.] Gazette of the 8th ult., has the following account of an exciting adventure: “Capt. John B. Guttman, of the Pensacola Guards, signalized himself in an odd encounter last Friday, and came out first best. Riding down to the shore of Escambia Bay, the Captain noticed a strange commotion in the water, and that the beach for a considerable distance was covered with fish from six inches to a foot and a half in length, some dead and some still jumping, while others continued to spring from the water, above which showed the sharp dorsal fin of a shark, cutting the surface as he pursued the fish. The sporting spirit of the Captain was fired, and springing from the buggy he opened his pocket knife, with a blade less than three inches long, and rushed into the water, which was thigh deep where he encountered the shark, and pushed his little knife into it. The creature did not seem to feel it, and its hide was so tough that the Captain could not rip it, so he continued his thrusts while the shark endeavored to turn so as to seize him. Finally the shark felt the blade, and, retreating twelve or fifteen feet charged back with a rush. The Captain sprang aside as it attempted to bite him, and seized it by the fin, which was ten inches long, and plied his knife while they waltzed round, the shark continually turning in the endeavor to bite. Finding his knife of no avail against the nine lives of the shark, the Captain caught up a short, heavy piece of drift-wood which opportunely came within reach, and, as the fish threw its head out of the water, struck it a severe blow at the base of its skull, which instantly stunned it. He then drew it ashore, where it was dispatched. It was exactly five feet in length. In the earliest stages of the conflict, Capt. G’s three companions, who were off in the woods at its beginning, came out on the bluff and called out in alarm. ‘It’s a shark! come out of the water!” That Prussian gave his lips their usual twist, and simply said, ‘I know it,’ and went on with his amusement, which he says, was almost equal to some fun he has had with bears and bull bisons, numbers of both of which he has slain.

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Sagacity Of Elephants In A Storm.

Friday, December 9, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, August 26, 1876

Howe’s circus was showing at Indianola when the storm of the fourth came on, and because of injury to the railroads was compelled to remain there until the track was temporarily repaired. Then the circus started for their next place of exhibition. When about eight miles out one corner of a bridge gave way, and three cars containing animals ran off the track and turned over into the mud, very gently. The first car contained horses, the second an elk and camel; the other three the five elephants. The small animals were easily liberated, but the elephants were all in a heap. To remove them the car was cut away, exposing the tops of the unwieldy animals backs. Then was exhibited the intelligence which marks these half-human brutes. They obeyed every command of the keeper, crawling on their knees, turning on their sides, squirming like eels, and assuming more wonderful and novel positions than were described on the showbills. When released from their perilous position there was not a scratch upon them, and no school-boy ever gave more emphatic expressions of relief from confinement than did those elephants. They trumpeted, swayed back and forth, and did everything but talk. The remaining distance to the city was made overland, and a happier crew never started on a march than were those animals. The cool, breezy atmosphere and the bright moonlight were all-inspiring. As the bridges were gone, at each stream the elephants took fresh enjoyment of their liberty. At no time were they obstinate or disobedient, but seemed to fully realize the situation. On arriving at DesMoines railroad cars had to be procured, which was not easily done, as ordinary cars are too low. Some were finally found which were about one inch higher than the elephant’s back. They were brought alongside and the platform properly placed, when Jack noticed that it was a strange car, seized the doorframe with his trunk, gave it a vigorous shake and then tried the floor. Satisfied that it was strong he marched slowly into the car, placed himself lenthwise, gave a rocking motion and humped his back. A bolt overhead hit his back, and he marched straight out of the car. “It’s no use,” said the keeper, “he won’t go back there again.” The ribs which support the roof were removed, the elephants closely watching the operation. When this was done Jack went in, swayed himself, rocked the car, humped his back, found everything all right, trumpeted his satisfaction and went on eating.-Davenport, [Ill.] Tribune.

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A Lion Fight.

Thursday, December 8, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, October 14, 1876

The Journal du Havre recounts a terrible encounter between the lion-tamer, Bidel, and a number of wild beasts. Bidel’s custom was to go into the cage of these ferocious animals accompanied by a sheep, which was by his presence kept safe from attack. On a recent occasion he proceeded to the lion’s cage, and his first action was to place the sheep on the back of a lioness, as he had frequently done before. No sooner had he accomplished this than a powerful lion sprang upon the poor sheep and buried his teeth deep into a vital part of its body. There were a large number of spectators present, and the sudden act of the lion created an instant and general panic. Bidel stepped forward, and with the upmost coolness struck the lion a blow on the mouth with a heavy stick, which made him crouch and yell with pain, and throw his bleeding victim trembling at the feet of the courageous performer. In another moment, however, all the wild beasts were lashed into fury by the sight of the blood, and no one in the assembly believed that Bidel could possibly escape. Preserving his presence of mind, however, he kept the other animals at bay until he had subdued the lion and chased him back to his cage. He then fought his way back through the other animals, and, amidst the bravos of the assembly, came out triumphant, carrying his wounded sheep with him. The poor animal, which was a great favorite of the lion-tamer’s, has since died of its wounds.

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A Farmers Joke.

Thursday, December 8, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, November 25, 1876

The Havana Journal says: We recently heard of a good joke perpetrated by a Chemung county farmer, a member of the Elmira Farmers’ Club. He had been bothered greatly by hunters from the city, who had entered his woods with a perfect abandon and slaughtered the squirrels in great numbers. One day he procured two or three squirrels, took them to a taxidermist, and had them stuffed. He then took them to his woods, and nailed them fast to the limbs of as many trees in such a way that they could be easily discovered by the hunters. How much powder and lead has been wasted on those squirrels it is impossible to tell, but many a good marksman has wondered why he could not bag the game. The old farmer has doubtless enjoyed many a hearty laugh at the discomfiture of the hunters. We are not sure that we ought to have let the secret out, but the joke is a little too good to keep.

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A Swimming Horse.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Gazette, Waukegan, Illinois on Saturday, December 9, 1876

The police at the foot of Hammond street, New York city, recently rescued a horse from the water, concerning which there is a remarkable history. Nobody at first knew anything of the animal or its owner, but the next day a claimant appeared who stated that he was the owner, and that the horse had reached the city by swimming the entire distance from Fishkill-forty-three miles distant up the Hudson River. The owner had frightened the horse somehow and chased him to the river, where he boldly plunged in and started for the opposite shore. The man followed in a boat, when the horse turned his head down stream and kept on until the owner, tired out, returned to the shore. Then he sought to follow him in a wagon, and left it for the train, as he heard constantly of his horse swimming on. At length he gave up the chase, and came to this city to hear that the animal had been taken ashore by the police as stated.

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Calling The Tigers.

Saturday, December 3, 2011
Published in the Waukegan Daily Sun, Waukegan, Illinois on Monday, November 24, 1902

[Copyright, 1902. by C. B. Lewis.]

Colonel Ryder, stationed at Bangalore, India, missed from his effects a valuable ruby. The only person who could have taken it was his body servant, who had served him faithfully and honestly for many years. The man protested his innocence, but the colonel ordered him flogged. The accused was a high caste man, and a flogging meant social death to him. In his distress he sent for an old man named Doorunda. The old man came and said to the Colonel:

“Syng Rang is innocent. If you whip him, he must die by his own hand to wipe out the disgrace. Spare him, and I will do my best to find the thief who stole your ruby.”

The colonel at once reasoned that Doorunda was a partner in the theft and announced that the flogging would take place on the morrow if the gem was not given up. It was not restored, and Syng Rang was publicly whipped and committed suicide the same evening. As for the old man, he disappeared from Bangalore, and there were those who thought he might have taken the plunder with him. Four months after the disgrace and death of Syng Rang and when the event was all but forgotten the Colonel and four other officers of the Fifth went on a tiger hunt into the foothills of the western Ghauts.

Three or four tigers and a couple of panthers were bagged, and not an accident had happened. Then one of the servants reported that old Dooruda had been seen near the camp and when accosted by one who knew him well had run away. His only object could be revenge, but yet the matter was treated lightly. No search was made for him until his presence was reported again, and then the servants who were sent out did not wish to find him. He had a reputation of which they stood in fear. After three or four days, however, he entered camp one day when all the officers and most of the servants were away on the hunt. To one of the syces, or grooms, he said:

“I do not wish that harm should come to my own kin, but I will destroy the sahibs root and branch. On the third night from this, an hour after midnight, you will hear me signing behind those rocks up there. When you do so, you must not lose a moment in climbing a tree. Tell this to all others, but say not a word to the sahibs.”

“But what is to happen when you sing?” asked the groom.

“What is to happen will happen.”

With that Doorunda disappeared, to be seen no more. The groom notified all the other servants as they came in and then went to his master with the story. The five officers were made up of the colonel, major and three captains, and the groom served one of the latter. The story was passed along to the colonel, who received it with a sneer and sent word that if the old man was caught sight of again he should be made prisoner and held for a flogging. If any of the officers was inclined to heed the warning, he gave no outward sign of it, but the servants quietly prepared to obey the injunction. At midnight on the third night, while the white men slept, the dark skinned servitors left their campfires and mounted into trees and remained silent and watchful. For an hour all around them was quiet and peaceful, and some of them had begun to laugh at their own fears when the shrill, wailing voice of the old man came to them from the rocks. It was an incantation he wailed out, and he kept it up for ten minutes. None of the officers awoke. The servants shivered with fear as the voice continued, and the horses stamped and snorted and pulled at their halters. It was strange that men who sleep as lightly as soldiers do should not have been aroused, but it was so in this caes. Two or three minutes after the song ended the natives looked down from their perches to see old Doorunda enter camp with as many as a dozen tigers frisking around him like so many dogs. He halted before the colonel’s tent and stood for a moment, and then, clapping his hands, he cried out:

“Now, now, now! Now you may rend and tear and kill to the last!”

A horrible tradedy followed. The tigers separated and rushed upon the tents, and in only one case was a shot fired. It was over in five minutes. Two of the horses broke away and escaped, but the others were dragged down. The maddened tigers sprang at the trees and raged about, but offered no harm to the old man in their midst. When all was over, he quieted them with a whistle, and, standing in the center of the camp, he said to the terror stricken men in the tree above him:

‘Had the sahib colonel spared Syng Rang I would have spared him. This is my vengeance for the wrong that was done an innocent man. Tomorrow you will go back to Bangalore and tell them what has happened, and tell them I brought it about. I am sorry for the sahibs who were innocent, but they were here with the guilty and could not be separated.”

When the morning came, the natives headed for Bangalore, and the tale they told on arriving appeared so incredible that all were locked up until it could be investigated. It was found true to a word. Every officer lay dead in his tent, and each one had been so mangled by teeth and claws that the living turned away from him with a shiver. And when an innocent man had been disgraced and driven to death, and five officers had been torn to pieces by savage beasts, those who overhauled the dead colonel’s effects discovered the ruby in a box to which he had changed it for greater safety and forgotten the circumstances.

M. Quad.

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A Dog Story.

Saturday, December 3, 2011
Published in the Chicago Tribune, Chicago, Illinois on Thursday, August 1, 1872

From the Detroit Free Press, July 29.

Captain maddock, living on Rivard street, while Captain of the schooner D. L. Couch, four years ago, and then living at New Baltimore, took with him on a trip to Buffalo a Newfoundland dog named “Neptune.” Lying alongside another vessel one night at Buffalo his dog was stolen. He telegraphed to friends at Cleveland to board the vessel which took the dog, when she reached that city, and hold the animal for him. They failed to do this, and from that day to Friday evening-all of four years-he did not see his dog again. He moved from New Baltimore to Detroit, moved once or twice after reaching the city, and only settled on Rivard street a few days ago. Friday evening, as one of the family opened the front door, there sat “Neptune” on the step. As soon as he heard Mrs. Maddock’s voice he leaped  around and barked loudly, and gave every sign that he remembered her. This was also the case when the Captain came home. An hour  later Miss Maddock arrived from California unexpectedly, and the dog recognized her in a moment. Four years ago the young lady used to “romp” with the dog, and the Captain thinks it a most singular thing that the daughter and dog should return on the same evening, when neither was looked for. The dog’s legs were covered with mud, as if he had made a long journey by land, but where he was for four years, how he found out his master’s removal to Detroit, and then traced him to his house, are all matters which the reader must settle in his own mind. The dog stands three feet high, and is as large as a good-size lion.

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Hogs As Snake Exterminaters.

Saturday, December 3, 2011
Published in the Chicago Tribune, Chicago, Illinois on Wednesday, August 3, 1870

From the Columbus {Ohio] News.

A farmer was living on the west side of the river, in walking about his place, discovered a nest of rattlesnakes in an old log about which several large pieces of rock lay scattered. Our friend had heard that hogs were death on snakes of all sorts, and not caring to attack the nest himself, he thought he would try the experiment and see a fight. He drove several hogs in the vicinity of the nest, and watched the result. The hogs soon seemed to scent the varmints, and commeenced rooting eagerly about the spot. In an instant half a dozen of the vicious serpents emerged from their hiding-places to attack the intruders who manifested a zealous disposition to go in.

A snake would rear himself to the height of the back of a hog, shake his rattles, and plunge his fangs into the animal with lightning-like celerity, and then dart away, pursued by the grunter, who dexterously received the sting upon the fleshy part of the lower jaw. Time and again this would be repeated, until the hog got his forefoot upon the snake, when he would deliberately rip Mr. Snake in twain, and then devour him. This slaughter continued until all the snakes were disposed of, when the hogs grunted contently, and without any signs of being disturbed, waddled off in search of other provender. The eyewitness to this singular contest, which was not without its exciting features, declares himself convinced that a pig is impervious to the poisonous bite of any kind of serpent.

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Survival Of Instincts.

Saturday, December 3, 2011
Published in the Chicago Daily Tribune, Chicago, Illinois on Sunday, November 2, 1873

The last number of the Popular Science Monthly contains an article on the survival of instincts, which details some cruel and apparently abnormal habits among domestic animals, and traces them to early developments of necessity. By repetition they have acquired the force of instinct. For instance, a gentleman living near Brooklyn recently tethered a turkey in field with a rope for the better protection of her brood. One day the turkey became entangled in the cord and fell hapless upon the ground. The other turkeys in the same field, with whom there had been a constant and friendly association heretofore, immediately fell upon their disabled companion, and commenced with the picking at her head and eyes, evidently with the purpose of killing her. This occurrence led to inquiry, which elicited the fact that such conduct was not unusual among otherwise well-behaved turkeys whenever one of the flock became disabled and an easy victim to its companions. The same disposition, under similar circumstances, has been found among other domesticated animals,-cattle, swine, and dogs. Drovers of long experience testify that, when herds of cattle are rapidly driven, and one falls to the ground or exhibits signs of weakness, it is not uncommon for the rest of the herd to set upon it and gore it to death. A Long Island gentleman reports a case in which this occurred in a field where cattle were peacefully grazing, and another that observation has convinced him that  a cry of distress is always a signal for attack on the part of the strong, instead of an invitation for sympathy. The same propensity has been observed among swine. In driving, in the pens, and especially in crowed cars, the weak are attacked by the strong, and in some cases devoured as well as killed. On one occasion, after a hog had been slaughtered and eaten, other meat was thrown to the survivors to test whether hunger had tempted them to this treachery, but it was not touched. This seems to indicate that their cruelty was prompted by some other instinct.

This propensity among dumb animals, uniformly developed under certain conditions, is reasonably attributed to a survival of certain instincts from former wild conditions, when such actions were rendered necessary or advisable as a means of self-preservation. It became necessary at times to drive behind or destroy the feeble in order to protect the majority when animals were threatened or pursued by stronger animals or by man, and this disposition has been perpetuated and strengthened by transmission from generation to generation.

Darwinists find some support for their hypothesis of a common origin of species in traces of a like disposition among men. Mr. Darwin himself mentions the practice common among North American Indians of leaving their fellow-comrades to perish on the plains, and the Fiji Islanders, who bury their parents alive when they get old and disabled. Like traits are found among other savage and semi-savage people. But it is not necessary to go to the savage state of man’s existence to discover them. History shows similar desertion and destruction of the weak that the strong may survive even among civilized nations. At Metz, there is a bridge known as the “Bridge of Death,” not from the terrible destruction of life during wars, but because there was an annual gathering here of the infirm and aged, by order of the city authorities. After the helpless had been assembled, a charge was made upon them, and they were forced to jump into the stream below, where their struggles for life were met with pelting stones, hurled at them by the populace gathered along the banks. The very same trait, having the origin in the same motive, may thus be found in certain stages among men as well as among brutes. In the more advanced stages of civilization there is still a mental reflex of this cruel tendency in the disposition, altogether too frequently recognized, to oppress those who have already suffered reverses. It is generally known as the tendency to ‘kick a man when he is down,”-an expression which seems to trace a similarity between this human trait and the animal instinct that is found to survive among the turkeys, the cattle, and the swine.

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