The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1889-07-10
A DEN OF DEATH.
A WIRE CAGE WHICH CONTAINS
200 RATTLESNAKES.
A Man Enters and Fondles the Rep
tiles-Their Deadly Breath
Feeding and Washing Them
Once q Week.


I was taken to Dime Museum on
Eighth avenue, says Nym Crinkle in the
New York World.
It was one of those shows of which we
have altogether too many. A collection
of human monstrosities, human frauds
and human invalids, with a fringe of
museum and an attempt at performance.
But in one corner on the second floor,
where no sunlight ever came, and abutting
the little stage where disease stalked in
tinsel and to which morbid visitors came
with delight, there stood wire cage
about eight square, with movable lid,
and by its side sat rather spare young
man with turban on, made of q dirty
American flag. In this cage, coiled, in
terlocked, writhing in convoluted masses,
and darkly moving about were the two
hundred rattlesnakes. They were the
unmistaksble crotafde, and represented
every variety of the animal that is known
to our land, from the lively and Ginerous
prairie rattler to the scaled beast that one
seldom sees except in the rocky retreats
of the Allcghanies, the Catskills or the
White Mountains.
The wire cage in which they were
placed was not over three feet high, and
when the lid was lifted it was open
across one-half its top. Presently the
foor-walker of the museum, who con-
ducts the crowd from freak to freak and
explains the wonders with proverbial
rhetoric, approached this end of the room,
and as he called the attention of the
sicht-seers to the den of snakes, the man
with the star-spangled turban, who had
been sitting on box by the side of his
cage, got up and with the utmost sang
froid lifted the lid and stepped over the
wire side into the box. I noticed that
he was very careful where he put his
moccasined feet, the toes of Which went
down very gingerly in the narrow space
where there was no snake. But the
moment he put his hand upon the lid to
lift it the occupants of the box showed
curious activity, and there rose from
every serpent the whirring cicada sound
of rattles. There was an unmistakabde
endeavor on the part of each snake to
get himself into the concentric position,
which is most favorable for striking, but
so interlocked and massed were they that
it was not an easy matter.
The exhibitor seated himself in the
centre of the box. Its inhabitants were
now in q most lively condition. They
souir1ned and ratified, but not one of them
struck at him. He picked them up, re-
gardless of their attitudes and warnings,
laid them one upon the other across his
knees, put them about his neck so that
the little black scaly heads came together
on his chin, and hung two of the smallest
over his ears, and presently he was pretty
we'll covered with writhing mass.
I noticed that be exercised great deal
of dexterity in picking them up. That is
to say he picked them up gently, and at
The same time appeared to do it care
lessly. His one great care was obviously
not to irritate the snake. In putting
down his hands to feel for theM on the
floor of the cage he could not turn his
head to direct the motion of his hands
with his eyes, as his writhing necl1erchief
interfered. He therefore groped deftly
about with his fingers, now collecting a
snake by the head, now by the tail,
and nearly every one that he lifted kept
up the rafting, rather, however, in an
automatic than in vicious manner.
He remained in the cage just two
minutes and thirty seconds by the watch.
When he disengaged himself and slipped
out he was in that condition called as
ia dripping perspiration," and his pulse
was abnormally high. The crowd paid
no attention to hun and passed on to the
other wonders. So I had him alone.
found him to be an intelligent Irish
man (O'Connell is his name) and he told
me that he could not stay in the cage
over three minutes, because "the breaths
of the snakes overcame him."
asked him in what way he was af-
fected. He said it made him "weak."
This is curious and interesting point,
and am inclined to believe that this man
suffered from an unconscious fear. He
has been struck three times, and has es-
caped so far, but he never steps over the
wires without sub-consciousness that it
may be the last time. That this AFFECTS
him in some way I have no doubt.
Mr.. OConnell told me that he had no
fear of snakes, and never saw one that he
could not handle. But this only amounts
to the statement that he was not aware OF
any fear, and have heard the boast be-
| fore about handling serpents. Once
week he washes his pets andrubs them of
gently with whisk broom, after which
they shine, he says, like q morning star.
What is still more interesting, he feeds
them on raw meat, and has to open their
mouths and put it in, the snake of course
not being disposed to seek food that IS
not animated. He has to put this meat
into their throats, so to speak, before the
act of deglutltion begins.
All the information that he gave me
concerning the crotalide was correct
enough. I asked him why he did not
extract the fangs, and he said they would
grow in again, which is true, for behind
the developed fangs are the rudiments OF
others, sometimes as many as five. 1 have
icen an expert Indian boy jerk the tooth
,ut with piece of canvas which the
make had struck. Mr.. O'Connell insists
hat the rattlesnake never strikes unless 1t