VAGARIES OF THE VIPER. R EADERS of the Spectator may have
noticed a correspondence which recently appeared in the daily Press between a West-Country naturalist and a certain critic who would persist in asserting that the common viper or adder never exceeds twelve inches in length. Erroneous as this idea is, one frequently encounters it. I remember being told the same thing when a child, and, curiously enough, my informant on that occasion was the village squire, a life-long resident in the country, a keen sportsman and Nature-lover, a man who certainly should have known better. Per- sonally, I never can see why there need be so much haggling about the precise length of any reptile, bird, or beast, for, so far as my own experience serves, one seldom finds two creatures of a species entirely identical. Wild creatures vary in size almost as much as human beings.
According to old naturalists, the viper attains full growth when six or seven years old, but upon that point I cannot speak with authority, merely accepting the statements of others who have observed the reptile in a captive state. The actual length may reach anything from one to two feet—or even more in exceptional cases, according to the locality. Setting affects the physique of animals far more than most people suppose, and this has led to considerable confusion in certain cases, creatures of the same species, differing only on account of environment, having been classified as distinct races.
The adder, it would seem, thrives best upon a light, sandy soil. For example, the steep heathery slopes of West Dorset, where badger " sets " are impregnable and even rabbits burrow to an incredible depth, arc famous for the largest and most venomous snakes found in England. There, it may safely be said, vipers arc more abundant than in any other part of the country, not excepting the heaths of Hampshire or Sussex. Even here upon Dartmoor they are not nearly so plentiful, though a fair number infest the rocky coombes. Bewley Down, a furzy moor lying north of the otter-haunted Yarty, is a regular hotbed of them, and one can see almost any number in the course of an ordinary morning's walk amongst the brakes. An old furze-cutter, living on the Down, used to make quite a business of their destruction, being employed for that purpose by various people who had sporting rights over the waste. Some fir trees surrounding his house were literally festooned with brown, scaly bodies in various stages of decay and mummydom.
As for England as a whole, the species occurs only locally, and in certain localities is quite unknown. It has little liking for clay lands, nor can it exist in really wet country, though fond of the outskirts of low-lying humid swamps. Dry banks in which to hibernate are essential, hence its partiality for sandy districts. Like most hibernating creatures, vipers display considerable skill in the choice of winter quarters, from which they arc seldom unearthed. As autumn closes in they gradually disappear, creeping away, choosing when possible dry crevices under stone walls or amongst the roots of haw- thorn or the all-prevailing gorse, where several are some- times found in the same retreat, knotted together in a semi-torpid condition.
The hot April sun as a rule calls them forth, and I once found one very much awake in the second week of March, when snow was actually lying upon the ground. I was trying some gorse with a spaniel when a loud hissing from the centre of a brake eventually led to the discovery of the reptile lying coiled up in an open space, its tongue slithering, flat bead reared and swaying to and fro like a rattlesnake. It was the largest of its kind I ever handled, measuring about twenty-seven inches. Obviously it was in an evil mood, but why it adopted so aggressive and unusual an attitude, and why it was abroad when conditions were so unpropitious, arc questions to which I can offer no satisfactory answer.
As a rule vipers strike only when mob:A:ed. They are dangerous, however, when they first emerge, being still stupefied from their long sleep, or when changing their skins, and in early summer the females arc par- ticularly short-tempered and over-ready to use their fangs. The species is viviparous, and as many as twelve or fifteen young are born at one time.
The deadly effects of an actual bite have been and still are grossly over-rated. Doubtless the virulence of the poison depends largely upon circumstances, but it has been proved that though a single bite is sufficient to kill a mouse or a pigeon, repeated bites arc necessary to kill a large animal. I might add that out of an enor- mous number of hounds and other sporting dogs that have been bitten within my knowledge, not a single ease was fatal. Again, the adder is frequently blamed for the death of sheep which have died from inflammation brought about by entirely different causes, the symptoms being very similar. A hound or a grazing animal is usually bitten on the lip or nose, and the wound is hard to find, for the needle-like teeth barely puncture the skin, leaving only the slightest mark. Some local puffiness occurs, but a large glandular swelling in the throat is the first and most visible effect. For dogs there is a very old and simple remedy, never prescribed in the books. It is only necessary to collect a few handfuls of common ash-tops and boil them until the water assumes a dark green colour. This fluid, applied both internally and externally, should give swift relief to the sufferer. Sweet oil always does good, and a dose of whisky is usually given nowadays. But, as a rule, a hardy animal will recover without any doctoring whatsoever. A human being, if bitten, must be in a poor state of health to suffer really serious effects. Rarely indeed, save in fiction, does death occur from such a cause.
The difference between the poisonous adder and its next-of-kin, the inoffensive grass or ringed snake, is wide, yet not sufficiently so to render confusion impossible or even unaccountable. Naturalists talk about dis- tinctive markings, the viper's spade-shaped head, the V mark, the " oak-leaf " pattern, or zig-zag line running down its back, as compared with the double row of spots which the grass snake shows. Unfortunately, however, for the harmless variety there is seldom time to study detail ; five times out of six one catches but an indistinct glimpse of a sinuous form gliding away into the under- growth, and too many people are apt to strike first and look afterwards.
Colour stands for little, depending largely in each case upon surroundings. The viper, who should be brown, shows a distinctly olive tint against certain backgrounds, whereas the green grass snake as often as not wears a suit of greyish brown which can easily be mistaken for the viper's garb. Indeed, say what one will, it sometimes requires a practised eye to identify either species at a glance. At close quarters there is little fear of confusion. The grass snake wears a clearly defined collar, the viper merely two spots at the back of the head, and these sometimes invisible. The former may measure forty inches, the latter seldom exceeds two feet, and compara- tively few live long enough to attain full length. The one ripples along, the other glides with scarcely per- ceptible undulations. In their way both these snakes do good service to the agriculturist, the grass snake being particularly useful upon land where slugs and such pests abound.
The viper is very regular in its habits, making a little round form in the grass to which it returns by well-worn runways day after day, like a rabbit. It is practically omnivorous, feeding on small life of every descrip- tion. The poison-fangs are used, I believe, when it is killing its prey, for on one occasion when a shrill outcry guided me to a meadow-pipit's nest, enabling me to take the robber red-handed, the victim—a well-grown bird— was already dead and swollen, though still warm in the captor's grip.
Little as mankind has to fear from the viper, many West Country people live in positively ridiculous dread of it. On bright mornings even children will scarcely venture from the path when crossing heaths where the object of their fear is said to lurk. On a well-remembered occasion I saw a hedger—a level-headed fellow enough— chopping stolidly at a brier-patch. Suddenly he gave a horrified scream, and sprang away from the bank with incredible activity. Upon my inquiry as to whether he had chopped his finger off or found a skeleton, he replied laconically, " A hadder 1" He pointed to the bush into which he had flung his bill-hook in sheer terror. There, sure enough, was the reptile, by a curious chance cut clean in two.
DOUGLAS GORDON.
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