OPHIDIAN NOMENCLATURE AND VERNACULARS.

IN a lecture on ‘Chameleons’ at the Zoological Gardens, Professor St. George Mivart described in his peculiarly lucid, facile manner, some of the features possessed in common by totally different zoological families, and facetiously added, ‘It is tiresome how a single species will come and interfere with our nice definitions in classification.’[116] I will devote a chapter to the confusion arising from some such mixed features.

In the classification of the Ophidia these tiresome complications present themselves more, perhaps, than in any other creatures. We have seen how snakes of entirely opposite families may possess one single feature in common and differ in other generic respects; as, for instance, in the moveable but innocuous fang of the Xenodons; in those ‘pits’ or depressions in the face; the viperine form of head; the position and number of head-shields; the sub-caudal plates, and so on; and in such resemblances I am strongly inclined to suspect that there are other interfering causes than a common ancestry, though this, no doubt, has much to do with it.

‘What is to prevent our having one fixed name, and keeping to it?’ exclaim the sorely-puzzled amateur naturalists. And well they may, on seeing in some works on ophiology a list of synonyms sometimes filling several pages.

By way of illustration let us take the little spine-toothed snake described among the egg-eaters in chap. iii. This snake was known to be edentulus by LinnÆus, who nevertheless gave it the generic name of Coluber, because it has two rows of sub-caudal plates; and the specific scaber, because it has roughly-carinated scales—both names equally applicable to a score of other snakes, and not at all describing its unique dentition. This latter was first made a distinguishing feature by Jourdan, 1833, who assigned it the generic name of Rachiodon, spine-toothed. LacepÈde called it simply La rude; Wagler, Dasypeltis, thick or rough-scaled, the integument rather than the dentition still receiving prior attention by the majority of observers.

Dr. Andrew Smith in 1829 more closely watched its habits, and considered that its peculiar dentition was sufficient to separate it from the Oligodon (few-toothed) family, under the new generic name of Anodon, with the specific typus to mark it as a distinct type. Afterwards he found that the word Anodon had been already adopted by naturalists for a shell-fish, and he contented himself therefore with Wagler’s name Dasypeltis, adding inornatus for its specific, otherwise D. scaber. It is a small, slender snake, rarely exceeding 2-1/2 feet in length, and of an inconspicuous brownish colour. That it is an extremely slender little snake is evident from the portion of spine copied from the skeleton in the museum of R. C. S., and given in the chapter on egg-eating snakes. Jourdan’s name Rachiodon, though the best that had hitherto been assigned to the spine-toothed tree snake, was yet rather vague, as the teeth might be anywhere along the spinal column; and Professor Owen still further improved upon this name by calling it Deirodon, neck-toothed; for though, as already stated, a snake has no true ‘neck,’ the word Deirodon designates the position of those gular teeth; and for convenience, everybody speaks of a snake’s ‘neck’ in allusion to the part immediately behind the head. So the little egg-eating tree snake is equally well entitled to the generic names of Oligodon, few teeth; Rachiodon, spine teeth; Anodon, toothless (as far as true teeth are concerned); and Deirodon, neck-toothed. In habits it differs entirely from the OligodontidÆ family, which are ground snakes. The Deirodons are frequently found concealed under the loose bark of dead trees; and Dr. A. Smith observed three species all having a like organization, which induced him to conclude that all feed alike on birds’ eggs.

As very few snakes have such an exceptionally distinguishing organization as the Deirodon, few are so happy as to escape with only half a score of titles. Many species that have been longer known have had their names similarly improved upon by fifty naturalists, and are still undergoing renomination as new observers discover closer alliances with one or another family. This is particularly the case in America, where a nomenclature entirely differing from our own is often adopted. It will probably be the same in Australia as the science of ophiology advances and as native naturalists increase. Says Krefft, in allusion to these commingling features and many synonyms: ‘It is difficult for even the scholar to master the vexatious question of snake classification.’ Add to the scientific names an equal number of vernacular ones, and we encounter a list sufficient to dismay the merely lukewarm student at the very outset.

Let me here suggest the utility of first getting at the meaning of scientific terms as an immense assistance towards fixing them in the memory. In the construction of generic and specific names some peculiarity is, or should be, described. This I have endeavoured to keep before the reader throughout this volume; and by first looking at the meaning of the word, it is at once simplified, while that peculiar feature for which it is named is also grasped. Occasionally a name baffles us, it is true, and one fails to see cause or reason in it; but this is an exception. Other names without apparent reason are from persons, as, for instance, when a Mr. Smith thinks to immortalize himself by calling a snake Coluber smithii. Probably the next observer would find this too general to be of much use, and discover some peculiarity more worthy of a specific.

Not long ago, when Lacerda was experimenting with our distinguished ophidian, the ‘Curucucu’ (Bothrops or Lachesis rhombeata), it was variously introduced to the public through the daily press, as the Bothraps rhambeata, the Hachesis rhambeata, and the Lachesis rhambeata. It is doubtful whether many of the ‘general public’ imagined these three names to represent the same snake, or whether—except possibly from the last generic one—they could form any idea of the reptile therefrom. Of the many papers that fell under one’s notice, Land and Water alone on this occasion spelt the words correctly. As yet there is no journal devoted to the Reptilia, and the study is evidently not attractive. Nor do we expect all naturalists to be ophiologists; but those of the editors who were zoologists might have hazarded a guess and made sense of the generic Lachesis, seeing that a deadly, fateful serpent was intended. Some of the scientific ‘weeklies’ having started the wrong names, unscientific ‘dailies’ deferentially transcribed them. The errors were chiefly traceable to caligraphy, and are mentioned here to exemplify the advantage of seeking a meaning in scientific appellations, the meanings of some names being so obvious that in spite of a wrong letter you may frequently decide upon them.

This fateful Lachesis of South America has been as perplexingly described by unscientific travellers as the Jararaca, and as hard to identify. It has been a stumbling-block and a snare ever since the time of Waterton, who thus wrote of it:[117]—‘Unrivalled in the display of every lovely colour of the rainbow, and unmatched in the effects of his deadly poison, the counacouchi glides undaunted on, sole monarch of these forests. He sometimes grows to the length of fourteen feet. He is commonly known by the name of Bushmaster. Man and beast fly before him,’ etc. Waterton ‘wandered’ between the years 1812-1824, making several journeys to South America, primarily with the view to ascertain the composition and effects of the Wourali poison, and on this subject his information was of value. But his descriptions of serpents partook of the prejudices of that date, and were more picturesque than zoological. What he saw and wrote of possessed the charm of novelty in those days, and Sir Joseph Banks addressed a letter to him expressing ‘abundant thanks for the very instructive lesson you have favoured us with, which far excels in real utility anything I have yet seen.’

Endorsed by such an authority, what wonder that fourteen feet of radiantly splendid ‘Bushmaster’ should figure in the encyclopedias of the day, and be copied by book-makers and magazine contributors for years and years—even to the recent date of 1874! Hartwig, 1873,[118] gives Waterton’s ‘rainbow hues’ nearly word for word, with the addition of one of the scientific names, Lachesis rhombeata. Kingston, 1874,[119] aided by his imagination, improves on Waterton. The Curucucu, or Couanacouchi, ‘sometimes fourteen feet, is the largest known poisonous snake. It is remarkable for the glowing radiance of its fearful beauty, displaying all the prismatic colours. It mounts trees with the greatest ease,’ etc. (It lies half concealed under the trees among dead leaves.) Another writer of Travels round the World (meaning the British Museum Reading-room) contents himself with simply a ‘rainbow-coloured’ Bushmaster; so now in imagination we add indigo, blue, green, etc., to the ‘fearful beauty.’ Meanwhile other writers on Brazil introduce it as the Surucuru, Sorococo, Couroucoucou, Souroucoucou, Surukuku, and similar names, varied only by a transposition of letters and the addition of accents. Tschudi mentions it under its scientific name, Lachesis rhombeata, the ‘Flammon’ in Peru.[120] Sulivan,[121] who, like Waterton, rambled in South America, tells us ‘the Couni Couchi or Bushmaster is the most dreaded of all the South America serpents; and, as his name implies, he roams absolute master of the forest. They do not fly from man, but will even pursue and attack him. They are fat, clumsy-looking animals, about four’ (not fourteen) ‘feet long, and nearly as thick as a man’s arm. They strike with immense force.’ A man had been bitten in the thigh and died, and ‘the wound was as if two four-inch nails had been driven into the flesh. So long are the fangs, and so deep the wounds, that there is no hope of being cured.’ P. H. Gosse quotes Sulivan regarding the enormous fangs, both of these latter writers judiciously omitting the ‘rainbow’ colouring.

Most snakes, even the dingiest, occasionally display an iridescence which is certainly beautiful; and Waterton may have seen his Counicouchi when the sun lighted up the recently-renewed epidermis and showed him off in unusual brilliance; only, unfortunately, the copyists have imagined the greens and crimsons and blues of the rainbow, and rendered it a tedious business to poor patient plodders to arrive at the truth. In the EncyclopÆdia Metropolitana, 1845, we find another clue to identification. ‘Trigonocephalus mutus, a native of the Brazils and Guiana, and from six to seven feet long, is known to the Brazilians as Surukuku, and is probably the Boschmeester of the Dutch and the Coenicoussi of the native inhabitants.’

Many writers of travels give the vernacular names only, while the more scientific who do give generic and specific names, may each give a different one and perhaps omit the vernaculars; and in none of the authorities does one discover the name ‘Bushmaster’ at all; while as to colour and the true size we can be sure of nothing.

Presenting these complications to Dr. Stradling, whose kindly proffered co-operation I had gladly accepted, he wrote: ‘The vulgar names are often local in a limited area, so that the same snake may be known by half-a-dozen different synonyms in as many different provinces—not only that, but these names are often applied to other snakes; and thus, while some species are blended together, many imaginary ones are created.’

This in part explains the varieties of spelling seen above; the two names couanacouchi and curucoocu being applied to one snake by different tribes of the native races extending over a rather wide area.

Further confirmation of these indiscriminate terms we find in three other writers, viz.:—First, Dr. Dalton:[122] ‘The boa constrictor is known as “Bushmaster” by the colonists. “Camoudi” is a name indiscriminately applied to all large snakes. There is the land Camoudi, and the water Camoudi, while the Kunikusi or Courracouchi of the Indians is Crotalus mutus, which is termed “Bushmaster” in the forests.’ Secondly, H. W. Bates[123] says: ‘The natives called Trigonocephalus atrox the Jararaca.’ Thirdly, Dr. Otho Wucherer[124] affirms that a ‘venomous tree snake (Craspedocephalus bilineatus) is called Surucucu patyoba, from the palm on which it is found, and another tree snake is Suru. Uricana, from another palm in which it resides; while the Surucucu (Lachesis mutus) lives in holes in the ground. It is about ten feet long.’ This latter is called Suru. bico di jacca, from the resemblance of its strongly-keeled scales to the prominences on the ‘jack fruit;’ Xenodon rhabdocephalus is also surucucu, while the true ‘Jararaca’ is Craspedocephalus atrox.

Here are contradictory Curucucus and Jararacas in plenty, all impressing upon us the importance of comparing evidence if we wish to arrive at a truth.

‘Why spend so much time about a mere name?’ Well, as in the solution of a problem, you desire to ‘get it right.’ Besides, you ask, ‘Why so many names to one snake?’ and in sifting out this Curucucu and the Jararaca, we discover reasons for the many synonyms.

A. R. Wallace once more presents a clue:[125] ‘At SÄo Gabriel I saw on the rocks asleep one of the most deadly serpents in South America, the “SurucurÚ” (Lachesis mutus). It is very handsomely marked with rich amber brown, and armed with terrific poison fangs, two on each side.’ Here we are enabled to associate a scientific and a vernacular name with a ‘handsome,’ though not a ‘rainbow-coloured’ serpent. Sir J. Fayrer describes the Ophiophagus as the largest known venomous serpent ‘except the Bushmaster, which is said to attain fourteen feet.’

By this time, in addition to the ever-varying vernaculars, we learn of Waterton’s ‘Bushmaster’ as Lachesis mutus; L. rhombeatus; Crotalus mutus; Trigonocephalus mutus.

It will be observed that the word Trigonocephalus is used as a generic name by some naturalists, and as a specific by others; and it may with reason be applied to most of the American thanatophidia which are not elapidÆ. It therefore, at least, enables us to ascertain that the snake of doubtful identity has this viperine characteristic of the angular head; and as there is only one very small true viper at present known in the New World, we may further decide that not being an Elaps, our puzzler is a Bothrops with the doubles narines, and therefore equally meriting either of the descriptives atropos, atrox, furia, megÆra, clotho, cophias, and other such fearful appellatives freely used to designate the deadly qualities of the worst class of serpents. In reply to a communication of mine to Land and Water, of 2d October 1880, Dr. Stradling[126] entered more fully into this question of vernaculars, and what he says of Brazil we find to be the case everywhere:—

‘Whatever meaning the colloquial titles have is generally grounded on some popular error.’

This we saw in the case of Xenodon and Heterodon, both called all sorts of bad names on account of their supposed fangs.

‘In Brazil, Jeboia and Cascavel are the universal names for the boa and rattlesnake; every snake with red in its markings is a coral snake (“corral,” from the Spanish word for a ring), every one found in or near the water would be a Cobra de agua, and every other is a Jarraracca or a Curucucu.

‘I believe every country has a pet bugbear among serpents. “Fer-de-lance” is the cry in St. Lucia when a snake rustles away in the bush or inflicts a bite unseen, “Bushmaster” in Demerara, “Toboba” in Nicaragua, “Vaia” in Mexico, “Vivera de la cruz” in the River Plate. Over and over again have I had snakes of widely different species sent to me, each guaranteed to be a genuine Jarraracca, until I began to doubt whether the Jarraracca had any existence at all. I believe that the one I sent to the Zoological Gardens the other day is the real thing—Craspedocephalus Brasiliensis—at last’ (the Xenodon after all!) ‘and I think I have sifted the Curucucu down by elimination till I can fix the term on Trigonocephalus atrox.

‘I fear we shall never get a decent classification till some competent observer studies them on their native soil; the excellence of the books on Indian reptiles is doubtless due to this. We want a man in authority to settle the very vernacular for us—one who can say, “This and no other shall be the Jarraracca, this the Bushmaster,” etc., for it is undoubtedly a great advantage to have a well-defined native or local synonym. The marvel is that the present classification should be so good as it is. Look at the difficulties. When people see a snake they rush at it, smash it with sticks or stones, pick up what is left of it and put it in a bottle of cauha, cachasse, rum, or other coarse spirit, label it with a wrong name, and send it home. And these are the materials an ophiologist has to build on.’[127]

Krefft, speaking of the confusion of vernaculars in Australia, also says: ‘To make a work on ophiology useful to all, co-operation is necessary; and as a good, sound English name is prefixed to every species, it is to be hoped that such name will, if possible, be retained.’ He is referring more particularly to the ‘Diamond snake,’ which on the mainland is the harmless Python molurus, and in Tasmania the venomous Hoplocephalus superbus, with very broad scales. Therefore he ‘hopes that Tasmanian friends will accept the designation “Broad-scaled snake” in lieu of “Diamond” for their poisonous species.’ In the accounts sent to England, the indiscriminate use of such prefixes as the black snake, the brown snake, causes infinite perplexity, and not unfrequently furnishes argumentative articles to the journals. ‘Carpet’ snake is another vernacular applied to a harmless species in Australia, and to the extremely venomous little Echis of India. Then every country has its ‘Deaf adder’ which is neither an ‘adder’ nor ‘deaf.’ And the ‘moccasin’ of the United States is a still existing stumbling-block.

Another great confusion in classification has been in consequence of some of the earlier naturalists representing young snakes, or those of varying colours, as distinct species. It is very common for a young snake to differ in colour from the parent, and also common for those of the same brood to differ from each other. Of Coluber canis Dr. A. Smith says scarcely any two are marked and coloured alike. In a brood of the broad-scaled Tasmanian snake, H. superbus, there were upwards of thirty young ones, some of which Krefft describes as banded, and of a light colour, the rest being black. Our English slow-worm varies from dead black to nearly white, or flesh colour, one of the latter being an inmate of the Gardens at the time of writing, March 1882. The English viper also varies in colour, and we have heard of a perfectly yellow ring snake.

In England we have so few snakes, viz. the ring snake, the coronella, and one viper, and these three so distinct, that we are not likely to be perplexed with many varieties; but in tropical or semi-tropical regions, where closely-allied species abound, it may be suspected that hybrids not unfrequently create confusion as well as a multiplication of supposed ‘species’ not likely to cease. In our small London collection, hybrids have been produced at least twice within a few years; and we fear that the habit of hibernating in mixed multitudes leads to some immorality among the Ophidia. It is like the overcrowded dwellings of the poor, and the ‘free-lovers’ of America; and perhaps to ophidian unions between congeners occasionally may be traced not a few of the varieties which so curiously and closely blend different species and are a plague to classifiers. This is mere speculation.

The Indian vernaculars are as abundant and perplexing as those of Brazil. Of the cobras, Sir J. Fayrer says there are many varieties which the natives consider different species. ‘The snake charmers are poor naturalists, and disseminate many false notions as well as dangerous ones about the cobras.’ In the Thanatophidia nine or ten varieties are figured, all of the one single species (Naja tripudians), though all bear different vernaculars. The two chief distinctions in the markings are the spots on the back of the ‘neck,’ which, when the hood is distended, are easily distinguished. One with a single ocellus is the Keautiah, known as ‘Kala samp,’ ‘Nag samp,’ etc., being chiefly of the field or jungle. The other with the double ocellus is the ‘spectacled cobra,’ and essentially of the town. This is the ‘Gokurrah’ of the natives, and the favourite of the snake charmers. Being common all over a country which boasts of thirty-six written languages, the reader can imagine the number of vernaculars bestowed upon the Cobra capella.

The ophiophagus is almost equally favoured, as this snake also varies in colour, particularly in the young ones, which Fayrer affirms might easily be mistaken for a different species. Probably wherever snakes abound, the vernaculars are correspondingly numerous.

‘And after all which is the Curucucu, and which is the Jararaca?’ Being the proud possessor of both, I may describe them from nature; but conflicting opinions as to their identity still exist, because there are features in common among congeneric species, and what one author may decide is the Curucucu another will call the Jararaca. Dumeril, Gray, GÜnther, and other modern ophiologists have, however, so far simplified difficulties, as to recognise only one of each in our zoological collections, notwithstanding the liberal use of both terms in Brazil.

Our Curucucu, then, Lachesis or Crotalus mutus, has the flat, viperine head, covered with fine scales. The only plates are the upper and lower labials, one over the eye, and a pair of rather large ones under the chin. The ‘pit’ is very distinct, showing it to be a Bothrops and one of the CrotalidÆ. The body colour is of a pale maize, approaching umber towards the back, and lighter on the belly, with a chain of rich chocolate-brown, jagged, rhomboid spots, edged with darker tints, along the back. It is undeniably handsome, and in life no doubt was iridescent, but alas for the ‘rainbow splendours,’ they have vanished! In length it is about nine feet, and in girth as big as one’s arm in the largest part. Its tail tapers suddenly. One sees in the strongly-keeled scales the ‘prominences’ alluded to by Dr. Wucherer; and as the fangs are represented life-size on p. 360, the reader can judge for himself about the ‘four-inch nails.’ Mine is probably a nearly full-grown serpent, therefore an average-size specimen, and much the same as the one brought to the Gardens in the summer of 1881, which lingered a pitiable object for six or eight months, eating nothing, and gradually wasting.

The Jararaca is a slighter snake, and in colour of an olive tint with darker markings, not unlike Xenodon’s jagged leaf pattern along the back. Its right to the name of Craspedocephalus (craspedo, derived from a Greek word signifying an edge or border) is recognised by a peculiar ridge round its flat, angular, and almost lance-shaped head. It is also a Trigonocephalus and a Bothrops. My specimen being only half-grown is about three feet long, and the thickness of your little finger. ‘Is there not great confusion in the application of the terms craspedoceph. and trigonoceph.?’ wrote Dr. Stradling, on sending me these much-prized specimens. Yes, there certainly is; but by this time the reader sees the reason for this, and also for the many appellatives which they derive from the Fates and the Furies. Not to weary the reader with further lists of names, I will refer him to Gray’s Catalogue of the British Museum Snakes, p. 5, for the accepted Jararaca of the authorities, and to Dumeril, tome vii. pt. ii. p. 1509, for the same; both authors giving the numerous synonyms, and the latter the reasons for many of them. The student will there see how Wagler is supposed to have described young snakes as different species; and if further investigation be invited, a good deal of entertainment may be had from Wagler himself and his folio volume,[128] Serpentum Braziliensis, with its wonderful coloured illustrations. Then for the Curucucu, the Lachesis mutus of modern ophiologists, see p. 13 of Gray, and p. 1486, tome vii. pt. ii. of Dumeril et Bibron. From these authors we may go back to Marcgrave, 1648, for the ‘Cvrvcvcv Braziliensibus, fifteen palms long, truculent and much to be feared.’ Marcgrave’s book is embellished with marvellous pictures which are not likely to enlighten us much; but through him we are enabled to identify some of his serpents with the vernaculars, for, like the Pilgrim Purchas, the vernaculars were all he had to guide him.

Authorities recognise six or seven species of Craspedocephalus, presumably all having the easily distinguishable edge like a thin cord round their heads, and which doubtless were the ‘prominent Veines’ described by Purchas in the Brazilian species, now generally recognised as ‘the Jararaca.’ I will invite my readers to ‘co-operate’ and call no harmless little snakes by this name, which originally implied something terrible.

‘And what is the outcome of all this etymological jumble?’

‘Well, we at least learn that as in English the words snake, adder, serpent, have a somewhat general signification, so have some of the Brazilian vernaculars. But I cannot help thinking that many of these names had more of natural history in them than we are apt to suspect, though no doubt the original meaning has become much corrupted during three hundred years’ colonization. The native races knew quite well that some snakes were dangerous and some harmless, which is more than can be said for the present occupiers of South America, who think all venomous as a matter of a course.

The differences in spelling the same word may guide us in the pronunciation of it; as, for example, the c sometimes as k, in Camoudi, or Kamoodi, and as s in Curucoocu or Sooroocoocoo. In these latter words we also find the u identical with oo, as in the HindÛ or Hindoo words. Again, the j is as i in Jararaca or Iararacca, or more probably a sound with which we are unfamiliar, as the word is sometimes Shiraraca. The frequent transposition of syllables hints at a meaning which may be worth seeking by a philologist, should he be also an ophiophilist. Some local information on these points I much hoped to obtain; but alas! (for this chapter) the trips to Brazil of my excellent ally came to an end! Independently of which, the native dialects could only be studied in the far interior, where, here and there, some tribes may still be found in their pristine simplicity, though it is very doubtful whether their dialects to-day are those from which the first European settlers obtained their Curucucus and Jararacas.

The repetition of syllables in these strange dialects seems to point at some intention. Can those frequently occurring raras and cucus represent degrees? For instance, we are told that the Jarraracucu is ‘the largest of the Jarraracas.’ And we are quite sure that the Cucurijuba, ‘which killeth by winding certain turnes of his tayle,’ is the boa constrictor; and that the CururiubÙ, ‘which keepeth alwaies in the water,’ is the anaconda, these syllables evidently representing bulk or something formidable: as we have them abounding in curucucu, the most formidable of all serpents. Then Ibibo might imply beauty or gay colouring. A snake, Ibiboco, with red and black rings, ‘the fairest but of foulest venom,’ is undoubtedly Elaps lemniscatus; while Ibiboboca, ‘ainsi nommÉ par sa grande beautÉ,’ is ‘harmlesse.’ Peba as a termination may imply danger; as there is the Jararacpeba, ‘most venomous,’ and a ‘very venomous’ rattlesnake, Boicinininpeba. The curious repetition of in in Boycininga, rattlesnake (p. 272), seems to hint at the length of its rattle and the degree of crepitation it produces, especially as we find the substitution of g for c in some of these words, and the soft gi rapidly repeated is not unlike the true sound.

There is a long and slender tree snake ‘that eateth eggs, and goeth faster on the trees than any man can runne on the ground, with a motion not unlike swimming.’ Its correspondingly long name is Guiaranpiaquana! Vain indeed would be any speculation as to what that may mean. Vain also, and I fear tedious, may all this guess-work be to discover meaning and poetry in what may probably be dead languages. Who shall say how many thousand years ago these singular repetitions conveyed to the savage mind (but was it savage?) an idea of the creatures around them?