CAGING A PYTHON.

Otago Witness, Issue 3596, 13 February 1923, Page 62

CAGING A PYTHON.

By F. B. Forester. Among the presents contributed by various Indian princes and native rulers.to our own Prince of Wales during his recent tour in the Far East were t.wo which must have given rise to some anxiety dining the voyage home with regard to their safe-keeping. A tiger or a leopard may be safely caged, and so rendered harmless; a bear or even an elephent can be securely kept, but wiiat means are there on shipboard of making sure of snakes ? And two of these presents were snakes—one a huge python, non-venomous, certainly, but none the less i dangerous; the other a king cobra or hamadryad, the largest among venomous snakes, and one of the most deadly. Of the caging of the later, unfortunately, no details are to hand, but without a doubt this must have been a much more dangerous task than the handling of the python. (Most snakes, uidess molested, will, as a rule, avoid man, and get out of his way if possible, but the king cobra is aggressive, and will not only attack but chase human beings without provocation. It has even been known to pursue a man on horseback. In short, there is no serpent more dreaded by the natives of India and Malaysia, and the unpacking and caging of this dangerous visitor to the Zoological Gardens, where the Prince’s presents were deposited, was a plucky and well carried through piece of work. i The caging of the python, as described in recent English newspapers, made exciting reading, especially when it is to be remembered that the huge snake was at least twenty-eight feet in length. But there is little in the way of handling a new and dangerous addition to thp Gardens of which the keepers at the Zoo are not capable, and such was the case here. It must have been a thrilling moment when the crate was opened to reveal the python coiled within, ready, for all they knew, to dart a hideous head and neck out of his prison. True, it was supposed that, after his last meal ot ducks at Singapore, the monster would still be in a comatose state, but there was no absolute certainty that such would be the case. That he was not altogether torpid was evident on opening the crate, but the sixteen men wele ready for him, arid while one keeper, as arranged, tbe reptile’s attention to himself, the other fifteen seizer upon the great serpent bodily, and the writhing monster was literally carried to .his cage and tumbled unceremoniously within. This successful unpacking and caging of the great python recalls forcibly another similarly dangerous piece of work ably handled" by the keepers of the London Zoo. That these men are devoted to their work and do their very best for the welfare of the creatures in their care is evident to every visitor. ’The writer remembers being present on one occasion when a couple of keepers entered the cage in which two or three foxes weie confined in order to secure one for removal elsewhere. The capture was made by means of an enlarged butterfly net, aiid the care taken by the men in order to avoid injuring or even terrifying the animal unnecessarily was a pleasure to see But to return to our python. • One of the most popular spots in the Zoological Cardens is the Reptile House, for, account for the fact how one may, there is for many people a strange fascination in the sight of a snake. This is a large, well-lighted building, and the lirst thing to strike the visitor on entering is the almost tropical heat. In the centre is the alligator tank, and at each end and along both sides are ranged glass cases containing snakes of every sort and size. The great cage—if the word can be applied to a glass case —in the centre of the principal row is tenanted by a magnificant specimen of the reticulated python—the same which, under the name of anaconda (rightly belonging to the much larger South American water boa) figures

so largely in certain fearsome sluiies of India and the Malay Peninsula. who does not remember tile weird horror of Koa in the "Jungle Book,” and it is impossible not to tnink of him at the sight of this huge serpent lying stretched out on the sand, his glittering scales sparkling in the sun. Twenty-five feet he is in length, so says liis keeper, and as for thickness . The man glances at his questioner wrapped in a thick winter coat, and volunteers the information: “After he’s had his dinner he’s thicker round than you are.” Certainly a recently seen photograph of a python, taken just after a meal, leaves much to be desired on the score of symmetry, a huge lump being visible in the middle of the body, beyond which the head and tail look dwarfed out of all proportion. These meals, be it noted, are taken only at intervals of a month and thereby hangs our tale.

On one occasion, whether through overeagerness in seizing his prey or merely y accident, the python dislocated his jau. 1 lug has, of course, been already done to a certain extent by Nature, to enable lum to swallow his prey, but in nis case the damage was serious, and the worst thing about the case was that the patient was far too formidable to tackle, the strength and courage of that fine body of men, the Zoo keepers, would he of little avail against those five and twenty fec-t of compressed strength and ferocity, and lor a time it seemed as if toe snake, valuable though it was, must be mft to perish, although, fortunately, the latelv swallowed meal would keep him alive lor some weeks. But the resources of the Royal Zoological Society are not easily exhausted and brute force and cunning were met by strategy. It must be pointed out that the .abode ot each of the large serpents—for there is a small specimen of the true anaconda m the adjoining cage—is provided with a bath, the reptiles being exceedingly fond of water. This bath consists of an oblong tank made of galvanised iron, fitted with a sliding cover. The wounded hero having, like Achilles, retired to his eri j 01 a,i k—it occurred to the superintendent tiiat herein lay opportunity. Tile services of a daring vet. were obtained, and at tile appointed time a posse ot keepers, all powerful, fearless, and determined men, proceeded to the python s cage, wnere the great reptile still lay sullenly, a heap of codes, in his bath. In an instant the cover was drawn on, leaving a space only large enough to allow of the protrusion of the head. Aroused and alarmed, the serpent immediately thrust out his head and neck, but in an instant half-a-dozen men seized upon every- inch of snake obtainable, and while the strong tank restrained the lashing body, the keepers, despite the frantic struggles of the python and the torrents of water dashed over them, held down the head and neck while the surgeon did his work, setting the dislocated jaw, and putting the head of his dangerous patient into plaster of Paris bandages. The operation was a successful one, and on a farewell visit paid to the Gardens some years ago, the writer saw the great serpent, his head still swathed in bandages, reclining half in and half out of his bath. Since, in the account of the arrival of the Prince’s python, mention is made of another of the same species, two or three feet shorter, being already at the Zoo, the serpent operated upon is in all probability referred to, and as these great reptiles would seem to live for centuries, there is most likely a long lifo beforo him.