Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 711, August 11, 1877

Our little friend has been described as an excellent swimmer; but I imagine that it does not readily take to water, for I have never seen it swimming across streams or pools, though the banks of rivers, especially when honeycombed with rat-holes, and affording cover to the animal's usual prey, are much frequented by it. It is an exceedingly courageous creature, and capable of inflicting severe punishment on animals far larger than itself, with its formidable teeth. A full-grown and powerful Tom-cat belonging to my regiment, the terror of all the squirrels in the neighbourhood, was worsted and most severely mauled in an encounter of his own seeking with a harmless mongoose. The latter surprised in the first instance and hard pressed by his opponent, turned on his assailant, and bit him through the face, inflicting so severe a wound, extending as it did from the corner of the eye to the mouth, that the aggressor was compelled to beat a retreat, having caught a regular Tartar. For many weeks we all thought that the sight of the injured optic was destroyed, though eventually the contrary proved to be the case; but puss for ever after carefully avoided seeking a quarrel with such an undaunted little champion.

The mongoose at times is mischievous; and not unfrequently during the night invades the poultry-yard; and when intent on making an entrance into a hen-roost, is a difficult thief to keep out, for the creature manages to creep through very small openings and crevices. Having once succeeded in forcing its way in, the mongoose, like many others of its tribe, not content with obtaining a single fowl sufficient to furnish a hearty meal, is given to the bad habit of slaying half a dozen or more unfortunates, which it never attempts to carry off, but leaves scattered about the floor.

In spite, however, of such small 'peccadillos' and insignificant petty thefts, which I believe are the sum-total of crimes which can be with justice laid to the charge of the little animal, the mongoose, on account of its many admirable qualities and the exceedingly useful office it fulfils, should ever be encouraged and protected by man. Not only does it continually hunt for and prey upon reptiles of various kinds, devouring their young and eggs alike, but cobras and other venomous snakes on becoming aware of such an active and dreaded little adversary being in their midst, speedily leave such a neighbourhood, and betake themselves to other and safer quarters; and as we know that the smell of a cat suffices to keep away rats and mice from our dwellings, so in like manner will a mongoose, by continually prowling about a house, in a great measure free the premises from snakes, rats, mice, and such vermin.

The mongoose in its wild state, if kindly treated, fed with milk, and made a welcome visitant, speedily loses its natural fear of human beings, and not only will pass along the veranda of a house, but if unmolested, soon learns to cross from one room to another by an open door or window. When captured young, it is very easily reared and domesticated, and soon becomes familiarised with the loss of liberty. It is cleanly in its habits, and has no offensive odour pertaining to it, like many of its tribe. It will trot about after its owner like a dog or cat, and even permit children to handle or play with it, without attempting to bite or scratch them. I have seen one curled up asleep in a lady's lap. They are special favourites of the British soldiers in the barracks, and dozens of such pets may be seen in a single building.

Being, as I have already stated, a deadly foe to the cobra, battles between that formidable reptile and the mongoose are of constant occurrence; but I never have had the good fortune to witness a combat between the two animals in their wild state, though I have several times seen large and formidable snakes despatched within a few minutes of the commencement of the fight, by tame ichneumons; and I imagine that the tactics employed on both sides are much the same whether the champions have casually met in the jungle, or the duel has been arranged for them by human beings.

In the various encounters which I have personally witnessed between mongoose and cobra, the former invariably came off the victor, and that without apparently receiving a wound. The little animal always adopted the same tactics, vigorously attacking the snake by circling round it and springing at its throat or head, but at the same time with wonderful skill and quickness avoiding the counter-strokes of its dangerous enemy; till at length waiting for a favourable opportunity – when the snake had become to a certain extent exhausted by its exertions – the nimble little quadruped would suddenly dart forward, and, so to speak, getting under its opponent's guard, end the fight by delivering a crunching bite through the cobra's skull.

In none of the half-dozen battles which I have witnessed has there been an attempt on the part of the mongoose to 'extract the serpent's fangs' (as some recent writers have described); though more than once, after gaining the victory, the animal has commenced to ravenously devour its late opponent. Possibly these poor creatures, that shewed so inordinate a desire for food, had been intentionally starved for the occasion by their owners, to make them the more eager to engage and overcome the cobra so soon as let loose, and thus without fail or delay to insure a pitched battle for the benefit of the spectators.

As the reader is probably aware, these combats between mongoose and cobra have given rise to many differences of opinion and disputes among naturalists; though I think that the careful inquiries and numberless experiments made by scientific men in late years have done much to clear up these old points of contention, and at the same time have put to flight many delusions no longer tenable. For instance, a common belief formerly prevailed 'that a mongoose, when bitten in an engagement with a cobra or other venomous snake, was in the habit of eating some kind of plant or root, which altogether nullified the effects of the poison.' This extraordinary idea yet prevails in some parts of India among certain classes of natives, who to this day maintain that the mongoose, by means of some such specific as I have mentioned, works a self-cure when bitten by a venomous reptile. But it is a well-known fact that many tribes and castes are exceedingly superstitious and obstinate, pertinaciously clinging to the convictions, maxims, and customs handed down to them by their forefathers; and with such people it is, generally speaking, useless to enter into an argument.

We shall now proceed to consider a second and far more difficult point to determine, and which, I think, yet remains a vexed question, requiring further investigation. I refer to the supposition, which many maintain, 'that the poison from the fangs of venomous snakes, though so fatal in its results with most living creatures, is innoxious to the genus to which the mongoose belongs, and that one of these animals, beyond suffering pain from the bite of a cobra, sustains no further harm or inconvenience.'

Many strong and weighty arguments have been urged in support of this theory; and perhaps the most remarkable that has ever been brought before the public appeared many years ago in an article published in the Churchman's Magazine, entitled 'A Question in Natural History settled at last.' The writer, after ably sustaining his view of the question, concludes by publishing at length a most interesting communication from India, giving a detailed account of a prolonged and bloody engagement between mongoose and cobra. This letter was signed by three officers of the Indian army, witnesses of the combat, and who vouched for the strict accuracy of the report. The particulars of this desperate duel, which actually lasted three-quarters of an hour, with the various changes and incidents as the combat proceeded, are minutely described; but after a gallantly contested battle, the mongoose proved the victor, and the cobra was overcome and slain. The former, however, did not come off scathless, but, on the contrary, received several wounds, including one of great severity.

When the encounter was over, the witnesses proceeded to carefully examine, with a magnifying glass, the wounds which the mongoose had received, in order to ascertain and satisfy themselves of their extent and nature; and mark the important discovery brought to light by aid of the lens. I will quote the concluding words of the narrative: 'On washing away the blood from one of these places the lens disclosed the broken fang of the cobra deeply imbedded in the head of the mongoose… We have had the mongoose confined ever since (now four days ago), and it is now as healthy and lively as ever.'

It cannot be denied that such clear and trustworthy evidence as this carries considerable weight with it, and tends to bear out the writer's view of the question. On the other hand, to deal impartially, it is right to point out one or two weak points in carrying out this otherwise well-conducted experiment, and which somewhat detract from the results and consequent opinions arrived at.

In the first place, we are told that the cobra was only three feet long, undoubtedly a very small one; and further, that previous to engaging the mongoose, to make sure that the reptile was in full possession of its fatal powers, it was made to bite a fowl, which died soon after. This certainly clearly proved that the snake's deadly machinery was in full working order. But the experimentalists appear to have forgotten that by this very act they were in a measure disarming the cobra, for it is a well-known fact that the first bite of a venomous snake is most to be feared; and that a second bite by the same reptile, if delivered shortly after the first, owing to the poison having been partially exhausted by the first effort, is less deadly in its effects.

So that, all things considered, and fully allowing that this account strengthens the assertion that the mongoose is really proof against the effects of snake-poison, I am yet of opinion that the question is not finally and conclusively settled, more especially as later experiments, quite as fairly and carefully carried out, have terminated differently, and resulted in the death of the plucky little fellow.

SOME CURIOUS COINCIDENCES

It has often been jocularly said that no family can have any right to call itself 'old' unless it has its 'family ghost.' As regards the Highlands of Scotland, we may substitute for the ghost the inevitable 'doom,' or prediction foretelling future weal or woe to the family. Almost every old Highland house has its 'prophecy' of this kind, such as the Argyll and Breadalbane predictions, the 'Fate of Seaforth,' the 'Fall and Rise of Macleod,' and many others well known in the north. The great majority of the families so gifted have had of course no events in their history that even the credulity of their retainers in the past could twist into a fulfilment of the predictions; but in a few cases there have been some curious coincidences between the old traditions and the facts of a later time.

We propose to select one or two well authenticated instances of such coincidences from among a mass of Highland superstition in a little book that has recently been published at Inverness entitled The Prophecies of the Brahan Seer, by Alexander Mackenzie (Inverness: A. and W. Mackenzie). This pamphlet is a collection of most of the traditionary 'prophecies' attributed to an apocryphal Ross-shire seer of the seventeenth century, and which have been handed down by oral tradition from generation to generation in the Highlands since that time. In the north, the popular faith in this prophet Coinneach Odhar or 'Dun Kenneth' and his predictions has been and is both strong and wide, says Mr Mackenzie, who thinks the legends worthy of preservation, as an additional chapter 'both remarkable and curious, to the already extensive history of the marvellous.' At anyrate, these legends are of some interest as illustrations of the superstition and credulity of the Highlanders of the last century, and perhaps even of this; but our purpose leaves untouched the wilder traditions in this collection, and deals only with two episodes in the histories of two great families of the north.

Sir Edmund Burke in his Vicissitudes of Families has a weird chapter on 'the Fate of Seaforth,' in which he gives at full length the doom of this family, as pronounced by the 'Warlock of the Glen' (as Sir Edmund calls Dun Kenneth), and its fulfilment a century and a half after it was spoken. Burke seemingly accepts as fact (as does Mr Mackenzie) the purely mythical story of the seer and his cruel fate – how, being a clansman of Seaforth, and famed for his prophetic skill, he was called on by his chief's wife to explain why her husband staid so long in Paris, whither he had gone on business soon after the Restoration; how the Warlock, unwilling at first to tell what his uncanny gift shewed him, at last was forced to say that the Lord of Kintail was forgetting home and Lady Isabel in the smiles of a French lady; how the angry countess, furious that he should have so slandered his chief before his clansmen, ordered the seer to be burned to death – another instance of the proverbial 'honour' in which prophets are held in their own country. As he was dying at the stake, Kenneth uttered a weird prediction foretelling the downfall of the Seaforths for Lady Isabel's crime. So runs the legend. It is quite certain that a prediction regarding the Seaforth family was well known in the Highlands long before the days of the last chief of Kintail. We have Lockhart's authority for the fact that both Sir Humphry Davy and Sir Walter Scott knew and believed it. 'I do fear the accomplishment of the prophecy,' writes Scott in another place to his friend Morritt of Rokeby, who himself testifies that he heard it quoted in the Highlands at a time when Lord Seaforth had two sons both alive and in good health. This prediction ran, that the house of Seaforth would fall when there should be a deaf and dumb earl who should sell Kintail (the 'gift-land' of his house); that this earl would have three sons, all of whom he should survive; that four great Highland lairds, his contemporaries, should each have certain physical defects, which were named; that the Seaforth estates should go to 'a white-hooded lassie from the East,' who should be the cause of her sister's death.

With all these particulars the facts coincided exactly. Francis Humberstone Mackenzie, the last Seaforth, became deaf from an attack of fever while at school, and latterly also became dumb. His remarkable life is well known: he raised from his clan the 78th Highlanders, and subsequently rose to be a lieutenant-general in the army and governor of various colonies. Scott, whose great friend he was, says he was a man 'of extraordinary talents, who must have made for himself a lasting reputation, had not his political exertions been checked by painful natural infirmity.' He was the happy father of three sons and six daughters, all of high promise; but the end of his life was darkened by misfortunes. Two of his sons died suddenly; and in 1814, William, his last hope – M. P. for his native county, and a young man of great abilities – sickened of a lingering disease, and died about the time that losses in the West Indies necessitated the sale of Kintail. In January following, the old man, broken-hearted at the loss of his three sons, died; and then, as Scott says:

Of the line of Mackenneth remained not a maleTo bear the proud name of the chiefs of Kintail.

The estates went to his eldest daughter, the widow of Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, who was on her way home from India when her father died. The four Highland lairds, friends of Earl Francis, were all distinguished by the peculiar personal marks which were mentioned in the prediction; and to make the coincidence complete, Lady Hood – then Mrs Stewart Mackenzie – many years afterwards may be said to have been the innocent cause of her sister's death, for when she was driving Miss Caroline Mackenzie in a pony-carriage, the ponies ran away, the ladies were thrown out, and Miss Mackenzie killed!

So much for this strange chapter in family history. Let us now glance at the records of another family – equally famous in the Highlands – where the prediction, as a whole, has not been fulfilled, though enough has happened here also to make the coincidence very striking. Our authority in this case is the Rev. Norman Macleod, father of the late Dr Norman Macleod. In the appendix to Dr Norman's Life by his brother are given a series of reminiscences dictated in his old age by their father. He says that in the summer of 1799 he visited Dunvegan Castle in Skye, the old stronghold of the Macleods. 'One circumstance took place at the castle on this occasion which I think worth recording, especially as I am the only person now living who can attest the truth of it. There had been a traditionary prophecy, couched in Gaelic verse, regarding the family of Macleod, which on this occasion received a most extraordinary fulfilment. This prophecy I have heard repeated by several persons… It was prophesied at least a hundred years prior to the circumstance I am about to relate.' This prediction shortly was, that when 'Norman, the third Norman,' should meet an accidental death; when the rocks on the coast of Macleod's country called the 'Maidens' became the property of a Campbell; when a fox had young ones in the castle; and when the 'Fairy Banner' should be for the last time shewn – the glory of Macleod should depart for a time; the estates be sold to others. But that again in the far future another Macleod should redeem the property and raise the family higher than ever. Now comes the curious coincidence told by Mr Macleod.

An English smith at Dunvegan told him one day that next morning he was going to the castle to force open the iron chest in which the 'fairy flag' of the Macleods had lain for ages undisturbed. Mr Macleod was very anxious to be present, and at last he got permission from 'the factor,' upon condition that he told no one of the name of Macleod – the chief included – what was to be done. The smith tore off the lid of the box, and the famous old flag was exposed – 'a square piece of very rich silk, with crosses wrought with gold-thread, and several elf-spots stitched with great care on different parts of it.' Very soon after this, Mr Macleod goes on to say, 'the melancholy news of the death of the young and promising heir of Macleod reached the castle. "Norman, the third Norman," was a lieutenant of H.M.S. the Queen Charlotte, which was blown up at sea, and he and the rest perished. At the same time, the rocks called "Macleod's Maidens" were sold in the course of that very week to Angus Campbell of Ensay; and they are still in possession of his grandson. A fox in possession of a Lieutenant Maclean residing in the west turret of the castle, had young ones, which I handled. And thus all that was said in the prophecy alluded to was so far fulfilled; although I am glad the family of my chief still enjoy their ancestral possessions, and the worst part of the prophecy accordingly remains unverified. I merely state the facts of the case as they occurred, without expressing any opinion whatever as to the nature of these traditionary legends with which they were connected.'

A coincidence as remarkable as any of these is the one Mr Wilkie Collins notices in connection with his novel Armadale. Readers of that powerful story will recollect what an important part the fatal effects of sleeping in poisoned and foul air play in it. They, writes Mr Wilkie Collins, 'may be interested in hearing of a coincidence relating to the present story which actually happened, and which in the matter of "extravagant improbability" sets anything of the same kind that a novelist could imagine at flat defiance. In November 1865 – that is to say, when thirteen monthly parts of Armadale had been published, and I may add, when more than a year and a half had elapsed since the end of the story, as it now appears, was first sketched in my note-book – a vessel lay in the Huskisson Dock at Liverpool, which was looked after by one man, who slept on board, in the capacity of ship-keeper. On a certain day in the week this man was found dead in the deck-house. On the next day a second man, who had taken his place, was carried dying to the Northern Hospital. On the third day a third ship-keeper was appointed, and was found dead in the deck-house, which had already proved fatal to the other two. The name of that ship was the Armadale. And the proceedings at the inquest proved that the three men had all been suffocated by sleeping in poisoned air.' The case, Mr Collins goes on to say, 'was noticed – to give two instances in which I can cite the dates – in the Times of November 30, 1865, and was more fully described in the Daily News of November 28, in the same year.'

MUSHROOM CULTIVATION IN JAPAN

In pursuance of a plan commenced a short time back of furnishing information respecting the staple products of Japan, their culture or preparation, Her Majesty's Consul at Yokohama, in his published Report to the Foreign Office, deals, among other matters, with the cultivation, &c. of mushrooms; and as that subject is a novel one in this country, some brief account of the process may not be unacceptable to our readers. The best of the edible species of mushrooms are known to the Japanese as matsu-také and shü-také. The difficulties experienced in preserving the former kind prevent their being available for export, added to which, even when successfully dried, they are nearly tasteless; the shü-také, on the other hand, have this peculiar excellence, that though they are all but tasteless in their raw state, they have an extremely fine flavour when they are dried. The quantity that grows naturally on the decayed roots or cut stumps of the shü tree is not sufficient to meet the demand, and consequently much skill has been brought to bear on their cultivation, notably by cutting off the trunks of the shü and other trees, and forcing the growth of the mushrooms on them. Different varieties of oak are most in favour with the Japanese for the cultivation of mushrooms, the one just mentioned being considered to give the best results. The tree grows abundantly in warm places with a south-easterly aspect, and attains a height of about eighteen or nineteen feet. It is an evergreen, bearing small acorns, which are steamed and eaten; the wood is used for making boats' oars, charcoal, &c. Another oak, the kashiwa, from which mushrooms are obtained, is also plentiful in warm localities, and grows to a height of thirty or forty feet; its leaves are used in cookery, and the wood is in great demand for divining-sticks. A third description of oak, the donguri, is found all over the country; and its acorns, after being pounded and steeped in water, are made into dumplings.

Mushrooms, we are told, are obtained from any of the above-mentioned trees in the following manner: about the beginning of autumn a trunk five or six inches in diameter is selected and cut up into lengths of four or five feet; each log is then split into four pieces; and on the outer bark slight incisions are made at once with a hatchet, or else the logs are left till the following spring, when deep cuts are made in them. Assuming the former course to have been pursued, the logs, after having received several slight incisions, are placed in a wood where they can get the full benefit of the air and heat; and in about three years they will have become tolerably rotten in parts. After the more rotten parts have been removed, they are placed in a slanting position; and about the middle of the ensuing spring the mushrooms will come forth in abundance. After these have been gathered, the logs are still kept, and submitted to the following process. Every morning they are steeped in water, and in the afternoon they are taken out and beaten with a mallet; they are then ranged on end in the same slanting position as before; and in two or three days' time mushrooms will again make their appearance. In some places it is the custom to beat the logs so heavily that the wood swells, and this seems to induce the growth of mushrooms of more than ordinarily large size. If, however, the logs are beaten gently, a great number of small mushrooms grow up in succession. Another mode of forcing the growth of mushrooms is to bury the cut logs at once in the earth, and after the lapse of a year, to take them out and treat them in the manner just described.