Gather 'round the fire, kiddies, it's time for some Concord Fables. The Insider dug up stories of Concord's legendary figures, and we think these historical heroes are every bit as exciting as Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett. Those guys just had better representation. We've taken these stories, with little or no editing, straight from the pages of “The History of Concord,” written by Nathaniel Bouton in 1856. Buckle up your buckskin and get your ramrods ready, we're about to take a trip back to pioneer times.
The second installment of Concord Fables is all about the snakes – in particular, rattlesnakes – that infested the West End of Concord in the 1700s. Back then, Concord was just getting its bearings as a town, so many parts weren't yet settled. And Rattlesnake Hill (today known as Granite Hill, which lines the shores of Long Pond on Lake View Drive), had its name for a reason: That's where the rattlesnakes conspired to eat all the humans. We mean lived.
Now, the people of Concord weren't so keen on all those snakes slithering around, so officials offered them money to kill the snakes. Some even made a living off of the snakes paying their taxes with the dead reptiles. Bouton describes it in detail:
“Tradition says that the inhabitants used to go 'snake hunting,' on 'good snake days,' as still, sunny days in the spring and autumn were called. Their weapon consisted of a white oak or white ash stick, from six to eight feet long and about an inch round, with a hook fastened in one end, to be used in drawing the snakes from their holes and from cracks in the ledges. Thus armed, they repaired to the “snake ground,” treading slowly and softly, to prevent the snakes from hearing them.
“Generally the snakes were found lying in the sunshine, near their dens, asleep. Sometimes they were so numerous as to form a large heap. If they heard any noise, the snakes gave the alarm by shaking their rattles, which made a fine buzzing noise; then they run into holes or under rocks for safety. The rattle-snake was easily killed – a well directed blow with the stick above described was sufficient for the purpose. Their motion was slow, and they would usually retreat from the presence of a man; yet 'the hunting' of them was dangerous, for, if overtaken and provoked, they were very ferocious. Coiling up in a small ring, and emitting a fine buzzing noise with their rattles – their bodies rising and falling like a bellows – their parti-colored skin rough and sparkling-the upper jaw thrown nearly back upon the neck, and their eyes, like a fiery flame, which would suddenly change to a greenish color – they would suddenly dart on their foe, strike their fang, and, at the same instant, emit a poison in the wound, which usually proved fatal.
“The late Amos Abbot, father of John and Simeon, with his cousin Reuben, one afternoon killed forty-nine snakes with sticks and hooks; but such an effluvia proceeded from the slaughtered snakes as to sicken them. Commonly the faces of the hunters would be swollen with inflammation, caused, as was supposed, by poisonous effluvia.
“There is a tradition that a Penacook Indian undertook to revenge himself on the nation of rattlesnakes for having bitten one of his family: He made a large fish-pot and set it at the mouth of a den of rattle-snakes. As they came out they filled the pot, which, in the joy of his success, he rolled away from the den, and then piled around it a large quantity of brush, which he set on fire, dancing and singing to see the contortions and struggles of his vanquished foe; but his joy was short. Whether from the effluvia inhaled, or some other cause, he soon sickened and died.
“One person undertook to blow up a den of snakes. Having caught and fastened a large rattle-snake, he tied to his tail a powder-horn filled with powder-putting in for a stopple a piece of punk, which he set on fire and let the snake go. Returning to his snaky companions, unsuspicious of the fate that awaited them, soon the powder-horn exploded, when the whole den of snakes was blown 'sky high.'
“Another mode of destroying these reptiles, if not equally singular, was as effectual-that is, the letting the hogs run at large where the snakes were abundant. In the autumn of the year, being fat and lazy, the snakes made a delicious morsel for swinish appetites. The hogs would often kill them before they had time to coil and dart their poison.
“So thorough was the war of extermination carried on by our fathers against the rattlesnake tribe, that it is said not one has been seen on Rattle-snake Hill for the last forty years.”
Since Bouton's book was written in 1856, that means no one has seen a rattlesnake in Concord for 195 years! Unless we're mistaken. Has anyone seen a rattler in these parts? If so, let us know!
