The Heart of the Wild: Nature Studies from Near and Far

by S. L. Bensusan

When the Little Seal joined his family party, consisting of the mother, two male seals, and several children of two and three years old—eight in all—he soon found that the bottom of the water was the most comfortable part of the world within his reach. Down upon the smooth sandy bottom there fell no shadow of the trouble cast upon the upper waters and the land, and so he learned to remain for long drowsy periods, half-sleeping, half-waking, roused to instant activity by the sense of the presence of a fish. He could see under the water as clearly as he could upon the land, and his whiskers were developing the sensitiveness that belongs to seals in even a larger measure than to cats.

These nerves served to rouse him when he was almost asleep, and indicated the presence of food. When after even a long hunt he had caught his fish, he did not need to seek land; he could eat it at his ease under the waves; and if he came up afterwards, it was generally to tread water with his flippers, and look round to take his bearings.

Finally, when he was quite tired of the sea, he would return to the home rock, climb up in the manner described, and then, resting his head upon the body of the seal nearest to him, go to sleep. Every seal attached himself to his neighbour in this fashion for reasons of safety. When they were lying in such close touch, the first sign of alarm was communicated automatically to one and all. Perhaps in that quiet corner there was little need for such extravagant precautions, but the history of seals throughout the world is one long drawn-out tragedy, and the need for care had become as strong an instinct as any that entered into their simple lives. In old days, and among kind superstitious folks, the seals had been mermen and mermaids; and when they sat on rocks in the sunshine, passing their webbed toes through their coat to keep it bright and lustrous, simple seafaring men had thought they saw mermaidens combing their golden locks. The sunlight had supplied the gold, and perhaps the little waves had lent the song; and so the story grew, and passed into legend, and gladdened many a child-like simple heart, even though it dwelt in a time-worn body. But now, in the place of gold, men had introduced the age of lead; mermaids and mermen shocked an age that held materialism to be the highest form of faith, and knew that a leaden bullet properly aimed could kill the most beautiful creature that ever played about a summer sea. So the old seals, grown wary, exercised what care they could to save their helpless, harmless families from the enemy man.

Spring came back at last, and if it made little or no difference to the aspect of the rock-strewn shore, there were pleasant changes beyond. The waters subsided and lost their angry colour, the days lengthened, the light grew stronger, and sea birds came back to the cliffs to lay their eggs, and scream and quarrel in the old familiar fashion. And with the advent of May the adult female seals withdrew from the others, and the adult males retired with the younger generation to another part of the coast where, as good luck would have it, our friend found the old Herring-gull busily pursuing his fishing.

“I’d like to travel,” said the Young Seal, whose blood tingled with the spirit of the season. “I’m tired of stopping always in one place. Where does the sea end? You ought to know, seeing that you can fly all over it.”

“The sea has no end and no beginning,” explained the Herring-gull. “It is like the sky, boundless. Wherever I go, I find the sea. But if you wish to travel, follow the coast down until you come to a place where the water turns in towards the land. Follow carefully, until it narrows, and you reach a part where men have spread great nets. They are put there to catch a wonderful fish with scales as bright as a herring’s, and a pink body that all seals love to feed upon. But be careful to stay well beyond the nets, and do not let greed tempt you to travel too far. Then I shall see you back in the late summer, and you will thank me.”

This advice seemed very good to the Young Seal, who felt no family ties and had a love of adventure. He set out, resting from time to time upon the shore, and keeping the best possible look out for strangers. As he moved down the coast, he met a seal two years older than himself, bound on the same errand, and this one promised to show him the road. Having company, each seal was bolder than before, and as the sea was teeming with fish just then, they moved quite slowly to the home of the great pink delicacy. One fine afternoon they lay at their ease high upon the shore, and came near to be cut off, for a pleasure boat hove in sight, and they had to rush towards it in search of safety. This was a thrilling experience, and might have ended very differently if any of the four men on the boat had carried a gun. As it was, the two seals ran down the beach in fearful haste, raising sand and shingle very freely, as they progressed in awkward jerks, first on their chest, then on their stomach. To the men in the boat the movements appeared so strange that they could hardly row for laughter, indeed the reduction of their efforts may have accounted for the seals’ escape, but to the two frightened animals the case was quite different—they found nothing to laugh at. When they reached water at last, they were very sore, stiff and bruised; sharp stones and rocks had hurt them very considerably. They remained under the water for a very long time, and only ventured to show their heads above it a long way down the coast. At the same time the incident was not without considerable value. It taught them that an enemy might appear at any moment, and that they must not venture inland either when the tide was receding or when the shape of the coast corner tended to obstruct the view.

At length they reached the river’s estuary, and moving along it with extreme caution, found a point where the banks narrowed a little below the netting. There they remained for some weeks, and the Younger Seal found that the salmon seeking the fresh water were worthy of everything the Herring-gull had said in their praise. He remembered the advice that had been given to him; his little experience along the coast had done something to fix it in his mind, and it is doubtful whether the fisher folk who looked after the nets realised the close presence of the seals. Doubtless the men, to whom some of the salmon fell in the latter days, knew that the fish had run the gauntlet, for now and again a salmon escaping with his life from seal and nets carried to the upper waters the mark of the seal’s teeth. If not gripped behind the neck, many a salmon could tear himself away with little serious hurt.

At last the fish began to decrease in numbers and the Seal had eaten enough salmon to satisfy him for a long time. He began to think with pleasure of the life that awaited him among his own people, and of the joys of basking at ease without fear of disturbance. In the estuary he had been bound to observe the greatest care, and now he was not feeling quite well, the season of change was upon him. So he went down again to the open water, and turned his head to the north, covering the road home in comparatively short time, and arriving to find that the female seals were silvered, and that the males were beginning to change colour. He told all his experiences to the Herring-gull, but said nothing about them to his brethren. Instinct told him that if the salmon ground should be invaded by the seals, man the enemy, who owned the nets, would resent the invasion after his own brutal fashion. Strange though it may appear, he knew himself for a poacher.

This summer did not differ from the last. Perhaps the Seal climbed higher rocks than he had cared to face in the previous year, and perhaps he was more nervous if alarmed, and more careless when undisturbed. There were some rocks that the high tide covered and the low tide left bare, and he took a particular pleasure in seeking one of these at the ebb and sleeping on the top until the flood lifted him off into the water—sometimes to finish his sleep there.