NED, THE “LEARNED SEAL.”
Quite a number of instances are recorded where seals have been tamed without any design of public exhibition. A writer in the London Field gives some curious details of his own experiment. He says:
“When a boy, I was presented by some fishermen with one apparently not more than a fortnight old, which in a few weeks became perfectly tame and domesticated, would follow me about, eat from my hand, and showed unmistakable signs of recognition and attachment whenever I approached. It was fond of heat, and would lie for hours at the kitchen fire, raising its head to look at every new comer, but never attempting to bite, and would nestle close to the dogs, who soon became quite reconciled to their new friend. Unfortunately the winter after I obtained it was unusually rough and stormy. Upon that wild coast boats could seldom put to sea, and the supply of fish became scanty and precarious. We were obliged to substitute milk in its place, of which the seal consumed large quantities, and as the scarcity of other food still continued, it was determined, in a family council, that it should be consigned to its own element, to shift for itself. Accompanied by a clergyman, who took a great interest in my pet, I rowed out for a couple of miles to sea, and dropped it quietly overboard. Very much to our astonishment, however, we found that it was not so easy to shake it off. Fast as we pulled away it swam still faster after the boat, crying all the time so loudly that it might easily have been heard a mile away, and so pitifully that we were obliged to take it in again and bring it home.”
A somewhat similar story is told in Maxwell’s Wild Sports of the West, where may be found a very interesting and touching narrative of a tamed seal, which lived for several years with a family, and which, although it was repeatedly taken out to sea in a boat and thrown overboard, always found its way back again to the house which it loved, even contriving to creep through an open window and to gain access to the warm fireside.
In the Jardin des Plantes, in Paris, there was, for some time, a specimen of the marbled seal. Two little dogs, in the same enclosure, amused themselves by mounting on its back, barking, and even biting it—all of which the seal took in good part. Sometimes it would pat them with its paw; but this seemed intended more to encourage than to repress their gambols. In cold weather, they warmed one another by huddling together. If the dogs snatched a fish from the seal’s mouth, it bore the loss patiently; but it generally had a fight with another seal, the sharer of its mess, until the weaker one sounded a retreat.
Some few years ago a “talking fish” was profitably exhibited in London and the principal provincial towns, at a shilling a head. The fish was a species of seal, and the “talking” consisted of a free translation of its natural cry into the words ma-ma, or pa-pa, according to the fancy of the showman or spectator.
Gold and silver fish are frequently kept as ornaments in glass globes or aquaria; those vessels which present the largest surface to the air being preferable. Fish kept in the flask shaped, or narrow mouth globes, so often used by thoughtless persons, can never be kept healthy, and their spasmodic efforts to get breath are a sufficient indication of their sufferings.
These fishes may be easily tamed. Gentleness is the all-essential requisite. They can be taught to eat from their owner’s hand by first dropping morsels of food in the water while your finger is placed on the outside as near it as possible. For a little while they will be afraid to approach the food, restrained by the sight of the finger, but by-and-by they will approach and seize it. After they have ceased to fear your fingers on the outside, attach a bit of the food to your finger and cautiously insert it in the water; if hungry they will presently muster courage to come and take it, and in due time will take their food in that manner as a matter of course. If fed at stated hours they will learn to distinguish the approach of the customary feeding time and will signify the fact by floating up to the surface shaking their fins, and sticking their heads out of the water. In this same manner they recognize their master or mistress and express their pleasure at his or her approach.
A lady writer thus describes some fish kept in her family as pets: “They knew a wonderful deal more did these little fishes. They would come to the top of the water to be fed and take their food from my fingers. When they wanted fresh water they could call for it by making an odd, clicking noise. They would remain perfectly still while being talked to, and wink with evident satisfaction at the compliments lavished upon them. When, after a prolonged absence, their lawful owners returned to them, these little fishes would wriggle about and indulge in wonderful demonstrations of joy and welcome. Oh, the learned seal was nothing in comparison to them.”