The laird was fond of the study of natural history, and narrated a number of anecdotes especially of the sagacity of animals.
“Fanny and I have a difference of opinion as to whether fish when caught do or do not feel pain,” he observed. “I remember reading an anecdote which, if true, supports what she thinks. A surgeon was one day walking by the side of a pond in a gentleman’s grounds in England, when he saw a large pike, which had struck its head against a piece of iron projecting from a sunken log, and was struggling in the water close to the bank. The fish did not attempt to swim away, nor did it seem alarmed, when the surgeon stooped down, and lifted it gently out of the water. He at once saw that the jaw of the fish had been broken, and with his penknife and some strips of wood and linen, which he had in his pocket, he dexterously managed to bind up the jaw, after doing which, he placed the fish in the water. It did not even then swim away, but as long as he remained on the bank, kept watching him attentively.
“The next day, going down to the pond what was his surprise to see the fish swim towards him, and poke his head out of the water. He perceived that some of the bandaging had been displaced, and lifting the fish as before gently on the bank he dressed the wound, and again returned it to its native element. As he walked along the bank, the fish swam by his side, and not till he turned his back, did it dart off into deep water.
“The following day, he again went down to the pond, when the fish swam up to where he stood, though it did no more than come to the edge, being apparently satisfied that its wound was going on well. As long as he remained in the place, the fish invariably appeared whenever he went to the pond, and swam close to the edge, as he walked along the bank.
“I must confess that that fish must have had as much sense as many other animals, and probably felt more pain when injured, and would have been alarmed, if it had been attacked, or had found a hook in its jaws.”
“But is the story really true?” asked Fanny.
“It is at all events as well authenticated as many other anecdotes,” answered the laird. “By-the-by, Mrs Vallery, I should like to witness the performances of the snake-charmers in India. Have you ever seen them?”
“Frequently,” answered Mrs Vallery. “They are very wonderful, and my husband has taken some pains to ascertain whether there is any imposture, but without success. They profess to charm the Cobra de Capella and other snakes, which are excessively venomous, and abound in all the hotter parts of the country. It is said, indeed, that 12,000 natives are killed annually by bites from them. The snake-charmers do not previously train the snakes, but will charm those only just caught, quite as well as those they carry about with them.
“They use for this purpose, a hollow gourd on which they play a buzzing music. On one occasion, three men appeared, dressed only in their turbans and waist cloths, in which it was impossible they could have concealed any snakes. My husband took them to some wild ground, where they speedily caught a couple of large cobras, and returning with the venomous creatures having placed them on the ground, made them rear up their bodies, and raise and bow their heads, keeping exact time with the music. After they had ceased, my husband speedily killed the snakes, and on examining them the poison fangs were found to be perfect. Generally, however, the snake-charmers either extract the fangs of the snakes they carry about with them, or wisely employ those which are harmless. They allow the creatures to crawl over their bodies, and twist and twine themselves in the most horrible manner round their necks and arms, and I have seen a snake putting its forked tongue into its master’s mouth.
“There are instances, however, of the venomous serpents biting the snake-charmers, who have thus lost their lives.