THE MORSE. 429 
Several morses have been bred in the north of Europe. Their 
food was always oats or millet boiled in water. Some years ago 
one was brought to London, but he only lived a few days. He 
was fed on crabs, which seemed to be better food than oats or 
grain. A young morse of three months old also reached England. 
He used to be very angry—even furious, whenever he was touched, 
and the only thing that he could ever be taught was to follow his 
keeper, growling when he offered him anything to eat. All agree 
that the morse has less intelligence and gentleness than the seal. 
He is not fierce, and never attacks man, but he defends himself 
with indomitable courage. When pursuing the morse in the open 
sea, great caution is necessary, for a troop of these animals will 
often rush boldly against a vessel, surround, and overturn it. 
In 1818, Captain Buchanan sustained a fight—a real battle 
—with some: morses on the coast of Spitzbergen. One evening, 
a great number were seen from the vessel, moving in the 
direction of a plain of ice. Boats were immediately equipped 
to follow them. The herd in advance took to flight, but those 
behind arranged themselves on the ice so suddenly that the plans 
of the attacking party were thwarted, and they could not intercept 
them as they intended. The morses were in great force, and the 
battle began with serious preparations. When the first shots were 
fired, they rushed towards the sailors, growling and roaring with 
rage, and seized the boats with their long tusks, or struck them 
with their heads. During this violent struggle, which was very 
dangerous for the fishermen, the morses were led, or, as it were, 
commanded, by one large male, more powerful and terrible than 
all the rest. The sailors aimed all their blows at this leader, but he 
received their heavy clubs without flinching, and the lances, which, 
unfortunately, were not sharp, could not penetrate his natural 
armour. The troop was so numerous, and their attacks so quickly 
repeated, that the sailors had no time to reload their carbines. 
Happily, the purser had not discharged his gun; he skilfully aimed 
at the chief morse,-and the huge animal, mortally wounded, fell 
on his back in the midst of his companions, who immediately 
abandoned the combat, and assembling round their general, 
kept him from sinking by supporting him with their tusks. 
