The Boy With the U. S. Fisheries Part 7

"I'm still more glad to be here," Colin replied, after thanking him.

"I've been trying to persuade Father to let me join the Bureau, but this is such an out-of-the-way place that I never expected to be able to see it for myself."

"It is a little out of the way," the official replied. "But in some ways, I think it's the most important place in the entire world so far as fisheries are concerned. It's the one strategic point for a great industry. Of course!"

"Why is it so important, Mr. Nagge?" Colin queried. "Just because of the seals, or are there other fisheries here?"

"Just seals," was the reply, in the jerky speech characteristic of the man. "Greatest breeding-place in the world. You'll see. Nothing like it anywhere else. And, what's more, it's almost the last. This is the only fort left to prevent the destruction not of a tribe--but of an entire species in the world of life. Certainly!"

"Calling it a fort seems strange," Colin remarked.

"Well, isn't it? It's the heroic post, the forlorn hope, the last stand of the battle-line," the Fisheries enthusiast replied. "All the nations of the world were deliberately allowing all the fur seals to be killed off. Uncle Sam stopped it. It's not too late yet. The j.a.panese seal-pirates must be exterminated absolutely! Could you run a ranch if every time a steer or cow got more than three miles away from the corral anybody could come along and shoot it? Of course not. Obviously!"

"But this isn't a ranch!"

"Why not? Same principle," the a.s.sistant agent answered. "Ranchers breed cattle in hundreds or thousands. We breed seals in hundreds of thousands; yes, in millions. And a fur seal is worth more than a steer.

Oh, yes!"

"Do seals breed as largely still?" Colin asked in surprise.

"Would if they had the chance," was the indignant answer. "Undoubtedly millions and millions have been killed in the last fifty years. Takes time to build up, too! Only one baby seal is born at a time. A run-down herd can't increase so very fast. But we're getting there. Certainly!"

"Our gunner was telling me," Colin said, "that killing seals at sea was the cause of all the trouble."

"Yes. Lately. Before that, rookery after rookery had been visited and every seal butchered. Old and young alike. No mercy. Worst kind of cruelty."

"But hasn't the sea trouble been stopped?" queried the boy. "I thought it had, but you said something just now about seal-pirates."

"Stopped officially," his informant said. "Can't kill a seal in the ocean, not under any consideration. That is, by law. Not in American waters. Nor in Russian waters. Nor in j.a.panese waters. Nor in the open sea. International agreement determines that. Of course. But lots of people break laws. Obviously! Big profit in it. There's a lot of killing going on still. Stop it? When we can!"

"But how about killing them on land?" Colin asked. "You do that, I know, because I've read that the Bureau of Fisheries even looks after the selling of the skins. While it may be all right, it looks to me as though you were killing them off, anyhow. What's the good of saving them in the water if you wipe them out when they get ash.o.r.e."

"You don't understand!" his friend said. "Got anything to do right now?"

"Not so far as I know," Colin answered.

"You've had breakfast?"

"Yes, thanks," the boy answered, "and I tell you it tasted good after a night in the boat."

"Come over to the rookery," the a.s.sistant agent said. "I'm going. I count the seals every day. That is, as nearly as I can. Tell you all about it. If you like, we'll go on to the killing grounds afterwards.

Yes? Put on your hat."

Colin realized that his host seldom had a listener, and as he was really anxious to learn all that he could about the fur seals, these creatures that kept up the deafening roar that sounded like Niagara, he followed interestedly.

"Looks a little as if it might clear," he suggested, as they left the house. "We could stand some suns.h.i.+ne after this fog."

The other shook his head.

"Don't want suns.h.i.+ne," he said. "Fog's much better."

"What for?" asked Colin in surprise. "Why should any one want fog rather than suns.h.i.+ne?"

"Fur seals do," was the emphatic response. "No seals on any other groups of islands in the North Pacific. Just here and Commander Islands. Why?"

"Because they are foggier than others?" hazarded Colin at a guess.

"Exactly. Fur seals live in the water nearly all year. Water is colder than air. Seals are warm-blooded animals, too--not like fish. They've got to keep out the cold."

"Is that why they have such fine fur?"

"Obviously. And," the Fisheries official continued, "under that close warm fur they have blubber. Lots of it."

"Blubber like whales?"

"Just the same. Fur and blubber keeps 'em warm in the cold water. Too much covering for the air. Like wearing North Pole clothing at the Equator. If the sun comes out they just about faint. On bright days the young seals make for the water. Those that have to stay on the rookery lie flat on their back and fan themselves. Certainly! Use their flippers just the way a woman uses a regular fan. See 'em any time."

Colin looked incredulously at his companion.

"I'm not making it up," the other said. "They fan themselves with their hind flippers, too. Just as easy."

"I think they must be the noisiest things alive," said Colin, putting his fingers in his ears as they rounded the point and the full force of the rookery tumult reached them.

"The row never stops," the a.s.sistant agent admitted. "Just as much at night as daytime. Seals are used to swimming under water where light is dimmer. Darkness makes little difference. Seemingly! Don't notice it after a while."

"The queer part of it is," the boy said, listening intently, "that there seem to be all sorts of different noises. It's just as I said coming into the bay, it sounds like a menagerie. I'm sure I can hear sheep!"

"Can't tell the cry of a cow fur seal from the bleating of an old sheep," was the reply. "The pup seal 'baa-s' just like a lamb, too.

Funny, sometimes. On one of the smaller islands one year we had a flock of sheep. Caused us all sorts of trouble. The sheep would come running into the seal nurseries looking for their lambs when they heard a pup seal crying. The lambs would mistake the cry of the cow seal for the bleating of their mothers."

"Why do you call the mother seal a cow seal?" asked the boy.

"Usual name," was the reply.

"Then why is a baby seal a pup?" asked Colin bewildered. "I should think it ought to be called a calf!"

The Fisheries official laughed.

"Seal language is the most mixed-up lingo I know," he said. "Mother seal is called a 'cow,' yet the baby is called a 'pup.' The cow seals are kept in a 'harem,' which usually means a group of wives. The whole gathering is called a 'rookery,' though there are no rooks or other birds around. The big 'bull' seals are sometimes called 'Sea-Catches' or 'Beachmasters.' The two-year-olds and three-year-olds are called 'Bachelors.' The 'pups,' too, have their 'nurseries' to play in."

But Colin still looked puzzled.

"Our gunner was talking about 'holluschickie'?" he said. "Are those a different kind of seal?"

"No," was the reply, "that's the old Russian-native name for bachelors.

There are a lot of native words for seals, but we only use that one and 'kotickie' for the pups."

"If the cow seals bleat," said Colin, "and the pups 'baa' like a lamb, what is the cry of the beachmaster?"