The Boy With the U. S. Fisheries Part 8

"He makes the most noise," the agent said. "Never stops. Can you hear a long hoa.r.s.e roar? Sounds like a lion!"

"Of course I can hear it," the boy answered; "I thought that must be a sea-lion."

"A sea-lion's cry is deeper and not so loud," his friend replied. "No.

That roar is the bull seal's challenge. You're near enough to hear a sort of gurgling growl?"

"Yes," said Colin, "I can catch it quite clearly."

"That's a bull talking to himself. Then there's a whistle when a fight is going on. When they're fighting, too, they have a spitting cough.

Sounds like a locomotive starting on a heavy grade. Precisely!"

"Do they fight much?" the boy asked.

"Ever so often!" his informant replied. "Can't you hear the puffing?

That shows there's a fight going on. I've seldom seen a rookery without a mix-up in progress. That is, during the early part of the season after the cows have started to haul up. There's not nearly as much of it now, though, as there used to be."

"Could I see a fight?" the boy asked eagerly.

"Hardly help seeing one," was the reply. "Watch now. We're just at the rookery. Immediately!"

Turning sharply to the left, the older man led the way between two piles of stones heaped up so as to form a sort of wall, and shut off at the sea end.

"What's this for?" asked Colin.

"Path through the rookery. Want to count the seals every once in a while," the agent said. "Must have some sort of gangway. Obviously!

Couldn't get near enough, otherwise."

"Why not?" queried Colin. "Would the beachmasters attack you?"

"They won't start it," was the reply. "Sea-catch keeps quiet unless he thinks you're going to attack his harem. About two weeks ago, I only just escaped. Narrow squeeze. Wanted to get a photograph of one of the biggest sea-catches I had ever seen. Took a heavy camera. The sea-catch didn't seem excited. Not particularly. So, I came up quite close to him."

"How close, Mr. Nagge?"

"Ten or twelve feet. Just about. I got under the cloth. Focused him all right. Then slipped in my plate. Just going to press the bulb when he charged. Straight for me. No warning. I squeezed the bulb, anyhow; grabbed the camera and ran. Promptly!"

"Did he chase you far?"

"A few yards. I knew there was no real danger. Best of it was that the plate caught the bull right in the act of charging! I've got a print up at the house. Show you when we get home!"

"I'd like to see it, ever so much," the boy answered.

As they came to a gap in the wall, the agent halted.

"There!" he said. "That's a rookery."

In spite of all that he had heard before of the numbers of seals, and although the deafening noise was in a sense a preparation, Colin was dazed at his first sight of a big seal rookery. For a moment he could not take it in. He seemed to be overlooking a wonderful beach of rounded boulders, smooth and glistening like polished steel; here and there pieces of gaunt gray rock projected above and at intervals of about every fifteen to forty feet towered a huge figure like a walrus with a mane of grizzled over-hair on the shoulders and long bristly yellowish-white whiskers. For a moment the boy stood bewildered, then suddenly it flashed upon him that this wonderful carpet of seeming boulders, this gleaming, moving pageantry of gray, was composed of living seals.

"Why, there are millions of them!" he cried.

Right from the water's edge back halfway to the cliffs, and as far as the eye could see into the white sea-mist, every inch of the ground was covered. Looking at those closest to him, Colin noticed that they lay in any and every possible att.i.tude, head up or down, on their backs or sides, or curled up in a ball; wedged in between sharp rocks or on a level stretch--position seemed to make no difference. Nor were any of them still for a minute, for even those which were asleep twitched violently and wakened every few minutes. And over the thousands of silver-gray cow seals, the sea-catches, the lords of the harem, three or four times the size of their mates, stood watch and ward unceasingly.

"Why do you herd them so close together?" asked Colin. "I should have thought there was lots of room on the beaches of the island."

"They herd themselves," the agent said. "Don't go anywhere unless it is crowded. The more a place is jammed, the more anxious they are to get there. Newcomers won't go to empty harems. Unhappy with only one or two other cows. Try and find room in a crowded bunch where one sea-catch is looking after thirty females."

"But," said Colin, looking at the group which was nearest to him, "there are a lot of little baby seals in there! They'll get trodden on!"

"They are trodden on. Often," said the agent. "Can't be helped. Only a few pups right in the harems and they are all small. Obviously! Go away when they are a week old. Wander from the harem to find playfellows.

Make up 'pods' or nurseries. Sometimes four or five hundred in one nursery. Stay until the end of the season. There's a pod of pups," he continued, pointing up the beach; "about sixty of them, I should judge.

Happy-looking? Clearly!"

"They look like big black kittens," said Colin, as he watched them tumbling about on the pebbly beach, "and just as full of fun. Can they swim as soon as they are born, Mr. Nagge?"

"Seals have to learn to swim. Same as boys," he answered. "They teach themselves, apparently! Young seal, thrown into deep water, will drown.

Queer. Become wonderful swimmers, too."

"About how long does it take them to learn?" Colin asked.

"Don't begin until they are three weeks old," was the reply. "Practise several hours a day. Swim well in about a month."

"Why don't the father or the mother seals teach them?" queried the boy.

"A sea-catch doesn't see anything outside the harem. As long as a pup is within twelve feet of him, he will fight on the instant if the baby is in danger. Once it is in the nursery the bull seal forgets the little one's existence. He couldn't leave, anyway. Some other sea-catch would seize the harem."

"You mean that the old seal can't get away at all?"

"Not at all," was the reply.

"Then what does he get to eat?" asked Colin in surprise, "do the cow seals bring him food?"

"Not a bite. No. He doesn't eat at all. Not all summer."

"Never gets a bite of anything? I should think he'd starve to death,"

cried the lad.

"Fasts for nearly four months. From the time a sea-catch hauls up in May and preempts the spot he has chosen for his harem he doesn't leave that spot eight to sixteen feet square until late in August. Stays right there. He's active enough in some ways. No matter how much he flounders around, he keeps right on his own harem ground. He could hardly get away from it if he tried."

[Ill.u.s.tration: HOLLUSCHICKIE HAULING UP FROM THE SEA.

Rare sketch, taken before ever a camera was seen on the Pribilof Islands. This beach, with many others, is now deserted by the depletion of the seal herd.

_Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: OLD BULL-SEALS FIGHTING.

Rare sketch, taken on the Gorbatch Rookery, St. Paul's Island, forty years ago. These combats are growing rarer as the seal herd grows smaller and the rivalry between the beach-masters is less intense. The date on the sketch shows it to have been made before the cow-seals hauled up.

_Courtesy of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries._]