"Those fellows at the back who came late or were beaten in the fight for places. They would charge down and take the harem, if he left it."
"Well, then, how does he sleep?"
"Doesn't sleep much," was the reply; "just little catnaps. Five or ten minutes at a time, perhaps. Light sleepers, too. If a cow tries to leave or an intruder comes near he wakes right up. Immediately! He's on the alert, night and day." The agent laughed. "Eternal vigilance is the bull seal's motto, all right!"
"But how can they stand it without food and without sleep?" Colin asked. "That's over three months of fasting. And it isn't like an animal
that's asleep all winter. It seems to be their busiest time, fighting and watching and all that sort of thing!"
"They live on their blubber," the agent explained. "In the spring they haul up heavy and fat. Can hardly move around they're so fleshy. It's the end of June now. You see! Many bulls are loaded with fat still. By the end of next month, though, they'll be getting thin. Some of 'em are like skeletons when they leave the rookeries in August. They'll fight to the end, though."
"But if they leave each other's harems alone," Colin objected, "I don't see any cause for a fight."
"The cows don't all come at the same time. Perhaps for six weeks there are cows coming all the time. Those beachmasters who have harems nearest the water want their family first and there's fighting all along the water's edge, then. Other cows have to make their way inshore; any of the sea-catches may grab them. Wait a minute and watch. You'll see the scramble going on somewhere. There are two bulls fighting there," he added, pointing to a combat in progress some distance off, "and there's another—and another."
"Is that one of the new cows just coming in from the water?" asked Colin, pointing to the shore, where a female seal, quietly and without attracting attention, had landed near one of the large harems.