It was no easy work, you may well believe, when I tell you that the skin and blubber of one of these huge sea-elephants sometimes weighed eight hundred-weight.
Poor, great, innocent brutes, it did seem a shame to kill their young before their eyes! The sight of the blood made mothers and fathers frantic, and they rushed on shore as if bent on revenge, but only to fall victims to the rifles of the gunners.
It was a bloody and terrible scene, and I have no desire to describe it. Indeed, were I to tell the reader one quarter of the cruelties I have seen enacted by sealers, I should so harrow his feelings that his dreams would not be pleasant for one night afterwards.
Not merely for a fortnight, but for more than three weeks did the Flora lie at Kerguelen, but in a sheltered cove, so that the hurricanes, that on four or five different occasions swept down from the mountains with terrific violence, had but little effect on her. By this time they had boiled down all their oil, salted all their skins and tanked them, and were in reality a bumper ship.
I must not forget one little incident that took place about a week after their arrival.
One day that extremely wise and wondrous bird, Old Pen, went hopping down the starboard gangway and leapt into the sea.
Vike, who had been observing him, sprang right off the bulwark and tried most energetically to head him off.
The bird and dog met face to face, and it really seemed as if a conversation somewhat as follows took place.
Old Pen: "Hullo, what's your game?"
Viking: "I'm going to rush you back to your ship."