“Very well,” replied my friend, “in case of accident—not that I expect any, mind you—we couldn’t have a better man. Fill in a form—you will find some on my table—and Tom there shall take it at once. There isn’t a moment to lose.”
A few minutes later the lad was cantering down the lane between the sand-dunes with this message: “Be here by midnight. Ride or drive. Seal hunt between twelve and one. T——, Reskageage, Gwithian.”
My friend was extinguishing one of the torches as I re-entered the barn. Evidently he was not content until he had tested everything, even the oil. I could not but remark to him on the extreme care of his preparations.
“I like to see to every detail myself in a ticklish job of this sort,” he said, as he laid the torch down by the side of the gaff: “a weak spot in the rope, a flaw in the haft of the hammer, bad cartridges or wet matches, may mean more than spoiled sport.”
Leaving the barn, we made our way across the rickyard to the house.
A cold wind was rustling the leaves of the wind-clipt elm that had supplied handles for our torches; and, as the air was chilly, I was glad to get indoors. After supper we withdrew into my friend’s sanctum and pulled our chairs up to the furze fire which blazed on the wide hearth. Cases of rare birds and curious relics hung against the walls, and the floor was covered with sealskins.
In reply to some questions about the seals, my host told me it was an old man that spent most of his time about the cliffs, egg-collecting, and looking for things cast up by the sea, who had first called his attention to them. This had led to his finding a way to the caves—for the secret had died with the smugglers who used them—and eventually to the animals themselves. The greatest number of seals he had killed at one time was seven, he said, and the heaviest carcase would weigh five or six hundredweight. His opinion was that at least some of the seals remain on the coast all the year round, and that they do not go far out to sea to fish. They fed chiefly on the herring, but he had seen one rise in Hell’s Bay with a big flat-fish of some sort, probably a turbot, writhing in its mouth. Then, suddenly jumping up in the middle of an explanation why the eye of the seal is big and the otter’s small—“He’s coming,” said he.
We went to the garden gate and looked down the road and, sure enough, a light was coming towards us.
“How on earth did you know he was close at hand?” I asked in surprise. “You didn’t hear anything, did you?”
“No, I did not hear the horse neigh nor the sound of its hoofs, for they fell and are still falling on sand; but the dog must have heard, for I noticed him prick his ears and listen. You see, Andrew’s time was all but up; and, putting the two together, I didn’t hesitate to say he was coming.”