Fritz and Eric both put their rifles ready on the thwarts of the boat, and the harpoons were also placed handy in the bows along with the boat-hook; then, lowering the lugsail which the little craft carried, they muffled their oars with some rags they had prepared and pulled in steadily towards the beach.
As they got nearer, the seals could be seen swarming on the rocks, while the noise they made—something like the bleating of sheep mingled with a hoarse growling roar, not dissimilar to that of an angry bull in the distance—could be heard plainly while the brothers were yet more than a mile off.
Some of the seals were swimming about in the water, but the majority were basking on the huge slabs of rocks that had been broken off from the face of the cliff by the onslaught of the waves and which now lay on the beach at its base, partly in and partly out of the sea.
“Now, Eric, be ready!” called out Fritz in a hoarse whisper. “Do you see those two fellows on that boulder nearest us?”
“Yes,” whispered Eric in return, almost breathless with excitement.
“Then, you take the right-hand one, and I will make sure of the one to the left. Aim low and steadily at the head, for that is the only vital part a ball will reach. Remember, if you only wound him, he’ll slip into the water and dive out of our reach!”
“Right you are; I’m ready,” was Eric’s reply.
“Wait till I give the word, then,” said Fritz.
There was a moment of suspense as the boat crept closer to the poor seals, who were playing away, thoughtless of danger, and then—
“Fire!” exclaimed Fritz.