But Phil was too sick at heart and disgusted with the scene he had just witnessed to care for any further details of the business. So, followed by Serge and the teacher, he set rapidly off in the direction of the rookeries or breeding-grounds, in search of more agreeable scenes.
In the rookeries the lords of all they survey are the old bulls, huge shaggy fellows, from six to eighteen or twenty years of age. These arrive at the islands early in May, and each immediately takes possession of a bit of the bowlder-strewn coast about twenty feet square.
“He files a homestead claim on it,” as Serge laughingly remarked.
“Yes,” said the guide, “and he is ready to defend it with his life, if necessary, against all rivals.”
Here he remains, unless some bull more powerful than he drives him away, for the succeeding three months. During that time he neither eats nor drinks, never visits the sea, and only takes the merest snatches of sleep. His entire time is spent in roaring out fierce challenges to his neighbors, fighting savage battles with them, stealing their wives whenever he gets a chance, and in protecting his own against other seal wife-stealers like himself. He will attack a man who ventures on his domain as quickly as he will a brother-seal, and is altogether a most pugnacious and disagreeable old fellow. He is three or four times as large as the gentle little female seals who gather around him, and, always holding himself erect with defiantly uplifted head, towers above them to a height of several feet.
In the midst of all this fighting and incessant commotion the fat roly-poly “pups” are born, and here they spend a month or so, under the protecting care of their mothers. Then, as they are sociable little chaps, they begin to herd together in great “pods,” and roam about the rookery until they finally reach the water, which they at first regard with great amazement and dislike. Gradually they paddle into its shallow pools, and begin to learn to swim. This is such a hard lesson that they do not master even its A B C for several weeks, and they study it for at least a month before graduating into the deep-water class.
These rookeries are never disturbed by the sealers, their drives being always made from among the countless thousands of “holluschickie,” or young male seals, whom the old bulls will not permit to occupy the same ground with themselves, and who, when they wish to come ashore, are forced to “haul up” on the adjacent beaches.
Our lads were immensely interested in the fights of the fierce old bulls and fascinated by the comical antics of the pups, which at this time had just learned how to swim.
While they were wandering here and there amid the files of this vast seal army, whose members were too busy with their own concerns to pay the slightest attention to them—unless, indeed, they happened to intrude upon the domain of some old bull, who speedily warned them off—they suddenly came upon so comical a sight that it caused them to roar with laughter. It was nothing more nor less than the arrogant young third lieutenant of the Phoca, his uniform torn and covered with mud, seal hairs, and filth, trying to creep away on all-fours from the territory of two of the most savage old bulls on the rookery. As was afterwards learned, he had made a dash for a rocky ridge, from which he hoped to secure a fine photograph, when, half-way up, his foot had slipped, and, dropping his camera, he had pitched headlong directly under the noses of two rival bulls who happened to be contesting a bit of ground at the foot of the ridge. Instantly they devoted their entire attention to him, and [every time he attempted to rise they promptly knocked him down]. Then he tried to crawl away; but with each movement he made they would rush at him with open mouths and gleaming teeth, only to retreat a few feet and glare at him when he again lay still.
