“Oh, just around the corner!” laughed the inspector, “where we have a chicken ranch containing several millions of egg-laying fowls. By-the-way,” he continued, more soberly, “that is one of the sights of this region, and you ought certainly to visit it before leaving here. It—Walrus Island, I mean—supports the most accessible as well as one of the most populous and densely-packed bird rookeries in the world outside of the Antarctic Ocean. That is where we keep our million or so of hens, only we call them gulls, murres, arries, auks, chookies, sea-parrots, and cormorants. On the five or six acres of level surface offered by Walrus they are packed as tightly as sardines in a box; they are everlastingly quarrelling among themselves, and yet they are so perfectly fearless of man that they will scarcely move out of the way to avoid being stepped on. Yes, indeed, it is a sight you ought not to miss. A boat is sent over from here every few days after eggs, of which six men will collect several tons in as many hours. If I find that one is going over in time for you to make the trip, I will let you know, and I should advise you to take it.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Phil. “I should like it above all things.”
“There is another thing on hand just now,” continued the inspector, “that I think would interest you immensely. Have you ever seen a sea-lion?”
“Yes,” replied Phil, “I shot two only the other day.”
“Then you know what great ferocious-appearing monsters they are. Would you believe that a herd of them could be driven out on land, and kept for days at a time within a corral, or fence, of nothing but sticks, strings, and bits of fluttering cotton rags, such as a child could easily tear down?”
“No,” answered Phil. “It doesn’t seem possible.”
“Well, it is,” said the inspector, “and you can see that very thing to-morrow, if you care to visit Northeast Point. You see, as we kill all our seals for the year inside of a month, we made our last drive of this season to-day. A lot of our young men, being thus set at liberty, have gone over to Northeast to begin a sea-lion drive on their own account. The skins are valuable for making boats, you know, while the flesh is esteemed much more highly than that of a seal.”
“But how can they drive sea-lions?” asked Phil. “I thought they were so shy that a man couldn’t get near them.”
“So they are, and for that reason they can only be approached at night, when they are asleep on the beach, and then only by exercise of the utmost caution. The hunters creep along the beach, among its many bowlders, on all-fours, until they are between the herd and the water. Then they jump up with waving arms and a wild yelling that frightens the sea-lions almost out of their senses. Those that have been asleep, with their noses pointed towards the sea, rush into the water with such force that nothing could stop them, and so escape. At the same time, those who are so unfortunate as to be headed inland when thus rudely awakened, rush with equal precipitation in that direction. The natives close in behind them, dancing, brandishing weapons, screaming, making all sorts of frantic noises, and so drive them at a sort of a lumbering gallop for several hundred feet, when the frenzied animals, breathless and exhausted, fall panting to the ground. Instead of killing them where they are, the natives allow them to rest a few minutes. Then they rouse and urge them forward by all manner of devices, the most successful of which is the sudden opening of gingham umbrellas in their faces. When they have got the herd out of sight of the water, behind some sand-dune, they crowd them together and run a fence of strings around them in no time. The strings are supported by slender sticks thrust into the sand, each of which bears a bit of fluttering cotton cloth. Here the forty or fifty big brutes are as securely fenced as though behind stone walls, and here they remain for several weeks, or until three or four hundred of their kind have been secured and herded with them. During this time, instead of remaining stupidly quiet, as you might imagine, they are constantly on the alert, writhing, fighting, and climbing over each other with incessant motion.”
“Seems to me I never heard of anything so stupid!” exclaimed Phil.