[CHAPTER XXXII]
WHY THE CUTTER DEPARTED WITHOUT HER PASSENGERS
Phil and Serge, in planning their expedition to Northeast Point to visit the sea-lion hunters, expected to walk the entire distance, which is about ten miles. At breakfast-time, however, they were told by the inspector that he had arranged to have them taken in a bidarrah, or large open boat, the wooden frame of which is covered with sea-lion skins. He also had a supply of provisions put up for them, had ordered out a crew of six men to row the bidarrah, and had taken every precaution to make their trip comfortable and enjoyable. The boat was to return that same day, and would bring the lads back in plenty of time for supper, which they had been invited to take with the priest of the little Greek church.
Although the morning was damp and chilly, both lads thoroughly enjoyed the unique trip up the coast. Phil had brought along his kamleika, which kept him perfectly dry, and Serge did not seem to mind the dampness any more than the natives themselves, who fairly revel in wet, foggy weather, and are never more uncomfortable than when the sun shines out warm, as it occasionally does, even over the Pribyloffs.
On the present trip there was just fog enough to keep the crew of the bidarrah in good spirits, without hanging so low as to conceal the shore line. Consequently, the wonderful seal-life in the water and on land, through and past which the boat moved, was plainly visible. From end to end of the island the coast was crowded with it, and by the time the bidarrah reached its destination Phil declared that he believed all the “sea-bears” of the world must be collected in that one place.
They found the camp of the hunting-party in and about an old native hut that reminded the visitors of the one they had occupied on Oonimak Island. It was behind a range of low sand-dunes, and just beyond it they caught sight of the chief attraction of the place, a small herd of sea-lions, great shaggy fellows, very much larger than seals, ramping and floundering about behind an enclosure of strings. The situation struck our lads as so comical that they laughed at it until they were actually tired with laughing. For an hour they watched the frantic efforts of the uncouth beasts to discover some point of escape that was not guarded by a fluttering white rag. At the end of that time they were called to dinner, which was served in the old hut, and which proved so much better than they expected that they ate it with real enjoyment.
One of the hunters who could speak a little English told them that if the wind proved favorable that night he and his companions would make another drive, and Phil declared that he meant to stay, in the hope of seeing it.
“It must be one of the most curious hunting scenes in the world,” he said, “and I shall probably never have another chance to see it. I don’t live in Alaska, you know; besides, I’d a thousand times rather spend a night out here than in the village, where I must breathe the awful-smelling air of the killing-grounds. So if you will make my excuses to the priest, like a good fellow, I think I’ll stay. We have plenty of time, you know.”
“All right,” replied Serge; “but as I want to see those queer old Russian books the priest promised to show us, I think I’ll go back in the bidarrah.”