A DAY WITH A SEAL 95 



while the rock beneath my waistcoat seems to 

 possess a hundred extra and unaccountable angles, 

 all the seals drop their heads once more, regard- 

 ing me as a curious seismic phenomenon, or 

 regretting the rash and inconsiderate haste with 

 which their last meal was devoured. Fortunately, 

 I am so nearly across that as soon as I am no 

 longer the cynosure of ten amphibious eyes I 

 can drop unostentatiously into the comparative 

 shelter of the channel. 



Creeping back along this, I come once more 

 into an almost direct line between the starting- 

 point and the goal, and here, though the far side 

 of the channel no longer shelters me, the low 

 rocks slope slightly upwards to the spot whence 

 I hope to take my shot. It is merely a question 

 of imitating the progress of the worm for a short 

 time longer. Vain hope ! After going forward 

 some distance I find that the desired firing-point 

 is separated from me by a strait of sea which 

 the intervening reef has concealed hitherto from 

 eyes kept down close to the surface of the rocks. 

 Well, there is no other way. I must slip into 

 the sea on my right, and trust that the rock 

 will hide from the eyes of the seals as much of 

 my person as must be kept above the water. 

 Having taken the cover from my rifle, since the 

 goal does not promise much shelter for move- 

 ments of the kind, I slip in a cartridge, and 

 let my feet down into the sea. Fortune is 



