178 A YEAR WITH A WHALER 



lion ; and it seemed as if every seal was barking. 

 The water alongshore swarmed with them. 

 Thousands of heads were sticking out of the sea. 

 Thousands of other seals were playing, breach- 

 ing out of the water like porpoises. Thej^ swam 

 close to the brig and floated lazily on the surface, 

 staring at us unafraid. If we had been poach- 

 ers, I should think we could have taken several 

 hundred thousand dollars worth of seals without 

 difficulty. 



A dozen little pup seals whose fur was of a 

 snowy and unspotted white came swimming 

 about the vessel. These sea babies were soft, 

 furry, cunning little fellows and they paddled 

 about the brig, sniffing at the strange monster 

 that had invaded their home. They seemed ab- 

 solutely fearless and gazed up at us out of big, 

 brown, wondering, friendly eyes. Sealers kill 

 them, as their fur makes beautiful edgings and 

 borders for fur garments. 



The fur seals are supposed to pass the winter 

 somewhere in the South Pacific, but whether in 

 the open sea or on land has never been definitely 

 learned. From their mysterious southern hid- 



