Part 7 (1/2)
”I'm still more glad to be here,” Colin replied, after thanking him.
”I've been trying to persuade Father to let me join the Bureau, but this is such an out-of-the-way place that I never expected to be able to see it for myself.”
”It is a little out of the way,” the official replied. ”But in some ways, I think it's the most important place in the entire world so far as fisheries are concerned. It's the one strategic point for a great industry. Of course!”
”Why is it so important, Mr. Nagge?” Colin queried. ”Just because of the seals, or are there other fisheries here?”
”Just seals,” was the reply, in the jerky speech characteristic of the man. ”Greatest breeding-place in the world. You'll see. Nothing like it anywhere else. And, what's more, it's almost the last. This is the only fort left to prevent the destruction not of a tribe--but of an entire species in the world of life. Certainly!”
”Calling it a fort seems strange,” Colin remarked.
”Well, isn't it? It's the heroic post, the forlorn hope, the last stand of the battle-line,” the Fisheries enthusiast replied. ”All the nations of the world were deliberately allowing all the fur seals to be killed off. Uncle Sam stopped it. It's not too late yet. The j.a.panese seal-pirates must be exterminated absolutely! Could you run a ranch if every time a steer or cow got more than three miles away from the corral anybody could come along and shoot it? Of course not. Obviously!”
”But this isn't a ranch!”
”Why not? Same principle,” the a.s.sistant agent answered. ”Ranchers breed cattle in hundreds or thousands. We breed seals in hundreds of thousands; yes, in millions. And a fur seal is worth more than a steer.
Oh, yes!”
”Do seals breed as largely still?” Colin asked in surprise.
”Would if they had the chance,” was the indignant answer. ”Undoubtedly millions and millions have been killed in the last fifty years. Takes time to build up, too! Only one baby seal is born at a time. A run-down herd can't increase so very fast. But we're getting there. Certainly!”
”Our gunner was telling me,” Colin said, ”that killing seals at sea was the cause of all the trouble.”
”Yes. Lately. Before that, rookery after rookery had been visited and every seal butchered. Old and young alike. No mercy. Worst kind of cruelty.”
”But hasn't the sea trouble been stopped?” queried the boy. ”I thought it had, but you said something just now about seal-pirates.”
”Stopped officially,” his informant said. ”Can't kill a seal in the ocean, not under any consideration. That is, by law. Not in American waters. Nor in Russian waters. Nor in j.a.panese waters. Nor in the open sea. International agreement determines that. Of course. But lots of people break laws. Obviously! Big profit in it. There's a lot of killing going on still. Stop it? When we can!”
”But how about killing them on land?” Colin asked. ”You do that, I know, because I've read that the Bureau of Fisheries even looks after the selling of the skins. While it may be all right, it looks to me as though you were killing them off, anyhow. What's the good of saving them in the water if you wipe them out when they get ash.o.r.e.”
”You don't understand!” his friend said. ”Got anything to do right now?”
”Not so far as I know,” Colin answered.
”You've had breakfast?”
”Yes, thanks,” the boy answered, ”and I tell you it tasted good after a night in the boat.”
”Come over to the rookery,” the a.s.sistant agent said. ”I'm going. I count the seals every day. That is, as nearly as I can. Tell you all about it. If you like, we'll go on to the killing grounds afterwards.
Yes? Put on your hat.”
Colin realized that his host seldom had a listener, and as he was really anxious to learn all that he could about the fur seals, these creatures that kept up the deafening roar that sounded like Niagara, he followed interestedly.
”Looks a little as if it might clear,” he suggested, as they left the house. ”We could stand some suns.h.i.+ne after this fog.”
The other shook his head.
”Don't want suns.h.i.+ne,” he said. ”Fog's much better.”