Judging by the popularity of the seals at the Zoological Gardens, these wonderful amphibia have a firm hold upon the affections of ordinary people. It probably occurs to but few as they gaze delightedly upon the unapproachable grace of the seals in their favourite element, how brutal and debasing is the pursuit of them for commercial purposes. This is a theme that has exercised the powers of many able writers, but has probably never been set forth in such awful realism as Mr. Burn-Murdoch has presented us with in his book, From Edinburgh to the Antarctic. For the seal is such a gentle, kindly creature, so perfectly harmless, except perhaps during the courting season, when the males fight fiercely, but never À l’outrance. The seal’s one mistake in life is that he has not exerted the intelligence that he undoubtedly possesses in the direction of clothing himself with some substitute, worthless to man, for the inimitable covering which is so ardently craved by shivering man and womankind.

There are, however, some seals that, from their bulk and ferocious appearance, actually invite attack from those ardent sportsmen who only long for sight of game worthy of hunting. The sea-elephant (Macrorhinus proboscideus), upon first acquaintance, seems, as our transatlantic friends concisely express it, “to fill the bill,” in these respects. In size he is little inferior to the huge quadruped after which he has been named, although, owing to the absence of legs, he will not look so bulky as the elephant. The possession of a rudimentary trunk of a foot or so in length has probably had little to do with the trivial appellation given to this great Phoca, his enormous size as compared with the ordinary seal being warrant enough for the name. Since the sea-elephant’s hide is almost hairless, only the massive coating of blubber he carries can excite the cupidity of the hunter, and then only in the absence of anything that may be easier obtained.

During the course of a whaling voyage “down South” it was the writer’s misfortune to visit the Auckland Islands in search of sea-elephants, owing to the unaccountable absence of whales from the vicinity for an extraordinarily long time. No one of the ship’s company had ever seen one of the creatures before, although most were well acquainted with ordinary seal-hunting. When, therefore, it was decided to visit the lonely, storm-tormented isles usually frequented by them there was an utter absence of enthusiasm. Indeed, many openly expressed a strong desire to be well out of the business. But when once a course has been decided upon at sea it needs stronger measures and greater unanimity among the crew than is often possessed to alter it, and consequently, after a truly miserable time of contention with the inhospitality of the Southern Ocean, we found ourselves anchored in a fairly well-sheltered bay at the Aucklands. The time of our visit was the antipodean spring, a season which, in those latitudes, is rigorous beyond belief. Gales of wind, accompanied by hard snowflakes and hail, raged almost incessantly, enwrapping the entire land surface in a bleak haze of spray from the sea, mingled with the congealed moisture from above. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, the object of the expedition had to be pursued without delay, parties were landed, armed with clubs of iron-wood, short but massive, and long, keen knives. General instructions were given as to procedure, based upon insufficient data, as the recipients well knew, and therefore not at all reliable. Everybody understood in a hazy sort of way that a seal’s vulnerable point was his nose: a tap on that was as paralysing as a bullet through the heart. Of course. And the subsequent proceedings were merely a matter of practice and stamina. Very good—oh, very good indeed! Thus equipped the explorers went blundering over boulders, wading through morasses, over fallen tree-trunks and glassy ice-slopes, until suddenly through the mist loomed up a massy shape. Possibly it was exaggerated by the haze, but it looked truly terrific when it was seen to be alive. It was surprising how little any one coveted the honour of being first to attack the big seal in front of them. But for very shame’s sake there could be no halting on the sealers’ part.

An appalling roar, quite in keeping with his appearance, burst from the monster, at which a most sympathetic thrill ran through the attacking party, accompanied by an earnest desire to be somewhere else. Again that indefinite desire to stand well in each other’s opinion came to their rescue, impelling the foremost man to fling his fears to the winds and rush in upon the formidable beast crouching before him. A badly-aimed blow at the animal’s snout made no more impression than a snow-flake, but the unwieldy creature, thoroughly alarmed, dropped from his semi-rampant altitude, almost burying his daring assailant beneath him as he did so. Then, like some legless hippopotamus, he waddled seawards, rolling from side to side in a manner so utterly ludicrous that fear was totally quenched in an uproarious burst of laughter. Recovering from that revulsionary paroxysm, all hands rushed upon the retreating mass, each eager to be the first to attack what we now saw to be a thoroughly demoralised foe.

Out of the many harmless blows aimed at the great seal’s head one struck the root of his proboscis, and like some vast bladder suddenly deflated he sank to the ground. Into the subsequent details it is not edifying to enter, their crude brutality being only excusable on the ground of nervous ignorance. But as foolhardiness succeeded timorousness, so did tragedy wait upon comedy. Out of the mist-enwrapped morass to shoreward of us came in elephantine haste a perfect host of the huge creatures we were seeking. And, as if they could not see us or were so terror-stricken that nothing could hinder them in their extraordinary career seawards, they came floundering, bellowing right amongst our little party. For one short minute it seemed as if we should be overwhelmed, crushed under this mountainous charge of massive flesh. Then there was “sauve qui peut.” In various directions we fled from the path of the advancing hosts, but hung upon their flanks, getting a straggler now and then. The chase grew frantic, “thorough bog, thorough briar,” over rocks and through streams; panting with fierce desire to slay, and forgetful of all else. What a crowd of savages we were!

At the last moment, on the very edge of the beach, one of our number, anxious to get just another victim, missed his blow, and stumbled right upon the huge beast. Putting out his arms to save himself, he thrust one of them right into the mouth of the gaping behemoth. An ear-splitting yell of agony followed, bringing every man to his assistance on the gallop. At first it was difficult to see what had happened, the great bulk of the seal as it swayed from side to side effectually hiding the puny form of the suffering enemy by its side. He, poor wretch, was in evil case; for the sea-elephant has the alarming habit of crushing solid pebbles of basalt or granite as large as oranges between his jaws in much the same fashion as a healthy youngster does lollypops. Probably this strange exercise of the gigantic jaw power he possesses is rendered necessary for digestive purposes, since no seal masticates its food.

Poor Sandy, who in such headlong fashion had thrust his arm into that awful mill, now found to his bitter cost what use might be made of the generally harmless stonebreakers. After the first blood-curdling scream we had heard there was an utter silence as far as our shipmate was concerned, only the soft floundering of the immense mass of sliding flesh and the snorting breath being audible. The mate was the first to realise what had happened, and with a howl of anger he leaped forward, bringing down his club with all his might just as the creature stooped low for another launching movement seaward. The blow fell just at the junction of the proboscis with the skull, and with a shudder which convulsed the whole mass of his body the huge animal collapsed, burying our unhappy shipmate beneath him. With one impulse we all sprang upon the heap of flesh, tearing with desperate energy to roll it from off the body, but it really seemed at first impossible to move it. Slipping, sliding, gasping for breath, we all pushed and strove—wasting, I doubt not, more than half our strength for want of preconcerted action. Oh, joy; we moved him at last, and there lay Sandy to all appearance a corpse.

Without any further delay we placed him in the boat, hoping that he was still alive, but by no means sure, and with all possible speed he was taken on board. This sudden calamity seemed to paralyse the rest of us for the time, and we all stood about watching the departing boat, as if we could not make up our minds to resume operations. But suddenly a dull, thunderous roar startled us from our lethargy, and looking landwards through the driving sleet we saw the shapeless forms of another immense herd of the ungainly monsters floundering toward us. Manifestly we were in an unhealthy predicament, and without waiting for orders we fled in all directions but towards the advancing herd. Through swampy patches of green, over frozen rocks, torn by thorny shrubs, and incessantly dodging the blind onset of groups of the wallowing monsters, we scrambled unreasoningly until—panting, breathless, and demoralized—we halted from sheer inability to go farther. When we had recovered it was some time before we got together again, and when we did we were a sorry crowd, as unfit as could well be imagined for the tremendous labour that awaited us of skinning the huge carcasses that lay dotted about the foreshore. However, we commenced the task, and by nightfall had completed the flenching. A gun from the ship recalled us on board almost too weary to launch the boats, and plastered thickly with mud, blood, and grease. When we arrived on board we were too exhausted to eat, hardly able to feel any interest in the news that Sandy was alive and doing as well as could be expected. But one conviction was burnt deep into the perceptions of all—that the hardest whaling ever done was a pleasant pastime compared with sea-elephant hunting at the Aucklands.