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By Rudyard Kipling 6 ñòðàíèöà






Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!

The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,

Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas!

Seal Lul aby

All these things happened several years ago at a place

called Novastoshnah, or North East Point, on the Island of

St. Paul, away and away in the Bering Sea. Limmershin, the

Winter Wren, told me the tale when he was blown on to the

rigging of a steamer going to Japan, and I took him down

into my cabin and warmed and fed him for a couple of days

till he was fit to fly back to St. Paul’s again. Limmershin is a

very quaint little bird, but he knows how to tell the truth.

Nobody comes to Novastoshnah except on business, and

the only people who have regular business there are the

seals. They come in the summer months by hundreds and

hundreds of thousands out of the cold gray sea. For Nov-

astoshnah Beach has the finest accommodation for seals of

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any place in all the world.

Sea Catch knew that, and every spring would swim from

whatever place he happened to be in—would swim like a

torpedo-boat straight for Novastoshnah and spend a month

fighting with his companions for a good place on the rocks,

as close to the sea as possible. Sea Catch was fifteen years

old, a huge gray fur seal with almost a mane on his shoul-

ders, and long, wicked dog teeth. When he heaved himself

up on his front flippers he stood more than four feet clear of

the ground, and his weight, if anyone had been bold enough

to weigh him, was nearly seven hundred pounds. He was

scarred all over with the marks of savage fights, but he was

always ready for just one fight more. He would put his head

on one side, as though he were afraid to look his enemy in

the face; then he would shoot it out like lightning, and when

the big teeth were firmly fixed on the other seal’s neck, the

other seal might get away if he could, but Sea Catch would

not help him.

Yet Sea Catch never chased a beaten seal, for that was

against the Rules of the Beach. He only wanted room by

the sea for his nursery. But as there were forty or fifty thou-

sand other seals hunting for the same thing each spring,

the whistling, bellowing, roaring, and blowing on the beach

was something frightful.

From a little hill called Hutchinson’s Hill, you could look

over three and a half miles of ground covered with fighting

seals; and the surf was dotted all over with the heads of seals

hurrying to land and begin their share of the fighting. They

fought in the breakers, they fought in the sand, and they

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fought on the smooth-worn basalt rocks of the nurseries,

for they were just as stupid and unaccommodating as men.

Their wives never came to the island until late in May or

early in June, for they did not care to be torn to pieces; and

the young two-, three-, and four-year-old seals who had not

begun housekeeping went inland about half a mile through

the ranks of the fighters and played about on the sand dunes

in droves and legions, and rubbed off every single green

thing that grew. They were called the holluschickie—the

bachelors—and there were perhaps two or three hundred

thousand of them at Novastoshnah alone.

Sea Catch had just finished his forty-fifth fight one spring

when Matkah, his soft, sleek, gentle-eyed wife, came up out

of the sea, and he caught her by the scruff of the neck and

dumped her down on his reservation, saying gruffly: ‘Late

as usual. Where have you been? ’

It was not the fashion for Sea Catch to eat anything dur-

ing the four months he stayed on the beaches, and so his

temper was generally bad. Matkah knew better than to an-

swer back. She looked round and cooed: ‘How thoughtful of

you. You’ve taken the old place again.’

‘I should think I had, ’ said Sea Catch. ‘Look at me! ’

He was scratched and bleeding in twenty places; one eye

was almost out, and his sides were torn to ribbons.

‘Oh, you men, you men! ’ Matkah said, fanning herself

with her hind flipper. ‘Why can’t you be sensible and settle

your places quietly? You look as though you had been fight-

ing with the Killer Whale.’

‘I haven’t been doing anything but fight since the middle

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of May. The beach is disgracefully crowded this season. I’ve

met at least a hundred seals from Lukannon Beach, house

hunting. Why can’t people stay where they belong? ’

‘I’ve often thought we should be much happier if we

hauled out at Otter Island instead of this crowded place, ’

said Matkah.

‘Bah! Only the holluschickie go to Otter Island. If we

went there they would say we were afraid. We must preserve

appearances, my dear.’

Sea Catch sunk his head proudly between his fat shoul-

ders and pretended to go to sleep for a few minutes, but all

the time he was keeping a sharp lookout for a fight. Now

that all the seals and their wives were on the land, you could

hear their clamor miles out to sea above the loudest gales.

At the lowest counting there were over a million seals on

the beach—old seals, mother seals, tiny babies, and hollus-

chickie, fighting, scuffling, bleating, crawling, and playing

together—going down to the sea and coming up from it in

gangs and regiments, lying over every foot of ground as far

as the eye could reach, and skirmishing about in brigades

through the fog. It is nearly always foggy at Novastoshnah,

except when the sun comes out and makes everything look

all pearly and rainbow-colored for a little while.

Kotick, Matkah’s baby, was born in the middle of that

confusion, and he was all head and shoulders, with pale,

watery blue eyes, as tiny seals must be, but there was some-

thing about his coat that made his mother look at him very

closely.

‘Sea Catch, ’ she said, at last, ‘our baby’s going to be

 

The Jungle Book

white! ’

‘Empty clam-shells and dry seaweed! ’ snorted Sea Catch.

‘There never has been such a thing in the world as a white

seal.’

‘I can’t help that, ’ said Matkah; ‘there’s going to be now.’

And she sang the low, crooning seal song that all the mother

seals sing to their babies:

You mustn’t swim till you’re six weeks old,

Or your head will be sunk by your heels;

And summer gales and Kil er Whales

Are bad for baby seals.

Are bad for baby seals, dear rat,

As bad as bad can be;

But splash and grow strong,

And you can’t be wrong.

Child of the Open Sea!

Of course the little fellow did not understand the words

at first. He paddled and scrambled about by his mother’s

side, and learned to scuffle out of the way when his father

was fighting with another seal, and the two rolled and

roared up and down the slippery rocks. Matkah used to go

to sea to get things to eat, and the baby was fed only once in

two days, but then he ate all he could and throve upon it.

The first thing he did was to crawl inland, and there he

met tens of thousands of babies of his own age, and they

played together like puppies, went to sleep on the clean

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sand, and played again. The old people in the nurseries took

no notice of them, and the holluschickie kept to their own

grounds, and the babies had a beautiful playtime.

When Matkah came back from her deep-sea fishing she

would go straight to their playground and call as a sheep

calls for a lamb, and wait until she heard Kotick bleat. Then

she would take the straightest of straight lines in his direc-

tion, striking out with her fore flippers and knocking the

youngsters head over heels right and left. There were al-

ways a few hundred mothers hunting for their children

through the playgrounds, and the babies were kept lively.

But, as Matkah told Kotick, ‘So long as you don’t lie in mud-

dy water and get mange, or rub the hard sand into a cut or

scratch, and so long as you never go swimming when there

is a heavy sea, nothing will hurt you here.’

Little seals can no more swim than little children, but

they are unhappy till they learn. The first time that Kotick

went down to the sea a wave carried him out beyond his

depth, and his big head sank and his little hind flippers flew

up exactly as his mother had told him in the song, and if the

next wave had not thrown him back again he would have

drowned.

After that, he learned to lie in a beach pool and let the

wash of the waves just cover him and lift him up while he

paddled, but he always kept his eye open for big waves that

might hurt. He was two weeks learning to use his flippers;

and all that while he floundered in and out of the water, and

coughed and grunted and crawled up the beach and took

catnaps on the sand, and went back again, until at last he

 

The Jungle Book

found that he truly belonged to the water.

Then you can imagine the times that he had with his

companions, ducking under the rollers; or coming in on

top of a comber and landing with a swash and a splutter as

the big wave went whirling far up the beach; or standing up

on his tail and scratching his head as the old people did; or

playing ‘I’m the King of the Castle’ on slippery, weedy rocks

that just stuck out of the wash. Now and then he would see

a thin fin, like a big shark’s fin, drifting along close to shore,

and he knew that that was the Killer Whale, the Grampus,

who eats young seals when he can get them; and Kotick

would head for the beach like an arrow, and the fin would

jig off slowly, as if it were looking for nothing at all.

Late in October the seals began to leave St. Paul’s for

the deep sea, by families and tribes, and there was no more

fighting over the nurseries, and the holluschickie played

anywhere they liked. ‘Next year, ’ said Matkah to Kotick,

‘you will be a holluschickie; but this year you must learn

how to catch fish.’

They set out together across the Pacific, and Matkah

showed Kotick how to sleep on his back with his flippers

tucked down by his side and his little nose just out of the

water. No cradle is so comfortable as the long, rocking swell

of the Pacific. When Kotick felt his skin tingle all over, Mat-

kah told him he was learning the ‘feel of the water, ’ and that

tingly, prickly feelings meant bad weather coming, and he

must swim hard and get away.

‘In a little time, ’ she said, ‘you’ll know where to swim

to, but just now we’ll follow Sea Pig, the Porpoise, for he is

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very wise.’ A school of porpoises were ducking and tearing

through the water, and little Kotick followed them as fast

as he could. ‘How do you know where to go to? ’ he panted.

The leader of the school rolled his white eye and ducked un-

der. ‘My tail tingles, youngster, ’ he said. ‘That means there’s

a gale behind me. Come along! When you’re south of the

Sticky Water [he meant the Equator] and your tail tingles,

that means there’s a gale in front of you and you must head

north. Come along! The water feels bad here.’

This was one of very many things that Kotick learned,

and he was always learning. Matkah taught him to follow

the cod and the halibut along the under-sea banks and

wrench the rockling out of his hole among the weeds; how

to skirt the wrecks lying a hundred fathoms below water

and dart like a rifle bullet in at one porthole and out at an-

other as the fishes ran; how to dance on the top of the waves

when the lightning was racing all over the sky, and wave his

flipper politely to the stumpy-tailed Albatross and the Man-

of-war Hawk as they went down the wind; how to jump

three or four feet clear of the water like a dolphin, flippers

close to the side and tail curved; to leave the flying fish alone

because they are all bony; to take the shoulder-piece out of

a cod at full speed ten fathoms deep, and never to stop and

look at a boat or a ship, but particularly a row-boat. At the

end of six months what Kotick did not know about deep-

sea fishing was not worth the knowing. And all that time he

never set flipper on dry ground.

One day, however, as he was lying half asleep in the

warm water somewhere off the Island of Juan Fernandez,

 

The Jungle Book

he felt faint and lazy all over, just as human people do when

the spring is in their legs, and he remembered the good firm

beaches of Novastoshnah seven thousand miles away, the

games his companions played, the smell of the seaweed,

the seal roar, and the fighting. That very minute he turned

north, swimming steadily, and as he went on he met scores

of his mates, all bound for the same place, and they said:

‘Greeting, Kotick! This year we are all holluschickie, and we

can dance the Fire-dance in the breakers off Lukannon and

play on the new grass. But where did you get that coat? ’

Kotick’s fur was almost pure white now, and though he

felt very proud of it, he only said, ‘Swim quickly! My bones

are aching for the land.’ And so they all came to the beaches

where they had been born, and heard the old seals, their fa-

thers, fighting in the rolling mist.

That night Kotick danced the Fire-dance with the year-

ling seals. The sea is full of fire on summer nights all the

way down from Novastoshnah to Lukannon, and each seal

leaves a wake like burning oil behind him and a flaming

flash when he jumps, and the waves break in great phos-

phorescent streaks and swirls. Then they went inland to

the holluschickie grounds and rolled up and down in the

new wild wheat and told stories of what they had done

while they had been at sea. They talked about the Pacific as

boys would talk about a wood that they had been nutting

in, and if anyone had understood them he could have gone

away and made such a chart of that ocean as never was. The

three- and four-year-old holluschickie romped down from

Hutchinson’s Hill crying: ‘Out of the way, youngsters! The

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sea is deep and you don’t know all that’s in it yet. Wait till

you’ve rounded the Horn. Hi, you yearling, where did you

get that white coat? ’

‘I didn’t get it, ’ said Kotick. ‘It grew.’ And just as he was

going to roll the speaker over, a couple of black-haired men

with flat red faces came from behind a sand dune, and

Kotick, who had never seen a man before, coughed and low-

ered his head. The holluschickie just bundled off a few yards

and sat staring stupidly. The men were no less than Kerick

Booterin, the chief of the seal-hunters on the island, and

Patalamon, his son. They came from the little village not

half a mile from the sea nurseries, and they were deciding

what seals they would drive up to the killing pens—for the

seals were driven just like sheep—to be turned into seal-

skin jackets later on.

‘Ho! ’ said Patalamon. ‘Look! There’s a white seal! ’

Kerick Booterin turned nearly white under his oil and

smoke, for he was an Aleut, and Aleuts are not clean people.

Then he began to mutter a prayer. ‘Don’t touch him, Patal-

amon. There has never been a white seal since—since I was

born. Perhaps it is old Zaharrof’s ghost. He was lost last year

in the big gale.’

‘I’m not going near him, ’ said Patalamon. ‘He’s unlucky.

Do you really think he is old Zaharrof come back? I owe

him for some gulls’ eggs.’

‘Don’t look at him, ’ said Kerick. ‘Head off that drove of

four-year-olds. The men ought to skin two hundred to-day,

but it’s the beginning of the season and they are new to the

work. A hundred will do. Quick! ’

 

The Jungle Book

Patalamon rattled a pair of seal’s shoulder bones in front

of a herd of holluschickie and they stopped dead, puffing

and blowing. Then he stepped near and the seals began to

move, and Kerick headed them inland, and they never tried

to get back to their companions. Hundreds and hundreds

of thousands of seals watched them being driven, but they

went on playing just the same. Kotick was the only one who

asked questions, and none of his companions could tell him

anything, except that the men always drove seals in that

way for six weeks or two months of every year.

‘I am going to follow, ’ he said, and his eyes nearly popped

out of his head as he shuffled along in the wake of the herd.

‘The white seal is coming after us, ’ cried Patalamon.

‘That’s the first time a seal has ever come to the killing-

grounds alone.’

‘Hsh! Don’t look behind you, ’ said Kerick. ‘It is Zahar-

rof’s ghost! I must speak to the priest about this.’

The distance to the killing-grounds was only half a mile,

but it took an hour to cover, because if the seals went too

fast Kerick knew that they would get heated and then their

fur would come off in patches when they were skinned. So

they went on very slowly, past Sea Lion’s Neck, past Web-

ster House, till they came to the Salt House just beyond the

sight of the seals on the beach. Kotick followed, panting and

wondering. He thought that he was at the world’s end, but

the roar of the seal nurseries behind him sounded as loud

as the roar of a train in a tunnel. Then Kerick sat down on

the moss and pulled out a heavy pewter watch and let the

drove cool off for thirty minutes, and Kotick could hear the

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fog-dew dripping off the brim of his cap. Then ten or twelve

men, each with an iron-bound club three or four feet long,

came up, and Kerick pointed out one or two of the drove

that were bitten by their companions or too hot, and the

men kicked those aside with their heavy boots made of the

skin of a walrus’s throat, and then Kerick said, ‘Let go! ’ and

then the men clubbed the seals on the head as fast as they

could.

Ten minutes later little Kotick did not recognize his

friends any more, for their skins were ripped off from the

nose to the hind flippers, whipped off and thrown down on

the ground in a pile. That was enough for Kotick. He turned

and galloped (a seal can gallop very swiftly for a short time)

back to the sea; his little new mustache bristling with hor-

ror. At Sea Lion’s Neck, where the great sea lions sit on the

edge of the surf, he flung himself flipper-overhead into the

cool water and rocked there, gasping miserably. ‘What’s

here? ’ said a sea lion gruffly, for as a rule the sea lions keep

themselves to themselves.

‘Scoochnie! Ochen scoochnie! ’ (“I’m lonesome, very

lonesome! ’) said Kotick. ‘They’re killing all the holluschick-

ie on all the beaches! ’

The Sea Lion turned his head inshore. ‘Nonsense! ’ he

said. ‘Your friends are making as much noise as ever. You

must have seen old Kerick polishing off a drove. He’s done

that for thirty years.’

‘It’s horrible, ’ said Kotick, backing water as a wave went

over him, and steadying himself with a screw stroke of his

flippers that brought him all standing within three inches

The Jungle Book

of a jagged edge of rock.

‘Well done for a yearling! ’ said the Sea Lion, who could

appreciate good swimming. ‘I suppose it is rather awful

from your way of looking at it, but if you seals will come

here year after year, of course the men get to know of it, and

unless you can find an island where no men ever come you

will always be driven.’

‘Isn’t there any such island? ’ began Kotick.

‘I’ve followed the poltoos [the halibut] for twenty years,

and I can’t say I’ve found it yet. But look here—you seem to

have a fondness for talking to your betters—suppose you go

to Walrus Islet and talk to Sea Vitch. He may know some-

thing. Don’t flounce off like that. It’s a six-mile swim, and if

I were you I should haul out and take a nap first, little one.’

Kotick thought that that was good advice, so he swam

round to his own beach, hauled out, and slept for half

an hour, twitching all over, as seals will. Then he headed

straight for Walrus Islet, a little low sheet of rocky island al-

most due northeast from Novastoshnah, all ledges and rock

and gulls’ nests, where the walrus herded by themselves.

He landed close to old Sea Vitch—the big, ugly, bloated,

pimpled, fat-necked, long-tusked walrus of the North Pacif-

ic, who has no manners except when he is asleep—as he was

then, with his hind flippers half in and half out of the surf.

‘Wake up! ’ barked Kotick, for the gulls were making a

great noise.

‘Hah! Ho! Hmph! What’s that? ’ said Sea Vitch, and he

struck the next walrus a blow with his tusks and waked him

up, and the next struck the next, and so on till they were all

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awake and staring in every direction but the right one.

‘Hi! It’s me, ’ said Kotick, bobbing in the surf and looking

like a little white slug.

‘Well! May I be—skinned! ’ said Sea Vitch, and they all

looked at Kotick as you can fancy a club full of drowsy old

gentlemen would look at a little boy. Kotick did not care to

hear any more about skinning just then; he had seen enough

of it. So he called out: ‘Isn’t there any place for seals to go

where men don’t ever come? ’

‘Go and find out, ’ said Sea Vitch, shutting his eyes. ‘Run

away. We’re busy here.’

Kotick made his dolphin-jump in the air and shouted as

loud as he could: ‘Clam-eater! Clam-eater! ’ He knew that

Sea Vitch never caught a fish in his life but always rooted for

clams and seaweed; though he pretended to be a very ter-

rible person. Naturally the Chickies and the Gooverooskies

and the Epatkas—the Burgomaster Gulls and the Kitti-

wakes and the Puffins, who are always looking for a chance

to be rude, took up the cry, and—so Limmershin told me—

for nearly five minutes you could not have heard a gun fired

on Walrus Islet. All the population was yelling and scream-

ing ‘Clam-eater! Stareek [old man]! ’ while Sea Vitch rolled

from side to side grunting and coughing.

‘Now will you tell? ’ said Kotick, all out of breath.

‘Go and ask Sea Cow, ’ said Sea Vitch. ‘If he is living still,

he’ll be able to tell you.’

‘How shall I know Sea Cow when I meet him? ’ said

Kotick, sheering off.

‘He’s the only thing in the sea uglier than Sea Vitch, ’

The Jungle Book

screamed a Burgomaster gull, wheeling under Sea Vitch’s

nose. ‘Uglier, and with worse manners! Stareek! ’

Kotick swam back to Novastoshnah, leaving the gulls to

scream. There he found that no one sympathized with him

in his little attempt to discover a quiet place for the seals.

They told him that men had always driven the holluschick-

ie—it was part of the day’s work—and that if he did not like

to see ugly things he should not have gone to the killing

grounds. But none of the other seals had seen the killing,

and that made the difference between him and his friends.

Besides, Kotick was a white seal.

‘What you must do, ’ said old Sea Catch, after he had

heard his son’s adventures, ‘is to grow up and be a big seal

like your father, and have a nursery on the beach, and then

they will leave you alone. In another five years you ought to

be able to fight for yourself.’ Even gentle Matkah, his moth-

er, said: ‘You will never be able to stop the killing. Go and

play in the sea, Kotick.’ And Kotick went off and danced the

Fire-dance with a very heavy little heart.

That autumn he left the beach as soon as he could, and

set off alone because of a notion in his bullet-head. He was

going to find Sea Cow, if there was such a person in the sea,

and he was going to find a quiet island with good firm beach-

es for seals to live on, where men could not get at them. So

he explored and explored by himself from the North to the

South Pacific, swimming as much as three hundred miles

in a day and a night. He met with more adventures than can

be told, and narrowly escaped being caught by the Basking

Shark, and the Spotted Shark, and the Hammerhead, and

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he met all the untrustworthy ruffians that loaf up and down

the seas, and the heavy polite fish, and the scarlet spotted

scallops that are moored in one place for hundreds of years,

and grow very proud of it; but he never met Sea Cow, and he

never found an island that he could fancy.

If the beach was good and hard, with a slope behind it for

seals to play on, there was always the smoke of a whaler on

the horizon, boiling down blubber, and Kotick knew what

that meant. Or else he could see that seals had once visited

the island and been killed off, and Kotick knew that where

men had come once they would come again.

He picked up with an old stumpy-tailed albatross, who

told him that Kerguelen Island was the very place for peace

and quiet, and when Kotick went down there he was all

but smashed to pieces against some wicked black cliffs in

a heavy sleet-storm with lightning and thunder. Yet as he

pulled out against the gale he could see that even there had

once been a seal nursery. And it was so in all the other is-

lands that he visited.

Limmershin gave a long list of them, for he said that

Kotick spent five seasons exploring, with a four months’

rest each year at Novastoshnah, when the holluschick-

ie used to make fun of him and his imaginary islands. He

went to the Gallapagos, a horrid dry place on the Equator,

where he was nearly baked to death; he went to the Geor-

gia Islands, the Orkneys, Emerald Island, Little Nightingale

Island, Gough’s Island, Bouvet’s Island, the Crossets, and

even to a little speck of an island south of the Cape of Good

Hope. But everywhere the People of the Sea told him the

The Jungle Book

same things. Seals had come to those islands once upon a

time, but men had killed them all off. Even when he swam

thousands of miles out of the Pacific and got to a place called

Cape Corrientes (that was when he was coming back from

Gough’s Island), he found a few hundred mangy seals on a

rock and they told him that men came there too.

That nearly broke his heart, and he headed round the

Horn back to his own beaches; and on his way north he

hauled out on an island full of green trees, where he found

an old, old seal who was dying, and Kotick caught fish for

him and told him all his sorrows. ‘Now, ’ said Kotick, ‘I am

going back to Novastoshnah, and if I am driven to the kill-

ing-pens with the holluschickie I shall not care.’

The old seal said, ‘Try once more. I am the last of the Lost

Rookery of Masafuera, and in the days when men killed us

by the hundred thousand there was a story on the beaches

that some day a white seal would come out of the North and

lead the seal people to a quiet place. I am old, and I shall

never live to see that day, but others will. Try once more.’


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mylektsii.su - Ìîè Ëåêöèè - 2015-2024 ãîä. (0.08 ñåê.)Âñå ìàòåðèàëû ïðåäñòàâëåííûå íà ñàéòå èñêëþ÷èòåëüíî ñ öåëüþ îçíàêîìëåíèÿ ÷èòàòåëÿìè è íå ïðåñëåäóþò êîììåð÷åñêèõ öåëåé èëè íàðóøåíèå àâòîðñêèõ ïðàâ Ïîæàëîâàòüñÿ íà ìàòåðèàë