SECOND PART
CHAPTER 14: The South Pole
(continued)
Most of these seals were sleeping on the rocks or the sand.
Among those properly termed seals--which have no external ears,
unlike sea lions whose ears protrude--I observed several varieties
of the species stenorhynchus, three meters long, with white hair,
bulldog heads, and armed with ten teeth in each jaw: four incisors
in both the upper and lower, plus two big canines shaped like the
fleur-de-lis. Among them slithered some sea elephants, a type of seal
with a short, flexible trunk; these are the giants of the species,
with a circumference of twenty feet and a length of ten meters.
They didn't move as we approached.
"Are these animals dangerous?" Conseil asked me.
"Only if they're attacked," I replied. "But when these giant seals
defend their little ones, their fury is dreadful, and it isn't rare
for them to smash a fisherman's longboat to bits."
"They're within their rights," Conseil answered.
"I don't say nay."
Two miles farther on, we were stopped by a promontory that screened
the bay from southerly winds. It dropped straight down to the sea,
and surf foamed against it. From beyond this ridge there came
fearsome bellows, such as a herd of cattle might produce.
"Gracious," Conseil put in, "a choir of bulls?"
"No," I said, "a choir of walruses."
"Are they fighting with each other?"
"Either fighting or playing."
"With all due respect to master, this we must see."
"Then see it we must, Conseil."
And there we were, climbing these blackish rocks amid sudden landslides
and over stones slippery with ice. More than once I took a tumble
at the expense of my backside. Conseil, more cautious or more stable,
barely faltered and would help me up, saying:
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