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 thousand 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 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 during the four months he stayed on the beaches, and so his temper was generally bad.  Matkah knew better than to answer 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 fighting with the Killer Whale.”

“I haven’t been doing anything but fight since the middle 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.”