Note 138 — Chapter XI · THE ALASKAN SEA-LION.

I recall in this connection the sight of an aged male sea-lion which had been defeated by a younger and more lusty rival, perhaps. It was hauled upon a lava shelf at Southwest Point, solitary and alone; the rock around it being literally covered with pools of pus, that was oozing out and trickling down from a score of festering wounds; the victim stood planted squarely on its torn fore flippers, with head erect and thrown back upon its shoulders; its eyes were closed, and it gently swayed its sore neck and shoulders in a sort of troubled, painful day-dreaming or dozing. Like the fur-seal, the sea-lion never notices its wounds to nurse and lick them, as dogs do, or other carnivora; it never pays the slightest attention to them, no matter how grievously it may be injured.