`` We will come , '' said thousands of tired voices . `` We will follow Kotick , the White Seal . '' Then Kotick dropped his head between his shoulders and shut his eyes proudly . He was not a white seal any more , but red from head to tail . All the same he would have scorned to look at or touch one of his wounds . A week later he and his army -LRB- nearly ten thousand holluschickie and old seals -RRB- went away north to the Sea Cow 's tunnel , Kotick leading them , and the seals that stayed at Novastoshnah called them idiots . But next spring , when they all met off the fishing banks of the Pacific , Kotick 's seals told such tales of the new beaches beyond Sea Cow 's tunnel that more and more seals left Novastoshnah . Of course it was not all done at once , for the seals are not very clever , and they need a long time to turn things over in their minds , but year after year more seals went away from Novastoshnah , and Lukannon , and the other nurseries , to the quiet , sheltered beaches where Kotick sits all the summer through , getting bigger and fatter and stronger each year , while the holluschickie play around him , in that sea where no man comes . Lukannon This is the great deep-sea song that all the St. Paul seals sing when they are heading back to their beaches in the summer . It is a sort of very sad seal National Anthem . I met my mates in the morning -LRB- and , oh , but I am old ! -RRB- Where roaring on the ledges the summer ground-swell rolled ; I heard them lift the chorus that drowned the breakers ' song -- The Beaches of Lukannon -- two million voices strong . The song of pleasant stations beside the salt lagoons , The song of blowing squadrons that shuffled down the dunes , The song of midnight dances that churned the sea to flame -- The Beaches of Lukannon -- before the sealers came ! I met my mates in the morning -LRB- I 'll never meet them more ! -RRB- ; They came and went in legions that darkened all the shore . And o'er the foam-flecked offing as far as voice could reach We hailed the landing-parties and we sang them up the beach . The Beaches of Lukannon -- the winter wheat so tall -- The dripping , crinkled lichens , and the sea-fog drenching all ! The platforms of our playground , all shining smooth and worn ! The Beaches of Lukannon -- the home where we were born ! I met my mates in the morning , a broken , scattered band .
Men shoot us in the water and club us on the land ; Men drive us XXXXX the Salt House like silly sheep and tame , And still we sing Lukannon -- before the sealers came .
Of at beside between beyond for in on that to