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 sea is deep and you do n'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 did n'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 lowered 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 . `` Do n't touch him , Patalamon . There has never been a white seal since -- since I was born . Perhaps it is old Zaharrof 's ghost .
He was lost last year XXXXX the big gale . ''
for from if in like over since than to under