From one hundred and fifty to three hundred thousand seals are brought into St. John’s every year. At the factories gangs of skinners strip off the fat from the hides as fast as they are landed. Sometimes one man will strip as many as six hundred and forty skins in a day. The fat is chopped up and steam cooked, and the oil drawn off into casks. The skins are salt dressed. One might think the seals would be wiped out by such methods, but the herd does not decrease and remains at about one million from year to year. The seals live largely on codfish, each one eating an average of four every day. The estimated consumption of cod by the seals is fourteen times greater than the number caught by the fishermen. CHAPTER V IRON MINES UNDER THE SEA I have just returned from a trip through caves richer than those of Aladdin. They lie far under the ocean, and their treasures surpass the wildest dreams of the Arabian Nights. The treasures are in iron ore, from forty nine to fifty two per cent. pure, and so abundant that they will be feeding steel mills for many generations to come. I am speaking of the Wabana iron mines, located on, or rather under, Conception Bay on the southeast coast of Newfoundland. They are on an island seven miles long, three miles in width, and three hundred feet high. Along about a generation ago deposits of rich hematite ores were discovered in veins that ran down under the water with a slope of about fifteen degrees. They were gradually developed and within the last thirty years millions of tons of ore have been taken out. The under-sea workshops have been extended more than two miles out from the shore and it is believed that the great ore body crosses the bay. The capacity yield at this time averages about five thousand tons for every working day of the year, and the location is such that the ore can be put on the steamers for export almost at the mouth of the mines. The property is owned by the British Empire Steel Company, made up of British, American, and Canadian capital. But let me tell you of my trip. I left my hotel in St. John’s in the early morning. The rocky promontories that form the narrow entrance to the harbour were canopied in light fog, under which fishing schooners could be seen tacking back and forth, beating their way out to the open sea beyond. As we drove out over the hills the moisture gathered on the windshield of the motor-car so that we had to raise it and take the fog-soaked air full in our faces. We went through King’s Road, where many of the aristocracy of St. John’s reside in big frame houses with many bay windows and much gingerbread decoration. They were set well back from the street, and, in contrast with most of the houses of the town, were surrounded by trees.