"Anthony Wall - The Eden Mission" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wall Anthony)

News of the pollution spread fast. People gathered on the beaches, but they were unable to help the birds--except by putting them out of their misery. As a naturalist explained to a tearful woman onlooker, oil often blinded birds. It burnt their skin, stomachs and livers. It also removed the waterproofing from their feathers, which insulated them against cold and wet, so they couldn't float properly or catch fish. And if the birds weren't poisoned by swallowing oil after preening, they would probably die of pneumonia.

Singly or in small groups the bedraggled creatures stumbled to land. A three-foot gannet, normally brilliant white, pecked feverishly at its ruined plumage until a rifle-shot rang out.

By nightfall a two-ton pile of dead sea-birds had been collected on the shore. Someone set it ablaze. Sparks crackled amid whirling smoke. Excited, cherry-cheeked children ringed the bonfire; only the older ones understood that this was no celebration. For several nights to come there would be plenty of bodies to feed the flames.

Ninety miles inland, nothing broke the forest hush. A full moon silvered the treetops and light leaked down to the snow-covered floor beneath. Scraps of mist seemed caught on prickly branches.

From the shadows, a ghostly shape glided into a clearing. Two amber eyes searched the dappled darkness. Stealthily the wolf advanced. Hunger had driven him from his snug den. He knew where to find a good meal. Not the mice and birds he had lived on lately, but a hare he had killed and buried in the frozen ground to keep it fresh and safe from crows and ravens.

As the dog-wolf wound through the trees at an effortless lope, which could carry him as far as 120 miles in a single day, his thick brown-grey-yellow fur gleamed in the moonlight. He was a fine big dog: 5« feet from nose-tip to tail-tip, weighing a hundred pounds. In a pack he would have been leader. But there are no packs now--men had seen to that.

Wolves were regarded as enemies. Yet, like other predators, they performed a useful service by controlling the numbers of animals which destroyed farmers' crops. They made loyal pets if raised from cubs, and led a communal life that was a model of harmony and co-operation.

The wolf trotted on, nearing his food store. Strangely, since he was capable of detecting a smell from 1« miles and could hear loudish sounds more than four miles off, the wolf failed to notice a figure fifty yards away.

The man was half drunk, angry after a quarrel with his wife. He had stormed out of the house, taking a gun. He felt like shooting something. Suddenly the wolf appeared in front of him. The law said he must not pull the trigger. But he did--again and again. At that moment a cloud smothered the moon. The big dog dropped dead ... leaving just four wolves alive in the whole of Norway.

Five thousand miles to the south-west, on the edge of Newfoundland, great glistening rafts of ice jigsawed the Atlantic. From above, each piece revealed a pattern of dark clots. Harp seals. Mothers and babies.

At birth the pups had seemed too small for their baggy yellow coats. But a diet of rich, mayonnaise-like milk soon filled them out. Then they had changed their fur - to a dense woolly white. Dazzling. In all nature there could be few prettier, more appealing sights. The pups were curious and trusting.

Now hunters came, wielding wooden clubs, battering the babies senseless. Plaintive cries reached their helpless mothers. The clubbing continued for weeks. This yearly slaughter of tens of thousands must be finished quickly--before the "whitecoats" shed their beautiful fur. Sometimes, in the rush, pups were only wounded. They were skinned alive on the red ice.

The high price of unnecessary fur goods.

1. The Eden Mission
At the English port of Southampton it was raining, and had been for hours. A steady, soaking downpour. Water dripped from the dockside cranes; ran from the roofs of warehouses; washed the decks of liners, freighters, tugs and trawlers; spattered the windscreens of lurching launches. Seagulls sulked on the quay, or searched half-heartedly for food. The dingy sky showed no sign of brightening.

Not a day that promised excitement. Unless you happened to be young and about to set sail for faraway places and the adventure of a lifetime. Unless you were one of the lucky ones chosen to take part in The Eden Mission.

Sea Shepherd stirred at her moorings. The ship's steep side towered like a white wall above the clustering figures. A sailor peering down from the deck beheld a picture of marching mushrooms, as umbrellas formed into a line and began to advance. Now people were trooping up the gangway. Once on board they were conducted to a spacious, brightly lit lecture hall.

Wet umbrellas were put aside--and all thoughts of the weather. Parents, teenagers, teachers, ecologists and journalists settled in their seats. Press and TV cameramen took up position. Everyone's attention turned to the platform, still empty, at the end of the hall.

Elsewhere on the ship, bustling crew members made final preparations for a long voyage. Research vessel Sea Shepherd, clean-cut 5,000-tonner, looked like a small cruise liner. But she was equipped to carry out a special task, a serious task. Her reinforced bow could carve through ice, her diving-bell and miniature submarines explore the underwater world, her laboratories analyse everything from sea snake venom to marine nuclear contamination.

In the lecture hall, fifteen-year-old Susan Jenkins shifted impatiently. Why don't they get on with it? Susan's eyes roamed the walls. A black-and-white panda chomped a bamboo shoot, a gorilla pounded his chest, a leopard lolled on a tree branch. There were other posters too. She smiled at her friend Gary, sitting beside her, then started to read the names on a banner above the platform: The World Wide Fund for Nature, Greenpeace, Friends of the Earth, The Fauna and Flora Preservation Society, The People's Trust for Endangered Species ...

"Ladies and gentlemen."

At last!

The booming voice of Ben Bellingham, Britain's most famous naturalist. Susan stared in awe at the big burly man she had seen so often on television. His curly hair and beard were redder than she remembered.

"Sorry for the delay," Bellingham went on. "But at least it's given you a chance to dry off."

There was a ripple of laughter in the audience.