BY A SHETLANDER.
IN TWO PARTS.—PART I.
There are but two species of seal permanently resident on our coasts—the Common Seal (Phoca vitulina) and the Great Seal (Phoca barbata). The Greenland seal has occasionally been seen in Shetland, and even shot; but these were only stragglers, not improbably floated far southward on small icebergs or floes of ice from the Arctic regions. The two species named, the common and the great seal, are very much alike in appearance, and not easily distinguished by a casual observer; but a Shetlander who has frequent, if not constant, opportunities of seeing them, is never at a loss to recognise them. In many respects, especially in their habits, they are distinguished by well-marked characteristics. The common seal is called in Shetland Tang-fish—that is, shore or bay seal; and the great seal is vernacularly the Haff-fish, or ocean seal. The male and female of both species are distinguished by the prefix ‘Bull’ and ‘She’—Bull-fish, She-fish.
The common seal is gregarious, and appears to be polygamous. In herds of from ten to a hundred they frequent the small uninhabited islands, holms, and skerries, where the tideways are strong, but the ocean swell not great; and they do not seem to stray far from such favourite haunts, resting for several hours each day from the commencement of the ebb-tide on small outlying rocks, or stony beaches on the lee-side of the little islets, but almost always in such a position as to command a pretty extensive view, in case of surprise. Their food consists chiefly of piltocks and sillocks—vernacular for the young of the saithe or of the coal-fish—small cod, flounders, and crustacea. In June, they bring forth their young, never more than one at a birth, and in the same season, on the low flat rocks close to the sea, and immediately lead them to the water, where they seem at once perfectly at home, disporting themselves amongst the waves with ease and grace equal to their seniors. For some time previous to this, the sexes separate into different herds; and during the two succeeding months in which they suckle their young, the females affect a somewhat solitary life. After that, they again become indiscriminately gregarious. The adult common seal sometimes attains the size of six feet, measured from the point of the nose to the end of the tail. It is obviously a mistake to measure to the end of the hind flippers, as is sometimes done. The males are considerably larger than the females, but I have never seen one exceeding six feet.
On the other hand, the haff-fish grows sometimes to eight or nine feet, and such venerable ocean patriarchs will weigh from six to seven hundredweight. This species is much less numerous than the tang-fish. They appear to be monogamous, and are not gregarious, being commonly met with in pairs. They frequent the wildest and most exposed of the outlying rocks and skerries along the coast where there is free and immediate access to the ocean, and are very seldom seen in the bays or amongst the islands, which are the haunts of their less robust congeners. They seem to luxuriate in the roughest sea, and delight to sport in the broken water and foam at the foot of steep rocks and precipices when the waves are dashing against them. They bring forth their young in caves, open to the sea—called in Shetland hellyers. These hellyers are natural tunnels in the lofty precipices, running or winding inwards, sometimes two hundred yards, into darkness, and generally terminating in a stony or pebbly beach. Some of these hellyers can be entered by a small boat, but only when the sea is perfectly smooth; others are too narrow for such a mode of access; and the openings to others are entirely under water.
It is in these wild and for the most part safe retreats that the female haff-fish, about the end of September or beginning of October, brings forth her young; and here she nurses it for about six weeks, all the time carefully and affectionately attended by her lord and master. Not till the baby haff-fish is nearly two months old does it take to the water. If thrown in at an earlier age, it is as awkward as a pup or kitten in similar circumstances, and does not seem to have the power of diving. In these respects, the two species differ markedly. Nor is the haff-fish so often seen basking on the rocks; and when he does take a rest on shore, he does not appear to mind what is the state of the tide or wind. But probably his usual and favourite resting and sleeping place is his hellyer, where he will feel secure from intrusion. His principal food is cod, ling, saithe, halibut, and conger-eel. Both species are exceedingly voracious, but can endure a very long abstinence. A tame one we once had never tasted food for three weeks before he died. They always feed in the water, never on land, tearing large pieces off their fishy prey, and swallowing it without almost any mastication. They do not migrate, but remain in the vicinity of their breeding-places throughout the year. Formerly, seals’ flesh used to be eaten by the natives of Shetland, but not now. I have eaten a part of a seal’s heart, and found it by no means unpalatable. It was offered to me as a special delicacy by an old gentleman who could not have been induced to taste a crab or lobster. By-the-bye, why is it Shetlanders won’t eat these delicious crustacea? I once put the question to an old fisherman, and his reply was: ‘They’re unkirsn—they eat the human,’ meaning the dead bodies of sailors and fishermen. (Unkirsn is the vernacular for unclean, in the sense of being unfit for food.)
I believe seals’ flesh is still sometimes salted and eaten by the Faroese and Icelanders; but if one may judge from the very strong coal-tarry smell of the carcass, it cannot be particularly savoury. It is different, however, with whale-flesh, that of the bottlenose at least. Shetlanders don’t eat it; but the Faroese do, and esteem it highly. I remember, many years ago, being in Thorshavn shortly after a shoal of about twelve hundred bottlenoses had been driven ashore, and the houses of the little town were all covered with long festoons of whale-flesh hung up to dry and harden in the sun. The natives call it grind, and regard it as excellent, palatable, and nutritious food. I ate some of it. It looked and tasted very much like good coarse-grained beef, and had no unpleasant, fishy, or blubbery flavour.
Seal-hunting is splendid sport—superior, I confidently affirm, to every other species of sport in this country at least, not excepting deer-stalking and fox-hunting. The game is a noble animal, large, powerful, exceedingly sagacious, intensely keen of sight and hearing, suspicious, shy, and wary. You have to seek him amid the wildest and grandest scenery, where you will sometimes encounter danger of various kinds. To be a successful seal-hunter you must be acquainted with the habits of the animal. You must be cool and cautious, yet prompt and fertile in expedients, a good stalker, a good boatman, and a good cragsman; and you must be at once a quick and a steady shot. It is not enough to strike a seal; you must shoot him with a bullet through the brain, and thus kill him instantly, or you will in all probability never see him again. He may be lying basking on a rock within forty yards of you; you may put a bullet through his body; he plunges into the sea and disappears. But a seal’s head is not a large object at any considerable distance; and if he is swimming, you have probably only a part of his head in view. If you are in a boat, your stance is more or less unsteady, however smooth the sea may be. Then, however close he may be to you, it is needless to fire, if, as is usually the case, he is looking at you; for he is quite as expert as most of the diving sea-birds in ‘diving on the fire,’ or rather throwing his head to a side with a sudden spring and splash. Further, if you kill him in the water, the chances are at least equal that he instantly sinks, fathoms deep, amongst great rocks covered with seaweed, where dredging is out of the question; and other expedients that may be tried, equally, in nine cases out of ten, fail. At other times, however, a seal shot in the water will float like a buoy. It is not very clear why one seal should float and another sink. It is certainly not referable to the condition of the animal. Fat seals sink as readily as lean ones; and lean seals float as readily as fat ones. Probably they float or sink according as their lungs are or are not inflated with air at the moment they receive their death-wound.
Besides a thoroughly trustworthy weapon, the seal-hunter requires to provide himself with a ‘waterglass,’ a ‘clam,’ and a stout rod twelve to twenty feet long, with a ling-hook firmly lashed to the end of it, making a sort of gaff. These are for use in the event of a seal sinking. The waterglass is simply a box or tub with a pane of glass for its bottom. Placed on the surface of the water, it obviates the disturbing effect of the ripple. Looking through it with a great-coat or piece of cloth thrown over the head after the manner of photographers, you can see down as far as sixty feet if the water is pretty clear; and even to a hundred feet or thereby if it is very clear. The ‘clam’ is an enormous species of forceps, with jaws of from two to three feet width when open. Two stout lines are attached—one for lowering the clam with open jaws; the other for closing the blades over a dead seal that, by help of the waterglass, has been discovered lying at the bottom, and hauling him to the surface. Many a seal is secured in this way, which, but for these simple appliances, would inevitably be lost. The long-handled gaff is used for raising a seal that may have sunk in very shallow water where the rod can reach him, and sometimes is found very useful when he is just beginning to sink, if you have shot him from your boat. For a few seconds after being shot, he usually floats. Instantly, you pull up to him, but find him sinking slowly—only as yet, however, a foot or two beneath the surface. You at once and easily gaff him, and then he is safe enough.
The largest haff-fish I ever shot I lost from not having a seal-gaff in the boat. I was not seal-hunting, but shooting sea-fowl along the lofty precipices on the east side of Burrafirth, in the island of Unst. Suddenly a big haff-fish bobbed up close to the boat, but instantly disappeared with a tremendous splash. Seals are very inquisitive animals; and as he had not had time to gratify his curiosity, I thought it very likely he might show face again. We always carried two or three bullets in our pocket, to be prepared for such chances. One of these I quickly wrapped round in paper and rammed home above the shot, with which my fowling-piece—a long, single-barrelled American duck-gun—was charged. Again selkie broke the surface of the water, this time at a more respectful distance, but still within easy range. After taking a good look at the boat, and at me doubtless, who just then covered him with the sights, he turned fairly round and gave a contemptuous sniff of his nose skywards, preparatory to making off. Fatal and unusual hardihood; it cost him his life, for just then I pulled the trigger, and sent the bullet through his head. I was in the bows of the boat. ‘Pull men, pull hard!’ I shouted. As we came up to him, I saw he was beginning to sink. A rod there was in the boat, but it had no hook at the end. I seized it, and stretching forward, got it under him, and raised him close to the surface. I tried to keep him up, but he slipped and slipped several times, and at last sank. I could have secured him easily enough, had there been a hook on the end of the rod. The water was very deep, and not clear; and although I spent that evening and the next day searching for him with the usual appliances, I was unsuccessful. All these conditions, contingencies, and uncertainties make the sport of seal-hunting surpassingly exciting and captivating.