I have shot only three Great seals; but the largest one certainly I ever saw, I might have shot, but did not—dared not, I should say. Thus it happened. It was at the Holms of Gloup—some outlying rocks and skerries off the north point of the island of Yell. There is a fine hellyer here. According to the usual practice, I had landed on an abutting point or promontory at the outer entrance to the hellyer, and sent the boat inwards. If a seal happens to be in the hellyer, he plunges into the sea, swims out under water, and very generally rises up at no great distance, to see what is the cause of the disturbance and noise—for seals, as I have said, are very inquisitive as well as shy—and in this way the sportsman in ambush often gets a capital shot. As the boat went slowly inwards, the men kept shouting and peering into the darkness, all eyes directed towards the inner beach, which was dimly visible. Presently from my perch of some twenty or thirty feet, I saw, in the clear water, what they did not see, a rushing white figure coming outwards under water. Then, not thirty yards distant, the head and neck of an enormous haff-fish[2] rose above the surface. For time enough to have shot him five times over, he gazed at the boat, the back of his head turned towards me, and offering such a mark as I never had before or since. I covered him with the sights; my finger trembled on the trigger; I knew my weapon would not fail me. I knew I could kill him easily, and secure him too, even if he should sink, for the water was clear and shallow. But, as ill-fortune would have it, he was directly in the line between me and the boat, and I did not dare to fire. The boatmen never saw him, and of course I could make no sign. So the great ocean patriarch, having satisfied his curiosity, quietly withdrew under water.
I shall conclude with one other adventure of my seal-hunting experience. It was at the Neeps off Gravaland, on the west side of Yell. Here the coast-line is sinuous and precipitous, the cliffs in many parts being very high; and here there are many well-sheltered creeks, rather favourite haunts of the tang-fish. A cautious survey discovered twelve or twenty of them ‘lying up’ on a few detached rocks in one of these creeks, and of course, as usual, far beyond range from any point on the top of the cliff. To get a chance of a shot, it was necessary to scramble down to the beach and out amongst the great boulders left dry by the ebb-tide, a matter of no small difficulty, and also danger. I was accompanied by a young Englishman, who was very eager for a shot. Retiring a little from the brow of the cliff, we held a brief whispered consultation. ‘Nothing for it,’ I said, ‘but to get down. Will you try it?’
‘No,’ he replied; ‘I dare not. I always get giddy, looking down from great heights, and I could not possibly attempt a precipice like that. Do you really mean to venture?’
‘Certainly,’ I said; ‘nothing venture nothing win.’
‘Well, well,’ rejoined he, ‘you’re to the manner born, and I wish you luck.’
One can’t climb or descend a difficult precipice with boots, so I discarded mine, carefully charged my trusty old fowling-piece, and commenced the descent, well out of view of the seals. The task would have been no easy one at any time; but cumbered as I was with my fowling-piece, and obliged to double and twist in all directions, to avoid being seen, it was stalking under difficulties of no ordinary magnitude. After infinite toil and circumspection, I found myself about thirty feet from the bottom; but farther I was utterly unable to proceed without coming full in sight of the seals, who were as yet unaware of the proximity of danger. Continuing my downward course, they soon caught sight of me, and one after another quietly slipped off the rocks into the water. I made my way to the beach, and crept out as far as possible amongst the great ebb-stones, behind one of which I crouched, in hopes of getting a shot at a seal swimming, for they kept bobbing up and down in the creek. At last one fellow did give me a pretty good chance, and I brought his gambols to a speedy close. To strip and plunge into the sea was the work of a minute. But before I reached him he had sunk. This was very provoking. However, nothing daunted, I returned on shore, retraced my way up the cliff, and then across a long stretch of barren moor, to the nearest fishermen’s cottages at Whalfirth Voe. A boat was speedily manned by three obliging young fellows, and a pull of several miles brought us round to the creek. Having borrowed two stout piltock rods, I lashed them firmly together, and tied a ling hook to the point, and thus extemporised a capital gaff. We found the water not more than twelve or fourteen feet deep, and quite clear. I knew the exact spot where the seal had sunk; so we soon discovered him lying on the bottom, seeming not much larger than a good-sized cod, owing, I suppose, to refraction. I speedily gaffed him, and brought him to the surface. He proved to be a splendid animal, five feet nine inches in length, and very fat. The skin, a particularly fine one, I presented to my English friend; and the blubber was converted into oil, which kept our dining-room lamp burning brightly during many long nights of the succeeding winter.
SOME SACRED TREES.
There are few things more impressive to the thoughtful mind than the near contemplation of tall and large trees in full foliage. They are symbols of antiquity and endurance, yet also of the changes consequent on a constant renewal. Traditions gather naturally round an object which witnesses the growth and disappearance of generations. The memories of men long dead become connected with them; and the rude imagination pictures the souls of the departed as still lingering in the familiar groves, and haunting the favourite tree which sheltered them in the noonday heat and from the fury of the sudden tempest. Such fancies in untutored times naturally induced veneration for the object which inspired them, and such may have been the origin of tree-worship, which has been a prevalent form of idolatry.
In the East, the greatest veneration is paid to the Indian Ficus religiosa, the sacred and consecrated fig-tree or peepul-tree, which is held pre-eminently sacred by the Buddhists, and is revered also by the Hindus, the birth of Vishnu having occurred beneath its branches. It is the Rarvasit, the tree of knowledge and wisdom, the holy Bo-tree of the lamas of Tibet. It is met with in most countries of South-eastern Asia; but the descriptions of it in botanical handbooks are confused and misleading. It is a handsome tree, growing frequently to a great height, an evergreen, which puts forth its flowers in April, and the bark yields freely upon incision an acrid milk containing a considerable proportion of india-rubber. According to Balfour, ‘the leaves are heart-shaped, long, pointed, and not unlike those of some poplars; and as the footstalks are long and slender, the leaves vibrate in the air like those of the aspen. It was under this tree that Gautama slept, and dreamed that his bed was the vast earth, and the Himalaya Mountains his pillow, while his left arm reached to the Eastern Ocean, his right to the Western Ocean, and his feet to the great South Sea.’ (Balfour’s Cyclopædia of India.) This dream warned him that he was about to become a Buddha; and when its prophecy was fulfilled, he was again seated beneath the same tree.
In the year 250 B.C. a branch of this sacred tree was sent to the ancient city of Amūrādhapōōra, in the interior of Ceylon, together with the collar-bone of Gautama, and his begging-dish with other relics. Here it was planted, and was known by the name of the Bo-tree. The highest reverence was paid to it for two thousand years, and it is to this day the chief object of worship to the pilgrims who every year flock to the ruins of this city. These ruins are of vast extent, and abound in intricate and magnificent carvings. ‘An inclosure of three hundred and forty-five feet in length, and two hundred and sixteen in breadth, surrounds the court of the Bo-tree, designated by Buddhists the great, famous, and triumphant fig-tree.’ It is declared to be the same tree sprung from the branch sent by Asoka from Buddh-gyâ, and the amazing vigour and longevity of these trees make the assertion within the limits of the possible. ‘The city is in ruins,’ says Fergusson; ‘its great dagobas (sanctuaries containing relics) have fallen into decay; its monasteries have disappeared; but the great Bo-tree still flourishes, according to the legend: “Ever green, never growing, or decreasing, but living on for ever for the delight and worship of mankind.” There is probably no older idol in the world, certainly none more venerated.’[3]