THERE was once upon a time a man who
lived upon the northern coasts, not far from "Taigh Jan Crot Callow"
(John-o’-Groat’s House), and he gained his livelihood by catching and
killing fish, of all sizes and denominations. He had a particular liking
for the killing of those wonderful beasts, half dog and half fish, called
"Roane," or seals, no doubt because he got a long price for their skins,
which are not less curious than they are valuable. The truth is, that the
most of these animals are neither dogs nor cods, but downright fairies, as
this narration will show. It happened one day, as this notable fisher had
returned from the prosecution of his calling, that he was called upon by a
man who seemed a great stranger, and who said he had been despatched for
him by a person who wished to contract for a quantity of seal-skins, and
that the fisher must accompany him (the stranger) immediately to see the
person who wished to contract for the skins, as it was necessary that he
should be served that evening. Happy in the prospect of making a good
bargain, and never suspecting any duplicity, he instantly complied. They
both mounted a steed belonging to the stranger, and took the road with
such velocity that, although the direction of the wind was towards their
backs, yet the fleetness of their movement made it appear as if it had
been in their faces. On reaching a stupendous precipice which overhung the
sea, his guide told him they had now reached their destination.
"Where is the person you spoke of?" inquired the
astonished seal-killer.
"You shall see that presently," replied the guide.
With that they immediately alighted, and, without allowing the seal-killer
much time to indulge the frightful suspicions that began to pervade his
mind, the stranger seized him with irresistible force, and plunged
headlong with him into the sea. After sinking down, down, nobody knows how
far, they at length reached a door, which, being open, led them into a
range of apartments, filled with inhabitants—not people, but seals, who
could nevertheless speak and feel like human folk; and how much was the
seal-killer surprised to find that he himself had been unconsciously
transformed into the like image. If it were not so, he would probably have
died from the want of breath. The nature of the poor fisher’s thoughts may
be more easily conceived than described. Looking at the nature of the
quarters into which he had landed, all hopes of escape from them appeared
wholly chimerical, whilst the degree of comfort and length of life which
the barren scene promised him were far from being flattering. The "Roane,"
who all seemed in very low spirits, appeared to feel for him, and
endeavoured to soothe the distress which he evinced by the amplest
assurances of personal safety. Involved in sad meditation on his evil
fate, he was quickly roused from his stupor by his guide’s producing a
huge gully or joctaleg, [clasp-knife] the object of which he supposed was
to put an end to all his earthly cares. Forlorn as was his situation,
however, he did not wish to be killed; and, apprehending instant
destruction, he fell down, and earnestly implored for mercy. The poor
generous animals did not mean him any harm, however much his former
conduct deserved it, and he was accordingly desired to pacify himself, and
cease his cries.
"Did you ever see that knife
before?" said the stranger to the fisher.
The latter instantly recognised his
own knife, which he had that day stuck into a seal, and with which it had
escaped, and acknowledged it was formerly his own, for what would be the
use of denying it?
"Well," rejoined the guide, "the
apparent seal which made away with it is my father, who has lain
dangerously ill ever since, and no means can stay his fleeting breath
without your aid. I have been obliged to resort to the artifice I have
practised to bring you hither, and I trust that my filial duty to my
father will readily excuse me."
Having said this, he led into
another apartment the trembling seal-killer, who expected every minute to
be punished for his own ill-treatment of the father. There he found the
identical seal with which he had had the encounter in the morning,
suffering most grievously from a tremendous cut in its hind-quarter. The
seal-killer was then desired, with his hand, to cicatrise the wound, upon
doing which it immediately healed, and the seal arose from its bed in
perfect health. Upon this the scene changed from mourning to rejoicing—all
was mirth and glee. Very different, however, were the feelings of the
unfortunate seal-catcher, who expected no doubt to be metamorphosed into a
seal for the remainder of his life. However, his late guide accosting him,
said—
"Now, sir, you are at liberty to
return to your wife and family, to whom I am about to conduct you; but it
is on this express condition, to which you must bind yourself by a solemn
oath—that you will never maim or kill a seal in all your life-time
hereafter."
To this condition, hard as it was,
he joyfully acceded; and the oath being administered in all due form, he
bade his new acquaintance most heartily and sincerely a long farewell.
Taking hold of his guide, they issued from the place, and swam up till
they regained the surface of the sea, and, landing at the said stupendous
pinnacle, they found their former steed ready for a second canter. The
guide breathed upon the fisher and they became like men. They mounted
their horse, and fleet as had been their course towards the precipice,
their return from it was doubly swift; and the honest seal-killer was laid
down at his own door-cheek, where his guide made him such a present as
would have almost reconciled him to another similar expedition—such as
rendered his loss of profession, in so far as regarded the seals, a far
less intolerable hardship than he had at first considered it.
