Roddy Maclean looks at a 1703 account of the relationship between humans and seals in one of the Western Isles.
Leugh ann an Gàidhlig / Read in Gaelic
Note: This blog relates to a historical practice. Seals are a protected species. The Marine (Scotland) Act 2010 protects both seal species found around Scotland’s coast – the harbour seal and the grey seal. At this time of year grey seals are reaching the end of their pupping season and you may see pups by themselves on the coastline. They are not abandoned – it is entirely natural for the mothers to depart after weaning them. Once the pups have gone through the moult they too will take to the water. If there is any concern about pups, please contact the SSPCA who will arrange for the pup to be monitored/taken into rehabilitation if required.
In this month’s blog, I want to take you back to an influential account of the Gàidhealtachd written by a Gael. Skyeman Martin Martin’s A Description of the Western Islands of Scotland, published in London in 1703, is full of gems about the relationship between the Gaels and their environment. Today, I am going to look at what he tells us about seals – but brace yourselves, for his matter-of-fact account is of its day and displays no great sympathy for the lives of the animals, which were heavily exploited, as was the case in other maritime communities of the North Atlantic. Although Martin’s narrative mentions seals on several islands, his most detailed account is of North Uist, and this blog will restrict itself to his experiences on that particular island.
Off the west coast of North Uist, Martin tells us about a rock called Eousmil which was ‘famous for the yearly fishing of seals’, the hunt being conducted every October. The rock – which appears to be the one given as Causamul on modern maps – belonged to ‘the farmers of the next adjacent lands’, although the bounty was not equally divided among the tenants. The man who provided the boat to get to the rock received a larger than average share, and the Parish Minister was given the choice of the best of the young seals, known as Cullen-Mory i.e. Cuilean Moire ‘the Virgin Mary’s pup’. After the Minister had made his choice, the Steward of the island and his Officer each received their own pup.
Martin notes that the seal hunters would ‘always embark with a contrary wind, for their security against being driven away by the ocean, and likewise to prevent them being discovered by the seals, who are apt to smell the scent of them, and presently run to sea.’ The killing was efficient and unsympathetic – conducted by blows to the head as the seals attempted to reach the sea. Those that made it through the human cordon would be shot at by the hunters who remained on the boat ‘but few are catched that way’. Martin writes that ‘the natives told me that several of the biggest seals lose their lives by endeavouring to save their young ones, whom they tumble before them towards the sea’ and that up to 320 seals, young and old, have been killed at one time in this place. Set against what might be termed ‘brutality’, as viewed from a modern perspective, is the apparent sustainability of the seal harvest over a long historical period.
The author makes the observation that the hunting took place in October as that was when the seals gave birth, whereas the animals on the east side of North Uist, which were smaller, produced offspring in the middle of June. It isn’t clear if Martin understood that here were two different species – the Atlantic Grey seal on the west and the Harbour or Common seal on the east coast. He tells us also of a practice that had by then fallen into disuse, whereby people caught grey seals, not on land, but in the water in a narrow channel between two of the islands of Heisker (off the west of North Uist). They would twist together several ropes of horsehair, shaping it like a purse net, and the seals were caught by ‘opening and shutting this hair-net’.
The Uibhistich – and Martin himself – were highly observant of the habits of the seals. On several occasions, Martin observed seals taking the skin off a fish before eating it; they would hold the head of the fish in their teeth and ‘pluck the skin off each side with their sharp-pointed nails’. The locals also noted that male seals would become intensely jealous of another male that had developed a relationship with its mate. A ‘bloody conflict’ would ensue which would give ‘a red tincture to the sea in that part where they fight’. Martin was also told that seals would kiss each other and that the mother would ‘put its young away from sucking, as soon as it is able to provide for itself; and this is not done without many severe blows.’ He also observes in his publication that ‘Nature hath formed the point of the tongue of the young [seal] cloven, without which it could not suck.’
The harvesting of seals, of course, was not a wanton practice without purpose. The marine mammals made an important contribution to the domestic economy of the islanders, most notably for food and medicinal purposes, although the skins were also used. Martin tells us that the people of the islands would cut a seal skin into long pieces and use it instead of ropes to fix the plough to their horses when they were ploughing the ground. Some of them would wear a girdle of seal skin around their middle as a cure for sciatica in a similar manner to ‘those of the shire of Aberdeen [who] wear it to remove the Chin-cough’.
Martin tells us that the seal was reckoned one of the swiftest creatures in the sea, which corresponds with the well-known Gaelic saying – giomach is rionnach is ròn, trì seòid a’ chuain ‘lobster and mackerel and seal, the three heroes of the ocean’, and he notes the animal’s capacity for leaping out of the water ‘in cold weather’ (although this blogger has observed harbour seals engaging in such behaviour during the summer). But he also makes this unusual observation: ‘the skin of [the seal] is white in summer and darker in winter; and … their hair stands on end with the flood [tide] and falls again at the ebb.’ I would love to know if any modern authority agrees with this last detail!
Seal flesh was commonly eaten in North Uist. The fresh flesh of young animals, and broth made thereof, was considered to be ‘pectoral’ (useful in relieving disorders of the chest or respiratory tract), and the meat of older animals was ‘astringent’ (causing the contraction of bodily tissues) and was ‘used as an effectual remedy against the diarrhea and dysenteria’. Dried, pulverised seal liver was also consumed, after being mixed with milk, whisky or red wine, as a cure for ‘fluxes’ (abnormal discharges of bodily fluids). But Martin warns of the imperfect efficacy of the preservation of seal flesh over the autumn and winter months, having been ‘salted’ with burnt seaweed rather than the more effective agent, sodium chloride, the former being much more widely available and of no cost. He tells us that ‘the Vulgar eat [preserved seal meat] commonly in the Springtime with a long pointed stick instead of a fork, to prevent the strong smell which their hands would otherwise have for several hours after’!
However, Martin records that although ‘the seal was esteemed fit only for the Vulgar, [that it] was also eaten by Persons of Distinction, tho[ugh] under a different name, to wit Hamm’! And he makes an interesting observation of the different attitudes towards seal flesh in Protestant North Uist to those in the ‘Southern Isles’ which remained predominantly Catholic. The Catholics in the Southern Isles, according to Martin, would eat seals during Lent, instead of just fish (meats being prohibited). A Protestant ‘gentleman’ of Martin’s acquaintance accused a Catholic friend of ‘transgressing the rules of his Church by eating flesh in Lent’.
The latter indignantly replied that he had broken no rule for he had but eaten a ‘sea-creature which only lives and feeds upon fish’. The Protestant’s rejoinder was that the seal was amphibious and that it ‘creeps, eats, sleeps and so spends much of its time on land, which no fish can do and live’. He went on to crown his case with this amazing observation: ‘It hath also another faculty that no fish has, that is, it breaks wind backward so loudly that one might hear it at a great distance’. Martin reports this exchange matter-of-factly and without so much as an exclamation mark! In the modern era it would surely call for the inclusion of several emojis! Anyway, not to be outdone, the Catholic islander said that he would continue to consider seals to be fish until such time as ‘the Pope and his priests decide the question’!
This blog was written by Inverness-based writer, broadcaster and storyteller Roddy (Ruairidh) Maclean, whose work highlights the connections between the Gaelic language and Scotland’s environment.
Scotland's Nature 
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