We got down by a pathway to the sloping beach, which the tide had
left bare. At the point where we hoped to find some seals, we
observed several men and women gathering seaweed, preparatory to
burning it for kelp. This was a disappointment to us, since, if
there were any seals about, it was likely they would be scared away
by the kelp burners. But we walked along under the high banks as
far as the northern extremity of the bay, in expectation of finding
some sport on the outer shores.
We sat for a long while talking, as schoolboys will talk, in a
sheltered cleft of the headland, which, I believe, had once been a
cavern, and was known by the name of the Kierfiold Helyer. Here the
force of many an Atlantic storm had so worn away the face of the
rocks that the cliff was driven back to the innermost parts of the
original cave. Great pieces of granite lay about in disorder,
showing where the roof of the cavern had fallen in; and on one of
these boulders we sat until we were weary, looking out to the
water's edge, in expectation of seeing some seals appear.
Skaill Bay was our favourite spot for the sealing, and at the
proper season the seals were generally plentiful and not timid.
Indeed, so bold were they sometimes, that on a Sabbath morning,
when the bell of Sandwick Church, hard by, had been ringing for
divine service, I have seen the animals collect in numbers on the
beach to listen to the strange sound, which held them so fixed and
charmed, that it required an effort to startle them away.
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