“Shoo!” says Tam. “Awa’, bird! Shoo, awa’ wi’ ye!” says he.
The solan keekit doun into Tam’s face, and there was something unco in the creature’s ee. Just the ae keek it gied, and back to the rope. But now it wroucht and warstl’t like a thing dementit. There never was the solan made that wroucht as that solan wroucht; and it seemed to understand its employ brawly, birzing the saft rope between the neb of it and a crunkled jag o’ stane.
There gaed a cauld stend o’ fear into Tam’s heart. “This thing is nae bird,” thinks he. His een turnt backward in his heid and the day gaed black about him. “If I get a dwam here,” he thocht, “it’s by wi’ Tam Dale.” And he signalled for the lads to pu’ him up.
And it seemed the solan understood about signals. For nae sooner was the signal made than he let be the rope, spried his wings, squawked out loud, took a turn flying, and dashed straucht at Tam Dale’s een. Tam had a knife, he gart the cauld steel glitter. And it seemed the solan understood about knives, for nae suner did the steel glint in the sun than he gied the ae squawk, but laigher, like a body disappointit, and flegged aff about the roundness of the craig, and Tam saw him nae mair. And as sune as that thing was gane, Tam’s held drapt upon his shouther, and they pu’d him up like a deid corp, dadding on the craig.
A dram of brandy (which he went never without) broucht him to his mind, or what was left of it. Up he sat.
“Rin, Geordie, rin to the boat, mak’ sure of the boat, man—rin!” he cries, “or yon solan’ll have it awa’,” says he.
The fower lads stared at ither, an’ tried to whillywha him to be quiet. But naething would satisfy Tam Dale, till ane o’ them had startit on aheid to stand sentry on the boat. The ithers askit if he was for down again.
“Na,” says he, “and neither you nor me,” says he, “and as sune as I can win to stand on my twa feet we’ll be aff frae this craig o’ Sawtan.”