At last the time
came for Tam Dale to take young solans. This was a business he was
weel used wi', he had been a craigsman frae a laddie, and trustit
nane but himsel'. So there was he hingin' by a line an' speldering
on the craig face, whaur its hieest and steighest. Fower tenty
lads were on the tap, hauldin' the line and mindin' for his
signals. But whaur Tam hung there was naething but the craig, and
the sea belaw, and the solans skirlin and flying. It was a braw
spring morn, and Tam whustled as he claught in the young geese.
Mony's the time I've heard him tell of this experience, and aye the
swat ran upon the man.
It chanced, ye see, that Tam keeked up, and he was awaur of a
muckle solan, and the solan pyking at the line. He thocht this by-
ordinar and outside the creature's habits. He minded that ropes
was unco saft things, and the solan's neb and the Bass Rock unco
hard, and that twa hunner feet were raither mair than he would care
to fa'.
"Shoo!" says Tam. "Awa', bird! Shoo, awa' wi' ye!" says he.
The solan keekit doon 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 aboot him. "If I get a dwam here," he toucht, "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 laighter,
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 heid 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 whilly-wha 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 niether 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."
Sure eneuch, nae time was lost, and that was ower muckle; for
before they won to North Berwick Tam was in a crying fever. He lay
a' the simmer; and wha was sae kind as come speiring for him, but
Tod Lapraik! Folk thocht afterwards that ilka time Tod cam near
the house the fever had worsened. I kenna for that; but what I ken
the best, that was the end of it.
It was about this time o' the year; my grandfaither was out at the
white fishing; and like a bairn, I but to gang wi' him. We had a
grand take, I mind, and the way that the fish lay broucht us near
in by the Bass, whaur we foregaithered wi' anither boat that
belanged to a man Sandie Fletcher in Castleton. He's no lang deid
neither, or ye could speir at himsel'. Weel, Sandie hailed.
"What's yon on the Bass?" says he.
"On the Bass?" says grandfaither.
"Ay," says Sandie, "on the green side o't."
"Whatten kind of a thing?" says grandfaither. "There cannae be
naething on the Bass but just the sheep."
"It looks unco like a body," quo' Sandie, who was nearer in.