Pan did bark. It seemed to them that they had scarcely closed their
eyes; in reality they had slept hours; and the candle had burned short.
The clock of their minds being set, they were off the bed in an instant.
Bevis, before his eyes were hardly open, was lighting the match of the
gun; Mark had darted to the curtain at the door.
There was a thick mist and he could see nothing: in a second he snatched
out his pocket-knife (for they slept in their clothes), and cut the cord
with which Pan was fastened up just as Bevis came with the gun. Pan
raced for the aperture in the fence at the corner by the cliff--he
perfectly howled with frantic rage as he ran and crushed himself
through. They were now under the open shed outside the hut, and heard
Pan scamper without; suddenly his howl of rage stopped, there was a
second of silence, then the dog yelled with pain. The next moment he
crept back through the fence and before he was through something hurled
itself against the stockade behind him with such force that the fence
shook.
“Shoot--shoot there,” shouted Mark, as the dog crept whining towards
them. Bevis lifted the gun, but paused.
“If the thing jumps over the fence,” he said. He had but one shot, he
could not load quickly: Mark understood.
“No--no, don’t shoot. Here--here’s the bow.”
Bevis took it and sent an arrow at the fence in the corner with such
force that it penetrated the willow-work up to the feather. Then they
both ran to the gate and looked over. All this scarcely occupied a
minute.
But there was nothing to see. The thick white mist concealed everything
but the edge of the brambles near the stockade, and the tops of the
trees farther away.
“Nothing,” said Mark. “What was it?”
“Shall we go out?” said Bevis.
“No--not till we have seen it.”
“It would be better not--we can’t tell.”
“You can shoot as it jumps the fence,” said Mark, “if it comes: it will
stop a minute on the top.”
Unless they can clear a fence, animals pause a moment on the top before
they leap down. They went back to the open shed with a feeling that it
would be best to be some way inside the fence, and so have a view of the
creature before it sprang. Mark picked up an axe, for he had no weapon
but a second arrow which he had in his hand: the axe was the most
effective weapon there was after the gun. They stood under the shed,
watching the top of the stockade and waiting.
Till now they had looked upon the unknown as a stealthy thief only, but
when Pan recoiled they knew it must be something more.
“It might jump down from the cliff,” said Bevis.
While they watched the semi-circular fence in front the creature might
steal round to the cliff and leap down on the roof of the hut. Mark
stepped out and looked along the verge of the sand cliff. He could see
up through the runners of the brambles which hung over the edge, and
there was nothing there. Looking up like this he could see the pale
stars above the mist. It was not a deep mist--it was like a layer on
the ground, impenetrable to the eye longitudinally, but partially
transparent vertically. Returning inside, Mark stooped and examined
Pan, who had crept at their heels. There were no scratches on him.
“He’s not hurt,” said Mark. “No teeth or claws.”
“But he had a pat, didn’t he?”
“I thought so--how he yelled! But you look, there’s no blood. Perhaps
the thing hit him without putting its claws out.”
“They slip out when they strike,” said Bevis, meaning that as wild
beasts strike their claws involuntarily extend from the sheaths. He
looked, Pan was not hurt; Mark felt his ribs too, and said that none
were broken. There were no fragments of fur or hair about his mouth, no
remnants of a struggle.
“I don’t believe he fought at all,” said Bevis. “He stopped--he never
went near.”
“Very likely: now I remember--he stopped barking all at once; he was
afraid!”
“That was it: but he yelled--”
“It must have been fright,” said Mark. “Nothing touched him: Pan, what
was it?”
Pan wagged his tail once, once only: he still crouched and kept close to
them. Though patted and reassured, his spirit had been too much broken
to recover rapidly. The spaniel was thoroughly cowed.
“It came very near,” said Bevis. “It hit the fence while he was getting
through.”
“It must have missed him--perhaps it was a long jump. Did you hear
anything rush off.”
“No.”
“No more did I.”
“Soft pads,” said Bevis, “they make no noise like hoofs.”
“No, that was it: and it’s sandy too.” Sand “gives” a little and
deadens the sound of footsteps.
“Let’s go and look again.”
“So we will.”
They went to the gate--Pan, they noticed did not follow--and looked over
again: this time longer and more searchingly. They could see the ground
for a few yards, and then the mist obscured it like fleece among
brambles.
“Pan’s afraid to come,” said Mark, as they went back to the shed.
“The fire ought to be lit,” said Bevis. “They are afraid of fire.”
“You watch,” said Mark, “and I’ll light it.”
He drew on his boots, and put on his coat--for they ran out in waistcoat
and trousers--then he held the gun, while Bevis did the same; then Bevis
took it, and Mark hastily gathered some sticks together and lit them,
often glancing over his shoulder at the fence behind, and with the axe
always ready to his hand. When the flames began to rise they felt more
at ease; they knew that wild beasts dislike fire, and somehow fire warms
the spirit as well as the body. The morning was warm enough, they did
not need a fire, but the sight of the twisted tongues as they curled
spirally and broke away was restorative as the heat is to actual bodily
chill. Bevis went near: even the spaniel felt it, he shook himself and
seemed more cheerful.
“The thing was very near when we first went out,” said Bevis. “I wish
we had run to the gate directly without waiting for the gun.”
“But we did not know what it was.”
“No.”
“And I cut Pan loose directly.”
“It had only to run ten yards to be out of sight in the mist.”
“And it seems so dark when you first run out.”
“It’s lighter now.”
“There’s no dew.”
“Dry mist--it’s clearing a little.”
As they stood by the fire the verge of the cliff above the roof of the
hut came out clear of vapour, then they saw the trees outside the
stockade rise as it were higher as the vapour shrunk through them: the
stars were very faint.
“Lu--lu!” said Mark, pointing to the crevice between the fence and the
cliff, and urging Pan to go out again: the spaniel went a few yards
towards it, then turned and came back. He could not be induced to
venture alone.
“Lions _do_ get loose sometimes,” said Bevis thoughtfully. He had been
running over every wild beast in his mind that could by any possibility
approach them. Cases do occur every now and then of vans being
overturned, and lions and tigers escaping.
“So they do, but we have not heard any roar.”
“No, and we must have come on it if it stops on the island,” said Bevis.
“We have been all round so many times. Or does it go to and fro--do
lions swim?”
“He would have no need to,” said Mark. “I mean not after he had swum
over here, he wouldn’t go away for us--he could lie in the bushes.”
“Perhaps we have gone close by it without knowing,” said Bevis.
“There’s the ‘wait-a-bit thorns.’”
They had never been through the thicket of blackthorn.
“Pan never barked though. He’s been all round the island with us.”
“Perhaps he was afraid--like he was just now.”
“Ah, yes, very likely.”
“And we hit him too to keep him quiet, not to startle the kangaroos.”
“Or the water-fowl--so we did: we may have gone close by it without
knowing.”
“In the ‘wait-a-bits’ or the hazel.”
“Or the sedges, where it’s drier.”
“Foxes lie in withy beds--why should not this?”
“Of course: but I say--only think, we may have gone within reach of its
paw ten times.”
“While we were lying down too,” said Bevis, “in ambush It might have
been in the ferns close behind.”
“All the times we walked about and never took the gun,” said Mark; “or
the bow and arrow, or the axe, or anything--and just think! Why we came
back from the raft without even a stick in our hands.”
“Yes--it was silly: and we came quietly too, to try and see it.”
“Well, we just were stupid!” said Mark. “Only we never thought It could
be anything big.”
“But It must be.”
“Of course It is: we won’t go out again without the gun, and the axe--”
“And my bow to shoot again, because you can’t load a matchlock quick.”
“That’s the worst of it: tigers get loose too sometimes, don’t they? and
panthers more often, because there are more of them.”
“Yes, one is as dangerous as the other. Panthers are worse than lions.”
“More creepy.”
“Cattish. They slink on you; they don’t roar first.”
“Then perhaps it’s a panther.”
“Perhaps. This is a very likely place, if anything has got loose;
there’s the jungle on the mainland, and all the other woods, and the
Chase up by Jack’s.”
“Yes--plenty of cover: almost like forest.”
Besides the great wood in which they had wandered there were several
others in the neighbourhood, and a Chase on the hills by Jack’s, so that
in case of a beast escaping from a caravan it would find extensive cover
to hide in.
“Only think,” said Bevis, “when we bathed!”
“Ah!” Mark shuddered. While they bathed naked and unarmed, had it
darted from the reeds they would have fallen instant victims, without
the possibility of a struggle even.
“It _is_ horrible,” said Bevis.
“There are reeds and sedges everywhere,” said Mark. “It may be
anywhere.”
“It’s not safe to move.”
“Especially as Pan’s afraid and won’t warn us. _If_ the thing had seen
us bathing; It could not, or else--ah!”
“They tear so,” said Bevis. “It’s not the wound so much as the
tearing.”
“Like bramble hooks,” said Mark. The curved hooks of brambles and
briars inflict lacerated hurts worse than the spikes of thorns. Flesh
that is torn cannot heal like that which is incised. “O! stop! panthers
get in trees, don’t they? It may have been up in that oak that day!”
“In the ivy: we looked!”
“But the ivy is thick and we might not have seen! It might have jumped
down on us.”
“So it might any minute in the wood.”
“Then we can’t go in the wood.”
“Nor among the sedges round the shore.”
“Nor the brambles, nor fern, nor hazel.”
“Nowhere--except on the raft.”
“Then we must take care how we come back.”
“How shall we sleep!”
“Ah!--think, it might have come any night!”
“We left the gate open.”
“O! how stupid we have been.”
“It could kill Pan with one stroke.”
“And Pan was not here: he used to swim off.”
“Directly he was tied up, you recollect, the very first night, he
barked--no, the second.”
“It may have come _every_ night before.”
“Right inside the stockade--under the awning.”
“Into the hut while we were away--the bacon was on the shelf.”
“If It could jump up like that, it could jump the fence.”
“Of course; and it shows it was a cat-like creature, because it could
take one thing without disturbing another. Dogs knock things down, cats
don’t.”
“No, panthers are a sort of big cat.”
“That’s what gnawed the jack’s head.”
“And why there was no mark on the ground--their pads are so soft, and
don’t cut holes like hoofs.”
“The kangaroos too, you remember: very often they wouldn’t come out.
Something was about.”
“Of course. How could we have been so stupid as not to see this
before!”
“Why, we never suspected.”
“But we ought to have suspected. You thought you saw something move in
the sedges on Sunday.”
“So I did--it was this thing: it must have been.”
“Then it swims off and comes back.”
“Then if we hunt all over the island and don’t find It--we’re no safer,
because it may come off to us any time.”
“Any time.”
“What _shall_ we do?”
“Can’t go home,” said Bevis.
“Can’t go home,” repeated Mark.
They could not desert their island: it would have been so like running
away too, and they had so often talked of Africa and shooting big game.
Then to run away when in its presence would have lowered them in their
own estimation.
“Can’t,” said Bevis again.
“Can’t,” again repeated Mark. They _could_ not go--they must face It,
whatever it was.
“We shall have to look before every step,” said Bevis. “Up in the
trees--through the bushes--and the reeds.”
“We must not go in the reeds much: you can’t tell there--”
“No, not much. We must watch at night. First one, and then the other.”
“And keep the fire burning. There ought to be a fence along the top of
the cliff.”
“Yes--that’s very awkward: you can’t put stakes in hard sand like that.”
“We must drive in some--and cut them sharp at the top.”
“What a pity the stockade is not sharp at the top!--Nails, that’s it: we
must drive in long nails and file the tops off!”
“And put some stakes with nails along the cliff--the thing could not get
in quite so quick.”
“The gate is not very strong: we must barricade it.”
“Wish we could lock the door!”
“I should think so!”
Now they realised what is forgotten in the routine of civilised life--
the security of doors and bolts. Their curtain was no defence.
“Barricade the door.”
“Yes, but not too close, else we can’t shoot--we should be trapped.”
“I see! Put the barricade round a little way in front. Why not have
two fires, one each side!”
“Capital. We will fortify the place! Loop-holes. The weak spot will
be the edge of the cliff up there. If we put a fire there people may
see it--savages--and find us.”
“That won’t do.”
“No: we must fortify the edge somehow, stakes with nails for one thing.
Perhaps a train of gunpowder!”
“Ah, yes. Lucky we’ve got plenty to eat. It won’t be nice not to have
the gun loaded. I mean while loading the thing might come.”
“We’ve got plenty to eat.”
“And I wanted a lot of shooting to-day,” said Mark.
“All that’s spoiled.”
“Quite spoiled.”
Yesterday they had become intoxicated with the savage joy of killing,
the savage’s cruel but wild and abandoned and unutterable joy: they had
planned slaughter for to-day. To-day they were themselves environed
with deadly peril. This is the opposite side of wild life: the forest
takes its revenge by filling the mind with ceaseless anxiety.
“The sun!” said Bevis with pleasure as the rays fell aslant into the
open shed. The sun had been above the horizon some little while but had
been concealed by the clouds and thick vapour. Now that the full bright
light of day was come there seemed no need of such intense watchfulness.
It was hardly likely that they would be attacked in their stockade in
broad daylight; the boldest beasts of prey would not do that unless
driven very hard by hunger.
But when they began to prepare the breakfast, there was no water to fill
the kettle: Mark generally went down to the shore for water every
morning. Although they had no formal arrangement, in practice it had
gradually come about that one did one thing and one another: Mark got
the water, Bevis cut up wood for the fire. Mark had usually gone with
the zinc bucket, whistling down to the strand merry enough. Now he took
up the bucket, but hesitated.
“I’ll come,” said Bevis. “One can’t go alone anywhere now.”
“The other must always have the matchlock ready.”
“Always,” said Bevis, “and keep a sharp lookout all round while one does
the things. Why the gun is only loaded with shot, now I remember!”
“No more it is: how lucky It did not jump over! Shot would have been of
no use.”
“I’ll shoot it off,” said Bevis--“our ramrod won’t draw a charge--and
load again.”
“Yes, do.”
Bevis fired the charge in the air, and they heard the pellets presently
falling like hail among the trees outside. Then he loaded again with
ball, blew the match, and looked to the priming; Mark took the axe in
one hand and the bucket in the other, and they unlocked the gate.
“We ought to be able to lock it behind us,” he said.
“We’ll put in another staple presently,” said Bevis. “Step carefully to
see if there are any marks on the ground.”
They examined the surface attentively, but could distinguish no
footprints: then they went to the fence where the creature had sprung
against it. The arrow projected, and near it, on close investigation,
they saw that a piece of the bark of the interwoven willow had been torn
off as if by a claw. But look as intently as they would they could not
trace it further on such ground, the thin grass and sand would not take
an imprint.
“Pads,” said Bevis, “else there would have been spoor.”
“Tiger, or panther then: we must take care,” said Mark. “Pan’s all
right now, look.”
Pan trotted on before them along the well-known path to the shore,
swinging his tail and unconcerned. As they walked they kept a watch in
every direction, up in the trees, behind the bushes, where the surface
was hollow, and avoided the fern. When Mark had dipped, they returned
in the same manner, walking slowly and constantly on the alert.
Volume Three, Chapter XI.