The ugly animal left me no choice to doubt of its species. The moment
my fingers touched its smooth coat, I recognised it by the "feel;" but I
felt the wicked creature in a double sense, for before I could disengage
my hand from the clutch I had so rashly taken, its sharp teeth had
pierced my thumb, until they nearly met through the flesh. At the same
instant its screech sounded in my ears shrill and terrifying!
I withdrew my fingers as quickly as I could, and flinging myself to the
furthest corner of the chamber--that is, the one which I thought
furthest from my disagreeable visitor--there for some minutes I
crouched, listening to hear whether the hideous animal had left me.
I could hear nothing, and I concluded it had made a retreat to some
other part of the ship. Most probably it was as badly scared as I--
though that could hardly have been--and in proof that I was the more
frightened of the two, the rat had the presence of mind to use its teeth
and bite me, while I was for the moment quite driven out of my senses.
In the brief encounter my antagonist had certainly proved victorious;
for in addition to the fright he had given me, he had inflicted a severe
and painful wound, that was every moment growing more painful. I
perceived that my thumb was bleeding freely, for I could feel the blood
running over my fingers, and glueing them to the very tips.
I could have borne my discomfiture calmly enough, for what signified the
bite of a rat? but that was not the whole question. The thought that
troubled me was, whether the creature had quite gone away, or whether it
was still near, and would return?
The thought of its coming back again, perhaps emboldened by having got
off without punishment, caused me very great annoyance.
You may wonder at this, but it was really the case. During all my life
I have had a sort of instinctive antipathy to rats--I might even say a
_dread_ of them. This feeling was stronger while I was only a boy; but,
although I have since encountered animals of a much more dangerous
character, and fought with some, I do not remember any that ever
inspired me with more fear than I have felt in coming in contact with
that common and ubiquitous creature--the _rat_. It is a fear blended
with a feeling of disgust; and it is a fear not altogether unfounded--
for I know of many well-authenticated cases, in which rats have attacked
human beings, and not a few where children, and even men, wounded or
otherwise disabled, have actually been killed and devoured by these
hideous _omnivora_.
Many such stories had been told me while I was a boy; and it was but
natural I should remember them at that moment. I _did_ remember them;
and under the influence of such memories, I felt a fear upon me very
much akin to terror. The rat, too, was one of the largest I had ever
encountered, so large that for a moment I could scarce believe it to be
a rat. It _felt_ as bulky as a half-grown cat.
As soon as I became a little composed, I tied up my thumb with a rag
torn from my shirt. The wound in a few minutes' time had grown
exceedingly painful--for the tooth of a rat is almost as poisonous as
the bite of a scorpion--and small as was the scratch, I anticipated a
good deal of suffering from it.
I need not add that the incident had banished sleep, at least for a
time. In reality I did not go to sleep again till nearly morning; and
then I awoke every minute or two with a start--from fearful dreams, in
which the vision was either a rat or a crab making to seize me by the
throat!
For hours before I slept at all, I lay listening to see if the brute
would return; but I did not note any signs of his presence for the
remainder of that night. Perhaps the _squeeze_ I had given him--for I
had come down rather heavily upon him--had frightened him enough to
hinder a repetition of his visit. With this hope I consoled myself,
else it might have been still longer before I should have slept.
Of course, the presence of the rat at once accounted for the
disappearance of my half biscuit, as well as for the damaged upper
leather of my buskin, which latter had been lying at the door of his
milder cousin the mouse. The rat, then, must have been prowling around
me all the while, without my having known of it.
During the hours I lay listening, before falling asleep again, my mind
was busy with one particular thought--that was, how I should manage in
case the rat should return? How was I to destroy--or, at all events,
get rid of--this most unwelcome intruder? I would at that moment have
given a year of my life for the loan of a steel trap, or any trap that
would take rats; but since the loan of a trap was out of the question, I
set my brains to work to invent some contrivance that would enable me to
rid myself of my unpleasant neighbour: neighbour I might call him, for I
knew that his house was not far off--perhaps at that moment he had his
den not three feet from my face--likely enough, under the biscuit-box or
the cask of brandy.
Cudgel my brains as I might I could hit upon no plan to get hold of
him--at least, no plan to trap him with safety. I felt pretty sure I
could lay my hands upon him, provided he came near enough, just as I had
done already; but I was in no humour to repeat that performance. I knew
the crevice by which he had retreated. It was the aperture between the
two great barrels--the brandy-cask and the water-butt.
I fancied he would return the same way, if he came back at all; and it
occurred to me that if I were to stop up all the other apertures except
that one--which I could easily do with pieces of cloth--let him come in,
and then suddenly cut off his retreat by caulking that one also, I
should have him in the trap. But this would be placing myself in an
awkward situation. I should be in the trap as well as he, and he no
nearer destruction than ever, unless I finished him by a hand-to-hand
tussle. Of course, I knew I could conquer and kill the rat. My
superior strength would enable me to squeeze him to death between my
hands, but not without getting a good many severe bites, and the one I
had got already hindered me from having any relish for another encounter
of the kind.
How, then, was I to manage without a trap? That was the thought that
occupied me as I lay sleepless and in dread of the rat returning.
But I cogitated to no purpose. It was well-nigh morning, when, worn
with watching and planning, I fell off into the half-dozing
half-dreaming State--of which I have already spoken--and still no
feasible plan had offered itself for entrapping the "vermin" that was
causing me so much annoyance and alarm.