“Don’t be an infernal fool, Eliza-a. I say, don’t be such an infernal
fool.”
Also there were lots of other noises that I cannot remember, except one
which a dog made.
This silly dog had thrust its head up the hole over a fire such as the
stops make outside the coverts when men are going to shoot, either to
hide something or to look for me there. When it came down again because
the Red-faced Man kicked it, the dog put its paws into the fire and
pulled it all out over the floor. Also it howled very beautifully. Just
then another hound, that one which generally led the pack, began to
sniff about near me and finally poked its nose under the stuff which
hid me.
It jumped back and bayed, whereon I jumped out the other side. Tom made
a rush at me and knocked the fat woman off the thing she was standing
on, so that she fell among the dogs, which covered her up and began to
sniff her all over. Flying from Tom I found myself in front of
something filmy, beyond which I saw grass. It looked suspicious, but as
nothing in the world could be so bad as Tom, no, not even his dogs, I
jumped at it.
There was a crash and a sharp point cut my nose, but I was out upon the
grass. Then there were twenty other crashes, and all the hounds were
out too, for Tom had cheered them on. I ran to the edge of the lawn and
saw a steep slope leading to the sands and the sea. Now I knew what the
sea was, for after Tom had shot me in the back I lived by it for a long
while, and once swam across a little creek to get to my form, from
which it cut me off.
While I ran down that slope fast as my aching legs would carry me, I
made up my mind that I would swim out into the sea and drown there,
since it is better to drown than to be torn to pieces. “But why are you
laughing, friend Mahatma.”
“I am not laughing,” I said. “In this state, without a body, I have
nothing to laugh with. Still you are right, for you see that I should
be laughing if I could. Your story of the stout lady and the dogs and
the china is very amusing.”
“Perhaps, friend, but it did not amuse me. Nothing is amusing when one
is going to be eaten alive.”
“Of course it isn’t,” I answered. “Please forgive me and go on.”
“Well, I tumbled down that cliff, followed by some of the dogs and Tom
and the girl Ella and the huntsman Jerry on foot, and dragged myself
across the sands till I came to the lip of the sea.”
Just here there was a boat and by it stood Giles the keeper. He had
come there to get out of the way of the hunting, which he hated as much
as he did the coursing. The sight of him settled me—into the sea I
went. The dogs wanted to follow me, but Jerry called and whipped them
off.
“I won’t have them caught in the current and drowned,” he said. “Let
the flea-bitten old devil go, she’s brought trouble enough already.”
“Help me shove off the boat, Giles,” shouted Tom. “She shan’t beat us;
we must have her for the hounds. Come on, Ella.”
“Best leave her alone, Master Tom,” said Giles. “I think she’s an
unlucky one, that I do.”
Still the end of it was that he helped to float the little boat and got
into it with Tom and Ella.
Just after they had pushed off I saw a man running down the steps on
the cliff waving his arms while he called out something. But of him
they took no heed. I do not think they noticed him. As for me, I swam
on.
I could not go very fast because I was so dreadfully tired; also I did
not like swimming, and the cold waves broke over my head, making the
cut in my nose smart and filling my eyes with something that stung
them. I could not see far either, nor did I know where I was going. I
knew nothing except I was about to die, and that soon everything would
be at an end; men, dogs—everything, yes, even Tom. I wanted things to
come to an end. I had suffered so dreadfully, life was so horrible, I
was so very tired. I felt that it was better to die and have done.
So I swam on a long way and began to forget things; indeed I thought
that I was playing in the big turnip field with my mother and sister.
But just as I was sinking exhausted a hand shot down into the water and
caught me by the ears, although from below the fingers looked as though
they were bending away from me. I saw it coming and tried to sink more
quickly, but could not.
“I’ve got her,” said the voice of Tom gleefully. “My! isn’t she a
beauty? Over nine pounds if she is an ounce. Only just in time,
though,” he went on, “for, look! she’s drowning; her head wobbles as
though she were sea-sick. Buck up, pussie, buck up! You mustn’t cheat
the hounds at last, you know. It wouldn’t be sportsmanlike, and they
hate dead hares.”
Then he held me by my hind legs to drain the water out of me, and
afterwards began to blow down my nose, I did not know why.
“Don’t do that, Tom,” said Ella sharply. “It’s nasty.”
“Must keep the life in her somehow,” answered Tom, and went on blowing.
“Master Tom,” interrupted Giles, who was rowing the boat. “I ain’t
particular, but I wish you’d leave that there hare alone. Somehow I
thinks there’s bad news in its eye. Who knows? P’raps the little devil
feels. Any way, it’s a rum one, its swimming out to sea. I never see’d
a hunted hare do that afore.”
“Bosh!” said Tom, and continued his blowing.
We reached the shore and Tom jumped out of the boat, holding me by the
ears. The hounds were all on the beach, most of them lying down, for
they were very tired, but the men were standing in a knot at a distance
talking earnestly, Tom ran to the hounds, crying out—
“Here she is, my beauties, here she is!” whereon they got up and began
to bay. Then he held me above them.
“Master Tom,” I heard Jerry’s voice say, “for God’s sake let that hare
go and listen, Master Tom,” and the girl Ella, who of a sudden had
begun to sob, tried to pull him back.
But he was mad to see me bitten to death and eaten, and until he had
done so would attend to no one. He only shouted, “One—two—three! Now,
hounds! _Worry, worry, worry!_”
Then he threw me into the air above the red throats and gnashing teeth
which leapt up towards me.
The Hare paused, but added, “Did you tell me, friend Mahatma, that you
had never been torn to pieces by hounds, ‘broken up,’ I believe they
call it?”
“Yes, I did,” I answered, “and what is more I shall be obliged if you
will not dwell upon the subject.”