A DELUSIVE REFUGE
The night after that terrible chase the hare made his way back to the
farm; but there he met only fresh troubles. First he was driven from
Johanna’s Garden by a man cutting the hedge, and compelled to slink away
in a blaze of sunshine, which was torture to him; next, when sitting in
the clover he was pestered by a yearling, that kept rubbing him with her
nose. Despite the buffeting he gave her, she annoyed him so much that in
the end he had no choice but to get up and steal away to the
cabbage-pile. A week later he was driven from this retreat by old Betty,
who came and cut the very cabbage that sheltered him. Thereupon he
returned to the seat on the hedge, and continued to use it until one
morning he found a weasel curled up there. Then he forsook it for good.
That night, when considering where he should pass the coming day, his
thoughts, as always in time of worry, turned to the hill, and at the
approach of dawn, instead of heading for the farm, he set his face for
Chapel Carn Brea. He was quite elated at the prospect of returning to
the familiar upland; he even made up his mind where to sit; yet all came
to nothing, for when he was a mile on the way another retreat won his
favour and turned him from his purpose.
As he skirted the large pool on the Land’s End moor his ever alert eyes
fell on the tiny island in its midst; immediately there flashed on his
mind an idea of the immunity from molestation such a retreat would
afford. There, with the water around him, he felt that he would be safer
than anywhere else; that neither fox nor cat, polecat nor weasel, would
disturb him, nor man intrude; in short, that the islet offered the
sanctuary he had often longed for and hitherto sought in vain. But there
was one disadvantage, and a most serious one—the apparent impossibility
of reaching the island without swimming. He knew from his experience at
the mill-pool that no amount of shaking could dry a wet coat
sufficiently to make sitting in it endurable for a whole day; and
because of this he was on the point of abandoning the project and
continuing his way, when, on second thoughts, prompted by the low state
of the water, he decided to try whether he could reach the island by
wading.
After looking round to see that he was not observed, he entered the pool
and made straight for a rock where he meant to land before attempting to
gain his goal, which lay just beyond it. But the water was soon so deep
that at every step he dreaded finding himself out of his depth.
Nevertheless, he was able to keep touch of the bottom until within some
ten yards of the rock: there suddenly he had to rear on his hind legs to
prevent his shoulders from being submerged. Most hares in this situation
would have wheeled round and made for shore; but the jack was not so
easily thwarted. A difficult situation called forth his resource: before
you could count three, so quick was he to act, he was advancing on his
hind legs over the rough bed, and he actually succeeded in gaining the
rock without wetting more than a few inches of his coat. He stood a
moment on the rock to shake the water from his chest and belly, then
examined the strait between him and the island. It was far too deep to
bottom, apparently far too wide to cross by a standing leap. But he
meant to try. The worst that could befall him was a good drenching and
the consequent abandonment of his plan. Twice he gathered himself to
spring; as often he drew back; he was not satisfied with the hold of his
front feet. A third time he gathered his strong hind limbs well under
him, got a firm grip of the rock with his fore pads, launched himself
with all the force he was capable of, and landed high and dry with a few
inches to spare. After surveying his refuge, he leapt to the spot he had
selected for his seat, and squatting close to the ground with his ears
pressed close on his back, was indistinguishable from his surroundings.
The sudden disappearance of the animal which an instant before had been
so very conspicuous was little short of magical; even when the sun rose
it was difficult to pick him out, so happily did his colouring blend
with the russet of the fern and the gold and grey of the lichens. One
thing alone betrayed him, his eyes: they were wide open, maintaining
their unbroken watch. For months they had kept vigil on cornfield,
pasturage, and the enclosing hedges; now they scanned a waste of sullen
mere and barren moor without sign of life save a wheatear flitting from
stack to stack of the turf that dotted the heathery ground.
A harmless intruder was this frail bird; equally harmless the seagulls
which came almost daily to drink and bathe and preen their plumage. At
times the islet was ringed with their elegant forms: they might have
been taken for the bodyguard of the hare, if there had been anything to
suggest danger.
Dawn after dawn the hare stole back to his island retreat, where after
awhile he began to throw aside his ordinary precautions and to relax his
vigilance, passing the day in careless content. One noon he even grew so
reckless as to abandon his usual wakeful position and rest on his side,
with head and ears erect, his hind legs stretched out to their full
length, and the white underfur exposed in a way that would have betrayed
him to any prying eyes. The following day, soothed by the hot sun and
the ripple against the bank, he actually fell so soundly asleep as to be
insensible to his surroundings.
Alas, he was soon to be rudely apprised of the insecurity of his refuge,
which was in fact an ancient holt of the otters that visited the pool.
The awakening came on the nineteenth day in this wise. He was just back
in the form casting his restless eyes about him as usual, when he saw
something rise to the surface of the mere and almost instantly sink from
view. The grey light and a mist prevented him from seeing clearly; yet
he knew that it was an otter. At once he became alarmed for his safety,
because he felt almost sure that the intruder would seek the island to
couch on.
He was on the point of obeying his instinct to steal away whilst there
was yet time, but irresolution held him back. He half rose; he resettled
himself; he wavered again, and finally decided to await the issue. There
he sat, watching and hoping that the creature would seek harbourage in
the reeds beyond the spot where he had seen it. Minutes passed without a
sign, he thought that his hopes were realised; he had almost ceased to
scan the pool, when to his dismay the otter rose with a snort within a
few yards, and lay motionless with his black bead-like eyes fixed on the
island. It was a trying moment for the hare; had he moved ever so
slightly the otter must have seen him, but he remained as rigid as the
rock beside him; even his nostrils were at rest.
Presently, shaking the water out of her ears, the otter dived, only,
however, to reappear with an eel in her mouth and land where the only
creek on the islet had often invited her. Scarcely more than her length
from the hare she lay down at full length with her head towards the
water, and, holding the prey firmly between her fore paws, proceeded to
devour it. Her wet coat gleamed when the sun rose across the level waste
marking moor and pool with the shadows of the turf-stacks, yet the otter
took no notice of the unfriendly rays; she was too much engrossed with
her prey. Once she looked up, but no noise had attracted her; the
slicing and champing of the flesh by her sharp white teeth was the only
sound of that hushed hour. When she had eaten part of the fish, she
dropped the remainder, advanced a few inches into the water and washed
her muzzle with her great splayed foot, interrupting her ablutions to
listen momentarily to the faint echo raised by a train of pack-mules.
Then she returned to the islet and rolled on the fern. Now this way, now
that, the long sleek creature turned and twisted, approaching
dangerously near the little knoll against which the hare was pressed so
close as to look scarcely more than half his size. At last, having dried
her coat, she sought a clump of osmunda some five lengths from the hare,
coiled herself up, and fell asleep.
Now again there was an opportunity for the hare to steal away: surely he
would take advantage of it. But no; rather than run the risk of
awakening the otter and being pursued, he decided to wait till twilight
should call his enemy away and leave the way clear for him to effect his
escape. So he sat watching the flank of the otter rise and fall, his
gaze never shifting, even when a cormorant rose close to the island and
looked at him with its green eyes before resuming its fishing.
Meanwhile the otter lay unconscious of the presence of the bird; but
towards sundown the scream of a gull, and again soon after, the croak of
a raven caused her suddenly to stir and scan the moor in order to
satisfy herself that there was no cause for alarm. A glance telling her
that all was well, she immediately lowered her head and dropped off
again. The raven that had alighted close to the pool remained till near
roosting time, and then flew away in the direction of the cliffs.
The bird was still in sight when an altogether unlooked-for intruder
arrived. An old man with a dog at his heels came on the moor driving two
donkeys to fetch turf; whilst he was loading the panniers from one of
the stacks the terrier trotted to the pool to drink. There he hit the
scent left by the otter at dawn. In an instant he was all excitement;
being as intelligent as he was keen-nosed, he concluded that the otter
must be lying on the island, and his one thought was to get at it. He
entered the water and struck out as fast as he could swim. The otter,
startled out of her sleep by a shout from the man, was at once on the
alert, and when the dog drew near she slipped into the water; but the
dog had seen her. Then a strange thing happened; the cormorant chancing
to rise in the line of pursuit, the terrier took up the chase of the
bird as if ignorant of the change of quarry. His master of course
recalled him; he swam to shore; and immediately he landed, the otter,
who was watching from the reeds, returned to the island, reaching it in
one long dive. She landed at the creek as before, and crouching through
the fern stole towards her lair.
She had taken but a step or two when she suddenly stopped, and turning
her mask examined the ground to her left. She had caught the scent of
the hare; she knew he was close by, and she was doing her utmost to
descry him. She looked here, she looked there, and at last, as she was
about to advance, she made him out. On the instant she sank slowly to
the ground; she feared that quick movement on her part would put the
prey to flight before she was free to pursue, for her shy nature
restrained her from exposing herself to view of man and dog. So there
she stayed, eyeing the timid prey which met her gaze with a frightened
stare. Presently the man left with his donkeys. Now surely the otter
would try and secure the prize. But no, she was in no hurry; the sun
would soon be down, then she would secure him.
In that tense interval the hare again rehearsed, as he had done half a
score times since he had been face to face with his enemy, the steps of
his escape. The first leap he reckoned would land him on the far side of
the islet, the next on the rock, a third in the water, on recollection
of the depth of which he endured the agonies of a nightmare as in
imagination he saw the ferocious brute overtaking him while he
floundered; but the feeling passed, leaving him as undaunted as ever and
determined to make a supreme effort to escape.
By this the sun approached the level of the moor; the gulls had left;
the cormorant, which had stood and dried its wings on the rock, flew low
over the lurid surface of the pool, looking black as the raven against
the crimson disc: the actors in the impending tragedy were left
absolutely alone. Soon, less than half the great orb remained above the
horizon; in a few minutes, which seemed as many hours to the hare, it
had sunk to the merest arc; then it disappeared.
This was the instant that the hare awaited; the otter knew it, and the
hare saw that she knew it; the sudden gathering of her limbs proclaimed
it. With a tremendous bound he was off, with the otter in hot pursuit.
It was a close chase; for though the hare gained the rock a good ten
feet ahead of the otter and increased his lead to fully fifteen at his
next spring, the water, as he had foreseen, impeded his further progress
so much that he seemed to be at the mercy of his swiftly advancing
enemy. What floundering, what splashing by the hare! What ploughing of
the water by the otter in her desperate haste! Foot by foot she gained
till at last her nose all but touched his hind legs. It looked as if she
must seize him; so she would have done but for a timely rock which gave
the hare the foothold he needed. The spring he made from it was one of
the longest of his life; it landed him well on to the shallows; two more
leaps and he was on the heather, over which he sped like the wind. How
good the herbage felt under his feet! Further pursuit was vain; yet the
otter, maddened at the loss of the prey she had accounted hers, held on
at her best speed to the corner of the pool before checking her steps to
watch the hare. He stood awhile and returned her gaze. Then he shook his
coat and resumed his way over the darkening moor.