The self-binder has favoured the chance of escape for those rabbits
that camp out in the corn. In these days of neatly tied sheaves the
rabbit that makes a dash, with a little dodging and jumping, may find
a fair course, and can see ahead; and it is almost impossible to run
down a rabbit that sets its face from the corn to some other known
shelter, unless the distance is very great. In olden days, when the
corn was not tied as it was cut, but was thrown out loosely by the
rakes of the reaper, then the chances of escape were all against the
rabbit. He could not run through the corn, or jump over it, nor could
he even see where he was going. All that the harvester had to do was to
hurl himself on the corn where he suspected the rabbit to lurk, and pin
it down. Sometimes, while he was feeling for the rabbit, it would bolt
unseen through his legs, to fall an easy prey to another harvester,
perhaps some fat old dame who had never been known to run. The sport is
full of luck. A man may run until he and the rabbit are at the point
of exhaustion; the man falls, but the rabbit struggles on for a yard
or two farther, and another catches the prize. We have known a man,
in falling exhausted, to actually fall on the rabbit he was chasing.
Once let a rabbit get clear away from the standing corn, the speediest
runner can do no more than keep an eye on its bobbing tail during
the first hundred yards of its dash for freedom. But by ruthlessly
following the tail, in a large field a man may walk it down; for a
rabbit will soon run itself to a standstill, or in despair will creep
to hide beneath the cut corn. The rabbit is faint-hearted; if he once
loses his bearings, he loses his senses also; but it is surprising
with what perseverance he will run when he can see a haven of safety
ahead.
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