CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
A BIT OF NATURE.
There seems plenty of reason in supposing that the tremendously loud,full-throated roar of the lion at night is intended to scare the greatbrute's prey into betraying its whereabouts at times, at others toparalyse it with fright and render it easy of capture. Much has beenwritten about the fascinating power of the snake, but this fascination,from quiet observation, appears to be nothing more nor less than theparalysis caused by fear, and suffered by plenty of objects in theanimal world. One might begin with man himself, and the many instanceswhere, in the face of a terrible danger, he becomes perfectly weak andhelpless. He is on a railway track, and a fast train is coming. Onespring, and he would be safe; but how often it happens that he nevermakes that spring.
Take another instance. There is a fire at some works. It is spreadingfast, and the cry arises, "Save the horses in the stables!" Men rushand fling open the doors; the halters are cast loose, but too often thepoor brutes will not stir even for blows: fascinated by the danger, theystay in the stable and are burned.
Go into the woods on some pleasant summer day, in one of the pleasantsandy districts, where the sweet, lemony odour of the pine-trees floatsthrough the sunny air, and the woodland slope is dotted with holes, andfreshly scratched out patches of yellowish sand abound. Sit down anddon't move, and in a short time, quite unexpectedly, you will seerabbits seated in front of these holes. You have not seen them comeout, for they seem to arrive there instantaneously--first one or two,then several; and if there is neither movement nor noise, more and morewill appear, to begin nibbling the grass at the edge of the wood, orplaying about, racing after each other, almost as full of pranks askittens. Now and then one will raise itself upon its hind-legs like adog begging, ears erect and quivering, now turned in one direction, nowin another. Then, all at once, _rap, rap_!--that sharp alarm stampgiven by the foot--there is a wild race, and dozens of white cottonytails are seen disappearing at the mouths of holes, and in anotherinstant not a rabbit is to be seen.
What was it? You listen, but all seems still. You can hear thetwittering of birds, perhaps the harsh call of a jay, or the laughingchatter of a magpie, but those familiar sounds would not have startledthe rabbits; and if you are new to such woodland matters, you willconclude that some one of the nearest fur-coated fellows must havecaught sight of you, called out danger, and sent the colony flying. Butif you are accustomed to the woods and the animal nature there, you willlisten, and in a short time hear that which startled the little animals,the cry reaching their sensitive ears long before it penetrated yourduller organs.
There it is again--a fine-drawn, shrill, piercing cry as of some animalin trouble. This is repeated at intervals till it comes nearer andnearer, and develops into a querulous, frightened scream uttered by somelittle creature in fear or pain.
Both, say; for in another moment a fine grey rabbit comes into sightrunning slowly, and looking in nowise distressed by over-exertion as itpasses on in front of where you sit, going in and out among the treetrunks and ferns, paying no heed to the many burrows, each of whichwould make a harbour of refuge and perhaps save its life, though that isvery doubtful. It might, too, you think, save itself by rushing off atfull speed, as it would if it caught sight of you, or a dog chased it.But no, it goes on running slowly, uttering at times its terrifiedscream, which you hear again and again long after the rabbit hasdisappeared--a cry which seems to say: "It's all over; I am marked down,and though I keep on running, I can never get away. It will catch mesoon."
And it is so, for poor bunny is doomed. He is being hunted down by aremorseless enemy who is on his scent, and now comes into sight in turn,running in a leisurely way exactly along the track taken by the rabbit,though this is out of sight. There seems to be no hurry on the part ofthe little, slight, snaky-looking, browny-grey animal, with its piercingeyes, rounded ears, creamy-white breast, and black-tipped tail.
The weasel--for that it is--does not seem above an eighth of the size ofthe rabbit, a kick from whose powerful hind-leg could send it flyingdisabled for far enough. But the little, keen, perky-looking creatureknows that this will not be its fate, and comes loping along upon itsleisurely hunt, pausing now and then to look sharply around for danger,and then gliding in and out among the undergrowth, leaping overprostrate pieces of branch, and passing on in front just as the rabbitdid a few minutes before, and then disappearing among the ferns; itskeen-scented nostrils telling it plainly enough the direction in whichthe rabbit has gone, though the screams might have deceived the ear.
Not long since I was witness of an instance of so-called fascination inthe homely cases of cat and mouse. Not the ordinary domestic mouse, forthe little animal was one of the large, full-eyed, long-tailed gardenmice, and my attention was directed to it by seeing the cat making whatsporting people call "a point" at something. Puss was standingmotionless, watching intently, ready to spring at any moment, and uponlooking to see what took her attention, there at the foot of an oldtree-stump stood the very large mouse, not three feet from its enemy,and so paralysed or fascinated by fear, that it paid no heed to myapproaching so closely that I could have picked it up. It was perfectlyunable to stir till I gave puss a cuff and sent her flying without hernatural prey, when the mouse darted out of sight.
The roaring of the lions seemed to exercise this fascination even uponDyke, who made no movement to fire, while he could hear the otherbullocks, evidently huddling together in mortal fear--a fear whichattacked him now, as the bellowings of the unfortunate bullock becamemore agonised, then grew fainter, and died off in a piteous sigh.
Then, and then only, did Dyke seem to start back into the fullpossession of his faculties; and raising the gun, he stood listening, soas to judge as nearly as possible whereabouts to fire.
A sharp crack, as of a bone breaking, told him pretty nearly where thespot must be, not fifty yards from where he stood; and, taking a guessaim--for he could not see the sight at the end of the barrel--he wasabout to draw trigger, when, at almost one and the same moment, Dukeuttered a frightened snarl: there was a rush, and the boy fired now atrandom, fully aware of the fact that a lion must have crept up within afew yards, and been about to spring either at him or the dog, when thefierce, snarling growls made it alter its intention.
They say that discretion is the better part of valour, and it would behard to set Dyke's movement in retreat down to cowardice, especiallywhen it is considered that he was almost blind in the darkness, whilehis enemy was provided by nature with optics which were at their best inthe gloom of night.
Dyke moved back into the house, where, partly sheltered, and with thedog close to his feet, watchful as he was himself, and ready to givewarning of danger, he waited, listening for the next sound.
This was long in coming, for the lions seemed to have been scared awayby the report of the piece--it was too much to believe that the beastwhich had charged was hit--but at last _crick, crack_, and a tearingnoise came from out of the darkness toward the stables, and takinganother guess aim, the boy fired and listened intently as he reloadedhis piece.
Once more there was silence till a distant roar was heard, and Dyke felthopeful that he had scared away his enemy; but hardly had he thoughtthat, when the cracking and tearing noise arose once more, tellingplainly enough that if the beast had been scared away, it had only beenfor a short distance, and it had now returned to feed.
Dyke's piece rang out again, as he fired in the direction of the sounds,all feeling of dread now being carried away by the excitement, and asense of rage that, in all probability, one of the best draught oxen hadbeen pulled down and was being eaten only a few yards from where hestood.
Crack went a bone once more, as the noise of the piece died out, showingthat the lion had ceased to pay attention to the report.
And now Dyke fired again, and backed right into the house, startled bythe result, for this time his bullet had evidently told--the lionuttering a savage, snarling roar, which was fo
llowed by a crash, as ifcaused by the monster leaping against one of the fences in an effort toescape.
Then once more all was still. The tearing and rending had ceased, andthough the boy listened patiently for quite an hour, no animal returnedto the savage banquet.
At last, tired out, Dyke closed and secured the door, to sit down andwait for day, no disposition to sleep troubling him through the rest ofthe night. Once or twice he struck a match to hold it near hisbrother's face, but only to find him lying sleeping peacefully, thereports of the gun having had no effect whatever; while as the lightflashed up, Dyke caught a glimpse of the dog crouching at the door, withhead low, watching and listening for the approach of a foe.
But no enemy came, and at the first flush of dawn Dyke opened the doorcautiously, to look out and see one of the cows, all torn and bloody,lying half-a-dozen yards from its shed; and just within the first fence,where a gap had been broken through, crouched a full-grown lioness,apparently gathering itself up for a spring.
Diamond Dyke Page 22