The two does stared down at him. Although there was clearly nothing to be done, they remained in the open, fascinated and unmoving, for some time, until they were startled by the voices of approaching children. As they ran back into the laurels the children appeared, three or four of them together, pushing through the azaleas on the opposite side of the little glade. One of them, a boy of about eleven, broke into a run and jumped across the pit. On the further side he stopped and turned round to look down.
"I say, there's a dead rabbit down here."
A second boy joined him, peering. "It's not dead."
" 'Tis."
" 'Tisn't."
" 'Tis."
" 'Tisn't. All right, I'll show you."
The second put a hand on either side and lowered himself to the bottom. Stooping, he picked up the rabbit, which remained inert, laid it on the concrete verge and pulled himself up and out.
"I told you it was dead," said the first boy.
"I still don't believe it is. Wait, I'll get a blade of grass."
"Oh, leave it alone, both of you," cried an older girl, from beside the azaleas, "getting that nasty mess all over your hands! Leave it alone, Philip. Leave it where it is and Hemmings'll take it away if you tell him. Coo-ee!" she called in a high-pitched voice. "We're com-ing!"
The boys, leaving the body of the rabbit on the concrete, followed her round a laurustinus, over some box bushes and out of sight. Two or three minutes later, Tindra and Nyreem came cautiously out from under the laurels and approached the edge of the pit.
"Sandwort!" said Tindra, sniffing at the body. "Sandwort! He isn't dead," she added to Nyreem. "He's breathing and his blood's moving. Lick his nostrils; lick his eyelids. That's right."
The two does persevered for several minutes. At length Sandwort's head moved slightly and his eyes opened. He tried to get on his feet but for some time could not do so.
"What happened? Where's the dog? Where's Foxglove?"
"Come back under the bushes, if you can," said Tindra. "The dog's gone, but you need to rest."
It was late in the evening when the two does at last reached the ridge of the Down, with Sandwort limping and stumbling beside them. The first rabbit they met was Fiver, who sniffed Sandwort over where he lay and went to tell Hazel.
"He'd better get some sleep," said Hazel grimly. "Take him to the nearest burrow," he added to Nyreem. "As for you," he went on, turning to Tindra, "You'd better stay with me and explain yourself. What were the two of you doing down there after I'd said no one was to go?"
Poor Tindra was so much overcome by the severity of the Chief Rabbit that she was able to come out with only an incoherent stammering of mixed-up excuses that amounted to no excuse at all. Hazel gave her a sound scolding, but this was modified by the indisputable fact (which she was too demoralized to put forward for herself) that if she and Nyreem had not done what they did, Sandwort would now be dead. It was left to Hazel finally to give her credit for that.
As for Sandwort, he was a changed rabbit. He never spoke of what he had undergone and became almost excessively respectful to his seniors. One evening, several weeks after the affair of the pit, Dandelion was acting as host to a hlessi who was staying a few days in the warren. At evening silflay he was pointing out one or two personalities, when the hlessi asked, "And who's that poor afflicted rabbit who sticks so close to his doe?"
"Where?" replied Dandelion, looking about them. "Oh, that's a rabbit called Sandwort, who's had and extraordinarily lucky escape. It happened like this ..."
18
Stonecrop
Those stinks which the nostrils straight abhor are
not most pernicious, but such airs as have some similitude
with man's body, and so betray the spirits.
FRANCIS BACON, Natural History
Soon after sunrise on a perfect summer morning, Hazel came out of his burrow, through the Honeycomb and into the fresh air of the Down. Dusk and dawn are the activity times for rabbits, and already a number were grazing in twos and threes on the slope and out along the crest, paying almost no attention even to one another as they foraged through the short grass. It was a peaceful scene, and the rabbits, knowing that they had no danger to fear, were absorbed in the enjoyment of feeding in the early sunshine.
Hazel watched them with satisfaction. Again and again, since the previous spring, when Fiver's vision had brought them up the steep hill to this high ground, he had acknowledged the wisdom of choosing for a warren this lonely place where rabbits could see all about them and consequently had little to fear from their natural enemies. Scents, whether the reassuringly accustomed or the disturbingly unusual, came to them on the prevailing west wind, while their great ears could readily detect the sounds made by an intruder, man or beast, who might approach over the chalk. It was a long time now, thought Hazel contentedly, since even one rabbit of his warren had fallen prey to an enemy. This was no easy hunting ground for the Thousand--fox, stoat, dog, marauding cat or any other enemy--while above all his rabbits were not persecuted by Man. Men, though their approach was the easiest to detect of all the elil, remained the most dreaded enemy, able with guns to kill from a distance and when on these hills almost as sharp-eyed as rabbits themselves. Frith be praised, thought Hazel, basking happily in the sun, we don't have to fear men in our daily lives; those sleek youngsters over there hardly know what a man is.
Suddenly, with a shock of surprise, he cast aside his tranquillity and became fully alert. From a short distance away, on the other side of the nearby trees, came the ugly sounds of rabbits fighting--yes, fighting among themselves, for among the high-pitched snarling and angry screeches he could hear nothing of any other animal. Nor could this be mating bucks fighting over a doe, for he could hear not two but three or four rabbits together.
In the normal way and apart from mating tussles, there was almost no fighting among the Watership Down rabbits. Since there were plenty of holes and plenty of grass, there was no occasion for it. Yet, as Hazel could now distinctly hear, this was a savage, bitter encounter, full of hatred and of desperation too. He turned and ran in the direction of the noise.
Coming out from among the trees, he saw at once what was going on. Three or four of his own rabbits, whom he recognized, were together setting upon a stranger. The stranger, not unnaturally, was getting the worst of it and was pinned to the ground. But insofar as Hazel could see, he was to all appearances a hulking great rabbit and had a good deal of fight left in him.
Hazel ran up to them and pulled two of the rabbits out of the scrimmage. The remaining two sat back on their haunches and looked at him.
"What's going on?" asked Hazel. "You, Peerton, and you, Woodruff--what are you trying to do?"
"We're going to kill him, Hazelrah," panted the rabbit called Peerton, one of whose front paws looked badly bitten. "Let us alone. It won't take long."
"But what for? What's the matter?"
"Why, he doesn't just smell of men; he reeks of them," said Woodruff. "Can't you smell him, Hazelrah? Wild rabbits always have to kill a rabbit who smells of men. You know that, surely?"
Hazel did know it; had always known it as an unalterable linchpin of rabbit lore. However, he had never before seen it being put into effect. These rabbits were putting it into effect by instinct, without stopping to ask questions.
Now, with the fighting having been broken off for the moment, he certainly could smell the stranger. Involuntarily, the horrible stink made him tense with fear, so that he almost turned to run. With an effort, he pulled himself together. The four rabbits were watching his reaction closely.
"You can't say we're doing wrong, can you, Hazelrah?" said Woodruff. "Just leave us to finish."
"No," said Hazel, with all the wavering determination he could muster. "I need to talk to him; to find out how he came to smell like this. There may be some danger threatening us all."
Meeting their eyes, he could see their antagonism. His authority was hanging in the balance. But t
o say more now would be to admit doubt, to blather. He waited silently.
Hazel's standing as Chief Rabbit was high. No one resented it, and he had no enemies. However, as he realized, it was touch and go now. At length, after a considerable pause, Peerton said, "Well, Hazelrah, I hope you know what you're doing. Most of the warren aren't going to like this at all."
Still Hazel added nothing, only waiting for what he had said to prevail. Peerton looked round at his companions. Finally he said, "Everyone is going to hear of this," and slowly made off, the other three following him with no attempt to hide their feelings.
"Get up," said Hazel to the stranger. "You'd better come with me. In case you're wondering who I am, I'm the Chief Rabbit round here. You'll be safe with me."
The stranger, with some difficulty, scrambled to his feet. There was an ugly, deep gash all across his back, and one of his ears was torn. Hazel, taking him in, realized that though young, he was of formidable size and build; almost as hefty as Bigwig.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Stonecrop," replied the other.
"Well," said Hazel, "I want you to come with me to my burrow. I need to talk to you." And as Stonecrop hesitated: "Brace up. No one's going to hurt you."
They went together the short distance through the trees and down into the Honeycomb, where a little crowd of rabbits were loitering, chatting together and preparing to enjoy the fine day. As Stonecrop appeared, one and all shrank back in startled alarm and repulsion. In the enclosed Honeycomb, Stonecrop smelled still worse. Even those rabbits who had never actually smelled a man grew tense and horrified.
Hazel gazed round at them. "This is a rabbit I found outside just now. I know what you're all feeling, but I mean to talk to him, to find out something about him and how he came to smell like this."
"But great jumping horseflies, Hazelrah!" cried Hawkbit. "What on earth--"
"Shut up!" replied Hazel sharply. "You all heard me. Let him alone. And Hyzenthlay, will you come with me to my burrow?"
Once again he had the strong impression that they were shocked and obeyed him only with difficulty. Every rabbit instinct, every pattern of rabbit behavior, was weighing against him. He forced himself to walk slowly across the Honeycomb, followed by Hyzenthlay and the badly frightened Stonecrop.
"Now take it easy," said Hazel, as soon as the three of them had reached his burrow. "Have a rest. Go to sleep if you like. How do you feel?"
"Could be worse," answered Stonecrop. "I'm ready to talk, if that's what you want."
"Well," said Hazel, "you obviously know, of course, that you smell very strongly of Man and that that's why all these rabbits are against you and feel they have to kill you. Hyzenthlay and I want to know how you've come to smell like this and whether we have anything to fear from the men you've been with."
For some little time, Stonecrop made no reply. At length he said, "I've never had anything to do with wild rabbits before."
"How's that come about, then?" said Hazel.
"I was born in a hutch," replied Stonecrop. "There were four of us in the litter, two does and two bucks--counting me, that is. As soon as our eyes were open and we had some fur, our mother told us how she'd been hit by a hrududu and knocked unconscious a good many days before we were born. The men in the hrududu, she said, had picked her up and taken her home with them. They'd expected her to die, but she didn't and they'd put her in this hutch, where she gave birth to us. There were two human children--girls--who used to give her food and water. She was a very big, strong doe, was our mother, and that's why she hadn't died when the hrududu hit her and why she didn't die in the hutch."
"What was her name?" asked Hyzenthlay.
"Thrennion," answered Stonecrop. "She told us that thrennions are pretty red berries that grow on bushes in winter, but of course I've never seen thrennion berries--not yet.
"Well, she recovered--or partly recovered, anyway--and was able to suckle us, so that we grew up. The human girls looked after us carefully, and as we got bigger they used to bring us dandelion leaves and chopped-up carrots--we learned those names from Mother. I was the biggest and strongest of us, and one of the human girls used to make a great fuss of me. She'd lift me out of the hutch and hold me to show to her friends. I think she hoped I'd grow up tame, but I didn't. I used to struggle, and I was always looking for a chance to get away; but she held me tightly. And anyway, before she took me out of the hutch, she used to shut all the doors and windows, so I thought there was no chance.
"I'm surprised we lived, for we were always fretting and pining. We were unhappy. Mother used to tell us stories about life in the wild and said that we must always be watching for any chance there might be to get away.
"Mother died. She just pined away, and after she'd gone we all began to feel even more desperate. I was the one with the best chance, because I was the girl's favorite and got lifted out of the hutch more than the others. And it was at one of these times, when she'd lifted me out, that I saw there was a hole in the wall--a hole at floor level. There was a man who used to scrub the floor--it was a smooth, hard floor--with a stiff broom, and he used to brush the dirty water out through that hole. I noticed carefully whereabouts it was.
"One day, not long ago, the two girls lifted me out to show a friend, another girl. And as near as I could make out, this other girl was begging to be allowed to hold me just for a few moments. She was older than the other two, and they didn't like to refuse her.
"The girl who was holding me was just passing me across to the bigger girl, when somehow or other she fumbled, and I felt that my back legs were free. I gave a tremendous backward kick and felt my claws tear this girl's bare arm all the way up. She screamed, and I just leaped and landed on the floor. The girls tried to grab me, but I scrambled away and ran like mad for the drain hole. I went straight through it and found myself in a yard.
"I had no idea which way to go. I simply ran. I was lucky. I got out of the yard and found myself in a field full of big animals. You call them cows, don't you? I ran across that and got into a lot of trees, and there I hid all night. No other animals troubled me, and now, of course, I know why.
"I wandered about, feeding and hiding, for quite a few days, and one night I met a hedgehog who didn't seem to mind the way I smelled. The hedgehog told me there were a lot of rabbits who lived up the hill. I stayed near him that night, and as soon as it began to get light I asked him the way. He said, 'Straight up the hill,' so up I went.
"I was just settling down for a rest in the grass at the top, when these rabbits--your rabbits, aren't they?--found me and sniffed me over. Then they all set upon me. I fought as hard as I could, but naturally the four of them got me down. They kept crying out, 'Kill him! Kill him!' and they would have killed me, sure enough, if you hadn't come and saved me.
"What's going to happen now? Are some other rabbits going to kill me? Are you going to kill me?"
"No," said Hazel. "Hyzenthlay and I will see to that. You're safe here. But for the moment you must stay in this burrow. Don't go out on any account. One of us will stay with you today."
"But whatever are we going to do with him?" asked Hyzenthlay. "You know the rabbit lore. The warren will never accept him."
"I know," replied Hazel, "but I'm not going to let him be killed--not if I can help it. Now I've heard his story, I'm entirely on his side."
"Then he'll have to stay here, in your burrow. He won't be safe anywhere else. And if we make him go away, he'll be quite helpless on his own against the elil."
"I know. I don't know what to do any more than you. But he'll have to eat, of course. I'll silflay with him myself after dark, when there's no one else about. You go back to the other rabbits now and try to find out whether any of them are ready to accept him. Talk to Bigwig. And Fiver too, if you can."
Hyzenthlay went. Hazel remained all day with Stonecrop, who seemed exhausted and slept most of the time. No other rabbits came to the burrow, until Hyzenthlay returned that evening.
/> "I'm afraid it's a bad lookout, Hazelrah," she said. "Peerton and his friends have been telling everyone about Stonecrop and saying that not to kill him in accordance with custom would bring bad luck down on the warren. I haven't been able to find anyone, except Vilthuril and Thethuthinnang, who'd listen to me at all. Even Bigwig was very doubtful. He wouldn't say that you were right."
As soon as it was dark, the two of them took Stonecrop to silflay on the Down. He was not used to eating grass and in any case was too afraid and apprehensive to make much of a feed. In all manner of small respects and behavior he showed that he was different from normal wild rabbits and had not their ways. Hazel, noting this, felt close to despair on his behalf. He would probably never become a wild rabbit--not in months. However, he said nothing of this but only tried his best to encourage Stonecrop and make him feel that at any rate he had two friends. They got back to the burrow without meeting anyone.
Next morning, Fiver came to see them and in particular "to get an idea" of Stonecrop, as he put it. He said nothing about the smell but spent a long time talking to Stonecrop, who evidently liked him and was drawn out to become more warm and responsive than he had been since coming to the warren.
"But what are we going to do, Fiver?" asked Hazel, as Fiver settled down beside Stonecrop and seemed to be making himself comfortable and ready to stay.
"I don't know," replied Fiver, "but just give me time, give me some time, Hazel. You're always so impatient."
"Well, you'd be impatient if you had to sit here and feel the whole warren seething at your back," said Hazel. "It's the first time I've ever felt that they weren't with me. I don't like it."
Fiver joined them that night on the silflay after dark, and had evidently gained Stonecrop's confidence to the extent of feeling able to correct and advise him about some of his ways which differed from those of wild rabbits.
"Cheer up," he said. "We've got two or three rabbits that we helped escape from a hutch last summer, and they've managed to live here all right. Of course, things were different then. We were desperate for does at any cost, and these rabbits didn't smell of men nearly so strongly as you. But you'll be all right, don't worry." And with that he went to sleep for the night.