The Life Story of an Otter

by J. C. Tregarthen

Round and round the big pool swims the otter, rising now under the bank, now amongst the hounds, narrowly escaping their jaws. Time after time she returns to the cubs, but only to be ejected by one or other of the terriers. At last, after being badly shaken by the hounds, she lands, gallops round the line of men with the white terrier at her rudder, and gains the water beyond. At amazing speed she follows the winding reaches to the rapids, and even succeeds in gaining Longen Pool, famous in the annals of the Hunt. However, the hounds again press her sorely, and after a while she takes to the tangled coppice on the hillside, traverses it, reaches an ancient hedgerow matted with bramble and thorn, and there lies listening, trusting to have escaped pursuit. But she has left a burning scent, and soon the cry of the pursuers warns her that her hopes are vain. Nevertheless, as she is very weary, and as the pool to which the hedge runs down offers no harbourage, she remains where she is. But though the hounds soon wind her, the denseness of the thicket hinders them from getting at her until the terriers force her to the river. In the shallow water every eye can mark her where she swims and note her shortening dives. The end is near. Presently Dosmary seizes her as she rises, and the pack worries her life out.

That night, when the storm had passed, the miller heard the cries of two otters in the tangled coppice beyond the orchard, and as he knocked the ashes from his pipe before going indoors, said: ‘They’re missin’ her, I’m thinkin’.’ He was right. It was the voice of the cubs calling for their mother.

They were there again the next night, and the next; after that they gave up the vain search and withdrew to the moorland.

It was well for the young creatures, thus thrown on their own resources, that they were able to fend for themselves. Indeed, as has been seen, the male cub had already shown signs of revolt against his mother’s authority, and of a desire for independence.

He was free now, free to roam as he liked, to keep to the trail or leave it as he pleased, to fish when and where he chose; for his sister had no influence over him. Yet, for all his selfish, headstrong ways, he proved a safe leader, his movements being inspired by the wariness of the outlawed creature. He was a stickler for good hours, rising late and couching early. He curbed his passion for wandering, and showed rare judgment in the choice of hovers, selecting always with an eye to strength and invariably shunning such as were not near deep water where refuge might be sought in emergency. On sallying out he generally fished upstream for a mile or two, gambolled till the night was nearly gone, and then floated back with the current, shooting the rapids and lesser falls on the way. Yet fear haunted both him and his sister, for they carefully scrutinized every bush, rock, and bole that might harbour an enemy, and their fears grew to terror once when they happened on the remains of one of their kind recently killed by the hounds. On the discovery they were at once all consternation, as their puffing and blowing showed, and forthwith forsook the tributary for the river, kennelling at the end of their hurried retreat in a hover below the mill. They lay in this holt on the following day, but the next found them ensconced under the bank of the weir pool at Tide End. There they were waked towards noon by the tide, which rose and rose till it invaded their quarters, and compelled them to seek refuge in the opposite bank, where a young dog-otter was already lying up. Their coming startled him not a little, but the moment he saw the new arrivals were otters like himself he settled down again, and soon all three were sound asleep. At dusk they journeyed on together and, after fishing and sporting in the salmon pool below the morass, sought the roots of the alder. They lay there again on the morrow, a morrow momentous in one of its happenings—the separation of the cubs. For when, at setting-out time, the male cub began moving up-water, his sister, till that moment the most faithful of followers, turned her back on him and, with the strange otter at her heels, struck into the wood. She had renounced the brother for the lover. Is it possible, animal though she is, that she can abandon the companion of her life hitherto, without some sign of regret? May not the slowness of her steps indicate reluctance to sever the ties that have so long bound them? Surely it is so, for just as she is about to enter the undergrowth, she stops and turns her head to find her brother watching her. The next minute, however, she has passed out of his sight and out of his life, as, with her mate, she follows the trail that leads by the woodman’s cottage and the cairn to the distant mussel creek whither she is bound.

CHAPTER VII

THE OTTER AT THE TARN

So the otter held on his way alone, and before dawn broke sought shelter in the wooded ravine next the edge of the moor.

The rocky recess was one of the favourite holts of his kind, partly on account of the dry lying it afforded, but more because of its congenial surroundings. The seclusion, the gloom, the roar of the fall, and the tumult of the pool all contributed to please the shy wildling; and he became so fond of the ledge by the foaming waters that, like a badger to its earth, the young nomad returned to it again and again, till at length the instinct to roam began to cry out against his unnatural conduct and urged him to seek new quarters. ‘Wander, wander,’ repeated the voice that grew more insistent as the days stole by. ‘Tarry, my child, tarry,’ replied the spirit of the glen; and for a while—a little while—he resolved to stay. Yet before his short sojourn came to an end the pool was sought by a hunted stag and turned into a pandemonium.