The Life Story of an Otter

by J. C. Tregarthen

The marshman was right: the otter had crossed. At star-peep the creature had slipped from his holt in the side-stream and floated down to Moor Pool, where he killed a grilse, took a slice or two from its shoulder, and left it on the pebbles. Thence, contrary to his habit, he passed down-water, throwing the fish into a panic at every pool. Waves in the shallows showed where the most timid fled at his approach; some however remained and here and there, as the water favoured his purpose, he gave chase. Twice the formidable marauder landed with victims which he left uneaten on the bank where he laid them, for lust of slaughter, not hunger or love of pursuit, possessed him, and he was moved by a restlessness greater than he had ever shown. True, he climbed at times on snag and boulder; but that was only for an instant before taking again to the water or bank, as fancy led.

HIS LAST SALMON.

From a painting in oils by Edgar H. Fischer.

To face p. 173.

At Longen Pool his coming caused a general exodus, but he singled out one salmon, and by his wily tactics prevented it from fleeing with the others to the rapids below. The long chase which followed was for a while in favour of the fish; yet the otter, who was not to be denied, in the end wearied it out and carried it to the bank, where he bit viciously at the shoulder, as if to wreak his vengeance on the prey that had caused him so much trouble. Presently he re-entered the water, cleansed his blood-stained muzzle, and making upstream turned aside into the wet ditch and traversed the morass.

On gaining the high ground above it he stood awhile, as if asking himself whether at the late hour he might venture across the moor. The instant his mind was made up he set out at a rapid pace, glancing at the keeper’s lodge as he went by, and again at the sleeping hamlet before crossing the road and entering on the waste, over which he held on his way till nearly abreast of the cromlech. There he halted whilst he sounded the call and listened. Twice he uttered the shrill cry, his mask turned in the direction of the lone pool to the north; but there was no answer in the mocking whistle of the curlew, so he moved on again under the fading stars, and at last came to the Liddens.

He kept awhile to the open water, cruising restlessly about, as he had done before in the creek and mere, raising himself at times and gazing round, as wild a looking creature as imagination can conjure up. Thence he passed into the thick fringe of reeds, and remained hidden so long that it might be thought that he had laid up there. Later however he appeared on the far bank of the westernmost pool, and though the pale primrose streak in the east warned him of coming day, the outlawed animal, alarmed by the taint of human footprints he had happened on, at once forsook the refuge and set his face for the marsh.

His hurried movements showed that he had full knowledge of the risk he ran in the open, where he looked a monster as he crossed the patches of sward amongst the bilberry. Indeed, so fast did he cover the ground that no sprinter could have kept up with him, especially when he breasted the long, boulder-strewn ascent to the Kites’ Cairn. There old Ikey must have viewed him had he been on his way to the pools at his usual hour; but he was late, and soon the otter was amongst the crags. His feet were here delayed momentarily by the rising sun, whose light he dreaded as much as did the witches of Crowz-an-Wra. But there was no staying where he was: he must press on to marsh or sea, now both in his view; and at panic speed he made his way down the bare slope and up the opposite rise to the great furze brake that runs down almost to the margin of the mere. Leisurely he threaded his way through the close cover to a point where he stood and listened to the crowing of a cock before slipping into the water and crossing to the old hover on the edge of the reed-bed. He made his careful toilet as usual, and before the marshman discovered his tracks he had curled up and fallen asleep.

But whilst the otter slept in untroubled security, heedless of his enemies, they had passed the Liddens and come within earshot of the old man, who had scarcely finished his soliloquy when he started to his feet with the exclamation, ‘What’s that?’ and stood listening as intently as the otter a little earlier had listened for a reply to his call. This time, however, the reply came. ‘Surely theere ’tes again,’ and a few seconds later, as the cry rose afresh, he shouted ‘’Tes they’ so loudly that he attracted the child who joined him on the furze-rick he had hurriedly climbed.