The Story of a Hare

by J. C. Tregarthen

Now the work that Andrew got through between the coming of the fiddler and two of the clock, in order not to be “worrited” whilst at meat, was a record on Brea Farm. In the multitude of his duties, however, one thing escaped him—he forgot to shut up the rooster. The oversight, as things turned out, meant a sore trial for the cock, tragic consequences for the hare. Nor were they long in coming.

At a few minutes past three the long snout, yellow eyes, and red tongue of Grey Fox appeared round the very corner where the polecat had showed. Whilst lying in the brake, he had heard the cock crow, and with his mate had come after it. They had come as fast as they could lay pad to ground; they were starving. For three days they had found nothing to eat over the miles and miles of country they had searched, and now at last within four leaps, there stood this fat rooster scratching away the snow. Was ever so tempting a morsel, ever so easy a victim, exposed to the eyes of ravenous wildlings? Yet the unusual silence excited Grey Fox’s suspicions of a trap. Might not the bird be a bait, a decoy to lure him into the gin where he had already left one of his claws? If not, what was cock-a-doodle doing there alone? After all it was too great a risk.

But by this the little vixen—she looked but half the size of her mate—who at first kept at his brush, had come more and more forward till her mask was side by side with his. Did she by whisper or sign of eye or lip banish his scruples, goad him into action? We do not know. But the next instant he launched himself towards chanticleer, who saw him coming and raised cries so penetrating that they caused the hind and the fiddler to drop knife and fork and rush to the yard. Grey Fox had just seized the cock when the fiddler burst out, and making the most of his long legs, succeeded in heading him from the passage that led to the moor. The fox refused to drop his prey, though the huge wings kept flapping in his face and hindering him in the race with the fiddler, who pursued him over the dung-heap and around the yard, to the amusement of the rest of the party crowding the gateway. As he ran, the fiddler trod on the polecat, whose sudden appearance so startled the fox that he dropped the cock, crossed the wall to the rickyard, and rejoined his mate, who had hurried away to the moor at the first shout of the fiddler.

Merry as the party was before, it was twice as merry now, yet there was not a child, nay, nor a grown-up around that festive board, who would not have been sorry to know that in the act of crossing the wall Grey Fox had espied the hare and was already plotting his destruction.

For in the earth amidst the furze, Grey Fox, who had an old score to settle, and the vixen, who had searched for him when a helpless leveret, sat mask to mask, with wrinkled brow, scheming how they should take him. It was a matter of life or death to them, at least so they themselves regarded it; and the moment their plans were laid they were all eagerness to put them into execution. Their eyes glowed with excitement; twice they rose and went to the mouth of the earth to observe the light; the third time they stole away to the rickyard.

On reaching the wall, Grey Fox peeped over, and turning his head slowly to avoid attracting notice, exchanged looks with the vixen. “It’s all right, she is in the seat,” that is what his glance conveyed. As the light faded he got on the wall, and watched as he crouched. Later the vixen took his place whilst he stole round to the other end of the wall. The hare was now between them, knowing all, and taking counsel with himself. From time to time the sound of the fiddle or the laughter of the children broke the tense silence, but without disquieting the foxes, who lay with their heads towards the yard ready to spring the moment the hare made off. Then the hind came and saw to the cattle, and as he presently returned to the house, hare and foxes gathered themselves for the work before them.

With a mighty bound the hare reached the yard and made for the gate, through which he passed to the front of the house with the foxes in close pursuit. The light from the window fell on the fleeting forms of all three as they rounded the corner by the beehives on their way back to the bridle-track, which the hare followed to the point where it bends. There, instead of swinging round in the direction of the hamlet, he set his face straight for Chapel Carn Brea.

Now, as at all times, he looked to the hill to escape his pursuers, but it was no longer the familiar place it had been, for the pits filled by the snow were level with the runways. Consequently the surface was treacherous, and therein lay the hope of the foxes, a hope immediately realised. Twice during the ascent the hare fell into blind holes, from which he managed to extricate himself only just in time to avoid being seized by Grey Fox. Though he escaped capture he lost the lead he had gained; abreast of the chantry he was so dangerously close to his pursuers that a false step would have meant death, and he knew it; while the foxes, who knew it too, were already anticipating a feast. For thirty yards farther the ground beneath the snow was so broken, so full of pitfalls, that the chances of traversing it without stumbling were small, but the hare got over it without mishap and reached the ridge, along which he held bravely, for the going there was good. His heart sank, however, at sight of the snow in the hollow, where only a rush or two showed above the smooth surface. But those few rushes served as a guide, a welcome guide, for they indicated the position of the Liddens, towards which he at once directed his steps.

In this he was wise, because the ice afforded reliable foothold to his hairy pads and enabled him to plough his way through the snow at quite a good pace, much faster indeed than the foxes, though they kept along the furrow in his wake. The lead thus gained he kept on increasing as he ascended Bartinney, to the discomfiture of his pursuers, who would have abandoned the chase had not the big drift in the next hollow, which they believed impassable, encouraged them to keep going. On reaching it the hare’s courage failed him, and no wonder, for stretching from foothill to foothill, and completely filling the dip between, lay like a great white lake, a drift which threatened to overwhelm him. Face to face with this new danger he forgot the foxes for a moment, but the instant he looked back and caught sight of them bounding down the hill, he flung aside his hesitation, plunged into the drift, and put forth all the strength of his limbs in an effort to reach the other side.

Nearer and nearer the foxes came to the drift; they leapt into it without flinching, and began to battle with the feathery mass, striving to overhaul the hare now some dozen yards ahead. It was a weird scene, that drift amidst the hills, marked now by the glowing eyes of three protruding heads, now by the tips of the ears, now only by a slight flurry of the surface, which showed where pursuers and pursued struggled beneath, till, where the snow lay deepest, there was no slightest sign of movement, and it seemed as if all three had found a grave.