The Heart of the Wild: Nature Studies from Near and Far

by S. L. Bensusan

As soon as the young family was fully grown it scattered up and down the stream. Jock and his wife were kindly parents enough, and would doubtless have been well pleased to keep their youngsters by their side, but the burrow was not big enough for a family that numbered eight in all. There were splendid positions for other burrows all along the banks, and the young rats, knowing nothing of late autumn and winter, were well assured that the supplies of duckweed, water-lilies, young flags and tender roots of every description would never come to an end. To them at least that little bend of the river was the world,—a world full of good things; so some went north, and others went south to make new friends and start independent housekeeping. The two that went to the north, that is to say in the direction of the river’s source, fared well. The four that went down stream had no luck at all. Two fell victims to the eels that lived by the mill pond, another was found by a hungry pike, and the fourth, having ventured on to the land, under the impression that he had discovered it, was seen by an active weasel who would not be denied. By that time, however, August had come to an end. Mrs. Water-rat in her snug little burrow that had had several leaves and pieces of weeds added to it by the affectionate Jock was the mother of another half-dozen babies. Mrs. Moorhen, who had endeavoured to raise another brood some weeks earlier, was not so fortunate, for her eggs were found by a land rat, one of the long-tailed, sharp-nosed, lean ugly fellows that do so much more harm than good. But that the unfortunate mother was actually driven off her nest by the intruder, and could see for herself what manner of animal it was, she might have had doubts about the earlier story that her friend of the burrow across the bank had told her.

WATER RAT [Photo by T. A. Metcalfe]

Before the autumn days had turned the greenery of the land to gold a spell of bad weather set in, accompanied by severe rains that raised the level of the river considerably. The entries to the burrow were flooded and, owing to a temporary obstruction at the bend of the river, the water threatened to pierce to the nest at the far end. On this account it was impossible for the young water-rats to go to the river as their brothers and sisters born in the earlier year had done, and for a time their parents fed them upon the land, carrying them to safety through the land holes of the burrow to the meadow-side, and always holding them in their mouths by the loose skin at the back of the neck. From time to time one of the parent animals would return to the water, plunging off the bank, and generally coming up by the doorway to see whether any change had occurred in the level of the water. These constant visits to the river were in a way a necessity to the animals, because the oily secretion that kept their fur from feeling the effects of the water, was not limited to the fur, but extended to the face, and only frequent use of water kept their eyes clear. With the very little ones this was hardly the case at first; until they were fully grown they could live with comparative comfort upon the land for a much longer period than was possible with their parents.

It was while returning to the river on one of these occasions that Jock met with what might have proved a fatal encounter. One of the young herons born in the spring had strayed into the neighbourhood in search of a fresh feeding ground, and spied what he took to be an appetising morsel. He darted a stroke at it that would have ended this story on the spot had not his intended victim been a little too quick, and dived. The bird remained watching for any sign that would indicate the return to the surface, knowing, by the instinct that serves every creature in pursuit of its prey, that in the nature of things Jock could not stay under the surface of the water for very long. Had the river been quite clear the water-rat might have been seen swimming close to the river bed; as it was, the recent rains in swelling the stream had made it muddy, and Jock was able to move to a point where the water had collected and left a mass of early fallen leaves. He travelled at a great pace under the water and came up under these so lightly that never a leaf was stirred, to remain perfectly motionless with no more than the tip of his head above water. A branch that had fallen into the stream kept him from being swept away by the force of the current, and he stayed there while the heron moved up and down with a succession of awkward strides, waiting patiently for what promised to be worth working for. Exposed to the force of the water which was running rather sharply past the corner where the leaves were covering him, Jock’s fur was speedily soaked, and for the first time in his life the protection of oil did not avail to keep his skin dry. Happily, the heron being young and foolish soon gave up the search, and stalked solemnly up the stream where water was more shallow, leaving his intended prey to scramble up the bank with some difficulty, and to lie still, wet and miserable and helpless until the sun came out and dried his fur and he was able by diligent combing and cleaning to reduce it to something like its natural condition.

Owing to the peculiar formation of his feet Jock was able to dress the whole of his fur as easily and completely as a bat might, and by the following morning he was in no way the worse for the mischance. He lived in the same relation to land and water that the bat lived in with regard to land and the upper air.

As the weather did not improve the river burrow was left altogether, and another was made in a field some little distance off. The necessary work was done by night and very early morning, and for the greater part of the day the family remained hidden in the burrow for the farm hands were at work upon the land, and the confidence associated with the water-side home had quite disappeared on the land. But the old burrow was not deserted altogether. In the early days of autumn the old grasses of the nest were brought out and left on the land, while a store of fresh clean roots was carried in to serve the family during the winter months in case of need.

By the time winter had gripped the country-side, Jock’s second family had scattered, leaving him with his wife in possession of the land-earth they had selected for their winter home. Sometimes they would travel as far as the stack yard of the home farm in search of their food, and were quite devoted in their attentions to the piles of root crop that were gathered under straw at the end of the last field waiting to be taken away in wheel-barrows and chopped up for the cattle. Jock and his wife would not have ventured so far from home had it not been that the brown rats of barnland had been almost exterminated some weeks before. When the last of the roots had been taken away, and all the land on which green corn was not rising had been ploughed, dressed and, generally speaking, made unfit for the water-rat’s attentions, Jock and his wife paid occasional visits to their store at the burrow end. Sometimes during spells of very cold weather they slept there for days on end, celebrating their return to wakefulness by a plunge into the river. Not even the coldest weather could keep them from being clean.

Spring came at last, and the two water-rats left their home on the land, and returned to the burrow upon the banks. The water had fallen, and though it had left the burrow’s bank-side door choked with débris, the clearance was an easy matter. Once again the interior of the far end of the burrow was cleaned, a new nest was made, and Mrs. Water-rat began to prepare herself for domestic duties. Then it was that Jock strayed out over the land for no particular purpose save sheer joy of living, and while returning saw his enemy the weasel afar off and ran for his life. The weasel pursued, and Jock tumbled into the water six or eight yards in front of his foe. Because he knew less about the weasel’s capacities than he thought he did, he was foolish enough to put his head out of the water and address the weasel who stood on the edge of the bank hesitating as to his next movement. Jock, who was firmly persuaded that no weasel could swim, attributed the hesitation to the wrong cause, for as a matter of fact the weasel was only debating whether it was worth while to get wet for the mere sake of killing. He was not hungry enough to need a meal.

“If you could only swim as well as you can run,” remarked Jock, “I should be quite afraid of you, you horrid little beast.”