Fires - Book 3: The Hare, and Other Tales

by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

THE HARE

My hands were hot upon a hare,

Half-strangled, struggling in a snare--

My knuckles at her warm wind-pipe--

When suddenly, her eyes shot back,

Big, fearful, staggering and black:

And, ere I knew, my grip was slack;

And I was clutching empty air,

Half-mad, half-glad at my lost luck...

When I awoke beside the stack.

'Twas just the minute when the snipe,

As though clock-wakened, every jack,

An hour ere dawn, dart in and out

The mist-wreaths filling syke and slack,

And flutter wheeling round about,

And drumming out the Summer night.

I lay star-gazing yet a bit;

Then, chilly-skinned, I sat upright,

To shrug the shivers from my back;

And, drawing out a straw to suck,

My teeth nipped through it at a bite...

The liveliest lad is out of pluck

An hour ere dawn--a tame cock-sparrow--

When cold stars shiver through his marrow,

And wet mist soaks his mother-wit.

But, as the snipe dropped, one by one;

And one by one the stars blinked out;

I knew 'twould only need the sun

To send the shudders right about:

And, as the clear East faded white,

I watched and wearied for the sun--

The jolly, welcome, friendly sun--

The sleepy sluggard of a sun

That still kept snoozing out of sight,

Though well he knew the night was done

And, after all, he caught me dozing,

And leapt up, laughing, in the sky

Just as my lazy eyes were closing:

And it was good as gold to lie

Full-length among the straw, and feel

The day wax warmer every minute,

As, glowing glad, from head to heel,

I soaked and rolled rejoicing in it...

When from the corner of my eye,

Upon a heathery knowe hard-by,

With long lugs cocked, and eyes astare,

Yet all serene, I saw a hare.

Upon my belly in the straw,

I lay, and watched her sleek her fur,

As, daintily, with well-licked paw,

She washed her face and neck and ears:

Then, clean and comely in the sun,

She kicked her heels up, full of fun,

As if she did not care a pin

Though she should jump out of her skin,

And leapt and lolloped, free of fears,

Until my heart frisked round with her.

"And yet, if I but lift my head,

You'll scamper off, young Puss," I said.

"Still, I can't lie, and watch you play,

Upon my belly half-the-day.

The Lord alone knows where I'm going:

But, I had best be getting there.

Last night I loosed you from the snare--

Asleep, or waking, who's for knowing!--

So, I shall thank you now for showing

Which art to take to bring me where

My luck awaits me. When you're ready

To start, I'll follow on your track.

Though slow of foot, I'm sure and steady..."

She pricked her ears, then set them back;

And like a shot was out of sight:

And, with a happy heart and light,

As quickly I was on my feet;

And following the way she went,

Keen as a lurcher on the scent,

Across the heather and the bent,

Across the quaking moss and peat.

Of course, I lost her soon enough,

For moorland tracks are steep and rough;

And hares are made of nimbler stuff

Than any lad of seventeen,

However lanky-legged and tough,

However, kestrel-eyed and keen:

And I'd at last to stop and eat

The little bit of bread and meat

Left in my pocket overnight.

So, in a hollow, snug and green,

I sat beside a burn, and dipped

The dry bread in an icy pool;

And munched a breakfast fresh and cool...

And then sat gaping like a fool...

For, right before my very eyes,

With lugs acock, and eyes astare,

I saw again the selfsame hare.

So, up I jumped, and off she slipped:

And I kept sight of her until

I stumbled in a hole, and tripped;

And came a heavy, headlong spill:

And she, ere I'd the wit to rise,

Was o'er the hill, and out of sight:

And, sore and shaken with the tumbling,

And sicker at my foot for stumbling,

I cursed my luck, and went on, grumbling,

The way her flying heels had fled.

The sky was cloudless overhead;

And just alive with larks asinging:

And, in a twinkling, I was swinging

Across the windy hills, lighthearted.

A kestrel at my footstep started,

Just pouncing on a frightened mouse,

And hung o'erhead with wings a-hover:

Through rustling heath an adder darted:

A hundred rabbits bobbed to cover:

A weasel, sleek and rusty-red,

Popped out of sight as quick as winking:

I saw a grizzled vixen slinking

Behind a clucking brood of grouse

That rose and cackled at my coming:

And all about my way were flying

The peewit, with their slow wings creaking

And little jack-snipe darted, drumming:

And now and then a golden plover

Or redshank piped with reedy whistle.

But never shaken bent or thistle

Betrayed the quarry I was seeking

And not an instant, anywhere

Did I clap eyes upon a hare.

So, travelling still, the twilight caught me:

And as I stumbled on, I muttered:

"A deal of luck the hare has brought me!

The wind and I must spend together

A hungry night among the heather.

If I'd her here..." And as I uttered,

I tripped, and heard a frightened squeal;

And dropped my hands in time to feel

The hare just bolting 'twixt my feet.

She slipped my clutch: and I stood there

And cursed that devil-littered hare,

That left me stranded in the dark

In that wide waste of quaggy peat

Beneath black night without a spark:

When, looking up, I saw a flare

Upon a far-off hill, and said:

"By God, the heather is afire!

It's mischief at this time of year..."

And then, as one bright flame shot higher,

And booths and vans stood out quite clear;

My wits came back into my head:

And I remembered Brough Hill Fair.

And, as I stumbled towards the glare,

I knew the sudden kindling meant

The Fair was over for the day;

And all the cattle-folk away

And gipsy-folk and tinkers now

Were lighting supper-fires without

Each caravan and booth and tent.

And, as I climbed the stiff hill-brow,

I quite forgot my lucky hare.

I'd something else to think about:

For well I knew there's broken meat

For empty bellies after fair-time;

And looked to have a royal rare time

With something rich and prime to eat:

And then to lie and toast my feet

All night beside the biggest fire.

But, even as I neared the first,

A pleasant whiff of stewing burst

From out a smoking pot a-bubble:

And, as I stopped behind the folk

Who sprawled around, and watched it seething

A woman heard my eager breathing,

And, turning, caught my hungry eye:

And called out to me: "Draw in nigher,

Unless you find it too much trouble;

Or you've a nose for better fare,

And go to supper with the Squire...

You've got the hungry parson's air!"

And all looked up, and took the joke,

As I dropped gladly to the ground

Among them, where they all lay gazing

Upon the bubbling and the blazing.

My eyes were dazzled by the fire

At first; and then I glanced around;

And, in those swarthy, fire-lit faces--

Though drowsing in the glare and heat

And snuffing the warm savour in,

Dead-certain of their fill of meat--

I felt the bit between the teeth,

The flying heels, the broken traces,

And heard the highroad ring beneath

The trampling hoofs: and knew them kin.

Then for the first time, standing there

Behind the woman who had hailed me,

I saw a girl with eyes astare

That looked in terror o'er my head:

And, all at once, my courage failed me...

For now again, and sore-adread,

My hands were hot upon a hare,

That struggled, strangling in the snare...

Then once more as the girl stood clear,

Before me--quaking cold with fear

I saw the hare look from her eyes...

And when, at last, I turned to see

What held her scared, I saw a man--

A fat man with dull eyes aleer--

Within the shadow of the van:

And I was on the point to rise

To send him spinning 'mid the wheels,

And twist his neck between his heels,

And stop his leering grin with mud...

And would have done it in a tick...

When, suddenly, alive with fright,

She started, with red, parted lips,

As though she guessed we'd come to grips,

And turned her black eyes full on me...

And, as I looked into their light,

My heart forgot the lust of fight,

And something shot me to the quick,

And ran like wildfire through my blood,

And tingled to my finger-tips...

And, in a dazzling flash, I knew

I'd never been alive before...

And she was mine for evermore.

While all the others slept asnore

In caravan and tent that night,

I lay alone beside the fire;

And stared into its blazing core,

With eyes that would not shut or tire,

Because the best of all was true,

And they looked still into the light

Of her eyes, burning ever bright.

Within the brightest coal for me...

Once more, I saw her, as she started,

And glanced at me with red lips parted:

And, as she looked, the frightened hare

Had fled her eyes; and, merrily,

She smiled, with fine teeth flashing white,

As though she, too, were happy-hearted...

Then she had trembled suddenly,

And dropped her eyes, as that fat man

Stepped from the shadow of the van,

And joined the circle, as the pot

Was lifted off, and, piping-hot,

The supper steamed in wooden bowls.

Yet, she had hardly touched a bite:

And never raised her eyes all night

To mine again: but on the coals,

As I sat staring, she had stared--

The black curls, shining round her head

From under the red kerchief, tied

So nattily beneath her chin--

And she had stolen off to bed

Quite early, looking dazed and scared.

Then, all agape and sleepy-eyed,

Ere long the others had turned in:

And I was rid of that fat man,

Who slouched away to his own van.

And now, before her van, I lay,

With sleepless eyes, awaiting day:

And, as I gazed upon the glare,

I heard, behind, a gentle stir:

And, turning round, I looked on her

Where she stood on the little stair

Outside the van, with listening air--

And, in her eyes, the hunted hare...

And then, I saw her slip away,

A bundle underneath her arm,

Without a single glance at me.

I lay a moment wondering,

My heart a-thump like anything,

Then, fearing she should come to harm,

I rose, and followed speedily

Where she had vanished in the night.

And, as she heard my step behind,

She started, and stopt dead with fright:

Then blundered on as if struck blind:

And now as I caught up with her,

Just as she took the moorland track,

I saw the hare's eyes, big and black...

She made as though she'd double back...

But, when she looked into my eyes,

She stood quite still and did not stir...

And, picking up her fallen pack,

I tucked it 'neath my arm; and she

Just took her luck quite quietly.

As she must take what chance might come,

And would not have it otherwise,

And walked into the night with me,

Without a word across the fells.

And, all about us, through the night,

The mists were stealing, cold and white,

Down every rushy syke or slack:

But, soon the moon swung into sight:

And, as we went, my heart was light,

And singing like a burn in flood:

And in my ears were tinkling bells:

My body was a rattled drum:

And fifes were shrilling through my blood

That summer night, to think that she

Was walking through the world with me.

But when the air with dawn was chill,

As we were travelling down a hill,

She broke her silence with low-sobbing:

And told her tale, her bosom throbbing

As though her very heart were shaken

With fear she'd yet be overtaken...

She'd always lived in caravans--

Her father's, gay as any man's,

Grass-green, picked out with red and yellow

And glittering brave with burnished brass

That sparkled in the sun like flame,

And window curtains, white as snow...

But, they had died, ten years ago,

Her parents both, when fever came...

And they were buried, side by side,

Somewhere beneath the wayside grass...

In times of sickness, they kept wide

Of towns and busybodies, so

No parson's or policeman's tricks

Should bother them when in a fix...

Her father never could abide

A black coat or a blue, poor man...

And so, Long Dick, a kindly fellow,

When you could keep him from the can,

And Meg, his easy-going wife,

Had taken her into their van;

And kept her since her parents died...

And she had lived a happy life,

Until Fat Pete's young wife was taken...

But, ever since, he'd pestered her...

And she dared scarcely breathe or stir,

Lest she should see his eyes aleer...

And many a night she'd lain and shaken,

And very nearly died of fear--

Though safe enough within the van

With Mother Meg and her good-man--

For, since Fat Pete was Long Dick's friend,

And they were thick and sweet as honey;

And Dick owed Pete a pot of money,

She knew too well how it must end...

And she would rather lie stone dead

Beneath the wayside grass than wed

With leering Pete, and live the life,

And die the death, of his first wife...

And so, last night, clean-daft with dread,

She'd bundled up a pack and fled...

When all the sobbing tale was out,

She dried her eyes, and looked about,

As though she'd left all fear behind,

And out of sight were out of mind.

Then, when the dawn was burning red,

"I'm hungry as a hawk!" she said:

And from the bundle took out bread.

And, at the happy end of night,

We sat together by a burn:

And ate a thick slice, turn by turn;

And laughed and kissed between each bite.

Then, up again, and on our way

We went; and tramped the livelong day

The moorland trackways, steep and rough,

Though there was little fear enough

That they would follow on our flight.

And then again a shiny night

Among the honey-scented heather,

We wandered in the moonblaze bright,

Together through a land of light,

A lad and lass alone with life.

And merrily we laughed together,

When, starting up from sleep, we heard

The cock-grouse talking to his wife...

And "Old Fat Pete" she called the bird.

Six months and more have cantered by:

And, Winter past, we're out again--

We've left the fat and weatherwise

To keep their coops and reeking sties,

And eat their fill of oven-pies,

While we win free and out again

To take potluck beneath the sky

With sun and moon and wind and rain.

Six happy months ... and yet, at night,

I've often wakened in affright,

And looked upon her lying there,

Beside me sleeping quietly,

Adread that when she waked, I'd see

The hunted hare within her eyes.

And, only last night, as I slept

Beneath the shelter of a stack...

My hands were hot upon a hare,

Half-strangled, struggling in the snare,

When, suddenly, her eyes shot back,

Big, fearful, staggering and black;

And ere I knew, my grip was slack,

And I was clutching empty air...

Bolt-upright from my sleep I leapt...

Her place was empty in the straw...

And then, with quaking heart, I saw

That she was standing in the night,

A leveret cuddled to her breast...

I spoke no word: but, as the light

Through banks of Eastern cloud was breaking,

She turned, and saw that I was waking:

And told me how she could not rest;

And, rising in the night, she'd found

This baby-hare crouched on the ground;

And she had nursed it quite a while:

But, now, she'd better let it go...

Its mother would be fretting so...

A mother's heart...

I saw her smile,

And look at me with tender eyes:

And as I looked into their light,

My foolish, fearful heart grew wise...

And now, I knew that never there

I'd see again the startled hare,

Or need to dread the dreams of night.

1910-1911.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRES - BOOK III ***