Watership Down (67 page)

       
"Over here," said Woundwort sharply.

       
The rabbit, a powerful, heavy veteran by the name of Thunder, joined them, stumbling.

       
"What's the matter?" asked Woundwort.

       
"Nothing, sir," answered Thunder, "only there's a dead rabbit on the floor and it startled me for a moment."

       
"A dead rabbit?" said Woundwort. "Are you sure he's dead? Where is he?"

       
"Over there, sir, by the shaft."

       
Woundwort crossed the burrow quickly. On the far side of the rubble that had fallen in from the shaft was lying the inert body of a buck. He sniffed at it and then pressed it with his nose.

       
"He's not been dead long," he said. "He's nearly cold but not stiff. What do you make of it, Vervain? Rabbits don't die underground.

       
"It's a very small buck, sir," answered Vervain. "Didn't fancy the idea of fighting us, perhaps, and the others killed him when he said so."

       
"No, that won't do. There's not a scratch on him. Well, leave him, anyway. We've got to get on, and a rabbit this size isn't going to make any difference, dead or alive."

       
He began to move along the wall, sniffing as he went. He passed the mouths of two blocked runs, came to an opening between thick tree roots and stopped. The place was evidently very big--bigger than the Council burrow at Efrafa. Since they were not being attacked, he could turn the space to his own advantage by getting some more rabbits in at once. He went back quickly to the foot of the shaft. By standing on his hind legs he could just rest his forepaws on the ragged lip of the hole.

       
"Groundsel?" he said.

       
"Yes, sir?" answered Groundsel from above.

       
"Come on," said Woundwort, "and bring four others with you. Jump to this side"--he moved slightly--"there's a dead rabbit on the floor--one of theirs."

He was still expecting to be attacked at any moment, but the place remained silent. He continued to listen, sniffing the close air, while the five rabbits dropped one by one into the burrow. Then he took Groundsel over to the two blocked runs along the eastern wall.

       
"Get these open as quick as you can," he said, "and send two rabbits to find out what's behind the tree roots beyond. If they're attacked you're to go and join in at once."

       
"You know, there's something strange about the wall at the other end, sir," said Vervain, as Groundsel began setting his rabbits to work. "Most of it's hard earth that's never been dug. But in one or two places there are piles of much softer stuff. I'd say that runs leading through the wall have been filled up very recently--probably since yesterday evening."

       
Woundwort and Vervain went carefully along the south wall of the Honeycomb, scratching and listening.

       
"I believe you're right," said Woundwort. "Have you heard any movement from the other side?"

       
"Yes, sir, just about here," said Vervain.

       
"We'll get this pile of soft earth down," said Woundwort. "Put two rabbits on it. If I'm right and Thlayli's on the other side, they'll run into trouble before long. That's what we want--to force him to attack them."

       
As Thunder and Thistle began to dig, Woundwort crouched silently behind them, waiting.

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*

       
Even before he heard the roof of the Honeycomb fall in, Bigwig knew that it could be only a matter of time before the Efrafans found the soft places in the south wall and set to work to break through one of them. That would not take long. Then he would have to fight--probably with Woundwort himself; and if Woundwort closed with him and used his weight, he would have little chance. Somehow he must manage to hurt him at the outset, before he expected it. But how?

       
He put the problem to Holly.

       
"The trouble is this warren wasn't dug to be defended," said Holly. "That was what the Slack Run was for, back at home, so the Threarah once told me. It was made so that if we ever had to, we could get down beneath an enemy and come up where he wasn't expecting us."

       
"That's it!" cried Bigwig. "That's the idea! Look, I'm going to dig myself into the floor of the run just behind this blocked opening. Then you cover me with earth. It won't be noticed--there's so much digging and mess in the place already. I know it's a risk, but it'll be better than just trying to stand up in front of a rabbit like Woundwort."

       
"But suppose they break through the wall somewhere else?" said Holly.

       
"You must try to make them do it here," replied Bigwig. "When you hear them on the other side, make a noise--do a bit of scratching or something--just above where I am. Anything to get them interested. Come on, help me to dig. And, Silver, get everyone back out of the Honeycomb now and close this wall completely."

       
"Bigwig," said Pipkin, "I can't wake Fiver. He's still lying out there in the middle of the floor. What's to be done?"

       
"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do now," replied Bigwig. "It's a great pity, but we'll have to leave him."

       
"Oh, Bigwig," cried Pipkin, "let me stay out there with him! You'll never miss me, and I can go on trying--"

       
"Hlao-roo," said Holly as kindly as he could, "if we lose no one but Fiver before this business is ended, then the Lord Frith himself will be fighting for us. No, I'm sorry, old chap, not another word. We need you, we need everyone. Silver, see that he goes back with the others."

       
When Woundwort dropped through the roof of the Honeycomb, Bigwig was already lying under a thin covering of soil on the other side of the south wall, not far from Clover's burrow.

*
     
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*

       
Thunder sank his teeth into a piece of broken root and pulled it out. There was an instant fall of earth and a gap opened where he had been digging. The soil no longer reached to the roof. It was only a broad pile of soft earth, half filling the run. Woundwort, still waiting silently, could smell and hear a considerable number of rabbits on the far side. He hoped that now they might come into the open burrow and try to attack him. But they made no move.

       
When it came to fighting, Woundwort was not given to careful calculation. Men, and larger animals such as wolves, usually have an idea of their own numbers and those of the enemy and this affects their readiness to fight and how they go about it. Woundwort had never had any need to think like this. What he had learned from all his experience of fighting was that nearly always there are those who want to fight and those who do not but feel they cannot avoid it. More than once he had fought alone and imposed his will on crowds of other rabbits. He held down a great warren with the help of a handful of devoted officers. It did not occur to him now--and if it had, he would not have thought it mattered--that most of his rabbits were still outside; that those who were with him were fewer than those on the other side of the wall and that until Groundsel had got the runs open they could not get out even if they wanted to. This sort of thing does not count among fighting rabbits. Ferocity and aggression are everything. What Woundwort knew was that those beyond the wall were afraid of him and that on this account he had the advantage.

       
"Groundsel," he said, "as soon as you've got those runs open, tell Campion to send everyone down here. The rest of you, follow me. We'll have this business finished by the time the others get in to join us."

       
Woundwort waited only for Groundsel to bring back the two rabbits who had been sent to search among the tree roots at the north end of the burrow. Then, with Vervain behind him, he climbed the pile of fallen earth and thrust his way into the narrow run. In the dark he could hear and smell the rustling and crowding of rabbits--both bucks and does--ahead of him. There were two bucks directly in his path, but they fell back as he plowed through the loose soil. He plunged forward and felt the ground suddenly turn beneath him. The next moment a rabbit started up from the earth at his feet and sank his teeth in the pit of his near foreleg, just where it joined the body.

       
Woundwort had won almost every fight of his life by using his weight. Other rabbits could not stop him and once they went down they seldom got up. He tried to push now, but his back legs could get no purchase in the pile of loose, yielding soil behind him. He reared up and, as he did so, realized that the enemy beneath him was crouching in a scooped-out trench the size of his own body. He struck out and felt his claws score deeply along the back and haunch. Then the other rabbit, still keeping his grip under Woundwort's shoulder, thrust upward with his hind legs braced against the floor of the trench. Woundwort, with both forefeet off the ground, was thrown over on his back on the earth pile. He lashed out, but the enemy had already loosed his hold and was beyond his reach.

       
Woundwort stood up. He could feel the blood running down the inside of his near foreleg. The muscle was wounded. He could not put his full weight on it. But his own claws, too, were bloody and this blood was not his.

       
"Are you all right, sir?" asked Vervain, behind him.

       
"Of course I'm all right, you fool," said Woundwort. "Follow me close."

       
The other rabbit spoke from in front of him.

       
"You told me once to start by impressing you, General. I hope I have."

       
"I told you once that I would kill you myself," replied Woundwort, "There is no white bird here, Thlayli." He advanced for the second time.

       
Bigwig's taunt had been deliberate. He hoped that Woundwort would fly at him and so give him a chance to bite him again. But as he waited, pressed to the ground, he realized that Woundwort was too clever to be drawn. Always quick to size up any new situation, he was coming forward slowly, keeping close to the ground himself. He meant to use his claws. Afraid, listening to Woundwort's approach, Bigwig could hear the uneven movement of his forepaws, almost within striking distance. Instinctively he drew back and as he did so the thought came with the sound: "The near forepaw's dragging. He can't use it properly." Leaving his right flank exposed, he struck out on his near side.

       
His claws found Woundwort's leg, ripping sideways; but before he could draw back, Woundwort's whole weight came down on him and the next moment his teeth had met in his right ear. Bigwig squealed, pressed down and thrashing from side to side. Woundwort, feeling his enemy's fear and helplessness, loosed his hold of the ear and rose above him, ready to bite and tear him across the back of the neck. For an instant he stood above the helpless Bigwig, his shoulders filling the run. Then his injured foreleg gave way and he lurched sideways against the wall. Bigwig cuffed him twice across the face and felt the third blow pass through his whiskers as he sprang back. The sound of his heavy breathing came plainly from the top of the earth pile. Bigwig, the blood oozing from his back and ear, stood his ground and waited. Suddenly he realized that he could see the dark shape of General Woundwort faintly outlined where he crouched above him. The first traces of daylight were glimmering through the broken roof of the Honeycomb behind.

47.
   
The Sky Suspended

Ole bull he comes for me, wi's head down. But I didn't flinch ... I went fo 'e. 'Twas him as did th' flinchin'.

Flora Thompson,
Lark Rise

When Hazel stamped, Dandelion leaped instinctively from the grass verge. If there had been a hole he would have made for it. For the briefest instant he looked up and down the gravel. Then the dog was rushing upon him and he turned and made for the raised barn. But before he reached it he realized that he must not take refuge under the floor. If he did, the dog would check: very likely a man would call it back. He had to get it out of the farmyard and down to the road. He altered direction and raced up the lane toward the elms.

       
He had not expected the dog to be so close behind him. He could hear its breath and the loose gravel flying under its paws.

       
"It's too fast for me!" he thought. "It's going to catch me!" In another moment it would be on him and then it would roll him over, snapping his back and biting out his life. He knew that hares, when overtaken, dodge by turning more quickly and neatly than the pursuing dog and doubling back on their track. "I shall have to double," he thought desperately. "But if I do, it will hunt me up and down the lane and the man will call it off, or else I shall have to lose it by going through the hedge: then the whole plan will fail."