THE WATER-RAT
Many people know the river in and round the market-town that stands upon its banks, but very few have seen the parent stream where it passes rippling for some hundreds of yards between narrow banks in the shadow of old willow trees, for here it is on private ground. You could not wish to see more beautiful country. There are high hills crowned with woods and level meadows where grass is always green, and the willows share with the poplars the custody of the water. Tiny little tributaries enter the main stream here and there, but Jock the water-rat looked upon these with some contempt, as though he thought they were suburban. He had his home in the roots under an old willow tree. You saw one hole in the bank just above the water, but there were others under the water, and in the meadow.
When the summer day was fine and long, Jock would sit at the edge of the hole that was made in the bank, and would survey the world with a cautious eye and a contented expression. He was no longer a young water-rat, and he had not passed through his life without learning that he had enemies, but in this part of the river the trout were few and of small size—far too small indeed to trouble water-rats, and the eels that collected lower down by the mill seldom came in his direction, the feeding was not good enough. Of great coarse fish like pike there was little need for fear, the water was too shallow to tempt them to come so far up. If we except the old heron who was no longer as smart as he had been in the days of his youth, and now stood on one leg as often as he did on two, and missed his stroke as often as he made it, Jock had no enemies in the water, and this is as it should have been, for there never was a more harmless little animal.
He wore a brown coat well oiled, and carried a black tail with a white tip, of which he was absurdly proud, for such a decoration in water-rat land denotes that the wearer is of good family, and Jock had cousins and distant relatives by the score who could not boast such an adornment. He was proud of the many doored home he had made for himself, and still more proud of the river which, he believed, had been put there for his benefit. He would sit for hours where the light could just reach him and listen attentively to the soft song of the water, and the louder note of larks that sang in the sky above him.
From time to time he would look with a patronising eye upon Mrs. Moorhen who often brought her little black babies past the door of his house when the mantle of summer was spread over the land. In her early days Mrs. Moorhen had quite mistrusted him, she thought he was like the big brown rats that lived about the barns and sometimes came to the water side, and did what harm they could from the time when their eyes opened until the fatal day came when the keeper brought his terriers and his ferrets to the home farm and killed them in their hundreds.
“I assure you, Madam,” said Jock, upon the day when he cleared his character, “I would not harm you if I could, and I could not harm you if I would. I have nothing at all to do with the brown rats of the barn, my skin is darker than theirs, and my tail is altogether different. Why, the white tip ought to have told you as much, even if the length had not. Then too, my legs are shorter, and I have yellow claws, and yellow colouring on my fur. Those fellows who live up by the barns are merely brown. They will eat anything or anybody, and the dirtier their food is the better they like it, but I have delicate tastes and am altogether a clean liver.”
“Will you give me your word of honour,” said Mrs. Moorhen, “that you have never eaten an egg?”
“Quite readily,” he replied. “My food consists entirely of roots and flowers and water weeds. I’ve never tasted an egg in my life.”
Perhaps Mrs. Moorhen was not altogether satisfied at first, for she watched very carefully from among the rushes and roots to see when and where Jock fed. The sight reassured her. After sitting very quietly for an hour or so enjoying the view and the music, he would let himself down easily into the water, and swim to some plant that seemed to tempt his appetite. He would bite it from root or stem, swim back again to his doorway, and then squat upon his hind-legs and eat with great deliberation. When he had finished he would remove all the débris very carefully, and wash himself like the clean little animal he was. Sometimes he would carry his food on to the bank, or even seek it on the bank and eat quite away from his burrow, but his movements were all so simple and so harmless that Mrs. Moorhen could but be reassured, and she soon came to the conclusion that it was a good thing to have a friend in a world that was so full of enemies.
“I haven’t seen you here for long,” she explained, “and when I saw you first you were running on the land, and that made me suspicious. You were not in these parts when I came to them in the autumn.”
“The truth is,” he explained, “that I have only just come back to my home for the summer. During the winter months I could not face the water for long, and I could not sit at the door of my burrow because the river had risen so high, so I was forced to go inland when I was not asleep.
“You may not know,” he went on, seeing that his companion looked rather puzzled, “that during the very cold weather I sleep as long as I can, sometimes for days together. Then I wake up very hungry and must go in search of food, and as I cannot find much to eat in the water it is sometimes necessary to go to the fields to find a meal in the roots.”
“Are they not all cleared away by the time the very bad weather comes?” inquired Mrs. Moorhen.
“They have been taken up,” he replied, “but there is generally enough left to yield more than I could possibly eat if I started at the end of the summer and never went to sleep until the spring. Sometimes I store roots and grasses in my burrow, but last year two land rats came to it. I was frightened and would not return. I have no trouble at all about the food supply; my only care is to avoid the creatures that one sometimes meets on the fields in early morning or at dusk.”
“I know,” said the bird with a little shiver. “You mean great big men with guns and dogs. I knew a mallard who came to live here in the rushes with his wife, and we became very friendly. He had the most beautiful green feathers I have ever seen in birdland. One morning in January when there was a hard frost and my friends were lying low in the rushes, a big dog came up to them, and they jumped up to fly away. They went head to wind to keep their feathers in the proper place for the breeze was strong. Before they had gone as far as the bridge there was a hideous noise, and then another hideous noise, and one fell dead on the land, and the other fell dead in the water, and the dog went after them and picked them up, and I buried myself in the water up to the tip of my nose and felt terribly afraid.”
“I have heard those noises,” said Jock, “but I don’t think men would harm you or me; we do no hurt to anybody, and they don’t need us for their food. My enemies are the stoats and the weasels that run along the hedgerows and kill rabbits and anything else they can get their teeth into. Many of my family have suffered death at their hands, and I am always afraid when I go on the land lest they should see my beautiful tail. If they did it would be all up with me, for they can walk faster than I can run. On my bank I am safe for I can drop into the water, and the weasel or stoat that can follow me there may have all he can get. I don’t mind men, they never seek to hurt me. I don’t like boys because some have thrown stones at me, and I don’t like women because one passed last summer when I sat washing myself by my door, and she said: ‘Oh, there’s a horrid rat!’ and ran away.”
In those late spring days there was not much opportunity for conversation. Mr. and Mrs. Moorhen had built a nest in the roots of a willow tree, so close to the water that had it risen an inch or two the eggs must have been destroyed; and Mrs. Water-rat had retired to a nest at the far end of the burrow well above the water line, a nest of weeds and grass that had been bitten into tiny pieces and shaped rather like a cup. Jock in those days had less time for sunning and washing himself than he thought he needed, and was constantly in the water searching for dainties for his wife, or looking out for attractive pieces of grass or weed that he thought were needed to make the nest still more beautiful. Sometimes his wife would come from the nest for a brief wash and return immediately. Before May had passed, and at a time when the river banks were loaded with an abundance of food that must have gladdened any water-rat’s heart, Jock was the father of six little blind baby water-rats, and Mrs. Moorhen was the mother of eight tiny little babies, that looked like balls of soot, so round and so black were they. It was a busy time, but yet Jock found hours through which it was possible to listen to the lark, or to watch the bats when they gathered towards evening and fluttered through the air in pursuit of the flies and insects that could never get away. In all the land there were no happier families than those of the harmless bird that lived among the rushes, and the good water-rat whose record defied reproach.
“If I could find nothing else to eat,” he said one day when he had been explaining his rules of life to his friends, who paused on the water just in front of his burrow, with their little family playing round them, “I might be tempted to eat some of those young frogs. Some of my cousins do so, but they have rather low tastes, and you wouldn’t find a white tip to any tail among them. I hold that it’s wrong, for there’s no excuse here to be anything but a vegetarian.”
Doubtless the little frogs who had been tadpoles so recently and now swarmed all over the grass, were very pleased to hear the news, for they had quite enough enemies already, the old heron being the most determined of them all. Though he sometimes missed his aim when he struck at a fish now, he seldom made a mistake about a frog, and as he too had domestic duties and a family to provide for, he was terribly in earnest. Had he stayed in the narrower part of the river, it might have gone ill with Jock and his family, but he felt the need of the biggest fish he could find, and preferred the neighbourhood of the mill where there were eels in abundance and he had a fair sporting chance of capturing a young pike or two.
Jock and his wife had quite enough work to do in the early summer days when their young were ready to leave the snug nest at the end of the burrow. It was not difficult to teach them to swim, when once they could be coaxed into the water, for their natural instinct aided them, and they took more readily to the water than birds that are born in high trees take to the air. But it was exceedingly difficult to make them understand, in the first joy of their newly discovered achievement, that the river held dangers in its waters, that if the parent water-rats were too big for the small fish, the little ones in those early days were quite tempting morsels. Though the father water-rat was quite a foot long from tip of nose to tip of tail, his children could not claim more than three inches.
Then too, the babies were inclined to scatter and to be curious, and to go on voyages of discovery on their own account when they had passed the period of extreme helplessness that came to them at birth.
In the days when they first looked out upon the water they had no liking for it, and were carried for their swimming lesson in fashion rather similar to that employed by the seal when she takes her little one for the first time to the depths that are to serve as home for the greater part of his life. When the moment came to leave the baby water-rat alone, the father or mother would swim away from it, and the little one would find that it could not drown, and that the water could not even soak its scanty covering. The water-rat’s coat is full of oil that keeps the water standing in a thousand little bubbles on the points of its hair unless it stays for a very long time under the water, and no water-rats do this unless they are attracted by some roots that require a lot of investigation. The young water-rats swam with head and back right out of the water. At first they knew no other way, for this was the method that their parents practised, but they were soon to learn that, in times of danger, the body must be sunk altogether, and only the tip of the nose allowed to show above the water. The moorhens dived in similar fashion, and each thought that the one imitated the other.
“I daresay you find our method of diving very useful when you’re at all alarmed,” said Mr. Moorhen to Mrs. Water-rat.
“I see you’ve learned to dive just as I do,” said Jock to Mrs. Moorhen. “It’s the best way to get about, and you’ve learned the trick perfectly.” It would have been hard to make either believe that the other had not copied his action.
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]
WATER RAT [Photo by T. A. Metcalfe]
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.”
“You don’t know everything,” replied the weasel, preparing to take a header, “and if you swim no better than you run, you haven’t much time left to learn in.”
With these words he plunged in. Conscious that something was wrong, Jock dived to the bottom and swam as hard and quietly as he could, in search of covert. But the weasel stuck to him, and was never very far behind. In desperation, Jock rose under a little mass of leaves that he had lifted from the bed of the stream, for he knew that his powers of diving were exhausted. Perhaps this little trick might have availed to save him, for the weasel was momentarily baffled, but his sharp eyes soon saw the leaves dispart, he guessed the cause, and Jock fled as Hector may have fled from Achilles round the Walls of Troy. This time he made for his home, and entered the burrow by the newly cleared door in the bank. It was a fatal mistake, for once his feet were on the land the weasel was master of the situation. He caught Jock at the point where the passage opened out by the nest, and killed him instantly with one bite behind the neck. Then he killed Mrs. Water-rat almost as quickly, and hurried away out of the burrow and on to the land feeling very pleased with himself, as he ran swiftly towards the rabbit burrows where he intended to make a fresh kill. So elated was he by the taste of blood, and the consciousness that he had been too quick for his harmless victims, that he ran carelessly in full view of the gamekeeper’s son, who was taking his first shooting lessons with a single-barrelled gun. The lad saw the weasel, and took accurate aim, so that the ferocious little animal did not survive his latest victims by more than five minutes. The dead body was picked up and nailed to the branch of the elm tree that served the gamekeeper as his vermin larder, and everybody was glad that the weasel’s career was ended.
But the larks that sang their hymns of praise to the sun, and the moorhen that lived so quietly in the reeds, and even the little bats that fluttered about at dusk round the edges of the river mourned Jock’s decease, and missed his cheerful presence when they passed the little doorway in the bank, from which he was accustomed to look out over the shining water and greet his many friends.