Watership Down Page 42

  His thoughts were very sad. Indeed, they were desperate. Although he had spoken resolutely in front of the others, he knew only too well how little hope there was of saving the warren from the Efrafans. They knew what they were doing. No doubt they had their methods of breaking into a closed warren. It was the faintest of chances that elil would disperse them. Most of the Thousand hunted rabbits for food. A stoat or a fox took a rabbit and took no more until it was ready to hunt again. But the Efrafans were accustomed to a death here and there. Unless General Woundwort himself were killed, they would stay until the job was done. Nothing would stop them, short of some unexpected catastrophe.

  But suppose that he himself were to go and talk to Woundwort? Might there not just possibly be a chance of getting him to see sense? Whatever had happened at Nutley Copse, the Efrafans could not fight to the finish against rabbits like Bigwig, Holly and Silver without losing lives-probably a good many lives. Woundwort must know this. Perhaps it might not be too late, even now, to persuade him to agree to a new plan-a plan that would be as good for one warren as the other.

  "And perhaps it might be," thought Hazel grimly. "But it's a possible chance and so I'm afraid the Chief Rabbit has got to take it. And since this savage brute is probably not to be trusted, I suppose the Chief Rabbit must go alone."

  He returned to the Honeycomb and found Bigwig.

  "I'm off to talk to General Woundwort, if I can get hold of him," he said. "You're Chief Rabbit until I come back. Keep them at it."

  "But, Hazel," said Bigwig, "wait a moment. It's not safe-"

  "I shan't be long," said Hazel. "I'm just going to ask him what he's up to."

  A moment later he was down the bank and limping up the track, pausing from time to time to sit up and look about him for an Efrafan patrol.

  43. The Great Patrol

  What is the world, O soldiers?

  It is I.

  I, this incessant snow,

  This northern sky;

  Soldiers, this solitude

  Through which we go

  Is I.

  Walter de la Mare, Napoleon

  When the punt floated down the river in the rain, part of General Woundwort's authority went with it. He could not have appeared more openly and completely at a loss if Hazel and his companions had flown away over the trees. Until that very moment he had shown up strongly, a most formidable adversary. His officers had been demoralized by Kehaar's unexpected attack. He had not. On the contrary, he had kept up the pursuit in spite of Kehaar and had actually carried out a scheme to cut off the fugitives' retreat. Cunning and resourceful in adversity, he had nearly succeeded in hurting the gull when he leaped at him out of the close cover by the plank bridge. Then, when he had his quarry cornered in a place where Kehaar could not have done a great deal to help them, they had suddenly shown their own cunning greater than his, and left him bewildered on the bank. He had overheard the very word-tharn-spoken by one of his officers to another as they returned to Efrafa through the rain. Thlayli, Blackavar and the does of the Near Hind had vanished. He had tried to stop them and he had conspicuously failed.

  For a great part of that night Woundwort remained awake, considering what was best to be done. The following day he called a Council meeting. He pointed out that it would be no good taking an expedition down the river to look for Thlayli unless it were strong enough to defeat him if it found him. That would mean taking several officers and a number of the Owsla. There would be the risk of trouble at home while they were away. There might be another break-out. The odds were that they would not find Thlayli at all, for there would be no trail and they did not know where to search for him. If they did not find him, they would look even bigger fools when they came back.

  "And fools we look now," said Woundwort. "Make no mistake about that. Vervain will tell you what the Marks are saying-that Campion was chased into the ditch by the white bird and Thlayli called down lightning from the sky and Frith knows what besides."

  "The best thing," said old Snowdrop, "will be to say as little about it as possible. Let it blow over. They've got short memories."

  "There's one thing I think worth doing," said Woundwort. "We know now that there was one place where we did find Thlayli and his gang, only nobody realized it at the time. That was when Mallow was after them with his patrol, just before he was killed by the fox. Something tells me that where they were once, there they'll be again, sooner or later.

  "But we can hardly stay out there with enough rabbits to fight them, sir," said Groundsel, "and it would mean digging in and living there for some time."

  "I agree with you," replied Woundwort. "A patrol will be stationed there continuously until further notice. They'll dig scrapes and live there. They'll be relieved every two days. If Thlayli comes, he's to be watched and followed secretly. When we know where he's taken the does, then we may be able to deal with him. And I'll tell you this," he ended, glaring round at them with his great, pale eyes. "If we do find out where he is, I shall be ready to go to a great deal of trouble. I told Thlayli I'd kill him myself. He may have forgotten that, but I haven't."

  Woundwort led the first patrol in person, taking Groundsel to show him where Mallow had picked up the strangers' southward trail. They dug scrapes among the scrub along the edge of Caesar's Belt and waited. After two days their hopes were lower. Vervain relieved Woundwort. He was relieved two days later by Campion. By this time there were captains in the Owsla who said privately to each other that the General was in the grip of an obsession. Some way would have to be found of getting him to drop it before it went too far. At the Council meeting the next evening it was suggested that the patrol should be discontinued in two days' time. Woundwort, snarling, told them to wait and see. An argument began, behind which he sensed more opposition than he had ever encountered before. In the middle of this, with a dramatic effect that could not have been better timed from the General's point of view, Campion and his patrol came in, dead beat, with the report that they had met Thlayli and his rabbits exactly where Woundwort had said they would. Unseen, they had followed them to the warren, which, though a long way off, was not too distant to be attacked, especially since no time would have to be spent in searching for it. It did not appear to be very large and could probably be surprised.

  The news put an end to all opposition and brought both Council and Owsla back under Woundwort's undisputed control. Several of the officers were for starting at once, but Woundwort, now that he was sure of his followers and his enemy, took his time. Having learned from Campion that he had actually come face to face with Thlayli, Blackavar and the rest, he decided to wait some little while, in case they might be on their guard. Besides, he wanted time both to reconnoiter the way to Watership and to organize the expedition. His idea was that, if possible, they should make the journey in one day. This would forestall any possible rumors of their approach. To satisfy himself that they could do this and still be fit to fight when they arrived, he took Campion and two others, and himself covered the three and a half miles to the down east of Watership. Here, he grasped at once the best way to approach the beech hanger without being seen or smelled. The prevailing wind was westerly, as at Efrafa. They would arrive at evening and then assemble and rest in the combe south of Cannon Heath Down. As soon as twilight fell and Thlayli and his rabbits had gone underground, they would come along the ridge and attack the warren. With luck, there would be no warning whatever. They would be safe for the night in the captured warren and the following day he himself and Vervain would be able to return to Efrafa. The remainder, under Campion, could have a day's rest and then make their way back with the does and any other prisoners there might be. The whole thing could be finished in three days.

  It would be best not to take too many rabbits. Anyone not strong enough to go the distance and then fight would only be a nuisance. In the event, speed might turn out to be everything. The slower the journey, the more dangerous it would be, and stragglers would attract elil and discourage the
rest. Besides, as Woundwort very well knew, his leadership was going to be vital. Every rabbit would need to feel that he was close to the General; and if he felt himself one of a picked band as well, that would be all to the good.

  The rabbits to go were chosen most carefully. There were in fact about twenty-six or — seven of them, half Owsla and the rest promising youngsters recommended by their Mark officers. Woundwort believed in emulation and he let it be known that there would be plenty of chances to win rewards. Campion and Chervil were kept busy taking out endurance patrols, and tussles and training fights were organized at morning silflay. The members of the expedition were excused all sentry duties and allowed to silflay whenever they wished.

  They started before dawn one clear August morning, going due north in groups along the banks and hedges. Before they had reached the Belt, Groundsel's party was attacked by a pair of stoats, one old and the other a yearling. Woundwort, hearing the squealing from behind him, covered the distance in a few moments and set upon the veteran stoat with slashing teeth and great kicks from his needle-clawed back paws. With one of its forelegs ripped to the shoulder, it turned and made off, the younger one following.

  "You ought to be able to see to these things yourself," said Woundwort to Groundsel. "Stoats aren't dangerous. Come on."

  Shortly after ni-Frith, Woundwort went back to pick up stragglers. He found three, one injured by a piece of glass. He stopped the bleeding, brought the three up to rejoin their groups and then called a halt to rest and feed, himself keeping a watch round about. It was very hot and some of the rabbits were showing signs of exhaustion. Woundwort formed these into a separate group and took charge of it himself.

  By the early evening-about the same time as Dandelion was beginning the story of Rowsby Woof-the Efrafans had skirted an enclosure of pigs east of Cannon Heath Farm and were slipping into the combe south of Cannon Heath Down. Many were tired and, in spite of their tremendous respect for Woundwort, there was a certain feeling that they had come a long way from home. They were ordered to take cover, feed, rest and wait for sunset.

  The place was deserted, except for yellowhammers and a few mice pattering about in the sun. Some of the rabbits went to sleep in the long grass. The slope was already in shadow when Campion came running down with the news that he had come face to face with Blackavar and Holly in the upper part of the combe.

  Woundwort was annoyed. "What made them come traipsing over here, I wonder?" he said. "Couldn't you have killed them? Now we've lost surprise."

  "I'm sorry, sir," said Campion. "I wasn't really alert at the time and I'm afraid they were a bit too quick for me. I didn't pursue them because I wasn't sure whether you'd want me to."

  "Well, it may not make much difference," said Woundwort. "I don't see what they can do. But they'll try to do something, I suppose, now they know we're here."

  As he went among his rabbits, looking them over and encouraging them, Woundwort considered the situation. One thing was clear-there was no longer the chance of catching Thlayli and the rest off their guard. But perhaps they were already so much frightened that they would not fight at all? The bucks might give up the does to save their own lives. Or they might already be on the run, in which case they must be followed and caught at once, for they were fresh and his own rabbits were tired and could not pursue them far. He ought to find out quickly. He turned to a young rabbit of the Neck Mark who was feeding close at hand.

  "Your name's Thistle, isn't it?" he asked.

  "Thistle, sir," answered the rabbit.

  "Well, you're the very fellow I want," said Woundwort. "Go and find Captain Campion and tell him to meet me up there by that juniper-do you see where I mean? — at once. You'd better come there, too. Be quick: there's no time to lose."

  As soon as Campion and Thistle had joined him, Woundwort took them up to the ridge. He meant to see what was happening over at the beech hanger. If the enemy were already in flight, Thistle could be sent back with a message to Groundsel and Vervain to bring everyone up immediately. If they were not, he would see what threats could do.

  They reached the track above the combe and began to make their way along it with some caution, since the sunset was in their eyes. The light west wind carried a fresh smell of rabbits.

  "If they are running, they haven't gone far," said Woundwort. "But I don't think they are running. I think they're still in their warren."

  At that moment a rabbit came out of the grass and sat up in the middle of the track. He paused for a few moments and then moved toward them. He was limping and had a strained, resolute look.

  "You're General Woundwort, aren't you?" said the rabbit. "I've come to talk to you."

  "Did Thlayli send you?" asked Woundwort.

  "I'm a friend of Thlayli," replied the rabbit. "I've come to ask why you're here and what it is you want."

  "Were you on the riverbank in the rain?" said Woundwort.

  "Yes, I was."

  "What was left unfinished there will be finished now," said Woundwort. "We are going to destroy you."

  "You won't find it easy," replied the other. "You'll take fewer rabbits home than you brought. We should both do better to come to terms."

  "Very well," said Woundwort. "These are the terms. You will give back all the does who ran from Efrafa and you will hand over the deserters Thlayli and Blackavar to my Owsla."

  "No, we can't agree to that. I've come to suggest something altogether different and better for us both. A rabbit has two ears; a rabbit has two eyes, two nostrils. Our two warrens ought to be like that. They ought to be together-not fighting. We ought to make other warrens between us-start one between here and Efrafa, with rabbits from both sides. You wouldn't lose by that, you'd gain. We both would. A lot of your rabbits are unhappy now and it's all you can do to control them, but with this plan you'd soon see a difference. Rabbits have enough enemies as it is. They ought not to make more among themselves. A mating between free, independent warrens-what do you say?"

  At that moment, in the sunset on Watership Down, there was offered to General Woundwort the opportunity to show whether he was really the leader of vision and genius which he believed himself to be, or whether he was no more than a tyrant with the courage and cunning of a pirate. For one beat of his pulse the lame rabbit's idea shone clearly before him. He grasped it and realized what it meant. The next, he had pushed it away from him. The sun dipped into the cloud bank and now he could see clearly the track along the ridge, leading to the beech hanger and the bloodshed for which he had prepared with so much energy and care.

  "I haven't time to sit here talking nonsense," said Woundwort. "You're in no position to bargain with us. There's nothing more to be said. Thistle, go back and tell Captain Vervain I want everyone up here at once."

  "And this rabbit, sir," asked Campion. "Shall I kill him?"

  "No," replied Woundwort. "Since they've sent him to ask our terms, he'd better take them back.-Go and tell Thlayli that if the does aren't waiting outside your warren, with him and Blackavar, by the time I get down there, I'll tear the throat out of every buck in the place by ni-Frith tomorrow."

  The lame rabbit seemed about to reply, but Woundwort had already turned away and was explaining to Campion what he was to do. Neither of them bothered to watch the lame rabbit as he limped back by the way he had come.

  44. A Message from El-ahrairah

  The enforced passivity of their defence, the interminable waiting, became insupportable. Day and night they heard the muffled thud of the picks above and dreamt of the collapse of the grotto and of every ghastly eventuality. They were subject to «castle-mentality» in its most extreme form.

  Robin Fedden, Crusader Castles

  "They've stopped digging, Hazel-rah," said Speedwell. "As far as I can tell, there's no one in the hole."

  In the close darkness of the Honeycomb, Hazel pushed past three or four of his rabbits crouching among the tree roots and reached the higher shelf where Speedwell lay listening for sounds from a
bove. The Efrafans had reached the hanger at early twilight and at once begun a search along the banks and among the trees to find out how big the warren was and where its holes were. They had been surprised to find so many holes in such a small area, for not many of them had had experience of any warren but Efrafa, where very few holes served the needs of many rabbits. At first they had supposed that there must be a large number of rabbits underground. The silence and emptiness of the open beechwood made them suspicious, and most kept outside, nervous of an ambush. Woundwort had to reassure them. Their enemies, he explained, were fools who made more runs than any properly organized warren needed. They would soon discover their mistake, for every one would be opened, until the place became impossible to defend. As for the droppings of the white bird, scattered in the wood, it was plain that they were old. There were no signs whatever that the bird was anywhere near. Nevertheless, many of the rank and file continued to look cautiously about them. At the sudden cry of a peewit on the down, one or two bolted and had to be brought back by their officers. The story of the bird which had fought for Thlayli in the storm had lost nothing in the telling up and down the burrows of Efrafa.

  Woundwort told Campion to post sentries and keep a patrol round about, while Vervain and Groundsel tackled the blocked holes. Groundsel set to work along the bank, while Vervain went into the wood, where the mouths of the holes lay between the tree roots. He came at once upon the open run. He listened, but all was quiet. Vervain (who was more used to dealing with prisoners than with enemies) ordered two of his rabbits to make their way down it. The discovery of the silent, open run gave him the hope that he might be able to seize the warren by a sudden dash to the very center. The wretched rabbits, obeying his orders, were met by Silver and Buckthorn at a point where the run opened out. They were cuffed and mauled and barely got out with their lives. The sight of them did nothing to encourage Vervain's party, who were reluctant to dig and made little headway during the darkness before moonrise.