"Finish eat." It paused. "Vat for you do?"

        "You hurt?" said Hazel.

        The bird looked crafty. "No hurt. Plenty fight. Stay small time, den go."

        "You stay there you finish," said Hazel. "Bad place. Come homba, come kestrel."

        "Damn de lot. Fight plenty."

        "I bet it would, too," said Bigwig, looking with admiration at the two-inch beak and thick neck.

        "We no want you finish," said Hazel. "You stay here you finish. We help you maybe."

        "Piss off!"

        "Come on," said Hazel immediately to the others. "Let it alone." He began to lollop back to the wood. "Let it try keeping the kestrels off for a bit."

        "What's the idea, Hazel?" said Silver. "That's a savage brute. You can't make a friend out of that."

        "You may be right," said Hazel. "But what's the good of a blue tit or a robin to us? They don't fly any distance. We need a big bird."

        "But why do you want a bird so particularly?"

        "I'll explain later," said Hazel. "I'd like Blackberry and Fiver to hear as well. But let's go underground now. If you don't want to chew pellets, I do."

        During the afternoon Hazel organized more work on the warren. The Honeycomb was as good as finished--though rabbits are not methodical and are never really certain when anything is finished--and the surrounding burrows and runs were taking shape. Quite early in the evening, however, he made his way once more to the hollow. The bird was still there. It looked weaker and less alert, but snapped feebly as Hazel came up.

        "Still here?" said Hazel. "You fight hawk?"

        "No fight," answered the bird. "No fight, but vatch, vatch, alvays vatch. Ees no good."

        "Hungry?"

        The bird made no reply.

        "Listen," said Hazel. "Rabbits not eat birds. Rabbits eat grass. We help you."

        "Vat for 'elp me?"

        "Never mind. We make you safe. Big hole. Food too."

        The bird considered. "Legs fine. Ving no good. 'E bad."

        "Well, walk, then."

        "You 'urt me, I 'urt you like damn."

        Hazel turned away. The bird spoke again.

        "Ees long vay?"

        "No, not far."

        "Come, den."

        It got up with a good deal of difficulty, staggering on its strong blood-red legs. Then it opened its wings high above its body and Hazel jumped back, startled by the great, arching span. But at once it closed them again, grimacing with pain.

        "Ving no good. I come."

        It followed Hazel docilely enough across the grass, but he was careful to keep out of its reach. Their arrival outside the wood caused something of a sensation, which Hazel cut short with a peremptory sharpness quite unlike his usual manner.

        "Come on, get busy," he said to Dandelion and Buckthorn. "This bird's hurt and we're going to shelter it until it's better. Ask Bigwig to show you how to get it some food. It eats worms and insects. Try grasshoppers, spiders--anything. Hawkbit! Acorn! Yes, and you too, Fiver--come out of that rapt trance, or whatever you're in. We need an open, wide hole, broader than it's deep, with a flat floor a little below the level of the entrance: by nightfall."

        "We've been digging all the afternoon, Hazel--"

        "I know. I'll come and help you," said Hazel, "in just a little while. Only get started. The night's coming."

        The astonished rabbits obeyed him, grumbling. Hazel's authority was put to something of a test, but held firm with the support of Bigwig. Although he had no idea what Hazel had in mind, Bigwig was fascinated by the strength and courage of the bird and had already accepted the idea of taking it in, without troubling himself about the reason. He led the digging while Hazel explained to the bird, as well as he could, how they lived, their ways of protecting themselves from the enemies and the kind of shelter they could provide. The amount of food the rabbits produced was not very large, but once inside the wood the bird clearly felt safer and was able to hobble about and do some foraging for itself.

        By owl time Bigwig and his helpers had scratched out a kind of lobby inside the entrance to one of the runs leading down from the wood. They lined the floor with beech twigs and leaves. As darkness began to fall, the bird was installed. It was still suspicious, but seemed to be in a good deal of pain. Evidently, since it could not think of any better plan for itself, it was ready to try a rabbit hole to save its life. From outside, they could see its dark head alert in the gloom, the black eyes still watchful. It was not asleep when they themselves finished a late silflay and went underground.

        Black-headed gulls are gregarious. They live in colonies where they forage and feed, chatter and fight all day long. Solitude and reticence are unnatural to them. They move southward in the breeding season and at such times a wounded one is only too likely to find itself deserted. The gull's savagery and suspicion had been due partly to pain and partly to the unnerving knowledge that it had no companions and could not fly. By the following morning its natural instincts to mix with a flock and to talk were beginning to return. Bigwig made himself its companion. He would not hear of the gull going out to forage. Before ni-Frith the rabbits had managed to produce as much as it could eat--for a time, at all events--and were able to sleep through the heat of the day. Bigwig, however, remained with the gull, making no secret of his admiration, talking and listening to it for several hours. At the evening feed he joined Hazel and Holly near the bank where Bluebell had told his story of El-ahrairah.

        "How's the bird now?" asked Hazel.

        "A good deal better, I think," replied Bigwig. "He's very tough, you know. My goodness, what a life he's had! You don't know what you're missing! I could sit and listen to him all day."

        "How was it hurt?"

        "A cat jumped on him in a farmyard. He never heard it until the last moment. It tore the muscle of one of his wings, but apparently he gave it something to remember before he made off. Then he got himself up here somehow or other and just collapsed. Think of standing up to a cat! I can see now that I haven't really started yet. Why shouldn't a rabbit stand up to a cat? Let's just suppose that--"

        "But what is this bird?" interrupted Holly.

        "Well, I can't quite make out," answered Bigwig. "But if I understand him properly--and I'm not at all sure that I do--he says that where he comes from there are thousands of his kind--more than we can possibly imagine. Their flocks make the whole air white and in the breeding season their nests are like leaves in a wood--so he says."

        "But where? I've never seen one, even."

        "He says," said Bigwig, looking very straight at Holly, "he says that a long way from here the earth stops and there isn't any more."

        "Well, obviously it stops somewhere. What is there beyond?"

        "Water."

        "A river, you mean?"

        "No," said Bigwig, "not a river. He says there's a vast place of water, going on and on. You can't see to the other side. There isn't another side. At least there is, because he's been there. Oh, I don't know--I must admit I can't altogether understand it."

        "Was it telling you that it's been outside the world and come back again? That must be untrue."

        "I don't know," said Bigwig, "but I'm sure he's not lying. This water, apparently, moves all the time and keeps breaking against the earth: and when he can't hear that, he misses it. That's his name--Kehaar. It's the noise the water makes."

        The others were impressed in spite of themselves.

        "Well, why's it here?" asked Hazel.

        "He shouldn't be. He ought to have been off to this Big Water place a long time ago, to breed. Apparently a lot of them come away in winter, because it gets so cold and wild. Then they go back in summer. But he's been hurt once already this spring. It was nothing much, but it held him up. He rested and hung around a rookery for a bit. Then he got stronger and left them, and he was coming along when he stopped in the farmyard and met this foul cat."

        "So when it's better it'll go on again?" said Hazel.

        "Yes."

        "We've been wasting our time, then."

        "Why, Hazel, what is it you have in mind?"

        "Go and get Blackberry and Fiver: we'd better have Silver, too. Then I'll explain."

        The quiet of the evening silflay, when the western sun shone straight along the ridge, the grass tussocks threw shadows twice as long as themselves and the cool air smelled of thyme and dog roses, was something which they had all come to enjoy even more than former evenings in the meadows of Sandleford. Although they could not know it, the down was more lonely than it had been for hundreds of years. There were no sheep, and villagers from Kingsclere and Sydmonton no longer had any occasion to walk over the hills, either for business or for pleasure. In the fields of Sandleford the rabbits had seen men almost every day. Here, since their arrival, they had seen one, and him on a horse. Looking round the little group that gathered on the grass, Hazel saw that all of them--even Holly--were looking stronger, sleeker and in better shape than when they had first come to the down. Whatever might lie ahead, at least he could feel that he had not failed them so far.

        "We're doing well here," he began, "or so it seems to me. We're certainly not a bunch of hlessil any more. But all the same, there's something on my mind. I'm surprised, as a matter of fact, that I should be the first one of us to start thinking about it. Unless we can find the answer, then this warren's as good as finished, in spite of all we've done."

        "Why, how can that be, Hazel?" said Bigwig.

        "Do you remember Nildro-hain?" asked Hazel.

        "She stopped running. Poor Strawberry."

        "I know. And we have no does--not one--and no does means no kittens and in a few years no warren."

        It may seem incredible that the rabbits had given no thought to so vital a matter. But men have made the same mistake more than once--left the whole business out of account, or been content to trust to luck and the fortune of war. Rabbits live close to death and when death comes closer than usual, thinking about survival leaves little room for anything else. But now, in the evening sunshine on the friendly, empty down, with a good burrow at his back and the grass turning to pellets in his belly, Hazel knew that he was lonely for a doe. The others were silent and he could tell that his words had sunk in.

        The rabbits grazed or lay basking in the sun. A lark went twittering up into the brighter sunshine above, soared and sang and came slowly down, ending with a sideways, spread-wing glide and a wagtail's run through the grass. The sun dipped lower. At last Blackberry said, "What's to be done? Set out again?"

        "I hope not," said Hazel. "It all depends. What I'd like to do is get hold of some does and bring them here."

        "Where from?"

        "Another warren."

        "But are there any on these hills? How do we find out? The wind never brings the least smell of rabbits."

        "I'll tell you how," said Hazel "The bird. The bird will go and search for us."

        "Hazel-rah," cried Blackberry, "what a marvelous idea! That bird could find out in a day what we couldn't discover for ourselves in a thousand! But are you certain it can be persuaded to do it? Surely as soon as it gets better if it'll simply fly away and leave us?"

        "I can't tell," answered Hazel. "All we can do is feed it and hope for the best. But, Bigwig, since you seem to be getting on with it so well, perhaps you can explain to it how much this means to us. It has only to fly over the downs and let us know what it sees."

        "You leave him to me," said Bigwig. "I think I know how to do it."

        Hazel's anxiety and the reason for it were soon known to all the rabbits and there was not one who did not realize what they were up against. There was nothing very startling in what he had said. He was simply the one--as a Chief Rabbit ought to be--through whom a strong feeling, latent throughout the warren, had come to the surface. But his plan to make use of the gull excited everyone and was seen as something that not even Blackberry could have hit upon. Reconnaissance is familiar to all rabbits--indeed, it is second nature--but the idea of making use of a bird, and one so strange and savage, convinced them that Hazel, if he could really do it, must be as clever as El-ahrairah himself.

        For the next few days a lot of hard work went into feeding Kehaar. Acorn and Pipkin, boasting that they were the best insect-catchers in the warren, brought in great numbers of beetles and grasshoppers. At first the gull's principal hardship was lack of water. He suffered a good deal and was reduced to tearing at the stems of the long grasses for moisture. However, during his third night in the warren it rained for three or four hours and puddles formed on the track. A cluttery spell set in, as it often does in Hampshire when haytime approaches. High winds from the south laid the grass flat all day, turning it to a dull, damascene silver. The great branches of the beeches moved little, but spoke loudly. There were squalls of rain on the wind. The weather made Kehaar restless. He walked about a good deal, watched the flying clouds and snapped up everything the foragers brought. Searching became harder, for in the wet the insects burrowed into the deep grass and had to be scratched out.

        One afternoon Hazel, who now shared a burrow with Fiver as in the old days, was woken by Bigwig to be told that Kehaar had something to say to him. He made his way to Kehaar's lobby without coming above ground. The first thing he noticed was that the gull's head was molting and turning white, though a dark brown patch remained behind each eye. Hazel greeted Him and was surprised to be answered in a few words of halting, broken Lapine. Evidently Kehaar had prepared a short speech.

        "Meester 'Azel, ees rabbits vork 'ard," said Kehaar. "I no finish now. Soon I go fine."

        "That's good news," said Hazel. "I'm glad."

        Kehaar relapsed into hedgerow vernacular.

        "Meester Pigvig, 'e plenty good fella."

        "Yes, he is."

        " 'E say you no getting mudders. Ees finish mudders. Plenty trouble for you."

        "Yes, that's true. We don't know what to do. No mothers anywhere."

        "Listen. I get peeg, fine plan. I go fine now. Ving, 'e better. Vind finish, den I fly. Fly for you. Find plenty mudders, tell you vere dey are, ya?"

        "Why, what a splendid idea, Kehaar! How clever of you to think of it! You very fine bird."

        "Ees finish mudders for me dis year. Ees too late. All mudders sitting on nest now. Eggs come."

        "I'm sorry."

        "Nudder time I get mudder. Now I fly for you."

        "We'll do everything we possibly can to help you."

        The next day the wind dropped and Kehaar made one or two short flights. However, it was not until three days later that he felt able to set out on his search. It was a perfect June morning. He was snapping up numbers of the little white-shelled downland snails from the wet grass and cracking them in his great beak, when he suddenly turned to Bigwig and said,

        "Now I fly for you,"

        He opened his wings. The two-foot span arched above Bigwig, who sat perfectly still while the white feathers beat the air round his head in a kind of ceremonious farewell. Laying his ears flat in the fanned draft, he stared up at Kehaar as the gull rose, rather heavily, into the air. When he flew, his body, so long and graceful on the ground, took on the appearance of a thick, stumpy cylinder, from the front of which his red beak projected between his round black eyes. For a few moments he hovered, his body rising and falling between his wings. Then he began to climb, sailed sideways over the grass and disappeared northward below the edge of the escarpment. Bigwig returned to the hanger with the news that Kehaar had set out.

        The gull was away several days--longer than the rabbits had expected. Hazel could not help wondering whether he really would return, for he knew that Kehaar, like themselves, felt the mating urge and he thought it quite likely that after all he would be off to the Big Water and the raucous, teeming gull colonies of which he had spoken with such feeling to Bigwig. As far as he was able, he kept his anxiety to himself, but one day when they were alone, he asked Fiver whether he thought Kehaar would return.

        "He will return," said Fiver unhesitatingly.

        "And what will he bring with him?"

        "How can I tell?" replied Fiver. But later, when they were underground, silent and drowsy, he said suddenly, "The gifts of El-ahrairah. Trickery; great danger; and blessing for the warren." When Hazel questioned him again, he seemed to be unaware that he had spoken and could add nothing more.

        Bigwig spent most of the hours of daylight watching for Kehaar's return. He was inclined to be surly and short, and once, when Bluebell remarked that he thought Meester Pigvig's fur cap was molting in sympathy for absent friends, he showed a flash of his old sergeant-major spirit and cuffed and abused him twice round the Honeycomb, until Holly intervened to save his faithful jester from further trouble.

        It was late one afternoon, with a light north wind blowing and the smell of hay drifting up from the fields of Sydmonton, when Bigwig came hurtling down into the Honeycomb to announce that Kehaar was back. Hazel suppressed his excitement and told everyone to keep out of the way while he went to see him alone. On second thoughts, however, he took Fiver and Bigwig with him.

        The three of them found Kehaar back in his lobby. It was full of droppings, messy and malodorous. Rabbits will not excrete underground and Kehaar's habit of fouling his own nest had always disgusted Hazel. Now, in his eagerness to hear his news, the guano smell seemed almost welcome.

        "Glad to see you back, Kehaar," he said. "Are you tired?"

        "Ving 'e still go tired. Fly liddle bit, stop liddle bit, everyt'ing go fine."

        "Are you hungry? Shall we get you some insects?"

        "Fine. Fine. Good fellas. Plenty beetle." (All insects were "beetle" to Kehaar.)

        Clearly, he had missed their attentions and was ready to enjoy being back. Although he no longer needed to have food brought to the lobby, he evidently felt that he deserved it. Bigwig went to get his foragers and Kehaar kept them busy until sunset At last he looked shrewdly at Fiver and said,

        "Eh, Meester Liddle Von, you know vat I pring, ya?"

        "I've no idea," replied Fiver, rather shortly.

        "Den I tell. All dis peeg 'ill, I go along 'im, dis vay, dat vay, vere sun come up, vere sun go down. Ees no rabbits. Ees nodings, nodings."

        He stopped. Hazel looked at Fiver apprehensively.

        "Den I go down, go down in bottom. Ees farm vid peeg trees all round, on liddle hill. You know?"

        "No, we don't know it. But go on."

        "I show you. 'E not far. You see 'im. Und here ees rabbits. Ees rabbits live in box; live vid men. You know?"

        "Live with men? Did you say 'live with men'?"

        "Ya, ya, live vid men. In shed; rabbits live in box in shed. Men pring food. You know?"

        "I know this happens," said Hazel. "I've heard of it. That's fine, Kehaar. You've been very thorough. But it can't help us, can it?"

        "I t'ink ees mudders. In peeg box. But else ees no rabbits; not in fields, not in voods. No rabbits. Anyvays I no see 'em."

        "That sounds bad."

        "Vait. I tell more. Now you 'ear. I go flying, oder vay, vere sun go middle of day. You know, dis vay ees Peeg Vater."

        "Did you go to the Big Water, then?" asked Bigwig.

        "Na, na, not near so far. But out dis vay ees river, you know?"

        "No, we haven't been so far."

        "Ees river," repeated Kehaar. "Und here ees town of rabbits."

        "On the other side of the river?"

        "Na, na. You go dat vay, ees peeg fields all de vay. Den after long vay ees come to town of rabbits, ver' big. Und after dat ees iron road und den river."

        "Iron road?" asked Fiver.

        "Ya, ya, iron road. You not seen heem--iron road? Men make heem."

        Kehaar's speech was so outlandish and distorted at the best of times that it was only too common for the rabbits to be unsure what he meant. The vernacular words which he used now for "iron" and "road" (familiar enough to seagulls) his listeners had scarcely ever heard. Kehaar was quick to impatience and now, as often, they felt at a disadvantage in the face of his familiarity with a wider world than their own. Hazel thought quickly. Two things were clear. Kehaar had evidently found a big warren some way off to the south: and whatever the iron road was, the warren was on this side both of it and of a river. If he had understood rightly, it seemed to follow that the iron road and the river could be ignored for their purposes.

        "Kehaar," he said, "I want to be certain. Can we get to the rabbits' town without bothering about the iron road and the river?"

        "Ya, ya. Not go to iron road. Rabbits' town in bushes for peeg, lonely fields. Plenty mudders."

        "How long would it take to go from here to the--to the town?"

        "I t'ink two days. Ees long vay."

        "Good for you, Kehaar. You've done everything we hoped. You rest now. We'll feed you as long as you want"

        "Sleep now. Tomorrow plenty beetle, ya, ya."

        The rabbits made their way back to the Honeycomb. Hazel told Kehaar's news and a long, disorderly, intermittent discussion began. This was their way of reaching a conclusion. The fact that there was a warren two or three days' journey to the south flickered and oscillated down among them as a penny wavers down through deep water moving one way and the other, shifting, vanishing, reappearing, but always sinking toward the firm bottom. Hazel let the talk run on as long as it would, until at last they dispersed and slept.

        The next morning they went about their lives as usual, feeding Kehaar and themselves, playing and digging. But all this time, just as a drop of water slowly swells until it is heavy enough to fall from a twig, the idea of what they meant to do was becoming clear and unanimous. By the following day Hazel saw it plain. It so happened that the time for speaking came when he was sitting on the bank at sunrise, with Fiver and three or four others. There was no need to summon a general gathering. The thing was settled. When it reached them, those who were not there would accept what he had said without having heard him at all.

        "This warren that Kehaar found," said Hazel, "he said it was big."

        "So we can't take it by force," said Bigwig.

        "I don't think I want to go and join it," said Hazel. "Do you?"

        "And leave here?" replied Dandelion. "After all our work? Besides, I reckon we'd have a thin time. No, I'm sure none of us wants to do that."

        "What we want is to get some does and bring them back here," said Hazel. "Will that be difficult, do you think?"

        "I should have thought not," said Holly. "Big warrens are often overcrowded and some of the rabbits can't get enough to eat. The young does get edgy and nervous and some of them don't have any kittens on that account. At least, the kittens begin to grow inside them and then they melt away again into their bodies. You know this?"

        "I didn't know," said Strawberry.

        "That's because you've never been overcrowded. But our warren--the Threarah's warren--was overcrowded a year or two back and a lot of the younger does were re-absorbing their litters before they were born. The Threarah told me that long ago El-ahrairah made a bargain with Frith. Frith promised him that rabbits were not to be born dead or unwanted. If there's little chance of a decent life for them, it's a doe's privilege to take them back into her body unborn."

        "Yes, I remember the bargain story," said Hazel. "So you think there may be discontented does? That's hopeful. We're agreed, then, that we ought to send an expedition to this warren and that there's a good chance of being successful without fighting. Do you want everyone to go?"

        "I'd say not," said Blackberry. "Two or three days' journey; and we're all in danger, both going and coming. It would be less dangerous for three or four rabbits than for hrair. Three or four can travel quickly and aren't conspicuous: and the Chief Rabbit of this warren would be less likely to object to a few strangers coming with a civil request."

        "I'm sure that's right," said Hazel. "We'll send four rabbits: and they can explain how we come to be in this difficulty and ask to be allowed to persuade some does to come back with them. I don't see that any Chief Rabbit can object to that. I wonder which of us would be the best to send?"

        "Hazel-rah, you mustn't go," said Dandelion. "You're needed here and we don't want to risk you. Everyone's agreed on that."

        Hazel had known already that they would not let him lead the embassy. It was a disappointment, but nevertheless he felt that they were right The other warren would have little opinion of a Chief Rabbit who ran his own errands. Besides, he was not particularly impressive in appearance or as a speaker. This was a job for someone else.

        "All right," he said. "I knew you wouldn't let me go. I'm not the right fellow anyway--Holly is. He knows everything about moving in the open and he'll be able to talk well when he gets there."

        No one contradicted this. Holly was the obvious choice, but to select his companions was less easy. Everyone was ready to go, but the business was so important that at last they considered each rabbit in turn, discussing who would be the most likely to survive the long journey, to arrive in good shape and to go down well in a strange warren. Bigwig, rejected on the grounds that he might quarrel in strange company, was inclined to be sulky at first, but came round when he remembered that he could go on looking after Kehaar. Holly himself wanted to take Bluebell but, as Blackberry said, one funny joke at the expense of the Chief Rabbit might ruin everything. Finally they chose Silver, Buckthorn and Strawberry. Strawberry said little, but was obviously very much pleased. He had suffered a good deal to show that he was no coward and now he had the satisfaction of knowing that he was worth something to his new friends.

        They started early in the morning, in the gray light. Kehaar had undertaken to fly out later in the day, to make sure they were going in the right direction and bring back news of their progress. Hazel and Bigwig went with them to the southern end of the hanger and watched as they slipped away, heading to the west of the distant farm. Holly seemed confident and the other three were in high spirits. Soon they were lost to sight in the grass and Hazel and Bigwig turned back into the wood.

        "Well, we've done the best we can," said Hazel. "The rest's up to them and to El-ahrairah now. But surely it ought to be all right?"

        "Not a doubt of it," said Bigwig. "Let's hope they're back soon. I'm looking forward to a nice doe and a litter of kittens in my burrow. Lots of little Bigwigs, Hazel! Think of that, and tremble!"

24.    Nuthanger Farm

When Robyn came to Notyngham,

   Sertenly withouten layn,

He prayed to God and myld Mary

   To bryng hym out save agayn.

Beside him stod a gret-hedid munke,

   I pray to God woo he be!

Fful sone he knew gode Robyn,

   As sone as he hym se.

Robin Hood and the Monk (Child's Ballads, No. 119)

Hazel sat on the bank in the midsummer night There had been no more than five hours' darkness and that of a pallid, twilit quality which kept him wakeful and restless. Everything was going well. Kehaar had found Holly during the afternoon and corrected his line a little to the west He had left him in the shelter of a thick hedge, sure of his course for the big warren. It seemed certain now that two days would be enough for the journey. Bigwig and some of the other rabbits had already begun enlarging their burrows in preparation for Holly's return. Kehaar had had a violent quarrel with a kestrel, screaming insults in a voice fit to startle a Cornish harbor: and although it had ended inconclusively, the kestrel seemed likely to regard the neighborhood of the hanger with healthy respect for the future. Things had not looked better since they had first set out from Sandleford.

        A spirit of happy mischief entered into Hazel. He felt as he had on the morning when they crossed the Enborne and he had set out alone and found the beanfield. He was confident and ready for adventure. But what adventure? Something worth telling to Holly and Silver on their return. Something to--well, not to diminish what they were going to do. No, of course not--but just to show them that their Chief Rabbit was up to anything that they were up to. He thought it over as he hopped down the bank and sniffed out a patch of salad burnet in the grass. What, now, would be likely to give them just a little, not unpleasant shock? Suddenly he thought, "Suppose, when they got back, that there were one or two does here already?" And in the same moment he remembered what Kehaar had said about a box full of rabbits at the farm. What sort of rabbits could they be? Did they ever come out of their box? Had they ever seen a wild rabbit? Kehaar had said that the farm was not far from the foot of the down, on a little hill. So it could easily be reached in the early morning, before its men were about. Any dogs would probably be chained, but the cats would be loose. A rabbit could outrun a cat as long as he kept in the open and saw it coming first. The important thing was not to be stalked unawares. He should be able to move along the hedgerows without attracting elil, unless he was very unlucky.

        But what did he intend to do, exactly? Why was he going to the farm? Hazel finished the last of the burnet and answered himself in the starlight. "I'll just have a look round," he said, "and if I can find those box rabbits I'll try to talk to them; nothing more than that. I'm not going to take any risks--well, not real risks--not until I see whether it's worth it, anyway."

        Should he go alone? It would be safer and more pleasant to take a companion; but not more than one. They must not attract attention. Who would be best? Bigwig? Dandelion? Hazel rejected them. He needed someone who would do as he was told and not start having ideas of his own. At once he thought of Pipkin. Pipkin would follow him without question and do anything he asked. At this moment he was probably asleep in the burrow which he shared with Bluebell and Acorn, down a short run leading off the Honeycomb.

        Hazel was lucky. He found Pipkin close to the mouth of the burrow and already awake. He brought him out without disturbing the other two rabbits and led him up by the run that gave on the bank. Pipkin looked about him uncertainly, bewildered and half expecting some danger.

        "It's all right, Hlao-roo," said Hazel. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I want you to come down the hill and help me to find a farm I've heard about. We're just going to have a look round it."

        "Round a farm, Hazel-rah? What for? Won't it be dangerous? Cats and dogs and--"

        "No, you'll be quite all right with me. Just you and me--I don't want anyone else. I've got a secret plan; you mustn't tell the others--for the time being, anyway. I particularly want you to come and no one else will do."

        This had exactly the effect that Hazel intended. Pipkin needed no further persuasion and they set off together, over the grass track, across the turf beyond and down the escarpment. They went through the narrow belt of trees and came into the field where Holly had called Bigwig in the dark. Here Hazel paused, sniffing and listening. It was the time before dawn when owls return, usually hunting as they go. Although a full-grown rabbit is not really in danger from owls, there are few who take no account of them. Stoats and foxes might be abroad also, but the night was still and damp and Hazel, secure in his mood of gay confidence, felt sure that he would either smell or hear any hunter on four feet.

        Wherever the farm might be, it must lie beyond the road that ran along the opposite edge of the field. He set

off at an easy pace, with Pipkin close behind. Moving quietly in and out of the hedgerow up which Holly and Bluebell had come and passing, on their way, under the cables humming faintly in the darkness above, they took only a few minutes to reach the road.

        There are times when we know for a certainty that all is well. A batsman who has played a fine innings will say afterward that he felt he could not miss the ball, and a speaker or an actor, on his lucky day, can sense his audience carrying him as though he were swimming in miraculous, buoyant water. Hazel had this feeling now. All round him was the quiet summer night, luminous with starlight but paling to dawn on one side. There was nothing to fear and he felt ready to skip through a thousand farmyards one after the other. As he sat with Pipkin on the bank above the tar-smelling road, it did not strike him as particularly lucky when he saw a young rat scuttle across from the opposite hedge and disappear into a clump of fading stitchwort below them. He had known that some guide or other would turn up. He scrambled quickly down the bank and found the rat nosing in the ditch.

        "The farm," said Hazel, "where's the farm--near here, on a little hill?"

        The rat stared at him with twitching whiskers. It had no particular reason to be friendly, but there was something in Hazel's look that made a civil answer natural.

        "Over road. Up lane."

        The sky was growing lighter each moment. Hazel crossed the road without waiting for Pipkin, who caught him up under the hedge bordering the near side of the little lane. From here, after another listening pause, they began to make their way up the slope toward the northern skyline.

        Nuthanger is like a farm in an old tale. Between Ecchinswell and the foot of Watership Down and about half a mile from each, there is a broad knoll, steeper on the north side but falling gently on the south--like the down ridge itself. Narrow lanes climb both slopes and come together in a great ring of elm trees which encircles the flat summit. Any wind--even the lightest--draws from the height of the elms a rushing sound, multifoliate and powerful. Within this ring stands the farmhouse, with its barns and outbuildings. The house may be two hundred years old or it may be older, built of brick, with a stone-faced front looking south toward the down. On the east side, in front of the house, a barn stands clear of the ground on staddle stones; and opposite is the cow byre.

        As Hazel and Pipkin reached the top of the slope, the first light showed clearly the farmyard and buildings. The birds singing all about them were those to which they had been accustomed in former days. A robin on a low branch twittered a phrase and listened for another that answered him from beyond the farmhouse. A chaffinch gave its little falling song and further off, high in an elm, a chiffchaff began to call. Hazel stopped and then sat up, the better to scent the air. Powerful smells of straw and cow dung mingled with those of elm leaves, ashes and cattle feed. Fainter traces came to his nose as the overtones of a bell sound in a trained ear. Tobacco, naturally: a good deal of cat and rather less dog and then, suddenly and beyond doubt, rabbit. He looked at Pipkin and saw that he, too, had caught it.

        While these scents reached them they were also listening. But beyond the light movements of birds and the first buzzing of the flies immediately around them, they could hear nothing but the continual susurration of the trees. Under the northern steep of the down the air had been still, but here the southerly breeze was magnified by the elms, with their myriads of small, fluttering leaves, just as the effect of sunlight on a garden is magnified by dew. The sound, coming from the topmost branches, disturbed Hazel because it suggested some huge approach--an approach that was never completed: and he and Pipkin remained still for some time, listening tensely to this loud yet meaningless vehemence high overhead.

        They saw no cat, but near the house stood a flat-roofed dog kennel. They could just glimpse the dog asleep inside--a large, smooth-haired, black dog, with head on paws. Hazel could not see a chain; but then, after a moment, he noticed the line of a thin rope that came out through the kennel door and ended in some sort of fastening on the roof. "Why a rope?" he wondered and then thought, "Because a restless dog cannot rattle it in the night."

        The two rabbits began to wander among the outbuildings. At first they took care to remain in cover and continually on the watch for cats. But they saw none and soon grew bolder, crossing open spaces and even stopping to nibble at dandelions in the patches of weeds and rough grass. Guided by scent, Hazel made his way to a low-roofed shed. The door was half open and he went through it with scarcely a pause at the brick threshold. Immediately opposite the door, on a broad wooden shelf--a kind of platform--stood a wire-fronted hutch. Through the mesh he could see a brown bowl, some greenstuff and the ears of two or three rabbits. As he stared, one of the rabbits came close to the wire, looked out and saw him.

        Beside the platform, on the near side, was an up-ended bale of straw. Hazel jumped lightly on it and from there to the thick planks, which were old and soft-surfaced, dusty and covered with chaff. Then he turned back to Pipkin, waiting just inside the door.

        "Hlao-roo," he said, "there's only one way out of this place. You'll have to keep watching for cats or we may be trapped. Stay at the door and if you see a cat outside, tell me at once."

        "Right, Hazel-rah," said Pipkin. "It's all clear at the moment."

        Hazel went up to the side of the hutch. The wired front projected over the edge of the shelf so that he could neither reach it nor look in, but there was a knothole in one of the boards facing him and on the far side he could see a twitching nose.

        "I am Hazel-rah," he said. "I have come to talk to you. Can you understand me?"

        The answer was in slightly strange but perfectly intelligible Lapine.

        "Yes, we understand you. My name is Boxwood. Where do you come from?"

        "From the hills. My friends and I live as we please, without men. We eat the grass, lie in the sun and sleep underground. How many are you?"

        "Four. Bucks and does."

        "Do you ever come out?"

        "Yes, sometimes. A child takes us out and puts us in a pen on the grass."

        "I have come to tell you about my warren. We need more rabbits. We want you to run away from the farm and join us."

        "There's a wire door at the back of this hutch," said Boxwood. "Come down there: we can talk more easily."

        The door was made of wire netting on a wooden frame, with two leather hinges nailed to the uprights and a hasp and staple fastened with a twist of wire. Four rabbits were crowded against the wire, pressing their noses through the mesh. Two--Laurel and Clover--were short-haired black Angoras. The others, Boxwood and his doe Haystack, were black-and-white Himalayans.

        Hazel began to speak about the life of the downs and the excitement and freedom enjoyed by wild rabbits. In his usual straightforward way he told about the predicament of his warren in having no does and how he had come to look for some. "But," he said, "we don't want to steal your does. All four of you are welcome to join us, bucks and does alike. There's plenty for everyone on the hills." He went on to talk of the evening feed in the sunset and of early morning in the long grass.

        The hutch rabbits seemed at once bewildered and fascinated. Clover, the Angora doe--a strong, active rabbit--was clearly excited by Hazel's description and asked several questions about the warren and the downs. It became plain that they thought of their life in the hutch as dull but safe. They had learned a good deal about elil from some source or other and seemed sure that few wild rabbits survived for long. Hazel realized that although they were glad to talk to him and welcomed his visit because it brought a little excitement and change into their monotonous life, it was not within their capacity to take a decision and act on it. They did not know how to make up their minds. To him and his companions, sensing and acting was second nature; but these rabbits had never had to act to save their lives or even to find a meal. If he was going to get any of them as far as the down, they would have to be urged. He sat quiet for a little, nibbling a patch of bran spilled on the boards outside the hutch. Then he said,

        "I must go back now to my friends in the hills: but we shall return. We shall come one night, and when we do, believe me, we shall open your hutch as easily as the farmer does: and then, any of you who wish will be free to come with us."

        Boxwood was about to reply when suddenly Pipkin spoke from the floor. "Hazel, there's a cat in the yard outside!"

        "We're not afraid of cats," said Hazel to Boxwood, "as long as we're in the open." Trying to appear unhurried, he went back to the floor by way of the straw bale and crossed over to the door. Pipkin was looking through the hinge. He was plainly frightened.

        "I think it's smelled us, Hazel," he said. "I'm afraid it knows where we are."

        "Don't stay there, then," said Hazel. "Follow me close and run when I do." Without waiting to look out through the hinge, he went round the half-open door of the shed and stopped on the threshold.

        The cat, a tabby with white chest and paws, was at the further end of the little yard, walking slowly and deliberately along the side of a pile of logs. When Hazel appeared in the doorway it saw him at once and stood stock still, with staring eyes and twitching tail. Hazel hopped slowly across the threshold and stopped again. Already sunlight was slanting across the yard, and in the stillness the flies buzzed about a patch of dung a few feet away. There was a smell of straw and dust and hawthorn.

        "You look hungry," said Hazel to the cat. "Rats getting too clever, I suppose?"

        The cat made no reply. Hazel sat blinking in the sunshine. The cat crouched almost flat on the ground, thrusting its head forward between its front paws. Close behind, Pipkin fidgeted and Hazel, never taking his eyes from the cat, could sense that he was trembling.

        "Don't be frightened, Hlao-roo," he whispered, "I'll get you away, but you must wait till it comes for us. Keep still."

        The cat began to lash its tail. Its hindquarters lifted and wagged from side to side in mounting excitement.

        "Can you run?" said Hazel. "I think not. Why, you pop-eyed, back-door saucer-scraper--"

        The cat flung itself across the yard and the two rabbits leaped into flight with great thrusts of their hind legs. The cat came very fast indeed and although both of them had been braced ready to move on the instant, they were barely out of the yard in time. Racing up the side of the long barn, they heard the Labrador barking in excitement as it ran to the full extent of its rope. A man's voice shouted to it. From the cover of the hedge beside the lane they turned and looked back. The cat had stopped short and was licking one paw with a pretense of nonchalance.

        "They hate to look silly," said Hazel. "It won't give us any more trouble. If it hadn't charged at us like that, it would have followed us much further and probably called up another as well. And somehow you can't make a dash unless they do it first. It's a good thing you saw it coming, Hlao-roo."

        "I'm glad if I helped, Hazel. But what were we up to, and why did you talk to the rabbits in the box?"

        "I'll tell you all about it later on. Let's go into the field now and feed; then we can make our way home as slowly as you like."

25.    The Raid

He went consenting, or else he was no king. ... It was no one's place to say to him, "It is time to make the offering."

Mary Renault, The King Must Die

As things turned out, Hazel and Pipkin did not come back to the Honeycomb until the evening. They were still feeding in the field when it came on to rain, with a cold wind, and they took shelter first in the nearby ditch and then--since the ditch was on a slope and had a fair flow of rainwater in about ten minutes--among some sheds halfway down the lane. They burrowed into a thick pile of straw and for some time remained listening for rats. But all was quiet and they grew drowsy and fell asleep, while outside the rain settled in for the morning. When they woke it was mid-afternoon and still drizzling. It seemed to Hazel that there was no particular hurry. The going would be troublesome in the wet, and anyway no self-respecting rabbit could leave without a forage round the sheds. A pile of mangels and swedes occupied them for some time and they set out only when the light was beginning to fade. They took their time and reached the hanger a little before dark, with nothing worse to trouble them than the discomfort of soaking-wet fur. Only two or three of the rabbits were out to a rather subdued silflay in the wet. No one remarked on their absence and Hazel went underground at once, telling Pipkin to say nothing about their adventure for the time being. He found his burrow empty, lay down and fell asleep.

        Waking, he found Fiver beside him as usual. It was some time before dawn. The earth floor felt pleasantly dry and snug and he was about to go back to sleep when Fiver spoke.

        "You've been wet through, Hazel."

        "Well, what about it? The grass is wet, you know."

        "You didn't get so wet on silflay. You were soaked. You weren't here at all yesterday, were you?"

        "Oh, I went foraging down the hill."

        "Eating swedes: and your feet smell of farmyard--hens' droppings and bran. But there's some other funny thing besides--something I can't smell. What happened?"

        "Well, I had a bit of a brush with a cat, but why worry?"

        "Because you're concealing something, Hazel. Something dangerous."

        "It's Holly that's in danger, not I. Why bother about me?"

        "Holly?" replied Fiver in surprise. "But Holly and the others reached the big warren early yesterday evening. Kehaar told us. Do you mean to say you didn't know?"

        Hazel felt fairly caught out. "Well, I know now," he replied. "I'm glad to hear it."

        "So it comes to this," said Fiver. "You went to a farm yesterday and escaped from a cat. And whatever you were up to, it was so much on your mind that you forgot to ask about Holly last night."

        "Well, all right, Fiver--I'll tell you all about it. I took Pipkin and went to that farm that Kehaar told us about where there are rabbits in a hutch. I found the rabbits and talked to them and I've taken a notion to go back one night and get them out, to come and join us here."

        "What for?"

        "Well, two of them are does, that's what for."

        "But if Holly's successful we shall soon have plenty of does: and from all I've ever heard of hutch rabbits, they don't take easily to wild life. The truth is, you're just a silly show-off."

        "A silly show-off?" said Hazel. "Well, we'll just see whether Bigwig and Blackberry think so."

        "Risking your life and other rabbits' lives for something that's of little or no value to us," said Fiver. "Oh, yes, of course the others will go with you. You're their Chief Rabbit. You're supposed to decide what's sensible and they trust you. Persuading them will prove nothing, but three or four dead rabbits will prove you're a fool, when it's too late."

        "Oh, be quiet," answered Hazel. "I'm going to sleep."

        During silflay next morning, with Pipkin for a respectful chorus, he told the others about his visit to the farm. As he had expected, Bigwig jumped at the idea of a raid to free the hutch rabbits.

        "It can't go wrong," he said. "It's a splendid idea, Hazel! I don't know how you open a hutch, but Blackberry will see to that. What annoys me is to think you ran from that cat. A good rabbit's a match for a cat, any day. My mother went for one once and she fairly gave it something to remember, I can tell you: scratched its fur out like willow herb in autumn! Just leave the farm cats to me and one or two of the others!"

        Blackberry took a little more convincing: but he, like Bigwig and Hazel himself, was secretly disappointed not to

have gone on the expedition with Holly: and when the other two pointed out that they were relying on him to tell them how to get the hutch open, he agreed to come.

        "Do we need to take everyone?" he asked. "You say the dog's tied up and I suppose there can't be more than three cats. Too many rabbits will only be a nuisance in the dark: someone will get lost and we shall have to spend time looking for him."

        "Well, Dandelion, Speedwell and Hawkbit, then," said Bigwig, "and leave the others behind. Do you mean to go tonight, Hazel-rah?"

        "Yes, the sooner the better," said Hazel. "Get hold of those three and tell them. Pity it's going to be dark--we could have taken Kehaar: he'd have enjoyed it."

        However, their hopes for that night were disappointed, for the rain returned before dusk, settling in on a northwest wind and carrying up the hill the sweet-sour smell of flowering privet from cottage hedges below. Hazel sat on the bank until the light had quite faded. At last, when it was clear that the rain was going to stay for the night, he joined the others in the Honeycomb. They had persuaded Kehaar to come down out of the wind and wet, and one of Dandelion's tales of El-ahrairah was followed by an extraordinary story that left everyone mystified but fascinated, about a time when Frith had to go away on a journey, leaving the whole world to be covered with rain. But a man built a great floating hutch that held all the animals and birds until Frith returned and let them out.

        "It won't happen tonight, will it, Hazel-rah?" asked Pipkin, listening to the rain in the beech leaves outside. "There's no hutch here."

        "Kehaar'll fly you up to the moon, Hlao-roo," said Bluebell, "and you can come down on Bigwig's head like a birch branch in the frost. But there's time to go to sleep first."

        Before Fiver slept, however, he talked again to Hazel about the raid.

        "I suppose it's no good asking you not to go?" he said.

        "Look here," answered Hazel, "have you got one of your bad turns about the farm? If you have, why not say so straight out? Then we'd all know where we were."

        "I've no feelings about the farm one way or the other," said Fiver. "But that doesn't necessarily mean it's all right. The feelings come when they will--they don't always come. Not for the lendri, not for the crow. If it comes to that, I've no idea what's happening to Holly and the others. It might be good or bad. But there's something that frightens me about you yourself, Hazel: just you, not any of the others. You're all alone, sharp and clear, like a dead branch against the sky."

        "Well, if you mean you can see trouble for me and not for any of the others, tell them and I'll leave it to them to decide whether I ought to keep out of it. But that's giving up a lot, Fiver, you know. Even with your word for it, someone's bound to think I'm afraid."

        "Well, I say it's not worth the risk, Hazel. Why not wait for Holly to come back? That's all we have to do."

        "I'll be snared if I wait for Holly. Can't you see that the very thing I want is to have these does here when he comes back? But look, Fiver, I'll tell you what. I've come to trust you so much that I'll take the greatest care. In fact, I won't even go into the farmyard myself. I'll stay outside, at the top of the lane: and if that's not meeting your fears halfway, then I don't know what is."

        Fiver said no more and Hazel turned his thoughts to the raid and the difficulty he foresaw of getting the hutch rabbits to go the distance back to the warren.

        The next day was bright and dry, with a fresh wind that cleared up what remained of the wet. The clouds came racing over the ridge from the south as they had on the May evening when Hazel first climbed the down. But now they were higher and smaller, settling at last into a mackerel sky like a beach at low tide. Hazel took Bigwig and Blackberry to the edge of the escarpment, whence they could look across to Nuthanger on its little hill. He described the approach and went on to explain how the rabbit hutch was to be found. Bigwig was in high spirits. The wind and the prospect of action excited him and he spent some time with Dandelion, Hawkbit and Speedwell, pretending to be a cat and encouraging them to attack him as realistically as they could. Hazel, whose talk with Fiver had somewhat clouded him,  recovered as he watched them tussling over the grass and ended by joining in himself, first as an attacker and then as the cat, staring and quivering for all the world like the Nuthanger tabby.

        "I shall be disappointed if we don't meet a cat after all this," said Dandelion, as he waited for his turn to run at a fallen beech branch from one side, claw it twice and dash out again. "I feel a really dangerous animal."   

        "You vatch heem, Meester Dando," said Kehaar, who was hunting for snails in the grass nearby, "Meester Pigvig, 'e vant you t'ink all vun peeg yoke; make you prave. Cat 'e no yoke. You no see 'im, you no 'ear 'im. Den yomp! 'E come."

        "But we're not going there to eat, Kehaar," said Bigwig. "That makes all the difference. We shan't stop watching for cats the whole time."

        "Why not eat the cat?" said Bluebell. "Or bring one back here for breeding? That ought to improve the warren stock no end."

        Hazel and Bigwig had decided that the raid should be carried out as soon after dark as the farm was quiet. This meant that they would cover the half mile to the outlying sheds at sunset, instead of risking the confusion of a night journey over ground that only Hazel knew. They could steal a meal among the swedes, halt till darkness and cover the short distance to the farm after a good rest. Then--provided they could cope with the cats--there would be plenty of time to tackle the hutch; whereas if they were to arrive at dawn they would be working against time before men came on the scene. Finally, the hutch rabbits would not be missed until the following morning.

        "And remember," said Hazel, "it'll probably take these rabbits a long time to get to the down. We shall have to be patient with them. I'd rather do that in darkness, elil or no elil. We don't want to be messing about in broad daylight."

        "If it comes to the worst," said Bigwig, "we can leave the hutch rabbits and bolt. Elil take the hindmost, don't they? I know it's tough, but if there's real trouble we ought to save our own rabbits first. Let's hope that doesn't happen, though."

        When they came to set out, Fiver was nowhere to be seen. Hazel felt relieved, for he had been afraid that Fiver might say something that would lower their spirits. But there was nothing worse to contend with than Pipkin's disappointment at being left behind; and this was dispelled when Hazel assured him that the only reason was that he had already done his bit. Bluebell, Acorn and Pipkin came with them to the foot of the hill and watched them down the hedgerow.

        They reached the sheds in the twilight after sunset The summer nightfall was unbroken by owls and so quiet that they could plainly hear the intermittent, monotonous "Chug chug chug" of a nightingale in the distant woods. Two rats among the swedes showed their teeth, thought better of it and left them alone. When they had foraged, they rested comfortably in the straw until the western light was quite gone.

        Rabbits do not name the stars, but nevertheless Hazel was familiar with the sight of Capella rising; and he watched it now until it stood gold and bright in the dark northeastern horizon to the right of the farm. When it reached a certain point which he had fixed, beside a bare branch, he roused the others and led them up the slope toward the elms. Near the top he slipped through the hedge and brought them down into the lane.

        Hazel had already told Bigwig of his promise to Fiver to keep out of danger; and Bigwig, who had changed much since the early days, had no fault to find.

        "If that's what Fiver says, you'd better do it, Hazel," he said. "Anyhow it'll suit us. You stay outside the farm in a safe place and we'll bring the rabbits out to you: then you can take over and get us all away." What Hazel had not said was that the idea that he should remain in the lane was his own suggestion, and that Fiver had acquiesced only because he could not persuade him to give up the idea of the raid altogether.

        Crouching under a fallen branch on the verge of the lane, Hazel watched the others as they followed Bigwig down toward the farmyard. They went slowly, rabbit fashion, hop, step and pause. The night was dark and they were soon out of sight, though he could hear them moving down the side of the long barn. He settled down to wait.

        Bigwig's hopes of action were fulfilled almost at once. The cat that he met as he reached the far end of the barn was not Hazel's tabby, but another; ginger, black and white (and therefore a female); one of those slim, trotting, quick-moving, tail-twitching cats that sit on farm windowsills in the rain or keep watch from the tops of sacks on sunny afternoons. It came briskly round the corner of the barn, saw the rabbits and stopped dead.

        Without an instant's hesitation Bigwig went straight for it, as though it had been the beech branch on the down. But quicker even than he Dandelion ran forward, scratched it and leaped clear. As it turned, Bigwig threw his full weight upon it from the other side. The cat closed with him, biting and scratching, and Bigwig rolled over on the ground. The others could hear him swearing like a cat himself and struggling for a hold. Then he sank one back leg into the cat's side and kicked backward rapidly, several times.

        Anyone who is familiar with cats knows that they do not care for a determined assailant. A dog that tries to make itself pleasant to a cat may very well get scratched for its pains. But let that same dog rush in to the attack and many a cat will not wait to meet it. The farm cat was bewildered by the speed and fury of Bigwig's charge. It was no weakling and a good ratter, but it had the bad luck to be up against a dedicated fighter who was spoiling for action. As it scrabbled out of Bigwig's reach, Speedwell cuffed it across the face. This was the last blow struck, for the wounded cat made off across the yard and disappeared under the fence of the cow byre.

        Bigwig was bleeding from three deep, parallel scratches on the inside of one hind leg. The others gathered round, praising him, but he cut them short, looking round the dark yard as he tried to get his bearings.

        "Come on," he said. "Quickly, too, while the dog's still quiet. The shed: the hutch--where do we go?"

        It was Hawkbit who found the little yard. Hazel had been anxious in case the shed door might be shut; but it stood just ajar and the five of them slipped in one after the other. In the thick gloom they could not make out the hutch, but they could both smell and hear the rabbits.

        "Blackberry," said Bigwig quickly, "you come with me and get the hutch open. You other three, keep watching.

If another cat comes, you'll have to take it on yourselves."

        "Fine," said Dandelion. "Just leave it to us."

        Bigwig and Blackberry found the straw bale and climbed on the planks. As they did so, Boxwood spoke from the hutch.

        "Who's that? Hazel-rah, have you come back?"

        "Hazel-rah has sent us," answered Blackberry. "We've come to let you out. Will you come with us?"

        There was a pause and some movement in the hay and then Clover replied, "Yes, let us out."

        Blackberry sniffed his way round to the wire door and sat up, nosing over the frame, the hasp and the staple. It took him some time to realize that the leather hinges were soft enough to bite. Then he found that they lay so smooth and flush with the frame that he could not get his teeth to them. Several times he tried to find a grip and at last sat back on his haunches, at a loss.

        "I don't-think this door's going to be any good," he said. "I wonder whether there's some other way?"

        At that moment it happened that Boxwood stood on his hind legs and put his front paws high on the wire. Beneath his weight the top of the door was pressed slightly outward and the upper of the two leather hinges gave slightly where the outer nail held it to the body of the hutch itself. As Boxwood dropped back on all fours, Blackberry saw that the hinge had buckled and risen just clear of the wood.

        "Try it now," he said to Bigwig.

        Bigwig got his teeth to the hinge and pulled. It tore a very little.

        "By Frith, that'll do," said Blackberry, for all the world like the Duke of Wellington at Salamanca. "We just need time, that's all."

        The hinge had been well made and did not give way until they had put it to a great deal more tugging and biting. Dandelion grew nervous and twice gave a false alarm. Bigwig, realizing that the sentries were on the jump from watching and waiting with nothing to do, changed places with him and sent Speedwell up to take over from Blackberry. When at last Dandelion and Speedwell had pulled the leather strip off the nail, Bigwig came back to the hutch himself. But they did not seem much nearer to success. Whenever one of the rabbits inside stood up and rested its forepaws on the upper part of the wire, the door pivoted lightly on the axis of the staple and the lower hinge. But the lower hinge did not tear. Blowing through his whiskers with impatience, Bigwig brought Blackberry back from the threshold. "What's to be done?" he said. "We need some magic, like that lump of wood you shoved into the river."

        Blackberry looked at the door as Boxwood, inside, pushed it again. The upright of the frame pressed tight against the lower strip of leather, but it held smooth and firm, offering no purchase for teeth.

        "Push it the other way--push from this side," he said, "You push, Bigwig. Tell that rabbit inside to get down."   When Bigwig stood up and pushed the top of the door inward, the frame immediately pivoted much further than before, because there was no sill along the bottom of the outer side to stop it. The leather hinge twisted and Bigwig nearly lost his balance. If it had not been for the metal staple arresting the pivoting, he might actually have fallen inside the hutch. Startled, he jumped back, growling.

        "Well, you said magic, didn't you?" said Blackberry with satisfaction. "Do it again."

        No strip of leather held by only one broad-headed nail at each end can stand up for long to repeated twisting. Soon one of the nailheads was almost out of sight under the frayed edges.

        "Careful now," said Blackberry. "If it gives way suddenly, you'll go flying. Just pull it off with your teeth."

        Two minutes later the door hung sagging on the staple alone. Clover pushed the hinge side open and came out,

followed by Boxwood.

        When several creatures--men or animals--have worked together to overcome something offering resistance and have at last succeeded, there follows often a pause--as though they felt the propriety of paying respect to the adversary who has put up so good a fight. The great tree falls, splitting, cracking, rushing down in leaves to the final, shuddering blow along the ground. Then the foresters are silent, and do not at once sit down. After hours, the deep snowdrift has been cleared and the lorry is ready to take the men home out of the cold. But they stand a while, leaning on their spades and only nodding unsmilingly as the car-drivers go through, waving their thanks. The cunning hutch door had become nothing but a piece of wire netting, tacked to a frame made from four strips of half-by-half; and the rabbits sat on the planks, sniffing and nosing it without talking. After a little while the other two occupants of the hutch, Laurel and Haystack, came hesitantly out and looked about them.

        "Where is Hazel-rah?" asked Laurel.

        "Not far away," said Blackberry. "He's waiting in the lane."

        "What is the lane?"

        "The lane?" said Blackberry in surprise. "Surely--"

He stopped as it came over him that these rabbits knew neither lane nor farmyard. They had not the least idea of their most immediate surroundings. He was reflecting on what this meant when Bigwig spoke.

        "We mustn't wait about now," he said. "Follow me, all of you."

        "But where?" said Boxwood.

        "Well, out of here, of course," said Bigwig impatiently. Boxwood looked about him. "I don't know--" he began.

        "Well, I do," said Bigwig. "Just come with us. Never mind anything else."

        The hutch rabbits looked at each other in bewilderment. It was plain that they were afraid of the great, bristling buck, with his strange shock of fur and his smell of fresh blood. They did not know what to do or understand what was expected of them. They remembered Hazel; they had been excited by the forcing of the door and curious to come through it once it was open. Otherwise, they had no purpose whatever and no means of forming one. They had no more idea of what was involved than a small child who says he will accompany the climbers up the fell.

        Blackberry's heart sank. What was to be done with them? Left to themselves, they would hop slowly about the shed and the yard until the cats got them. Of their own accord they could no more run to the hills than fly to the moon. Was there no simple, plain idea that might get them--or some of them--on the move? He turned to Clover.

        "I don't suppose you've ever eaten grass by night," he said. "It tastes much better than by day. Let's all go and have some, shall we?"

        "Oh, yes," said Clover, "I'd like that. But will it be safe? We're all very much afraid of the cats, you know. They come and stare at us sometimes through the wire and it makes us shiver."

        This showed at least the beginnings of sense, thought Blackberry.

        "The big rabbit is a match for any cat," he replied. "He nearly killed one on the way here tonight."

        "And he doesn't want to fight another if he can help it" said Bigwig briskly. "So if you do want to eat grass by moonlight, let's go to where Hazel-rah's waiting for us."

        As Bigwig led the way into the yard, he could make out the shape of the cat that he had beaten, watching from the woodpile. Cat-like, it was fascinated by the rabbits and could not leave them alone, but it evidently had no stomach for another fight and as they crossed the yard it stayed where it was.

        The pace was frighteningly slow. Boxwood and Clover seemed to have grasped that there was some sort of urgency and were clearly doing their best to keep up, but, the other two rabbits, once they had hopped into the yard, sat up and looked about them in a foolish manner, completely at a loss. After a good deal of delay, during which the cat left the woodpile and began to move stealthily round toward the side of the shed, Blackberry managed to get them out into the farmyard. But here, finding themselves in an even more open place, they settled into a kind of static panic, like that which sometimes comes upon inexperienced climbers exposed on a sheer face. They could not move, but sat blinking and staring about them in the darkness, taking no notice of Blackberry's coaxing or Bigwig's orders. At this moment a second cat--Hazel's tabby--came round the further end of the farmhouse and made toward them. As it passed the kennel the Labrador woke and sat up, thrusting out its head and shoulders and looking first to one side and then the other. It saw the rabbits, ran to the length of its rope and began to bark.

        "Come on!" said Bigwig. "We can't stay here. Up the lane, everybody, and quickly, too." Blackberry, Speedwell and Hawkbit ran at once, taking Boxwood and Clover with them into the darkness under the barn. Dandelion remained beside Haystack, begging her to move and expecting every moment to feel the cat's claws in his back. Bigwig leaped across to him.

        "Dandelion," he said in his ear, "get out of it, unless you want to be killed!"

        "But the--" began Dandelion.

        "Do as I say!" said Bigwig. The noise of barking was fearful and he himself was close to panic. Dandelion hesitated a moment longer. Then he left Haystack and shot up the lane, with Bigwig beside him.

        They found the others gathered round Hazel, under the bank. Boxwood and Clover were trembling and seemed

exhausted. Hazel was talking to them reassuringly, but broke off as Bigwig appeared out of the dark. The dog stopped barking and there was quiet.

        "We're all here," said Bigwig. "Shall we go, Hazel?"

        "But there were four hutch rabbits," said Hazel. "Where are the other two?"

        "In the farmyard," said Blackberry. "We couldn't do anything with them: and then the dog began to bark."

        "Yes, I heard it. You mean they're loose?"

        "They'll be a lot looser soon," said Bigwig angrily. "The cats are there."

        "Why did you leave them, then?"

        "Because they wouldn't move. It was bad enough before the dog started."

        "Is the dog tied?" asked Hazel.

        "Yes, it's tied. But do you expect any rabbit to stand his ground a few feet from an angry dog?"

        "No, of course not," replied Hazel. "You've done wonders, Bigwig. They were just telling me, before you came, that you gave one of the cats such a beating that it was afraid to come back for more. Now look, do you think you and Blackberry, with Speedwell here and Hawkbit, can get these two rabbits back to the warren? I'm afraid you may need most of the night. They can't go very fast and you'll have to be patient with them. Dandelion, you come with me, will you?"

        "Where, Hazel-rah?"

        "To fetch the other two," said Hazel. "You're the fastest, so it won't be so dangerous for you, will it? Now, don't hang about, Bigwig, there's a good fellow. I'll see you tomorrow."

        Before Bigwig could reply he had disappeared under the elms. Dandelion remained where he was, looking at Bigwig uncertainly.

        "Are you going to do what he says?" asked Bigwig.

        "Well, are you?" said Dandelion.

        It took Bigwig no more than a moment to realize that if he said he was not, complete disorganization would follow. He could not take all the others back into the farm, and he could not leave them alone. He muttered something about Hazel being too embleer clever by half, cuffed Hawkbit off a sow thistle he was nibbling and led his five rabbits over the bank into the field. Dandelion, left alone, set off after Hazel into the farmyard.

        As he went down the side of the barn, he could hear Hazel out in the open, near the doe Haystack. Neither of the hutch rabbits had moved from where he and Bigwig had left them. The dog had returned to its kennel; but although it was not to be seen, he felt that it was awake and watchful. He came cautiously out of the shadow and approached Hazel.

        "I'm just having a chat with Haystack here," said Hazel. "I've been explaining that we've got a little way to go. Do you think you could hop across to Laurel and get him to join us?"

        He spoke almost gaily, but Dandelion could see his dilated eyes and the slight trembling of his front paws. He himself was now sensing something peculiar--a kind of luminosity--in the air. There seemed to be a curious vibration somewhere in the distance. He looked round for the cats and saw that, as he feared, both were crouching in front of the farmhouse a little way off. Their reluctance to come closer could be attributed to Bigwig: but they would not go away. Looking across the yard at them, Dandelion felt a sudden clutch of horror.

        "Hazel!" he whispered. "The cats! Dear Frith, why are their eyes glittering green like that? Look!"

        Hazel sat up quickly and as he did so Dandelion leaped back in real terror, for Hazel's eyes were shining a deep, glowing red in the dark. At that moment the humming vibration grew louder, quenching the rushing of the night breeze in the elms. Then all four rabbits sat as though transfixed by the sudden, blinding light that poured over them like a cloudburst. Their very instinct was numbed in this terrible glare. The dog barked and then became silent once more. Dandelion tried to move, but could not. The awful brightness seemed to cut into his brain.

        The car, which had driven up the lane and over the brow under the elms, came on a few more yards and stopped.

        "Lucy's rabbits is out, look!"

        "Ah! Best get 'un in quick. Leave loights on!"

        The sound of men's voices, from somewhere beyond the fierce light, brought Hazel to his senses. He could not see, but nothing, he realized, had happened to his hearing or his nose. He shut his eyes and at once knew where he was.

        "Dandelion! Haystack! Shut your eyes and run," he said. A moment later he smelled the lichen and cool moisture of one of the staddle stones. He was under the barn. Dandelion was near him and a little further away was Haystack. Outside, the men's boots scraped and grated over the stones.

        "That's it! Get round be'ind 'un."

        " 'E won't go far!"

        "Pick 'n up, then!"

        Hazel moved across to Haystack. "I'm afraid we'll have to leave Laurel," he said. "Just follow me."

        Keeping under the raised floor of the barn, they all three scuttled back toward the elm trees. The men's voices were left behind. Coming out into the grass near the lane, they found the darkness behind the headlights full of the fumes of exhaust--a hostile, choking smell that added to their confusion. Haystack sat down once more and could not be persuaded to move.

        "Shouldn't we leave her, Hazel-rah?" asked Dandelion. "After all, the men won't hurt her--they've caught Laurel and taken him back to the hutch."

        "If it was a buck, I'd say yes," said Hazel. "But we need this doe. That's what we came for."

        At this moment they caught the smell of burning white sticks and heard the men returning up the farmyard. There was a metallic bumping as they rummaged in the car. The sound seemed to rouse Haystack. She looked round at Dandelion.

        "I don't want to go back to the hutch," she said.

        "You're sure?" asked Dandelion.

        "Yes. I'll go with you."

        Dandelion immediately turned for the hedgerow. It was only when he had crossed it and reached the ditch beyond that he realized that he was on the opposite side of the lane from that on which they had first approached. He was in a strange ditch. However, there seemed to be nothing to worry about--the ditch led down the slope and that was the way home. He moved slowly along it, waiting for Hazel to join them.

        Hazel had crossed the lane a few moments after Dandelion and Haystack. Behind him, he heard the men moving away from the hrududu. As he topped the bank, the beam of a torch shone up the lane and picked out his red eyes and white tail disappearing into the hedge.

        "There's ol' woild rabbit, look!"

        "Ah! Reckon rest of ours ain't s' far off. Got up there with 'un, see? Best go'n 'ave a look."

        In the ditch, Hazel overtook Haystack and Dandelion under a clump of brambles.

        "Get on quickly if you can," he said to Haystack. "The men are just behind."

        "We can't get on, Hazel," said Dandelion, "without leaving the ditch. It's blocked."

        Hazel sniffed ahead. Immediately beyond the brambles, the ditch was closed by a pile of earth, weeds and rubbish. They would have to come into the open. Already the men were over the bank and the torchlight was flickering up and down the hedgerow and through the brambles above their very heads. Then, only a few yards away, footfalls vibrated along the edge of the ditch. Hazel turned to Dandelion.

        "Listen," he said, "I'm going to run across the corner of the field, from this ditch to the other one, so that they see me. They'll try to shine that light on me for sure. While they're doing that, you and Haystack climb the bank, get into the lane and run down to the swede shed. You can hide there and I'll join you. Ready?"

        There was no time to argue. A moment later Hazel broke almost under the men's feet and ran across the field.

        "There 'e goes!"

        "Keep torch on 'un, then. Noice and steady!"

        Dandelion and Haystack scrambled over the bank and dropped into the lane. Hazel, with the torch beam behind him, had almost reached the other ditch when he felt a sharp blow on one of his hind legs and a hot, stinging pain along his side. The report of the cartridge sounded an instant later. As he somersaulted into a clump of nettles in the ditch bottom, he remembered vividly the scent of beanflowers at sunset. He had not known that the men had a gun.

        Hazel crawled through the nettles, dragging his injured leg. In a few moments the men would shine their torch on him and pick him up. He stumbled along the inner wall of the ditch, feeling the blood flowing over his foot. Suddenly he was aware of a draft against one side of his nose, a smell of damp, rotten matter and a hollow, echoing sound at his very ear. He was beside the mouth of a land drain which emptied into the ditch--a smooth, cold tunnel, narrower than a rabbit hole, but wide enough. With flattened ears and belly pressed to the wet floor he crawled up it, pushing a little pile of thin mud in front of him, and lay still as he felt the thud of boots coming nearer.

        "I don' roightly know, John, whether you 'it 'e er not."

        "Ah, I 'it 'un all roight. That's blood down there, see?"

        "Ah, well, but that don't signify. 'E might be a long ways off by now. I reckon you've lost 'e."

        "I reckon 'e's in them nettles."

        " 'Ave a look, then."

        "No, 'e ain't."

        "Well, us can't go beggarin' up and down 'ere 'alf bloody night. We got to catch them as got out th'utch. Didn't ought 'ave fired be roights, John. Froightened they off, see? You c'n 'ave a look for 'im tomorrow, if 'e's 'ere."

        The silence returned, but still Hazel lay motionless in the whispering chill of the tunnel. A cold lassitude came over him and he passed into a dreaming, inert stupor, full of cramp and pain. After a time, a thread of blood began to trickle over the lip of the drain into the trampled, deserted ditch.

*      *      *

        Bigwig, crouched close to Blackberry in the straw of the cattle shed, leaped to flight at the sound of the shot two hundred yards up the lane. He checked himself and turned to the others.

        "Don't run!" he said quickly. "Where do you want to run to, anyway? No holes here."

        "Further away from the gun," replied Blackberry, white-eyed.

        "Wait!" said Bigwig, listening. "They're running down the lane. Can't you hear them?"

        "I can hear only two rabbits," answered Blackberry, after a pause, "and one of them sounds exhausted."

        They looked at each other and waited. Then Bigwig got up again.

        "Stay here, all of you," he said. "I'll go and bring them in."

        Out on the verge he found Dandelion urging Haystack, who was lamed and spent.

        "Come in here quickly," said Bigwig. "For Frith's sake, where's Hazel?"

        "The men have shot him," replied Dandelion.

        They reached the other five rabbits in the straw. Dandelion did not wait for their questions.

        "They've shot Hazel," he said. "They'd caught that Laurel and put him back in the hutch. Then they came after us. The three of us were at the end of a blocked ditch. Hazel went out of his own accord, to distract their attention while we got away. But we didn't know they had a gun."

        "Are you sure they killed him?" said Speedwell.

        "I didn't actually see him hit, but they were very close to him."

        "We'd better wait," said Bigwig.

        They waited a long time. At last Dandelion and Bigwig went cautiously back up the lane. They found the bottom of the ditch trampled by boots and streaked with blood, and returned to tell the others.

        The journey back, with the three limping hutch rabbits, lasted more than two weary hours. All were dejected and wretched. When at last they reached the foot of the down Bigwig told Blackberry, Speedwell and Hawkbit to leave them and go on to the warren. They approached the wood just at first light and a rabbit ran to meet them through the wet grass. It was Fiver. Blackberry stopped and waited beside him while the other two went on in silence.

        "Fiver," he said, "there's bad news. Hazel--"

        "I know," replied Fiver. "I know now."

        "How do you know?" asked Blackberry, startled.

        "As you came through the grass just now," said Fiver, very low, "there was a fourth rabbit behind you, limping and covered with blood. I ran to see who it was, and then there were only three of you, side by side."

        He paused and looked across the down, as though still seeking the bleeding rabbit who had vanished in the half-light. Then, as Blackberry said nothing more, he asked, "Do you know what happened?"

        When Blackberry had told his news, Fiver returned to the warren and went underground to his empty burrow. A little later Bigwig brought the hutch rabbits up the hill and at once called everyone to meet in the Honeycomb. Fiver did not appear.

        It was a dismal welcome for the strangers. Not even Bluebell could find a cheerful word. Dandelion was inconsolable to think that he might have stopped Hazel breaking from the ditch. The meeting came to an end in a dreary silence and a half-hearted silflay.

        Later that morning Holly came limping into the warren. Of his three companions, only Silver was alert and unharmed. Buckthorn was wounded in the face and Strawberry was shivering and evidently ill from exhaustion. There were no other rabbits with them.

26.    Fiver Beyond

On his dreadful journey, after the shaman has wandered through dark forests and over great ranges of mountains, ... he reaches an opening in the ground. The most difficult stage of the adventure now begins. The depths of the underworld open before him.

Uno Harva, quoted by Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces

Fiver lay on the earth floor of the burrow. Outside, the downs were still in the intense, bright heat of noon. The dew and gossamer had dried early from the grass and by midmorning the finches had fallen silent. Now, along the lonely expanses of wiry turf, the air wavered. On the footpath that led past the warren, bright threads of light--watery, a mirage--trickled and glittered across the shortest, smoothest grass. From a distance the trees along the edge of the beech hanger appeared full of great, dense shadows, impenetrable to the dazzled eye. The only sound was the "Zip, zip" of the grasshoppers, the only scent that of the warm thyme.

        In the burrow, Fiver slept and woke uneasily through the heat of the day, fidgeting and scratching as the last traces of moisture dried out of the earth above him. Once, when a trickle of powdery soil fell from the roof, he leaped out of sleep and was in the mouth of the run before he came to himself and returned to where he had been lying. Each time he woke, he remembered the loss of Hazel and suffered once more the knowledge that had pierced him as the shadowy, limping rabbit disappeared in the first light of morning on the down. Where was that rabbit now? Where had it gone? He began to follow it among the tangled paths of his own thoughts, over the cold, dew-wet ridge and down into the dawn mist of the fields below.

        The mist swirled round Fiver as he crept through thistles and nettles. Now he could no longer see the limping rabbit ahead. He was alone and afraid, yet perceiving old, familiar sounds and smells--those of the field where he was born. The thick weeds of summer were gone. He was under the bare ash boughs and the flowering blackthorn of March. He was crossing the brook, going up the slope toward the lane, toward the place where Hazel and he had come upon the notice board. Would the board still be there? He looked timidly up the slope. The view was blotted with mist, but as he neared the top he saw a man busy over a pile of tools--a spade, a rope and other, smaller implements, the use of which he did not know. The notice board lay flat on the ground. It was smaller than he remembered and fixed to a single, long, square post, sharpened at the further end to put into the earth. The surface of the board was white, just as he had seen it before, and covered with the sharp black lines like sticks. Fiver came hesitantly up the slope and stopped close to the man, who stood looking down into a deep, narrow hole sunk in the ground at his feet. The man turned to Fiver with the kind of amiability that an ogre might show to a victim whom they both know that he will kill and eat as soon as it suits him to do so.

        "Ah! An' what am I doin', eh?" asked the man.

        "What are you doing?" answered Fiver, staring and twitching with fear.

        "I'm just putt'n up this 'ere ol' board," said the man. "And I s'pose you wants t' know what for, eh?"

        "Yes," whispered Fiver.

        "It's fer that there old 'Azel," said the man. "On'y where 't'is, see, we got t' put up a bit of a notice, like, on 'is account. And what d'you reckon it says, eh?"

        "I don't know," said Fiver. "How--how can a board say anything?"

        "Ah, but it do, see?" replied the man. "That's where we knows what you don't. That's why we kills you when we 'as a mind to. Now, you wants take a good look at that there board and then very likely you'll know more 'n what you knows now."

        In the livid, foggy twilight, Fiver stared at the board. As he stared, the black sticks flickered on the white surface. They raised their sharp, wedge-shaped little heads and chattered together like a nestful of young weasels. The sound, mocking and cruel, came faintly to his ears, as though muffled by sand or sacking. "In memory of Hazel-rah! In memory of Hazel-rah! In memory of Hazel-rah! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

        "Well, that's where 't'is, see?" said the man. "And I've got t'ang 'im up on this 'ere board. That's t' say, soon's I gets it stood up proper. Same as you'd 'ang up jay, like, or old stoat. Ah! Gon' 'ang 'im up."

        "No!" cried Fiver. "No, you shan't!"

        "On'y I ain't got 'im, see?" went on the man. "That's why I can't get done. I can't 'ang 'im up, 'cos 'e've gone down th' bloody 'ole, that's where 'e've gone. 'E've gone down th' bloody 'ole, just when I'd got 'n lined an' all, and I can't get 'n out."

        Fiver crept up to the man's boots and peered into the hole. It was circular, a cylinder of baked earthenware that disappeared vertically into the ground. He called, "Hazel! Hazel!" Far down in the bole, something moved and he was about to call again. Then the man bent down and hit him between the ears.

        Fiver was struggling in a thick cloud of earth, soft and powdery. Someone was saying, "Steady, Fiver, steady!" He sat up. There was soil in his eyes, his ears and nostrils. He could not smell. He shook himself and said, "Who is it?"

        "It's Blackberry. I came to see how you were. It's all right; a bit of the roof's fallen, that's all. There've been falls all over the warren today--it's the heat. Anyway, it woke you from a nightmare, if I know anything. You were thrashing about and calling out for Hazel. You poor old chap! What a miserable thing it is to have happened! We must try to bear it as best we can. We've all got to stop running one day, you know. They say Frith knows all the rabbits, every one."

        "Is it evening?" asked Fiver.

        "Not yet, no. But it's a fair time after ni-Frith. Holly and the others have come back, you know. Strawberry's very ill and they haven't any does with them--not one. Everything's as bad as it could be. Holly's still asleep--he was completely exhausted. He said he'd tell us what happened this evening. When we told him about poor Hazel, he said--Fiver, you're not listening. I expect you'd rather I kept quiet."

        "Blackberry," said Fiver, "do you know the place where Hazel was shot?"

        "Yes, Bigwig and I went and looked at the ditch before we came away. But you mustn't--"

        "Could you go there with me now?"

        "Go back there? Oh, no. It's a long way, Fiver, and what would be the good? The risk, and this fearful heat, and you'd only make yourself wretched."

        "Hazel isn't dead," said Fiver.

        "Yes, the men took him away. Fiver, I saw the blood."

        "Yes, but you didn't see Hazel, because he isn't dead. Blackberry, you must do what I ask."

        "You're asking too much."

        "Then I shall have to go alone. But what I'm asking you to do is to come and save Hazel's life."

        When at last Blackberry had reluctantly given in and they had set out down the hill, Fiver went almost as fast as though he were running for cover. Again and again he urged Blackberry to make haste. The fields were empty in the glare. Every creature bigger than a bluebottle was sheltering from the heat. When they reached the outlying sheds beside the lane, Blackberry began to explain how he and Bigwig had gone back to search; but Fiver cut him short.

        "We have to go up the slope, I know that: but you must show me the ditch."

        The elms were still. There was not the least sound in the leaves. The ditch was thick with cow parsley, hemlock and long trails of green-flowering bryony. Blackberry led the way to the trampled patch of nettles and Fiver sat still among them, sniffing and looking about him in the silence. Blackberry watched him disconsolately. A faint breath of wind stole across the fields and a blackbird began to sing from somewhere beyond the elms. At last Fiver began to move along the bottom of the ditch. The insects buzzed round his ears and suddenly a little cloud of flies flew up, disturbed from a projecting stone. No, not a stone. It was smooth and regular--a circular lip of earthenware. The brown mouth of a drain, stained black at the lower edge by a thin, dried thread of blood: of rabbit's blood.

        "The bloody hole!" whispered Fiver. "The bloody hole!"

        He peered into the dark opening. It was blocked. Blocked by a rabbit. That was plain to be smelled. A rabbit whose faint pulse could just be heard, magnified in the confined tunnel.

        "Hazel?" said Fiver.

        Blackberry was beside him at once. "What is it, Fiver?"

        "Hazel's in that hole," said Fiver, "and he's alive."

27.    "You Can't Imagine It Unless You've Been There"

My Godda bless, never I see sucha people.

Signor Piozzi, quoted by Cecilia Thrale

In the Honeycomb, Bigwig and Holly were waiting to begin the second meeting since the loss of Hazel. As the air began to cool, the rabbits woke and first one and then another came down the runs that led from the smaller burrows. All were subdued and doubtful at heart. Like the pain of a bad wound, the effect of a deep shock takes some while to be felt. When a child is told, for the first time in his life, that a person he has known is dead, although he does not disbelieve it, he may well fail to comprehend it and later ask--perhaps more than once--where the dead person is and when he is coming back. When Pipkin had planted in himself, like some somber tree, the knowledge that Hazel would never return, his bewilderment exceeded his grief: and this bewilderment he saw on every side among his companions. Faced with no crisis of action and with nothing to prevent them from continuing their life in the warren as before, the rabbits were nevertheless overcome by the conviction that their luck was gone. Hazel was dead and Holly's expedition had totally failed. What would follow?

        Holly, gaunt, his staring pelt full of goose grass and fragments of burdock, was talking with the three hutch rabbits and reassuring them as best he could. No one could say now that Hazel had thrown away his life in a foolhardy prank. The two does were the only gain that anyone had made--the warren's only asset. But they were plainly so ill at ease in their new surroundings that Holly was already contending against his own belief that there was little to be hoped for from them. Does who are upset and on edge tend to be infertile; and how were these does to make themselves at home in strange conditions and a place where everyone was lost so poorly in his thoughts? They would die, perhaps, or wander away. He buckled once more to the task of explaining that he was sure better times lay ahead--and as he did so, felt himself the least convinced of any.

        Bigwig had sent Acorn to see whether there was anyone still to come. Acorn returned to say that Strawberry felt too ill and that he could find neither Blackberry nor Fiver.

        "Well, leave Fiver," said Bigwig. "Poor fellow, he'll feel better by himself for a time, I dare say."

        "He's not in his burrow, though," said Acorn.

        "Never mind," said Bigwig. But the thought came to him, "Fiver and Blackberry? Could they have left the warren without telling anyone? If they have, what will happen when the others get to know?" Should he ask Kehaar to go and look for them while there was still light? But if Kehaar found them, what then? They could not be compelled to return. Or if they were, what good would that do, if they wanted to be gone? At that moment Holly began to speak and everyone became quiet.

        "We all know we're in a mess," said Holly, "and I suppose before long we shall have to talk about what's best to be done. But I thought that first of all I ought to tell you how it is that we four--Silver, Buckthorn, Strawberry and I--have come back without any does. You don't have to remind me that when we set out, everyone thought it was going to be straightforward. And here we are, one rabbit sick, one wounded and nothing to show for it. You're all wondering why."

        "No one's blaming you, Holly," said Bigwig.

        "I don't know whether I'm to blame or not," replied Holly. "But you'll tell me that when you've heard the story.

        "That morning when we left, it was good weather for hlessil on the move and we all felt there was no hurry. It was cool, I remember, and looked as if it would be some time before the day got really bright and cloudless. There's a farm not far away from the other end of this wood, and although there were no men about so early, I didn't fancy going that way, so we kept up on high ground on the evening side. We were all expecting to come to the edge of the down, but there isn't any steep edge as there is on the north. The upland just goes on and on, open, dry and lonely. There's plenty of cover for rabbits--standing corn, hedges and banks--but no real woodland: just great, open fields of light soil with big white flintstones. I was hoping that we might find ourselves in the sort of country we used to know--meadows and woods--but we didn't. Anyhow, we found a track with a good, thick hedge along one side and we decided to follow that. We took it easy and stopped a good deal, because I was taking care to avoid running into elil. I'm sure it's bad country for stoats as well as foxes, and I hadn't much idea what we were going to do if we met one."

        "I'm pretty certain we did pass close to a weasel," said Silver. "I could smell it. But you know how it is with elil--if they're not actually hunting, they often take no notice of you. We left very little scent, and buried our hraka as though we were cats."

        "Well, before ni-Frith," went on Holly, "the track brought us to a long, thin wood running right across the way we were going. These downland woods are queer, aren't they? This was no thicker than the one above us now, but it stretched as far as we could see either way, in a dead straight line. I don't like straight lines: men make them. And sure enough, we found a road beside this wood. It was a very lonely, empty road, but all the same I didn't want to hang about there, so we went straight through the wood and out the other side. Kehaar spotted us in the fields beyond and told us to alter our direction. I asked him how we were getting on and he said we were about halfway, so I thought we might as well start looking for somewhere to lie up for the night. I didn't fancy the open, and in the end we made scrapes in the bottom of a kind of little pit we found. Then we had a good feed and passed the night very well.

        "I don't think we need tell you everything about the journey. It came on to rain just after the morning feed and there was a nasty, cold wind with it, so we stayed where we were until after ni-Frith. It brightened up then and we went on. The going wasn't very nice because of the wet, but by early evening I reckoned we ought to be near the place. I was looking round when a hare came through the grass and I asked him whether he knew of a big warren close by.

        " 'Efrafa?' he asked. 'Are you going to Efrafa?'*

        " 'If that's what it's called,' I answered.

        " 'Do you know it?'

        " 'No,' I said, 'we don't. We want to know where it is.'

        " 'Well,' he said, 'my advice to you is to run, and quickly.'

        "I was just wondering what to make of that, when suddenly three big rabbits came over the bank, just the way I did that night when I came to arrest you, Bigwig: and one of them said, 'Can I see your marks?'

        " 'Marks?' I said. 'What marks? I don't understand.'

        " 'You're not from Efrafa?'

        " 'No,' I said, 'we're going there. We're strangers.'

        " 'Will you come with me?' No 'Have you come far?' or 'Are you wet through?' or anything like that.

        "So then these three rabbits took us off down the bank and that was how we came to Efrafa, as they call it. And I'd better try and tell you something about it, so that you'll know what a dirty little bunch of sniveling hedge-scrapers we are here.

        "Efrafa is a big warren--a good deal bigger than the one we came from--the Threarah's, I mean. And the one fear of every rabbit in it is that men are going to find them and infect them with the white blindness. The whole warren is organized to conceal its existence. The holes are all hidden and the Owsla have every rabbit in the place under orders. You can't call your life your own: and in return you have safety--if it's worth having at the price you pay.

        "As well as the Owsla, they have what they call a Council, and each of the Council rabbits has some special thing he looks after. One looks after feeding; another's responsible for the ways in which they keep hidden; another looks after breeding, and so on. As far as the ordinary rabbits are concerned, only a certain number can be above ground at one time. Every rabbit is marked when he's a kitten: they bite them, deep, and under the chin or in a haunch or forepaw. Then they can be told by the scar for the rest of their lives. You mustn't be found above ground unless it's the right time of day for your Mark."

        "Who's to stop you?" growled Bigwig.

        "That's the really frightening part. The Owsla--well, you can't imagine it unless you've been there. The Chief is a rabbit named Woundwort: General Woundwort, they call him. I'll tell you more about him in a minute. Then under him there are captains--each one in charge of a Mark--and each captain has his own officers and sentries. There's a Mark captain with his band on duty at every time of the day and night. If a man happens to come anywhere near, which isn't often, the sentries give warning long before he comes close enough to see anything. They give warning of elil, too. They prevent anyone dropping hraka except in special places in the ditches, where it's buried. And if they see any rabbit above ground whom they don't recognize as having the right to be there, they ask to see his mark. Frith knows what happens if he can't explain himself--but I can guess pretty well. Rabbits in Efrafa quite often go days at a time without the sight of Frith. If their Mark's on night silflay, then they feed by night, wet or fine, warm or cold. They're all used to talking, playing and mating in the burrows underground. If a Mark can't silflay at their appointed time for some reason or other--say there was a man working somewhere near--that's just too bad. They miss their turn till next day."

        "But surely it alters them very much, living like that?" asked Dandelion.

        "Very much indeed," replied Holly. "Most of them can't do anything but what they're told. They've never been out of Efrafa and never smelled an enemy. The one aim of every rabbit in Efrafa is to get into the Owsla, because of the privileges: and the one aim of everyone in the Owsla is to get into the Council. The Council have the best of everything. But the Owsla have to keep very strong and tough. They take it in turn to do what they call Wide Patrol. They go out over the country--all round the place--living in the open for days at a time. It's partly to find out anything they can, and partly to train them and make them tough and cunning. Any hlessil they find they pick up and bring back to Efrafa. If they won't come, they kill them. They reckon hlessil a danger, because they may attract the attention of men. The Wide Patrols report back to General Woundwort, and the Council decide what to do about anything new that they think may be dangerous."

        "They missed you on the way in, then?" said Bluebell.

        "Oh, no, they didn't! We learned later that some time after we'd been brought in by this rabbit--Captain Campion--a runner arrived from a Wide Patrol to say that they'd picked up the track of three or four rabbits coming toward Efrafa from the north, and were there any orders? He was sent back to say that we were safely under control.

        "Anyway, this Captain Campion took us down to a hole in the ditch. The mouth of the hole was a bit of old earthenware pipe and if a man had pulled it out, the opening would have fallen in and showed no trace of the run inside. And there he handed us over to another captain--because he had to go back above ground for the rest of his spell of duty, you see. We were taken to a big burrow and told to make ourselves at home.

        "There were other rabbits in the burrow and it was by listening to them and asking questions that I learned most of what I've been telling you. We got talking to some of the does and I made friends with one called Hyzenthlay.* I told her about our problem here and why we'd come, and then she told us about Efrafa. When she'd finished I said, 'It sounds terrible. Has it always been like this?' She said no, her mother had told her that in years gone by the warren had been elsewhere and much smaller, but when General Woundwort came, he had made them move to Efrafa and then he'd worked out this whole system of concealment and perfected it until rabbits in Efrafa were as safe as stars in the sky. 'Most rabbits here die of old age, unless the Owsla kill them off,' she said. 'But the trouble is, there are more rabbits now than the warren can hold. Any fresh digging that's allowed has to be done under Owsla supervision and they do it terribly slowly and carefully. It all has to be hidden, you see. We're overcrowded and a lot of rabbits don't get above ground as much as they need to. And for some reason there are not enough bucks and too many does. A lot of us have found we can't produce litters, because of the overcrowding, but no one is ever allowed to leave. Only a few days ago, several of us does went to the Council and asked whether we could form an expedition to start a new warren somewhere else. We said we'd go far, far away--as far away as they liked. But they wouldn't hear of it--not on any account. Things can't go on like this--the system's breaking down. But it doesn't do to be heard talking about it.'

        "Well, I thought, this sounds hopeful. Surely they won't object to our proposals? We only want to take a few does and no bucks. They've got more does than there's room for and we want to take them further away than anyone here can ever have been.

        "A little later another captain came and said we were to come with him to the Council meeting.

        "The Council meet in a kind of big burrow. It's long and rather narrow--not as good as this Honeycomb of ours, because they've got no tree roots to make a wide roof. We had to wait outside while they were talking about all sorts of other things. We were just one piece of daily Council business: 'Strangers apprehended.' There was another rabbit waiting and he was under special guard--Owslafa, they call them: the Council police. I've never been near anyone so frightened in my life--I thought he'd go mad with fear. I asked one of these Owslafa what was the matter and he said that this rabbit, Blackavar, had been caught trying to run away from the warren. Well, they took him inside and first of all we heard the poor fellow trying to explain himself, and then he was crying and begging for mercy: and when he came out they'd ripped both his ears to shreds, worse than this one of mine. We were all sniffing at him, absolutely horror-stricken; but one of the Owslafa said, 'You needn't make such a fuss. He's lucky to be alive.' So while we were chewing on that, someone came out and said the Council were ready for us.

        "As soon as we got in, we were put up in front of this General Woundwort, and he really is a grim customer. I don't think even you'd match up to him, Bigwig. He's almost as big as a hare and there's something about his mere presence that frightens you, as if blood and fighting and killing were all just part of the day's work to him. I thought he'd begin by asking us some questions about who we were and what we wanted, but he didn't do anything like that. He said, 'I'm going to explain the rules of the warren and the conditions on which you'll live here. You must listen carefully, because the rules are to be kept and any breaking of them will be punished.' So then I spoke up at once and said that there was a misunderstanding. We were an embassy, I said, come from another warren to ask for Efrafa's goodwill and help. And I went on to explain that all we wanted was their agreement to our persuading a few does to come back with us. When I'd finished, General Woundwort said that it was out of the question: there was nothing to discuss. I replied that we'd like to stay with them for a day or two and try to persuade them to change their mind.

        " 'Oh, yes,' he said, 'you'll stay. But there'll be no further occasion for you to take up the Council's time--for the next few days at any rate.'

        "I said that seemed very hard. Our request was surely a reasonable one. And I was just going to ask them to consider one or two things from our point of view, when another of the Councillors--a very old rabbit--said, 'You seem to think you're here to argue with us and drive a bargain. But we're the ones to say what you're going to do.'

        "I said they should remember that we were representing another warren, even if it was smaller than theirs. We thought of ourselves as their guests. And it was only when I'd said that that I realized with a horrible shock that they thought of us as their prisoners: or as good as prisoners, whatever they might call it.

        "Well, I'd rather say no more about the end of that meeting. Strawberry tried all he could to help me. He spoke very well about the decency and comradeship natural to animals. 'Animals don't behave like men,' he said. 'If they have to fight, they fight; and if they have to kill they kill. But they don't sit down and set their wits to work to devise ways of spoiling other creatures' lives and hurting them. They have dignity and animality.'

        "But it was all no use. At last we fell silent and General Woundwort said, 'The Council can't spare any more time for you now, and I shall have to leave it to your Mark captain to tell you the rules. You'll join the Right Flank Mark under Captain Bugloss. Later, we shall see you again and you'll find us perfectly friendly and helpful to rabbits who understand what's expected of them.'

        "So then the Owsla took us out to join the Right Flank Mark. Apparently Captain Bugloss was too busy to see us and I took care to keep out of his way, because I thought he might want to start marking us then and there. But soon I began to understand what Hyzenthlay had meant when she said the system wasn't working properly any more. The burrows were overcrowded--at least by our standards. It was easy to escape attention. Even in one Mark the rabbits don't all know each other. We found places in a burrow and tried to get some sleep, but early in the night we were woken and told to silflay. I thought there might be a chance to run for it in the moonlight, but there seemed to be sentries everywhere. And besides the sentries, the Captain kept two runners with him, whose job was to rush off at once in any direction from which an alarm might be given.

        "When we'd fed we went underground again. Nearly all the rabbits were very subdued and docile. We avoided them, because we meant to escape if we could and we didn't want to get known. But try as I would, I couldn't think of a plan.

        "We fed again some time before ni-Frith the next day, and then it was back underground. The time dragged terribly. At last--it must have been as evening was coming on--I joined a little group of rabbits listening to a story. And do you know, it was 'The King's Lettuce'? The rabbit who was telling it was nowhere near as good as Dandelion, but I listened all the same, just for something to do. And it was when he got to the bit where El-ahrairah dresses up and pretends to be the doctor at King Darzin's palace that I suddenly had an idea. It was a very risky one, but I thought there was a chance that it might work, simply because every rabbit in Efrafa usually does what he's told without question. I'd been watching Captain Bugloss and he struck me as a nice enough fellow, conscientious and a bit weak and rather harassed by having more to do than he could really cope with.

        "That night, when we were called to silflay, it was pitch dark and raining; but you don't bother about a little thing like that in Efrafa--you're only too glad to get out and get some food. All the rabbits trooped up; and we waited until the very last. Captain Bugloss was out on the bank, with two of his sentries. Silver and the others went out in front of me and then I came up to him panting as if I'd been running.

        " 'Captain Bugloss?'

        " 'Yes?' he said. 'What is it?'

        " 'You're wanted by the Council, at once.'

        " 'Why, what do you mean?' he asked. 'What for?'

        " 'No doubt they'll tell you that when they see you,' I answered. 'I shouldn't keep them waiting if I were you.'

        " 'Who are you?' he said. 'You're not one of the Council runners. I know them all. What Mark are you?'

        " 'I'm not here to answer your questions,' I said. 'Shall I go back and tell them you won't come?'

        "He looked doubtful at that and I made as if I were going. But then, all of a sudden, he said, 'Very well'--he looked awfully frightened, poor fellow--'but who's to take over here while I'm gone?'

        " 'I am,' I said. 'General Woundwort's orders. But come back quickly. I don't want to hang about half the night doing your job.' He scuttled off. I turned to the other two and said, 'Stay here, and look alive, too. I'm going round the sentries.'

        "Well, then the four of us ran off into the dark and, sure enough, after we'd gone a little way two sentries popped up and tried to stop us. We all piled straight into them. I thought they'd run, but they didn't. They fought like mad and one of them tore Buckthorn all down the nose. But of course there were four of us; and in the end we broke past them and simply tore across the field. We had no idea which way we were going, what with the rain and the night: we just ran. I think the reason why the pursuit was a bit slow off the mark was because poor old Bugloss wasn't there to give the orders. Anyway, we had a fair start. But presently we could hear that we were being followed--and, what was worse, we were being overtaken.

        "The Efrafan Owsla are no joke, believe me. They're all picked for size and strength and there's nothing they don't know about moving in wet and darkness. They're all so much afraid of the Council that they're not afraid of anything else. It wasn't long before I knew we were in trouble. The patrol that was after us could actually follow us in the dark and rain faster than we could run away, and before long they were close behind. I was just going to tell the others that there was nothing for it but to turn and fight when we came to a great, steep bank that seemed to slope almost straight up into the air. It was steeper than this hillside below us here, and the slope seemed to be regular, as if men had made it.

        "Well, there was no time to think about it, so up we went. It was covered with rough grass and bushes. I don't know how far it was to the top exactly, but I should guess it was as high as a well-grown rowan tree--perhaps a bit higher. When we got to the top we found ourselves on small, light stones that shifted as we ran on them. That gave us away completely. Then we came upon broad, flat pieces of wood and two great, fixed bars of metal that made a noise--a kind of low, humming noise in the dark. I was just saying to myself, 'This is men's work, all right,' when I fell over the other side. I hadn't realized that the whole top of the bank was only a very short distance across and the other side was just as steep. I went head over heels down the bank in the dark and fetched up against an elder bush--and there I lay."

        Holly stopped and fell silent, as though pondering on what he remembered. At last he said,

        "It's going to be very hard to describe to you what happened next. Although all four of us were there, we don't understand it ourselves. But what I'm going to say now is the cold truth. Lord Frith sent one of his great Messengers to save us from the Efrafan Owsla. Each one of us had fallen over the edge of the bank in one place or another. Buckthorn, who was half blinded with his own blood, went down almost to the bottom. I'd picked myself up and was looking back at the top. There was just enough light in the sky to see the Efrafans if they came over. And then--then an enormous thing--I can't give you any idea of it--as big as a thousand hrududil--bigger--came rushing out of the night. It was full of fire and smoke and light and it roared and beat on the metal lines until the ground shook beneath it. It drove in between us and the Efrafans like a thousand thunderstorms with lightning. I tell you, I was beyond being afraid. I couldn't move. The flashing and the noise--they split the whole night apart. I don't know what happened to the Efrafans: either they ran away or it cut them down. And then suddenly it was gone and we heard it disappearing, rattle and bang, rattle and bang, far away in the distance. We were completely alone.

        "For a long time I couldn't move. At last I got up and found the others, one by one, in the dark. None of us said a word. At the bottom of the slope we discovered a kind of tunnel that went right through the bank from one side to the other. We crept into it and came out on the side where we'd gone up. Then we went a long way through the fields, until I reckoned we must be well clear of Efrafa. We crawled into a ditch and slept there, all four of us, until morning. There was no reason why anything shouldn't have come and killed us, and yet we knew we were safe. You may think it's a wonderful thing to be saved by Lord Frith in his power. How many rabbits has that happened to, I wonder? But I tell you, it was far more frightening than being chased by the Efrafans. Not one of us will forget lying on that bank in the rain while the fire creature went by above our heads. Why did it come on our account? That's more than we shall ever know.

        "The next morning I cast around a bit and soon I knew which was the right direction. You know how you always do. The rain had stopped and we set out. But it was a very hard journey back. We were exhausted long before the end--all except Silver: I don't know what we'd have done without him. We went on for a day and a night without any real rest at all. We all felt that the only thing we wanted to do was to get back here as soon as we could. When I reached the wood this morning I was just limping along in a bad dream. I'm not really much better than poor old Strawberry, I'm afraid. He never complained, but he'll need a long rest and I rather think I shall, too. And Buckthorn--that's the second bad wound he's had. But that's not the worst now, is it? We've lost Hazel: the worst thing that could have happened. Some of you asked me earlier this evening if I would be Chief Rabbit. I'm glad to know you trust me, but I'm completely done in and I can't possibly take it on yet. I feel as dry and empty as an autumn puffball--I feel as though the wind could blow my fur away."

* The first syllable is stressed and not the second, as in the word "Majesty."

* Hyzenthlay: "Shine-Dew-Fur"--fur-shining-like-dew.