The Life Story of a Squirrel by T. C. Bridges - HTML preview

CHAPTER XI
 MY LAST ADVENTURE

The animal which had just pushed its way out of the hollow recesses of the hazel-roots resembled nothing so much as a weasel, but a weasel of such giant proportions as I had never before dreamed of. From nose to tip of tail it was nearly two feet long. The creature had a domed head, with prominent eyes and widely arched eyebrows, giving it a strangely sinister appearance. It was, in fact, though I did not realize this at the time, no other than the rare and dreaded polecat, which keepers call the foumart.

When I first caught sight of this monster I was sitting on a bough barely a couple of feet from the ground, and so great was my amazement and fright that for an instant I sat staring down into the glaring yellow eyes, unable to collect my senses at all. Of a sudden the creature launched itself upwards with almost the quickness and ferocity of a striking snake. Its thin lips, curled back, showed two rows of close-set white teeth, sharp as needles, and at the same instant an abominable odour, like that of a stoat, but far more fœtid, nearly suffocated me.

Recovering myself just in time, I made one desperate spring, and succeeded in reaching a twig out of reach of the brute’s jaws. But the foumart had no idea of being so easily cheated of his meal. The branches, thick and close-set, offered him an easy ladder, and to my horror and alarm, he came after me with unexpected and startling speed. I completely lost my head, and dashed away up to the top of the hazel-bush with a recklessness inspired by terror.

In my haste I found that I had ascended, not the main stalk of the clump, but another not so tall. The result was that the oak branch from which I had dropped was now a long way above me. But a rustle in the foliage below told me that my enemy was at my heels, and nerved me to attempt the jump.

My claws just grazed the under side of the oak bough. I fell back, and next moment had plunged with a splash into the swirling waters of the swollen torrent.

The fall carried me far below the muddy surface, but next moment I rose, gasping for breath, and struck out vehemently. I know that it is popularly supposed that a squirrel cannot swim, but that when he wishes to cross a river he launches himself upon a piece of floating bark, and using his tail as a sail, ferries himself across. A squirrel, as a matter of fact, is a very fair swimmer, and can, and does at a pinch, cross wide rivers in this way. Though I had never tried it before, yet I found myself quite able to keep my head above water; but a very short struggle convinced me that it was foolishness to attempt to make head against the fierce current of the flooded stream.

For I had fallen not into the placid backwater behind the nut-bush island, but out into the edge of the main stream, and a cross current catching me, had sent me swinging out into the very centre of the racing river. For a few moments I beat the water desperately with all four paws in a frantic effort to get back to the shore which I had left; but very soon I exhausted myself so completely that I could fight no longer, and, paddling feebly, was swept down-stream at a positively terrifying speed.

It was now late in October, and the water was very cold. Soon I began to feel quite numbed. Besides this, I was horribly frightened, while the pace at which the small whirlpools into which I was constantly flung, spun me around, made me giddy, and added to the hopelessness of my feelings. The whole experience was so horrifying that I may be forgiven for confessing the terror I felt. Once or twice I saw tree-roots or projecting points of high banks forming promontories which extended out into the flood, and so long as strength lasted I made fierce efforts to reach them. But in each case the current, rendered the more irresistible by opposition, mocked my puny efforts and whirled me away out into the centre again. Once a small log, floating almost submerged, overtook me as I battled with the stream, and, catching me across the neck, pushed me quite under water and drove over me. When I rose once more, my strength was almost spent, and I felt that I could not much longer continue the useless struggle.

I was sinking lower and lower in the water; my strokes were becoming more feeble every moment, and it was only a question of a few minutes before I must have sunk for good, when I suddenly caught sight of a long narrow plank, evidently torn from some paling by the flood, sweeping down, end on, beside me. With a last despairing effort I struck out for it, and just before it had passed quite out of my reach, succeeded in scrambling upon one end of it. It dipped beneath my water-logged weight, and the current almost snatched me away. But, clinging with all my claws, I managed to crawl along to its centre, and found to my joy that it would support me.

But, even so, my position was extremely perilous. The way in which the banks flew by showed how rapid was the rush of the flooded river. Suppose the plank caught against any obstacle, it must at once roll over and plunge me again into the water. Happily, however, this did not happen, and though time and again it checked and quivered, I managed to retain my hold, and so was swept along almost as fast as a man could run.

I passed the large house down the valley, and beyond it the river broadened, but still ran with almost unabated speed. Soon I had cleared the wood, and was driving along between pastures which sloped steeply upwards from bluff-like banks. Once I saw a drowned sheep caught in the brambles under a curve, and shuddered to think how soon the same fate might befall me. Field after field flew by, and once more the river plunged into the shadow of thick trees, and then a new and terrifying sound came to my ears. It was the deep, sullen roar of falling water.

Sweeping round a wide curve, I became aware of a long weir in front penning the brimming river which foamed along its top, while through the open sluice-gates the main stream plunged in a mass of yellow foam. Now, indeed, I gave myself up for lost, for I saw that I could not hope to survive the passage down that fierce fall. On like an arrow sped the plank, straight for the centre of the opening, and all hope that it might drift against the weir was gone, when, suddenly, with a jar that almost flung me from my insecure perch, the front end of the plank struck something hidden below the muddy water, probably a sunken stake, and instantly was swung side on, jamming across the very mouth of the gates. Gathering all my few remaining energies, I made a feeble leap, and more by good luck than good management reached the top of the weir. Even then my troubles were not over, for the weir was old and broken, and in places the flood was actually foaming over its top. But after waiting a little to recover my strength, I succeeded in jumping these gaps, and at last struggled safely ashore once more.

I was soaked as I had never been in my life before, chilled to the bone, so exhausted that I could hardly move, and yet intensely grateful to be once more on firm ground. Luckily for me, the sun was still shining, and the air mild and warm for the time of year; so I crawled up into a small tree, and lying out on a branch on the sunny side, waited for my dripping fur to dry a little.

My position was far from an enviable one. Here I was, in a strange wood, far away from our winter-quarters, and separated from Walnut, without food, friends, or a home. However, Walnut was luckily well able to look after himself, and there was no doubt about finding food of some sort, so I consoled myself with the thought that I would start as soon as possible and make my way back to the river wood.

While I sat there sunning myself I was surprised and pleased to hear a familiar gnawing sound in a neighbouring beech-tree, and suddenly there came into view another squirrel, a handsome fellow with an uncommonly light coat. I called to him, and he came across in a most friendly way.

He remarked on my dripping coat civilly, and I told him the story of my misfortunes.

‘Ugh!’ he shuddered, with a glance at the foaming river, ‘I wouldn’t take a swim in that—not for a coppice full of cob-nuts!’

We chatted for a while, and my new friend was good enough to show me a nice lot of fir-cones, on which I made a much-needed meal. Then I told him that I meant to go back up-stream to the river wood, and I suppose I must have dilated on its attractiveness, for suddenly he proposed accompanying me.

‘Like you,’ he said sadly, ‘I have lost my wife and all my family. I don’t know what became of them. I was out one day feeding, and when I came home they were all gone. There were footsteps below the tree, so no doubt I have some ruffianly man to thank for stealing them.’

I was anxious to start at once, but the pale squirrel, who told me that his name was Crab, begged me to share his quarters for the night and put off my departure till the morning. Oddly enough, though very tired, I was singularly unwilling to defer my start. However, he over-persuaded me. And for him the delay proved sad indeed, though fortunate enough for me.

Crab’s quarters were in a very odd place—in the hollow head of a large pollard willow not far from the water’s edge. I told him that I had never before seen a squirrel live in a willow, and he explained that he had adopted this refuge because the ground beneath was so wet and swampy that it choked off human intruders. By degrees I found out that this wood was simply at the mercy of tramps and other vagabonds who camped there in numbers. Crab showed me the ashes of their fires alongside of the rough cart-track which ran through the coppice, and the places where they had cut wood to burn; evidently here was the other extreme from the Hall grounds—a country utterly neglected by its owners. Not a rabbit was to be seen, and Crab told me that, except for wood-pigeons and small birds, there was hardly a living thing in the wood.

‘The gipsies even catch the hedgehogs, roast them in clay, and eat them,’ he said with a shudder.

‘And who are gipsies?’ I inquired, puzzled. I had never heard the word before.

Crab shuddered.

‘Brown men with traps and snares, and black-haired women with red handkerchiefs and shining earrings. Terrible people! Cleverer than keepers, and much more greedy. Pray you may not see any,’ he ended.

What Crab told me made me the more anxious to clear out of this ill-omened spot, and next morning, as soon as the dew was a little off the grass, we started. Crab did not know much about the way we had to travel, but the river was our guide. What we both were chiefly afraid of were open meadows over which we knew that we had to pass. However, I was by now such a hardened wanderer that the risks of such a journey did not trouble me greatly.

It was an ideal autumn morning, calm, with a warm sun shining out of a blue sky, and the rain-washed air marvellously clear. Small birds chirped and twittered in every hedge, but I could see for myself that what Crab had told me was true. There was no game left in the whole country-side. Even rabbits were very scarce. The fields, too, were neglected. They were not half drained, so that the grass was rough, and patchy with clumps of reeds. The hedges were untrimmed, immensely high, and yet full of gaps. The lane running parallel with the river was scored with deep ruts which brimmed with muddy puddles.

The tall hedges offered us excellent travelling, and we saw nobody except a couple of farm-labourers striding along through the mud, their corduroy trousers tied below their knees with string, and their short clay pipes leaving a trail of strong-smelling blue smoke in their wake.

For half a mile or so we kept the hedge alongside the lane. Then the road turned abruptly away from the river, so we left it, crossed a meadow, and got into another hedge which seemed to lead us in the right direction. It brought us after a time into a large leasowe sloping to the river. This leasowe I remember as one of the most beautiful places which I have ever seen. The ground, dropping sharply, was thickly studded with clumps of alder and hazel, the tops of which had been cut at irregular interval, while the roots had grown to enormous dimensions. Each clump was surrounded by a tangle of blackberry and brier, making a thick, impenetrable shelter. The leaves of these various trees were all in the full splendour of late autumn tints, and contrasted brilliantly with the green of the grass and the myriads of scarlet hips and haws; while there were dotted about the leasowe a number of crab-apple trees whose scarlet leaves and red and golden fruit gave a last touch of gorgeous colouring to the whole scene.

There were a good many nuts, and we crossed leisurely from clump to clump, now stopping to shell a nut, now to sample the crimson side of a crab apple. I was tasting some over-ripe blackberries, many of which contained the most delicious little white grubs, when Crab suggested that it was time to push on, as we still had a long way to go, and the shadows were almost at their shortest.

Between us and the far hedge was a widish interval of fairly open grass, bounded on the upper side by a regular thicket of hazel. As we crossed this open space Crab suddenly drew my attention to a very odd-looking erection which stood in a sort of bay in the hazel-brush. I had never seen anything quite like it before, and, our curiosity thoroughly aroused, we moved slowly and cautiously towards it.

‘’Pon my claws, I believe it’s a pheasant coop,’ I said at last.

‘There are no pheasants here,’ replied Crab. ‘Besides, it’s got no sides.’

No more it had. I saw that plainly as we approached it more closely. It appeared to be a sort of sloping roof made of pieces of rough planking, and propped above a hole in the ground.

Suddenly Crab stopped short. ‘What’s this?’ he exclaimed. I did not wait to explain. A delicious morsel of white bread lay before me, and I fell upon it and gobbled it up promptly. It was more than a year since I had tasted such a luxury.

‘Is it good?’ inquired Crab curiously.

‘Bet your back teeth it is,’ I said.

‘Why, here’s another piece! I’ll try it,’ exclaimed my friend. He did so, and approved greatly. I found a third, and presently we were racing in short dashes up the queer-looking erection to which a trail of bread led directly.

Inside the dug-out hollow below the sloping roof the ground was white with crumbs.

‘Crab,’ I said, after a good stare at the whole thing, ‘I don’t quite like the look of it.’

‘Why, what’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘All I can say is, I don’t like it. I wouldn’t go under the roof if I were you.’

‘Nonsense! Why should I chuck away the chance of a feed like this?’

Before I could object again he had jumped down and was busily engaged with the bread. My mouth watered. I could see no sign of danger. There was nothing to suggest a trap. Why should not I also enjoy the delicacies? I was on the very verge of following Crab’s example; another second and I should have been alongside of him, when suddenly, and without the slightest warning, thump! down came the wooden roof, and Crab was a prisoner beneath it. At the same instant there was a crash among the hazel-bushes, a sharp yelp, and a brown-faced, bare-legged boy, accompanied by a large mongrel, dashed down upon me.

I was off like a flash, and by a desperate effort gained the nearest tree—an ancient pollard oak—which stood quite by itself at some distance both from the hedge and the hazel-bushes. The dog bounded high against the rough trunk, but I was safely out of his reach, and, curling myself into the smallest possible compass, crouched in the gnarled top of the club-like head of the tree.

‘Watch him, Tige!’ shouted the boy, and the dog at once crouched silently at the foot of the tree, while his master walked to the trap. From my elevated position I could watch it all, and, what was more, see plainly an old sand-pit behind the hazel-bushes, with a tent at the bottom of it, two children playing outside, and a couple of ponies grazing near by.

Wrapping his hand in his cap, the boy cautiously seized hold of my poor friend. I, of course, supposed that he meant to make a captive of him, but, to my horror, the young fiend wrung the unhappy Crab’s neck, and marched off with him back to the camp.

‘Wot you got, Zeke?’ came a gruff voice from the tent. ‘A partridge?’

‘’Tain’t no partridge. ’Tis a squir’l. ’E’ll ait fine.’

I saw the elder ruffian seize poor Crab’s dead body, and then, ‘Pity us ain’t got another,’ he said. ‘Two on ’em ’ud mek a nutty stew.’

‘There’s another atop o’ oak—tree. Tige’s watchin’ un.’

‘Get un down!’ was the father’s order.

‘You’ll ’ave to come an’ ’elp me,’ said the boy. ‘’Tis too ’igh for me to climb.’

‘Mother, you skin this un,’ called the elder man.

A sallow-faced woman took Crab’s body from him, and then he and his son came up out of the pit towards the oak.

THE DOG BOUNDED HIGH, BUT I WAS SAFELY OUT OF HIS REACH.

I gave myself up for lost. Remember, the tree was a pollard, and, having been lopped not more than four or five years before, its branches were thin and straight. They provided no cover at all. The crown from which they sprung was not more than twenty feet above the ground. Once my enemies climbed it, there was no escape; for if I ran out to the end of a branch and dropped I should undoubtedly fall into the yawning jaws of Tige the dog. But the instinct of self-preservation is strong. Casting round me desperately, I saw a small crevice in the knotted trunk-top. At first it seemed far too small to hold me, but somehow or other I forced myself through, though I scored my sides as I did so. My claws met no foothold, I made a grasp at thin air, and fell flop half a dozen feet, landing upon a bed of soft, rotten wood. When my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I saw that the trunk was completely hollow for a man’s height from the top. It was not quite dark, for the daylight leaked through various small crevices, but there was no hole large enough for a man to put his hand through.

The scraping of boots on the rough outside bark jarred the whole hollow trunk. Presently I heard a voice from below: ‘Where be ’e, Zeke?’

‘Can’t see un, vather!’ cried the boy, who was by the sound on the crown of the oak.

‘That vool Tige’s let ’im go.’

‘I’ll lay ’e ain’t,’ piped the boy.

‘Where be ’e, then?’

Silence and more groping up above. I began to hope that the hole through which I had passed might escape the sharp eyes of the boy.

No such luck.

‘’E’s down inside, vather. ’Ere be th’ ’ole.’

‘Put thy ’and down an’ pull un out.’

The light was cut off from above.

‘Her’s all ’ollow inside,’ cried the boy. ‘I can’t reach un.’

‘Cut a stick an’ put un through.’

A pause, and presently a long bough came poking down, which I easily avoided. But—worse luck!—the boy’s quick ears heard me moving.

‘He’s here, vather. I heard un. Tell ee what. Us’ll smoke un out.’

Memory flashed back to the poachers and the suffocated pheasants. Now, indeed, I was lost. In helpless terror I heard them piling leaves and twigs below the tree, and then the click of a striking match.

Blue fumes began to eddy through a knot-hole, but the bed of rotten wood below me was so thick and damp that they passed over my head and I was still able to breathe.

I heard the man swearing, and then he called to his boy:

‘Zeke, fetch t’ chopper. Us ’ll have to cut un out.’

Soon there came a pounding on the outside of the trunk which reverberated through the hollow, jarring me horribly. The outer crust was of no great thickness, and could not resist their blows for very long.

Rotten wood, bits of rubbish of all kinds began to rain down upon me through the smoke which still hung about the hollow interior of the tree. Thinking any fate better than dying like a rat in a trap, I climbed back up the wall of my refuge in an attempt to reach the knot-hole again. Half suffocated and completely dazed, I did manage to struggle up to it, got my paws on either side and tried to force my way through. Alas! A splinter broke away from the rough wood at the edge of the hole, and pinned me helplessly. I could get neither forward nor back.

Fate was too strong for me. I gave up all hope, and ceased to struggle. In another minute at most the boy would find me, and I should share poor Crab’s fate. I heard a crash as the chopper broke through the bark below, and Zeke’s voice:

‘Vather, ’e be up top again.’

Then it seemed to me that a miracle happened. Instead of the old fellow’s voice, the crisp, curt tones that cut the air were those of my one-time master, Jack.

‘Hi, you fellows, what are you about?’

Down dropped Zeke. There followed a crash among the bushes. A short interval. Would Jack find me? I struggled again furiously, but in vain. The splinter held me tight, and the only result of my efforts was exquisite pain.

‘I wonder what those gipsy chaps were after?’ came Jack’s voice. ‘I’d better have a look.’

Fresh sounds of scrambling, and all of a sudden my master’s face over the edge of the gnarled oak crown.

‘Why, it’s a squirrel!’

Summoning all my remaining energies I gave a pitiful choked squeak, a feeble attempt at the cry I used to call him with in the long-gone days at the Hall.

‘What! No, it can’t be! It’s absurd! And yet’—Jack’s voice rose to a shout—‘by Jove, it is Nipper!’ I felt his hand round me, his touch as gentle as ever. ‘You poor little chap, how did you come here? And stuck tight, too! Never mind, poor old Nipper boy. I’ll get you out all right. Just wait a jiffy.’

Out came his knife, and with the utmost gentleness he cut the wood away all round. In another minute I was free, and safe in his hand.

‘What, hurt, old chap? I must get it out.’ With wonderful tenderness and deftness he pulled out the sharp splinter. ‘There, it’s not much. Only a skin wound. How in the name of all that’s wonderful, did you come here, half a county away from the Hall?’

As he spoke he slipped me into the pocket of his Norfolk jacket and dropped quickly out of the tree.

When he took me out again we were in the terraced garden of the house which I had seen by the river. Jack ran up the drive and burst into the house, shouting at the top of his voice:

‘Harry, where are you?’

Next minute out ran his brother.

If ever I longed to be able to talk man-talk, then was the time! How astonished they all were, for Mabel and Mrs. Fortescue soon joined the boys, and were full of the same amazement at what they considered my strange and mysterious reappearance. I always wonder if they knew how much stranger I thought it at the time.

And yet it was simple enough. The house belonged to Mrs. Fortescue’s brother, a wealthy bachelor whose hobby it was to travel all over the world. It was he who had brought Lops, the flying squirrel, home from Mexico, and Joey, the cockatoo, from West Africa. He had lent the Fortescues his house, and there they were living, and there Jack had joined them for one of his brief holidays.

As my old master took me up to his room that night, ‘Old chap,’ he said, ‘you and I are not going to part any more, even if I have to take you back to London town.’

No more we have. He did take me back to London, but it was only for a few weeks. For the Fortescues came into some money unexpectedly.

That is two years ago. Now we are back at the dear old Hall. The new tenant with his band-box son, his ginger-whiskered keeper, his tame pheasants and his barbed wire, are things of the evil past. As for me, I live in honoured liberty in the Hall grounds. Last year I married again, and I have three fine sons who are all nearly as fond of Jack and his family as their father. Visitors come from a distance to see Jack’s ‘furry family,’ as they call us. We run in a body at his approach down from the elm-trees to smother him with caresses.

Indeed, he deserves our love. Would that all other humans were as good to squirrels as he is.