Is I.
Walter de la Mare Napoleon
When the punt floated down the river in the rain, part of General Woundwort's authority went with it. He could not have appeared more openly and completely at a loss if Hazel and his companions had flown away over the trees. Until that very moment he had shown up strongly, a most formidable adversary. His officers had been demoralized by Kehaar's unexpected attack. He had not. On the contrary, he had kept up the pursuit in spite of Kehaar and had actually carried out a scheme to cut off the fugitives' retreat. Cunning and resourceful in adversity, he had nearly succeeded in hurting the gull when he leapt at him out of the close cover by the plank bridge. Then, when he had his quarry cornered in a place where Kehaar could not have done a great deal to help them, they had suddenly shown their own cunning greater than his, and left him bewildered on the bank. He had overheard the very word - tharn - spoken by one of his officers to another as they returned to Efrafa through the rain. Thlayli, Blackavar and the does of the Near Hind had vanished. He had tried to stop them and he had conspicuously failed.
For a great part of that night Woundwort remained awake, considering what was best to be done. The following day he called a Council meeting. He pointed out that it would be no good taking an expedition down the river to look for Thlayli unless it were strong enough to defeat him if it found him. That would mean taking several officers and a number of the Owsla. There would be the risk of trouble at home while they were away. There might be another break-out. The odds were that they would not find Thlayli at all, for there would be no trail and they did not know where to search for him. If they did not find him, they would look even bigger fools when they came back.
'And fools we look now,' said Woundwort. 'Make no mistake about that. Vervain will tell you what the Marks are saying - that Campion was chased into the ditch by the white bird and Thlayli called down lightning from the sky and Frith knows what besides.'
'The best thing,' said old Snowdrop, 'will be to say as little about it as possible. Let it blow over. They've got short memories.'
'There's one thing I think worth doing,' said Woundwort. 'We know now that there was one place where we did find Thlayli and his gang, only nobody realized it at the time. That was when Mallow was after them with his patrol, just before he was killed by the fox. Something tells me that where they were once, there they'll be again, sooner or later.'
'But we can hardly stay out there with enough rabbits to fight them, sir,' said Groundsel, 'and it would mean digging in and living there for some time.'
'I agree with you,' replied Woundwort. 'A patrol will be stationed there continuously until further notice. They'll dig scrapes and live there. They'll be relieved every two days. If Thlayli comes, he's to be watched and followed secretly. When we know where he's taken the does, then we may be able to deal with him. And I'll tell you this,' he ended, glaring round at them with his great, pale eyes. 'If we do find out where he is, I shall be ready to go to a great deal of trouble. I told Thlayli I'd kill him myself. He may have forgotten that, but I haven't.'
Woundwort led the first patrol in person, taking Groundsel to show him where Mallow had picked up the strangers' southward trail. They dug scrapes among the scrub along the edge of Caesar's Belt and waited. After two days their hopes were lower. Vervain relieved Woundwort. He was relieved two days later by Campion. By this time there were captains in the Owsla who said privately to each other that the General was in the grip of an obsession. Some way would have to be found of getting him to drop it before it went too far. At the Council meeting the next evening it was suggested that the patrol should be discontinued in two days' time. Woundwort, snarling, told them to wait and see. An argument began, behind which he sensed more opposition than he had ever encountered before. In the middle of this, with a dramatic effect that could not have been better timed from the General's point of view, Campion and his patrol came in, dead-beat, with the report that they had met Thlayli and his rabbits exactly where Woundwort had said they would. Unseen, they had followed them to their warren which, though a long way off, was not too distant to be attacked, especially since no time would have to be spent in searching for it. It did not appear to be very large and could probably be surprised.
The news put an end to all opposition and brought both Council and Owsla back under Woundwort's undisputed control. Several of the officers were for starting at once but Woundwort, now that he was sure of his followers and his enemy, took his time. Having learned from Campion that he had actually come face to face with Thlayli, Blackavar and the rest, he decided to wait some little while, in case they might be on their guard. Besides, he wanted time both to reconnoitre the way to Watership and to organize the expedition. His idea was that if possible they should make the journey in one day. This would forestall any possible rumours of their approach. To satisfy himself that they could do this and still be fit to fight when they arrived, he took Campion and two others, and himself covered the three and a half miles to the down east of Watership. Here, he grasped at once the best way to approach the beech hanger without being seen or smelt. The prevailing wind was westerly, as at Efrafa. They would arrive at evening and then assemble and rest in the combe south of Cannon Heath Down. As soon as twilight fell and Thlayli and his rabbits had gone underground, they would come along the ridge and attack the warren. With luck, there would be no warning whatever. They would be safe for the night in the captured warren and the following day he himself and Vervain would be able to return to Efrafa. The remainder, under Campion, could have a day's rest and then make their way back with the does and any other prisoners there might be. The whole thing could be finished in three days.
It would be best not to take too many rabbits. Anyone not strong enough to go the distance and then fight would only be a nuisance. In the event, speed might turn out to be everything. The slower the journey, the more dangerous it would be and stragglers would attract elil and discourage the rest. Besides, as Woundwort very well knew, his leadership was going to be vital. Every rabbit would need to feel that he was close to the General; and if he felt himself one of a picked band as well, that would be all to the good.
The rabbits to go were chosen most carefully. There were in fact about twenty-six or seven of them, half Owsla and the rest promising youngsters recommended by their Mark officers. Woundwort believed in emulation and he let it be known that there would be plenty of chances to win rewards. Campion and Chervil were kept busy taking out endurance patrols, and tussles and training fights were organized at morning silflay. The members of the expedition were excused all sentry duties and allowed to silflay whenever they wished.
They started before dawn one clear August morning, going due north in groups along the banks and hedges. Before they had reached the Belt, Groundsel's party was attacked by a pair of stoats, one old and the other a yearling. Woundwort, hearing the squealing from behind him, covered the distance in a few moments and set upon the veteran stoat with slashing teeth and great kicks from his needle-clawed back paws. W
ith one of its forelegs ripped to the shoulder, it turned and made off, the younger one following.
'You ought to be able to see to these things yourself,' said Woundwort to Groundsel. 'Stoats aren't dangerous. Come on.'
Shortly after ni-Frith, Woundwort went back to pick up stragglers. He found three, one injured by a piece of glass. He stopped the bleeding, brought the three up to rejoin their groups and then called a halt to rest and feed, himself keeping a watch round about. It was very hot and some of the rabbits were showing signs of exhaustion. Woundwort formed these into a separate group and took charge of it himself.
By the early evening - about the same time as Dandelion was beginning the story of Rowsby Woof - the Efrafans had skirted an enclosure of pigs east of Cannon Heath Farm and were slipping into the combe south of Cannon Heath Down. Many were tired and, in spite of their tremendous respect for Woundwort, there was a certain feeling that they had come a long way from home. They were ordered to take cover, feed, rest and wait for sunset.
The place was deserted, except for yellow-hammers and a few mice pattering about in the sun. Some of the rabbits went to sleep in the long grass. The slope was already in shadow when Campion came running down with the news that he had come face to face with Blackavar and Holly in the upper part of the combe.
Woundwort was annoyed. 'What made them come trapesing over here, I wonder?' he said. 'Couldn't you have killed them? Now we've lost surprise.'
'I'm sorry, sir,' said Campion. 'I wasn't really alert at the time and I'm afraid they were a bit too quick for me. I didn't pursue them because I wasn't sure whether you'd want me to.'
'Well, it may not make much difference,' said Woundwort. 'I don't see what they can do. But they'll try to do something, I suppose, now they know we're here.'
As he went among his rabbits, looking them over and encouraging them, Woundwort considered the situation. One thing was clear - there was no longer the chance of catching Thlayli and the rest off their guard. But perhaps they were already so much frightened that they would not fight at all? The bucks might give up the does to save their own lives. Or they might already be on the run, in which case they must be followed and caught at once, for they were fresh and his own rabbits were tired and could not pursue them far. He ought to find out quickly. He turned to a young rabbit of the Neck Mark, who was feeding close at hand.
'Your name's Thistle, isn't it?' he asked.
'Thistle, sir,' answered the rabbit.
'Well, you're the very fellow I want,' said Woundwort. 'Go and find Captain Campion and tell him to meet me up there, by that juniper - do you see where I mean? - at once. You'd better come there too. Be quick: there's no time to lose.'
As soon as Campion and Thistle had joined him, Woundwort took them up to the ridge. He meant to see what was happening over at the beech hanger. If the enemy were already in flight, Thistle could be sent back with a message to Groundsel and Vervain to bring everyone up immediately. If they were not, he would see what threats could do.
They reached the track above the combe and began to make their way along it with some caution, since the sunset was in their eyes. The light west wind carried a fresh smell of rabbits.
'If they are running they haven't gone far,' said Woundwort. 'But I don't think they are running: I think they're still in their warren.'
At that moment a rabbit came out of the grass and sat up in the middle of the track. He paused for a few moments and then moved towards them. He was limping and had a strained, resolute look.