The broad glittering trigger-guard got quite hot in the sun, and the
stock was warm when I felt it every now and then. The grain of the
walnut-wood showed plainly through the light polish: it was not
varnished like the stock of the double-barrel they kept padlocked to
the rack over the high mantelpiece indoors. Still you could see the
varnish. It was of a rich dark horse-chestnut colour, and yet so bright
and clear that if held close you could see your face in it. Behind it
the grain of the wood was just perceptible; especially at the grip,
where hard hands had worn it away somewhat. The secret of that varnish
is lost—like that of the varnish on the priceless old violins.
But you could feel the wood more in my gun: so that it was difficult to
keep the hand off it, though the rabbits would not come out; and the
shadowless recess grew like a furnace, for it focussed the rays of the
sun. The heat on the sunny side of a thick hedge between three and four
in the afternoon is almost tropical if you remain still, because the
air is motionless: the only relief is to hold your hat loose; or tilt
it against your head, the other edge of the brim on the ground. Then
the grass-blades rise up level with the forehead. There is a delicious
smell in growing grass, and a sweetness comes up from the earth.
Still it got hotter and hotter; and it was not possible to move in the
least degree, lest a brown creature sitting on the sand at the mouth of
his hole, and hidden himself by the fern, should immediately note it.
And Orion was waiting in the rickyard for the sound of the report, and
very likely the shepherd too. We knew that men in Africa, watched by
lions, had kept still in the sunshine till, reflected from the rock, it
literally scorched them, not daring to move; and we knew all about the
stoicism of the Red Indians. But Ulysses was ever my pattern and model:
that man of infinite patience and resource.
So, though the sun might burn and the air become suffocating in that
close corner, and the quivering line of heat across the meadow make the
eyes dizzy to watch, yet not a limb must be moved. The black flies came
in crowds; but they are not so tormenting if you plunge your face in
the grass, though they titillate the back of the hand as they run over
it. Under the bramble bush was a bury that did not look much used; and
once or twice a great blue fly came out of it, the buzz at first
sounding hollow and afar off and becoming clearer as it approached the
mouth of the hole. There was the carcass of a dead rabbit inside no
doubt.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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