The Mahatma and the Hare: A Dream StoryHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Science
The Mahatma and the Hare: A Dream Story
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction
Just after they had pushed off I saw a man running down the steps on
the cliff waving his arms while he called out something. But of him
they took no heed. I do not think they noticed him. As for me, I swam
on.
I could not go very fast because I was so dreadfully tired; also I did
not like swimming, and the cold waves broke over my head, making the
cut in my nose smart and filling my eyes with something that stung
them. I could not see far either, nor did I know where I was going. I
knew nothing except I was about to die, and that soon everything would
be at an end; men, dogs—everything, yes, even Tom. I wanted things to
come to an end. I had suffered so dreadfully, life was so horrible, I
was so very tired. I felt that it was better to die and have done.
So I swam on a long way and began to forget things; indeed I thought
that I was playing in the big turnip field with my mother and sister.
But just as I was sinking exhausted a hand shot down into the water and
caught me by the ears, although from below the fingers looked as though
they were bending away from me. I saw it coming and tried to sink more
quickly, but could not.
“I’ve got her,” said the voice of Tom gleefully. “My! isn’t she a
beauty? Over nine pounds if she is an ounce. Only just in time,
though,” he went on, “for, look! she’s drowning; her head wobbles as
though she were sea-sick. Buck up, pussie, buck up! You mustn’t cheat
the hounds at last, you know. It wouldn’t be sportsmanlike, and they
hate dead hares.”
Then he held me by my hind legs to drain the water out of me, and
afterwards began to blow down my nose, I did not know why.
“Don’t do that, Tom,” said Ella sharply. “It’s nasty.”
“Must keep the life in her somehow,” answered Tom, and went on blowing.
“Master Tom,” interrupted Giles, who was rowing the boat. “I ain’t
particular, but I wish you’d leave that there hare alone. Somehow I
thinks there’s bad news in its eye. Who knows? P’raps the little devil
feels. Any way, it’s a rum one, its swimming out to sea. I never see’d
a hunted hare do that afore.”
“Bosh!” said Tom, and continued his blowing.
We reached the shore and Tom jumped out of the boat, holding me by the
ears. The hounds were all on the beach, most of them lying down, for
they were very tired, but the men were standing in a knot at a distance
talking earnestly, Tom ran to the hounds, crying out—
“Here she is, my beauties, here she is!” whereon they got up and began
to bay. Then he held me above them.
“Master Tom,” I heard Jerry’s voice say, “for God’s sake let that hare
go and listen, Master Tom,” and the girl Ella, who of a sudden had
begun to sob, tried to pull him back.
But he was mad to see me bitten to death and eaten, and until he had
done so would attend to no one. He only shouted, “One—two—three! Now,
hounds! _Worry, worry, worry!_”
Then he threw me into the air above the red throats and gnashing teeth
which leapt up towards me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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