Part 21

This is a watering-place.

Often, when in a famished condition, a transport of hunger which makes her lash her tail-fin round madly in a ceaseless search for food, she has stopped suddenly at the sight of a pair of big, thick legs stirring up the mud. It is a grazing bull or heifer that has come to the watering-place, and has splashed out far enough to be able to feel cool water under its nose.

One day when this occurred, the big-jointed legs and broad chest of the bull inspired Grim with hope, and her over-excited imagination began to conjure up the possibility of at last getting hold of something worth catching.

She steals forward, and her obliquely-set eye, which can look upwards with such ease, fastens, as though cast in that position, upon the great horned head of an ox.

She pushes on among the black cat’s-tails, hidden under the long-ribbed fans of weed, until she is just in front of the drinking animal, and can see through the glimmering surface of the water the sucking, fleshy nose.

At this she can no longer control her voracity. Where her stomach wills, her body must follow after. Her shrewdness may warn her, and experience urge her to caution, but in vain: when her stomach wills, she rushes into the fray.

The ox throws up its head with such violence that Grim is dragged up with it halfway; but she does not relax her hold, and when she sinks back into deep water, she takes a large piece of the ox’s snout with her.

The marsh, with its miles of reed-beds, was a favourite haunt of game, for coolness in the midsummer heat, and for warmth in the winter cold. Here were peaceful spots to hide when chased by men with the report of guns and the barking of dogs. And Grim knew how to benefit by this abundance of game.

Just as it had long been her way to snatch her prey by springing out of her element, so she now created a new means of support by lying in wait at the drinking-places like a crocodile.

Several times she molested horses when watering, and on one occasion she bit off half the tongue of a poor calf.

One afternoon a roe-deer comes down with its young. The day is hot, and they run far in, one of them, unable to stop, going in up to its chest. Grim darts up, seizes it by the body, overturns it, and then drags it out with her.

Another day a small dog suffers the same fate. It is caught by the fore-leg and drawn down, while a storm of rings spreads out on all sides.

All she had dreamed of in earliest youth has been realized; no prey is now too large for her.

When she moves slowly in the deep water, long waves rise above her, and whirlpools gyrate upon the coffee-coloured water; and if she shoots up on to the grass after a frog or a water-rat, and churns the water into foam, the whole pool is filled with breakers.

Grim is a remnant of primeval ages, a creature from the time of the great swamps.

Late in the autumn, when the dock was turning red, and the stiff spikes of the mare’s-tails were bent like withered grass, black autumn showers filled the marsh to overflowing. The wet mud lay far up over the meadows and pastures, and poured like rivers through the ditches. Pool ran into pool, and the peat-cuttings, which lay side by side, only separated by high, narrow ridges, became one huge pit. It was a regular deluge.

Grim swam far and wide, and almost fancied herself in the lake once more. She found her way into new oases where food was abundant, and made great inroads upon the numerous eels and tench that were flocking up from the brook through the ditches and channels. That autumn she really gained ground, and had something with which to withstand the winter.

But one day in October it happened that an osprey that had got out of its course strayed in over the marsh. The morning mist had just disappeared, but the sun was not quite up, when the grey-brown bird was seen sailing high up in wide circles, its mottled breast gleaming in the sunlight; and with a black, hooked beak beneath a pair of sharp, sagacious eyes.

The bird had come far and had not yet breakfasted; it came down nearer and nearer to the ground. All the little birds in the reeds began to cry out, and the coots sought shelter in the larger clumps of reeds. Like a kestrel, the bird kept at tree-height above the water, sailing backwards and forwards, keeping a sharp watch below.

There was frost in the air, and the great, hungry fisher probably had a presentiment of the bolt that would soon close its larder. In any case it was quite determined to take both little and big, and leave nothing.

It sailed on perseveringly from pool to pool, over the rushes in the muddy water and the bog-myrtle along the banks, moving slowly, with hanging claws.

Grim comes up from deep water on her morning round, making the most of her time while the shadows still conceal her and veil her movements. Now and again she stops and lies in wait among the water-plants, with her torn, dorsal fin, still but half healed, standing a little above the water.

On one of these occasions the osprey discovers her, and without recognizing what sort of a fish it is, hovers above the spot.

More than once it descends in vain, but is at last successful. Unobserved by Grim, the bird darts upon her from behind with outstretched claws, and drives them with full force into her back. It feels its claws sink in, and the pleasant struggling of something alive.

Its body is partly in the water, but the wings are quite clear, and it flaps vigorously, knowing it must lift its treasure with a quick movement.

A shudder passes through Grim. At the first moment she fancies herself attacked by some scaly enemy, and shakes herself and whirls round, snapping fiercely. But there is nothing to get hold of; the surface of the water seems, as it were, to hold her fast.

The osprey screams and beats his wings, sending up fountains of spray all round. Like others of his species, he is accustomed to master even the largest booty, and he still entertains the highest hopes and will not let go.

Then all at once danger is imminent! The rash captor notices that the sustaining volume of air beneath his wings is growing less. Now his wings are beating the water. He tries to get rid of his prey, but cannot get his claws out quickly enough; and the next moment he is drawn down and, to his terror, feels--what he has never quite believed--that water is not after all his true element.