Read Online The Plague Dogs by Richard Adams - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Adams
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy, Contemporary, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Fantastic fiction, Pets, Animals, Nature, Dogs, Lake District (England), Laboratory animals, Animal Rights, Laboratory animals - England, Animal experimentation, Animal experimentation - England
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could feel a draught, delightfully refreshing, flowing up and along his stomach. The sensation, after the cramped agony and fear of the chute, was so reassuring that Snitter, with closed eyes and lolling tongue, rolled over on his side, basking in the cool air stream.
The furnace box was, in fact, open on four sides. From below the griddled floor, air was flowing in through a vent which could be opened or closed from outside by means of a sliding iron cover; its function being, of course, to control the fire and make it draw more or less strongly. This vent Tom had left half-open, so that a steady stream of rainy night air was being drawn up through the grid and out through the flue above the dogs' heads. At the same time—since Tom had also left open the larger, stoke-hole door above—another air current was passing directly across the furnace chamber and out through the door of the chute into the guinea-pig block. Since the walls of the furnace had now cooled to approximately blood-heat it was, for the two dogs, as pleasant and restful a place as could well be imagined.
Snitter, raising his head, nudged Rowf's broad, unmoving back. "Are you hurt, old Rowf?"
"I was afraid—never get out—until I fell down. AH right now. Tired. Sleep." Snitter could smell a long, bleeding scratch along Rowf's flank. He licked at it, tasting the iron and burnt-guinea-pig-flavoured soot of the hopper walls. Gradually Rowf's breathing became slower and easier. Snitter felt the muscles of the haunch relaxing under his tongue. Soon he himself, full of warmth and relief, grew as drowsy as Rowf. He ceased licking, dropped his head and stretched out his paws to touch the warm side of the furnace. In a few moments he too was asleep.
For more than three hours the two dogs lay sleeping in the fire-box, exhausted by the strain of their escape and the terror of their passage through the chute. Outside, the rain became heavier, falling steadily from a drift of clouds so low that the higher fells were blotted out beneath it. The moon was obscured and almost total darkness covered the miles of rock and bracken, heather, moss and bilberry bushes, Rowan and peat bog—a fastness little changed since the days of the moss-raiders and the invading Scots—those armies which had marched to defeat and death at Flodden, at Solway Moss, at Preston, Worcester and Derby. A wild land, familiar with the passage of fugitives and the forlorn, the lost and desperate, the shelter-less and outnumbered contending against hopeless odds. Yet tonight there was none to bide the pelting of the pitiless storm. From Blawith to Esthwaite Water, from Satterthwaite and Grizedale across to Coniston, not a soul was abroad, the dismal wastes were lonely as an ocean and not Thomas Rymer of Erceldoune himself, returning to earth from fair Elfland after not seven, but seven hundred years, could have discerned, from the aspect of that dark and lonely place, what century had arrived in his absence. At length the furnace, the bricks round the outside of which had streamed with rain half the night, cooled to the temperature of the surrounding darkness and soon afterwards the wind, veering round into the south-west and Wowing up fresh rain from the Duddon estuary, began to drive keener gusts in at the stoke-hole and the control vent below. Snitter stirred in his sleep, feeling in his offside haunch the pricking of a guinea-pig's splintered rib-cage. A sharp point pierced his skin and he woke with a start. "Rowf! Come back!"
There was no reply and Snitter nuzzled him urgently.
"Come out of the leaves, Rowf, come out of the water! We've got to get on!" Rowf raised his head drowsily. "Don't want to go. Stay here."
"No! No! The wide place, the rain, outside!"
"Stay here—warm and dry."
"No, Rowf, no! The whitecoats, the metal water, the tobacco man! The lorry! We've got to get out!"
Rowf stood up and stretched as best he could in the confined space. "There isn't any out."
"Yes, there
The furnace box was, in fact, open on four sides. From below the griddled floor, air was flowing in through a vent which could be opened or closed from outside by means of a sliding iron cover; its function being, of course, to control the fire and make it draw more or less strongly. This vent Tom had left half-open, so that a steady stream of rainy night air was being drawn up through the grid and out through the flue above the dogs' heads. At the same time—since Tom had also left open the larger, stoke-hole door above—another air current was passing directly across the furnace chamber and out through the door of the chute into the guinea-pig block. Since the walls of the furnace had now cooled to approximately blood-heat it was, for the two dogs, as pleasant and restful a place as could well be imagined.
Snitter, raising his head, nudged Rowf's broad, unmoving back. "Are you hurt, old Rowf?"
"I was afraid—never get out—until I fell down. AH right now. Tired. Sleep." Snitter could smell a long, bleeding scratch along Rowf's flank. He licked at it, tasting the iron and burnt-guinea-pig-flavoured soot of the hopper walls. Gradually Rowf's breathing became slower and easier. Snitter felt the muscles of the haunch relaxing under his tongue. Soon he himself, full of warmth and relief, grew as drowsy as Rowf. He ceased licking, dropped his head and stretched out his paws to touch the warm side of the furnace. In a few moments he too was asleep.
For more than three hours the two dogs lay sleeping in the fire-box, exhausted by the strain of their escape and the terror of their passage through the chute. Outside, the rain became heavier, falling steadily from a drift of clouds so low that the higher fells were blotted out beneath it. The moon was obscured and almost total darkness covered the miles of rock and bracken, heather, moss and bilberry bushes, Rowan and peat bog—a fastness little changed since the days of the moss-raiders and the invading Scots—those armies which had marched to defeat and death at Flodden, at Solway Moss, at Preston, Worcester and Derby. A wild land, familiar with the passage of fugitives and the forlorn, the lost and desperate, the shelter-less and outnumbered contending against hopeless odds. Yet tonight there was none to bide the pelting of the pitiless storm. From Blawith to Esthwaite Water, from Satterthwaite and Grizedale across to Coniston, not a soul was abroad, the dismal wastes were lonely as an ocean and not Thomas Rymer of Erceldoune himself, returning to earth from fair Elfland after not seven, but seven hundred years, could have discerned, from the aspect of that dark and lonely place, what century had arrived in his absence. At length the furnace, the bricks round the outside of which had streamed with rain half the night, cooled to the temperature of the surrounding darkness and soon afterwards the wind, veering round into the south-west and Wowing up fresh rain from the Duddon estuary, began to drive keener gusts in at the stoke-hole and the control vent below. Snitter stirred in his sleep, feeling in his offside haunch the pricking of a guinea-pig's splintered rib-cage. A sharp point pierced his skin and he woke with a start. "Rowf! Come back!"
There was no reply and Snitter nuzzled him urgently.
"Come out of the leaves, Rowf, come out of the water! We've got to get on!" Rowf raised his head drowsily. "Don't want to go. Stay here."
"No! No! The wide place, the rain, outside!"
"Stay here—warm and dry."
"No, Rowf, no! The whitecoats, the metal water, the tobacco man! The lorry! We've got to get out!"
Rowf stood up and stretched as best he could in the confined space. "There isn't any out."
"Yes, there
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