The Cliff Climbers

Chapter Thirty Eight.
Further experiments

The usual silence which succeeds a disappointment was for some time preserved by the three individuals who had been spectators of the unsuccessful attempt of the eagle. Caspar seemed less cast down than the others; but why it was so, neither of them thought of asking him.

It was not a silence of very long duration, nor was the chagrin that had caused it of much longer continuance. Both were evanescent as the summer cloud that for a moment darkens the sky, and then glides off – leaving it bright and serene as ever.

It was to Caspar the party was indebted for this happy change of feeling. An idea had occurred to the young hunter – or rather a new scheme – which was at once communicated to his companions.

Strictly speaking, Caspar’s scheme could not be termed a new one. It was only supplementary to that already set before them by Karl; and the bearcoot, as before, was to be the chief actor in it.

While calculating the length of rope it would take to reach to the top of the cliff, Caspar had already bethought him of a way by which it might be shortened – in other words, how it might be arranged, that a shorter rope would suffice. He had for some time carried this idea in his mind; but had declined communicating it, to the others, until after witnessing the test of the eagle’s strength. Now that the bearcoot had been “weighed and found wanting,” you might suppose that the creature would be no longer cared for – excepting to furnish them with a meal. This was the reflection of Karl and Ossaroo; but Caspar thought differently. He was impressed with a belief, that the bird might still do them a service – the very one which he had undertaken so unsuccessfully.

Caspar reflected, and very correctly: that it was the extra weight that had hindered the eagle from ascending. It was not so much beyond his strength neither. Perhaps had it been only half as heavy, or even a little more, he might have succeeded in carrying it over the cliff.

What if the weight should be reduced?

To make the rope more slender did not enter into Caspar’s calculations. He knew this could not be done: since it was a point already discussed and decided upon.

But how if the rope were to be shorter, than that which had been theoretically considered? How if it were to be only fifty yards, instead of one hundred and fifty? Of course, then the eagle might fly with it, to whatever height its length would allow.

Caspar felt satisfied of this fact; nor did either of the others question its truth – but what then?

“What,” inquired Karl, “would be the use of a rope of fifty yards, though the eagle might carry it up to the moon? Even at the lowest part of the cliffs – should the bearcoot take one end over, the other would be fifty yards above our heads?”

“Not a yard, brother – not a foot. The other end would be in our hands – in our hands, I tell you.”

“Well, Caspar,” calmly rejoined the philosopher, “you appear to be confident enough; though I can’t guess what you are driving at. You know this hideous precipice is at no point less than a hundred yards in sheer height?”

“I do,” replied Caspar, still speaking in the same tone of confidence; “but a rope of only fifty – ay, of not more than half that length – may be held in our hands, while the other end is over the top of the cliff.”

Karl looked perplexed; but the shikaree, on this occasion quicker of perception than the philosopher, catching at Caspar’s meaning, cried out: —

“Ha, ha! young sahib meanee from top ob da ladder! Dat meanee he.”

“Exactly so,” said Caspar; “you’ve guessed right, Ossy. I mean just that very thing.”

“Oh! then, indeed,” said Karl, in a drawling tone, at the same time lapsing into a reflective silence.

“Perhaps you are right, brother,” he added, after a pause. “At all events, it will be easy to try. If your scheme succeed, we shall not require to make any more cord. What we have will be sufficient. Let us make trial at once!”

“Where is the bearcoot?” asked Caspar, looking around to discover the bird.

“Yonner be he, young sahib,” answered Ossaroo, pointing towards the precipice; “yonner sitee he – ober da rock.”

The eagle was perceived, perched, or rather crouching, on a low ledge of the cliff, – upon which it had dropped down after its unsuccessful attempt at flight. It looked crestfallen, and as if it would suffer itself to be caught by the hand. But as Ossaroo approached it with this intention, the bird seemed to fancy itself free, and once more rose, with a bold swoop, into the air.

It was only to feel the check-string tighten afresh upon his leg. It came fluttering down again, first drawn back by the weight of the log, and afterwards by the strong arm of the shikaree.

The log was now removed; and the whole rope they had on hand – a length of rather more than fifty yards – was knotted in its place.

The bearcoot was again set free – Ossaroo taking care to keep the leash well in hand; and now the beautiful bird of Jove rose into the air, as if not the summit of the cliff, but the proud peak of Chumulari, was to be the limit of its flight.

At the height of fifty yards its soaring ambition was suddenly curbed, by the check-string of Ossaroo, reminding it that it was still a captive.

The experiment had proved successful. Caspar’s plan promised well; and they at once proceeded to take the necessary steps for carrying it into practical effect.

Chapter Thirty Nine.
The eagle’s escape

The first thing to be done, was to look to the quality of the rope, and test its strength. The ladders were already in place, just as they had been left. The rope once proved, there would be nothing further to do, but make it secure to the shank of the bearcoot; ascend the cliff to the highest ledge, reached by the ladders; and then fly the bird.

Should they succeed in getting the creature to go over the cliff – and by some means entangle the cord at the top – they might consider themselves free. The very thought of such a result – now apparently certain – once more raised their spirits to the highest pitch.

They did not count on being able to “swarm” up a piece of slender cord of nearly fifty yards in length – a feat that would have baffled the most agile tar that ever “slung the monkey” from a topgallant stay. They had no thoughts of climbing the rope in that way; but in another, long before conceived and discussed. They intended – once they should be assured that the cord was secure above – to make steps upon it, by inserting little pieces of wood between the “strands;” and these, which they could fix at long distances, one after the other, would form supports, upon which they might rest their feet in the ascent.

As we have said, all this had been settled beforehand; and no longer occupied their attention – now wholly absorbed in contriving some way to prove the reliability of the rope, upon which their lives were about to be imperilled.

It was not deemed sufficient to tie the rope to a tree, and pull upon it with all their united strength. Karl and Caspar thought this would be a sufficient test; but Ossaroo was of a different opinion. A better plan – according to the shikaree’s way of thinking – was one which had generated in his oriental brain; and which, without heeding the remonstrances of the others, he proceeded to make trial of. Taking one end of the rope with him, he climbed into a tall tree; and, after getting some way out on a horizontal branch – full fifty feet from the ground – he there fastened the cord securely. By his directions the young sahibs laid hold below; and, both together, raising their feet from the ground, remained for some seconds suspended in the air.

As the rope showed no symptoms either of stretching or breaking under the weight of both, it was evident that it might, under any circumstances, be trusted to carry the weight of one; and in this confidence, the shikaree descended from the tree.

With the eagle carried under his right arm, and the coil of rope swinging over his left, Ossaroo now proceeded towards the place where the ladders rested against the cliff. Karl and Caspar walked close after, with Fritz following in the rear – all four moving in silence, and with a certain solemnity of look and gesture – as befitted the important business upon which they were bent.

The new experiment, like the trial of the eagle’s strength, did not occupy any great length of time. Had it proved successful, our adventurers would have been longer occupied, and in the end would have been seen triumphantly standing upon the summit of the cliff – with Fritz frisking up the snowy slope beyond, as if he intended to chase the great ovis ammon upon the heaven-kissing crest of Chumulari.

Ah! how different was the spectacle presented on the evening of that eventful day! A little before sunset the three adventurers were seen slowly and sadly returning to their hut – that despised hovel, under whose homely roof they had hoped never to seek shelter again!

Alas! in the now lengthened list of their unsuccessful struggles, they had once more to record a failure!

Ossaroo, bearing the bearcoot under his arm, had climbed the ladders up to the highest ledge that could be attained. From it he had “flown” the eagle – freely dealing out all the cord in his possession. That was a perilous experiment for the shikaree to make; and came very near proving the last act in the drama of his life.

Thinking that the bearcoot would rise upward into the air, he had not thought of anything else; and as he stood balancing himself on that narrow shelf, he was but ill prepared for what actually came to pass. Instead of soaring upwards, the eagle struck out in a horizontal direction, not changing its course till it had reached the end of its tether; and then not changing it, nor even pausing in its flight, but with the fifty yards of rope trailing behind it – which, fortunately for Ossaroo, he was himself no longer at the end of – it continued on across the valley towards the cliffs on the opposite side – the summit of which it would have no difficulty in attaining by following the diagonal line in which it was making that unexpected escape from the clutches of the shikaree.

Not without chagrin did Karl and Caspar behold the spectacle of the bearcoot’s departure; and for a while they were under the impression that Ossaroo had bungled the business with which he had been entrusted.

Ossaroo’s explanations, however, were soon after received; and proved satisfactory. It was evident from these, that had he not let go in the right time, he would have been compelled to make a leap, that would have left him no opportunity for explaining the nature of the eagle’s escape.

Chapter Forty.
Fritz and the falcons

With feelings of sad and bitter disappointment did our adventurers turn their backs upon these ladders – that had once more deluded them – and make their way towards the hut.

As upon the former occasion, they walked with slow steps and downcast mien. Fritz, by his slouching gait and drooped tail, showed that he shared the general despondency.

They had arrived nearly at the hut, before any of the three thought of speaking; when the sight of that rude homestead, to which they had so often fancied themselves on the eve of bidding farewell – and to which as often had they been compelled to return – suggested a theme to Karl: causing him to break silence as they advanced towards the doorway.

“Our true friend,” said he, pointing to the hovel, “a friend, when all else fails us. Rough it is – like many a friend that is nevertheless worthy. I begin to like its honest look, and feel regard for it as one should for a home.”

Caspar said nothing in reply. He only sighed. The young chamois-hunter of the Bavarian Alps thought of another home – far away towards the setting sun; and, so long as that thought was in his mind, he could never reconcile himself to a forced residence in the Himalayas.

The thoughts of Ossaroo were equally absent from that spot. He was thinking of a bamboo hut by the borders of some crystal stream, overshadowed by palms and other tropical trees. He was thinking still more of rice curry and chutnee; but above all, of his beloved “betel,” for which the “bang” of the cannabis sativa was but a poor substitute.

But Caspar had another thought in his mind; one which proved that he had not yet abandoned all hope of returning to the home of his nativity; and, after they had finished eating their supper of broiled venison, he gave utterance to it.

He had not volunteered to break the silence. It was done in obedience to a request of Karl who, having noticed the abstracted air of his brother, had asked for an explanation.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Caspar, “ever since the eagle has escaped us, of another bird I know something about – one that might perform the service we want quite as well, if not better, than a bearcoot.”

“Another bird!” inquired Karl; “of what bird are you speaking? Do you mean one of those Brahminy geese upon the lake? We might catch one alive, it is true; but let me tell you, brother, that their wings are constructed just strong enough to carry their own ponderous bodies; and if you added another pound or two, by tying a cord to their legs, they could no more mount out of this valley than we can. No – no. I fancy we may as well give up that idea. There’s no bird but an eagle with wing strong enough to do what you wish.”

“The bird I was thinking of,” rejoined Caspar, “is of the same genus as the eagle. I believe that’s correctly scientific language. Isn’t it, my Buffon of a brother? Ha! ha! Well, shall I name it? Surely, you have already divined the sort of bird to which I allude?”

“No, indeed,” replied Karl. “There are no other birds in this valley of the same genus as the eagle – except hawks; and according to the closet naturalists, they are not of the same genus – only of the same family. If you mean a hawk, there are several species in this place; but the largest of them could not carry anything over the cliff heavier than a string of twine. See, there’s a brace of them now!” continued Karl, pointing to two birds that were circling in the air, some twenty yards overhead. “‘Churk’ falcons they are called. They are the largest of the Himalayan hawks. Are these your birds, brother?”

“A couple of kites, are they not?” interrogated Caspar, turning his eyes upward, and regarding the two winged creatures circling above, and quartering the air as if in search of prey.

“Yes,” answered the naturalist, “they are of that species; and, correctly described, of the same genus as the eagles. You don’t mean them, I suppose?”

“No – not exactly,” replied Caspar, in a drawling tone, and smiling significantly as he spoke; “but if they be kites– Ho! what now?” exclaimed the speaker, his train of thought, as well as speech, suddenly interrupted by a movement on the part of the falcons. “What the mischief are the birds about? As I live, they seem to be making an attack upon Fritz! Surely they don’t suppose they have the strength to do any damage to our brave old dog?”

As Caspar spoke, the two falcons were seen suddenly to descend – from the elevation at which they had been soaring – and then sweep in quick short circles around the head of the Bavarian boar-hound – where he squatted on the ground, near a little copse, some twenty yards from the hut.

“Perhaps their nest is there – in the copse?” suggested Karl; “That’s why they are angry with the dog: for angry they certainly appear to be.”

So any one might have reasoned, from the behaviour of the birds, as they continued their attack upon the dog – now rising some feet above him, and then darting downward in a sort of parabolic curve – at each swoop drawing nearer and nearer, until the tips of their wings were almost flapped in his face. These movements were not made in silence: for the falcons, as they flew, kept uttering their shrill cries – that sounded like the voice of a pair of angry vixens.

“Their young must be near?” suggested Karl.

“No, sahib,” said Ossaroo, “no nest – no chickee. Fritz he hab suppa – de piece ob meat ob da ibex. Churk wantee take de dog suppa away.”

“Oh! Fritz is eating something, is he?” said Caspar. “That explains it then. How very stupid of these birds, to fancy they could steal his supper from our valiant Fritz: more especially since he seems to relish it so much himself! Why he takes no notice of them!”

It was quite true that Fritz, up to this time, had scarcely noticed the brace of winged assailants; and their hostile demonstrations had only drawn from him an occasional “yir.” As they swooped nearer, however, and the tips of their wings were “wopped” into his very eyes, the thing was growing unbearable; and Fritz began to lose temper. His “yirs” became more frequent; and once or twice he rose from his squatting attitude, and made a snap at the feathers that were nearest.

For more than five minutes this curious play was kept up between the boar-hound and the birds; and then the episode was brought to a somewhat singular – and in Fritz’s estimation, no doubt – a very unpleasant termination.

From the first commencement of their attack, the two falcons had followed a separate course of action. One appeared to make all its approaches from the front; while the other confined its attacks exclusively to Fritz’s rear. In consequence of these tactics on the part of his assailants, the dog was compelled to defend himself both before and behind: and to do this, it became necessary for him to look “two ways at once.” Now, he would snarl and snap at the assailant in front – anon, he must sieve himself round, and in like manner menace the more cowardly “churk” that was attacking him in the rear. Of the two, however, the latter was the more demonstrative and noisy; and at length, not content with giving Fritz an occasional “wop” with its wing, it had the daring audacity to strike its sharp talons into a part of his posteriors approximate to the seat of honour.

This was something more than canine flesh and blood could bear; and Fritz determined not to submit to it any longer. Dropping the “quid” he had been chewing, he started up on all fours; wheeled suddenly towards the kite that had clawed him; and bounded aloft into the air with the design of clutching it.

But the wary bird had foreseen this action on the part of the quadruped; and, ere the latter could lay a fang upon it, had soared off – far beyond the highest leap that any four-footed creature might accomplish.

Fritz, with a disappointed growl, turned round again to betake himself to his piece of meat; but still more disappointed was his look, when he perceived that the latter was no longer within reach! Churk falcon number one had clawed him over the croup, but churk falcon number two had deprived him of his supper!

The last look Fritz ever had of that piece of ibex venison, was seeing it in the beak of the bird, high up in air, growing smaller by degrees and beautifully less – until it disappeared altogether in the dim distance.

Chapter Forty One.
Fritz offended

This odd little episode, between the boar-hound and the churk falcons, had interrupted the conversation of the two brothers on the subject which Caspar had introduced. Nor was it resumed immediately, on the termination of the affair: for the look with which Fritz regarded the departure of the bird, that had so adroitly bilked him out of his bit of venison, was so supremely ludicrous, as to elicit long loud peals of laughter from the spectators.

Fritz’s “countenance” betrayed the presence of rare emotions. Profound surprise and chagrin – strongly blended with a feeling of concentrated rage – were visible not only in his eyes, but his attitude, and, for some time, he stood with head erect and muzzle high in air, his glances speaking unutterable vows of vengeance, as they followed the flight of the falcons.

Never in all his life – not even when the trunk of the elephant was trumpeting at his tail – had Fritz so sensibly felt the want of wings. Never had he so regretted the deficiency in his structure that left him without those useful appendages; and had he been gifted with the “wand of a fairy,” the use to which he would at that moment have applied it would have been to furnish himself with a pair, not of “beautiful wings” – for that was a secondary consideration – but of strong and long ones, such as would have enabled him to overhaul those churk falcons, and punish them for their unheard-of audacity.

For more than a minute Fritz preserved the attitude to which we have alluded: the demeanour of a dog that had been regularly duped and “sold” by a brace of beings, for whose strength and capacity he had exhibited supreme contempt; and it was this mingling of surprise and rage that imparted to him that serio-comic appearance that had set them all a-laughing. Nor was his countenance less ludicrous under the expression with which, on turning round, he regarded his trio of human companions. He saw that they were making merry at his expense; and his look of half-reproach half-appeal had no other effect than to redouble their mirth. Glancing from one to the other, he appeared to seek sympathy from each in turn – from Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo.

It was an idle appeal. All three had equally surrendered themselves to hilarity – unsympathetic, as it was uncontrollable. Fritz had not a friend on the ground.

Full ten minutes must have elapsed before any of them could check his loud cachinnations; but long before that time, the butt of their ridicule had betaken himself out of sight – having moved away from the spot, where he had been robbed of his supper, and retired, with an offended and sneaking air, to the more friendly concealment of the hovel.

It was some time before our adventurers could recover their serious mood; but the subject of their mirth being now out of their sight, went gradually also out of their minds.

It might be wondered that, circumstanced as they were, they had thus given way to a fit of jollity. But, indeed, there was nothing wonderful about it. On the contrary, it was perfectly natural – perfectly true to the instincts of the human soul – to be thus stirred: joy and sorrow following each other in periodic succession – as certainly as day follows night, or fair weather succeeds to the storm.

Though we know not the why and the wherefore of this, we can easily believe that a wise Providence has ordered it so. A poet who has sung sweetly says, that: —

“Spring would be but gloomy weather,

If we had nothing else but Spring;”

and our own experience proclaims the truth conveyed in the distich.

He who has lived in the tropical lands of ever-spring – where the leaves never fall, and the flowers never fade – can well confirm the fact: that even spring itself may in time become tiresome! We long for the winter – its frost and snow, and cold bitter winds. Though ever so enamoured of the gay green forest, we like at intervals to behold it in its russet garb, with the sky in its coat of grey, sombre but picturesque. Strange as it may appear, it is true: the moral, like the natural atmosphere, stands in need of the storm.