Майн Рид
The Cliff Climbers
Chapter Thirty Five.
The Bearcoots
Our adventurers were congratulating themselves on this unexpected accession to their larder; which, like the manna of old, had, as it were, rained down from the sky.
“Our dinner!” shouted Caspar, gleefully, as the “thump” of the falling ibex sounded in their ears. “Our supper, too,” he added. “Ay, more! In such a large carcass there must be provision to last us for a week!”
All three rose to their feet, and were about starting forward to secure the prize; when a shrill scream twice repeated fell upon their ears – coming down apparently from the top of the cliffs, or rather from the mountain that trended still higher above them.
Could it be the cry of the conquering ibex – his slogan of triumph? No; it was not his voice, nor that of a quadruped of any kind. Neither did the spectators for an instant believe it to be so. On turning their eyes upward, they saw the creature, or the creatures – for there were two of them – from whose throats those screams had proceeded.
The victorious ibex was still standing conspicuously upon the cliff. During the few seconds that the attention of the spectators had been occupied elsewhere, he appeared to have been contemplating the dire deed of destruction he had just accomplished, and perhaps indulging in the triumph he had obtained over his unfortunate rival. At all events he had stepped forward upon the projecting point of the rock – to the very spot so lately occupied by his adversary.
The cry, however, which had been heard in the valley below had reached his ears at the same time, and perhaps a little sooner: for as the spectators looked up, they saw that he had been startled by it, and was looking around him with evident alarm. In the air above and not many yards distant from him, were two dark objects, easily recognisable as birds upon the wing. They were of large size, nearly black in colour, and with that peculiar sharpness of outline and sweep of wing that distinguish the true birds of prey. There was no mistaking their kind – they were eagles – of a species known in the Himalayas and the steppes of Thibet as the “bearcoot.”
They were swooping in short, abrupt curves, at intervals repeating their shrill screams, both crying out together, and from their excited mien, and the character of their movements, no doubt could be entertained as to the object of their noisy demonstrations. They were about to assault an enemy, and that enemy was no other than the ibex.
The animal appeared to be fully aware of their intent; and seemed for a moment to be irresolute as to how it should act. Instead of placing itself in a bold, defiant attitude – such as it had lately assumed towards an antagonist of its own kind – it stood cowering, and apparently paralysed with fear. It was this very effect which the eagles, by their screaming, had designed to produce; and certainly the fierce birds were succeeding to the utmost of their expectations.
The spectators kept their eyes fixed upon the actors of this new drama – watching every movement, both of the birds and the beast, with intense interest. All were desirous of seeing the latter punished for the cruel act he had just committed, and which they regarded as savouring very strongly of fratricide.
It was written in the book of fate that their desire should be gratified, and that the destroyer should himself be destroyed. They were expecting to witness a somewhat prolonged combat; but in this expectation they were disappointed. The duration of the conflict was as brief as the preliminaries that led to it; and these were of the shortest kind: for scarce ten seconds had elapsed, after they had uttered their first scream, before the bearcoots swooped down to the level of the cliff, and commenced a joint attack upon the ibex, striking at him alternately with beak and claws.
For a short time the quadruped was shrouded – almost hidden – under the broad, shadowy wings of the birds; but even when its figure could be traced, it appeared to be making no very energetic efforts at defending itself. The sudden attack made by such strange enemies seemed to have completely disconcerted the ibex; and it remained as if still under the paralysis of fear.
After a moment or two had passed, the ibex appeared to recover self-possession; and then he, rearing up, struck out with his horns. But the bearcoots were on the alert; and each time that the animal attempted a forward movement, they easily avoided the blow by shying to one side or the other; and then quickly wheeling, they would swoop back upon it from behind.
In this way was the conflict progressing, the ibex holding the ground upon which he had been first attacked, turning round and round, with his two fore hoofs held close together, or else rearing aloft on his hind-legs, and using them as a pivot.
It would have been better for the ibex had he kept to his fore-feet altogether; as in that attitude he might have held his ground a little longer – perhaps until he had either beaten off his winged assailants, or wearied them out by a prolonged defence.
But to fight on “all fours” did not chance to be his fashion. It was contrary to the traditions of his family and race – all of whose members, from time immemorial, had been accustomed, when battling with an enemy, to stand erect upon their hind-legs.
Following this fashion, he had raised himself to his full perpendicular, and was about aiming a “butt” against the breast of one of the bearcoots that was tantalising him in front, when the other, that had made a short retrocession in order to gain impetus, came swooping back with the velocity of an arrow, and seizing the ibex under the chin, by a quick, strong jerk of its talons, it struck the head of the animal so far backward that it lost its balance, and went toppling over the cliff. In another instant the ibex was in mid-air – falling – falling – through that same fearful space that had just been traversed by his own victim.
The spectators looked to see him strike the ground without receiving further molestation from his winged assailants. Not so, however, did it result. Just as the ibex had got about half-way down the face of the precipice, the second eagle was seen shooting after him with the velocity of a flash of lightning; and before he could reach the ground, the bearcoot was seen striking him once more, and causing him to diverge from his vertical descent. The body came to the ground at length – but at a considerable distance from where the other was lying – the eagle descending with it to the earth, and even remaining over it with wings and limbs extended, as if still clutching it in his talons!
Why the bearcoot was thus retaining the ibex in his clutch was not quite so clear: for the animal was evidently dead; and apparently had been so long before reaching the earth. There was something strange about this proceeding on the part of the bird – as there had also been in its mode of descent through the last forty or fifty yards of space. From the manner in which it had extended its wings after striking its prey, and from the way in which it still kept exercising them, the spectators began to think that its singular descent, and its remaining over the carcass in that cowering attitude, were neither of them voluntary acts on its part.
The truth was soon made clear – proving the contrary to be the case: for as the bearcoot continued to flap its wings, or rather, flutter them in a violent irregular motion, it became evident that instead of desiring to remain by the fallen body of its victim, it was doing its very best to get away from it! This was all the more easily believed, when it commenced uttering a series of wild screams; not as before indicating rage or menace, but in tones expressive of the greatest terror!
The spectators, who had already risen from their seats, ran towards the spot – surmising that there was something amiss.
On getting close up to the still screaming and fluttering bird, they were able to understand what had appeared so incomprehensible.
They saw that the bearcoot was in a dilemma; that its talons were buried in the body of the ibex, and so firmly fixed, that with all the strength of its sinewy legs, backed by the power of its elastic pinions, it was unable to free itself!
In striking the ibex in his descent, the bird had buried its crooked claws deeply into the soft abdomen of the animal, but in attempting to draw them out again, had found – no doubt to its great chagrin – that the thick coating of “poshm” which covered the skin of the ibex, had become entangled round its shanks; and the more it fluttered to free itself, turning round and round in the effort, the stronger and tighter became the rope which it was twisting out of that celebrated staple – the shawl-wool of Cashmere!
Beyond a doubt the bearcoot was in a bad fix; and, although it was soon relieved from its tether of poshm, it was only to find itself more securely tied by a stronger string taken out of the pocket of Ossaroo.
The other bearcoot having followed close after, seemed determined upon rescuing its mate out of the hands of its captors; and uttering loud screams, it flew, first at one, then at another of them – with its long pointed talons menacing each of them in turn.
As all of them had weapons in their hands, they succeeded in keeping the angry bird at bay, but it might not have fared so well with Fritz – who in turn became the object of its furious attack, and who had no weapon but his teeth.
These would scarce have been sufficient protection against the talons of an eagle; and Fritz would very likely have lost one of his eyes, or perhaps both of them, had it not been for an arrow springing from the bow of the shikaree; which, transfixing the great bird right through the gizzard, brought it down with a “flop” upon the surface of the earth.
It was not killed outright by the arrow; and the dog, on seeing it bite the dust, would fain have “jumped” it. But perceiving the strong curving beak and the sharp talons extended towards him, Fritz was easily persuaded to remain at a prudent distance, and leave the shikaree to make a finish of the bearcoot with his long boar-spear.
Chapter Thirty Six.
A hope built upon the bearcoot
In this unexpected supply of food – which might be said almost literally to have descended from heaven – Karl could not help recognising the hand of Providence, and pointing it out to his companions. Even the less reflecting mind of Caspar, and the half-heathen heart of the Hindoo, were impressed with a belief that some other agency than mere chance had befriended them; and they were only too willing to join with Karl in a prayerful expression of their gratitude to that Being who, although unseen, was with them even in that lone valley.
For a time they stood contemplating with curiosity, not only the two ibex, but also the eagles – interesting on account of the knowledge that all four animals had but lately been roaming freely beyond the boundaries of that mountain prison – and had just arrived, as it were, from the outside world, with which they themselves so eagerly longed to hold communication. What would they not have given to have been each provided with a pair of wings like that bearcoot – the one that still lived? Furnished in that fashion, they would soon have sought escape from the valley – to them a valley of tears – and from the snowy mountains that surrounded it.
While reflecting thus, a thought shaped itself in the mind of the philosophic Karl, which caused his face to brighten up a little. Only a little: for the idea which had occurred to him was not one of the brightest. There was something in it, however; and, as the drowning man will clutch even at straws, Karl caught at a singular conception, and after examining it a while, communicated it to the others.
It was the bearcoot that had brought forth this conception. The bird was a true eagle, strong of wing and muscle like all of his tribe, and one of the strongest of the genus. Like an arrow, he could fly straight up towards the sky. In a few minutes – ay, in a few seconds – he could easily shoot up to the summits of the snowy mountains that towered above them.
“What is to hinder him?” asked Karl, pointing to the bird, “to carry – ”
“To carry what?” said Caspar, interrupting the interrogation of his brother, who spoke in a hesitating and doubtful manner. “Not us, Karl?” continued he, with a slight touch of jocularity in his manner – “you don’t mean that, I suppose?”
“Not us,” gravely repeated Karl, “but a rope that may carry us.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Caspar, a gleam of joy overspreading his face as he spoke. “There’s something in that.”
Ossaroo, equally interested in the dialogue, at the same moment gave utterance to a joyous ejaculation.
“What do you think of it, shikaree?” inquired Karl, speaking in a serious tone.
The reply of Ossaroo did not bespeak any very sanguine hope on his part. Still he was ready to counsel a trial of the scheme. They could try it without any great trouble. It would only need to spin some more rope from the hemp – of which they had plenty – attach it to the leg of the bearcoot, and give the bird its freedom. There was no question as to the direction the eagle would take. He had already had enough of the valley; and would no doubt make to get out of it at the very first flight he should be permitted to make.
The scheme superficially considered appeared plausible enough; but as its details were subjected to a more rigorous examination, two grand difficulties presented themselves – so grand that they almost obliterated the hope, so suddenly, and with too much facility, conceived.
The first of these difficulties was, that the bearcoot, notwithstanding his great strength of wing, might not be able to carry up a rope, which would be strong enough to carry one of themselves. A cord he might easily take to the top of the cliff, or even far beyond; but a mere cord, or even a very slender rope, would be of no use. It would need one strong enough to support the body of a man – and that, too, while engaged in the violent exertion of climbing. The rope would require to be of great length – two hundred yards or more; and every yard would add to the weight the eagle would be required to carry up.
It is not to be supposed that they intended to “swarm” up this rope hand by hand. For the height of a dozen yards or so, any of them could have accomplished that. But there would be a hundred and fifty yards of “swarming” to be done before they could set foot upon the top of the cliff; and the smartest sailor that ever crawled up a main-stay – even Sinbad himself – could not have done half the distance. They had foreseen this difficulty from the very first; and the ingenuity of Karl had at once provided a remedy for it – as will be seen in the sequel.
The second question that presented itself was: – admitting that the bearcoot might bear up a rope stout enough for the purpose, whether there would be any possibility of getting this rope stayed at the top?
Of course, they could do nothing of themselves; and that point would be a matter of mere chance. There was a chance – all acknowledged that. The bird, in fluttering over the mountain to make its escape, might entangle the rope around a rock, or some sharp angle of the frozen snow. There was a chance, which could be determined by trying, and only by trying; and there were certain probabilities in favour of success.
The first difficulty – that relating to the strength and weight of the rope – admitted of rational discussion and calculation. There were data to go upon, and others that might be decided conjecturally, yet sufficiently near the truth for all preliminary purposes. They could tell pretty nearly what stoutness of rope it would take to hang any one of them; and this would be strong enough to carry them up the cliff. The strength of the eagle might also be presumed pretty nearly; and there was no doubt but that the bearcoot would do his very best to get out of the valley. After the rough handling he had already experienced, he would not require any further stimulus to call forth his very utmost exertions.
On discussing the subject in its different bearings, it soon became evident to all, that the matter of supreme importance would be the making of the rope. Could this be manufactured of sufficient fineness not to overburden the bearcoot, and yet be strong enough to sustain the weight of a man, the first difficulty would be got over. The rope therefore should be made with the greatest care. Every fibre of it should be of the best quality of hemp – every strand twisted with a perfect uniformity of thickness – every plait manipulated with an exact accuracy.
Ossaroo was the man to make such a cord. He could spin it with as much evenness as a Manchester mill. There would be no danger that in a rope of Ossaroo’s making the most critical eye could detect either fault or flaw.
It was finally determined on that the rope should be spun – Ossaroo acting as director, the others becoming his attendants rather than his assistants.
Before proceeding to work, however, it was deemed prudent to secure against a hungry day by curing the flesh of the brace of ibex. The dead bearcoot was to be eaten while fresh, and needed no curing.
And so indeed it was eaten – the bird of Jove furnishing them with a dinner, as that of Juno had given them a breakfast!
Chapter Thirty Seven.
The log on the leg
As soon as they had hung the ibex-meat upon the curing strings, and pegged out the two skins for drying, they turned their attention to the making of the rope by which they were to be pulled out of their prison. By good fortune they had a large stock of hemp on hand all ready for twisting. It was a store that had been saved up by Ossaroo – at the time when he had fabricated his fish-net; and as it had been kept in a little dry grotto of the cliff, it was still in excellent preservation. They had also on hand a very long rope, though, unfortunately, not long enough for their present purpose. It was the same which they had used in projecting their tree-bridge across the crevasse; and which they had long ago unrove from its pulleys, and brought home to the hut. This rope was the exact thickness they would require: for anything of a more slender gauge would scarcely be sufficient to support the weight of a man’s body; and considering the fearful risk they would have to run, while hanging by it against the face of such a cliff, it was necessary to keep on the safe side as regarded the strength of the rope. They could have made it of ample thickness and strength, so as to secure against the accident of its breaking. But then, on the opposite hand, arose the difficulty as to the strength of the eagle’s wing. Should the rope prove too heavy for the bearcoot to carry over the top of the cliff, then all their labour would be in vain.
“Why not ascertain this fact before making the rope?”
This was a suggestion of Karl himself.
“But how are we to do it?” was the rejoinder of Caspar.
“I think we can manage the matter,” said the botanist, apparently busying his brain with some profound calculation.
“I can’t think of a way myself,” replied Caspar, looking inquiringly at his brother.
“I fancy I can,” said Karl. “What is to hinder us to ascertain the weight of the rope before making it, and also decide as to whether the bird can carry so much?”
“But how are you to weigh the rope until it is made? You know it’s the trouble of making it we wish to avoid – that is, should it prove useless afterwards.”
“Oh! as for that,” rejoined Karl, “it is not necessary to have it finished to find out what weight it would be. We know pretty near the length that will be needed, and by weighing a piece of that already in our hands, we can calculate for any given length.”
“You forget, brother Karl, that we have no means of weighing, even the smallest piece. We have neither beam, scales, nor weights.”
“Pooh!” replied Karl, with that tone of confidence imparted by superior knowledge. “There’s no difficulty in obtaining all these. Any piece of straight stick becomes a beam, when properly balanced; and as for scales, they can be had as readily as a beam.”
“But the weights?” interrupted Caspar. “What about them? Your beam and scales would be useless, I apprehend, without proper weights? I think we should be ‘stumped’ for the want of the pounds and ounces.”
“I am surprised, Caspar, you should be so unreflecting, and allow your ingenuity to be so easily discouraged and thwarted. I believe I could make a set of weights under any circumstances in which you might place me – giving me only the raw material, such as a piece of timber and plenty of stones.”
“But how, brother? Pray, tell us!”
“Why, in the first place, I know the weight of my own body.”
“Granted. But that is only one weight; how are you to get the denominations – the pounds and ounces?”
“On the beam I should construct I would balance my body against a lot of stones. I should then divide the stones into two lots, and balance these against one another. I should thus get the half weight of my body – a known quantity, you will recollect. By again equally dividing one of the lots I should find a standard of smaller dimensions; and so on, till I had got a weight as small as might be needed. By this process I can find a pound, an ounce, or any amount required.”
“Very true, brother,” replied Caspar, “and very ingenious of you. No doubt your plan would do – but for one little circumstance, which you seem to have overlooked.”
“What is that?”
“Are your data quite correct?” naïvely inquired Caspar.
“My data!”
“Yes – the original standard from which you propose to start, and on which you would base your calculations. I mean the weight of your body. Do you know that?”
“Certainly,” said Karl; “I am just 140 pounds weight – to an ounce.”
“Ah, brother,” replied Caspar, with a shake of the head, expressive of doubt, “you were 140 pounds in London – I know that myself – and so was I nearly as much; but you forget that the fret and worry of this miserable existence has reduced both of us. Indeed, dear brother, I can see that you are much thinner since we set out from Calcutta; and no doubt you can perceive the like change in me. Is it not so?”
Karl was forced to give an affirmative reply to the question, at the same time that he acknowledged the truth of his brother’s statement. His data were not correct. The weight of his body – which, not being a constant quantity, is at all times an unsafe standard – would not serve in the present instance. The calculation they desired to make was of too important a character to be based upon such an untrustworthy foundation. Karl perceived this plainly enough; but it did not discourage him from prosecuting his purpose to make the attempt he had proposed.
“Well, brother!” said he, looking smilingly towards the latter, and apparently rather pleased at Caspar’s acuteness; “I acknowledge you have had the better of the argument this time; but that’s no reason why I should give up my plan. There are many other ways of ascertaining the weight of an object; and no doubt if I were to reflect a little I could hit upon one; but as luck has it, we need not trouble ourselves further about that matter. If I mistake not, we have a standard of weight in our possession, that is just the thing itself.”
“What standard?” demanded Caspar.
“One of the leaden bullets of your own gun. They are ounce bullets, I’ve heard you say?”
“They are exactly sixteen to the pound, and therefore each of them an ounce. You are right, Karl, that is a standard. Certainly it will do.”
The subject required no further sifting; and without delay they proceeded to ascertain the weight of two hundred yards of rope. A balance was soon constructed and adjusted, as nicely as if they had meant to put gold in the scale. Twenty yards of the rope already in hand was set against stones – whose weight they had already determined by reduplicating a number of bullets – and its quantity ascertained in pounds and ounces. Eight times that gave one hundred and sixty yards – the probable amount of cord they should require.
This being determined upon, the next thing was to find out whether the eagle could carry such a burden into the sky. Of course, the bird would not have the whole of it to carry at first, as part would rest upon the ground; but should it succeed in reaching the top of the cliff – even at the lowest part – there would then be the weight of at least one hundred yards upon its leg; and if it ascended still higher, a greater amount in proportion.
It was natural to suppose that the bearcoot in going out would choose the lowest part of the precipice – especially when feeling his flight impeded by the strange attachment upon his leg; and if this conjecture should prove correct, there would be all the less weight to be sustained. But, indeed, by the cord itself they could guide the bearcoot to the lowest part – since by holding it in their hands, they could hinder him taking flight in any other direction.
Considering all these circumstances, and rather cheered by the many points that appeared to be in their favour, they proceeded to make trial of the eagle’s strength.
It would not take long to decide; but conscious of the great importance of the result, they set about it with due deliberation.
A log of wood was procured, and chopped down, till it was exactly the weight of the rope to be used. To this the piece of twenty yards – already employed for a different purpose – was attached at one end – the other being tightly knotted around the shank of the eagle.
When all was ready, the bird was stripped of his other fastenings; and then all retired to a distance to give him space for the free use of his wings.
Fancying himself no longer under restraint, the bearcoot sprang up from the rock on which he had been placed; and, spreading his broad wings, rose almost vertically into the air.
For the first twenty yards he mounted with a vigorous velocity; and the hopes of the spectators found utterance in joyful ejaculations.
Alas! these hopes were short-lived, ending almost on the instant of their conception. The rope, carried to its full length, became suddenly taut – jerking the eagle several feet back towards the earth. At the same time the log was lifted only a few inches from the ground. The bird fluttered a moment, taken aback by this unexpected interruption; and, after recovering its equilibrium, again essayed a second flight towards the sky.
Once more the rope tightened – as before raising the log but very little from the ground – while the eagle, as if this time expecting the pluck, suffered less derangement of its flight than on the former occasion. For all that, it was borne back, until its anchor “touched bottom.” Then after making another upward effort, with the like result, it appeared to become convinced of its inability to rise vertically, and directed its flight in a horizontal line along the cliffs. The log was jerked over the ground, bounding from point to point, occasionally swinging in the air, but only for a few seconds at a time.
At length the conviction forced itself upon the minds of the spectators – as it seemed also to have done upon that of the performer – that to reach the top of the cliff – with a cord upon its leg, equal in weight to that log – was more than a bearcoot could accomplish.
In short, the plan had proved a failure; and, no longer hoping for success, our adventurers turned their disappointed looks upon each other – leaving the eagle free to drag his wooden anchor whithersoever he might wish.
