Майн Рид
The Cliff Climbers
Chapter Forty Two.
A Kite!
As soon as their mirth had fairly subsided, Karl and Caspar resumed the conversation, which had been broken off so abruptly.
“And so, brother,” said Karl, who was the first to return to the subject, “you say there is a bird of the eagle genus, that might carry a rope over the cliff for us. Of what bird are you speaking?”
“Why, Karl, you are dull of comprehension this morning. Surely the presence of the two kites should have suggested what I mean.”
“Ha! you mean a kite, then?”
“Yes, one with a very broad breast, a very thin body, and a very long tail: such as you and I used to make not so many years ago.”
“A paper kite,” said Karl, repeating the phrase mechanically, at the same time settling down, into a reflecting attitude. “True, brother,” he added, after a pause; “there might be something in what you have suggested. If we had a paper kite – that is, a very large one – it is possible it would carry a rope over the summit of the cliff; but, alas! – ”
“You need not proceed further, Karl,” said Caspar, interrupting him. “I know what you are going to say: that we have no paper out of which to make the kite; and that, of course, puts an end to the matter. It’s no use our thinking any more about it: since we have not got the materials. The body and bones we could easily construct; and the tail too. But then the wings – ah, the wings. I only wish we had a file of old newspapers. But what’s the use of wishing? We haven’t.”
Karl, though silent, did not seem to hear, or at all events heed, what Caspar had been just saying. He appeared to be buried either in a reverie, or in some profound speculation.
It was the latter: as was very soon after made manifest by his speech.
“Perhaps,” said he, with a hopeful glance towards the wood, “we may not be so deficient in the material of which you have spoken.”
“Of paper, do you mean?”
“We are in the very region of the world where it grows,” continued Karl, without heeding the interrogation.
“What! where paper grows?”
“No,” replied Karl, “I do not mean that the paper itself grows here; but a ‘fabric’ out of which that useful article may be made.”
“What is that, brother?”
“It is a tree, or rather a shrub, belonging to the order of the Thymelaceae, or ‘Daphnads.’ The plants of this order are found in many countries; but chiefly in the cooler regions of India and South America. There are even representatives of the order in England: for the beautiful ‘spurge laurel’ of the woods and hedges – known as a remedy for the toothache – is a true daphnad. Perhaps the most curious of all the Thymelaceae is the celebrated Lagetta, or lace-bark tree of Jamaica; out of which the ladies of that island know how to manufacture cuffs, collars, and berthas, that, when cut into the proper shapes, and bleached to a perfect whiteness, have all the appearance of real lace! The Maroons, and other runaway negroes of Jamaica, before the abolition of slavery, used to make clothing out of the lagetta; which they found growing in plenty in the mountain forests of the island. Previous also to the same abolition of slavery, there was another, and less gentle, use made of the lace-bark, by the masters of these same negroes. The cruel tyrants used to spin its tough fibres into thongs for their slave-whips.”
“And you think that paper can be made out of these trees?” asked Caspar, impatient to know whether there might be any chance of procuring some for the covering of a kite.
“There are several species of daphnads,” replied the botanist, “whose bark can be converted into paper. Some are found at the Cape of Good Hope, and others in the island of Madagascar; but the best kinds for the purpose grow in these very mountains, and in China. There is the ‘Daphne Bholua,’ in Nepaul; from which the Nepaulese make a strong, tough, packing-paper; and I have reason to believe that it also grows in the Bhotan Himalayas – at no very great distance from our position here. Besides, in China and Japan, on the other side of these mountains, there are two or three distinct kinds of the same plant – out of which the Chinese make the yellowish-coloured paper, you may have seen in their books, and pasted upon their tea-chests. So then,” added the botanist, looking wistfully towards the woods, “since the paper-yielding daphne grows in China, to the east of us, and in Nepaul and Bhotan to the west, it is but reasonable to conclude that some species of it may be found in this valley – where the climate is just that which it affects. Its seed may have been transported hither by birds: since many species of birds are fond of its berries, and eat them without receiving any injury; though, strange to say, they are poisonous to all kinds of quadrupeds!”
“Do you think you would know the shrub, if you saw it, brother?”
“Well, to say the truth, I do not think I could recognise it by its general appearance; but if I had a flower of the daphne, I could no doubt tell it by its botanical characteristics. The leaves of the paper-yielding species are of a lanceolate form and purplish hue, glabrous and shining, like the leaves of laurels – to which genus the daphne is closely allied. Unfortunately, the shrub would not be in flower at this season; but if we can find one of the berries, and a leaf or two, I fancy I shall be able to identify it. Besides, the bark, which is very tough, would help to guide us. Indeed, I have some reason to think that we shall find it not far off; and that is why I speak with such confidence, in saying, that we might not be so deficient in the materials for paper-making.”
“What reason, brother Karl? Perhaps you have seen something like it?”
“I have. Some time ago, when I was strolling about, I passed through a thicket of low shrubs – the tops of which reached up to my breast. They were then in flower – the flowers being of a lilac colour, and growing at the tops of the branches in little cymes. They had no corolla – only a coloured calyx. Now these characters correspond with those of the daphne. Besides, the leaves were lanceolate, velvety on the surface, and of purplish colour; and the flowers were of an exceedingly sweet scent – as is the case with all the daphnads. I did not think of examining them at the time; but, now that I recall these characteristics, I feel almost certain that the shrubs were of this genus.”
“Do you think you can find the thicket again?”
“Oh! yes, easily enough. It is not very distant from the place, where we were so near fighting that fearful duel.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Caspar, in reply to the significant remark of the botanist. “But, brother!” continued he, “suppose it should prove to be the shrub you speak of, what good would there be in our finding it, so long as we don’t understand the process of manufacturing it into paper?”
“How do you know that we don’t?” said Karl, challenging the too positive declaration of Caspar. “I am not so sure that we don’t. I have read the whole account of the process, as given by one of the old writers upon China. It is very simple; and I think I remember enough to be able to follow it. Perhaps not to make fine paper, that one might write upon; but something that would serve our purpose just as well. We don’t want the best ‘cream-laid.’ Unfortunately, we have no post-office here. I wish we had. If we can fabricate anything as fine as the coarsest packing-paper, it will do well enough for a kite, I fancy.”
“True,” replied Caspar. “It would be all the better to be coarse and strong. But, dear Karl, suppose we go at once, and see if we can discover the trees.”
“That is just what we shall do,” replied Karl, rising as he spoke, and preparing to set out in search of the daphne.
All, of course, went together: for Ossaroo was as much interested in the result of the exploration as any of them; and Fritz, from within the hut, perceiving that they were about to depart upon some new expedition, managed partially to coax himself out of his ill-humour; and, sallying forth from his hiding-place, trotted silently after them.
Chapter Forty Three.
The paper-tree
To the great delight of the party, it turned out just as Karl had conjectured. The thicket that he had spoken of was composed chiefly of daphne shrubs – judging by the appearance of the fallen leaves, and some berries that still remained on the branches, Karl believed them to be of this species. But the bark was also a characteristic: being exceedingly tenacious, and moreover of a strongly acrid taste – so much so as to cauterise he skin of Ossaroo’s mouth, who had been foolish enough to chew it too freely.
After duly examining the leaves, berries, and bark, the botanist came to the conclusion that the shrub must be a true daphne; and so in reality it was – that species known in Nepaul as the Daphne Bholua– from which, as already stated, the Nepaulese manufacture a coarse, but soft paper.
As soon as this point was determined to their satisfaction, they resolved upon carrying Caspar’s hint into execution – by trying the experiment of a paper kite.
But for Karl’s practical education – which had made him acquainted not only with the botanical characters of plants and trees, but also with their uses – and in some cases with the mode of using them – the mere discovery of the daphne would have availed them nothing. As it stood in the thicket, it was no more like paper than any of the trees that grew around it. Indeed, there were many others that would have yielded bark in broader flakes than it, and much more resembling paper: for that of the daphne, stripping off as it did in narrow pieces, looked like the last thing in the world of which to make a kite out of. But Karl knew the process by which it could be metamorphosed into paper; and without further delay, he entered upon the performance – the others placing their services at his disposal, and acting in obedience to his orders.
The knife-blades of all three were called into requisition; and in an incredibly short space of time, some scores of the little trees were stripped of their bark – from their roots up to the lower branches. The trees themselves were not cut down; as that was not necessary. They could be peeled more readily, as they stood; and for this reason they were left standing.
Up to the hour of sunset did these “cascarilleros” work – with only a few minutes of interruption, while they went back to the hut, and ate a hurried luncheon of ibex-meat – and just as the sun was sinking behind the summit of the great Chumulari, they might have been seen trudging homeward – each bearing a heavy bundle of bark, with Fritz following gleefully at their heels.
The thicket from which they had taken their departure, gave evidence of the industry with which they had been working all day long. Over a space, of nearly half an acre in extent, the trees were seen standing, each with its tiny trunk completely divested of bark: as if a whole gang of goats had been browsing upon them!
On reaching the hovel, our bark-gatherers did not desist from their labour. They only entered upon a new branch of industry: by becoming paper manufacturers.
It was after night; and they had to work by the light of their torches of cheel-pine, already prepared. But as these burnt with a clear steady flame, they served quite as well as candles would have done.
The first process in the paper-making did not require much nicety in its execution; and, moreover, it could be performed as well inside the hut as in the largest room of a paper-mill. All they had to do was to pick the bark to shreds. This occupied them the whole evening – during which there was much conversation of a cheerful kind, with a joke or two about oakum-picking in a prison; and of this, not only the task in which they were engaged, but the situation in which they were executing it, did not fail to remind them.
When they had finished, they ate their frugal supper and retired to rest – full of the idea of continuing the paper manufacture in the morning.
When morning came, they had not much to do: for the next process was one which required the exercise of patience rather than of labour.
When the bark of the daphne has been thoroughly picked to pieces, it is put into a large pot or cauldron filled with water. A lixivium of wood-ashes is then thrown in along with it; and it is suffered to boil for several hours.
As our manufacturers were without pot or cauldron of any kind, there would have been here an interruption of an insurmountable kind: had it not been that they had plenty of water already on the boil, and perpetually boiling – in the hot-spring near the hut.
Apparently all they should have to do would be, to immerse the prepared bark in the spring, and there leave it for a proper length of time. But then the water, where it was hottest, was constantly in motion – bubbling up and running off; so that not only would the strings of bark be carried away, but the ashes would be separated from the mass, and consequently of no service in aiding to macerate it.
How was this difficulty to be got over? Easily enough. They had not proceeded thus far without thinking of a plan; and this plan was, to place the bark along with the ashes in one of the large yâk-skins still in good preservation, and after making it up into a sort of bundle – like clothes intended for the laundry – to plunge the skin and its contents into the spring, and there leave them – until the boiling water should perform its part. By this ingenious contrivance, did they get over the difficulty, of not being provided with a not.
When Karl thought that the bark was sufficiently boiled, it was taken out of the water, and also out of its yâk-skin wrapper. It was then placed, in mass, upon a flat rock near by – where it was left to drip and get dry.
During the time that it was in the water – and also while it was dripping and drying on the rock – none of them were idle. Caspar was engaged in fashioning a stout wooden mallet – a tool which would be needed in some after operations – while Ossaroo was equally busy upon an article of a very different kind. This was a sort of sieve made of thin splints of cane, set in a frame of thicker pieces of the same cane – ringall bamboo.
Ossaroo had undertaken this special task: as none of the others knew so well, how to fashion the bamboo into any required utensil; and although he was now making something altogether new to him, yet, working under the direction of Karl, he succeeded in making a sieve that was likely to serve the purpose for which plant-hunter designed it. That purpose will presently be spoken of.
As soon as the fibre was nearly dry, the mallet was brought into requisition; and with this the mass was pounded upon the flat surface of the rock – until it became reduced to a complete state of “pulp.”
This pulp was once more put into the yâk-skin – which had been gathered up around the edges so as to form a sort of concavity or rude vat – and again immersed under water – not of the boiling spring, but the cool water of the lake – until the bag became full. The pulp was next stirred with a stick – which brought the coarse dirty parts to the surface. These were skimmed off, and thrown away as refuse; and the process was repeated with fresh water – until the whole substance, which was of a mucilaginous character, was rendered pure, and soft to the touch. The next and last operation was in fact the making of the paper; and was performed by Karl himself. It was simple enough, though requiring a certain dexterity, or sleight of hand, to do it well. It consisted in placing a quantity of the pulp upon the sieve before mentioned; and cradling the frame about – all the time held under water – until the substance became equally and uniformly spread over the whole surface. The sieve was then taken out of the water – being raised gently and kept in a horizontal position – so as not to derange the even stratum of pulp that severed it. This done, nothing more remained but to place the frame across a pair of bars, and leave the pulp to get drained and eventually become dry. When dry, it would be paper!
Of course, with one sieve, the whole quantity required could not be made at a single cast; but, as soon as one sheet became sufficiently dry to be taken off the frame, the sieve was again repulped; and so on, till the whole of the boiled bark was converted into paper; and they found themselves in possession of a sufficient number of broad sheets to make a kite as big as a coach-house-door.
In consequence of their having to wait for the drying of each sheet, the process occupied them for several days; but during this time they had not been either idle or inactive. Karl and Caspar had been hard at work, in getting up the “bones” of the kite; while Ossaroo had undertaken to fabricate the tail.
The rope with which it was to be “flyed,” occupied more time, and required more care, than any other portion of their work. Every strand had to be twisted with the greatest exactness; and almost every fibre tested, as to its strength and fitness. Could they have used a rope of stouter build, it would not have been necessary to be so particular; but a thick rope would have been too heavy for the kite to carry – just as it had been too heavy for the strength of the eagle. A slender cord, therefore, like that they were obliged to make, required to be faultless – else the life of some one of them might be sacrificed while attempting the ascent.
With a foreknowledge of this, it is hardly necessary to say that Ossaroo did his best in the manufacture of that rope – every strand of it being twisted between his index finger and his thumb, as smoothly and evenly as if he had been spinning it for a fishing-line.
The framework of the kite was made out of split culms of the ringall bamboo; which, on account of its strength, elasticity, and lightness, was far superior for the purpose to any species of exogenous wood; while the glue for laying on the paper was procured from the root of an arum – grated, and then boiled into a glutinous starch.
In about a week after the notion of a kite had been “hatched” in the brain of Caspar, the bird itself might have been seen outside the door of the hut – full-fledged and ready for flight!
Chapter Forty Four.
Flying the kite
The kite having been thus prepared, they only waited for an opportunity of flying it – for a day when the wind should be sufficiently strong, and blowing from the right quarter – that is, towards that portion of the precipice over which it appeared best that the paper-bird should be dispatched. This was the same place, where the ladders had been set, and where they had unsuccessfully endeavoured to send up the bearcoot.
They had already ascended one of the isolated cairns of rock, that stood within the valley nearly opposite this part of the cliff; and from its top they had been able to get a view – though not a very good one – of a portion of the sloping declivity of the mountain above. It appeared to be covered with snow – here and there supporting huge masses of something, either boulders of rock, or dark-coloured lumps of ice. The eyes of our adventurers rested on these with the greatest interest: as they had done upon a former occasion, when about to send the bearcoot among them. Now they had conceived higher hopes than ever – founded upon the presence of these masses. If they should succeed in flying the kite into their midst, and there dropping it, it was not only possible, but highly probable, that it might either get the rope warped around one of them, or itself become caught between two, so as to hold fast. To render this the more practicable, they had furnished its wings with spurs – in other words, they had left the cross-piece of bamboo to extend on each side about a foot beyond the edge of the paper; and near the end of each extension, they had placed other pieces transversely, and lashed them firmly – so that they might act as the flukes of an anchor.
They had spared neither pains nor ingenuity to ensure success. They had done all, that man could do, to deserve it.
Fortune was so far favourable, as not to keep them long in suspense. Only two or three days had passed, when one came, on which the wind blew in their favour – exactly as they wanted it. It was a stiff breeze, steady in the right direction, and strong enough to carry up the largest of paper kites.
Proceeding to the place, where the ladders were set, with the huge bird carried in the arms of Ossaroo, they made ready for its flight. Karl was to start the kite, and guide its ascent from the ground; while Caspar and the shikaree were to run out with the rope: as it would require the united strength of both to hold such a broad-breasted bird against the wind. They had taken the precaution to cut away the bushes to a long distance backwards from the cliff, and so clear the track: there was therefore nothing to impede them while paying out the string.
It was arranged that Karl should have direction of the movement, and give out the signal for them to start.
It was a moment of vivid emotion, as each of he three placed himself in the position assigned to him – Karl by the kite, with its backbone in one hand, and its tail in the other – Ossaroo clutching the rope – and Caspar by his side, holding the great coil in readiness for delivery.
Karl poised the creature upon the stump of its tail; and then, lifting with all his strength – so as to raise it several feet from the ground – he gave forth the signal at the highest pitch of his voice.
At the same instant, Caspar and the shikaree ran backward – tightening the rope as they went; and like a vast vulture with outspread wings, the bird soared silently upward into the air.
It rose with a regular majestic motion, soon overtopping the trees that grew near, and still mounting on towards the summit of the cliff.
Karl cheered as he saw it ascend. The others were too busy in the performance of their parts to find time for this expression of triumph; and not until the kite had soared high into the heavens, and appeared many yards above the brow of the beetling precipice, did Caspar and Ossaroo respond to the cheering of Karl. Then both together gave vent to their excited feelings in a long-continued hurrah!
“Let go now, Ossaroo!” cried Karl, shouting so as to be heard above the wind. “You, Caspar, keep hold of the end of the cord.”
Ossaroo, obedient to the order, suddenly slackened his hold – at the same time springing towards Caspar, and prudently seizing the end along with him.
The kite, thus released, like some huge bird that had received its death-wound, turned head downwards towards the earth; and, after making various sinuous evolutions through the air, flouting its long tail first in one direction then in another – it was seen darting down towards the acclivity of the mountain. At length, passing behind the summit of the cliffs, it was no longer visible to the eyes of those who had aided it in its lofty flight, and then left it helplessly to fall.
So far they had succeeded to the utmost of their expectations. The kite had alighted, just where they wanted it.
But now arose the question – would it stay there? In other words, would it be caught among the rocks, and hold fast?
If not, they would have to fly it again and again, until it should get fastened above, or until the experiment should prove a failure.
Karl stepped forward to decide the point – the others looking on with an eagerness of glance, that betrayed how deep was their interest in the result.
Karl’s hand trembled as he laid hold of the cord. At first he pulled upon it in a gentle way – hand over hand – so as merely to take in the slack.
At length it began to tighten, requiring greater strength to take it in: as if the kite was still free, and dragging over the snow.
This produced anything but a pleasant anticipation; and as the rope came to hand, foot after foot, and yard after yard, a shadow, that had stolen over the countenances of all three, became sensibly darker.
Only for a short while did this shadow remain. It vanished, more suddenly than it had arisen: when they saw the running cord become abruptly checked, and then tighten as Karl continued to draw it in. He pulled upon it, at first exerting only a part of his strength, as if afraid that it might again come loose. After awhile, gaining confidence, he pulled with all his power. It still held fast!
Ossaroo and Caspar now joined their strength to his; and all three pulled together.
Hurrah! the kite would not come! The cord kept its place, stretching to the bottom of the cliff, as taut as the main-stay of a ship!
Ejaculations of joy escaped from all three at the same instant of time: and for some moments they stood, tightly clutching the rope, and holding it firmly: as if in dread of its being dragged out of their grasp by some hostile and invisible hand.
At length Karl suggested the propriety of making the cord secure, by fastening it to some object. A large upright stone, close by the bottom of the cliff, appeared to be the most proper thing; and to this they determined upon tying it.
Still keeping it taut – lest by slackening it they might disturb the anchor aloft – they moved hand over hand along the rope, until they had got close to the bottom of the precipice. Then, while Karl and Caspar still held on, Ossaroo gathered up the slack; and, turning it several times round the stone, securely belayed it.
Nothing more remained but to make the steps – which had been already designed – adjust them in their places – climb up to the top of the cliff – and be free as the mountain breeze, which would there be blowing around them!
The thought of such a lucky deliverance filled them once more with joyous imaginings; and they stood around the stone, to which the rope had been attached – congratulating themselves, as if they had already escaped.
They knew there would still be some time required to make the steps, and fix them in their places; but, since they no longer doubted their ability to accomplish the ascent, the interval of time might be passed cheerfully enough; and, with this pleasant anticipation, they went back to their workshop in the best of spirits, and cooked themselves a more careful dinner than they had eaten since the discovery of the daphne trees.
