The Cliff Climbers

There proved to be no place offering such advantages for an ascent by ladders as that already discovered; and although there was no positive certainty that they might be able to accomplish their formidable task, they determined to make a trial, and without further delay set about preparing the ladders.

The preliminary step was to select and cut down a sufficient quantity of timber of the right length. They were about to have recourse to the beautiful Thibet pine – the sort which had served them for bridging the crevasse – when a new tree was discovered by them, equally beautiful, and more suitable for their purpose. It was the cedar (Pinus deodara). Ossaroo once more lamented the absence of his beloved bamboos – alleging that with a sufficient number of these he could have made ladders enough for scaling the cliff, in less than a quarter of the time it would take to construct them out of the pines. This was no exaggeration: for the culm of the great bamboo, just as it is cut out of the brake, serves for the side of a ladder, without any pains taken with it, further than to notch out the holes in which to insert the rounds. Moreover, the bamboo being light, would have served better than any other timber for such ladders as they required – enabling them with less trouble to get them hoisted up to the ledges – an operation in which they apprehended no little difficulty. But although there was a species of cane growing in the valley – that known to the hill people as the “ringall” – its culms were neither of sufficient length nor thickness for their purpose. It was the great bamboo of the tropical jungles that Ossaroo sighed for; and which on their way up through the lower ranges of the Himalayas they had seen growing in vast brakes, its tall stems often rising to the height of a hundred feet.

The deodar, under favourable circumstances, attains to vast dimensions, trunks being often met with in the mountains upwards of ten feet in diameter, and rising to the height of one hundred feet. A few sticks of this description would have made their labour both short and easy.

Failing the bamboo, therefore, they selected the second best material which the forest afforded them – the tall “deodar.” This tree, which is known to the Anglo-Indian residents of the Himalayan countries as the “cedar,” has long since been introduced into English parks and arboretums, under the name of deodara– its specific botanical appellation. It is a true pine and is found in most of the hills and valleys of the Himalayan chain, growing at almost any elevation and on any kind of ground – in the low warm valleys, as well as near the line of everlasting snow. Its favourite habitat, however, is on the lower hills, and though by no means a beautiful tree, it is valuable on account of the great quantity of tar which can be extracted from its sap.

Where many deodar trees are growing together, they shoot up in long tapering shafts, with short branches, and present the acute conical form characteristic of the pines. When individual trees stand singly, or at some considerable distance apart, their habit is different. They then stretch out long massive arms in a horizontal direction; and as the separate twigs and leaves also extend horizontally, each branch thus presents a surface as level as a table. The deodar often reaches the height of one hundred feet.

The wood of the deodar is everywhere esteemed throughout the countries where it is found. It is excellent for building purposes, easily worked, almost imperishable, and can be readily split into planks – an indispensable requisite in a country where saws are almost unknown. In Cashmere, bridges are built of it: and the long time that some of these have been standing, affords a proof of its great durability. A portion of these bridges are under water for more than half the year; and although there are some of them nearly a hundred years old, they are still in good preservation, and safe enough to be crossed.

When the deodar is subjected to the process by which tar is extracted from other pines, it yields a much thinner liquid than tar – of a dark red colour, and very pungent smell. This liquid is known as “cedar oil;” and is used by the hill people as a remedy for skin diseases – as also for all scrofulous complaints in cattle.

The deodar is of very slow growth; and this unfits it for being introduced into European countries – except as an ornamental timber for parks and pleasure grounds.

It was chiefly on account of its property of being easily split into planks, or pieces of light scantling, that the deodar was selected for making the sides of the ladders. To have cut down the trunks of heavy trees to the proper thickness for light ladders – with such imperfect implements as they were possessed of – would have been an interminable work for our inexperienced carpenters. The little axe of Ossaroo and the knives were the only tools they possessed available for the work. As the deodar could be split with wedges, it was just the timber wanted under these circumstances.

While engaged in “prospecting” among the deodar trees, a pine of another species came under the observation of our adventurers. It was that known as the “cheel.”

It might have been seen by them without attracting any particular notice, but for Karl; who, upon examining its leaves, and submitting them to a botanical test, discovered that within the body of the “cheel” there existed qualities that, in the circumstances in which they were placed, would be of great value to them. Karl knew that the “cheel” was one of those pines, the wood of which, being full of turpentine, make most excellent torches; and he had read, that for this very purpose it is used by all classes of people who dwell among the Himalaya mountains, and who find in these torches a very capital substitute for candles or lamps. Karl could also have told his companions, that the turpentine itself – which oozes out of the living tree – is used by the people as an ointment for sores – and that for chapped hands it is a speedy and effectual cure. The “cheel” pine is nearly always found side by side with the deodar – especially where the latter forms the chief growth of the forest.

Karl could also have informed them that the deodar and the cheel are not, the only pines indigenous to the Himalayas. He could have mentioned several other species, as the “morenda,” a large and handsome tree, with very dark foliage, and one of the tallest of the coniferae– often rising to the stupendous height of two hundred feet; the “rye” pine, of almost equal height with the morenda, and perhaps even more ornamental; and the “Kolin,” or common pine, which forms extensive forests, upon the ridges that rise from six to nine thousand feet above sea-level. The last thrives best in a dry, rocky soil and it is surprising in what places it will take root and grow. In the perpendicular face of a smooth granite rock, large trees of this species may be seen. In the rock there exists a little crevice. Into this a seed in some manner finds its way, vegetates, and in time becomes a great tree – flourishing perhaps for centuries, where, to all appearance, there is not a particle of soil to nourish it, and probably deriving sustenance from the rock itself!

It was with no slight gratification that Karl beheld the “cheel” growing so near. He knew that from it they would obtain brilliant torches – as many as they might stand in need of; so that during the dark nights, instead of sitting idle for the want of light, they could occupy themselves till a late hour within the hovel, in making the “rounds” of the ladders, and doing such other little “chores” as the occasion might require.

Chapter Twenty Six.

The scaling ladders

The cutting down of the trees did not occupy them a very long time. They chose only those of slender girth – the more slender the better, so long as they answered the requirements as to length. Trees of about fifty feet in total height were the best: as these, when the weaker part of the tops was cut off, yielded lengths of thirty or more feet. Where they were only a few inches in diameter, there was very little trouble in reducing them to the proper size for the sides of the ladders – only to strip off the bark and split them in twain.

Making the rounds was also an easy operation – except that it required considerable time, as there were so many of them.

The most difficult part of the work – and this they had foreseen – would be the drilling of the holes to receive the rounds; and it was the task which proved the most dilatory – taking up more time in its accomplishment than both the cutting of the timber, and reducing it to its proper shapes and dimensions.

Had they owned an auger or a mortising chisel, or even a good gimlet, the thing would have been easy enough. Easier still had they possessed a “breast bit.” But of course not any of these tools could be obtained; nor any other by which a hole might be bored big enough to have admitted the points of their little fingers. Hundreds of holes would be needed; and how were they to be made? With the blades of their small knives it would have been possible to scoop out a cavity – that is, with much trouble and waste of time; but vast time and trouble would it take to scoop out four hundred; and at least that number would be needed. It would be a tedious task and almost interminable, even supposing that it could be accomplished; but this was doubtful enough. The blades of the knives might be worn or broken, long before the necessary number of holes could be made.

Of course, had they been possessed of a sufficient number of nails, they might have done without holes. The steps of the ladders could have been nailed upon the sides, instead of being mortised into them. But nails were a commodity quite as scarce with them as tools. With the exception of those in the soles of their shoes, or the stocks of their guns, there was not a nail in the valley.

It is not to be denied that they were in a dilemma. But Karl had foreseen this difficulty, and provided against it before a stick of timber had been cut. Indeed, close following on the first conception of the scaling ladders, this matter had passed through his mind, and had been settled to his satisfaction. Only theoretically, it is true; but his theory was afterwards reduced to practice; and, unlike many other theories, the practice proved in correspondence with it.

Karl’s theory was to make the holes by fire – in other words, to bore them with a red-hot iron.

Where was this iron to be obtained? That appeared to offer a difficulty, as great as the absence of an auger or a mortise-chisel. But by Karl’s ingenuity it was also got over. He chanced to have a small pocket pistol: it was single-barrelled, the barrel being about six inches in length, without any thimbles, beading, or ramrod attached to it. What Karl intended to do, then, was to heat this barrel red-hot, and make a boring-iron of it. And this was exactly what he did do; and after heating it some hundreds of times, and applying it as often to the sides of the different ladders, he at last succeeded in burning out as many holes as there were rounds to go into them, multiplied exactly by two.

It is needless to say that this wonderful boring operation was not accomplished at a single “spell,” nor yet in a single day. On the contrary, it took Karl many an hour and many a day, and cost him many a wet skin – by perspiration, I mean – before he had completed the boring of those four hundred holes. Numerous were the tears drawn from the eyes of the plant-hunter – not by grief, but by the smoke of the seething cedar wood.

When Karl had finished the peculiar task he had thus assigned to himself, but little more remained to be done – only to set each pair of sides together, stick in the rounds, bind fast at each end, and there was a ladder finished and ready to be scaled.

One by one they were thus turned off; and one by one earned to the foot of the cliff, up which the ascent was to be attempted.

Sad are we to say that it was still only an attempt; and sadder yet that that attempt proved a failure.

One by one were the ladders raised to their respective ledges – until three-fourths of the cliff had been successfully scaled. Here, alas! was their climbing brought to a conclusion, by a circumstance up to this time unforeseen. On reaching one of the ledges – the fourth from the top of the cliff – they found, to their chagrin, that the rock above it, instead of receding a little, as with all the others, hung over– projecting several inches beyond the outer line of the ledge. Against that rock no ladder could have been set; none would have rested there – since it could not be placed even perpendicularly. There was no attempt made to take one up. Though the projection could not be discerned from below, Karl, standing on the topmost round of the last ladder that had been planted, saw at once, with the eye of an engineer, that the difficulty was insurmountable. It would be as easy for them to fly, is to stand a ladder upon that ill-starred ledge; and with this conviction fully impressed upon his mind, the young plant-hunter returned slowly and sorrowfully to the ground to communicate the disagreeable intelligence to his companions.

It was no use for either Caspar or Ossaroo to go up again. They had been on the ledge already; and had arrived at the same conviction. Karl’s report was final and conclusive.

All their ingenuity defeated – all their toil gone for nothing – their time wasted – their hopes blighted – the bright sky of their future once more obscured with darkest clouds – all through that unforeseen circumstance.

Just as when they returned out of the cavern – after that patient but fruitless search – just as then, sate they down upon the rocks – each staggering to that which was nearest him – sad, dispirited, forlorn.

There sate they, with eyes now fixed upon the ground, now turning towards the cliff and gazing mechanically upon that serried line, like the stairway of some gigantic spider – those long ladders, planted with so much pains, climbed only once, and never to be climbed again!

Chapter Twenty Seven.

An empty larder

Long sat they in this attitude, all three, observing a profound silence. The air was keenly cold, for it was now mid-winter, but none of them seemed to feel the cold. The deep disappointment, the bitter chagrin that filled their minds, hindered them from perceiving bodily pain; and at that moment had an avalanche threatened to slide down upon them from the snowy summit above, not one of the three would have much cared to escape out of its way.

So tired had they become of their aerial prison – so terrified by the prospect of its continuing for ever – or at least as long as they might live – they could have contemplated even death without additional terror.

The straw, to which they had so long and so fondly clung, was snatched from their grasp. Again were they drowning.

For nearly an hour sat they thus, moody and desponding. The purple-coloured tints, that began to play over the surface of the eternal snows above, admonished them that the sun was far down in the heavens, and that night was approaching.

Karl was the first to become conscious of this – the first to break silence.

“Oh, brothers!” said he, under the impress of their common misfortune including Ossaroo in the fraternal appellation. “Come away! It is useless to stay longer here. Let us go home!”

“Home!” repeated Caspar, with a melancholy smile. “Ah! Karl, I wish you had not spoken the word. So sweet at other times, it now rings in my ears like some unearthly echo. Home, indeed! Alas, dear brother! we shall ne’er go home.”

To this pathetic speech Karl made no reply. He could offer no word of hope or consolation; and therefore remained silent. He had already risen to his feet – the others following his example – and all three walked moodily away from the spot, taking the most direct route towards their rude dwelling, which now more than ever they had reason to regard as their home.

On reaching the hut they found still another cause of inquietude. Their stock of provisions, which had survived the destructive onset of the elephant, had been economised with great care. But as they had been too busy in making the ladders to waste time on any other species of industry, nothing had been added to the larder – neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. On the contrary, it had dwindled down, until upon that clay when they issued forth to try their ladders against the cliff, they had left behind them only a single piece of dried yâk-beef – about enough to have furnished them with a single meal.

Hungry after the day’s fruitless exertion, they were contemplating a supper upon it, and not without some degree of pleasant anticipation: for nature under all circumstances will assert her rights, and the cravings of appetite are not to be stifled even by the most anguished suffering of the spirit.

As they drew nearer to the hut, but more especially when they came in sight of it, and perceived its rude but hospitable doorway open to receive them – as from the chill atmosphere through which they were passing they beheld its sheltering roof of thatch, and thought of its snug, cosy interior – as, keenly experiencing the pangs both of cold and hunger, they beheld in fancy a bright faggot fire crackling upon the hearth, and heard the yâk-beef hissing and sputtering in the blaze, their spirits began to return to their natural condition, and if not actual joy, something that very much resembled cheerfulness might have been observed in the demeanour of all.

It is ever thus with the mind of man, and perhaps fortunate that it is so. The human soul finds its type in the sky – cloud and sunshine, sunshine and cloud.

With our adventurers the dark cloud had for the moment passed; and a gleam of light was once more shining upon their hearts.

It was not destined to shine long. A light had been struck, and a fire kindled that soon blazed brightly. So far one desire had been satisfied. They could warm themselves. But when they came to think of gratifying an appetite of a far more craving character – when they essayed to search for that piece of yâk flesh that was to furnish forth their supper – they found it not!

During their absence, the burglar had also been abroad. Their larder had been assailed. The hung beef was hanging there no longer.

Some wild animal – wolf, panther, or other predatory creature – had entered by the open doorway, – left open in the excitement of that hopeful departure – found open upon their return – but, like the door of that oft-quoted stable, not worth shutting, since the steed had been stolen.