The Cliff Climbers

The moment that the shikaree felt his feet touching terra firma, he sprang nimbly to one side, at the same instant letting go the rope, as if it had been a rod of red-hot iron!

The great kite, no longer held in poise against the wind, commenced darting hither and thither; at each turn descending lower and lower – until by one last swoop, in which it seemed to concentrate all its failing strength, it came down towards Ossaroo like a gigantic bird of prey descending upon its victim!

It was just as much as the shikaree could do to get out of the way; and, had he not ducked his head in the very nick of time, he would certainly have received a blow upon his skull, that would have endangered its entirety.

Chapter Forty Seven.

The escape of the kite

The joy, which all felt at the miraculous escape of Ossaroo, more than compensated for their chagrin at the circumstance of the kite having returned to them: more especially, as they believed that the accident was not without remedy. It might be attributed to the wind: which no doubt had lifted the kite from where it lay, detaching it from the rock, or whatever other object that had for the time entangled it.

They doubted not, but that they might again succeed in sending it up, and getting it fast as before; and this confidence hindered them from grieving over the unfortunate occurrence, as they might otherwise have done.

As the wind on that day was in the wrong quarter for flying a kite towards the cliff, they determined to postpone the attempt, till a more favourable opportunity; and, in order that their kite should not be in danger of getting spoiled by the rain, they once more shouldered, and carried it back, rope and all, to the shelter of the hut.

Nearly a week elapsed, before there was a breeze that blew in their favour; but during this interval, they had not been altogether unemployed. Still uncertain of the length of time they might be detained in the valley, they had passed almost every hour of the daylight in increasing their stock of provisions – so as not to encroach upon the cured venison of the ibex, of which a considerable quantity was still to the good.

Their guns were no longer used for procuring food. The last loads still remained in the barrels; and were not to be fired off – until every other means of capturing game should fail them.

Indeed, they were now so confident of being able to get out of their prison, that at times they almost fancied themselves already on their way down the mountains; and talked of keeping their guns loaded, against any danger from large animals they might encounter on their homeward journey. For procuring food they knew that firearms were not necessary. Ossaroo’s bow was sufficient weapon for that. Often might it be heard twanging among the trees; and as often did the shikaree’s arrow pierce the breast of some fine bird – a peacock, or argus pheasant, or one of the beautiful Brahminy geese that frequented the waters of the lake.

Ossaroo’s nets and lines, too, were not without their use. Fish were caught of various kinds, and excellent quality; and there was one sort in particular, should all else fail, that promised to furnish them with an inexhaustible supply. This was a large species of eel, in which the lake abounded, to such an extent, that it was only necessary to cast in a hook, with a worm upon it, and an eel of nearly six feet in length would be instantly landed.

As they did not always relish to dine upon eels, but little of their time was spent in procuring them. For all that, they were gratified on discovering the abundance of these slippery creatures – knowing that, should other resources fail, they would find in them a staple article of wholesome food, that could never become scarce, no matter how much they should eat of it.

A favourable wind at length came on to blow; and the kite was once more shouldered, and carried to the same place as before. Just in the same way did they proceed to fly it; and in the same style it again rose soaring above the cliff; and – the cord having been suddenly slacked – sank to rest upon the slope of the mountain.

So far were they once more successful; but alas! it proved to be just so far and no farther.

Pulling upon the rope, to ascertain whether their anchor had “bit,” they were chagrined to receive an answer in the negative. The cord came back to them with scarce any resistance; or only such, as was caused by friction over the edge of the cliff, and by the drag of the kite itself along the snowy surface.

Hand over hand, they drew it back: foot by foot, and yard by yard, it came yieldingly towards them – until they saw the broad curving breast of the pseudo-bird projecting over the parapet edge of the precipice!

Once more was it launched out into the air; once more was rope given it, till it had ascended to the full length of its tether; and once more was it allowed to alight.

Again the pull downward and inward – again the cord came freely to hand – and again was the rounded bow seen upon the brow of the precipice, and outlined against the blue sky above; not like the beautiful bow of the iris – a thing of promise – but one of disappointment and chagrin.

Again the flight – again the failure – again and again; until the patience of the operators – to say nothing of their strength – was well nigh exhausted.

But it was no mere play for the sake of pastime. They were not flying that kite for their amusement; nor yet for the purpose of making some scientific experiment. They were flying it as a means of obtaining their personal liberty; and they were all of them interested in the success or failure of the attempt – almost as much as if their lives rested on the issue.

However tried their strength, or worn out their patience, it would not do to give up; and therefore – although at each unsuccessful effort, with hopes constantly becoming diminished – they continued their exertions.

For more than a score of times they had sent up the kite, and as often dragged it back to the brow of the cliff; not always at the same point: for they had themselves changed their ground, and tried the flight in different places.

In all cases, the result was the same. The bird refused to take hold with its claws – either on rocks, or blocks of ice, or banks of frozen snow – all of which lay scatter over the slope of the mountain.

Considering that it had caught hold on the very first trial, so many failures were regarded by our adventurers with some surprise. Had it never held, there would have been no cause for this; and after so many attempts, they would have been the more inclined to yield up their plan, deeming it impracticable. But the fact of their first success sustained them in the hope that success might again be obtained; and, in this belief, they were encouraged to “keep on trying.”

Half a dozen additional flights were made, but fortune still declining to favour them, they desisted from their efforts, leaving the paper-bird with its breast protruding over the cliff: as if perched there in preparation for a further flight.

By this time the kite had become sadly damaged – its plumage having received rough usage by constant trailing over the rocks and sharp angles of ice. While up in the air, daylight could be seen shining through it in several places; and it no longer exhibited that majesty of flight that had originally characterised it. It was evident that repairs would soon be needed; and to discuss this question, as also to consider the propriety of proceeding to make trial at some other place, our adventurers, for a time, discontinued their efforts.

All three were standing together, but at several paces distant from the end of the rope; which they had for the moment abandoned, and which lay negligently along the ground.

They had not taken the slightest precaution to secure it: for it had not occurred to them that there was any risk in leaving it loose.

It was only when too late, that they perceived the mistake they had committed – only when they saw the cord suddenly jerked up from the ground, as if some invisible hand was lifting it aloft into the sky!

All three rushed towards it at the same instant. They were too late. Already the end of the rope was dangling at such a height above their heads, that even the tallest of them could not touch it with the tips of his fingers.

Ossaroo leaped high into the air in an endeavour to clutch the string. Caspar ran to procure a pole which lay near, in hopes of retaining it in that way: while Karl ran up the ladder that was resting against the cliff, near which the rope was yet trailing.

The efforts of all three were alike vain. For a second or two, the end of the cord hung oscillating above their heads – just sufficiently out of reach to tantalise them; and then, as if the invisible hand above had given it another gigantic jerk, it was drawn rapidly and vertically upward, till it finally disappeared over the crest of the cliff!

Chapter Forty Eight.

No more paper-trees!

There was nothing mysterious in the disappearance of the cord. The kite was no longer visible on the summit of the cliff. The wind had carried it away; and, of course, its rope along with it.

When the first moment of surprise had passed, our adventurers turned towards each other with glances that spoke something more than disappointment. Notwithstanding the number of times that the kite had failed to fix itself, still it had once taken a fast hold, and it was but reasonable to suppose it would have done so again. Besides, there were other places where the precipice was as low, and even lower, than where they had made the trials; and at some of these they might have been more successful. Indeed, there was every probability that, had they not lost that kite, they would have been able in due time to have climbed out of their rock-bound prison by a ladder of rope; but now all chance of doing so was gone for ever – swept off by a single puff of wind.

You may be fancying, that the misfortune was not irremediable. Another kite, you will be saying, might be constructed out of similar materials as those used in making the one carried away. But to say this, would be to speak without a full knowledge of the circumstances.

The same thought had already passed through the minds of our adventurers, when they perceived that the kite they were flying was getting torn and otherwise damaged.

“We can easily make another,” suggested Caspar at that crisis.

“No, brother,” was the answer of Karl; “never another, I fear. We have paper enough left to patch this one; but not enough to make another.”

“But we can make more paper, can we not?” urged Caspar, interrogatively.

“Ah!” again replied Karl, with a negative shake of the head, “no more – not another sheet!”

“But why? Do you think there are no more daphne trees?”

“I think there are not. You remember we stripped all there were in the thicket; and since then, thinking we might need more bark, I have gone all through the valley, and explored it in every direction, without meeting with a single shrub of the daphne. I am almost certain there are none.”

This conversation between the brothers had occurred, long before the losing of the kite. When that event came to pass, it was not necessary for them to repeat it; and, both being thus acquainted with the fact that it was impossible for them to construct another, they felt that they had sustained an irreparable loss.

In what direction had the kite been carried off? Might it not be blown along the line of cliffs, and tossed back again into the valley?

As there appeared some probability that such a chance might arise, all three ran outward from the rocks – in order to command a better view of the precipice, on each side.

For a long time they stood watching – in hopes that they might see the great paper-bird returning to the scene of its nativity. But it never came back; and they became at length convinced, that it never would. Indeed, the direction of the wind – when they paused to consider it – rendered the thing not only improbable, but impossible. It was blowing from the cliffs, and towards the snowy ridge. No doubt the kite had been carried up the sloping acclivity; and had either passed clear over the mountains, or become lodged in some deep defile, where the wind could no longer reach it. At all events, it was certain, that both kite and cord were lost to them for ever.

“Ach! how very unfortunate!” exclaimed Caspar, in a vexed tone, when they had finally arrived at this conviction. “What ill-starred luck we have, to be sure!”