The Cliff Climbers<br />A Sequel to "The Plant Hunters" by Mayne Reid (beach read book TXT) 📕

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!