Karl had scarcely finished speaking, when, as if to illustrate still
further the habits of the ibex, a curious incident occurred to the
animal upon, which their eyes were fixed.
It ceased to be a solitary individual: for while they were gazing at it
another ibex made its appearance upon the cliff, advancing towards the
one first seen. The new comer was also a male, as its huge
scimitar-shaped horns testified; while in size, as in other respects, it
resembled the one already on the rock as much as if they had been
brothers. It was not likely they were so. At all events the behaviour
of the former evinced anything but a fraternal feeling. On the
contrary, it was advancing with a hostile intent, as its attitudes
clearly proved. Its muzzle was turned downward and inward, until the
bearded chin almost touched its chest; while the tips of its horns,
instead of being thrown back upon its shoulders--their usual position
when the animal stands erect--were, elevated high in the air. Moreover,
its short tail, held upright and jerking about with a quick nervous
motion, told that the animal meditated mischief. Even at so great a
distance the spectators could perceive this: for the forms of both the
ibex were so clearly outlined against the sky, that the slightest motion
on the part of either could be perceived with perfect distinctness.
The new comer, when first observed, appeared to be approaching by
stealth--as if he intended to play the cowardly assassin, and butt the
other over the cliff! Indeed, this was his actual design, as was
discovered in the sequel; and had the other only remained for six
seconds longer in the attitude in which he had been first seen, his
assailant would no doubt have at once succeeded in his treacherous
intent.
We are sorry to have to say that he _did_ succeed--though not without a
struggle, and the risk of being himself compelled to take that desperate
leap which he had designed for his antagonist.
It was probably the voice of Caspar that hindered the immediate
execution of this wicked intention; though, alas! it only stayed it for
a short time. Caspar, on seeing the treacherous approach, had
involuntarily uttered a cry of warning. Though it could not have been
understood by the imperilled ibex, it had the effect of startling him
from his dreamy attitude, and causing him to look around. In that look
he perceived his danger, and quick as thought, took measures to avert
it. Suddenly raising himself on his hind-legs, and using them as a
pivot, he wheeled about, and then came to the ground on all fours, face
to face with his adversary. He showed no sign of any desire to retreat,
but seemed to accept the challenge as a matter of course. Indeed, from
his position, it would have been impossible for him to have retreated
with any chance of safety. The cliff upon which he had been standing,
was a sort of promontory projecting beyond the general line of the
precipice; and towards the mountain slope above his escape had been
already cut off by his challenger. On all other sides of him was the
beetling cliff. He had no alternative but fight, or be "knocked over."
It was less a matter of choice than necessity that determined him upon
standing his ground.
This determination he had just time to take, and just time to put
himself in an attitude of defence, when his antagonist charged towards
him. Both animals, at the same instant, uttered a fierce, snorting
sound, and rising upon their hind-legs, stood fronting each other like a
brace of bipeds. In this movement the spectators recognised the exact
mode of combat practised by common goats; for just in the same fashion
does the ibex exhibit his prowess. Instead of rushing _horizontally_,
head to head, and pressing each other backwards, as rams do in their
contests, the ibex after rearing aloft, come down again, horns foremost,
using the weight of their bodies as the propelling power, each
endeavouring to crush the other between his massive crest and the earth.
Several times in succession did the two combatants repeat their
rearings aloft, and the downward strokes of their horns; but it soon
became evident, that the one who had been the assailant was also to be
the conqueror. He had an advantage in the ground: for the platform
which his adversary occupied, and from which he could not escape, was
not wide enough to afford room for any violent movements; and the
imminent danger of getting a hoof over the cliff, evidently inspired him
with fear and constraint. The assailant having plenty of space to move
in, was able to "back and fill" at pleasure, now receding foot by foot,
then rushing forward, rising erect, and striking down again. Each time
he made his onslaught with renewed impetus, derived from the advantage
of the ground, as well as the knowledge that if his blow failed, he
should only have to repeat it; whereas, on the part of his opponent, the
failure of a single stroke, or even of a guard, would almost to a
certainty be the prelude to his destruction.
Whether it was that the ibex attacked was the weaker animal of the two,
or whether the disadvantage of the ground was against him, it soon
became evident that he was no match for his assailant. From the very
first, he appeared to act only on the defensive; and in all likelihood,
had the road been open to him, he would have turned tail at once, and
taken to his heels.
But no opportunity for flight was permitted him at any moment from the
beginning of the contest; and none was likely to be given him until it
should end. The only chance of escape that appeared, even to him, was
to make a grand leap, and clear his adversary, horns and all.
This idea seemed at length to take possession of his brain: for all on a
sudden he was keen to forsake his attitude of defence, and bound high
into the air--as if to get over his adversary's horns, and hide himself
among the safer snowdrifts of the mountains.
If such was his intent it proved a sad failure. While soaring in the
air--all his four feet raised high off the ground--the huge horns of his
adversary were impelled with fearful force against his ribs, the stroke
tossing him like a shuttlecock clear over the edge of the cliff!
The blow had been delivered so as to project his body with a revolving
impetus into the air; and turning round and round, it fell with a heavy
concussion into the bottom of the valley; where, after rebounding full
six feet from the ground, it fell back again dead as a stone.
It was some seconds before the spectators could recover from surprise at
an incident so curious, though it was one that may often be witnessed by
those who wander among the wild crags of the Himalayas--where combats
between the males of the ibex, the tahir, the burrell or Himalayan wild
sheep, and also the rams of the gigantic _Ovis ammon_, are of common
occurrence.
These battles are often fought upon the edge of a beetling precipice--
for it is in such places that these four species of animals delight to
dwell--and not unfrequently the issue of the contest is such as that
witnessed by our adventurers--one of the combatants being "butted" or
pushed right over the cliff.
It does not follow that the animal thus put _hors de combat_ is always
killed. On the contrary, unless the precipice be one of stupendous
height, an ibex, or tahir, or burrell, will get up again after one of
those fearful falls; and either run or limp away from the spot--perhaps
to recover, and try his luck and strength in some future encounter with
the same adversary. One of the most remarkable instances of this kind
is related by the intelligent sportsman, Colonel Markham, and by him
vouched for as a fact that came under his own observation. We copy his
account verbatim:--
"I witnessed one of the most extraordinary feats performed by an old
tahir, that I, or any other man, ever beheld. I shot him when about
eighty yards overhead upon a ledge of rocks. He fell perpendicularly
that distance, and, without touching the ground or the sides of the
precipice, rebounded, and fell again about fifteen yards further down.
I thought he was knocked to atoms, but he got up and went off; and
although we tracked him by his blood to a considerable distance, we were
after all unable to find him!"
My young readers may remember that many similar feats have been
witnessed in the Rocky Mountains of America, performed by the
"bighorn"--a wild sheep that inhabits these mountains, so closely
resembling the _Ovis ammon_ of the Himalayas, as to be regarded by some
naturalists as belonging to the same species. The hunters of the
American wilderness positively assert that the bighorn fearlessly flings
himself from high cliffs, alighting on his horns; and, then rebounding
into the air like an elastic ball, recovers his feet unhurt, and even
unstunned by the tremendous "header!"
No doubt there is a good deal of exaggeration in these "hunter stories;"
but it is nevertheless true that most species of wild goats and sheep,
as well as several of the rock-loving antelopes--the chamois and
klipspringer, for instance--can do some prodigious feats in the leaping
line, and such as it is difficult to believe in by any one not
accustomed to the habits of these animals. It is not easy to comprehend
how Colonel Markham's tahir could have fallen eighty yards--that is, 240
feet--to say nothing of the supplementary descent of forty-five feet
further--without being smashed to "smithereens." But although we may
hesitate to give credence to such an extraordinary statement, it would
not be a proper thing to give it a flat contradiction. Who knows
whether there may not be in the bones of these animals some elastic
principle or quality enabling them to counteract the effects of such
great falls? There are many mechanical contrivances of animal life as
yet but very imperfectly understood; and it is well-known that Nature
has wonderfully adapted her creatures to the haunts and habits for which
she has designed them. It may be, then, that these wild goats and
sheep--the Blondins and Leotards of the quadruped world--are gifted with
certain saltatory powers, and furnished with structural contrivances
which are altogether wanting to other animals not requiring them. It
would not be right, therefore, without a better knowledge of the
principles of animal mechanism, to contradict the statement of such a
respectable authority as Colonel Markham--especially since it appears to
be made in good faith, and without any motive for exaggeration.
Our adventurers had entered into no discussion of this subject on
observing the descent of the ibex. Indeed, there was nothing to suggest
such speculations; for the creature had fallen from such an immense
height, and come down with "such a thump" upon the hard turf, that it
never occurred to any of them to fancy that there was a single gasp of
breath left in its body. Nor was there; for on reaching the ground
after its rebound, the animal lay with limbs loose and limp, and without
sign of motion--evidently a carcass.