of any aid from the shikarree upon so scientific a question, when they
perceived the latter unwinding a long string, which he had drawn from
his pocket.
"Ho!" cried Caspar, "what are you about, Ossaroo? Do you expect to
measure it with a string?"
"Yes, Sahib!" answered the shikarree.
"And who is to carry your line to the opposite side, I should like to
know?" inquired Caspar.
It seemed very ridiculous, indeed, to suppose that the chasm could be
measured with a string--so long as only one side of it was accessible;
but there was a _way_ of doing it, and Ossaroo's native wit had
suggested that way to him.
In reply to Caspar's question, he took one of the arrows from his
quiver, and, holding it up, he said,--
"This, Sahib, this carry it."
"True! true!" joyfully exclaimed the brothers; both of whom at once
comprehended the design of the shikarree.
It cost Ossaroo but a few minutes to put his design into execution. The
string was unwound to its full extent. There were nearly a hundred
yards of it. It was stretched tightly, so as to clear it of snarls, and
then one end was adjusted to the shaft of the arrow. The other end was
made fast to a rock, and after that the bow was bent, and the arrow
projected into the air.
A shout of joy was raised as the shaft was seen to fall upon the snowy
surface on the opposite side; and the tiny cord was observed, like the
thread of a spider's web, spanning the vast chasm.
Ossaroo seized the string in his hand, drew the arrow gently along until
it rested close to the opposite edge; and then marking the place with a
knot, he plucked the arrow till it fell into the chasm, and hand over
hand commenced winding up the string.
In a few moments he had recovered both cord and arrow; and now came the
important part, the measurement of the string.
The hearts of all three beat audibly as foot after foot was told off;
but a murmur of satisfaction escaped from all, when it was found that
the lowest estimate was nearest the truth. The chasm was about a
hundred feet wide!
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
THE HUT.
Karl felt confident they could bridge the crevasse. The only weapons
they had were their knives, and a small wood hatchet which Ossaroo
chanced to have in his belt when they set out in chase of the musk-deer.
True they had their guns, but of what service could these be in making
a bridge?
Ossaroo's knife, as already described, was a long-bladed one,--half
knife, half sword,--in fact, a jungle knife. The hatchet was not larger
than an Indian tomahawk; but with these weapons Karl Linden believed he
could build a bridge of one hundred feet span!
He communicated to his companions his plan in detail, and both believed
in its feasibility. I need hardly say that under such a belief their
spirits rose again; and, though they felt that success was far from
certain, they were once more filled with hope; and having taken all the
necessary steps, in regard to measuring the narrowest part of the
crevasse, and noted the ground well, they returned to the valley with
lighter hearts.
The bridge was not to be the work of a day, nor a week, nor yet might a
month suffice. Could they only have obtained access to both sides of
the chasm it would have been different, and they could easily have
finished it in less time. But you are to remember that only one side
was allowed them to work upon, and from this they would of necessity
have to project the bridge to the other. If they could even have got a
cable stretched across, this would have been bridge enough for them, and
they would have needed no other. A cable, indeed! They would soon have
found their way over upon a cable or even a stout rope; but the stoutest
communication they had was a slender string, and only an arrow to hold
it in its place!
The genius of Karl had not only projected the bridge, but a mode of
placing it across the chasm, though many a contrivance would have to be
adopted, before the work could be finished. Much time would require to
be spent, but what of time when compared with the results of failure or
success?
The first thing they did was to build them a hut. The nights were cold,
and growing colder, for the Himalaya winter was approaching, and
sleeping in the open air, even by the largest fire they might make, was
by no means comfortable. They built a rude hovel therefore, partly of
logs, and partly of stone blocks, for it was difficult to procure logs
of the proper length, and to cut them with such tools as they had would
have been a tedious affair. The walls were made thick, rough, and
strong; the interstices were matted and daubed with clay from the bed of
the rivulet; the thatch was a sedge obtained from the lake; and the
floor of earth was strewed with the leaves of the sweet-smelling
rhododendron. The hole was left for the smoke to escape. Several
granite slabs served for seats--tables were not needed--and for beds
each of the party had provided himself with a thick mattress of dried
grass and leaves. With such accommodations were the hunters fain to
content themselves. They felt too much anxiety about the future to care
for present luxuries.
They were but one single day in building the hut. Had there been
bamboos at hand, Ossaroo would have constructed a house in half the
time, and a much handsomer one. As it was, their hovel occupied them
just a day, and on the next morning they set to work upon the bridge.
They had agreed to divide the labour; Karl with the axe, and Ossaroo
with his large knife, were to work upon the timbers; while Caspar was to
provide the food with his double-barrelled gun, helping the others
whenever he could spare time.
But Caspar found another purpose for his gun besides procuring meat.
Ropes would be wanted, long tough ropes; and they had already planned
it, that these should be made from the hides of the animals that might
be killed. Caspar, therefore, had an important part to play. Two
strong cables would be required, so Karl told him, each about a hundred
feet in length, besides many other ropes and cords. It would be
necessary to hunt with some success before these could be obtained.
More than one large hide, a dozen at least, would be required; but
Caspar was just the man to do his part of the work, and procure them.
For the timbers, the trees out of which they were to be made had already
been doomed. Even that morning four trees had been marked by the axe
and girdled. These were pine-trees, of the species known as Thibet
pines, which grow to a great height, with tall trunks clear of branches
full fifty feet from the ground. Of course it was not the largest trees
that were chosen; as it would have cost too much labour to have reduced
their trunks to the proper dimension, and particularly with such tools
as the workmen had. On the contrary, the trees that were selected were
those very near the thickness that would be required; and but little
would have to be done, beyond clearing them of the bark and hewing the
heavier ends, so as to make the scantling of equal weight and thickness
all throughout their length. The splicing each two of them together
would be an operation requiring the greatest amount of care and labour.
All their designs being fully discussed, each set about his own share of
the work. Karl and Ossaroo betook themselves to the pine-forest, while
Caspar prepared to go in search of the game.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
THE BARKING-DEER.
"Now," said Caspar to himself, as he shouldered his double-barrelled
gun, and started forth, "now to find that same herd of grunters!
They're the biggest animals here I fancy, and their beef's not bad--the
veal isn't, I know. Besides, the hide of the old bull would make--let
me see--how many yards of rope."
Here Caspar entered into a mental calculation as to what length of
rawhide rope, of two inches in diameter, might be twisted out of the yak
bull's skin. Karl had said two inches in diameter would be strong
enough for his purpose, provided the hide of the animal was as tough as
ordinary cow's hide; and this the skin of the yak really is.
The young hunter, after much computation, having stripped the great bull
of his skin, and spread it out upon the grass, and measured it--all in
fancy of course--and cut it into strips of near three inches in width--
had arrived at the conclusion that he would get about twenty yards of
sound rope out of the hide.
Then he submitted the skins of the cows to a similar process of
measurement. There were four of them--there had been five, but one was
already killed. To each of the four Caspar allowed a yield of ten yards
of rope--as each of them was only a little more than half the size of
the bull--besides their skins would not be either so thick or so strong.
There were four half-grown yaks--young bulls and heifers. Caspar
remembered the number well, for he had noted this while stalking them.
To these he allowed still less yield than to the cows--perhaps thirty
yards from the four. So that the hides of all--old bull, cows, and
yearlings--would, according to Caspar's calculation, give a cable of
ninety yards in length. What a pity it would not make a hundred--for
that was about the length that Karl had said the cable should be. True,
there were some young calves in the herd, but Caspar could make no
calculation on these. Their skins might serve for other purposes, but
they would not do for working up into the strong cable which Karl
required.
"Maybe there is more than the one herd in the valley," soliloquised
Caspar. "If so it will be all right. Another bull would be just the
thing;" and with this reflection the hunter brought his double-barrel
down, looked to his flints and priming, returned the gun to his
shoulder, and then walked briskly on.
Caspar had no fear that he should be able to kill all the yaks they had
seen. He was sure of slaughtering the whole herd. One thing certain,
these animals could no more get out of the valley than could the hunter
himself. If they had ever been in the habit of going out of it to visit
other pastures, they must have gone by the glacier; and they were not
likely to traverse that path any more. The hunter now had them at an
advantage--in fact, they were regularly penned up for him!
After all, however, it was not such a pen. The valley was a full mile
in width, and rather better in length. It was a little country of
itself. It was far from being of an even or equal surface. Some parts
were hilly, and great rocks lay scattered over the surface here and
there, in some places forming great mounds several hundred feet high,
with cliffs and ravines between them, and trees growing in the clefts.
Then there were dark woods and thick tangled jungle tracts, where it was
almost impossible to make one's way through. Oh, there was plenty of
covert for game, and the dullest animal might escape from the keenest
hunter in such places. Still the game could not go clear away; and
although the yaks might get off on an occasion, they were sure to turn
up again; and Caspar trusted to his skill to be able to circumvent them
at one time or another.
Never in his life before had Caspar such motives for displaying his
hunter-skill. His liberty--that of all of them--depended on all his
success in procuring the necessary number of hides; and this was spur
enough to excite him to the utmost.
In starting forth from the hut, he had taken his way along the edge of
the lake. Several opportunities offered of a shot at Brahmin geese and
wild ducks but, in anticipation of finding the yaks, he had loaded both
barrels of his gun with balls. This he had done in order to be prepared
for the great bull, whose thick hide even buckshot would scarce have
pierced. A shot at the waterfowl, therefore, could not be thought of.
There would be every chance of missing them with the bullet; and neither
powder nor lead were such plentiful articles as to be thrown away idly.
He therefore reserved his fire, and walked on.
Nothing appeared to be about the edge of the lake; and after going a
short distance he turned off from the water and headed the direction of
the cliffs. He hoped to find the herd of yaks among the rocks--for
Karl, who knew something of the natural history of these animals, had
told him that they frequented steep rocky places in preference to level
ground.
Caspar's path now led him through a belt of timber, and then appeared a
little opening on which there was a good deal of tall grass, and here
and there a low copse or belt of shrubbery.
Of course he went cautiously along--as a hunter should do--at every
fresh vista looking ahead for his game.
While passing through the open ground his attention was attracted to a
noise that appeared to be very near him. It exactly resembled the
barking of a fox--a sound with which Caspar was familiar, having often
heard foxes bark in his native country. The bark, however, appeared to
him to be louder and more distinct than that of a common fox.
"Perhaps," said he to himself, "the foxes of these mountains are bigger
than our German reynards, and can therefore bark louder. Let me see if
it be a fox. I'm not going to waste a bullet on him either; but I
should like just to have a look at a Himalaya fox."
With these reflections Caspar stole softly through the grass in the
direction whence issued the sounds.
He had not advanced many paces when he came in sight of an animal
differing altogether from a fox; but the very one that was making the
noise. This was certain, for while he stood regarding it, he perceived
it in the very act of uttering that noise, or _barking_, as we already
called it.
Caspar felt very much inclined to laugh aloud, on perceiving that the
barking animal was neither fox, nor dog, nor yet a wolf, nor any other
creature that is known to bark, but on the contrary an animal of a far
different nature--a deer. Yes, it was really a deer that was giving
utterance to those canine accents.
It was a small, slightly-made creature, standing about two feet in
height, with horns seven or eight inches long. It might have passed for
an antelope; but Caspar observed that on each horn there was an antler--
a very little one, only an inch or so in length--and that decided him
that it must be an animal of the deer family. Its colour was light red,
its coat short and smooth, and, on a closer view, Caspar saw that it had
a tusk in each jaw, projecting outside the mouth, something like the
tushes of the musk-deer. It was, in fact, a closely allied species. It
was the "kakur," or "barking-deer;" so called from its barking habit,
which had drawn the attention of the hunter upon it.
Of the barking-deer, like most other deer of India, there are several
varieties very little known to naturalists; and the species called the
"muntjak" (_Cervus vaginalis_) is one of these. It also has the
protruding tushes, and the solitary antler upon its horns.
The "barking-deer" is common on the lower hills of the Himalaya
Mountains, as high as seven or eight thousand feet; but they sometimes
wander up the courses of rivers, or valley gorges, to a much higher
elevation; and the one now observed by Caspar had possibly strayed up
the glacier valley in midsummer, guided by curiosity, or some instinct,
that carried it into the beautiful valley that lay beyond. Poor little
fellow! it never found its way back again; for Caspar bored its body
through and through with a bullet from his right-hand barrel, and hung
its bleeding carcass on the branch of a tree.
He did not shoot it upon sight, however. He hesitated for some time
whether it would be prudent to waste a shot upon so tiny a morsel, and
had even permitted it to run away.
As it went off, he was surprised at a singular noise which it made in
running, not unlike the rattling of two pieces of loose bone knocked
sharply together; in fact, a pair of castanets. This he could hear
after it had got fifty yards from him, and, perhaps, farther; but there
the creature suddenly stopped, turned its head round, and stood barking
as before.
Caspar could not make out the cause of such a strange noise, nor,
indeed, has any naturalist yet offered an explanation of this
phenomenon. Perhaps it is the cracking of the hoofs against each other,
or, more likely, the two divisions of each hoof coming sharply together,
when raised suddenly from the ground. It is well-known that a similar,
only much louder noise, is made by the long hoofs of the great
moose-deer; and the little kakur probably exhibits the same phenomenon
on a smaller scale.
Caspar did not speculate long about the cause. The creature, as it
stood right before the muzzle of his gun, now offered too tempting a
shot, and the right-hand barrel put an end to its barking.
"You're not what I came after," soliloquised Caspar; "but the old stag's
no great eating, he's too tough for me. You, my little fellow, look
more tender, and, I dare say, will make capital venison. Hang there,
then, till I return for you!"
So saying, Caspar, having already strung the kakur's legs, lifted the
carcass, and hung it to the branch of a tree.
Then, reloading his right-hand barrel with a fresh bullet, he continued
on in search of the herd of yaks.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
THE ARGUS-PHEASANT.
Caspar proceeded with increased caution. His design was to _stalk_ the
wild oxen; and he had left Fritz at the hut, as the dog could be of no
use in that sort of hunting.
He intended to stalk the animals with more than ordinary caution, for
two reasons. The first was, of course, in order to get a shot at them;
but there was another reason why he should be careful, and that was, the
fierce and dangerous nature of the game. He had not forgotten the way
in which the old bull had behaved at their last interview; and Karl had
particularly cautioned him, before setting out, to act prudently, and to
keep out of the way of the bull's horns. He was not to fire at the
yaks, unless there was a tree near, or some other shelter, to which he
could retreat if pursued by the bull.
The necessity, therefore, of choosing such a point of attack, would make
his stalk all the more difficult.
He walked silently on, sometimes through spots of open ground; at
others, traversing belts of woodland, or tracts of thickety jungle.
Wherever there was a reach, or open space, he stopped before going out
of the cover, and looked well before him. He had no wish to come plump
on the game he was in search of, lest he might get too close to the old
bull. Fifty or sixty yards was the distance he desired; and, with the
large bullets his gun carried, he would have been near enough at that.
Several kinds of large birds flew up from his path, as he advanced;
among others, the beautiful argus-pheasant, that almost rivals the
peacock in the splendour of its plumage. These rare creatures would
whirr upward, and alight among the branches of the trees overhead; and,
strange to say, although nearly as large as peacocks, and of a most
striking and singular form, Caspar could never get his eyes upon them
after they had once perched.
It is the habit of these birds, when aware of the presence of the
hunter, to remain perfectly silent and motionless, and it requires the
keenest eyes to make them out among the leaves. In fact, the very
beauty of their singular plumage, which makes the argus-pheasant so
marked and attractive an object when side by side with other birds, is
the very thing which, amid the foliage of trees, renders it so difficult
to be seen. Ocellated as the bird is all over its body, wings, and
tail, the general-effect is such as rather to conceal it. A disk of the
same size of an unbroken colour, even though the tints be less
brilliant, is far more likely to arrest the eye-glance. Besides, the
collected foliage of the trees, when gazed at from beneath, presents a
species of ocellation, to which that of the argus-pheasant is in some
way assimilated. This may be a provision of nature, for the protection
of this beautiful and otherwise helpless bird; for it is no great
creature at a flight, with all its fine plumes; and, but for its power
of thus concealing itself, would easily fall a prey to the sportsman.
Naturalists often, and, perhaps, oftener hunters, have noted this
adaptation of the colour of wild animals to their haunts and habits.
The jaguars, the leopards, and panthers, whose bright, yellow skins,
beautifully spotted as they are, would seem to render them most
conspicuous objects, are, in reality, the most difficult to be perceived
amid the haunts which they inhabit. An animal of equal size, and of the
dullest colouring, provided it were uniform, would be more easily seen
than they. Their very beauty renders them invisible; since their
numerous spots, interrupting the uniformity of colour, breaks up the
large disk of their bodies into a hundred small ones, and even destroys,
to the superficial glance, the form which would otherwise betray their
presence.
For some such reason then the argus-pheasant is most difficult to be
seen, when once settled on his perch among the leaves and twigs of the
trees. But though himself not observed, he sees all that passes below.
He is well named. Although the eyes all over his body be blind, he
carries a pair in his head, that rival those of the famed watchman from
whom he borrows his surname. He keeps the sportsman well in sight; and
should the latter succeed in espying him, the argus knows well when he
is discovered, and the moment a cock clicks or a barrel is poised
upward, he is off with a loud whirr that causes the woods to ring.
But, as already stated, he is no great flyer. The smallness of the
primary quills of his wing--as well as the unwieldy size of the
secondaries, forms an impediment to his progress through the air, and
his flight is short and heavy. He is a good runner, however, like all
birds of his kind; and he passes rapidly over the ground, using his
wings in running like the wild turkey, to which bird he is kindred.
When the argus-pheasant is at rest or unexcited, his plumage is neither
so bright nor beautiful. It is when showing himself off in the presence
of his females that he appears to best advantage. Then he expands his
spotted wings, and trails them on the ground in the same manner as the
peacock. His tail, too, becomes spread and raised erect, whereas at
other times it is carried in a line with the body with the two long
feathers folded over each other.
The argus-pheasant (which closet-naturalists now say is not a pheasant,
but an _argus_) is peculiar to the southern parts of Asia, though the
limits of its range are not well understood. It is found in all parts
of India, and also, as is supposed, in China, even in the northern
provinces of that country.
But the argus is not the only beautiful pheasant of these regions.
India, or rather southern Asia, is the true home of the pheasant tribe.
Already nearly a dozen species of these birds, some of them far more
beautiful than the birds of paradise, are known to naturalists; and when
the ornithology of the Indian Islands has been thoroughly investigated,
a still greater number will be found to exist there.
The Impeyan pheasant, larger than the common fowl, rivals the crested
peacock in the brilliancy of its hues. No words can give any adequate
idea of the splendour of this bird. Nearly the whole surface of its
plumage is resplendent--dazzling with changing hues of green and
steel-blue, of violet and gold. It looks as if its body was clothed in
a scale armour of bright shining metal, while the plumage is soft and
velvety to the touch. This magnificent bird is a native of the Himalaya
Mountains; where is also found another splendid species, the
peacock-pheasant of Thibet, the latter closely allied to a still more
gorgeous bird, the crested polyplectron of the Moluccas.
One cannot look upon these lovely winged creatures without a feeling of
gratitude to Him who sent them to adorn the earth, and give pleasure to
all who may behold them.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.
STALKING THE YAKS.
Caspar was not out pheasant-shooting, and therefore these beautiful
birds were permitted to fly off unscathed. Caspar's game was the
grunting bull.