were not satisfied with a glance. They stood upon its brink, and
regarded it for a long while, and with many a wistful gaze; then, with
slow steps and heavy hearts, they turned mechanically away.
I shall not repeat their mournful conversation. I shall not detail the
incidents of their backward journey to the valley. I need not describe
the recrossing of the crevasse--the different feelings with which they
now accomplished this perilous feat. All these may be easily imagined.
It was near night when, wearied in body and limb--downcast in mien and
sick at heart--they reached the hut, and flung themselves despairingly
upon the floor.
"My God! my God!" exclaimed Karl, in the agony of his soul, "how long is
this hovel to be our home?"
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.
NEW HOPES.
That night was passed without much sleep. Painful reflections filled
the minds of all and kept them awake--the thoughts that follow
disappointed hopes. When they did sleep it was more painful than
waking. Their dreams were fearful. They dreamt of yawning gulfs and
steep precipices--of being suspended in the air, and every moment about
to fall into vast depths where they would be crushed to atoms. Their
dreams, that were only distorted pictures of the day's experience, had
all the vividness of reality, and far more vivid in their horror. Often
when one or other of them was awakened by the approaching climax of the
dream, he endeavoured to keep awake rather than go through even in a
vision such horrible scenes.
Even the dog Fritz was not free from similar sufferings. His mournful
whimpering told that his sleep like theirs was troubled and uneasy.
A bright sunshiny morning had its beneficial effect upon all of them.
It aided the reaction--consequent on a night of such a dismal
character--and as they ate their breakfasts of broiled meat they were
again almost cheerful. The buoyancy of Caspar's spirits had well-nigh
returned, and his fine appetite showed itself in full vigour. Indeed
all of them ate heartily, for on the preceding day they had scarce
allowed themselves time to taste food.
"If we must remain here always," said Caspar, "I see no reason why we
need starve ourselves! There's plenty to eat, and a variety of it, I
can say. I don't see why we shouldn't have some fish. I am sure I have
seen trout leap in the lake. Let us try a fly to-day. What say you,
Karl?"
Caspar said this with the intention of cheering his brother.
"I see no harm in it," answered the quiet botanist. "I think there are
fish in the lake. I have heard there is a very eatable kind of fish in
all the rivers of the Himalayas, known as the `Himalayan trout'--though
it is misnamed, for it is not a trout but a species of carp. It may be
found here, I dare say; although it is difficult, to imagine how fish
could get into this sequestered lake."
"Well," rejoined Caspar, "we must think of some plan to get them out of
it. We have neither nets, rods, hooks, nor lines. What's to be done?
Can you think of any way of taking the fish, Ossaroo?"
"Ah! Sahib," replied the shikarree, "give me bamboo, me soon make net
to takee fish--no bamboo--no net--no matter for net--Ossaroo poison the
water--get all da fish."
"What! poison the water? how would you do that? Where is the poison?"
"Me soon find poison--bikh poison do."
"`Bikh' poison--what is that?"
"Come, Sahib! me show you bikh plant--plenty grow here."
Both Karl and Caspar rose and followed the shikarree.
They had not gone many paces when their guide stooped and pointed to a
plant that grew in plenty about the place. It was an herbaceous plant,
having a stem nearly six feet high, and rather broad digitate leaves,
with a loose spike of showy yellow flowers at the top.
Caspar rather hastily took hold of one of the plants; and, plucking off
the spike, held it to his nose, to see whether the flowers had any
perfume. But Caspar dropped the nosegay as hastily as he had seized it,
and with an exclamation of terror turned towards his brother, into whose
arms he staggered half swooning! Fortunately he had taken but a very
slight "sniff" of that dangerous perfume, else he might have been laid
up for days. As it was he felt giddy for hours after.
Now this singular plant the botanist Karl recognised at a glance. It
was a species of aconite, or wolf's-bane, and _very_ similar to the
kindred species, _Aconitum napellus_, or "monk's hood," of Europe, whose
roots furnish the most potent of poisons.
The whole plant--leaves, flowers, and stem--is of a poisonous nature,
but the roots, which resemble small turnips, contain the essence of the
poison. There are many species of the plant found in different parts of
the world, and nearly a dozen kinds in the Himalaya Mountains
themselves; but the one pointed out by Ossaroo was the _Aconitum ferox_
of botanists, the species from which the celebrated "bikh" poison of the
Hindoos is obtained.
Ossaroo then proposed to poison the fish by throwing a sufficient
quantity of the roots and stems of the plant into the lake.
This proposal, however, was rejected by Karl, who very properly
observed, that although by that means they might obtain a plentiful
supply of fish, they would destroy more than they could use at the time,
and perhaps leave none for the future. Karl had already begun to talk
about a "future" to be spent on the shores of this lovely lake. The
belief that they might never go out of the valley was already taking
shape in the minds of all three, though they did not care to give
expression to such sad imaginings.
Karl tried to be cheerful, as he saw that Caspar was gay.
"Come," said he, "let us not mind the fish to-day. I own that fish is
usually the first course, but go along with me. Let us see what kind of
vegetables our garden has got. I am sure we may live better if we only
try. For my part I am getting tired of broiled meat, and neither bread
nor vegetables to eat along with it. Here I dare say we shall find
both; for whether it be due to the birds, or its peculiar climate--or a
little to both most likely--our valley has a flora such as you can only
meet with in a botanic garden. Come then! let us see what we can find
for the pot."
So saying Karl led the way, followed by Caspar, Ossaroo, and the
faithful Fritz.
"Look up there!" said the botanist, pointing to a tall pine that grew
near. "See those large cones. Inside them we shall obtain seeds, as
large as pistachio-nuts, and very good to eat. By roasting them, we can
make an excellent substitute for bread."
"Ha, indeed!" exclaimed Caspar, "that is a pine-tree. What large cones!
They are as big as artichokes. What sort of pine is it, brother?"
"It is one of the kind known as the `edible pines,' because their seeds
are fit for food. It is the species called by botanists _Pinus
Gerardiana_, or the `neosa' pine. There are pines whose seeds are
eatable in other parts of the world, as well as in the Himalaya
Mountains,--for instance, the _Pinus cembra_ of Europe, the `ghik' of
Japan, the `Lambert' pine of California, and several species in New
Mexico, known among the people as `pinon' trees. So you perceive that
besides their valuable timber--to say nothing of their pitch,
turpentine, and resin--the family of the pines also furnishes food to
the human race. We shall get some bread from those cones whenever we
desire it!"
So saying, Karl continued on in the direction of the lake.
"There again!" said he, pointing to a gigantic herbaceous plant,
"rhubarb, you see!"
It was, in fact, the true rhubarb, which grows wild among the Himalaya
Mountains, and whose great broad red-edged leaves, contrasting with its
tall pyramid of yellow bracts, render it one of the most striking and
beautiful of herbaceous plants. Its large acid stems--which are hollow
and full of pure water--are eaten by the natives of the Himalayas, both
raw and boiled, and its leaves when dried are smoked as tobacco. But
there was a smaller species that grew near, which Ossaroo said produced
much better tobacco; and Ossaroo was good authority, since he had
already dried some of the leaves, and had been smoking them ever since
their arrival in the valley. In fact, Ossaroo was quite out of
betel-nut, and suffered so much from the want of his favourite
stimulant, that he was glad to get any thing to smoke; and the "chula,"
or wild rhubarb-leaves, answered his purpose well. Ossaroo's pipe was
an original one certainty; and he could construct one in a few minutes.
His plan was to thrust a piece of stick into the ground, passing it
underneath the surface--horizontally for a few inches, and then out
again--so as to form a double orifice to the hole. At one end of this
channel he would insert a small joint of reed for his mouth-piece, while
the other was filled with the rhubarb tobacco, which was then set on
fire. It was literally turning the earth into a tobacco-pipe!
This method of smoking is by no means uncommon among the half-civilised
inhabitants of India as well as Africa, and Ossaroo preferred a pipe of
this kind to any other.
Karl continued onward, pointing out to his companions several species of
edible roots, fruits, and vegetables which the valley contained. There
were wild leeks among the number. These would assist them in making
soup. There were fruits too,--several species of currants, and
cherries, and strawberries, and raspberries,--kinds that had long been
introduced to European gardens, and that to Karl and Caspar looked like
old acquaintances.
"And there!" continued Karl, "see the very water produces food for us.
Look at the lotus, (_Nelumbium speciosum_). Those large pink and white
flowers are the flowers of the famed lotus. Its stalks may be eaten,
or, if you will, their hollow tubes will serve us as cups to drink, out
of. There, too, is the horned water root (_Trapa bicornis_), also
excellent eating. Oh! we should be thankful. We are well provided with
food."
Yet the heart of Karl was sore while thus endeavouring to talk
cheerfully.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.
NEW SURVEY OF THE CLIFF.
Yes, the hearts of all three were far from being contented, though they
returned to the hut laden with fruits, and roots, and nuts, and
vegetables; out of which they intended to concoct a better dinner than
they had been lately accustomed to.
The rest of that day was spent about the hut, and a good deal of it was
given up to culinary operations. Not that any of the party cared so
much for a good dinner; but being thus engaged prevented them from
reflecting as much as they would otherwise have done upon their painful
situation. Besides, they had no other work to do. They had no longer a
motive for doing any thing. Up to that moment the preparing the ropes
and timbers of the bridge had kept them employed; and the very work
itself, combined with the hope which they then felt, enabled them to
pass the time pleasantly enough. Now that these hopes were no more,--
that their whole scheme had ended in failure, they felt restless,--and
could think of nothing upon which to employ themselves. Preparing their
dinner, therefore, out of the new and varied materials that had come
into their hands, was, at least, some distraction to their gloomy
thoughts.
When dinner was ready, all of them ate heartily, and with a relish.
Indeed, they had been so long without vegetables that these tasted to
them as fine as any they had ever eaten. Even the wild fruits appeared
equal to the best they had ever gathered from an orchard!
It was a little after midday, as they were enjoying this dessert. They
were seated in the open air, in front of the hut, and Caspar was doing
most part of the talking, he was doing his best to be cheerful, and to
make his companions so as well.
"They're the best strawberries I've eaten for a month," said he; "but I
think a trifle of sugar and a drop of cream would be an improvement.
What say you, Karl?"
"It would," he replied, nodding assent.
"We did wrong to kill all our cows," continued Caspar, with a
significant look at one of the yak-skins that lay near.
"By-the-bye," said Karl, interrupting him, "I was just thinking of that.
If we are to stay here all our lives,--oh!"
The painful reflection, again crossing Karl's mind, caused him to
exclaim as he did. He left his hypothetic sentence unfinished, and
relapsed into silence.
Several days after this Karl left the hut, and, without telling his
intention to either of his companions, walked off in the direction of
the cliffs. Indeed, he had no very definite nor determined aim in so
doing; a sort of hopeless idea had come into his mind of making the
circuit of the valley, and once more surveying the precipice all round
it.
Neither of the others offered to accompany him, nor did they question
him as to his object in setting out. Both had gone about business of
their own. Caspar had become engaged in making a wash-rod for his gun,
and Ossaroo a net to catch the large and beautiful fish that abounded in
the lake. Karl, therefore, was permitted to set forth alone.
On reaching the precipice, he turned along its base, and walked slowly
forward, stopping every yard or two, and looking upward. Every foot--
nay, I might say every inch, of the cliff did he scan with care,--even
with more care than he had hitherto done; though that would appear
hardly possible, for on the former occasions on which the three had
examined it, their reconnoissance had been most particular and _minute_.
But a new idea had shadowed itself in the mind of Karl; and it was in
obedience to this, that he now proceeded with a fresh examination of the
precipitous enclosure that imprisoned them. It is true it was but a
sort of forlorn hope that he had conceived; but a forlorn hope was
better than no hope at all, and therefore Karl was determined to be
satisfied.
The thought that had been forming in his mind was, that after all it
might be possible for them to _scale the cliff_. That they could not do
so by climbing he was already satisfied; as were all three. Of this
their former examinations had convinced them. But there were other ways
of getting up a precipice, besides merely climbing with one's hands and
feet; and one of these ways, as already said, had for some time been
shadowing itself in the mind of Karl.
What plan, you will ask, had he now conceived? Did he design to make
use of ropes?
Not at all. Ropes could be of no service to him in going up a cliff.
They might, had they been fastened at the top; for then both he and his
companions would soon have contrived some way of getting up the ropes.
They could have made a ladder of a single rope by which they might have
ascended, by simply knotting pieces of sticks at short intervals, to
serve as rests for their feet, and they knew this well. Such a
contrivance would have suited admirably, if they had been required to
_descend_ a precipice, for then they could have let the rope down, and
fastened it at the top themselves. But to go up was altogether a
different operation; and it was necessary for at least one to be above
to render it at all practicable or possible. Of course, if one could
have got to the top by any means, the others could have done so by the
same; and then the rope-ladder would not have been needed at all.
No. Such a contrivance could not be used, and indeed they had never
thought of it--since to the meanest comprehension it was plainly
impossible. Karl therefore was not thinking of a rope-ladder.
Nevertheless it was actually about a _ladder_ that he was thinking--not
made of ropes, but of timber--of sides and rounds like any other ladder.
"What!" you will exclaim, "a ladder by which to scale the cliff! Why,
you have told us that it was three hundred feet in sheer height? The
longest ladder in the world would not reach a third of the way up such a
precipice. Even a fireman's ladder, that is made to reach to the tops
of the highest houses, would be of no use for such a height as that?"
"Quite true! I know all that as well as you," would have been Karl's
reply to your objections.
"What, then, Master Karl? Do you design to make a ladder that will be
taller than all we have ever seen--tall enough to reach to the top of a
precipice three hundred feet high? We know you have both energy and
perseverance; and, after witnessing the way that you worked at the
building of your bridge, and the skill with which you built it, we are
ready to believe that you can accomplish a very great feat in the
joiner's line; but that _you_ can make a ladder three hundred feet in
length, we are not prepared to believe--not if you had a whole chest of
tools and the best timber in the world. We know you might put a ladder
together ever so long, but would it hold together? or even if it did,
how could you set it up against the cliff? Never. Three of the
strongest men could not do it,--nor six neither,--nor a dozen, without
machinery to assist them; therefore scaling the cliff by means of a
wooden ladder is plainly impracticable; and if that be your idea, you
may as well abandon it."
"Quite true, I know all this as well as you," would have been Karl's
reply; "but I had no idea of being able to scale the cliff by means of a
ladder. It was not of _a ladder_, but of _ladders_, I was thinking."
"Ha! there may be something in that."
Karl knew well enough that no single ladder could be made of sufficient
length and strength to have reached from the bottom to the top of that
great wall; or if such could be constructed, he knew equally well that
it would be impossible to set it up.
But the idea that had been forming in his mind was, that several ladders
might effect the purpose--one placed above another, and each one resting
upon a _ledge of the cliff_, to which the one next below should enable
them to ascend.
In this idea there was really some shadow of practicability, though, as
I have said, it was but a very forlorn hope. The amount of its
practicableness depended upon the existence of the _ledges_; and it was
to ascertain this that Karl had set forth.
If such ledges could be found, the hope would no longer have been
forlorn. Karl believed that with time and energy the ladders might be
constructed, notwithstanding the poor stock of carpenter's tools at
their service; though he had scarce yet thought of how the holes were to
be made to receive the rounds, or how the ladders themselves might be
set upon the ledges, or any other detail of the plan. He was too eager
to be satisfied about the first and most important point--whether there
were ledges that would answer the purpose?
With his eyes, therefore, keenly scanning the face of the cliff, he kept
on along its base, walking slowly, and in silence.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX.
KARL CLIMBS THE LEDGE.
He continued on until he had reached that end of the valley most remote
from the hut, and along the whole of the cliffs that he passed his
reconnoissance had been fruitless. He saw many ledges, and some of
considerable width--quite wide enough to rest a ladder upon, and also
allow it a proper lean to the wall. Some were higher and some lower;
but unfortunately they were not above one another, as Karl desired to
find them. On the contrary, they were far apart--so that if one of them
could have been reached by means of a ladder, as many of them might,
this would in no way facilitate communication with the one that was
higher up.
Of course then, for Karl's purpose, these ledges were of no avail; and,
after observing their relative situations, he passed on with looks of
disappointment. At the farthest end of the valley--that is, the place
farthest from the hut--there was a little bay, or indentation, in the
cliffs. As already stated, there were several of these at intervals
around the valley, but the one in question was the largest of any. It
was very narrow, only a few yards in width, and about a hundred in
depth--that is, a hundred yards from the line, which indicated the
general outline of the valley, to the apex of the angle where the
indentation ended. Its bottom was nearly upon the same level with that
of the valley itself, though it was raised a little higher in some
places by loose rocks, and other _debris_ that had fallen from the
impending cliffs.
Karl had entered this bay, and was regarding its cliffs all around with
intense eagerness of glance. Any one who could have seen him at that
moment would have observed that his countenance was brightening as he
gazed; and that pleasant thoughts were springing up within his bosom.
Any one who had seen that face but the moment before, and had looked
upon it now, could not fail to have noticed the change that had so
suddenly come over it--a perfect contrast in its expression. What had
produced this metamorphosis? Something of importance, I warrant; for
the young botanist, naturally of a sober turn, but now more than ever
so, was not given to sudden transitions of feeling. What, then, was the
cause of his joy?
A glance at the cliff will answer these interrogatories.
At the first glance it might be noted that that part of the precipice
surrounding the bay--or ravine, as it might more properly be called--was
lower than elsewhere,--perhaps not quite three hundred feet in height.
It was not this peculiarity, however, at which Karl was rejoicing. A
ladder of three hundred feet was not to be thought of any more than one
of three thousand. It was that he had just observed upon the face of
the cliff a series of ledges that rose, shelf-like, one above the other.
The rock had a seamed or stratified appearance, although it was a
species of granite; but the strata were not by any means regular, and
the ledges were at unequal distances from each other. Some, too, were
broader than the rest, and some appeared very narrow indeed; but many of
them were evidently of sufficient width to form the stepping-place for a
ladder. The lower ones especially appeared as though they might easily
be scaled by a series of ladders, each from twenty to thirty feet
long,--but with regard to those near the top, Karl had great doubts.
The shelves did not seem more distant from each other than those below,
but their horizontal breadth appeared less. This might possibly be an
optical delusion, caused by the greater distance from which they were
viewed; but if so, it would not much mend the matter for the design
which Karl had in view--since the deception that would have given him an
advantage in the breadth would have been against him in the height,
making the latter too great, perhaps, for any ladder that could be got
up.
If you have ever stood by the bottom of a great precipice, you may have
noticed how difficult it is to judge of the dimensions of an object far
up its face. A ledge several feet in width will appear as a mere seam
in the rock, and a bird or other creature that may be seen upon it,
will, to the eyes of the beholder, be reduced far below its real bulk.
Karl was philosopher enough to understand these things, he had studied
in an elementary way, the laws of optics, and therefore was not going to
come to conclusions too hastily.
In order the better to form judgment about the breadth of the ledges,
and the height of the respective intervals between them, he stepped back
as far as the ground would permit him.
Unfortunately this was not far, for the cliff on the other side, as
already stated, was but a few paces distant. Consequently he was soon
stopped by the rocks, and his situation for viewing the upper portion of
the cliff was anything but an advantageous one.
He scrambled up one of the highest boulders, and took his survey from
its top, but he was still not satisfied with his "point of view." He
saw, however, that it was the best he could obtain; and he remained for
a good while upon his perch--with eyes bent upon the opposing precipice,
now fixed upon a particular spot, and now wandering in one long sweep
from bottom to top, and back again from top to bottom.
During this operation the expression upon his face once more changed to
one of deep gloom, for he had discovered an obstacle to his designs that
appeared insurmountable. One of the spaces between two of the ledges
was too great to be spanned by a ladder, and this, too, was high up the
cliff. It could never be scaled!
He noticed that the first ledge from the bottom was about half as high
from the ground as this one was from that immediately below it.