him that he should throw conjecture aside, and ascertain by actual
measurement the distance from the ground to the first ledge. This might
be easily accomplished--Karl saw that,--and once done, it would give him
a better idea of the distance between the ledges high up.
It has been stated that the measurement could be easily made, and that
Karl knew this; but how? The ledge appeared to be full forty feet from
the ground, and how was it to be reached by a measuring rule? But Karl
had no measuring rule; and it was not in that way he intended to go
about it.
You will be conjecturing that he looked out for a tall sapling, of
sufficient length to reach the ledge, and then afterwards ascertained
the number of feet and inches of the sapling. Certainly this mode would
have done well enough, and Karl would very likely have made use of it,
had not an easier offered itself--or one that at the moment appeared
readier to him. He could have told the height by triangulation, but
that would also have involved the procuring of a sapling--and some
tedious calculation besides, which would have required time, with not
the most certain results either.
Both these plans had occupied his thoughts for a while. The first was
rejected on account of the difficulty of obtaining a rod of sufficient
length,--the second was set aside by Karl just then perceiving that
without much difficulty, he might climb up to the ledge itself. There
was a portion of the rock below with a slanting face, and here and there
some broken hollows and jutting points that would serve him as
foot-holds.
Once upon the ledge, the measurement would be simple enough. It would
be only to let down a string with a small stone at the end, like a
plumber's line; and then mark how much string it required to reach the
ground.
He chanced to have about him a longish piece of rawhide thong, that
would serve admirably, and to carry out his purpose, he at once
determined upon ascending to the ledge.
Drawing the thong from his pocket, and attaching to one end of it the
piece of stone, he approached the cliff, and commenced scrambling
upward.
He found it a more difficult task than it had appeared, and it was just
as much as he could do to reach the ledge in safety. Had it been
Caspar, the climbing would have been a mere bagatelle, used, as the
young hunter had been, to the precipices of the Alps while following the
rock-loving chamois.
But Karl was no great hand at such gymnastic exercises; and he was all
out of breath, and a little bit frightened at his rashness, before he
had placed himself safely on the shelf.
Stepping along it, therefore, till he reached a point where the cliff
below was vertical, he dropped his stone and line, and soon completed
his measurement. Alas! it proved to be far higher than he had
conjectured in viewing it from below. His spirits fell as he
contemplated the result. He was now certain that the space higher up
could not be spanned by any ladder they might be able to construct.
With sad heart, he returned to the place where he had made the ascent,
intending to go down again. But it is sometimes easier to say go down
than to do it; and to Karl's great consternation he saw at the first
glance that he could no more go down than fly upward into the air.
Beyond a doubt he was in a fix; regularly "nailed" upon the cliff.
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.
KARL IN A FIX.
It is not difficult to comprehend the reason. Any one who has ever
climbed up a steep ascent,--such as a piece of wall, the mast of a ship,
or even an ordinary ladder,--will have noticed that the going up, is
much easier than the getting down again; and where the ascent is very
steep and difficult, it is quite possible that a person may make their
way to the top, without being able to get back to the bottom. The
difficulty of descending is much greater than that of ascending. In the
latter, you can see where you are to set your feet, and also what you
are to take hold of with your hands; whereas, in the former you have not
this advantage; but must grope your way downward, and are therefore
continually exposed to the danger of missing your footing, and being
precipitated to the bottom.
This was just the situation in which the plant-hunter found himself. It
was as much as he had been able to pull himself up; it was more than he
could do to let himself down again; this he perceived at a single
glance.
It is true that the rock slanted a little, and he had clearly seen this
from below. Now that he looked at it from above, he could scarcely
perceive any slant. It appeared almost vertical, and it was full forty
feet to the bottom; a fearful height when viewed from above; he wondered
how he had been able to climb up at all, and he was now vexed with
himself for having been so rash and foolish.
But he could not stay there all night. Something must be done, to free
him from his unpleasant situation; and, gathering resolution, he made an
attempt to descend.
He knelt down upon the ledge, with his face turned toward the cliff and
his back outwards. Then, grasping the rock, in his hands, he allowed
his feet to slip over. He succeeded in finding the uppermost steps, but
then came the difficulty. He dared not let go with his hands, so as to
get another step downward; and, on lowering his feet to feel for a fresh
foothold, he could not discover any. Repeatedly he ran his toes over
the face of the rock, groping for a notch or jutting point, but he could
find nothing upon which to rest either foot, and he was at length
obliged to draw them up, and place himself back upon the ledge.
He now bethought him that there might be a better place for making the
descent; and, rising to his feet, he proceeded to search for it. He had
no difficulty in passing along the ledge; it was several feet in width,
and he could walk erect upon it without danger. It extended for nearly
fifty yards along the face of the cliff, and was of nearly equal breadth
all the way.
Karl proceeded along it from one end to the other, at every step or two
stopping and looking downward.
But his examination ended in disappointment. There was no path leading
from it, at all practicable for any other creature than a cat, or some
other animal with crooked claws,--at all events, there was no place
where Karl himself could get down,--and he turned to go back to the
point where he had ascended, with a feeling of apprehension that he was
not going to get down at all!
On proceeding along the ledge, he had not yet bent his eyes upon the
cliff that rose behind,--his attention being altogether occupied with
the part that lay below; on going back, however, his eye ranged more
freely, and he now noticed a dark hole in the rock, a few feet above the
level of the ledge. This hole was about as big as an ordinary doorway,
and upon closer examination, Karl perceived that it was the mouth of a
cave. He noticed, moreover, that it appeared to grow wider beyond the
entrance, and was no doubt a cavern of large dimensions. He had no
further curiosity in relation to it; only that the reflection crossed
his mind that he might be compelled to pass the night there. This was
probable enough; unless, indeed, Ossaroo or Caspar should come in search
of him before nightfall, and relieve him from his elevated prison. But
it was just as likely they might not; for frequently one of the party
was out for hours together, without causing any uneasiness to the rest,
and it would be after night before they would feel any apprehension
about his absence. In the darkness, too, they might go in the wrong
direction to search for him, and might wander about through the woods a
long time before coming near the place where he was. He was in the very
farthest corner of the valley, and shut up in the ravine, with rocks and
high woods between him and them; and thus his shouts could not be heard
at any great distance.
These were the reflections that passed through his mind, as he returned
along the ledge to the point where he had climbed up. He did not enter
the cave to examine it--as he would certainly have done under other
circumstances--but his curiosity was now controlled by the apprehension
he very naturally felt in the dilemma in which he was placed.
That he could do nothing to free himself from it was clear enough to his
mind. He must wait, therefore, until either Caspar came, or Ossaroo, or
both; and, summoning all his patience, he sat down upon the ledge and
waited.
Of course, he did not wait in silence. He had the sense to know, that
if he kept silent they might not find him at all; and therefore, at
short intervals, he rose to his feet, and shouted at the top of his
voice, causing the cliffs to reverberate in numberless echoes.
The echoes, however, were the only replies he received. Loud as were
his cries, they were not heard either by Caspar or Ossaroo.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.
THE TIBET BEAR.
For full two hours sat Karl, chewing the cud of impatience. As yet the
feeling he experienced was only one of impatience, mingled with a
considerable amount of chagrin at being in such a scrape, and having got
himself into it in so simple a manner. He had no very painful
apprehensions about the result--since he made quite sure that his
companions would come to his relief in the end. They might not find him
that day, or that night, and he might have to remain all night upon the
ledge. This, however, would be no great hardship. He might suffer a
little from want of his supper, and he might have to sleep in the cave,
but what of that to one so inured to hunger, and to sleeping in the open
air, as he was? Even had there been no shelter, he could have stretched
himself along the ledge, and slept that way without much minding it.
Certainly in the morning the others would be after him, his shouts would
guide them to the spot, and then it would be all right again.
Such was the reasoning of Karl, and therefore, knowing that he had but
little to fear, he was not acutely anxious.
While he was thus comfortably communing with himself, however, his eyes
rested upon an object that rendered him anxious enough--nay, more than
anxious--badly frightened, would be nearer the words.
His ears first guided him to this new cause of alarm. While sitting on
the ledge, and not saying a word, he heard a sound that resembled the
snort of a jackass, just as one commences to bray.
There were some bushes growing at no great distance from the bottom of
the cliff, and it was from the midst of these bushes the sound appeared
to proceed.
After hearing the snort, Karl kept both eyes and ears acutely bent--the
former fixed upon the bushes; and in a minute after, the sound was
repeated, though he did not see the creature that uttered it. He saw,
however, by the motion of the twigs, that something was passing through
the thicket; and the loud snapping of dead sticks, and crackling of
branches, proved that it was an animal of great weight and dimensions.
Karl was not long in doubt as to the dimensions; for the instant after
he beheld the body of a large beast emerging from the thicket, and
moving out into the open ground.
It required no skill to tell what sort of animal it was--a bear beyond
the probability of a doubt--and yet it was of a species that Karl had
never before seen. But there is such a similitude between the members
of the Bruin tribe, that he who has ever seen one--and who has not?--
will easily recognise all the rest of the family.
The one which now presented itself to the observation of our
plant-hunter, was of medium size--that is, less than the great polar
bear, or the "grizzly" of the Rocky Mountains, but larger than the
Bornean species, or the sun-bear of the Malays. It was scarce so large
as the singular sloth-bear, which they had encountered near the foot of
the mountains, and with which they had had such a ludicrous adventure.
It was but little less, however, than the "sloth," and, like it, was of
a deep black colour, though its hair was neither so long nor shaggy.
Like the latter, too, its under lip was whitish, with a white mark on
its throat resembling a Y--the stem of the letter being placed upon the
middle of its breast, and the fork passing up in front of the
shoulders--for this is a mark which belongs to several species of
Southern Asiatic bears. In other respects the bear in question was
peculiar. It had a neck remarkably thick; a flattened head, with the
forehead and muzzle forming almost a straight line--and on this account
distinguishing it from the sloth-bear, in which the forehead rises
almost abruptly from the line of the muzzle. Its ears were of large
size--its body compact, supported on stout but clumsy limbs--and its
feet armed with claws of moderate dimensions, and blunted at their
points. Such were the markings of the bear now before the eyes of Karl;
and although he had never seen one of the kind before, he had read of
one; and by these peculiarities he was able to recognise the species.
It was the Tibet bear (_Ursus Tibetanus_)--more commonly styled by
closet-naturalists _Helarctos Tibetanus_--one of the bears that inhabit
the high table-lands of Tibet, and is supposed to range through the
whole of the Upper Himalayas, since it has been found in Nepaul and
elsewhere.
I have said that Karl was badly frightened with this black apparition.
This was at the first sight of it, as it came out of the bushes; and,
indeed, it is not at all surprising that he was so. There is no one,--
not even a bear-hunter himself,--who can encounter a bear upon the
bear's own ground without feeling a little trembling of the nerves; but
when it is remembered that Karl was quite unarmed--for he had left his
gun at the bottom of the cliff--it will not be wondered at, that the
appearance of the bear caused him alarm.
His fright, however, was of short duration; and for two reasons. First,
he remembered having read that this species of bear is of a harmless
disposition; that it is not carnivorous, but feeds only on fruits, and
in no instance has it been known to attack man unless when wounded or
assailed. Then, of course, it will defend itself, as many animals will
do that are otherwise gentle and harmless.
Another reason why he soon got over his fright was, that he chanced to
be in such a position that it was not likely the bear would attempt to
come near him. He was quite out of its way; and if he only kept
silent--which he would be careful to do--the animal might not even look
in that direction, but go off again without perceiving him. In hope
that such would be the result, Karl sat without stirring, and kept as
quiet as a mouse.
But Karl chanced to be building his hopes on a false foundation. The
bear had no notion of going off as it had come--it had other designs
altogether; and, after shuffling about over the stones--now and then
uttering the same asinine snort that had first called attention to it--
it marched straight forward to the cliff, just under the spot where Karl
was seated. Then, rearing its body erect, and placing its fore-paws
against the rock, it looked up into the face of the astonished
plant-hunter!
CHAPTER FORTY NINE.
AN AWKWARD DESCENT.
It is probable that the bear at this moment was quite as much astonished
as Karl, though perhaps not so badly scared. It must have felt alarm
though, for on seeing him it permitted its paws to drop suddenly to the
ground, and appeared for a moment undecided as to whether it should turn
tail and run back into the thicket. It did actually make a turn or two,
growling and looking up; and then, as if it had got over its surprise,
and was no longer afraid, it once more approached the cliff, and planted
itself to spring upward.
On first perceiving the bear, Karl had been seated upon the ledge, just
above the path by which he had climbed up, and it was by this path that
the animal was threatening to ascend. On perceiving its intention, Karl
sprang to his feet, and set to dancing about on the ledge, uncertain
what to do, or whither to flee.
As to opposing the ascent of the bear, he did not think of such a thing.
He had no weapons,--not even a knife; and had he attempted to wrestle
with it, trusting to his strength alone, he very well knew that the
struggle would end either by his being hugged to death in the arms of
the great brute, or pushed off the ledge and crushed to atoms in the
fall. He had no idea, therefore, of standing on the defence--he thought
only of retreating.
But how was he to retreat? whither was he to run? It would be of little
use going along the ledge, since the bear could easily follow him; and
if the animal meant to attack him, he might as well keep his ground and
receive the assault where he stood.
Karl was still hesitating what to do, and the bear had commenced
crawling up, when he chanced to remember the cave. This suggested an
idea. Perhaps he might conceal himself in the cave?
He had no time to consider whether or not this would be a prudent step.
If he hesitated any longer, the great black brute would lay hold of him
to a certainty; and therefore, without reflecting another moment, he ran
off along the ledge.
On arriving opposite the cave, he turned into it; and, groping his way
for a pace or two, squatted down near the entrance.
Fortunately for him he had, upon entering, kept well to one side before
he squatted. He had done so, in order to place himself under the
darkness. Had he remained in the central part of the "entrance-hall,"
he would either have been run over by the bear, or gripped between its
huge paws, before he could have pronounced those two famous words, "Jack
Robinson." As it was, he had scarcely crouched down, when the bear
entered, still snorting and growling, and rushed past him up the cave.
It made no stop near the entrance, but kept right on, until, from the
noises it continued to make, Karl could tell that it had gone a good way
into the interior of the cavern.
It was now a question with the plant-hunter what course he should
follow--whether remain where he was, or pop out again upon the ledge?
Certainly his present situation afforded him no security. Should the
bear return to the attack, he could not expect it to pass without
perceiving him. He knew that these animals can see in a very obscure
light--almost in the midst of darkness; and therefore he would be seen,
or if not seen, he would be scented, which was equally as bad.
It was no use, then, remaining inside; and although he might be no safer
outside, he determined to go thither. At all events, he would have
light around him, and could see his antagonist before being attacked;
while the thought of being assailed in the cave, and hugged to death by
an unseen enemy in the darkness, had something awful and horrible in it.
If he were to be destroyed in this way, neither Caspar nor Ossaroo
might ever know what had become of him--his bones might lie in that dark
cavern never to be discovered by human eyes: it was a fearful
apprehension!
Karl could not bear it; and, rising half erect, he rushed out into the
light.
He did not pause by the entrance of the cave, but ran back along the
shelf to the point where the path led up. Here he stopped, and for
several minutes stood--now looking anxiously back towards the cavern's
mouth, and now as anxiously casting his glances down the giddy path that
conducted to the bottom of the cliff.
Had Karl known the true disposition of the Tibet bear, or the design of
the particular one he had thus encountered, he would not have been so
badly frightened. In truth, the bear was as much disinclined to an
encounter as he, at a loss, no doubt, to make out the character of its
adversary. It was probable that Karl himself was the first human biped
the animal had ever set eyes on; and, not knowing the strength of such a
strange creature, it was willing enough to give him a wide berth,
provided he would reciprocate the civility!
The bear, in fact, was only rushing to its cave; perhaps to join its
mate there, or defend its cubs, which it believed to be in danger, and
had no idea whatever of molesting the plant-hunter, as it afterwards
proved.
But Karl could not know this, and did not know it. He fancied all the
while that the bear was in pursuit of him; that, to attack him, it had
sprung up to the ledge; and that it had rushed past him into the cave,
thinking he had gone far in; that, as soon as it should reach the
interior, and find he was no longer there, it would come rushing out
again, and then--
It is well-known that one danger makes another seem less, and that
despair will often lend courage to cowards.
Karl was no coward, although in calm blood the descent of the cliff had
cowed him. But now that his blood was up, the danger of the descent
appeared less; and, partly inspired by this belief, and partly urged on
by the fear of Bruin reissuing from the cave, he determined once more to
attempt it.
In an instant he was on his knees, and letting himself over the edge of
the rock.
For the first length of himself, he succeeded beyond his expectations,
having found the steps below readily enough. He was gaining confidence,
and the belief that it would be all right yet, and that, in a few
seconds more, he would be at the bottom, where he could soon escape from
the bear by taking to a tree, or defend himself with his gun, which was
lying, ready loaded, on the ground. All the while, he kept his face
upward, except during the moments when it was necessary to glance below,
to discover the position of the steps.
No wonder he looked upward, with eyes full of anxiety. Should the bear
attack him now, a terrible fate would be his!
Still there were no signs of the animal, and Karl was gradually getting
lower and lower in his descent.
He was yet scarce half-way down, and full twenty feet were between his
heels and the ground, when he arrived at a point where he could find no
resting-place for his feet. He had found one upon a knob of rock; but
unfortunately it proved brittle and gave way, leaving him without any
thing broad enough to rest even his toe upon. He had already shifted
his hold with the hands; and was, therefore, compelled to support the
whole weight of his body by the strength of his arms!
This was a terrible situation; and unless he could immediately get a
rest for his feet, he must fall to the bottom of the cliff!
He struggled manfully; he spread out his toes as far as he could reach,
feeling the rock on both sides.
Its face appeared smooth as glass; there was nothing that offered
foothold; he believed that he was lost!
He tried to reach the notches above him; first with one hand, then with
the other. He could just touch, but not grasp them; he could not go up
again; he believed that he was lost!
His arms were dragged nearly out of joint; his strength was fast going;
he believed that he was lost!
Still he struggled on, with the tenacity by which youth clings to life;
he hung on, though certain that every moment would be his last.
He heard voices from below--shouts of encouragement--cries of "Hold on,
Karl! Hold on!"
He knew the voices, and who uttered them. They had come too late; a
weak scream was all the answer he could make.
It was the last effort of his strength. Simultaneous with its
utterance, his hands relaxed their hold, and he fell backward from the
cliff!
CHAPTER FIFTY.
A MYSTERIOUS MONSTER.
Karl, poor fellow! was killed, of course; crushed to death upon the
rocks; mangled--
Stay--not so fast, reader! Karl was not killed; not even hurt! He was
no more damaged by his tall, than if he had only tumbled from a chair,
or rolled from a fashionable couch upon the carpet of a drawing-room!
How could this be? you will exclaim. A fall of sheer twenty feet, and
upon loose rocks, too! How could he escape being killed, or, at the
very least, badly bruised and cut?
But there was neither bruise nor scratch upon his body; and, the moment
after he had relinquished his hold, he might have been seen standing by
the bottom of the cliff, sound in limb, though sadly out of wind, and
with his strength altogether exhausted.
Let us have no mystery about the matter. I shall at once tell you how
he escaped.
Caspar and Ossaroo, having expected him to return at an early hour, took
it into their heads, from his long absence, that something might be
wrong; and, therefore, sallied forth in search of him. They might not
have found him so readily but for Fritz. The dog had guided them on his
trail, so that no time had been lost in scouring the valley. On the
contrary, they had come almost direct from the hut to the ravine where
he was found.