The Plant Hunters: Adventures Among the Himalaya Mountains

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

The Plant Hunters, by Captain Mayne Reid.

The Plant Hunters--by Captain Mayne Reid

CHAPTER ONE.

THE PLANT-HUNTER.

"A Plant-Hunter! what is that?

"We have heard of fox-hunters, of deer-hunters, of bear and buffalo-hunters, of lion-hunters, and of `boy-hunters;' of a plant-hunter never.

"Stay! Truffles are plants. Dogs are used in finding them; and the collector of these is termed a truffle-hunter. Perhaps this is what the Captain means?"

No, my boy reader. Something very different from that. My plant-hunter is no fungus-digger. His occupation is of a nobler kind than contributing merely to the capricious palate of the gourmand. To his labours the whole civilised world is indebted--yourself among the rest. Yes, you owe him gratitude for many a bright joy. For the varied sheen of your garden you are indebted to him. The gorgeous dahlia that nods over the flower-bed--the brilliant peony that sparkles on the parterre-- the lovely camelia that greets you in the greenhouse,--the kalmias, the azaleas, the rhododendrons, the starry jessamines, the gerania, and a thousand other floral beauties, are, one and all of them, the gifts of the plant-hunter. By his agency England--cold cloudy England--has become a garden of flowers, more varied in species and brighter in bloom than those that blossomed in the famed valley of Cashmere. Many of the noble trees that lend grace to our English landscape,--most of the beautiful shrubs that adorn our villas, and gladden the prospect from our cottage-windows, are the produce of his industry. But for him, many fruits, and vegetables, and roots, and berries, that garnish your table at dinner and dessert, you might never have tasted. But for him these delicacies might never have reached your lips. A good word, then, for the plant-hunter!

And now, boy reader, in all seriousness I shall tell you what I mean by a "plant-hunter." I mean a person who devotes all his time and labour to the collection of rare plants and flowers--in short, one who makes this occupation his _profession_. These are not simply "botanists"-- though botanical knowledge they must needs possess--but, rather, what has hitherto been termed "botanical collectors."

Though these men may not stand high in the eyes of the scientific world--though the closet-systematist may affect to underrate their calling, I dare boldly affirm that the humblest of their class has done more service to the human race than even the great Linnaeus himself. They are, indeed, the botanists of true value, who have not only imparted to us a knowledge of the world's vegetation, but have brought its rarest forms before our very eyes--have placed its brightest flowers under our very noses, as it were--flowers, that but for them had been still "blushing unseen," and "wasting their sweetness on the desert air."

My young reader, do not imagine that I have any desire to underrate the merits of the scientific botanist. No, nothing of the sort. I am only desirous of bringing into the foreground a class of men whose services in my opinion the world has not yet sufficiently acknowledged--I mean the botanical collectors--the _plant-hunters_.

It is just possible that you never dreamt of the existence of such a profession or calling, and yet from the earliest historic times there have been men who followed it. There were plant-collectors in the days of Pliny, who furnished the gardens of Herculaneum and Pompeii; there were plant-collectors employed by the wealthy mandarins of China, by the royal sybarites of Delhi and Cashmere, at a time when our semi-barbarous ancestors were contented with the wild flowers of their native woods. But even in England the calling of the plant-hunter is far from being one of recent origin. It dates as early as the discovery and colonisation of America; and the names of the Tradescants, the Bartrams, and the Catesbys--true plant-hunters--are among the most respected in the botanical world. To them we are indebted for our tulip-trees, our magnolias, our maples, our robinias, our western _platanus_, and a host of other noble trees, that already share the forest, and contest with our native species, the right to our soil.

At no period of the world has the number of plant-hunters been so great as at present. Will you believe it, hundreds of men are engaged in this noble and useful calling? Among them may be found representatives of all the nations of Europe--Germans in greatest number; but there are Swedes and Russ as well, Danes and Britons, Frenchmen, Spaniards, and Portuguese, Swiss and Italians. They may be found pursuing their avocation in every corner of the world--through the sequestered passes of the Rocky Mountains, upon the pathless prairies, in the deep barrancas of the Andes, amid the tangled forests of the Amazon and the Orinoco, on the steppes of Siberia, in the glacier valleys of the Himalaya--everywhere--everywhere amid wild and savage scenes, where the untrodden and the unknown invite to fresh discoveries in the world of vegetation. Wandering on with eager eyes, scanning with scrutiny every leaf and flower--toiling over hill and dale--climbing the steep cliff-- wading the dank morass or the rapid river--threading his path through thorny thicket, through "chapparal" and "jungle"--sleeping in the open air--hungering, thirsting, risking life amidst wild beasts, and wilder men,--such are a few of the trials that chequer the life of the plant-hunter.

From what motive, you will ask, do men choose to undergo such hardships and dangers?

The motives are various. Some are lured on by the pure love of botanical science; others by a fondness for travel. Still others are the _employes_ of regal or noble patrons--of high-born botanical amateurs. Not a few are the emissaries of public gardens and arboretums; and yet another few--perchance of humbler names and more limited means, though not less zealous in their well-beloved calling,-- are collectors for the "nursery."

Yes; you will no doubt be astonished to hear that the plain "seedsman" at the town end, who sells you your roots and bulbs and seedlings, keeps in his pay a staff of plant-hunters--men of botanical skill, who traverse the whole globe in search of new plants and flowers, that may gratify the heart and gladden the eyes of the lovers of floral beauty.

Need I say that the lives of such men are fraught with adventures and hair-breadth perils? You shall judge for yourself when I have narrated to you a few chapters from the experience of a young Bavarian botanist,--Karl Linden--while engaged in a _plant-hunting_ expedition to the Alps of India--the stupendous mountains of the Himalaya.

CHAPTER TWO.

KARL LINDEN.

Karl Linden was a native of Upper Bavaria, near the Tyrolese frontier. Not high-born, for his father was a gardener; but, what is of more importance in modern days, well brought up and well educated. A gardener's son may still be a gentleman; and so may a gardener himself, for that matter, or he may not. There are many senses to this much-abused title. It so happens, that young Linden was a gentleman in the _true_ sense; that is, he was possessed of a feeling heart, a nice sense of honesty and honour, and was, notwithstanding his humble lineage, an educated and accomplished youth. His father, the gardener, was a man of ambitious spirit, though quite unlettered; and, having himself often experienced the disadvantage of this condition, he resolved that his son never should.

In most parts of Germany, education is considered a thing of value, and is eagerly sought after. It is provided liberally for all classes; and the Germans, as a people, are perhaps the best educated in the world. It is partly owing to this fact, and partly to their energetic industry, that they exercise so great an influence in the affairs of the world; in the arts and sciences, in music, painting, and the study of nature-- above all, in a knowledge of botany. I cannot believe that the Germans stand highest as an _intellectual_ race, but only as an _educated_ people. What a pity I could not add, that they are a free people; but in that their condition differs less from our own than we fondly imagine.

At nineteen years of age, young Karl Linden did not consider them as free as they deserved to be. He was then a student in one of the universities; and, naturally enough, had imbibed those principles of patriotic liberty, that, in 1848, were stirring in the German heart.

He did more than advocate his faith by empty words. Joined with his college compatriots, he endeavoured to have it carried into practice; and he was one of those brave students, who, in 1848, gave freedom to Baden and Bavaria.

But the hydra league of crowned heads was too strong to be so easily broken; and, among other youthful patriots, our hero was forced to flee from his native land.

An exile in London--"a refugee," as it is termed--he scarce knew what to do. His parent was too poor to send him money for his support. Besides, his father was not over well pleased with him. The old man was one of those who still clung to a belief in the divine right of kings, and was contented with the "powers that be," no matter how tyrannical they be. He was angry with Karl, for having made a fool of himself by turning patriot, or "rebel," as it pleases crowned monsters to term it. He had intended him for better things; a secretary to some great noble, a post in the Custom-house, or, may be, a commission in the bodyguard of some petty tyrant. Any of these would have fulfilled the ambitious hopes of Karl's father. The latter, therefore, was displeased with the conduct of his son. Karl had no hope from home, at least until the anger of the old man should die out.

What was the young refugee to do? He found English hospitality cold enough. He was free enough; that is, to wander the streets and beg.

Fortunately, he bethought him of a resource. At intervals, during his life, he had aided his father in the occupation of gardening. He could dig, plant, and sow. He could prune trees, and propagate flowers to perfection. He understood the management of the greenhouse and hothouse, the cold-pit and the forcing-pit; nay, more--he understood the names and nature of most of the plants that are cultivated in European countries; in other words, he was a botanist. His early opportunities in the garden of a great noble, where his father was superintendent, had given him this knowledge; and, having a taste for the thing, he had made botany a study.

If he could do no better, he might take a hand in a garden, or a nursery, or some such place. That would be better than wandering idly about the streets of the metropolis, and half-starving in the midst of its profuse plenty.

With such ideas in his mind, the young refugee presented himself at the gate of one of the magnificent "nurseries," in which great London abounds. He told his story; he was employed.

It was not long before the intelligent and enterprising proprietor of the establishment discovered the botanical knowledge of his German _protege_. He wanted just such a man. He had "plant-hunters" in other parts of the world; in North and South America, in Africa, in Australia. He wanted a collector for India; he wanted to enrich his stock from the flora of the Himalayas, just then coming into popular celebrity, on account of the magnificent forms of vegetation discovered there, by the great "plant-hunters" Boyle and Hooker.

The splendid pine-trees, arums, and screw-pines; the varied species of bambusa, the grand magnolias and rhododendrons, which grow so profusely in the Himalaya valleys, had been described, and many of them introduced into European gardens. These plants were therefore the rage; and, consequently, the _desiderata_ of the nurseryman.

What rendered them still more interesting and valuable was, that many of those beautiful exotics would bear the open air of high latitudes, on account of the elevated region of their native habitat possessing a similarity of temperature and climate to that of northern Europe.

More than one "botanical collector" was at this time despatched to explore the chain of the Indian Alps, whose vast extent offered scope enough for all.

Among the number of these plant-hunters, then, was our hero, Karl Linden.

CHAPTER THREE.

CASPAR, OSSAROO, AND FRITZ.

An English ship carried the plant-hunter to Calcutta, and his own good legs carried him to the foot of the Himalaya Mountains. He might have travelled there in many other ways--for perhaps in no country in the world are there so many modes of travelling as in India. Elephants, camels, horses, asses, mules, ponies, buffaloes, oxen, zebus, yaks, and men are all made use of to transport the traveller from place to place. Even dogs, goats, and sheep, are trained as beasts of burden!

Had Karl Linden been a Government emissary, or the _employe_ of some regal patron, he would very likely have travelled in grand style--either upon an elephant in a sumptuous howdah, or in a palanquin with relays of bearers, and a host of coolies to answer to his call.

As it was, he had no money to throw away in such a foolish manner. It was not _public_ money he was spending, but that of private enterprise, and his means were necessarily limited. He was not the less likely to accomplish the object for which he had been sent out. Many a vast and pompous expedition has gone forth regardless either of expense or waste--ay, many a one that has returned without having accomplished the object intended. "Too many cooks spoil the dinner," is a familiar old adage, very applicable to exploring expeditions; and it is a question, whether unaided individual enterprise has not effected more in the way of scientific and geographical discovery, than has been done by the more noisy demonstrations of governments. At all events, it is certain enough, that the exploring expeditions to which we are most indebted for our geognostic knowledge are those that have been fitted out with the greatest economy. As an example, I may point to the tracing of the northern coasts of America--which, after costing enormous sums of money, and the lives of many brave men, has been done, after all, by the Hudson's Bay Company with a simple boat's crew, and at an expense, that would not have franked one of our grand Arctic exploring expeditions for a week!

I might point to the economic mode by which the Americans are laying open their whole continent--a _single_ officer having lately been sent to descend the Amazon alone, and explore its extensive valley from the Andes to the Atlantic. This was performed, and a copious report delivered to the American government and to the world at an expense of a few hundred dollars; whereas an English exploration of similar importance would have cost some thousands of pounds, with perhaps a much scantier return, for the outlay.

As with the American explorer, so was it with our plant-hunter. There was no expensive equipment or crowd of idle attendants. He reached the Himalayas on foot, and on foot he had resolved to climb their vast slopes and traverse their rugged valleys.

But Karl Linden was not alone. Far from it. He was in company with him he held dearest of all others in the world--his only brother. Yes, the stout youth by his side is his brother Caspar, who had joined him in his exile, and now shares the labours and perils of his expedition. There is no great difference between them in point of size, though Caspar is two years the younger. But Caspar's strength has not been wasted by too much study. He has never been penned up within the walls of a college or a city; and, fresh from his native hills, his stout build and bright ruddy cheek present a contrast to the thinner form and paler visage of the student.

Their costumes are in keeping with their looks. That of Karl exhibits the sombre hue of the man of learning, while on his head he wears the proscribed "Hecker hat." Caspar's dress is of a more lively style, and consists of a frock of Tyrolese green, a cap of the same colour, with long projecting peak, over-alls of blue velveteen, and Blucher boots.

Both carry guns, with the usual accoutrements of sportsmen. Caspar's gun is a double-barrelled fowling-piece;--while that of Karl is a rifle of the species known as a "Swiss yager."

A true hunter is Caspar, and although still but a boy, he has often followed the chamois in its dizzy path among his native mountains. Of letters he knows little, for Caspar has not been much to school; but in matters of hunter-craft he is well skilled. A brave and cheerful youth is Caspar--foot-free and untiring--and Karl could not have found in all India a better assistant.

But there is still another individual in the train of the plant-hunter-- the guide, _Ossaroo_. It would take pages to describe Ossaroo; and he is worthy of a full description: but we shall leave him to be known by his deeds. Suffice it to say, that Ossaroo is a Hindoo of handsome proportions, with his swarth complexion, large beautiful eyes, and luxuriant black hair, which characterise his race. He is by caste a "shikarree," or hunter, and is not only so by hereditary descent, but he is one of the noted "mighty hunters" in the province to which he belongs. Far and wide is his name known--for Ossaroo possesses, what is somewhat rare among his indolent countrymen, an energy of mind, combined with strength and activity of body, that would have given him distinction anywhere; but among a people where such qualities are extremely rare, Ossaroo is of course a hunter-hero--the Nimrod of his district.

Ossaroo's costume and equipments differ entirely from those of his fellow-travellers. A white cotton tunic, and wide trousers, sandals, a scarlet sash around the waist, a check shawl upon the head, a light spear in the hand, a bamboo bow, a quiver of arrows on his back, a long knife stuck behind the sash, a shoulder-belt sustaining a pouch, with various trinket-like implements suspended over his breast. Such is the _coup d'oeil_ presented by the shikarree.

Ossaroo had never in his life climbed the mighty Himalayas. He was a native of the hot plains--a hunter of the jungles--but for all that the botanist had engaged him for a _guide_. It was not so much a guide to enable them to find their route, as one who could assist them in their daily duties, who knew the way of life peculiar to this part of the world, who knew how to _keep house in, the open air_, Ossaroo was the very man of all others.

Moreover the expedition was just to his mind. He had long gazed upon the gigantic Himalaya from the distant plains--he had looked upon its domes and peaks glittering white in the robes of eternal snow, and had often desired to make a hunting excursion thither. But no good opportunity had presented itself, although through all his life he had lived within sight of those stupendous peaks. He, therefore, joyfully accepted the offer of the young botanist, and became "hunter and guide" to the expedition.

There was still another of the hunter-race in that company--one as much addicted to the chase as either Ossaroo or Caspar. This was a quadruped as tall as a mastiff dog, but whose black-and-tan colour and long pendulous ears bespoke him of a different race--the race of the hound. He was, in truth, a splendid hound, whose heavy jaws had ere now dragged to the ground many a red stag, and many a wild Bavarian boar. A dog to be valued was Fritz, and highly did his master esteem him. Caspar was that master. Caspar would not have exchanged Fritz for the choicest elephant in all India.

CHAPTER FOUR.

IS IT BLOOD?

Behold the plant-hunter and his little party _en route_!

It was the same day on which they had engaged the guide Ossaroo, and this was their first journey together. Each carried his knapsack and blanket strapped to his back--and as each was to be his own travelling attendant, there was not much extra baggage. Ossaroo was some paces in the advance, and Karl and Caspar habitually walked side by side, where the nature of the path would permit. Fritz usually trotted along in the rear, though he sometimes busked up to the side of the guide, as if by instinct he recognised the born hunter. Although the acquaintance was but a short one, already had Fritz become a favourite with the "shikarree."

As they trudged along, the attention of Caspar was drawn to some red spots that appeared at intervals upon the path. It was a smooth road, and a very small object could be discerned upon it. The spots had all the appearance of blood-spots, as if quite freshly dropped!

"Blood it is," remarked Karl, who was also observing the spots.

"I wonder whether it's been a man or a beast," said Caspar, after an interval.

"Well, brother," rejoined Karl, "I think it must have been a beast, and a pretty large one too; I have been noticing it for more than a mile, and the quantity of blood I've observed would have emptied the veins of a giant. I fancy it must have been an elephant that has been bleeding."

"But there's no trace of an elephant," replied Caspar; "at least no tracks that are fresh; and this blood appears to be quite newly spilled."

"You are right, Caspar," rejoined his brother.

"It cannot have been an elephant, nor a camel neither. What may it have been, I wonder?"

At this interrogatory both the boys directed their glances along the road, in the direction in which they were going, hoping to discover some explanation of the matter. There was no object before them as far as they could see except Ossaroo. The Hindoo alone was upon the road. The blood could not be from him--surely not? Such a loss of blood would have killed the shikarree long ago. So thought Karl and Caspar.

They had fixed their eyes, however, upon Ossaroo, and just at that moment they saw him lean his head to one side, as though he had spat upon the ground. They marked the spot, and what was their astonishment on coming up and discovering upon the road another red spot exactly like those they had been noticing. Beyond a doubt Ossaroo was spitting blood!

To make sure, they watched him a little longer, and about a hundred yards farther on they saw him repeat his red expectoration!

They became considerably alarmed for the life of their guide.

"Poor Ossaroo!" exclaimed they, "he cannot live much longer after the loss of so much blood!"

And as this remark was made, both ran forward calling upon him to stop.

The guide wheeled round, and halted, wondering what was the matter. He quickly unslung his bow and placed an arrow to the string, fancying that they were attacked by some enemy. The hound, too, catching the alarm, came scampering up, and was soon upon the ground.

"What's the matter, Ossaroo?" demanded Karl and Caspar in a breath.

"Matter, Sahibs! me knowee noting--matter."

"But what ails you? are you ill?"

"No, Sahibs! me not ill--why my lords askee?"

"But this blood? See?"

They pointed to the red saliva on the road.

At this the shikarree burst out laughing, still further perplexing his interrogators. His laughter was not intended to be disrespectful to the young "Sahibs," only that he was unable to restrain himself on perceiving the mistake they had made.

"Pawnee, Sahibs," said he, drawing from his pouch a small roll like a cartridge of tobacco-leaves, and taking a bite off the end of it, to convince them that it was it--the "pawn"--which had imparted to his saliva such a peculiar colour.

The boys at once comprehended the nature of their mistake. The roll shown them by Ossaroo was the celebrated _betel_; and Ossaroo himself was a "betel-chewer," in common with many millions of his countrymen, and still more millions of the natives of Assam, Burmah, Siam, China, Cochin China, Malacca, the Philippine, and other islands of the great Indian Archipelago.

Of course the boys were now curious to know what the betel was, and the shikarree proceeded to give them full information about this curious commodity.

The "betel," or "pawn" as it is called by the Hindoos, is a compound substance, and its component parts are a leaf, a nut, and some quicklime. The leaf is taken from an evergreen shrub, which is cultivated in India for this very purpose. Ossaroo stated that it is usually cultivated under a shed made of bamboos, and wattled all around the sides to exclude the strong rays of the sun. The plant requires heat and a damp atmosphere, but exposure to the sun or dry winds would wither it, and destroy the flavour and pungency of the leaf. It requires great care in the cultivation, and every day a man enters the shed by a little door and carefully cleans the plants. The shed where it grows is usually a favourite lurking-place for poisonous snakes, and this diurnal visit of the betel-grower to his crop is rather a dangerous business; but the article is so profitable, and the mature crop yields such a fine price, that both the labour and the danger are disregarded. Ossaroo chanced to have some of the leaves in his pouch still in an entire state. He only knew them as "pawn-leaves," but the botanist at once recognised a rare hothouse plant, belonging to the pepper tribe, _Piperacea_. It is in fact a species of _Piper_, the _Piper-betel_, very closely allied to the climbing shrub which produces the common black-pepper of commerce, and having deep green oval and sharply-pointed leaves of very similar appearance to the leaves of the latter. Another species called _Piper siriboa_ is also cultivated for the same purpose. So much for one of the component parts of this singular Oriental "quid."

"Now," continued Ossaroo, facing to one side of the path and pointing upwards, "if Sahibs lookee up, dey see de pawn-nut."

The boys looked as directed, and beheld with interest a grove of noble palms, each of them rising to the height of fifty feet, with a smooth cylindrical shank, and a beautiful tuft of pinnated leaves at the top. These leaves were full two yards in breadth, by several in length. Even the pinnae, or leaflets, were each over a yard long. Just below where the leaves grew out from the stem, a large bunch of nuts of a reddish orange colour, and each as big as a hen's egg, hung downward. These were the famous _betel-nuts_, so long recorded in the books of Oriental travellers. Karl recognised the tree as the _Areca catechu_, or betel-nut palm--by many considered the most beautiful palm of India.

Of the same genus _Areca_ there are two other known species, one also a native of India, the other an American palm, and even a still more celebrated tree than the betel-nut, for it is no other than the great "cabbage-palm" of the West Indies (_Areca oleracea_). This last tree grows to the height of two hundred feet, with a trunk only seven inches in diameter! This beautiful shaft is often cut down for the sake of the young heart-leaves near the top, that when dressed are eaten as a substitute for cabbage.

Ossaroo showed his young masters how the betel was prepared for chewing. The leaves of the betel pepper are first spread out. Upon these a layer of lime is placed, moistened so as to keep it in its place. The betel-nut is then cut into very thin slices, and laid on top; and the whole is rolled up like a cheroot, and deposited with other similar rolls in a neat case of bamboo--to be taken out whenever required for chewing.

The nut is not eatable alone. Its flavour is too pungent, and too highly astringent on account of the tannin it contains; but along with the pepper-leaf and the lime, it becomes milder and more pleasant. Withal, it is too acrid for a European palate, and produces intoxication in those not used to it. An old betel-eater like Ossaroo does not feel these effects, and would smile at the idea of getting "tipsy" upon pawn.

A singular peculiarity of the betel-nut is that of its staining the saliva of a deep red colour, so as to resemble blood. Ossaroo, who possessed a large share of intelligence, and who had travelled to the great city of Calcutta and other parts of India, narrated a good anecdote connected with this fact. The substance of his relation was as follows:--

A young doctor, fresh from Europe and from the university, had arrived in one of the Indian cities in a big ship. The morning after his arrival he was walking out on the public road near the suburbs, when he chanced to meet a young native girl who appeared to be spitting blood. The doctor turned and followed the girl, who continued to spit blood at nearly every step she took! He became alarmed, thinking the poor girl could not live another hour, and following her home to her house, announced to her parents who he was, and assured them that, from the symptoms he had observed, their daughter had not many minutes to live! Her parents in their turn grew alarmed, as also did the girl herself-- for the skill of a great Sahib doctor was not to be doubted. The priest was sent for, but before he could arrive the young girl _actually died_.

Now it was from _fear_ that the poor girl had died, and it was the doctor who had _frightened_ her to death! but neither parents, nor priest, nor the doctor himself, knew this at the time. The doctor still believed the girl had died of blood-spitting, and the others remained in ignorance that it was upon this he had founded his prognosis.

The report of such a skilful physician soon spread abroad. Patients flocked to him, and he was in a fair way of rapidly accumulating a fortune. But ere long he had observed other people with symptoms of the same complaint which had caused the death of the poor girl, and had learnt also that these symptoms proceeded from chewing the betel-nut. Had he been discreet he would have kept his secret to himself; but, unluckily for his good fortune he was a talker, and could not help telling his companions the whole affair. He related it rather as a good joke--for, sad to say, the life of a poor native is held but too lightly by Europeans.

In the end, however, it proved no joke to the doctor. The parents of the girl came to understand the matter, as well as the public at large, and vengeance was vowed against him by the friends of the deceased. His patients deserted him as rapidly as they had come; and to get rid of the scandal, as well as to get out of the danger that surrounded him, he was but too glad to take passage home in the same ship that had brought him out.

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE FISHING-BIRDS.

Our travellers were following up one of the tributaries of the Burrampooter, which, rising in the Himalayas, and running southward joins the latter near its great bend. The plant-hunter designed to penetrate the Bholan Himalaya, because it had not yet been visited by any botanist, and its flora was reported to be very rich and varied. They were still passing through a settled part of the country, where fields of rice and sugar-cane, with groves of bananas, and various species of palm, were cultivated; some of the latter, as the cocoa-palm and betel, for their nuts, while others, as the large-leaved _Caryota_, for the wine which they produce.

The opium-poppy was also seen in cultivation, and mango-trees, and the great broad-leaved pawpaw, and black-pepper vines, with beautiful green leaves, trained against the stems of the palms. Jack-trees with their gigantic fruit, and figs, and nettle-trees, and the singular screw-pines, and euphorbias, and various species of the orange, were observed along the way.

The botanist saw many trees and plants, which he recognised as belonging to the Chinese flora, and he could not help remarking many other things that reminded him of what he had read about China. In fact, this part of India--for he was very near the borders of Assam--bears a considerable resemblance to China, in its natural productions, and even the customs of the people assimilate somewhat to those of the Celestial land. To make the resemblance more complete, the cultivation of the tea-plant has been introduced into this part of the world, and is now carried on with success.

But as our travellers proceeded, they became witnesses of a scene which brought China more vividly, before their minds than anything they had yet observed.

On rounding a clump of trees they came in view of a moderate-sized lake. On the water, near the edge of this lake, they perceived a man in a small light boat. He was standing up, and held in his hands a long slender pole, with which he was poling the boat out towards the centre of the lake.

Our travellers, Ossaroo excepted, uttered exclamations of surprise, and came at once to a halt.

What had caused them such astonishment? Not the boat, nor the man in it, nor yet the long bamboo pole. No. Such were common objects seen every day on their journey. It was none of these that had brought them to so sudden a stop, and caused them to stand wondering. It was the fact that along both sides of the boat--on the very edge or gunwale--was a row of large birds as big as geese. They were white-throated, white-breasted birds, mottled over the wings and back with dark brown, and having long crooked necks, large yellow bills, and broad tails rounded at the tips.

Although the man was standing up in his boat, and working his long pole over their heads, now on one side, then on the other, the birds appeared so tame that they did not heed his manoeuvres; and yet not one of them seemed to be fastened, but merely perched upon the edge of the skiff! Now and then one would stretch its long neck over the water, turn its head a little to one side, and then draw it in again, and resume its former attitude. Such tame birds had never been seen. No wonder the sight astonished the Bavarian boys. Both turned to Ossaroo for an explanation, who gave it by simply nodding towards the lake, and uttering the words--

"He go fishee."

"Ah! a fisherman!" rejoined the botanist.

"Yes, Sahib--you watchee, you see."

This was explanation enough. The boys now remembered having read of the Chinese mode of fishing with cormorants; and even at the distance at which they saw them, they could perceive that the birds on the boat were no other than cormorants. They were the species known as _Phalacrocorax Sinensis_; and although differing somewhat from the common cormorant, they possessed all the characteristic marks of the tribe,--the long flat body, the projecting breastbone, the beak curving downward at the tip, and the broad rounded tail.

Desirous of witnessing the birds at work, our travellers remained stationary near the shore of the lake. It was evident the fisherman had not yet commenced operations, and was only proceeding towards his ground.

After a short while he reached the centre of the lake; and then, laying aside his long bamboo, he turned his attention to the birds. He was heard giving them directions--just as a sportsman might do to his pointer or spaniel--and the next moment the great birds spread their shadowy wings, rose up from the edge of the boat, and after a short flight, one and all of them were seen plunging into the water.

Now our travellers beheld a singular scene. Here a bird was observed swimming along, with its keen eye scanning the crystal below--there the broad tail of another stood vertically upwards, the rest of its body hidden below the surface--yonder, a third was altogether submerged, the ripple alone showing where it had gone down--a fourth was seen struggling with a large fish that glittered in its pincer-like beak--a fifth had already risen with its scaly prey, and was bearing it to the boat; and thus the twelve birds were all actively engaged in the singular occupation to which they had been trained. The lake, that but the moment before lay tranquil and smooth as glass, was now covered with ripples, with circling eddies, with bubbles and foam, where the huge birds darted and plunged, and flapped about after their finny prey. It was in vain the fish endeavoured to escape them--for the cormorant can glide rapidly through the water, and swim beneath with as much rapidity as upon the surface. Its keel-like breastbone cuts the liquid element like an arrow, and with its strong wings for paddles, and its broad tail acting as a rudder, the bird is able to turn sharply round, or shoot forward with incredible rapidity.

A singular circumstance came under the observation of our travellers. When one of the birds had succeeded in bringing up a fish, which was larger than common, and too large for its captor to convey to the boat, several others might be seen rushing forward, to render assistance in carrying the fish aboard!

You will wonder that these creatures--whose food is the very prey they were capturing for their master--did not swallow some of the fish they were taking. In the case of the younger birds, and those not fully trained, such little thefts do occasionally occur. But in such cases the fisherman adopts a preventive precaution, by fastening a collar round the necks of the birds--taking care that it shall not descend to the thick part of the throat, where it might choke them. With well-trained old birds this precaution is unnecessary. No matter how hungry the latter may be, they bring all they "take" to their master, and are rewarded for their honesty by the smaller and more worthless fish that may have been caught.

Sometimes a bird becomes lazy, and sits upon the water without attempting to do his duty. In such cases, the fisherman approaches with his boat, stretches forward his bamboo, strikes with violence close to where the indolent individual is seated, and scolds him for his laziness. This treatment seldom fails in its effect; and the winged fisher, once more roused by the well-known voice of its master, goes to work with renewed energy.

For several hours this fishing scene is kept up, until the birds, becoming tired, are allowed to return and perch themselves on the boat; where their throat-straps are removed, and they are fed and caressed by their master.

Our travellers did not wait for this finale, but kept on their route; while Karl related to Caspar how that, not a great while ago, so late as the time of King Charles the First, the common cormorant of Europe was trained to fish in the same way in several European countries, and especially in Holland; and that, at the present day, in some parts of China, this mode of fishing is followed to so great an extent, that the markets of some of the largest cities are supplied with fish caught altogether by cormorants.

Certainly, no people exhibit more ingenuity in the training either of plants or animals, than do these same _oblique-eyed inhabitants_ of the Celestial Empire.

CHAPTER SIX.

THE TERAI.

In approaching any great chain of mountains from the sea-level, you will find a large tract of country consisting of elevated hills and deep ravines, intersected by rapid streams and torrents. This tract is more or less broad, in proportion to the grandeur of the mountain chain; and, in the case of mountains of the first class, it is usually from twenty to fifty miles in breadth. Such a tract of country lies along both sides of the great chain of the Andes in South and North America, and also marks the approach to the Rocky Mountains and the Alleghanies. It is well-known in Italy, under the Alps; and "Piedmont" is the French appellation for this sort of country, which is designated, in our language, by an equally appropriate phrase, "foot-hills."

The "Alps of India" are not without this geological peculiarity. Along their whole southern flank, facing the hills of Hindustan, extends a belt of foot-hills, often above fifty miles in breadth; and characterised by steep ascents, deep dales and ravines, rapid foaming torrents, difficult paths and passes, and, consequently, by wild and picturesque scenery.

The lower part of this belt--that is, the portion which lies contiguous to the Lot plains, is known to Europeans as the "Terai."

The Terai is an irregular strip, of from ten to thirty miles in width, and extends along the whole base of the Himalayas, from the Sutledge River, on the west, to Upper Assam. Its character is peculiar. It differs both from the plains of India and from the Himalaya Mountains, possessing a botany and zoology almost totally distinct from either. It differs from both, in the malarious and unhealthy character of its climate, which is one of the deadliest in the world. In consequence of this, the Terai is almost uninhabited; the few scattered settlements of half-savage Mechs, its only inhabitants, lying remote and distant from each other.

Most of the Terai is covered with forest and thick jungle; and, notwithstanding its unhealthy climate, it is the favourite haunt of the wild beasts peculiar to this part of the globe. The tiger, the Indian lion, the panther and leopard, the cheetah, and various other large _Jelidae_, roam through its jungly coverts; the wild elephant, the rhinoceros, and gyal, are found in its forests; and the sambur and axis browse on its grassy glades. Venomous snakes, hideous lizards, and bats, with the most beautiful of birds and butterflies, all find a home in the Terai.

Several days' marching carried our travellers beyond the more settled portions of the country, and within the borders of this wild, jungle-covered district. On the day they entered the Terai, they had made an early start of it; and, therefore, arrived at their camping-ground some hours before sunset. But the young botanist, filled with admiration at the many singular and novel forms of vegetation he saw around him, resolved to remain upon the ground for several days.

Our travellers had no tent. Such an incumbrance would have been troublesome to them, travelling, as they were, afoot. Indeed, all three had their full loads to carry, as much as they could well manage, without the additional weight of a tent. Each had his blanket, and various other _impedimenta_; but one and all of them had often slept without roof or canvas, and they could do so again.

At their present halting-place, they had no need for either. Nature had provided them with a cover quite equal to a canvas-tent. They had encamped under a canopy of thick foliage, the foliage of the _banyan_ tree.

Young reader, you have heard of the great banyan of India; that wonderful tree, whose branches, after spreading out from the main trunk, send down roots to the earth, and form fresh stems, until a space of ground is covered with a single tree, under whose shade a whole regiment of cavalry may bivouac, or a great public meeting be held! No doubt, you have read of such a tree, and have seen pictures of one? I need not, therefore, describe the banyan very particularly. Let me say, however, that it is a fig-tree; not the one that produces the eatable fig, of which you are so very fond, but another species of the same genus--the genus _Ficus_. Now, of this genus there are a great many species; as many, perhaps, as there are of any other genus of trees. Some of them are only creeping and climbing plants; adhering to rocks and the trunks of other trees, like vines or ivy. Others, like the banyan, are among the largest trees of the forest. They are chiefly confined to tropical countries, or hot regions lying on the borders of the tropics; and they are found in both hemispheres, that is, both in America and the Old World. Some splendid species belong also to Australia. All of them possess, more or less, the singular habit of throwing out roots from their branches, and forming new stems, like the banyan; and frequently they embrace other trees in such a manner, as to hide the trunks of the latter completely from view!

This curious spectacle was witnessed by our travellers where they had encamped. The banyan which they had chosen as their shelter was not one of the largest--being only a young tree, but out of its top rose the huge fan-shaped leaves of a palm-tree of the kind known as the palmyra palm (_Borassus flagelliformis_). No trunk of the palm-tree was visible; and had not Karl Linden been a botanist, and known something of the singular habit of the banyan, he would have been puzzled to account for this odd combination. Above spread the long radiating fronds of the palmyra directly out of the top of the trunk of the fig, and looking so distinct from the foliage of the latter as to form a very curious sight. The leaves of the banyan being ovate, and somewhat cordate or heart-shaped, of course presented quite a contrast to the large stiff fronds of the palmyra.

Now the puzzle was, how the palm got there. Naturally one would suppose that a seed of the palm had been deposited on the top of the banyan, and had there germinated and thrown out its fronds.

But how did the palm seed get to the top of the fig? Was it planted by the hand of man? or carried thither by a bird? It could not well have been by the latter mode--since the fruit of the palmyra is as large as a child's head, and each one of the three seeds it contains as big as a goose's egg!! No bird would be likely to carry about such a bulky thing as that. If there were only one palm-tree growing from the top of one banyan, it might be conjectured that some one had so planted it; but there are many such combinations of these trees met with in the forests of India, and also in districts entirely uninhabited. How then was this union of the two trees to be accounted for?

Of our three travellers Caspar alone was puzzled. Not so Karl and Ossaroo. Both were able to explain the matter, and Karl proceeded to offer the elucidation.

"The fact is," said the botanist, "that the palm has not grown out of the fig, but _vice versa_. The banyan is the true parasite. A bird-- wood-pigeon, or minobird, or tree-pheasant perhaps--has carried the berries of the fig-tree, and deposited them in the axil of the palmyra. This the smallest birds may easily do, since the fruit of the banyan is not larger than a diminutive cherry. Once in its place the seed has germinated, and sent its roots downward along the trunk of the palm until they have reached the ground. These roots have then flattened around the stem of the palm, until they have enveloped it completely, with the exception of the top, as you see. Afterwards the fig has thrown out lateral branches, until the whole has assumed the appearance of a banyan-tree with a fan-palm growing out of its trunk!"

This was the true explanation. Ossaroo added some remarks stating that the Hindoo people always regard such a union of the two trees with great veneration, and believe it to be a holy marriage instituted by Providence. For himself, Ossaroo--not being a very strict sectarian, nor much given to religion in any form, laughed at the superstition, and called it "humbug."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

TAPPING THE PALMYRA.

Almost the first thing done by Ossaroo after he had got relieved of his baggage was to climb the banyan. This he was able to do with ease, as the trunk, in consequence of the peculiar mode of its growth, was full of ridges and inequalities, and moreover Ossaroo could climb like a cat.

But what wanted he up the tree? Was he after the fruit? It could not be that, for the figs were not yet ripe, and even had they been quite mellow, they are but poor eating. Maybe he was going up for the nuts of the palmyra? No--it could not be that either, for these were not shaped. The great flower-spathe had not yet opened, and was only beginning to burst its green envelopes. Had the nuts been formed, and still in their young state, they would have afforded delicate eating. As already stated, the palmyra nuts grow to the size of a child's head. They are three-cornered, rounded off at the corners, consisting of a thick succulent yellowish rind, each containing three seeds as large as goose-eggs. It is the seeds that are eaten when young and pulpy; but if allowed to ripen, they become quite hard and blue-coloured, and are then insipid and uneatable. But it could not be the seed either which Ossaroo was after, since there were no seeds, nor nuts--only the flower, and that still hidden in its great spadix.

The boys watched Ossaroo narrowly. He had carried up with him a bamboo-joint which he had cut from a very thick cane. It was open at one end, and formed a vessel that would hold rather more than a quart. Another thing they had observed him to take with him; and that was a stone about as big as a paving-stone. Still another implement he carried up the tree--his long knife.

In a few seconds the shikarree had reached the top of the banyan; and clutching the great leaf-stalks of the palm, he climbed up among its huge fronds. Here he was observed to lay hold of the spathe of the flower, and bending it against the trunk, he commenced hammering away with the stone, evidently with the intention of crushing the young inflorescence. With a few blows he succeeded in doing this effectually. He then drew the knife from his scarf, and, with an adroit cut, detached the upper half of the flower-spike, which fell neglected to the ground.

The bamboo vessel was next brought into service. This he fixed on the spathe in such a manner that the incised end remained inside the hollow of the cane. Both flower-spike and cane were then tied to one of the leaf-stalks of the palm, so that the bamboo hung vertically bottom downward; and this arrangement having been completed, the shikarree flung down his hammering stone, replaced his knife under his belt, and defended from the tree.

"Now, Sahibs," said he, as soon as he had reached terra firma, "you waitee hour--you drinkee Indoo champagne."

In an hour or so his promise was fulfilled. The bamboo-joint was released and brought down; and, sure enough, it was found to be full of a cool clear liquor, of which all of them drank, esteeming it equal to the best champagne. In fact, there is no more seducing and delicious drink in all India than the sap of the palmyra palm; but it is also very intoxicating, and is used too freely by the natives of the country where this splendid tree flourishes.

Sugar can also be manufactured from this sap, simply by boiling it down. When sugar is to be made, the tree is tapped in a similar manner; but it is necessary to have a little lime in the vessel while collecting the liquid, else it would ferment, and thus spoil it for sugar-boiling.

The reason why Ossaroo was so ready in tapping this particular _tree_, was because the banyan which enveloped its trunk offered him an excellent means of getting at it. Otherwise it would have been no easy matter to have ascended the smooth slender shaft of a palmyra, rising thirty or forty feet without knot or branch. Of course Ossaroo, as soon as the bamboo was empty, once more climbed up and readjusted it to the "tap," knowing that the sap would continue to run. This it does for many days, only that each day it is necessary to cut a fresh slice from the top of the flower-stalk, so as to keep the pores open and free.

Though the day had been hot, as soon as twilight came on the coolness of the air rendered it necessary for our travellers to kindle a fire. Ossaroo was not long in striking a light out of his tinder-box, and having set fire to some dry leaves and moss, a blaze was soon produced. Meanwhile Karl and Caspar had broken some branches from a dead tree that lay near the spot, and carrying them up in armfuls, piled them upon the burning leaves. A roaring fire was created in a few minutes, and around this the party seated themselves, and commenced cooking their supper of rice, with some pieces of dried meat, which they had brought along from the last village.

Whilst engaged in this occupation, so agreeable to men who are hungry, the botanist, whose eye was always on the alert for matters relating to his favourite calling, remarked that the wood out of which their fire had been made burned very much like oak. On taking up one of the fagots, and cutting it with his knife, he was astonished to find that it _was_ oak in reality--for there is no mistaking the grain and fibre of this giant of the northern forests. What astonished him was the existence of oak-trees in a country where the flora was altogether tropical. He knew that he might expect to find representatives of the oak family upon the sides of the Himalayas; but he was still only at their foot, and in the region of the palms and bananas.

Karl knew not then, nor is it yet generally known, that many species of oaks are tropical trees--in fact, many kinds may be found in the torrid zone, growing even as low as the level of the sea. It is no less strange, that although there are no oaks in tropical South America and Africa, in Ceylon, or even in the peninsula of India itself, yet there are numerous species in East Bengal, the Moluccas, and the Indian islands--perhaps a greater number of species than grows in any other part of the world!

The sight of this old acquaintance, as they termed the oak, had a cheering effect upon the Bavarian boys; and after supper they sat conversing upon the subject, determined as soon as it was day to look out for some of the living trees as further confirmation of the strange fact they had observed.

They were about thinking of wrapping themselves up in their blankets, and retiring to rest, when an incident occurred that kept them awake for another hour or two.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE SAMBUR STAG.

"See!" cried Caspar, who was more sharp-eyed than Karl.

"Look! look yonder! two lights, I declare!"

"Indeed, yes," replied Karl; "I see them--bright round lights! What can they be?"

"An animal!" answered Caspar; "I can affirm that much. Some wild beast, I fancy!"

They regarded the strange object with some uneasiness, for they knew they were in the haunts of dangerous wild beasts.

"Maybe a tiger?" suggested Karl.

"Or a panther?" added his brother.

"I hope neither one nor the other," said Karl.

He was interrupted by Ossaroo, who had now observed the shining spots, and who with a single word reassured the whole party.

"Samboo," said the shikarree.

Both knew that Ossaroo meant by "Samboo," the great deer or stag known to Europeans as the sambur deer. It was the eyes of a deer, then, glancing back the blaze of the oak fagots, that had alarmed them.

Their fears were suddenly changed to feelings of joy. They had a double motive for being pleased at the sight. To shoot and bring down the deer would be such excellent sport; besides, a fresh venison steak was a delicacy which both could appreciate.

All of them, Ossaroo included, were too well accustomed to the habits of hunters to act rashly. Any sudden movement among them might frighten the game; and if it bounded off into the forest, or even turned its head, it could no longer be seen in the pitchy darkness that surrounded them. The shining eyes were all of it that were visible; and if the creature had but chosen to _shut its eyes_ it might have stood there till the morning light, without the least chance of being aimed at.

The animal, however, was too full of its own curiosity to adopt this precaution. Instead, it remained where it had been first observed--its great round orbs uncovered to their full extent and gleaming in the light like a pair of "bull's-eyes."

Caspar in a whisper cautioned the others to remain silent and not to move hand or finger. He, himself, gradually dropped his arm, until he was able to grasp his large double-barrelled gun; and then, raising the piece slowly to a level, took aim and fired. He very prudently did not aim for the centre spot between the eyes. Had it been a bullet that was in his gun he might have done so; but he knew that his piece was only loaded with shot, and shot--even though they were "buckshot"--might not penetrate the hard thick skull of a stag so strong as the sambur. Instead of aiming for the eyes, therefore, he took sight at least a foot below them, and in a direct line below. He had already conjectured, from the even set of the eyes, that the deer was standing full front towards the camp-fire, and his object was to send the shot into its breast and throat.

The instant after he had delivered the first barrel, although the shining eyes went out like the snuffing of candles, he fired the second, so as to take advantage of a random shot.

He might have spared his load, for the first had done the business; and the noise of kicking and sprawling among the dry leaves told that the deer was knocked over, and, if not killed, at least badly wounded.

The dog Fritz had already leaped forth; and before the hunters could procure a torch and reach the spot, the huge hound had seized the quarry by the throat, and finished its struggles by strangling it to death.

They now dragged the carcass up to the light of the fire, and it was just as much as the three of them could manage--for the sambur deer is one of the largest animals of its kind, and the one that had fallen into their hands was a fine old buck, with a pair of immense antlered horns, of which no doubt in his lifetime he had been excessively proud.

The sambur deer is one of the most distinguished of the deer tribe. Although not equal in size to the American wapiti (_Cervus Canadensis_), he is much superior to the stag or red-deer of Europe. He is an active, bold, and vicious animal; and, when bayed, a dangerous antagonist either to dogs or hunters. His coat is close, the hair harsh, of a brown colour, and slightly grizzled. Around the neck it is long and shaggy, but particularly upon the under line of the throat, where it forms a mane similar to that of the American wapiti. Another mane runs along the back of the neck, adding to the fierce bold appearance of the animal. A blackish band encircles the muzzle, and the usual "crupper mark" around the tail is small and of a yellowish colour.

This is the description of the common sambur deer (_Cervus hippelaphus_) best known to Europeans, and among Anglo-Indian sportsmen called "stag"; but it is to be observed that in different parts of Asia there are many different species and varieties of the sambur. Zoologists usually class them in a group called _Rusa_; and one or other of this group may be found in every district of India from Ceylon to the Himalayas, and from the Indus to the islands of the Indian Archipelago. They haunt in timber, and usually by the banks of streams or other waters.

America has long been regarded as the favourite region of the deer tribe, as Africa is the true home of the antelopes. This belief, however, seems to be rather an incorrect one, and has arisen, perhaps, from the fact that the American species are better known to Europeans. It is true that the largest of the deer--the moose (_Cervus alces_)--is an inhabitant of the American continent in common with Northern Europe and Asia; but the number of species on that continent, both in its northern and southern divisions, is very limited. When the zoology of the East--I mean of all those countries and islands usually included under the term East Indies--shall have been fully determined, we shall no doubt find not only twice, but three times the number of species of deer that belongs to America.

When we consider the vast number of educated Englishmen--both in the array and in the civil service--who have idled away their lives in India, we cannot help wondering at the little that is yet known in relation to the _fauna_ of the Oriental world. Most of the Indian officers have looked upon the wild animals of that country with the eye of the sportsman rather than of the naturalist. With them a deer is a deer, and a large ox-like animal a buffalo, or it may be a gayal, or a jungle cow, or a gour, or a gyall; but which of all these is an ox, or whether the four last-mentioned bovine quadrupeds are one and the same species, remains to be determined. Were it not that these gentlemen have had spirit enough occasionally to send us home a skin or a set of horns, we might remain altogether ignorant of the existence of the creature from which these trophies were taken. Verily science owes not much to the Honourable East India Company. We are not blind to such noble exceptions as Sykes, Hodgson, and others; and, if every province of India had a resident of their character, a fauna might soon be catalogued that would astonish even the spectacled _savant_.

CHAPTER NINE.

A NIGHT MARAUDER.

Ossaroo soon stripped the stag of its skin, cut the carcass into quarters, and hung them on the limb of a tree. Although the party had already supped, the excitement which had been occasioned by the incident gave them a fresh appetite; and venison-steaks were broiled over the oak-wood cinders, and eaten with a relish. These were washed down by fresh draughts of the delicious palm-wine; and then the travellers, having gathered some of the hanging moss, "_Usnea_," and strewed it near the fire, rolled themselves in their blankets, and went to sleep.

About midnight there was a camp alarm. The sleepers were awakened by the dog Fritz; who, by his angry baying and fierce demonstrations, showed that some creature must have approached the fire that had no business to be there. On rousing themselves they thought they heard footsteps at a little distance, and a low growl as of some wild beast; but it was not easy to distinguish any sound in particular, as at this season the tropical forest is full of noises--so loud that it is often difficult for persons to hear each other in conversation. What with the chirruping of cicadas, the croaking of swamp-frogs, the tinkling of tree-toads, and the hooting and screeching of owls and night-hawks, the Indian forest is filled with a deafening din throughout the whole night.

Fritz ceased barking after a time; and they all went to sleep again, and slept till morning.

As soon as day broke, they were up, and set about preparing breakfast. Fresh fagots were piled upon the fire, and preparations made for a savoury roast of venison rib. Ossaroo climbed up to his tap, while Caspar went for the meat.

The quarters of the deer had been suspended upon a tree, at the distance of about fifty paces from the camp-fire. The reason of their being hung at such a distance was that a stream flowed there, and in order to clean the meat, they had carried it down to the water's edge. A horizontal branch, which was about the proper height from the ground, had tempted Ossaroo, and he had chosen it for his "meat-rack."

An exclamation from Caspar now summoned the others to the spot.

"See!" cried he, as they came up, "one of the quarters gone!"

"Ha! there have been thieves!" said Karl. "That was what caused Fritz to bark."

"Thieves!" ejaculated Caspar. "Not men thieves! They would have carried off the four quarters instead of one. Some wild beast has been the thief!"

"Yes, Sahib, you speakee true," said the shikarree, who had now reached the spot; "he wild beast--he very wild beast--big tiger!"

At the mention of the name of this terrible animal, both boys started, and looked anxiously around. Even Ossaroo himself exhibited symptoms of fear. To think they had been sleeping on the open ground so close to a tiger--the most savage and dreaded of all beasts--and this, too, in India, where they were constantly hearing tales of the ravages committed by these animals!

"You think it was a tiger?" said the botanist, interrupting Ossaroo.

"Sure, Sahib--lookee here!--Sahib, see him track!"

The shikarree pointed to some tracks in the selvedge of sand that lined the bank of the rivulet. There, sure enough, were the foot-prints of a large animal; and, upon inspecting them closely, they could easily be distinguished as those of a creature of the cat tribe. There were the pads or cushions smoothly imprinted in the sand, and the slight impression of the claws--for the tiger, although possessed of very long and sharp claws, can retract these when walking, so as to leave very little mark of them in the mud or sand. The tracks were too large to be mistaken for those either of a leopard or panther, and the only other animal to which they could appertain was the lion. There were lions in that district. But Ossaroo well knew how to distinguish between the tracks of the two great carnivora, and without a moment's hesitation he pronounced the robber to have been a tiger.

It now became a matter of serious consideration what they should do under the circumstances. Should they abandon their camp, and _move_ forward? Karl was very desirous of spending a day or two in the neighbourhood. He made no doubt of being able to find several new species of plants there. But with the knowledge of having such a neighbour they would not sleep very soundly. The tiger would, no doubt, return to the camp. He was not likely to stay away from a quarter where he had found such hospitable entertainment--such a good supper. He must have seen the rest of the venison, and would be sure to pay them another visit on the following night. True, they might kindle large fires, and frighten him off from their sleeping place; still, they would be under an unpleasant apprehension; and even during the day they had no confidence that he might not attack them--particularly if they went botanising in the woods. The very places into which their occupation would lead them, would be those in which they were most likely to meet this dreaded neighbour. Perhaps, therefore, it would be best to pack up, and proceed on their journey.

While eating their breakfasts the thing was debated among them. Caspar, full of hunter-spirit, was desirous of having a peep at the tiger anyhow; but Karl was more prudent, if not a little more timid, and thought it was better to "move on." This was the opinion of the botanist; but he at length gave way to Caspar, and more particularly to Ossaroo, who proposed _killing_ the tiger if they would only remain one night longer upon the ground.

"What! with your bow, Ossaroo?" asked Caspar; "with your poisoned arrows?"

"No, young Sahib," replied Ossaroo.

"I thought you would have but little chance to kill a great tiger with such weapons. How do you mean to do it then?"

"If Sahib Karl consent to stay till to-morrow, Ossaroo show you--he kill tiger--he catch 'im 'live."

"Catch him alive!--In a trap?--In a snare?"

"No trapee--no snaree. You see. Ossaroo do what he say--he take tiger 'live."

Ossaroo had evidently some plan of his own, and the others became curious to know what it was. As the shikarree promised that it was unattended with danger, the botanist consented to remain, and let the trial be made.

Ossaroo now let them into the secret of his plan; and as soon as they had finished eating their breakfasts, all hands set to work to assist him in carrying it into execution.

They proceeded as follows. In the first place, a large number of joints of bamboo were obtained from a neighbouring thicket of these canes. The bark of the banyan was then cut, and the canes inserted in such a manner that the white milky sap ran into them. Each joint was left closed at the bottom, and served as a vessel to collect the juice, and such stems of the fig only were tapped as were young and full of sap. As soon as a sufficient quantity of the fluid had been distilled into the canes, the contents of all were poured into the cooking-pot, and hung over a slow fire. The sap was then stirred--fresh juice being occasionally thrown in--and in a short while the whole attained the toughness and consistency of the best birdlime. It was, in fact, true birdlime--the same that is used by the bird-catchers of India, and quite equal to that manufactured from the holly.

During the time that this was being prepared, Karl and Caspar, by the directions of Ossaroo, had climbed into the trees, and collected an immense quantity of leaves. These leaves were also taken from the banyan figs, and for this purpose they had selected those that grew on the youngest trees and shoots. Each leaf was as large as a tea-plate, and they were covered with a woolly pubescence, peculiar only to the leaves upon the younger trees--for as the banyan grows old its leaves become harder and smoother on the surface.

The fig-leaves having been gathered to his hand, and the birdlime made ready, Ossaroo proceeded to carry out his design.

The two remaining quarters of the venison still hung on the tree. These were permitted to remain--as a bait to the singular trap that Ossaroo was about to set--only that they were raised higher from the ground, in order that the tiger might not too readily snatch them away, and thus defeat the stratagem of the hunter.

The venison having been hung to his liking, Ossaroo now cleared the ground for a large space around--directing his assistants to carry off all the brush and dead wood to a distance from the spot. This was quickly done, and then the shikarree put the finishing stroke to his work. This occupied him for two hours at least, and consisted in anointing all the fig-leaves that had been gathered with a coat of birdlime, and spreading them over the ground, until they covered a space of many yards in circumference. In the centre of this space hung the venison; and no creature could have approached within yards of it without treading upon the smeared leaves. The leaves had been anointed upon both sides, so that they adhered slightly to the grass, and a breeze of wind could not have disarranged them to any great extent.

When all was fixed to their satisfaction, Ossaroo and the others returned to the camp-fire, and ate a hearty dinner. It was already late in the day, for they had been many hours at work, and they had not thought of dining until their arrangements were complete. Nothing more remained to be done, but to await the result of their stratagem.

CHAPTER TEN.

A TALK ABOUT TIGERS.

I need not describe a tiger. You have seen one, or the picture of one. He is the great _striped_ cat. The large _spotted_ ones are not tigers. They are either jaguars, or panthers, or leopards, or ounces, or cheetahs, or servals. But there is no danger of your mistaking the tiger for any other animal. He is the largest of the feline tribe--the lion alone excepted--and individual tigers have been measured as large as the biggest lion. The shaggy mane that covers the neck and shoulders of an old male lion gives him the appearance of being of greater dimensions than he really is. Skin him and he would not be larger than an old male tiger also divested of his hide.

Like the lion, the tiger varies but little in form or colour. Nature does not sport with these powerful beasts. It is only upon the meaner animals she plays off her eccentricities. The tiger may be seen with the ground-colour of a lighter or deeper yellow, and the stripes or bars more or less black; but the same general appearance is preserved, and the species can always be recognised at a glance.

The range or habitat of the tiger is more limited than that of the lion. The latter exists throughout the whole of Africa, as well as the southern half of Asia; whereas the tiger is found only in the south-eastern countries of Asia, and some of the larger islands of the Indian Archipelago. Westwardly his range does not extend to this side of the Indus river, and how far north in Asia is uncertain. Some naturalists assert that there are tigers in Asia as far north as the Obi River. This would prove the tiger to be not altogether a tropical animal, as he is generally regarded. It is certain that tigers once did inhabit the countries around the Caspian Sea. There lay Hyrcania; and several Roman writers speak of the Hyrcanian tigers. They could not have meant any of the spotted cats,--ounce, panther, or leopard,--for the Romans knew the difference between these and the striped or true tiger. If, then, the tiger was an inhabitant of those trans-Himalayan regions in the days of Augustus, it is possible it still exists there, as we have proofs of its existence in Mongolia and northern China at the present day.

Were we to believe some travellers, we should have the tiger, not only in Africa, but in America. The jaguar is the tiger (_tigre_) of the Spanish Americans; and the panther, leopard, and cheetah, have all done duty as "tigers" in the writings of old travellers in Africa.

The true home of this fierce creature is the hot jungle-covered country that exists in extended tracts in Hindostan, Siam, Malaya, and parts of China. There the tiger roams undisputed lord of the thicket and forest; and although the lion is also found in these countries, he is comparatively a rare animal, and, from being but seldom met with, is less talked about or feared.

We who live far away from the haunts of these great carnivora, can hardly realise the terror which is inspired by them in the countries they infest.

In many places human life is not safe; and men go out upon a journey, with the same dread of meeting a tiger, that we would have for an encounter with a mad dog. This dread is by no means founded upon mere fancies or fabricated stories. Every village has its true tales of tiger attacks and encounters, and every settlement has its list of killed or maimed. You can scarce credit such a relation; but it is a well-known fact that whole districts of fertile _country_ have from time to time been abandoned by their inhabitants out of pure fear of the tigers and panthers which infested them! Indeed, similar cases of depopulation have occurred in South America, caused by a far less formidable wild beast--the jaguar.

In some parts of India the natives scarce attempt resistance to the attack of the tiger. Indeed, the superstition of his victims aids the fierce monster in their destruction. They regard him as being gifted with supernatural power, and sent by their gods to destroy; and under this conviction yield themselves up, without making the slightest resistance.

In other parts, where races exist possessed of more energy of character, the tiger is hunted eagerly, and various modes of killing or capturing him are practised in different districts.

Sometimes a bow is set with poisoned arrows, and a cord attached to the string. A bait is then placed on the ground, and arranged in such a way that the tiger, on approaching it, presses against the cord, sets the bow-string free, and is pierced by the arrow--the poison of which eventually causes his death.

A spring-gun is set off by a similar contrivance, and the tiger shoots himself.

The log-trap or "dead-fall"--often employed by American backwoodsmen for capturing the black bear--is also in use in India for trapping the tiger. This consists of a heavy log or beam so adjusted upon the top of another one by a prop or "trigger," as to fall and crush whatever animal may touch the trigger. A bait is also used for this species of trap.

Hunting the tiger upon elephants is a royal sport in India, and is often followed by the Indian rajahs, and sometimes by British sportsmen-- officers of the East India Company. This sport is, of course, very exciting; but there is nothing of a _ruse_ practised in it. The hunters go armed with rifles and spears; and attended by a large number of natives, who beat the jungle and drive the game within reach of the sportsmen. Many lives are sacrificed in this dangerous sport; but those who suffer are usually the poor peasants employed as beaters; and an Indian rajah holds the lives of a score or two of his subjects as lightly as that of a tiger itself.

It is said the Chinese catch the tiger in a box-trap, which they bait simply with a looking-glass. The tiger, on approaching the looking-glass, perceives his own shadow, and mistaking it for a rival, rushes forward to the trap, frees the trigger, and is caught. It may be that the Chinese practised such a method. That part is likely enough; but it is not likely that they take many tigers in this way.

Perhaps you may be of opinion that the plan which Ossaroo was about to follow was quite as absurd as that of the Chinese. It certainly did sound very absurd to his companions, when he first told them that it was his intention to _catch the tiger by birdlime_!

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A TIGER TAKEN BY BIRDLIME.

The plan of the shikarree was put to the test sooner than any of them expected. They did not look for the tiger to return before sunset, and they had resolved to pass the night among the branches of the banyan in order to be out of the way of danger. The tiger might take it into his head to stroll into their camp; and although, under ordinary circumstances, these fierce brutes have a dread of fire, there are some of them that do not regard it, and instances have occurred of tigers making their attack upon men who were seated close to a blazing pile! Ossaroo knew of several such cases, and had, therefore, given his advice, that all of them should pass the night in the tree. It was true the tiger could easily scale the banyan if the notion occurred to him; but, unless they made some noise to attract his attention, he would not be likely to discover their whereabouts. They had taken the precaution to erect a platform of bamboos among the branches, so as to serve them for a resting-place.

After all, they were not under the necessity of resorting to this elevated roost,--at least for the purpose of passing the night there. But they occupied it for a while; and during that while they were witnesses to a scene that for singularity, and comicality as well, was equal to anything that any of them had ever beheld.

It wanted about half-an-hour of sunset, and they were all seated around the camp-fire, when a singular noise reached their ears. It was not unlike the "whirr" made by a thrashing-machine--which any one must have heard who has travelled through an agricultural district. Unlike this, however, the sound was not prolonged, but broke out at intervals, continued for a few seconds, and then was silent again.

Ossaroo was the only one of the party who, on hearing this sound, exhibited any feelings of alarm. The others were simply curious. It was an unusual sound. They wondered what was producing it--nothing more. They quite shared the alarm of the shikarree, when the latter informed them that what they heard was neither more nor less than the "purr" of a tiger!

Ossaroo communicated this information in an ominous whisper, at the same instant crouching forward towards the main trunk of the banyan, and beckoning to the others to follow him.

Without a word they obeyed the sign, and all three climbed, one after the other, up the trunk, and silently seated themselves among the branches.

By looking through the outer screen of leaves, and a little downward, they could see the quarters of venison hanging from the limb, and also the whole surface of the ground where the glittering leaves were spread.

Whether the haunch which the tiger had stolen on the preceding night had not been sufficient for his supper, and he had grown hungry again before his usual feeding-time, is uncertain. But certain it is that Ossaroo, who understood well the habits of this striped robber, did not expect him to return so soon. He looked for him after darkness should set in. But the loud "purr-r-r" that at intervals came booming through the jungle, and each time sounding more distinctly, showed that the great cat was upon the ground.

All at once they espied him coming out of the bushes, and on the other side of the rivulet--his broad whitish throat and breast shining in contrast with the dark green foliage. He was crouching just after the manner of a house-cat when making her approach to some unwary bird--his huge paws spread before him, and his long back hollowed down--a hideous and fearful object to behold. His eyes appeared to flash fire, as he bent them upon the tempting joints hanging high up upon the branch of the tree.

After reconnoitring a little, he gathered up his long back into a curve, vaulted into the air, and cleared the rivulet from bank to bank. Then, without further pause, he trotted nimbly forward, and stopped directly under the hanging joints.

Ossaroo had purposely raised the meat above its former elevation, and the lowest ends of the joints were full twelve feet from the ground. Although the tiger can bound to a very great distance in a horizontal direction, he is not so well fitted for springing vertically upwards, and therefore the tempting morsels were just beyond his reach. He seemed to be somewhat nonplussed at this--for upon his last visit he had found things rather different--but after regarding the joints for a moment or two, and uttering a loud snuff of discontent, he flattened his paws against the ground, and sprang high into air.

The attempt was a failure. He came back to the earth without having touched the meat, and expressed his dissatisfaction by an angry growl.

In another moment, he made a second spring upwards. This time, he struck one of the quarters with his paw, and sent it swinging backwards and forwards, though it had been secured too well to the branch to be in any danger of falling.

All at once, the attention of the great brute became directed to a circumstance, which seemed to puzzle him not a little. He noticed that there was something adhering to his paws. He raised one of them from the ground, and saw that two or three leaves were sticking to it. What could be the matter with the leaves, to cling to his soles in that manner? They appeared to be wet, but what of that? He had never known wet leaves stick to his feet any more than dry ones. Perhaps it was this had hindered him from springing up as high as he had intended? At all events, he did not feel quite comfortable, and he should have the leaves off before he attempted to leap again. He gave his paw a slight shake, but the leaves would not go. He shook it more violently, still the leaves adhered! He could not make it out. There was some gummy substance upon them, such as he had never met with before in all his travels. He had rambled over many a bed of fig-leaves in his day, but had never set foot upon such sticky leaves as these.

Another hard shake of the paw produced no better effect. Still stuck fast the leaves, as if they had been pitch plasters; one covering the whole surface of his foot, and others adhering to its edges. Several had even fastened themselves on his ankles. What the deuce did it all mean?

As shaking the paw was of no use, he next attempted to get rid of them by the only other means known to him; that was by rubbing them off against his cheeks and snout. He raised the paw to his ears, and drew it along the side of his head. He succeeded in getting most of them off his foot in this way, but, to his chagrin, they now adhered to his head, ears, and jaws, where they felt still more uncomfortable and annoying. These he resolved to detach, by using his paw upon them; but, instead of doing so, he only added to their number, for, on raising his foot, he found that a fresh batch of the sticky leaves had fastened upon it. He now tried the other foot, with no better effect. It, too, was covered with gummy leaves, that only became detached to fasten upon his jaws, and stick there, in spite of all his efforts to tear them off. Even some of them had got over his eyes, and already half-blinded him! But one way remained to get rid of the leaves, that had so fastened upon his head. Every time he applied his paws, it only made things worse. But there was still a way to get them off--so thought he--by rubbing his head along the ground.

No sooner thought of than done. He pressed his jaws down to the earth, and, using his hind-legs to push himself along, he rubbed hard to rid himself of the annoyance. He then turned over, and tried the same method with the other side; but, after continuing at this for some moments, he discovered he was only making matters worse; in fact, he found that both his eyes were now completely "bunged up," and that he was perfectly blind! He felt, moreover, that his whole head, as well as his body, was now covered, even to the tip of his tail.

By this time, he had lost all patience. He thought no longer of the venison. He thought only of freeing himself from the detestable plight in which he was placed. He sprang and bounded over the ground; now rubbing his head along the surface, now scraping it with his huge paws, and ever and anon dashing himself against the stems of the trees that grew around. All this while, his growling, and howling, and screaming, filled the woods with the most hideous noises.

Up to this crisis, our travellers had watched his every movement, all of them bursting with laughter; to which, however, they dare not give utterance, lest they might spoil the sport. At length, Ossaroo knew that the time was come for something more serious than laughter; and, descending from the tree with his long spear, he beckoned the others to follow with their guns.

The shikarree could have approached and thrust the tiger, without much danger; but, to make sure, the double-barrel, already loaded with ball, was fired at him, along with Caspar's rifle; and one of the bullets striking him between the ribs, put an end to his struggles, by laying him out upon the grass dead as a herring.

Upon examining him, they found that the fig-leaves go covered his eyes, as to render him completely blind. What prevented him from scratching them off with his huge claws was, that these were so wrapped up in the leafy envelope as to render them perfectly useless, and no longer dangerous, had any one engaged with him in close combat.

When the exciting scene was over, all of the party indulged in hearty laughter; for there was something extremely ludicrous, not only in the idea, but in the act itself, of trapping a royal tiger by so simple a contrivance as birdlime.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A RARE RAFT.

Ossaroo did not fail to skin the tiger, and to eat for his supper a large steak, cut off from his well-fleshed ribs. The others did not join him in this singular viand, although the shikarree assured them that tiger-beef was far superior to the venison of the sambur deer. There may have been truth in Ossaroo's assertion; for it is well-known, that the flesh of several kinds of carnivorous animals is not only palatable, but delicate eating. Indeed, the delicacy of the meat does not seem at all to depend upon the food of the animal; since no creature is a more unclean feeder than the domestic pig, and what is nicer or more tender than a bit of roast pork? On the other hand, many animals, whose flesh is exceedingly bitter, feed only on fresh grass or sweet succulent roots and plants. As a proof of this, I might instance the tapir of South America, the quaggas and zebras of Africa, and even some animals of the deer and antelope tribes, whose flesh is only eatable in cases of emergency.

The same fact may be observed in relation to birds. Many birds of prey furnish a dish quite equal to choice game. For one, the flesh of the large chicken-hawk of America (eaten and eagerly sought after by the plantation negroes) is not much, if anything, inferior to that of the bird upon which it preys.

It was not for the "meat," however, that Ossaroo stripped the tiger of his skin, but rather for the skin itself; and not so much for the absolute value of the skin, for in India that is not great. Had it been a panther or leopard skin, or even the less handsome hide of the cheetah, its absolute value would have been greater. But there was an artificial value attached to the skin of a tiger, and that well knew the shikarree. He knew that there was a _bounty of ten rupees_ for every tiger killed, and also that to obtain this bounty it was necessary to show the skin. True it was the East India Company that paid the bounty, and only for tigers killed in their territory. This one had not been killed under the British flag, but what of that? A tiger-skin was a tiger-skin; and Ossaroo expected some day not distant to walk the streets of Calcutta; and, with this idea in his mind, he climbed up the great banyan, and hid his tiger-skin among its topmost branches, to be left there till his return from the mountains.

The next two days were spent in the same neighbourhood, and the plant-hunter was very successful. The seeds of many rare plants, some of them quite new to the botanical world, were here obtained, and like the skin of the tiger deposited in a safe place, so that the collectors might not be burdened with them on their journey to the mountains. It was in this way that Karl had resolved upon making his collections, leaving the seeds and nuts he should obtain at various places upon his route; and, when returning, he trusted to be able to employ some coolies to assist in getting them carried to Calcutta or some other sea-port.

On the fourth day the travellers again took the route, still facing due northward in the direction of the mountains. They needed no guide to point out their course, as the river which they had resolved upon following upwards was guide enough; usually they kept along its banks, but sometimes a thick marshy jungle forced them to abandon the water-edge and keep away for some distance into the back country, where the path was more safe and open.

About midday they arrived at the banks of a stream, that was a branch of the main river. This stream lay transversely to their route, and, of course, had to be crossed. There was neither bridge nor ford, nor crossing of any kind to be seen, and the current was both wide and deep. They followed it up for more than a mile; but it neither grew shallower nor yet more narrow. They walked up and down for a couple of hours, endeavouring to find a crossing, but to no purpose.

Both Caspar and Ossaroo were good swimmers, but Karl could not swim a stroke; and it was entirely on his account that they stayed to search for a ford. The other two would have dashed in at once, regardless of the swift current. What was to be done with Karl? In such a rapid running river it was as much as the best swimmer could do to carry himself across; therefore not one of the others could assist Karl. How then, were they to get over?

They had seated themselves under a tree to debate this question; and no doubt the habile Ossaroo would soon have offered a solution to it, and got the young Sahib across, but at that moment assistance arrived from a very unexpected quarter.

There was a belt of open ground--a sort of meadow upon the side opposite to where they were seated, which was backed by a jungly forest.

Out of this forest a man was seen to emerge, and take his way across the meadow in the direction of the river. His swarthy complexion, and bushy black hair hanging neglected over his shoulders--his dress consisting of a single blanket-like robe, held by a leathern belt around the waist-- his bare legs and sandalled feet--all bore evidence that he was one of the half-savage natives of the Terai.

His appearance created a great sensation, and astonished all the party-- Ossaroo, perhaps, excepted. It was not his wild look nor his odd costume that produced this astonishment, for men who have travelled in Hindostan are not likely to be surprised by wild looks and strange dresses. What astonished our travellers--and it would have had a like effect upon the most stoical people in the world--was that the individual who approached was carrying a _buffalo upon his back_! Not the quarter of a buffalo, nor the head of a buffalo, but a whole one, as big, and black, and hairy, as an English bull! The back of the animal lay against the back of the man, with the head and horns projecting over his shoulder, the legs sticking out behind, and the tail dragging about his heels!

How one man could bear up under such a load was more than our travellers could divine; but not only did this wild Mech bear up under it, but he appeared to carry it with ease, and stepped as lightly across the meadow as if it had been a bag of feathers he was carrying!

Both Karl and Caspar uttered exclamations of surprise, and rapid interrogatories were put to Ossaroo for an explanation. Ossaroo only smiled significantly in reply, evidently able to explain this mysterious phenomenon; but enjoying the surprise of his companions too much to offer a solution of it as long as he could decorously withhold it.

The surprise of the boys was not diminished, when another native stepped out of the timber, buffalo on back, like the first; and then another and another--until half-a-dozen men, with a like number of buffaloes on their shoulders, were seen crossing the meadows!

Meanwhile the foremost had reached the bank of the river; and now the astonishment of the botanists reached its climax, when they saw this man let down the huge animal from his shoulders, embrace it with his arms, place it before him in the water, and then mount astride _upon its back_! In a moment more he was out in the stream, and his buffalo swimming under him, or rather he seemed to be pushing it along, using his arms and legs as paddles to impel it forward!

The others, on reaching the water, acted in a precisely similar manner, and the whole party were soon launched, and crossing the stream together.

It was not until the foremost Mech had arrived at the bank close to where our travellers awaited them, _lifted his buffalo out of the water, and reshouldered it_, that the latter learnt to their surprise that what they had taken for buffaloes were nothing more than the inflated skins of these animals that were thus employed as rafts by the rude but ingenious natives of the district!

The same contrivance is used by the inhabitants of the Punjaub and other parts of India, where fords are few and bridges cannot be built. The buffaloes are skinned, with the legs, heads, and horns left on, to serve as handles and supports in managing them. They are then rendered airtight and inflated, heads, legs, and all; and in this way bear such a resemblance to the animals from which they have been taken, that even dogs are deceived, and often growl and bark at them. Of course the quantity of air is for more than sufficient to buoy up the weight of a man. Sometimes, when goods and other articles are to be carried across, several skins are attached together, and thus form an excellent raft.

This was done upon the spot, and at a moment's notice. The Mechs, although a half-savage people, are far from uncivil in their intercourse with strangers. A word from Ossaroo, accompanied by a few pipes of tobacco from the botanist, procured the desired raft of buffalo-skins; and our party, in less than half-an-hour, were safely deposited upon the opposite bank, and allowed to continue their journey without the slightest molestation.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE TALLEST GRASS IN THE WORLD.

As our travellers proceeded up-stream, they were occasionally compelled to pass through tracts covered with a species of jungle-grass, called "Dab-grass," which not only reached above the heads of the tallest of the party, but would have done so had they been giants! Goliath or the Cyclops might have, either of them, stood on tiptoe in a field of this grass, without being able to look over its tops.

The botanist was curious enough to measure some stalks of this gigantic grass, and found them full fourteen feet in height, and as thick as a man's finger near the roots! Of course no animal, except a giraffe, could raise its head over the tops of such grass as this; but there are no giraffes in this part of the world--these long-necked creatures being confined to the Continent of Africa. Wild elephants, however, are found here; and the largest of them can hide himself in the midst of this tall sward, as easily as a mouse would in an English meadow.

But there are other animals that make their layer in the dab-grass. It is a favourite haunt both of the tiger and Indian lion; and it was not without feelings of fear that our botanical travellers threaded their way amidst its tall cane-like culms.

You will be ready to admit, that the dab-grass is a tall grass. But it is far from being the tallest in the world, or in the East Indies either. What think you of a grass nearly five times as tall? And yet in that same country such a grass exists. Yes--there is a species of "panic-grass," the _Panicum arborescens_, which actually grows to the height of fifty feet, with a culm not thicker than an ordinary goose-quill! This singular species is, however, a climbing plant, growing up amidst the trees of the forest, supported by their branches, and almost reaching to their tops.

This panic-grass you will, no doubt, fancy _must be the tallest grass in the world_. But no. Prepare yourself to hear that there is still another kind, not only taller than this, but one that grows to the prodigious height of a hundred feet!

You will guess what sort I am about to name. It could be no other than the giant _bamboo. That is the tallest grass in the world_.

You know the bamboo as a "cane;" but for all that it is a true grass, belonging to the natural order of _gramineae_, or grasses, the chief difference between it, and many others of the same order, being its more gigantic dimensions.

My young reader, I may safely assert, that in all the vegetable kingdom there is no species or form so valuable to the human race as the "grasses." Among all civilised nations bread is reckoned as the food of primary importance, so much so as to have obtained the sobriquet of "the staff of life;" and nearly every sort of bread is the production of a grass. Wheat, barley, oats, maize, and rice, are all grasses; and so, too, is the sugar-cane--so valuable for its luxurious product. It would take up many pages of our little volume to enumerate the various species of _gramineae_, that contribute to the necessities and luxuries of mankind; and other pages might be written about species equally available for the purposes of life, but which have not yet been brought into cultivation.

Of all kinds of grasses, however, none possesses greater interest than the bamboo. Although not the most useful as an article of food, this noble plant serves a greater number of purposes in the economy of human life, than perhaps any other vegetable in existence.

What the palm-tree of many species is to the natives of South America or tropical Africa, such is the bamboo to the inhabitants of Southern Asia and its islands. It is doubtful whether nature has conferred upon these people any greater boon than this noble plant, the light and graceful culms of which are applied by them to a multitude of useful purposes. Indeed so numerous are the uses made of the bamboo, that it would be an elaborate work even to make out a list of them. A few of the purposes to which it is applied will enable you to judge of the valuable nature of this princely grass.

The young shoots of some species are cut when tender, and eaten like asparagus. The full-grown stems, while green, form elegant cases, exhaling a perpetual moisture, and capable of transporting fresh flowers for hundreds of miles. When ripe and hard, they are converted into bows, arrows, and quivers, lance-shafts, the masts of vessels, walking-sticks, the poles of palanquins, the floors and supporters of bridges, and a variety of similar purposes. In a growing state the strong kinds are formed into stockades, which are impenetrable to any thing but regular infantry or artillery. By notching their sides the Malays make wonderfully light scaling ladders, which can be conveyed with facility, where heavier machines could not be transported. Bruised and crushed in water, the leaves and stems form Chinese paper, the finer qualities of which are only improved by a mixture of raw cotton and by more careful pounding. The leaves of a small species are the material used by the Chinese for the lining of their tea-chests. Cut into lengths, and the partitions knocked out, they form durable water-pipes, or by a little contrivance are made into cases for holding rolls of paper. Slit into strips, they afford a most durable material for weaving into mats, baskets, window-blinds, and even the sails of boats; and the larger and thicker truncheons are carved by the Chinese into beautiful ornaments. For building purposes the bamboo is still more important. In many parts of India the framework of the houses of the natives is chiefly composed of this material. In the flooring, whole stems, four or live inches in diameter, are laid close to each other, and across these, laths of split bamboo, about an inch wide, are fastened down by filaments of rattan cane. The sides of the houses are closed in by the bamboos opened and rendered flat by splitting or notching the circular joints on the outside, chipping away the corresponding divisions within, and laying it in the sun to dry, pressed down with weights. Whole bamboos often form the upright timbers, and the house is generally roofed in with a thatch of narrow split bamboos, six feet long, placed in regular layers, each reaching within two feet of the extremity of that beneath it, by which a treble covering is formed. Another and most ingenious roof is also formed by cutting large straight bamboos of sufficient length to reach from the ridge to the eaves, then splitting them exactly in two, knocking out the partitions, and arranging them in close order with the hollow or inner sides uppermost; after which a second layer, with the outer or concave sides up, is placed upon the other in such a manner that each of the convex pieces falls into the two contiguous concave pieces covering their edges, thus serving as gutters to carry off the rain that falls on the convex layer.

Such are a few of the uses of the bamboo, enumerated by an ingenious writer; and these are probably not more than one tenth of the purposes to which this valuable cane is applied by the natives of India.

The quickness with which the bamboo can be cut and fashioned to any purpose is not the least remarkable of its properties. One of the most distinguished of English botanists (Hooker) relates that a complete _furnished_ house of bamboo, containing chairs and a table, was erected by his six attendants in the space of one hour!

Of the bamboos there are many species--perhaps fifty in all--some of them natives of Africa and South America, but the greater number belonging to southern Asia, which is the true home of these gigantic grasses. The species differ in many respects from each other--some of them being thick and strong, while others are light and slender, and elastic. In nothing do the different species vary more than in size. They are found growing of all sizes, from the dwarf bamboo, as slender as a wheat-stalk, and only two feet high, to the _Bambusa maxima_, as thick as a man's body, and towering to the height of a hundred feet!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE MAN-EATERS.

Ossaroo had lived all his life in a bamboo country, and was well acquainted with all its uses. Hardly a vessel or implement that he could not manufacture of bamboo canes of some kind or another, and many a purpose besides he knew how to apply them to. Had he been obliged to cross a tract of country where there was no water, and required a large vessel, or "canteen," to carry a supply, he would have made it as follows. He would have taken two joints of bamboo, each a couple of feet long and six or seven inches in diameter. These he would have trimmed, so that one of the nodes between the hollow spaces would serve as a bottom for each. In the node, or partition, at the top, he would have pierced a small hole to admit the water, which hole could be closed by a stopper of the pith of a palm or some soft wood, easily procured in the tropical forests of India. In case he could not have found bamboos with joints sufficiently long for the purpose it would have mattered little. Two or more joints would have been taken for each jar, and the partitions between them broken through, so as to admit the water into the hollow spaces within. The pair of "jars" he would have then bound together at a very acute angle--something after the form of the letter V--and then to carry them with ease he would have strapped the bamboos to his back, the apex of the angle downwards, and one of the ends just peeping over each shoulder. In this way he would have provided himself with a water-vessel that for strength and lightness--the two great essentials--would have been superior to anything that either tinker or cooper could construct.

As it happened that they were travelling through a district where there was water at the distance of every mile or two, this bamboo canteen was not needed. A single joint holding a quart was enough to give any of the party a drink whenever they required it.

Now had the Mechs not arrived opportunely with their rafts of inflated buffalo-skins, there can be no doubt that Ossaroo would have found some mode of crossing the stream. A proof that he could have done so occurred but a few hours after, when our travellers found themselves in a similar dilemma. This time it was the main river, whose course they were following, that lay in the way. A large bend had to be got over, else, they would have been compelled to take a circuitous route of many miles, and by a path which the guide knew to be difficult on account of some marshes that intervened.

Ossaroo proposed fording the river, but how was that to be done? It would be a longer swim than the other, and there were no natives with their skin-rafts--at least none were in sight. But there grew close by a clump of noble bamboos, and the guide pointed to them.

"Oh! you intend to make a raft of the canes?" inquired the botanist.

"Yes, Sahib," replied the shikarree.

"It will take a long time, I fear?"

"No fearee, Sahib; half-hour do."

Ossaroo was as good as his promise. In half-an-hour not only one raft, but three--that is, a raft for each--was constructed and ready to be launched. The construction of these was as simple as it was ingenious. Each consisted of four pieces of bamboo, lashed together crossways with strips of rattan, so as to form a square in the centre just large enough to admit the body of a man. Of course, the bamboos, being hollow within, and closed at both ends, had sufficient buoyancy to sustain a man's weight above water, and nothing more was wanted.

Each of the party having adjusted his burden upon his back, stepped within the square space, lifted the framework in his hands, walked boldly into the river, and was soon floating out upon its current. Ossaroo had given them instructions how to balance themselves so as to keep upright, and also how to paddle with both hands and feet: so that, after a good deal of plashing and spluttering, and laughing and shouting, all three arrived safely on the opposite bank. Of course, Fritz swam over without a raft.

As the river had to be re-crossed on the other arm of the bend, each carried his raft across the neck or isthmus, where a similar fording was made, that brought them once more on the path they were following. Thus every day--almost every hour--our travellers were astonished by some new feat of their hunter-guide, and some new purpose to which the noble bamboo could be applied.

Still another astonishment awaited them. Ossaroo had yet a feat in store, in the performance of which the bamboo was to play a conspicuous part; and it chanced that upon the very next day, an opportunity occurred by which the hunter was enabled to perform this feat to the great gratification not only of his travelling companions, but to the delight of a whole village of natives, who derived no little benefit from the performance.

I have already said, that there are many parts of India where the people live in great fear of the tigers--as well as lions, wild elephants, panthers, and rhinoceroses. These people have no knowledge of proper fire-arms. Some, indeed, carry the clumsy matchlock, which, of course, is of little or no service in hunting; and their bows, even with poisoned arrows, are but poor weapons when used in an encounter with these strong savage beasts.

Often a whole village is kept in a state of terror for weeks or months by a single tiger who may have made his lair in the neighbourhood, and whose presence is known by his repeated forays upon the cows, buffaloes, or other domesticated animals of the villagers. It is only after this state of things has continued for a length of time, and much loss has been sustained, that these poor people, goaded to desperation, at length assemble together, and risk an encounter with the tawny tyrant. In such encounters human lives are frequently sacrificed, and generally some one of the party receives a blow or scratch from the tiger's paw, which maims or lames him for the rest of his days.

But there is still a worse case than even this. Not infrequently the tiger, instead of preying upon their cattle, carries off one of the natives themselves; and where this occurs, the savage monster, if not pursued and killed, is certain to repeat the offence. It is strange, and true as strange, that a tiger having once fed upon human flesh, appears ever after to be fonder of it than of any other food, and will make the most daring attempts to procure it. Such tigers are not uncommon in India, where they are known among the natives by the dreaded name of _man-eaters_!

It is not a little curious that the Caffres and other natives of South Africa, apply the same term to individuals of the lion species, known to be imbued with a similar appetite.

It is difficult to conceive a more horrible monster than a lion or tiger of such tastes; and in India, when the presence of such an _one_ is discovered, the whole neighbourhood lives in dread. Often when a British post is near, the natives make application to the officers to assist them in destroying the terrible creature--well knowing that our countrymen, with their superior courage, with their elephants and fine rifles, are more than a match for the jungle tyrant. When no such help is at hand, the shikarrees, or native hunters, usually assemble, and either take the tiger by stratagem, or risk their lives in a bold encounter. In many a tiger-hunt had Ossaroo distinguished himself, both by stratagem and prowess, and there was no mode of trapping or killing a tiger that was not known to him.

He was now called upon to give an exhibition of his craft, which, in point of ingenuity, was almost equal to the stratagem of the limed fig-leaves.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

THE DEATH OF THE MAN-EATER.

The path which our travellers were following led them into one of the native villages of the Terai, which lay in a sequestered part of the forest. The inhabitants of this village received them with acclamations of joy. Their approach had been reported before they reached the place, and a deputation of the villagers met them on the way, hailing them with joyful exclamations and gestures of welcome.

Karl and Caspar, ignorant of the native language, and, of course, not comprehending what was said, were for some time at a loss to understand the meaning of these demonstrations. Ossaroo was appealed to, to furnish an explanation.

"A man-eater," he said.

"A man-eater!"

"Yes, Sahib; a man-eater in the jungle."

This was not sufficiently explicit. What did Ossaroo mean? A man-eater in the jungle? What sort of creature was that? Neither Karl nor Caspar had ever heard of such a thing before. They questioned Ossaroo.

The latter explained to them what was a man-eater. It was a tiger so called, as you already know, on account of its preying upon human beings. This one had already killed and carried off a man, a woman, and two children, beside large numbers of domestic animals. For more than three months it had infested the village, and kept the inhabitants in a state of constant alarm. Indeed, several families had deserted the place solely through fear of this terrible tiger; and those that remained were in the habit, as soon as night came on, of shutting themselves up within their houses, without daring to stir out again till morning. In the instance of one of the children, even this precaution had not served, for the fierce tiger had broken through the frail wall of bamboos, and carried the child off before the eyes of its afflicted parents!

Several times the timid but incensed villagers had assembled and endeavoured to destroy this terrible enemy. They had found him each time in his lair; but, on account of their poor weapons and slight skill as hunters, he had always been enabled to escape from them. Indeed on such occasions the tiger was sure to come off victorious, for it was in one of these hunts that the man had fallen a sacrifice. Others of the villagers had been wounded in the different conflicts with this pest of the jungle. With such a neighbour at their doors no wonder they had been living in a state of disquietude and terror.

But why their joy at the approach of our travellers?

This was proudly explained by Ossaroo, who of course had reason to be proud of the circumstance.

It appeared that the fame of the shikarree, as a great tiger-hunter, had preceded him, and his name was known even in the Terai. The villagers had heard that he was approaching, accompanied by two Feringhees, (so Europeans are called by the natives of India,) and they hoped, by the aid of the noted shikarree and the Feringhee Sahibs, to get rid of the dreaded marauder.

Ossaroo, thus appealed to, at once gave his promise to aid them. Of course the botanist made no objection, and Caspar was delighted with the idea. They were to remain all night at the village, since nothing could be done before night. They might have got up a grand battue to beat the jungle and attack the tiger in his lair, but what would have come of that? Perhaps the loss of more lives. None of the villagers cared to risk themselves in such a hunt, and that was not the way that Ossaroo killed his tigers.

Karl and Caspar expected to see their companion once more try his stratagem of the birdlime and the leaves; and such at first was his intention. Upon inquiry, however, he found that no birdlime was to be had. The villagers did not know how to prepare it, and there were no fig-trees about the neighbourhood, nor holly, nor trees of any other kind out of which it could properly be made.

What was Ossaroo to do under these circumstances? Must he abandon the idea of destroying the man-eater, and leave the helpless villagers to their fate? No. His hunter pride would not permit that. His name as a great shikarree was at stake. Besides, his humanity was touched--for, although but a poor Hindoo, he possessed the common feelings of our nature. Karl and Caspar, moreover, had taken an interest in the thing, and urged him to do his best, promising him all the assistance it was in their power to give.

It was resolved, therefore, that, cost what it might, the tiger should be destroyed.

Ossaroo had other resources besides the birdlime and the battue, and he at once set to work to prepare his plan. He had an ample stock of attendants, as the villagers worked eagerly and ran hither and thither obedient to his nod. In front of the village there was a piece of open ground. This was the scene of operations.

Ossaroo first commanded four large posts to be brought, and set in the ground in a quadrangle of about eight feet in length and width. These posts when sunk firmly in their place stood full eight feet in height, and each had a fork at the top. On these forks four strong beams were placed horizontally, and then firmly lashed with rawhide thongs. Deep trenches were next dug from post to post, and in these were planted rows of strong bamboos four inches apart from each other--the bamboos themselves being about four inches in thickness. The earth was then filled in, and trodden firmly, so as to render the uprights immovable. A tier of similar bamboos was next laid horizontally upon the top, the ends of which, interlocking with those that stood upright, held the latter in their places. Both were securely lashed to the frame timbers--that had been notched for the purpose--and to one another, and then the structure was complete. It resembled an immense cage with smooth yellow rods, each four inches in diameter. The door alone was wanting, but it was not desirable to have a door. Although it was intended for a "trap cage," the "bird" for which it had been constructed was not to be admitted to the inside.

Ossaroo now called upon the villagers to provide him with a goat that had lately had kids, and whose young were still living. This was easily procured. Still another article he required, but both it and the goat had been "bespoke" at an earlier hour of the day, and were waiting his orders. This last was the skin of a buffalo, such a one as we have already seen used by these people in crossing their rivers.

When all these things had been got ready it was near night, and no time was lost in waiting. With the help of the villagers Ossaroo was speedily arrayed in the skin of the buffalo, his arms and limbs taking the place of the animal's legs, with the head and horns drawn over him like a hood, so that his eyes were opposite the holes in the skin.

Thus metamorphosed, Ossaroo entered the bamboo cage, taking the goat along with him. The stake, that had been kept out for the purpose of admitting them within the enclosure, was now set into its place as firmly as the others; and this done, the villagers, with Karl and Caspar, retired to their houses, and left the shikarree and his goat to themselves.

A stranger passing the spot would have had no other thoughts than that the cage-like enclosure contained a buffalo and a goat. On closer examination it might have been perceived that this buffalo held, grasped firmly in its fore-hoofs, a strong bamboo spear; and that was all that appeared odd about it--for it was lying down like any other buffalo, with the goat standing beside it.

The sun had set, and night was now on. The villagers had put out their lights, and, shut up within their houses, were waiting in breathless expectation. Ossaroo, on his part, was equally anxious--not from the fear of any danger, for he had secured himself against that. He was only anxious for the approach of the man-eater, in order that he might have the opportunity to exhibit the triumph of his hunter-skill.

He was not likely to be disappointed. The villagers had assured him that the fierce brute was in the habit of paying them a nightly visit, and prowling around the place for hours together. It was only when he had succeeded in carrying off some of their cattle that he would be absent for days--no doubt his hunger being for the time satiated; but as he had not lately made a capture, they looked for a visit from him on that very night.

If the tiger should come near the village, Ossaroo had no fear that he could attract him to the spot. He had laid his decoy too well to fail in this. The goat, deprived of her young, kept up an incessant bleating, and the kids answered her from one of the houses of the village. As the hunter knew from experience that the tiger has a particular relish for goat-venison, he had no fear but that the voice of the animal would attract him to the spot, provided he came near enough to hear it. In this the villagers assured him he would not be disappointed.

He _was not disappointed_; neither was he kept long in suspense. He had not been more than half-an-hour in his buffalo disguise, before a loud growling on the edge of the forest announced the approach of the dreaded man-eater, and caused the goat to spring wildly about in the enclosure, uttering at intervals the most piercing cries.

This was just what Ossaroo wanted. The tiger, hearing the voice of the goat, needed no further invitation; but in a few moments was seen trotting boldly up to the spot. There was no crouching on the part of the terrible brute. He had been too long master there to fear anything he might encounter, and he stood in need of a supper. The goat that he had heard would be just the dish he should relish; and he had determined on laying his claws upon her without more ado. In another moment he stood within ten feet of the cage!

The odd-looking structure puzzled him, and he halted to survey it. Fortunately there was a moon, and the light not only enabled the tiger to see what the cage contained, but it also gave Ossaroo an opportunity of watching all his movements.

"Of course," thought the tiger, "it's an enclosure some of these simple villagers have put up to keep that goat and buffalo from straying off into the woods; likely enough, too, to keep me from getting at them. Well, they appear to have been very particular about the building of it. We shall see if they have made the walls strong enough."

With these reflections he drew near, and rearing upward caught one of the bamboos in his huge paw, and shook it with violence. The cane, strong as a bar of iron, refused to yield even to the strength of a tiger; and, on finding this, the fierce brute ran rapidly round the enclosure, trying it at various places, and searching for an entrance.

There was no entrance, however; and on perceiving that there was none, the tiger endeavoured to get at the goat by inserting his paws between the bamboos. The goat, however, ran frightened and screaming to the opposite side, and so kept out of the way. It would have served the tiger equally well to have laid his claws upon the buffalo, but this animal very prudently remained near the centre of the enclosure, and did not appear to be so badly scared withal. No doubt the coolness of the buffalo somewhat astonished the tiger, but in his endeavours to capture the goat, he did not stop to show his surprise, but ran round and round, now dashing forcibly against the bamboos, and now reaching his paws between them as far as his fore-legs would stretch.

All at once the buffalo was seen to rush towards him, and the tiger was in great hopes of being able to reach the latter with his claws, when, to his astonishment, he felt some hard instrument strike sharply against his snout, and rattle upon his teeth, while the fire flew from his eyes at the concussion. Of course it was the _horn_ of the buffalo that had done this; and now, rendered furious by the pain, the tiger forgot all about the goat, and turned his attention towards revenging himself upon the animal who had wounded him. Several times he launched himself savagely against the bamboos, but the canes resisted all his strength. Just then it occurred to him that he might effect an entrance by the top, and with one bound he sprang upon the roof of the enclosure. This was just what, the buffalo wished, and the broad white belly of his assailant stretched along the open framework of bamboos, was now a fair mark for that terrible horn. Like a gleam of lightning it entered between his ribs; the red blood spouted forth, the huge man-eater screamed fiercely as he felt the deadly stab, and then, struggling for a few minutes, his enormous body lay stretched across the rack silent,-- motionless,--dead!

A signal whistle from Ossaroo soon brought the villagers upon the spot. The shikarree and the goat were set free. The carcass of the man-eater was dragged into the middle of the village amidst shouts of triumph, and the rest of the night was devoted to feasting and rejoicing. The "freedom of the city" was offered to Ossaroo and his companions, and every hospitality lavished upon them that the grateful inhabitants knew how to bestow.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

KARL'S ADVENTURE WITH THE LONG-LIPPED BEAR.

Next morning they were _en route_ at an early hour; and having passed through some cultivated fields, they once more entered the wild primeval forest which covers most of the hills and valleys of the Terai.

Their road during the whole day was a series of ascents and descents, now running along the bed of a stream; now upon its high bank, anon over some projecting ridge, and at intervals crossing the stream, sometimes by fording, and once or twice by natural bridges formed by the long trailing roots of various species of fig-trees.

Although they were gradually ascending to a higher elevation, the vegetation was still of a tropical character. Pothos plants, and broad-leaved arums, bamboos, wild plantains, and palms, were seen all along the way, while lovely orchidaceous flowers,--epiphytes and trailing plants,--hung down from the trunks and branches of the great trees, forming festoons and natural trellis-work, that stretched across the path and almost closed it up.

That was a busy day for the botanical collector. Many rare species were found in seed, and he gathered a load for all three, to be carried on to their halting place, and stored until their return from the mountains. Those species that were yet only in flower he noted down in his memorandum-book. They would be ripe for him on his way back.

About noon they halted to refresh themselves. The spot they had chosen was in a grove of purple magnolias, whose splendid flowers were in full bloom, and scented the air around with their sweet perfume. A crystal stream,--a mere rivulet,--trickled in its deep bed through the midst of the grove, and the movement of its waters seemed to produce a refreshing coolness in the surrounding atmosphere.

They had just unbuckled their packs, intending to lunch, and remain an hour or so on the ground, when some animal was heard moving among the bushes on the other side of the rivulet.

Caspar and Ossaroo, ever ready for the chase, immediately seized their weapons; and, crossing the stream, went in search of the animal, which they supposed would turn out to be a deer. Karl, therefore, was left by himself.

Now Karl felt very much jaded. He had worked hard in gathering his seeds, and nuts, and drupes, and berries, and pericarps, and he felt quite done up, and had some thoughts of remaining upon that spot for the night. Before giving up, however, he determined to try a refreshing medicine, which he had brought with him, and in which he had been taught to have great faith. This medicine was nothing more than a bottle of hot peppers pickled in vinegar, which Karl had been told by a friend was one of the finest remedies for fatigue that could be found in the world,--in fact, the sovereign cure,--far excelling rum or brandy, or even the potent spirit of his native land, the kirschen-wasser. A drop or two of it mixed with a cup of water would impart instantaneous relief to the weary traveller, and enable him to continue his journey like a new man. So Karl's friend had told him, and he was now determined to give the pickled peppers a trial.

Taking the bottle in one hand, and his tin drinking-cup in the other, he descended to the bed of the rivulet to fill the cup with water.

The little stream ran in a deep cut or gully, and its bed was not more than a yard or two in width, but it was nearly empty--so that Karl as soon as he had clambered down the steep sloping bank, found dry footing among the pebbles.

He was just in the act of stooping to fill his cup, when he heard the voices of Caspar and Ossaroo farther up the stream, as if they were in pursuit of some animal. Presently a shot rang through the woods. Of course it was Caspar's gun, for Caspar was heard shouting in the direction whence the shot came.

Karl had raised himself erect, and was thinking, whether he could give any help to the hunters, by intercepting the animal if it came his way. He heard the voice of Caspar crying to him to "look out," and just at the moment he did "look out," and saw coming right down upon him a large animal covered with black shaggy hair, and a white patch upon its breast. At the first glance it had the look of a bear, but Karl noticed a hunch upon its back, which gave it a very peculiar appearance, and rendered him doubtful as to what sort of beast it was. He had no time to examine it very minutely--although it was close enough, for when he first set eyes upon it, it was within six paces of where he stood. It was altogether too close to him, Karl thought; and so far from endeavouring to intercept it, he tried with all his might to get out of its way.

His first impulse was to rush up the bank. He saw that the bear, or whatever it was, was resolved to keep right on; and the only way to avoid an encounter would be to leave the channel free. He therefore made a dash at the bank, and tried to clamber out. The clayey slope, however, chanced to be wet and slippery, and before Karl could reach the top his feet flew from under him, and he came back to the bottom faster than he had gone up.

He now found himself face to face with the bear--for it _was_ a bear-- and not six feet separated them from each other. Neither could pass the other in the narrow channel, and Karl knew that by turning down he would soon be overtaken, and perhaps hugged to death. He had no weapon-- nothing in his hand but the bottle of red peppers--what could he do?

There was not a moment left for reflection. The bear reared upward with a savage growl, and rushed forward to the attack. He had almost got his claws upon the plant-hunter, when the latter mechanically struck forward with the battle, and, as good luck guided it, hit his assailant fair upon the snout. A loud smash, and the rattling of glass among the pebbles, announced the fate of the bottle, and the red peppers, vinegar, and all, went streaming about the head of the bear.

The brute uttered a scream of terror--such as bears will do when badly frightened--and, wheeling away from the conflict, headed up the sloping bank. He succeeded in his climbing better than Karl had done; for, in the twinkling of an eye, he had reached the top of the slope, and in the twinkling of another eye would have disappeared among the bushes, had not Caspar at this moment arrived upon the ground, and with his second barrel brought him rolling back into the channel.

The bear fell dead almost at Karl's feet, and the latter stepped forward to examine the carcass. What was his astonishment on perceiving that what he had taken for a hunch on the bear's back was a brace of young cubs, that had now rolled off, and were running round the body of their dam, whining, and snarling, and snapping like a pair of vixens! But Fritz at this moment rushed forward, and, after a short fierce struggle, put an end to their lively demonstrations.

Caspar now related that when he and Ossaroo first came in sight of the bear the cubs were upon the ground playing; but the moment he fired the first shot--which had not hit the old bear withal--she seized the cubs one after the other in her mouth, flung them upon her shoulders, and then made off!

The animal that had fallen before the bullet of Caspar's gun was the "long-lipped," or sloth-bear (_Ursus labiatus_). The first name has been given to this species on account of the capability it possesses of protruding the cartilage of its nose and its lips far in advance of its teeth, and by this means seizing its food. It is called "sloth" bear, because when first known it was supposed to belong to the sloths; and its long shaggy hair, its rounded back, and the apparently unwieldy and deformed contour of its whole body, gave some colour to the idea. These marks of ugliness, combined with its sagacity--which enables the Indian jugglers to train it to a variety of tricks--render this species of bear a favourite with them, and on this account it is also known by the name of the "Ours de jongleurs," or "Jugglers' bear."

The sloth-bear is long-haired and shaggy, of a deep black colour, except under the throat, where there is a white mark shaped like the letter Y. It is nearly as large as the black bear of America, and its habits in a state of nature are very similar to this species. It will not attack man unless closely pressed or wounded; and had Karl been able to get out of her way, the old she would not have followed him, savage as she was from being shot at by Caspar.

No doubt the "pickle" had helped him out of a worse pickle. The peppery vinegar getting into the eyes of the bear quite confounded her, and caused her to turn tail. But for that Karl might have undergone a hug and a sharp scratch or two, and he might well be thankful--as he was-- that he had escaped with no more serious damage than the loss of his precious peppers.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

OSSAROO IN TROUBLE.

Fritz had scarce finished his battle with the young bears, with Karl and Caspar standing over him, when a loud shouting drew the attention of all to another quarter. The shouting evidently proceeded from Ossaroo, as the boys could distinguish his voice. The shikarree was in trouble--as they could easily understand by his shrill continued screams--and the words "Help! Sahibs, help!" which he repeatedly uttered.

What could be the matter with Ossaroo? Had another bear attacked him? Maybe a panther, or a lion, or a tiger? No matter what it was, both Karl and Caspar felt it to be their duty to hasten to his assistance; and without more ado both of them started off in the direction whence came the shouts. Karl had got possession of his rifle, and Caspar hastily rammed a load into the right-hand barrel, so that both were in readiness to offer good help to the guide, if it should turn out to be a wild beast that was his assailant.

In a few moments, they came in sight of Ossaroo; and, to their great relief, saw that no animal was near him. Neither bear nor panther, nor lion nor tiger, appeared upon the spot Ossaroo, however still continued his noisy cries for help; and, to the astonishment of the boys, they saw him dancing about over the ground, now stooping his head downwards, now leaping up several feet, his arms all the while playing about, and striking out as if at some imaginary enemy!

What could it all mean? Had Ossaroo gone mad? Or had he become suddenly afflicted with the malady of Saint Vitus? His movements were altogether of a comical nature; no mountebank could have danced about with more agility; and, but for the earnestness of his cries, evidently forced from him by fear, both Karl and Caspar would have burst out into a fit of laughter. They saw, however, that the shikarree was in some danger--from what, they could not tell; but they very naturally suspected that he had been attacked by a venomous serpent, and, perhaps, already bitten by it. It might still be attacking him, _perhaps under his clothes_, and that was why they could not perceive it.

This idea restrained them from laughter, for, if their conjecture proved correct, it would be no laughing matter for poor Ossaroo; and, with fear in their hearts, both the boys rushed forward to the spot.

On getting nearer, however, the odd behaviour of the shikarree was explained, and the enemy with which he was contending, and which had hitherto remained invisible, came under their view. Around the head of Ossaroo there appeared a sort of misty halo, encircling him like a glory; which, on closer view, the boys perceived was neither more nor less than a _swarm of bees_!

The whole matter was cleared up. Ossaroo had been assailed by bees; and it was they that were making him dance and fling his arms about in so wild a manner!

Karl and Caspar had forborne to laugh, so long as they believed their guide to be in real danger; but now that they saw what it was, they could no more restrain their mirth, and both simultaneously broke out into a fit of cachinnation, that caused the woods to ring again.

On seeing how his young companions sympathised with his distress, Ossaroo was by no means pleased. The stings of the bees had nettled the Hindoo's temper, and the laughter of the boys exasperated him still more. He resolved, therefore, that they should both have a taste of the same trouble; and, without saying another word, he rushed between the two; of course, carrying the swarm of bees along with him.

This unexpected manoeuvre on the part of the guide, at once put, an end to the merriment of his companions; and the next moment, instead of enjoying a laugh at Ossaroo's expense, both of themselves exhibited a spectacle equally ludicrous. The bees, on perceiving these new enemies, at once separated into three distinct swarms, each swarm selecting its victim; so that not only Ossaroo, but Karl and Caspar as well, now danced over the ground like acrobats. Even Fritz was attacked by a few--enough to make him scamper around, and snap at his own legs as if he had suddenly gone mad!

Karl and Caspar soon learnt, that what had so lately amused them was by no means a thing to be amused at. They were stung about the face, and found the stings to be exceedingly virulent and painful. Besides, the number of their assailants rendered the affair one of considerable danger. They began to feel that there was peril as well as pain.

Where was it to end? All their demonstrations failed to drive off the bees. Run where they would, the enraged insects followed them, buzzing about their ears, and alighting whenever an opportunity offered. Where was it to end?

It was difficult to tell when and how the scene would have been brought to a termination, had it not been for Ossaroo himself. The cunning Hindoo had bethought him of a plan, and, calling to the others to follow him, was seen to run forward in a direct line through the woods.

Karl and Caspar started after, in hopes of finding relief from their tormentors.

In a few minutes, Ossaroo approached the bank of the stream, at a place where it was dammed up, and formed a reach of deep water--a pool. Without hesitating a moment, the Hindoo plunged into the water. The boys, flinging down their guns, imitated his example; and all three stood side by side, neck-deep in the pool. They now commenced ducking their heads under, and continued this, at intervals; until at length the bees, finding themselves in danger of being drowned, gave up the attack, and, one after another, winged their way back into the woods.

After remaining long enough in the pool, to make sure that their enemies had gone quite away, the three smarting hunters climbed out, and stood dripping upon the bank. They would have laughed at the whole adventure, but the pain of the stings put them out of all humour for enjoying a joke; and, out of sorts altogether, they quietly wended their way back to the place of their temporary encampment.

On their way, Ossaroo explained how he had chanced to provoke the attack of the bees. On hearing the report of Caspar's gun, and the noise of the conflict between Fritz and the bears, he had started in great haste to get up to the spot, and give assistance. In running forward, he scarce looked before him; and was dashing recklessly through among trees, when his head came in contact with a large bees' nest, which was suspended upon a vine that stretched across the path. The nest was constructed out of agglutinated mud, and attached only slightly to the vine; and Ossaroo, having become entangled in the latter, shook it so violently that the nest fell down, broke into pieces, and set the whole swarm of angry bees about his ears. It was just then that he had been heard crying out, and that Karl and Caspar had run to his rescue; which act both of them now said they very much regretted. They were hardly in earnest, however; and Ossaroo, having procured an herb from the woods, the sap of which soon alleviated the pain of the stings, in a short time the tempers of all three were restored to their usual equanimity.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE AXIS AND PANTHER.

The maternal solicitude displayed by the bear in endeavouring to carry her young out of danger, had quite won the admiration of the plant-hunters; and now that the excitement of the conflict was over, they experienced some pangs of regret at having killed the creature. But the thing was done, and could not be helped. Besides, as Ossaroo informed them, these bears are esteemed a great nuisance in the country. Descending from their mountain retreats, or issuing out of the jungle during the season of the crops, they commit very destructive depredations upon the produce of the farmer, often entering his very garden without fear, and in a single night laying waste the contents of a whole enclosure. On hearing this, both Karl and Caspar were more contented with what they had done. Perhaps, reflected they, had these two cubs lived to grow up, they or their mother might have devastated the paddy-field of some poor jemindar, or farmer, and he and his family might have been put to great distress by it.

Whether or not their reasoning was correct, it satisfied the two boys, and quieted their consciences about the killing of the bears. But as they continued their journey, they still conversed of the curious circumstance of the old one carrying off her cubs in the manner she was doing. Karl had read of such a habit in animals--which is common to many other sorts along with the bears--such as the great ant-eater of South America, the opossum, and most kinds of monkeys. Both agreed that it was a pretty trait in the character of the lower animals, and proved even the most savage of them capable of tender affection.

It chanced that upon that same day they had another illustration of this very nature, and one that by good fortune did not have so tragical an ending.

They had finished their day's journey, and were reclining under a great _talauma_ tree--a species of magnolia, with very large leaves--by the edge of a little glade. They had not yet made any preparations for their camp. The day's march had been a severe one, for they were now among the foot-hills of the great Himalaya chain; and though they appeared to travel as much down hill as up they were in reality ascending, and by evening they were really more than five thousand feet above the plains of India. They had arrived in a new zone of vegetation, among the great forests of magnolias which gird the middle parts of the mountains. It is in this part of the world that the remarkable genus of magnolia is found in its greatest vigour and variety; and many species of these trees, in forests of vast extent, cover and adorn the declivities of the lower Himalayas. There are the white-flowered magnolias, at an elevation of from four thousand to eight thousand feet, which are then replaced by the still more gorgeous purple magnolia (_Magnolia Campbellia_)--the latter being the most superb species known, its brilliant corollas often arraying the sloping sides of the hills as with a robe of purple. Here, too, our travellers observed chestnut-trees of rare species, and several kinds of oak-- laurels also, not in the form of humble shrubs, but rising as tall trees, with straight smooth boles, to the height of the oaks themselves. Maples, too, were seen mingling in the forest, and the tree rhododendrons growing forty feet high!

What appeared singular to the eyes of the botanist, was the mingling of many European forms of plants among those of a strictly tropical character. For instance, there were birches, willows, alders, and walnut-trees, growing side by side with the wild plantain, the Wallich palm, and gigantic bamboos; while the great _Cedrela Toona_, figs of several species, _melastomas_, balsams, _pothos_ plants, peppers, and gigantic climbing vines and orchids, were intermixed with speedwell, common bramble, forget-me-not, and stinging-nettles, just such as might have been met with in a European field! Tree ferns were seen rising up and towering high above the common brake-fern of the English moors; while the wild strawberry of Britain was seen covering the ground in patches of large extent. Its fruit, however, in the Himalayas is quite insipid, but a fine yellow raspberry--one of the most luscious fruits met with in these mountains--was found growing in the same districts, as if to compensate for the absence of flavour in the strawberry.

Under one of these magnificent magnolias, whose large wax-like corollas filled the air with their odorous perfume, our travellers had just stretched themselves--intending, after a few minutes of rest, to make the necessary arrangements for passing the night there.

Ossaroo was chewing his betel-nut, and Karl and Caspar, both very tired, were doing nothing and saying as little. Fritz, too, lay along the ground, with his tongue out, and panting after the hot day's rambling among the bushes.

Just at that moment, Caspar, whose sharp hunter eye was always on the alert, caught Karl by the sleeve, and in a hurried whisper, said--

"See, Karl! see!--Isn't it a beauty?"

As Caspar said this, he pointed to an animal that had just come out of the jungle, and stood within a few feet of its edge. The creature in question had the shape, size, and general appearance of a fallow-deer, and its slender limbs and well proportioned body bespoke it to be a near kin to that animal. In colour, however, it essentially differed from the fallow-deer. Its ground-colour was much the same, but it was spotted all over with snow-white spots that gave it a very beautiful appearance. It looked somewhat like the young of the fallow-deer, and might have been taken for an overgrown fawn. Karl, however, knew what it was.

"A spotted deer," he replied, also in a whisper. "It is the _axis_. Hold back Fritz, and let us watch it a moment."

Karl had guessed correctly what kind of animal it was. It was the axis, one of the best known of the Indian deer, and closely allied to the _linsa_ group of Asia as well as to the fallow-deer of Europe. There are several species of the axis in eastern Asia, more or less marked with spots, and in no part are they more common than in the country through which the plant-hunters were passing--the country of the Ganges and the Burrampooter.

Caspar caught Fritz as desired, and held him fast; and the travellers, without making any noise, sat watching the movements of the axis.

To their surprise, another axis now showed itself upon the ground, but this one was of such small dimensions that they saw at once it was the young of the first. It was a tiny little fawn, but a few days old, and speckled all over with similar snow-white spots.

The deer, unconscious of the presence of the travellers, walked several paces out upon the meadow, and commenced browsing upon the grass. The little fawn knew not, as yet, how to eat grass; and occupied itself by skipping and playing about its mother, like a kid.

The hunters, all speaking in whispers, now counselled among themselves as to what they should do. Ossaroo would have liked a bit of venison for supper, and, certainly, the fawn was a tempting _morceau_. Caspar voted to kill; but Karl, of gentler nature, opposed this design.

"A pity!" he said. "Look, brother, how gentle they appear? Remember how we felt after killing the savage bear, and this would be far worse."

While engaged in this undertone discussion, a new party made his appearance upon the scene, which drove all thoughts of killing the deer out of the minds both of Caspar and Ossaroo.

This intruder was an animal quite as large as the axis, but of an entirely different form. Its ground-colour was not unlike that of the deer, with a deeper tinge of yellow, and it, too, was spotted all over the body. Herein, however, a striking contrast existed between the two. As already stated, the spots upon the axis were snow-white; while those upon the new comer were just the reverse--black as jet. Spots they could hardly be termed, though, at a distance, they presented that appearance. When closely viewed, however, it would have been seen that they were rather rosettes, or rings; the centre part being of the same yellowish ground-colour as the rest of the body.

The animal had a stout, low body; short, but strong limbs; a long, tapering tail, and a cat-like head. The last is not to be wondered at, since it was in reality a cat. It was the _panther_.

The attention of the hunters was at once taken away from the axis, and became fixed on the great spotted cat, which all three knew to be a panther; next to the lion and tiger, the most formidable of Asiatic _felida_.

All knew that the Indian panther often attacks man; and it was, therefore, with no very comfortable feelings that they hailed his appearance. The boys grasped their guns more firmly, and Ossaroo his bow, ready to give the panther the volley, should he approach within range.

The latter, however, had no design of molesting the travellers. He was unaware of their presence. His whole attention was occupied with the axis; upon whose ribs, or, perhaps, those of the fawn, he intended to make his supper.

With crouching gait and silent tread he approached his intended victims, stealing along the edge of the jungle. In a few seconds, he was near enough to spring, and, as yet, the poor doe browsed unconsciously. He was just setting his paws for the leap, and, in all probability, would have pounced next moment upon the back of the deer, but, just in the nick of time, Caspar chanced to sneeze. It was not done designedly, or with, any intention of warning the deer; for all three of the hunters were so absorbed in watching the manoeuvres of the panther, that they never thought of such a thing. Perhaps the powerful odour of the magnolia blossoms had been the cause; but, whether or no, Caspar sneezed.

That sneeze was a good thing. It saved the tender mother and her gentle fawn from the fangs of the ferocious panther. She heard it, and, raising her head on the instant, glanced round. The crouching cat came under her eyes; and, without losing a second of time, she sprang up to the fawn, seized the astonished little creature in her mouth, and, bounding like an arrow across the glade, was soon out of sight, having disappeared into the jungle on the opposite side!

The panther, who had either not heard or not regarded the sneeze, sprang out, as he had intended, but missed his aim. He ran a few stretches, rose into the air, and, a second time, came down without touching the deer; and then, seeing that the latter had sped beyond his reach, according to the usual habit of all the _felidae_, he desisted from farther pursuit. Trotting back whence he had come, he entered the jungle before the hunters could get within shooting distance of him, and was never more seen by any of the three.

As they returned to camp, Karl congratulated Caspar for having sneezed so opportunely; though Caspar acknowledged that it was quite accidental, and that, for his part, he would rather he had not sneezed at all, and that he had either got a shot at the panther, or had a bit of the fawn for his supper.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE PESTS OF THE TROPICS.

Much has been said and written in praise of the bright sun and the blue skies of tropical countries; and travellers have dilated largely upon the magnificent fruits, flowers, and foliage of tropical forests. One who has never visited these southern climes is disposed to indulge in very fanciful dreams of enjoyment there. Life would seem to be luxurious; every scene appears to be _couleur de rose_.

But Nature has not designed that any portion of her territory should be favoured beyond the rest to such an extreme degree; and, perhaps, if a just comparison were instituted, it would be found that the Esquimaux, shivering in his hut of snow, enjoys as much personal happiness as the swarth southerner, who swings in his hammock under the shade of a banyan or a palm-tree.

The clime of the torrid zone, with its luxuriant vegetation, is also prolific of insect and reptile life; and, from this very circumstance, the denizen of a hot country is often subject to a greater amount of personal discomfort than the dweller in the Arctic zone. Even the scarcity of vegetable food, and the bitter, biting frost, are far easier to endure than the plague of tipulary insects and reptiles, which swarm between Cancer and Capricorn.

It is a well-known fact, that there are large districts in tropical America where human life is scarce endurable, on account of the mosquitos, gnats, ants, and other insects.

Thus writes the great Prussian geognosist:--

"Persons who have not navigated the rivers of equinoctial America can scarcely conceive how, at every instant, without intermission, you may be tormented by insects flying in the air, and how the multitudes of these little animals may render vast regions almost uninhabitable. Whatever fortitude be exercised to endure pain without complaint, whatever interest may be felt in the objects of scientific research, it is impossible not to be constantly disturbed by the mosquitos, zancudos, jejens, and tempraneros, that cover the face and hands, pierce the clothes with their long, needle-formed suckers; and, getting into the mouth and nostrils, occasion coughing and sneezing, whenever any attempt is made to speak in the open air.

"In the missions of the Orinoco, in the villages on the banks of the river, surrounded by immense forests, the _plaga de las moscas_, or plague of the mosquitos, affords an inexhaustible subject of conversation. When two persons meet in the morning, the first questions they address to each other are: `How did you find the zancudos during the night?' `How are we to-day for the mosquitos?'

"An atmosphere filled with venomous insects always appears to be more heated than it is in reality. We were horribly tormented in the day by mosquitos and the jejen (a small venomous fly), and at night by the zancudos, a large species of gnat, dreaded even by the natives.

"At different hours of the day you are stung by different species. Every time that the scene changes, and, to use the simple expression of the missionaries, other insects `mount guard,' you have a few minutes-- often a quarter of an hour, of repose. The insects that disappear have not their places instantly supplied by their successors. From half-past six in the morning till live in the afternoon the air is filled with mosquitos. An hour before sunset a species of small gnats--called tempraneros, because they appear also at sunrise--take the place of the mosquitos. Their presence scarcely lasts an hour and a half. They disappear between six and seven in the evening. After a few minutes' repose, you feel yourself stung by zancudos, another species of gnat, with very long legs. The zancudo, the proboscis of which contains a sharp-pointed sucker, causes the most acute pain, and a swelling that remains several weeks.

"The means that are employed to escape from these little plagues are very extraordinary. At Maypures the Indians quit the village at night to go and sleep on the little islets in the midst of the cataracts. There they enjoy some rest, the mosquitos appearing to shun air loaded with vapours.

"Between the little harbour of Higuerote and the mouth of the Rio Unare the wretched inhabitants are accustomed to stretch themselves on the ground, and pass the night buried in the sand three or four inches deep, leaving out the head only, which they cover with a handkerchief.

"At Mandanaca we found an old missionary, who told us with an air of sadness that he had had his `twenty years of mosquitos' in America. He desired us to look at his legs, that we might be able to tell one day beyond sea `what the poor monks suffer in the forests of Cassiquiare.' Every sting leaving a small darkish brown spot, his legs were so speckled that it was difficult to recognise the whiteness of his skin, through the spots of coagulated blood!"

Just such torments as the great Prussian traveller suffered from insects in the forests of South America, our plant-hunters had to endure while passing through the humid woods of the Lower Himalayas. By night and by day the air seemed filled with insects, in countless swarms,--large and small moths, cockchafers, glow-flies, cockroaches, winged ants, may-flies, flying earwigs, beetles, and "daddy longlegs." They experienced the bite of ants or the stings of mosquitoes every moment, or they were attacked by large ticks, a species of which infests the bamboo, and which is one of the most hateful of insects. These the traveller cannot avoid coming in contact with while brushing through the forest. They get inside his dress, often in great numbers, and insert their proboscis deeply, but without pain. Buried head and shoulders, and retained by its barbed lancet, this tick can only be extracted with great force, and the operation is exceedingly painful.

But of the tortures to which they were subjected by insects and reptiles, there was one more disagreeable and disgusting than all the rest, and on their first experience of it the three were quite horrified.

It happened to them on the very day after their adventure with the bear and the bees. They had walked several miles for their morning stage, and the sun having grown quite hot, they agreed to rest for some hours till afternoon. Having thrown off their packs and accoutrements, all three lay down upon the grass close by the edge of a little stream, and under the shadow of a spreading tree. The fatigue of the walk, combined with the heated atmosphere, had rendered them drowsy, and one and all of them fell fast asleep.

Caspar was the first to awake. He did not feel quite comfortable during his sleep. The mosquitos or some other kind of insects appeared to be biting him, and this had prevented him from sleeping soundly. He awoke at length and sat upright. The others were still asleep close by, and the eyes of Caspar by chance rested upon Ossaroo, whose body was more than half naked, the slight cotton tunic having fallen aside and exposed his breast to view; besides, his legs were bare, as the shikarree had rolled up his trousers on account of the damp grass they had been passing through. What was the astonishment of Caspar at perceiving the naked part of Ossaroo's body mottled with spots of dark and red--the latter being evidently blotches of blood! Caspar perceived that some of the dark spots were in motion, now lengthening out, and then closing up again into a smaller compass; and it was only after he had drawn closer, and examined these objects more minutely that he was able to determine what they were. They were _leeches! Ossaroo was covered with leeches_!

Caspar uttered a cry that awoke both of his companions on the instant.

Ossaroo was not a little disgusted with the fix he found himself in, but Karl and Caspar did not waste much time in condoling with him, for upon examination they found that they themselves had fared no better, both of them being literally covered with the same bloodthirsty reptiles.

A scene now ensued that would not be easy to describe. All three pulled off their garments, and went to work to extract the leeches with their fingers--for there was no other mode of getting rid of the troublesome intruders--and after a full half-hour spent in picking one another clean, they rapidly dressed again, and took the route, desirous of getting away from that spot as quickly as possible.

Of all the pests of warm Oriental climates, there are none so troublesome to the traveller, or so disgusting, as these land-leeches. They infest the humid woods on the slopes of the Himalaya Mountains from about two thousand to eleven thousand feet of elevation; but they are not confined to the Himalayas alone, as they are common in the mountain forests of Ceylon, Sumatra, and other parts of the Indies. There are many species of them--and even upon the Himalayas more than one kind-- the small black species swarming above the elevation of three thousand feet, while a large yellow kind, more solitary, is found farther down. They are not only troublesome and annoying, but dangerous. They often crawl into the fauces, noses, and stomachs of human beings, where they produce dreadful sufferings and even death. Cattle are subject to their attacks; and hundreds perish in this way--the cause of their death not being always understood, and usually attributed to some species of vermin.

It is almost impossible to keep them off the person while travelling through a track of woods infested by them. If the traveller only sit down for a moment, they crawl upon him without being perceived. They are exceedingly active, and move with surprising rapidity. Indeed, some fancy they have the power to spring from the ground. Certain it is that they possess the powers of contraction and extension to a very great degree. When fully extended they appear as thin as a thread, and the next moment they can clue themselves up like a pea. This power enables them to pass rapidly from point to point, and also to penetrate into the smallest aperture. They are said to possess an acute sense of smell, and guided by this they approach the traveller the moment he sits down. They will crowd up from all quarters, until fifty or a hundred crawl upon one person in a few minutes' time, so that one is kept busy in removing them as fast as they appear.

They occur in greatest numbers in moist shady woods, and cover the leaves when heavy dew is on them. In rain they are more numerous than at other times, and then they infest the paths; whereas in dry weather they betake themselves into the streams, or the thickly-shaded interior of the jungle.

Those who know not their haunts, their love of blood, their keenness and immense numbers, cannot understand the disgust and annoyance experienced from them by travellers. They get into the hair, hang by the eyelids, crawl up the legs, or down the back, and fasten themselves under the instep of the foot; and if not removed, gorge themselves with blood till they roll off. Often the traveller finds his boots filled with these hideous creatures when arrived at the end of his day's journey. Their wound at the time produces no pain, but it causes a sore afterwards, which is frequently months in healing, and leaves a scar that remains for years!

Many antidotes are adopted, and tobacco-juice or snuff will keep them off when applied over the skin; but in passing through moist woods and the long wet jungle-grass, such applications require to be continually renewed, and it becomes so troublesome and vexatious to take these precautions, that most travellers prefer wearing long boots, tucking in their trousers, and then keeping a good lookout for these insidious crawlers.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE MUSK-DEER.

A few days' more journeying up the mountains brought our travellers to the limits of the forest. They once more looked upon the snowy peaks of the great central chain towering up into the clouds. I say once more-- for they had already seen these peaks from the plains of India while still more than a hundred miles distant from them; but, as they approached nearer, and while advancing through the foot-hills, the snow-covered mountains had no longer been in sight!

This may appear a puzzle, but it is very easily explained. When very near to a house you will be unable to see the steeple of a church that is behind it; whereas by going to a greater distance from the house, the higher steeple comes at once before your eyes.

So is it with mountains. From a great distance their highest peaks are those that may be seen, but as you draw nearer, their lower range, or foot-hills, subtend the angle of vision; and it is only after having passed through, or over these, that you again behold the more elevated summits.

Our travellers were now in sight of the snowy summits of the Himalayas, several of which rose to the stupendous height of five miles above the level of the sea--one or two even exceeding this elevation.

Of course it was not the design of the plant-hunters to attempt to climb to the tops of any of these gigantic mountains. That they well knew would not be possible, as it is almost certain that at such an elevation a human being could not live. Karl, however, was determined to proceed as far as vegetation extended; for he believed that many rare and choice plants might be found even as high as the snow-line; and indeed there are several species of beautiful rhododendrons, and junipers, and pines, which grow only in what may be termed the "Arctic zone" of the Himalayas.

With this idea, then, the travellers kept on--each day getting higher, and farther into the heart of the great chain.

For two or three days they had been climbing through wild desolate valleys, quite without inhabitants; yet they were able to find plenty of food, as in these valleys there were animals of various kinds, and with their guns they had no difficulty in procuring a supply of meat. They found the "talin," a species of wild goat, the male of which often attains to the weight of three hundred pounds, and a fine species of deer known in the Himalayas as the "serow." They also shot one or two wild sheep, known by the name of "burrell," and an antelope called "gooral," which is the "chamois" of the Indian Alps.

It may be as well here to remark, that in the vast extended chain of the Himalayas, as well as throughout the high mountain steppes of Asia, there exist wild sheep and wild goats, as well as deer and antelopes, of a great many species that have never been described by naturalists. Indeed, but little more is known of them than what has been obtained from the notes of a few enterprising English sportsmen. It would be safe to conjecture that there are in Asia a dozen species of wild sheep, and quite as many belonging to the goat-tribe; and when that continent shall be thoroughly explored by scientific travellers, a very large addition will be made to the catalogue of ruminant animals. Nearly every extensive valley or chain of the Asiatic mountains possesses some species of the sheep or goat-tribe peculiar to itself, and differing from all others of the same genus; and in ascending the stupendous heights of the Himalayas you find that every stage of elevation has its peculiar species. Some dwell in dense forests, others in those that are thin and open. Some prefer the grassy slopes, while others affect the barren ridges of rock. There are those that are found only upon the very limits of vegetation, spending most of their lives within the region of eternal snow. Among these are the famed ibex and the large wild sheep known as the _Ovis ammon_.

There was none of the Himalayan animals that interested our travellers more than the curious little creature known as the "musk-deer." This is the animal from which the famous scent is obtained; and which is consequently a much persecuted creature. It dwells in the Himalayan Mountains, ranging from an elevation of about eight thousand feet to the limits of perpetual snow, and is an object of the chase to the hunters of these regions, who make their living by collecting the musk and disposing of it to the merchants of the plains. The animal itself is a small creature, less in size than our fallow-deer, and of a speckled brownish grey colour, darker on the hind-quarters. Its head is small, its ears long and upright, and it is without horns.

A peculiarity exists in the males which renders them easy to be distinguished from other animals of the deer kind. They have a pair of tusks in the upper jaw projecting downwards, each full three inches in length, and about as thick as a goose's quill. These give to the animal altogether a peculiar appearance. The males only yield the musk, which is found in grains, or little pellets, inside a sac or pod in the skin, situated near the navel; but what produces this singular substance, or what purpose it serves in the economy of the animal, it is not easy to say. It has proved its worst foe. But for the musk this harmless little deer would be comparatively a worthless object of the chase; but as it is, the valuable commodity has created for it a host of enemies, who follow no other occupation but that of hunting it to the death.

The plant-hunters had several times seen musk-deer as they journeyed up the mountain; but as the animal is exceedingly shy, and one of the swiftest of the deer kind, they had not succeeded in getting a shot. They were all the more anxious to procure one, from the very difficulty which they had met with in doing so.

One day as they were proceeding up a very wild ravine, among some stunted juniper and rhododendron bushes, they started from his lair one of the largest musk-deer they had yet seen. As he kept directly on, and did not seem to run very fast, they determined to pursue him. Fritz, therefore, was put upon his trail, and the others followed as fast as they were able to get over the rough ground.

They had not gone far, when the baying of the dog told them that the chase had forsaken the ravine in which they had first started it, and had taken into a lateral valley.

On arriving at the mouth of this last, they perceived that it was filled by a glacier. This did not surprise them, as they had already seen several glaciers in the mountain valleys, and they were every hour getting farther within the region of these icy phenomena.

A sloping path enabled them to reach the top of the glacier, and they now perceived the tracks of the deer. Some snow had fallen and still lay unmelted upon the icy surface, and in this the foot-prints of the animal were quite distinct, Fritz had stopped at the end of the glacier, as if to await further instructions; but without hesitation the hunters climbed up on the ice, and followed the trail.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE GLACIER.

For more than a mile they toiled up the sloping glacier which all the way lay between two vertical cliffs.

That the musk-deer was still in advance of them, they had evidence from the imprint of its tracks. Even without this evidence they could not doubt that the game was still before them. It would have been impossible for it to have scaled the cliffs on either side, so far as they had yet seen them; and as far before them as they could see, both sides appeared equally steep and impracticable.

As the hunters advanced, the cliffs gradually converged; and at the distance of a few hundred yards before them, appeared to close in--as if the ravine ended there, and there was no outlet in that direction. In fact they appeared to be approaching the apex of a very acute angle, the sides of which were formed by the black granite cliffs.

This singular formation was just what the hunters desired. If the valley ended in a _cul-de-sac_, then the game would be hemmed in by their approach, and they might have a chance of obtaining a shot.

In order the more surely to accomplish this, they separated, and deployed themselves into a line which extended completely across the valley. In this formation they continued to advance upward.

When they first adopted this plan, the ravine was about four hundred yards in width--so that less than one hundred lay between each two of them. These equal distances they preserved as well as they could, but now and then the cracks in the icy mass, and the immense boulders that lay over its surface, obliged one or other, of them to make considerable detours. As they advanced, however, the distance between each two grew less, in consequence of the narrowing of the valley, until at length a space of only fifty yards separated one from the other. The game could not now pass them without affording a fine opportunity for all to have a shot; and with the expectation of soon obtaining one, they kept on in high spirits.

All at once their hopes appeared to be frustrated. The whole line came to a halt, and the hunters stood regarding each other with blank looks. Directly in front of them yawned an immense crevasse in the ice, full five yards in width at the top, and stretching across the glacier from cliff to cliff.

A single glance into this great fissure convinced them that it was impassable. Their hunt was at an end. They could go no farther. Such was the conviction of all.

The glacier filled the whole ravine from cliff to cliff. There was no space or path between the ice and the rocky wall. The latter rose vertically upward for five hundred feet at least, and no doubt extended downward to as great a depth. Indeed, by looking into the fissure, they could trace the wall of rock to an immense distance downward, ending in the green cleft of the ice below. To look down into that terrible abyss made their heads reel with giddiness; and they could only do so with safety by crawling up to the edge of the lye, and peeping over.

A glance convinced one and all of them that the crevasse was impassable.

But how had the deer got over it? Surely it had not leaped that fearful chasm?

But surely it had. Close by the edge its tracks were traced in the snow, and there, upon the lower side of the cleft, was the spot from which it had sprung. On the opposite brink the disarrangement of the snow told where it had alighted, having cleared a space of sixteen or eighteen feet! This, however, was nothing to a musk-deer, that upon a deal level often bounds to more than twice that length; for these animals have been known to spring down a slope to the enormous distance of sixty feet!

The leap over the crevasse, therefore, fearful as it appeared in the eyes of our hunters, was nothing to the musk-deer, who is as nimble and sure-footed as the chamois itself.

"Enough!" said Karl, after they had stood for some minutes gazing into the lye. "There's no help for it; we must go back as we came--what says Ossaroo?"

"You speakee true, Sahib--no help for we--we no get cross--too wide leapee--no bridge--no bamboo for makee bridge--no tree here."

Ossaroo shook his head despondingly as he spoke. He was vexed at losing the game--particularly as the buck was one of the largest, and might have yielded an ounce or two of musk, which, as Ossaroo well knew, was worth a guinea an ounce in the bazaars of Calcutta.

The Hindoo glanced once more across the lye, and then turning round, uttered an exclamation, which told that he was beaten.

"Well, then, let us go back!" said Karl.

"Stay, brother!" interrupted Caspar, "a thought strikes me. Had we not better remain here for a while? The deer cannot be far off. It is, no doubt, up near the end of the ravine; but it won't stay there long. There appears to be nothing for it to eat but rocks or snow, and it won't be contented with that. If there's no outlet above, it must come back this way. Now I propose we lie in wait for it a while, and take it as it comes down again. What say you to my plan?"

"I see no harm in trying it, Caspar," replied Karl. "We had better separate, however, and each hide behind a boulder, else it may see us, and stay back. We shall give it an hour."

"Oh!" said Caspar, "I think it'll tire of being cooped up in less time than that; but we shall see."

The party now spread themselves right and left along the lower edge of the crevasse--each choosing a large rock or mass of snowy ice as a cover. Caspar went to the extreme left, and even to the edge of the glacier, where a number of large rocks rested on its surface. Having entered among these, he was hidden from the others, but presently they heard him calling out--

"Hurrah! come here!--a bridge! a bridge!"

Karl and Ossaroo left their hiding-places, and hastened to the spot.

On arriving among the boulders, they saw, to their delight, that one of the largest of these--an enormous block of gneiss--lay right across the crevasse, spanning it like a bridge, and looking as though it had been placed there by human hands! This, however, would have been impossible, as the block was full ten yards in length, and nearly as broad as it was long. Even giants could not have built such a bridge!

A little examination showed where it had fallen from the overhanging precipice--and it had rested on the glacier, perhaps, before the great cleft had yawned open beneath it. Its upper end overlapped the ice for a breadth of scarce two feet, and it seemed a wonder that so huge a weight could be sustained by such an apparently fragile prop. But there it rested; and had done so for years--perhaps for ages--suspended over the beetling chasm, as if the touch of a feather would precipitate it into the gulf below!

If Karl had been near, he might have warned his brother from crossing by such a dangerous bridge; but before he had reached the spot, Caspar had already mounted on the rock, and was hurrying over.

In a few moments he stood upon the opposite side of the crevasse; and, waving his cap in the air, shouted to the rest to follow.

The others crossed as he had done, and then the party once more deployed, and kept up the ravine, which grew narrower as they advanced, and appeared to be regularly closed in at the lop, by a perpendicular wall. Surely the deer could not escape them much longer?

"What a pity," said Caspar, "we could not throw down that great stone and widen the crack in the ice, so that the deer could not leap over it! We should then have it nicely shut up here."

"Ay, Caspar," rejoined Karl, "and where should _we_ be then? Shut up too, I fear."

"True, brother, I did not think of that. What a terrible thing it would be to be imprisoned between these black cliffs! It would, I declare."

The words had scarce issued from Caspar's lip, when a crash was heard like the first bursting of a thunderclap, and then a deafening roar echoed up the ravine, mingled with louder peals, as though the eternal mountains were being rent asunder!

The noise reverberated from the black cliffs; eagles, that had been perched upon the rocks, rose screaming into the air; beasts of prey howled from their lurking-places; and the hitherto silent valley was all at once filled with hideous noises, as though it were the doom of the world!

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE GLACIER SLIDE.

"An avalanche!" cried Karl Linden, as the first crash fell upon his ear; but on turning, he saw his mistake.

"No," he continued, with a look of terror, "it is not an avalanche! My God! my God! _the glacier is in motion_!"

He did not need to point out the spot. The eyes of Caspar and Ossaroo were already turned upon it.--Away down the ravine as far as they could see the surface of the glacier appeared in motion, like sea-billows; huge blocks of ice were thrown to the top and rolled over, with a rumbling crashing noise, while large blue fragments raised high above the general surface, were grinding and crumbling to pieces against the faces of the cliffs. A cloud of snow-spray, rising like a thick white mist, filled the whole ravine--as if to conceal the work of ruin that was going on--and underneath this ghostly veil, the crushing and tearing for some moments continued. Then all at once the fearful noises ceased, and only the screaming of the birds, and the howling of beasts, disturbed the silence of the place.

Pale, shuddering, almost paralysed by fear, the hunters had thrown themselves on their hands and knees, expecting every moment to feel the glacier move beneath them,--expecting to sink beneath the surface, or be crushed amidst the billows of that icy sea. So long as the dread sounds echoed in their ears, their hearts were filled with consternation, and long after the crashing and crackling ceased, they remained the victims of a terrible suspense; but they felt that that portion of the glacier upon which they were did not move. It still remained firm; would it continue so?

They knew not the moment it, too, might commence sliding downward, and bury them under its masses, or crush them in some deep crevasse.

O heavens! the thought was fearful. It had paralysed them for a moment; and for some time after the noises had ceased, they remained silent and motionless. Indeed, absurd as it may seem, each dreaded to stir, lest the very motion of his body might disturb the icy mass upon which he was kneeling!

Reflection soon came to their aid. It would never do to remain there. They were still exposed to the danger. Whither could they retreat? Up the ravine might be safer? Above them the ice had not yet stirred. The ruin had all been below--below the crevasse they had just crossed.

Perhaps the rocks would afford a footing? They would not move, at all events, even if the upper part of the glacier should give way; but was there footing to be found upon them?

They swept their eyes along the nearest cliff. It offered but little hope. Yes--upon closer inspection there was a ledge--a very narrow one, but yet capable of giving refuge to two or three men; and, above all, it was easy of access. It would serve their purpose.

Like men seeking shelter from a heavy shower, or running to get out of the way of some impending danger, all three made for the ledge; and after some moments spent in sprawling and climbing against the cliff, they found themselves standing safely upon it.--Small standing-room they had. Had there been a fourth, the place would not have accommodated him. There was just room enough for the three side by side, and standing erect.

Small as the space was, it was a welcome haven of refuge. It was the solid granite, and not the fickle ice. It looked eternal as the hills; and, standing upon it, they breathed freely.

But the danger was not over, and their apprehensions were still keen. Should the upper part of the glacier give way, what then? Although it could not reach them where they stood, the surface might sink far below its present level, and leave them on the cliff--upon that little ledge on the face of a black precipice!

Even if the upper ice held firm, there was another thought that now troubled them. Karl knew that what had occurred was a _glacier slide_-- a phenomenon that few mortals have witnessed. He suspected that the slide had taken place in that portion of the glacier below the crevasse they had just crossed. If so, the lye would be widened, the huge gneiss rock that bridged it gone, and their _retreat down the glacier cut off_!

Upward they beheld nothing but the beetling cliffs meeting together. No human foot could scale them. If no outlet offered in that direction, then, indeed, might the jesting allusion of Caspar be realised. They might be imprisoned between those walls of black granite, with nought but ice for their bed, and the sky for their ceiling. It was a fearful supposition, but all three did not fail to entertain it.

As yet they could not tell whether their retreat downwards was in reality cut off. Where they stood an abutment of the cliff hid the ravine below. They had rushed to their present position, with the first instinct of preservation. In their flight, they had not thought of looking either toward the crevasse or the gneiss rock.--Other large boulders intervened, and they had not observed whether it was gone. They trembled to think of such a thing.

The hours passed; and still they dared not descend to the glacier. Night came on, and they still stood upon their narrow perch. They hungered, but it would have been of no use to go down to the cold icy surface. That would not have satisfied their appetite.

All night long they remained standing upon the narrow ledge; now on one foot, now on the other, now resting their backs against the granite wall, but all night, without closing an eye in sleep. The dread of the capricious ice kept them on their painful perch.

They could bear it no longer. With the first light of morning they determined upon descending.

The ice had remained firm during the night. No farther noises had been heard. They gradually recovered confidence; and as soon as the day began to break, all three left the ledge, and betook themselves once more to the glacier.

At first they kept close to the cliff; but, after a while, ventured out far enough to get a view of the ravine below.

Caspar mounted upon a rocky boulder that lay upon the surface of the glacier. From the top of this he could see over the others. _The crevasse was many yards wide. The bridge-rock was gone_!

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE PASS.

The philosophy of the movement of glaciers is but ill understood, even by the most accomplished geologists. It is supposed that the under surface of these great icy masses is detached from the ground by the thaw which continually takes place there, caused by the radiating heat of the earth. Water is also an agent in loosening their hold; for it is well-known that currents of water--sometimes large streams,--run under the glaciers. The icy mass thus detached, and resting on an inclined surface, is carried down by its own weight.

Sometimes only a very small portion of a glacier moves, causing a fissure above the part that has given way; and at other times these fissures are closed up, by the sliding of that portion next above them. An unusually hot summer produces these effects upon the glacier ice, combined with the falling of avalanches, or mountain slides, which, with their weight, serve to impel the icy mass downwards.

The weight of our three hunters was but as a feather, and could have had no effect in giving motion to the glacier; but it is possible that the gneiss rock was just upon the balance when they crossed it. Thawed around its surface, it had no cohesion with the ice on which it rested; and, as a feather turns the scale, their crossing upon it may have produced a motion, which resulted in its fall.

So vast a mass hurled into the great cleft, and acting as a driven wedge, may have been the feather's touch that imparted motion to a section of the glacier, already hanging upon the balance, and ready to slide downwards.

Whether or not they had any agency in producing this fearful phenomenon, our travellers reflected not at the time. They were far too much terrified at the result to speculate upon causes. One after another they mounted upon the great boulder, and satisfied themselves of the facts that the crevasse had widened,--the bridge-rock had disappeared,-- and their retreat was cut off!

After a little, they ventured closer to the fearful chasm. They climbed upon a ledge of the precipice, that gave them a better view of it.

From this elevation they could partially see into the cleft. At the surface it was many yards wide. It appeared to be hundreds of feet in depth. Human agency could not have bridged it. All hope of getting back down the glacier was at an end; and with consternation in their looks, they turned their faces away, and commenced ascending towards the head of the ravine.

They advanced with timid steps. They spoke not at all, or only in low murmuring voices. They looked right and left, eagerly scanning the precipice on both sides. On each side of them towered the black cliffs, like prison walls, frowning and forbidding. No ledge of any size appeared on either; no terrace, no sloping ravine, that might afford them a path out of that dark valley. The cliffs, sheer and smooth, presented no hold for the human foot. The eagles, and other birds that screamed over their heads, alone could scale them.

Still they had not lost hope. The mind does not yield to despair without full conviction. As yet they were not certain that there was no outlet to the ravine; and until certain they would not despair.

They observed the tracks of the musk-deer as they went on. But these were no longer fresh; it was the trail of yesterday.

They followed this trail with renewed hopes,--with feelings of joy. But it was not the joy of the hunter who expects ere long to overtake his game. No, directly the reverse. Hungry as all three were, they _feared_ to overtake the game; they dreaded the discovery of fresh tracks!

You will wonder at this; but it is easily explained. They had reasoned with themselves, that if there existed any outlet above, the deer would have gone out by it. If the contrary, the animal would still be found near the head of the ravine. Nothing would have been less welcome than the sight of the deer at that moment.

Their hopes rose as they advanced. No fresh tracks appeared upon the glacier. The trail of the musk-deer still continued onward and upward. The creature had not halted, nor even strayed to either side. It had gone straight on, as though making for some retreat already known to it. Here and there it had made detours; but these had been caused by lyes in the ice, or boulders, that lay across the path.

With beating hearts the trackers kept on; now scanning the cliffs on each hand, now bending their eyes in advance.

At length they saw themselves within a hundred paces of the extreme end of the ravine, and yet no opening appeared. The precipice rose high and sheer as ever, on the right, on the left, before their faces. Nor break nor path cheered their eyes.

Where could the deer have gone? The ground above was pretty clear of _debris_. There were some loose rocks lying on one side. Had it hidden behind these? If so, they would soon find it; for they were within a few paces of the rocks.

They approached with caution. They had prepared their weapons for a shot. Despite their fears, they had still taken some precautions. Hunger instigated them to this.

Caspar was sent on to examine the covert of rocks, while Karl and the shikarree remained in the rear to intercept the deer if it attempted to retreat down the ravine.

Caspar approached with due caution. He crawled silently up to the boulders. He placed himself close to the largest; and, raising his head, peeped over it.

There was no deer behind the rock, nor any traces of it in the snow.

He passed on to the next, and then to the next. This brought him into a new position, and near the head of the ravine; so that he could now see the whole surface of the glacier.

There was no musk-deer to be seen; but a spectacle greeted his eyes far more welcome than the sight of the largest herd of deer could have been to the keenest hunter; and a cry of joy escaped him on the instant.

He was seen to start out from the rocks, shouting as he ran across the ravine--

"Come on, brother! we are safe yet! There's a pass! there's a pass!"

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE LONE MOUNTAIN VALLEY.

A pass there was, sure enough, that opened between the cliffs like a great gate. Why they had not perceived it sooner was because the gorge bent a little to the right before opening to this outlet; and, of course, the bend from a distance appeared to be the termination of the ravine.

A hundred yards from the bend brought them into the great gate between the cliffs, and there a view opened before their eyes that filled their hearts with joy and admiration.

Perhaps in all the world they could not have looked upon a more singular landscape. Right before their faces, and somewhat below the level on which they stood, lay a valley. It was nearly of a circular shape, and, perhaps, a league or more in circumference. In the middle of this valley was a lake several hundred yards in diameter. The whole bottom of the valley appeared to be a plane, but slightly elevated above the water level, consisting of green meadows, beautifully interspersed with copses of shrubbery and clumps of trees, with foliage of rich and varied colours. What appeared to be droves of cattle and herds of deer were browsing on the meadows, or wandering around the copses; while flocks of waterfowl disported themselves over the blue water of the lake.

So park-like was the aspect of this sequestered valley, that the eyes of our travellers instinctively wandered over its surface in search of human dwellings or the forms of human beings; and were only astonished at not perceiving either. They looked for a house,--a noble mansion,--a palace to correspond to that fair park. They looked for chimneys among the trees--for the ascending smoke. No trace of all these could be detected. A smoke there was, but it was not that of a fire. It was a white vapour that rose near one side of the valley, curling upward like steam. This surprised and puzzled them. They could not tell what caused it, but they could tell that it was not the smoke of a fire.

But the form of the valley--its dimensions--its central lake--its green meadows and trees--its browsing herds--its wild fowl might have been seen elsewhere. All these things might occur, and do occur in many parts of the earth's surface without the scene being regarded as singular or remarkable. It was not these that have led us to characterise the landscape in question as one of the most singular in the world. No--its singularity rested upon other circumstances.

One of these circumstances was, that around the valley there appeared a dark belt of nearly equal breadth, that seemed to hem it in as with a gigantic fence. A little examination told that this dark belt was a line of cliffs, that, rising up from the level bottom on all sides, fronted the valley and the lake. In other words, the valley was surrounded by a precipice. In the distance it appeared only a few yards in height, but that might be a deception of the eye.

Above the black line another circular belt encompassed the valley. It was the sloping sides of bleak barren mountains. Still another belt higher up was formed by the snowy crests of the same mountains--here in roof-like ridges, there in rounded domes, or sharp cone-shaped peaks, that pierced the heavens far above the line of eternal snow.

There seemed to be no way of entrance into this singular basin except over the line of black cliff. The gap in which our travellers stood, and the ravine through which they had ascended appeared to be its only outlet; and this, filled as it was by glacier ice, raised the summit of the pass above the level of the valley; but a sloping descent over a vast _debris_ of fallen rocks--the "moraine" of the glacier itself-- afforded a path down to the bottom of the valley.

For several minutes all three remained in the gap, viewing this strange scene with feelings that partook of the nature of admiration--of wonder--of awe. The sun was just appearing over the mountains, and his rays, falling upon the crystallised snow, were refracted to the eyes of the spectators in all the colours of the rainbow. The snow itself in one place appeared of a roseate colour, while elsewhere it was streaked and mottled with golden hues. The lake, too--here rippled by the sporting fowl, there lying calm and smooth--reflected from its blue disk the white cones of the mountains, the darker belting of the nearer cliffs, or the green foliage upon its shores.

For hours Karl Linden could have gazed upon that fairy-like scene. Caspar, of ruder mould, was entranced by its beauty; and even the hunter of the plains--the native of palm-groves and cane fields--confessed he had never beheld so beautiful a landscape. All of them were well acquainted with the Hindoo superstition concerning the Himalaya Mountains. The belief that in lonely valleys among the more inaccessible peaks, the Brahmin gods have their dwelling and their home; and they could not help fancying at that moment that the superstition might be true. Certainly, if it were true, some one of these deities, Vishnu, or Siva, or even Brahma himself, must dwell in that very valley that now lay before them.

But poetical and legendary sentiment soon vanished from the minds of our travellers. All three were hungry--hungry as wolves--and the ruling thought at the moment was to find the means for satisfying their appetites.

With this intent, therefore, they strode forward out of the gap, and commenced descending towards the bottom of the valley.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

GRUNTING OXEN.

There were several kinds of animals in sight, but it was natural that the hungry hunters should choose those that were nearest for their game. The nearest also chanced to be the largest--though in the flock there were individuals of different sizes, from the bigness of a large ox to that of a Newfoundland dog. There were about a dozen in all, evidently of one kind, and the difference in size and other respects arose from a difference of age and sex.

What sort of animals they were, not one of the party could tell. Even Ossaroo did not know them. He had never seen such creatures on the plains of India. It was evident to all, however, that they were some species of oxen or buffaloes, since they bore a general resemblance to animals of the family of _bovidae_. First there was the great massive bull, the patriarch of the herd, standing nearly as tall as a horse, and quite as tall reckoning from the top of the stately hump on his shoulders. His curved horns spreading outward rose from a mass of thick curled hair, giving him the fierce aspect which characterises animals of the buffalo kind. But his chief peculiarity lay in the drapery of long silky hair, that from his sides, flanks, neck, belly, and thighs, hung downward until its tips almost dragged upon the grass. This singular appendage gave the animal the appearance of being short-legged, and the massive thickness of the legs themselves added to the effect.

Karl could not help remarking in the old bull a considerable resemblance to the rare musk-ox of America; an animal with which he was acquainted, from having seen stuffed specimens in the museums. He noted, however, that there was one point in which the musk-ox differed essentially from the species before him--in regard to the fail. The musk-ox is almost tailless; or, rather, his fail is so small as to be quite inconspicuous amidst the long masses of hair that adorn his croup; whereas the strange creature before them was remarkable for the large development of this appendage, which swept downward, full and wide, like the tail of a horse. The colour of the bull's body appeared black in the distance, though, in reality, it was not black, but of a dark, chocolate brown; the tail, on the contrary, was snow-white, which, from this contrast in colour, added to the singularity of the animal's appearance.

There was but one large bull in the herd; evidently the lord and master of all the others. These consisted of the females or cows, and the young. The cows were much smaller, scarce half the size of the old bull; their horns less massive, and the tails and long hair less full and flowing.

Of the young, there were some of different ages; from the half-grown bull or heifer, to the calves lately dropped; which last were tearing about over the ground, and gambolling by the feet of their mothers. About these little creatures there was a peculiarity. The long hair upon their flanks and sides had not yet made its appearance; but their whole coat was black and curly, just like that of a water-spaniel, or Newfoundland dog. In the distance, they bore a striking resemblance to these animals; and one might have fancied the herd to be a flock of buffaloes, with a number of black dogs running about in their midst.

"Whatever they be," remarked Caspar, "they look like they might be eatable. I think they're beef of some kind."

"Beef, venison, or mutton--one of the three," rejoined Karl.

Ossaroo was not particular at that moment. He could have picked a rib of wolf-meat, and thought it palatable.

"Well, we must stalk them," continued Karl. "I see no other way of getting near them but by crawling through yonder copse."

The speaker pointed to a grove, near which the animals were browsing.

Caspar and Ossaroo agreed with this suggestion, and all three, having now reached the bottom of the descent, commenced their stalk.

Without any difficulty, they succeeded in reaching the copse; and then, creeping silently through the underwood, they came to that edge of it which was closest to the browsing herd. The bushes were evergreens-- rhododendrons--and formed excellent cover for a stalk; and, as yet, the game had neither seen, nor heard, nor smelt the approaching enemy. They were too distant for the arrows of Ossaroo, therefore Ossaroo could do nothing; but they were within excellent range of the rifle and double-barrel, loaded, as the latter was, with large buckshot.

Karl whispered to Caspar to choose one of the calves for the first barrel, while he himself aimed at the larger game.

The bull was too distant for either bullet or buckshot. He was standing apart, apparently acting as sentry to the herd, though this time he did not prove a watchful guardian. He had some suspicion, however, that all was not right; for, before they could fire, he seemed to have caught an alarm, and, striking the ground with his massive hoofs, he uttered a strange noise, that resembled the grunting of a hog. So exactly did it assimilate to this, that our hunters, for the moment, believed there were pigs in the place, and actually looked around to discover their whereabouts.

A moment satisfied them, that the grunting came from the bull; and, without thinking any more about it, Karl and Caspar levelled their pieces, and fired.

The reports reverberated through the valley; and the next moment the whole herd, with the bull at their head, were seen going in full gallop across the plain. Not all of them, however. A calf, and one of the cows, lay stretched upon the sward, to the great delight of the hunters, who, rushing forth from their cover, soon stood triumphant over the fallen game.

A word or two passed between them. They had determined on first cooking the calf, to appease their hunger, and were about proceeding to skin it, when a long, loud grunting sounded in their ears; and, on looking around, they beheld the great bull coming full tilt towards them, his head lowered to the ground, and his large, lustrous eyes flashing with rage and vengeance, he had only retreated a short distance, fancying, no doubt, that his whole family was after him; but, on missing two of its members, he was now on his return to rescue or revenge them.

Strange as was the animal to all three, there was no mistaking his prowess. His vast size, his wild, shaggy front and sweeping horns, the vengeful expression of his eyes, all declared him a powerful and dangerous assailant. Not one of the hunters thought for a moment of withstanding such an assault; but, shouting to each other to run for their lives, all three started off as fast as their legs would carry them.

They ran for the copse, but that would not have saved them had it been mere copse-wood. Such a huge creature as their pursuer would have dashed through copse-wood as through a field of grass; and, in reality, he did so, charging through the bushes, goring them down on all sides of him, and uttering his loud grunting like a savage boar.

It so happened that there were several large trees growing up out of the underwood, and these, fortunately, were not difficult to climb. The three hunters did not need any advice, as to what they should do under the circumstances. Each had an instinct of his own, and that instinct prompted him to take to a tree; where, of course, he would be safe enough from an animal, whose claws, if it had any, were encased in hoofs.

The bull continued for some minutes to grunt and charge backward and forward among the bushes, but, not finding any of the party, he at length returned to the plain, where the dead were lying. He first approached the cow, and then the calf, and then repeatedly passed from one to the other, placing his broad muzzle to their bodies, and uttering his grunting roar, apparently in a more plaintive strain than before.

After continuing these demonstrations for a while, he raised his head, looked over the plain, and then trotted sullenly off in the direction in which the others had gone.

Hungry as were the hunters, it was some time before they ventured to come down from their perch. But hunger overcame them at length, and descending, they picked up their various weapons--which they had dropped in their haste to climb--and, having loaded the empty barrels, they returned to the game.

These were now dragged up to the edge of the timber--so that in case the bull should take it into his head to return, they might not have so far to run for the friendly trees.

The calf was soon stripped of its skin--a fire kindled--several ribs broiled over the coals, and eaten in the shortest space of time. Such delicious veal not one of the three had ever tasted in his life. It was not that their extreme hunger occasioned them to think so, but such was really the fact, for they were no longer ignorant of what they were eating. They now knew what sort of animals they had slain, and a singular circumstance had imparted to them this knowledge. As the bull charged about in front of the thicket, Ossaroo from his perch on the tree had a good view of him, and one thing belonging to the animal Ossaroo recognised as an old acquaintance--it was his _tail_! Yes, that tail was not to be mistaken. Many such had Ossaroo seen and handled in his young days. Many a fly had he brushed away with just such a one, and he could have recognised it had he found it growing upon a fish.

When they returned to the quarry, Ossaroo pointed to the tail of the dead cow--not half so full and large as that of the bull, but still of similar character--and with a significant glance to the others, said--

"Know 'im now, Sahibs--_Ghowry_."

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

THE YAKS.

What Ossaroo meant was that he knew the tail; but he was as ignorant of the animal to which it was attached, as if the latter had been a dragon or a comet. Ossaroo saw that the tail was a "chowry," in other words, a fly-flapper, such as is used in the hot countries of India for brushing away flies, mosquitos, and other winged insects. Ossaroo knew it, for he had often handled one to fan the old sahib, who had been his master in the days of his boyhood.

The word chowry, however, at once suggested to the plant-hunter a train of ideas. He knew that the chowries of India were imported across the Himalayas from Chinese Tartary and Thibet; that they were the tails of a species of oxen peculiar to these countries, known as the yak, or grunting ox. Beyond a doubt then the animals they had slain were "yaks."

Karl's conjecture was the true one. It was a herd of wild yaks they had fallen in with, for they were just in the very country where these animals exist in their wild state.

Linnaeus gave to these animals the name of _Bos grunniens_, or grunting ox--seeing that they were clearly a species of the ox. It would be difficult to conceive a more appropriate name for them; but this did not satisfy the modern closet-naturalists--who, finding certain differences between them and other _bovidae_, must needs form a new genus, to accommodate this one species, and by such means render the study of zoology more difficult. Indeed, some of these gentlemen would have a genus for _every_ species, or even variety--all of which absurd classification leads only to the multiplication of hard names and the confusion of ideas.

It is a great advantage to the student, as well as to the simple reader, when the scientific title of an animal is a word which conveys some idea of its character, and not the latinised name of Smith or Brown, Hofenshaufer or Wislizenus; but this title should usually be the specific one given to the animal. Where a genus exists so easily distinguished from all others as in the case of the old genus "_bos_," it is a great pity it should be cut up by fanciful systematists into _bos, bubalus, bison, anoa, poephagus, ovibos_, and such like. The consequence of this subdividing is that readers who are not naturalists, and even some who are, are quite puzzled by the multitude of names, and gain no clear idea of the animal mentioned. All these titles would have been well enough as specific names, such as _Bos bubalus, Bos bison, Bos grunniens_, etcetera, and it would have been much simpler and better to have used them so. Of course if there were many species under each of these new genera, then the case would be different, and subdivision might load to convenience. As it is, however, there are only one or two species of each, and in the case of some of the genera, as the musk-ox (_ovibos_) and the yak or grunting ox, only one. Why then multiply names and titles?

These systematists, however, not satisfied with the generic name given by the great systematic Linnaeus, have changed the name of the _Bos grunniens_ to that of _Poephagus grunniens_, which I presume to mean the "grunting poa-eater," or the "grunting eater of poa grass!"--a very specific title indeed, though I fancy there are other kinds of oxen as well of the yak who indulge occasionally in the luxury of poa grass.

Well, this yak, or syrlak, or grunting ox, or poa-eater, whatever we may call him, is a very peculiar and useful animal. He is not only found wild in Thibet and other adjacent countries, but is domesticated, and subjected to the service of man. In fact, to the people of the high cold countries that stretch northward from the Himalayas he is what the camel is to the Arabs, or the reindeer to the people of Lapland. His long brown hair furnishes them with material out of winch they weave their tents and twist their ropes. His skin supplies them with leather. His back carries their merchandise or other burdens, or themselves when they wish to ride; and his shoulder draws their plough and their carts. His flesh is a wholesome and excellent beef, and the milk obtained from the cows--either as milk, cheese, or butter--is one of the primary articles of food among the Thibetian people.

The tails constitute an article of commerce, of no mean value. They are exported to the plains of India, where they are bought for several purposes--their principal use being for "chowries," or fly-brushes, as already observed. Among the Tartar people they are worn in the cap as bridges of distinction, and only the chiefs and distinguished lenders are permitted the privilege of wearing them. In China, also, they are similarly worn by the mandarins, first having been dyed of a bright red colour. A fine full yak's tail will fetch either in China or India quite a handsome sum of money.

There are several varieties of the yak. First, there is the true wild yak--the same as those encountered by our travellers. These are much larger than the domestic breeds, and the bulls are among the most fierce and powerful of the ox tribe. Hunting them is often accompanied by hair-breadth escapes and perilous encounters, and large dogs and horses are employed in the chase.

The tame yaks are divided into several classes, as the ploughing yak, the riding yak, etcetera, and these are not all of the dark brown colour of the original race, but are met with dun-coloured, mottled red, and even pure white. Dark brown or black, however, with a white tail, is the prevailing colour. The yak-calf is the finest veal in the world; but when the calf is taken from the mother, the cow refuses to yield milk. In such cases the foot of the calf is brought for her to lick, or the stuffed skin to fondle, when she will give milk as before, expressing her satisfaction by short grunts like a pig.

The yak when used as a beast of burden will travel twenty miles a day, under a load of two bags of rice or salt, or four or six planks of pine-wood slung in pairs along either flank. Their ears are generally pierced by their drivers, and ornamented with tufts of scarlet worsted. Their true home is on the cold table-lands of Thibet and Tartary, or still higher up among the mountain valleys of the Himalayas, where they feed on grass or the smaller species of carices. They love to browse upon steep places, and to scramble among rocks; and their favourite places for resting or sleeping are on the tops of isolated boulders, where the sun has full play upon them. When taken to warm climates, they languish, and soon die of disease of the liver. It is possible, however, that they could be acclimated in many European countries, were it taken in hand by those who alone have the power to make the trial in a proper manner--I mean the governments of these countries. But such works of utility are about the last things that the tyrants of the earth will be likely to trouble their heads with.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

CURING THE YAK-MEAT.

Our travellers found the yak-veal excellent, and the three consumed a quarter of it for their breakfasts before their appetites were satisfied.

This business being brought to a conclusion, they held a council as to what was best to be done next. Of course they had already made up their minds to spend some days in this beautiful valley in plant-hunting. From the glance they had had of it, Karl had no doubt that its _flora_ and _sylva_ were exceedingly rich and varied. Indeed, while passing through the underwood he had noticed many curious kinds that were quite new to him, and he would be likely enough to find some altogether unknown to the botanical world. These thoughts filled him with joyful anticipations--bright visions of future triumph in his beloved science passed before his mind's eye, and he felt for the moment contented and happy.

The peculiar situation of the valley led him to expect a peculiar flora, surrounded as it was by snowy mountains--isolated apparently from other fertile tracts, and sheltered from every wind by the lofty ridges that encircled it. Among other peculiarities he had observed plants of almost tropical genera, although the altitude could not be less than 15,000 feet, and the snowy mountains that towered above it were some of the highest peaks of the Himalayas! These tropical forms had puzzled him not a little, considering the altitude at which he observed them; and to account for the apparent anomaly was one of the thoughts that was passing through his mind at the moment.

As for Caspar, he was pleased to know that his brother desired to remain there for some days. He had less interest in the rare plants, but he had observed that the place was very well stocked with wild animals, and he anticipated no little sport in hunting them.

It is just possible that Ossaroo sighed for the warm plains, for the palm-groves and bamboo thickets, but the shikarree liked the look of the game, and could spend a few days well enough in this region. Moreover, the atmosphere of the valley was much warmer than that of the country in which they had been travelling for several days past. Indeed, the difference was so great as to surprise all three of them, and they could only account for the higher temperature by supposing that it arose from the sheltered situation of the valley itself.

Having determined on remaining, therefore it became necessary to make some provision against hunger. Though the game seemed plenty enough, they might not always be so successful in stalking it; and as the yak cow offered them beef enough to last for some days, it would not do to let the meat spoil. That must be looked to at once.

Without further ado, therefore, they set about preserving the meat. Having no salt this might appear to be a difficult matter, and so it would have been to the northern travellers. But Ossaroo was a man of the tropics--in whose country salt was both scarce and dear--and consequently he knew other plans for curing meat besides pickling it. He knew how to cure it by the process called "jerking." This was a simple operation, and consisted in cutting the meat into thin slices, and either hanging it upon the branches of trees, or spreading it out upon the rock--leaving the sun to do the rest.

It happened, however, that on that day the sun did not shine very brightly, and it was not hot enough for jerking meat. But Ossaroo was not to be beaten so easily. He knew an alternative which is adopted in such cases. He knew that the meat can be jerked by the fire as well as by the sun, and this plan he at once put into operation. Having gathered a large quantity of fagots, he kindled them into a fire, and then hung the beef upon scaffolds all around it--near enough to be submitted to the heat and smoke, but not so near as that the meat should be either broiled or burnt. When it should hang thus exposed to the fire for a day or so, Ossaroo assured his companions it would be cured and dried so as to keep for months without requiring a pinch of salt.

The skinning of the yak, and then cutting its flesh into strips--the erection of the scaffold-poles, and stringing up of the meat, occupied all hands for the space of several hours, so that when the job was finished it was past midday.

Dinner had then to be cooked and eaten, which occupied nearly another hour; and although it was not yet quite nightfall, they were all so sleepy from their long vigil, and so tired with standing upon the ledge, that they were glad to stretch themselves by the fire and go to rest.

The cold air, as evening approached, caused them to shiver; and now for the first time they began to think of their blankets, and other matters which they had left at their last camp. But they only thought of them with a sigh. The road, to where these had been left, could no longer be traversed. It would no doubt be necessary for them to make a long detour over the mountains, before they could get back to that camp.

Ossaroo had prepared a substitute for one of the blankets at least. He had stretched the yak-skin upon a frame, and placed it in front of the fire, so that by night it was dry enough for some of the party to wrap their bodies in. Sure enough, when Caspar was enveloped in this strange blanket--with the hairy side turned inward--be obtained in it, as he himself declared, one of the pleasantest and soundest sleeps he had ever slept in his life.

All three, rested well enough; but had they only known of the discovery that awaited them on the morrow, their sleep would not have been so sound, nor their dreams so light.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE BOILING SPRING.

They ate their breakfasts of boiled yak-steak, washing it down with a draught of water. They had not even a cup to hold the water. They knelt down and drank it out of the lake. The water was clear enough, but not as cold as they might have expected at such an elevation. They had noticed this on the preceding day, and now expressed their surprise at finding it so warm. They had no thermometer with which to test it, but it was evidently of much higher temperature than the air!

Whence came this water? It could not be from the melting snow--else it would certainly have been colder than it was. Perhaps there was a spring somewhere? Perhaps there was a hot spring?

This was not at all improbable, for, strange to say, hot springs are numerous on the Himalaya Mountains--often bursting out amidst ice and snow, and at very great elevations.

Karl had read of such springs, and this it was that led him to infer the existence of one in the valley. How else could the water be warm?

Now they recollected that on the previous morning they had noticed a singular cloud of vapour that hung over the tops of the trees on one side of the valley. It was no longer visible, after they had descended from the elevation at which they then were; but they remembered the direction in which it had been seen, and now went in search of it.

They soon reached the spot, and found it just as they had conjectured. A hot spring was there, bubbling out from among the rocks, and then running off in a rivulet towards the lake. Caspar thrust his hand into the water, but drew it back again with an exclamation that betokened both pain and surprise. The water was almost boiling!

"Well," said he, "this is convenient at all events. If we only had a teapot, we should need no kettle. Here's water on the boil at all hours!"

"Ha!" ejaculated Karl, as he dipped his fingers into the hot stream; "this explains the high temperature of the valley, the rich luxuriant vegetation, the presence of plants of the lower region; I thought that there was some such cause. See, yonder grow magnolias! How very interesting! I should not wonder if we meet with palms and bamboos!"

Just at that moment the attention of the party was called away from the hot spring. A noble buck came bounding up until he was within twenty yards of the spot, and then halting in his tracks, stood for some moments gazing at the intruders.

There was no mistaking this creature for any other animal than a stag. The vast antlers were characteristics that left no room to doubt of his species. He was about the size of the European stag or red-deer, and his branching horns were very similar. His colour, too, was reddish grey with a white mark around the croup, and his form and proportion were very like to those of the English stag. He was, in fact, the Asiatic representative of this very species--known to naturalists as the _Cervus Wallichii_.

At sight of the party around the spring, he exhibited symptoms more of surprise than of fear. Perhaps they were the first creatures of the kind his great large eyes had ever glanced upon. He knew not whether they might prove friendly or hostile.

Simple creature! He was not to remain long in doubt as to that point. The rifle was brought to bear upon him, and the next moment he was prostrate upon the ground.

It was Karl who had fired, as Caspar with the double-barrel was standing at some distance off. All three, however, ran forward to secure the game, but, to their chagrin, the stag once more rose to his feet and bounded off among the bushes, with Fritz following at his heels. They could see that he went upon three legs, and that the fourth--one of the hind ones--was broken and trailing upon the ground.

The hunters started after, in hopes of still securing the prize; but after passing through the thicket they had a view of the buck still bounding along close by the bottom of the cliffs, and as yet far ahead of the hound. It was near the cliff where the animal had been wounded, for the hot spring was close in to the rocks that bounded that side of the valley.

The dog ran on after him, and the hunters followed as fast as they were able. Karl and Ossaroo kept along the bottom of the cliff, while Caspar remained out in the open valley, in order to intercept the game should it turn outwards in the direction of the lake.

In this way they proceeded for more than half-a-mile before seeing anything more of the stag. At length the loud baying of Fritz warned them that he had overtaken the game, which was no doubt standing to bay.

This proved to be the case. Fritz was holding the buck at bay close to the edge of a thicket; but the moment the hunters came in sight, the stag again broke, dashed into the thicket, and disappeared as before.

Another half-mile was passed before they found the game again, and then the dog had brought him to bay a second time; but just as before, when the hunters were approaching, the stag made a rush into the bushes, and again got off.

It was mortifying to lose such noble game after having been so sure of it, and all determined to follow out the chase if it should last them the whole day. Karl had another motive for continuing after the deer. Karl was a person of tender and humane feelings. He saw that the ball had broken the creature's thigh-bone, and he knew the wound would cause its death in the end. He could not think of leaving it thus to die by inches, and was anxious to put an end to its misery With this view as well as for the purpose of obtaining the venison, he continued the chase.

The stag gave them another long run, before it was again brought up; and again, for the third time, it broke and made off.

They began to despair of being able to come up with it. All this while the deer had kept along the base of the cliffs, and the hunters as they ran after it could not help noticing the immense precipice that towered above their heads. It rose to the height of hundreds of feet, in some places with a slanting face, but generally almost as vertical as a wall. The chase of the wounded stag, however, occupied too much their attention to allow of their observing anything else very minutely; and so they pressed on without halting anywhere--except for a moment or so to gain breath. Six or seven times had they seen the wounded stag, and six or seven times had Fritz brought him to bay, but Fritz for his pains had only received several severe scores from the antlers of the enraged animal.

The hunters at length approached the great gap in the cliff, through which they had first entered the valley, but the chase was carried past this point and continued on as before.

Once more the loud barking of the dog announced that the deer had come to a stand; and once more the hunters hurried forward.

This time they saw the stag standing in a pool of water up to the flanks. The ground gave Caspar an opportunity to approach within a few yards without being observed by the game, and a discharge from the double-barrel put an end to the chase.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

AN ALARMING DISCOVERY.

You will naturally suppose that this successful termination of the chase gave great satisfaction to the hunters. It might have done so under other circumstances, but just then their minds became occupied by thoughts of a far different nature.

As they came up to the spot where the stag had fallen, and were preparing to drag it from the pool, their eyes rested upon an object which caused them to turn toward one another with looks of strange significance. This object was no other than the hot spring--the place where the chase had begun. Within less than a hundred yards of the spot where the stag had received his first wound was he now lying dead! The pool in fact was in the little rivulet that ran from the spring to the lake.

I have said that the hunters on observing this exchanged significant glances. One fact was evident to all of them--that they had got back to the spot whence they started. A very little reasoning taught them another fact--that in the pursuit of the stag they must have made the full circuit of the valley. They had not turned back anywhere--they had not crossed the valley--they had not even been in sight of the lake during the whole chase. On the contrary, Karl with Ossaroo had kept continually along the bottom of the cliffs, sometimes in the timber, and at intervals passing across stretches of open ground.

What was there remarkable about all this? It only proved that the valley was small, and of roundish form; and that in about an hour's time any one might make the circuit of it. What was there in this discovery that should cause the hunters to stand gazing upon one another with troubled looks? Was it surprise at the stag having returned to die where he had received his wound? Certainly there was something a little singular about that, but so trifling a circumstance could not have clouded the brows of the hunters. It was not surprise that was pictured in their looks--more serious feelings were stirring within them. Their glances were those of apprehension--the fear of some danger not fully defined or certain. What danger?

The three stood, Ossaroo lightly grasping his bow, but not thinking of the weapon; Karl holding his rifle with its butt resting on the ground, and Caspar gazing interrogatively in the face of his brother.

For some moments not one of them spoke. Each guessed what the other was thinking of. The stag lay untouched in the pool, his huge antlers alone appearing above the surface of the water, while the dog stood baying on the bank.

Karl at length broke silence. He spoke half in soliloquy, as if his thoughts were busy with the subject.

"Yes, a precipice the whole way round. I saw no break--no signs of one. Ravines there were, it is true, but all seemed to end in the same high cliffs. You observed no outlet, Ossaroo?"

"No, Sahib; me fearee de valley shut up, no clear o' dis trap yet Sahib."

Caspar offered no opinion. He had kept farther out from the cliffs, and at times had been quite out of sight of them--the trees hiding their tops from his view. He fully comprehended, however, the meaning of his brother's observations.

"Then you think the precipice runs all around the valley?" he asked, addressing the latter.

"I fear so, Caspar. I observed no outlet--neither has Ossaroo; and although not specially looking for such a thing, I had my eyes open for it; I had not forgotten our perilous situation of yesterday, and I wished to assure myself. I looked up several gorges that ran out of the valley, but the sides of all seemed to be precipitous. The chase, it is true, kept me from examining them very closely; but it is now time to do so. If there be no pass out of this valley, then are we indeed in trouble. These cliffs are five hundred feet in height--they are perfectly impassable by human foot. Come on! let us know the worst."

"Shall we not draw out the stag?" inquired Caspar, pointing to the game that still lay under the water.

"No, leave him there; it will get no harm till our return: should my fears prove just, we shall have time enough for that, and much else beside. Come on!"

So saying Karl led the way toward the foot of the precipice, the others following silently after.

Foot by foot, and yard by yard, did they examine the beetling front of those high cliffs. They viewed them from their base, and then passing outward scanned them to the very tops. There was no gorge or ravine which they did not enter and fully reconnoitre. Many of these there were, all of them resembling little bays of the ocean, their bottoms being on the same level with the valley itself, and their sides formed by the vertical wall of granite.

At some places the cliffs actually hung over. Now and then they came upon piles of rock and scattered boulders--some of them of enormous dimensions. There were single blocks full fifty feet in length, breadth, and height; and there were also cairns, or collections of rocks, piled up to four times that elevation, and standing at such a distance from the base of the cliff, that it was evident they could not have fallen from it into their present position. Ice, perhaps, was the agent that had placed them where they lay.

None of the three were in any mood to speculate upon geological phenomena at that moment. They passed on, continuing their examination. They saw that the cliff was not all of equal height. It varied in this respect, but its lowest escarpment was too high to be ascended. At the lowest point it could not have been less than three hundred feet sheer, while there were portions of it that rose to the stupendous height of one thousand from the valley!

On went they along its base, carefully examining every yard. They had gone over the same path with lighter feet and lighter hearts. This time they were three hours in making the circuit; and at the end of these three hours they stood in the gap by which they had entered, with the full and painful conviction that that gap was the only outlet to this mysterious valley--the only one that could be traversed by human foot! The valley itself resembled the crater of some extinct volcano, whose lava lake had burst through this gate-like gorge, leaving an empty basin behind.

They did not go back through the glacier ravine. They had no hope of escaping in that direction. That they knew already.

From the gap they saw the white vapour curling up over the spring. They saw the remaining portion of the precipice that lay beyond. It was the highest and most inaccessible of all.

All three sat down upon the rocks; and remained for some minutes silent and in a state of mind bordering upon despair.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

PROSPECTS AND PRECAUTIONS.

Brave men do not easily yield to despair. Karl was brave. Caspar, although but a mere boy, was as brave as a man. So was the shikarree brave--that is, for one of his race. He would have thought light of any ordinary peril--a combat with a tiger, or a gayal, or a bear; but, like all his race, he was given to superstition, he now firmly believed that some of his Hindoo gods dwelt in this valley, and that they were all to be punished for intruding into the sacred abode. There was nothing singular about his holding this belief. It was perfectly natural,--in fact, it was only the belief of his religion and his race.

Notwithstanding his superstitious fears, he did not yield himself up to destiny. On the contrary, he was ready to enter heart and soul into any plan by which he and his companions might escape out of the territory of Brahma, Vishnu, or Siva--whichsoever of these it belonged to.

It was in thinking over some plan that kept all three of them in silence, and with such thoughts Ossaroo was as busy as the others.

Think as they would, no feasible or practicable idea could be got hold of. There were five hundred feet of a cliff to be scaled. How was that feat to be accomplished?

By making a ladder? The idea was absurd. No ladder in the world would reach to the quarter of such a height. Ropes, even if they had had them, could be in no way made available. These might aid in going _down_ a precipice, but for going _up_ they would be perfectly useless.

The thought even crossed their minds of cutting notches in the cliff, and ascending by that means! This might appear to be practicable, and viewing the matter from a distance it certainly does seem so. But had you been placed in the position of our travellers,--seated as they were in front of that frowning wall of granite,--and told that you must climb it by notches cut in the iron rock by your own hand, you would have turned from the task in despair.

So did they; at least the idea passed away from their thoughts almost in the same moment in which it had been conceived.

For hours they sat pondering over the affair. What would they not have given for wings; wings to carry them over the walls of that terrible prison?

All their speculations ended without result; and at length rising to their feet, they set off with gloomy thoughts toward the spot where they had already encamped.

As if to render their situation more terrible, some wild beasts,--wolves they supposed,--had visited the encampment during their absence, and had carried off every morsel of the jerked meat. This was a painful discovery, for now more than ever should they require such provision.

The stag still remained to them. Surely it was not also carried off? and to assure themselves they hurried to the pool, which was at no great distance. They were gratified at finding the deer in the pool where it had been left; the water, perhaps, having protected it from ravenous beasts.

As their former camp ground had not been well chosen, they dragged the carcass of the deer up to the hot spring; that being a better situation. There the animal was skinned, a fire kindled, and after they had dined upon fresh venison-steaks, the rest of the meat Ossaroo prepared for curing,--just as he had done that of the yak,--but in this case he took the precaution to hang it out of reach of all four-footed marauders.

So careful were they of the flesh of the deer, that even the bones were safely stowed away, and Fritz had to make his supper upon the offal.

Notwithstanding their terrible situation, Karl had not abandoned one of the national characteristics of his countryman,--prudence. He foresaw a long stay in this singular valley. How long he did not think of asking himself; perhaps for life. He anticipated the straits in which they might soon be placed; food even might fail them; and on this account every morsel was to be kept from waste.

Around their night camp-fire they talked of the prospects of obtaining food; of the animals they supposed might exist in the valley; of their numbers and kinds,--they had observed several kinds; of the birds upon the lake and among the trees; of the fruits and berries; of the roots that might be in the ground; in short, of every thing that might be found there from which they could draw sustenance.

They examined their stock of ammunition. This exceeded even their most sanguine hopes. Both Caspar's large powder-horn and that of his brother were nearly full. They had used their guns but little since last filling their horns. They had also a good store of shot and bullets; though these things were less essential, and in case of their running short of them they knew of many substitutes, but gunpowder is the _sine qua non_ of the hunter.

Even had their guns failed them, there was still the unerring bow of Ossaroo, and it was independent of either powder or lead. A thin reed, or the slender branch of a tree, were nearly all that Ossaroo required to make as deadly a shaft as need be hurled.

They were without anxiety, on the score of being able to kill such animals as the place afforded. Even had they been without arrows, they felt confident that in such a circumscribed space they would have been able to circumvent and capture the game. They had no uneasiness about any four-footed creature making its escape from the valley any more than themselves. There could be no other outlet than that by which they had entered. By the ravine only could the four-footed denizens of the place have gone out and in; and on the glacier they had observed a beaten path made by the tracks of animals, before the snow had fallen. Likely enough the pass was well-known to many kinds, and likely also there were others that stayed continually in the valley, and there brought forth their young. Indeed, it would have been difficult for a wild animal to have found a more desirable home.

The hope of the hunters was that many animals might have held this very opinion, and from what they had already observed, they had reason to think so.

Of course they had not yet abandoned the hope of being able to find some way of escape from their singular prison. No, it was too early for that. Had they arrived at such a conviction, they would have been in poor heart indeed, and in no mood for conversing as they did. The birds and the quadrupeds, and the fruits and roots, would have had but little interest for them with such a despairing idea as that in their minds. They still hoped, though scarce knowing why; and in this uncertainty they went to rest with the resolve to give the cliffs a fresh examination on the morrow.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

MEASURING THE CREVASSE.

Again, on the morrow, every foot of the precipitous bluffs was minutely scanned and examined. The circuit of the valley was made as before. Even trees were climbed in order the better to view the face of the cliffs that soared far above their tops. The result was a full conviction, that to scale the precipice at any point was an utter impossibility.

Until fully convinced of this, they had not thought of going back through the gap that led to the glacier; but now that all hopes of succeeding elsewhere had vanished from their minds, they proceeded in that direction.

They did not walk towards it with the light brisk step of men who had hopes of success; but rather mechanically, as if yielding to a sort of involuntary impulse. As yet they had not examined the ice-chasm very minutely.

Awed by the terror of the glacier slide, they had retreated from the spot in haste. One glance at the crevasse was all they had given; but in that glance they had perceived the impossibility of crossing it. At the time, however, they were not aware of the resources that were so near. They were not aware that within less than five hundred yards of the spot grew a forest of tall trees. Indeed, it was not until they had fully reconnoitred the cliffs, and turned away from them in despair, that such a train of reasoning occurred to tha mind of any of the three.

As they were entering the portals of that singular passage, the thought seemed for the first time to have taken shape. Karl was the first to give expression to it. Suddenly halting, he pointed back to the forest, and said,--

"If we could bridge it!"

Neither of his companions asked him what he contemplated bridging. Both were at that moment busy with the same train of thought. They knew it was the crevasse.

"Those pine-trees are tall," said Caspar.

"Not tall enough, Sahib," rejoined the shikarree.

"We can splice them," continued Caspar.

Ossaroo shook his head, but said nothing in reply.

The idea, however, had begotten new hopes; and all three walked down the ravine with brisker steps. They scanned the cliffs on either side as they advanced, but these they had examined before.

Treading with caution they approached the edge of the crevasse. They looked across. A hundred feet wide--perhaps more than a hundred feet-- yawned that fearful gulf. They knelt down and gazed into the chasm. It opened far away into the earth--hundreds of feet below where they knelt. It narrowed towards the bottom. They could see the crystal cliffs, blue at the top, grow greener and darker as they converged towards each other. They could see huge boulders of rock and masses of icy snow wedged between them, and could hear far below the roaring of water. A torrent ran there--no doubt the superfluous waters of the lake escaping by this subglacial stream.

A sublime, but terrible sight it was; and although the nerves of all were strung to an extreme degree, it made them giddy to look into the chasm, and horrid feelings came over them as they listened to the unnatural echoes of their voices. To have descended to the bottom would have been a dread peril: but they did not contemplate such an enterprise. They knew that such a proceeding would be of no use, even could they have accomplished it. Once in the bottom of the chasm the opposite steep would still have to be climbed, and this was plainly an impossibility. They thought not of crossing in that way--their only hope lay in the possibility of bridging the crevasse; and to this their whole attention was now turned.

Such a project might appear absurd. Men of weaker minds would have turned away from it in despair; and so, too, might they have done, but for the hopelessness of all other means of escape. It was now life or death with them--at all events, it was freedom or captivity.

To give up all hope of returning to their homes and friends--to spend the remainder of their lives in this wild fastness--was a thought almost as painful as the prospect of death itself.

It was maddening to entertain such a thought, and as yet not one of them could bring himself to dwell upon the reality of so terrible a destiny. But the fact that such in reality would be their fate, unless they could discover some mode of escaping from their perilous situation, sharpened all their wits; and every plan was brought forward and discussed with the most serious earnestness.

As they stood gazing across that yawning gulf, the conviction entered their minds that _it was possible to bridge it_.

Karl was the first to give way to this conviction. Caspar, ever sanguine, soon yielded to the views of his brother; and Ossaroo, though tardily convinced, acknowledged that they could do no better than try. The scientific mind of the botanist had been busy, and had already conceived a plan--which though it would be difficult of execution, did not seem altogether impracticable. On one thing, however, its practicability rested--the width of the chasm. This must be ascertained, and how was it to be done?

It could not be guessed--that was clear. The simple estimate of the eye is a very uncertain mode of measuring--as was proved by the fact that each one of the three assigned a different width to the crevasse. In fact, there was full fifty feet of variation in their estimates. Karl believed it to be only a hundred feet in width, Ossaroo judged it at a hundred and fifty, while Caspar thought it might be between the two. How, then, were they to measure it exactly? That was the first question that came before them.

Had they been in possession of proper instruments, Karl was scholar enough to have determined the distance by triangulation; but they had neither quadrant nor theodolite; and that mode was therefore impossible.

I have said that their wits were sharpened by their situation, and the difficulty about the measurement was soon got over. It was Ossaroo who decided that point.

Karl and Caspar were standing apart discussing the subject, not dreaming 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 di