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The Plant Hunters: Adventures Among the Himalaya Mountains

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 détours; 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 débris. 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 débris 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.”