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Cliff Climbers

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<h3>Chapter Sixty One.</h3> <h4>Mail-carriers on wings.</h4> It was only after they had gone back for their baskets of beans, and once more returned to the hut, that Caspar and Ossaroo found time to indulge in their conjectures. Then both of them set to work in earnest—seated upon the great stones outside the door, where often before they had conjured up schemes for their deliverance. Neither communicated his thoughts to the other; each silently followed the thread of his own reflections—as if there was a rivalry between them, as to who should be the first to proclaim the design already conceived by Karl. Karl was standing close by, apparently as reflective as either of his companions. But his thoughts were only occupied in bringing to perfection the plan, which to them was still undiscovered. The storks had been brought out of the hut, and tied to a heavy log that lay near. This had been done, partly to accustom them to the sight of the place, and partly that they might be once more fed—the single fish they had swallowed between them not being deemed sufficient to satisfy their hunger. Caspar’s eyes wandered to that one that had the ring upon its leg; and then to the ring itself—R.B.G., Calcutta. The inscription at length proved suggestive to Caspar, as the ring itself, on first seeing it, had to his brother. On that bit of brass there was information. It had been conveyed all the way from Calcutta by the bird that bore the shining circlet upon its shank. By the same means why might not information be carried back? Why— “I have it! I have it!” shouted Caspar, without waiting to pursue the thread of conjecture that had occurred to him. “Yes, dear Karl, I know your scheme—I know it; and by Jupiter Olympus, it’s a capital one!” “So you have guessed it at last,” rejoined Karl, rather sarcastically. “Well, it is high time, I think! The sight of that brass ring, with its engraved letters, should have led you to it long ago. But come! let us hear what you have got to say, and judge whether you have guessed correctly.” “Oh, certainly!” assented Caspar, taking up the tone of jocular badinage in which his brother had been addressing him. “You intend making a change in the character—or rather the calling—of these lately arrived guests of ours.” Caspar pointed to the storks. “That is your intention, is it not?” “Well?” “They are now soldiers—officers, as their title imports—adjutants!” “Well?” “They will have no reason to thank you for your kind intentions. The appointment you are about to bestow on them can scarce be called a promotion. I don’t know how it may be with birds, but I do know that there are not many men ambitious of exchanging from the military to the civil service.” “What appointment, Caspar?” “If I’m not mistaken, you mean to make mail-carriers of them—postmen, if you prefer the phrase.” “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Karl, in a tone expressive of gratification at the clever manner in which Caspar had declared himself. “Right, brother! you’ve guessed my scheme to the very letter. That is exactly what I intend doing.” “By de wheeles ob Juggannaut coachee,” cried the shikaree, who had been listening, and understood the figurative dialogue; “dat be da goodee plan. Dese stork go back Calcutt—surely dey go back. Dey carry letter to Feringhee Sahibs—Sahibs dey know we here in prison—dey come d’liva we vey dey affer get de letter—ha! ha! ha!” Then delivering himself of a series of shrill ejaculations, the Hindoo sprang up from the stone upon which he had been sitting, and danced around the hut, as if he had suddenly taken leave of his senses! However imperfectly spoken, the words of Ossaroo had disclosed the whole plan, as conceived by the plant-hunter himself. It had vaguely defined itself in Karl’s mind, on first seeing the storks above him in the air; but when the lustre of metal flashed before his eyes, and he perceived that yellow band encircling the shank of the bird, the scheme became more definite and plausible. When at length the storks were taken captive, and Karl deciphered the inscription—by which they were identified as old acquaintances of the R.B.G.—he no longer doubted that Providence was in the plot; and that these winged messengers had been sent, as it were, from Heaven itself, to deliver him and his companions from that prison in which they had so long been pining. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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