With these facts fresh in his memory, Karl conjectured that the water-hens seen by him and his companions were supported on a similar pedestal, and playing themselves on a like platform. His conjecture proved correct: for on visiting the place shortly after, the broad orbicular leaves of the Nelumbium speciosum were perceived—almost as large as those of their South American congener.

Other interesting points relating to the great lily growing in the Himalayan lake, Karl had mentioned from time to time to his companions: for he knew that the Nelumbium speciosum was the celebrated Pythagorean bean mentioned in the writings of the Greeks—more especially by Herodotus and Theophrastes.

It is described by these writers as growing plentifully in Egypt; and no doubt was cultivated in that country in their day; though it is not known there at the present time. It is found represented on the Egyptian sculptures, and so accurately has it been described by the Greek writers, as to leave no doubt as to the identification of the species.

It is one of the plants supposed to be the celebrated "lotus" of antiquity; and this supposition is probable enough: since not only its succulent stalk, but its seeds or "beans," have been eaten in all times by the people in whose country it grows. It is a food that produces a strengthening effect upon the system; and is also very refreshing in cases of thirst. The Chinese call it "Lienwha," and its seeds with thin slices of its root, mixed with the kernels of apricots and walnuts, and placed between alternate layers of ice, constituted one of the select dishes offered by the great mandarins to the British ambassadors on the visit of the latter to the Celestial Empire.

These people store up the roots of the lienwha for winter use— preserving them in a pickle of salt and vinegar. The Japanese also make use of the plant as an esculent; and it is, moreover, regarded by them as sacred to their divinities—the images of which are often represented seated upon its large leaves.

The flowers of the Nelumbium speciosum when in full bloom, give out a most fragrant odour—somewhat resembling that of anise; while the seeds, shaped like acorns, have a flavour equal in richness and delicacy to that of the finest almonds.



CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

AN AQUATIC HARVEST.

It was not upon that occasion that Karl communicated to his companions all these interesting facts in relation to the great lily. Many of them he had made known long before—especially that the seeds of the plant were eatable; and both Caspar and Ossaroo had often proved to their own satisfaction that they were something more than eatable—in short, a great delicacy.

It was from a knowledge of this fact that the thoughts of all three were now turned upon the lilies—whose huge roseate corollas, no longer seen glistening above the surface of the water, proclaimed that the "beans" were ripe, and ready for "shelling."

The three were about starting from the hut to reap this aquatic harvest—which, judging from the quantity of seed-pods that appeared above the surface, promised to be abundant.

Each had provided himself with a rush basket—which the shikaree had woven, during the long winter nights, for other purposes; but as they were of just the size and shape to hold the Pythagorean beans they were now to be employed in that capacity.

Both Karl and Caspar had rolled up their trowsers to mid-thigh; so as not to wet them while wading among the lilies; but Ossaroo, not being provided with any nether garment entitled to the name of trowsers, had simply tucked up the skirt of his cotton tunic, making it fast under his girdle.

In this guise all three proceeded round the shore of the lake, to that side where they would be nearest the bed of lilies. The water-hens, seeing them make their approach, rose from their perch upon the leaves, and fluttered off to seek a more secure shelter among the sedge.

The aquatic gleaners at once waded in; and commenced picking off the pods, and shelling them into their rush baskets. They had been there before, and knew there was no danger in the depth of the water.

They had nearly filled their respective sacks with the Pythagorean beans, and were meditating a return to dry land, when a dark shadow passing over the tranquil surface of the lake—closely followed by another of similar size and shape—attracted their attention.

All three saw the shadows at the same instant of time; and all simultaneously looked up to ascertain what sort of creatures were casting them. In the sky above they beheld a spectacle, calculated to inspire them with feelings of a strange interest.

Right above the lake, and also over their heads, a brace of large birds was circling in the air. Each was borne up by a pair of huge wings full five yards from tip to tip; while from the body, between, a neck of enormous length was extended horizontally—prolonged into a tapering-pointed beak, in shape like the seed-pistil of a pelargonium.

Their beaks might well have been compared to the pistil of a pelargonium; or rather the latter should be assimilated to them; since it is from this species of birds, the flower has derived its botanical cognomen.

The birds were storks. Not the ordinary Ciconia, that makes its home among the Hollanders—or finds a still more welcome hospitality on the roof-tree of the Hungarian by the plains of the Puszta—but a stork of far grander dimensions; in short, a stork that is the tallest of his tribe—the Adjutant.

On looking up, Karl recognised the species; so did Caspar, and at a glance. It required no lengthened scrutiny—no profound knowledge of natural history, to identify the noted adjutant. It only needed to have seen him before either in propria persona, or in a picture; but both brothers had seen specimens of the bird, in full flesh and feather, on the plains of India—in the environs of Calcutta itself.

As to the shikaree, was it likely he should be mistaken about the character of those winged giants—those tall scavengers he had seen thousands of times stalking pompously along the sandy shores of the sacred Ganges? It was not possible for him, to have a doubt about the identity of the birds, who were now throwing their shadows over that lone lake of the Himalayas. He had no doubt. The very certainty that the birds above him were the gigantic cranes of the Ganges—the sacred birds of Brahma—caused him to utter a sort of frenzied shout, and at the same time, dropping his "sack of beans" into the water!

He needed not to look at the colour of the birds, to note that they were brown black above, and white underneath. The naked vulture neck with its pouch-like appendage of brick-red hue; the silken feathers of bluish white under the tail—those precious plumes well-known and worn by the ladies of many lands under the appellation of marabout feathers—all were recognised at a glance.

Even quicker than either of his youthful comrades had the Hindoo identified the birds. A single glance sufficed, and simultaneously with that glance had the cry fallen from his lips, and the sack of Pythagorean beans from his grasp.

The birds were flying slowly, and to all appearance laboriously: as if wearied of wing. They appeared to be in search of some roost on which to repose themselves.

That they had entered the valley with this intention was made evident a few moments after: for having made a circuit round the little lake, both at the same instant ceased to ply their long pinions, and drawing their wings suddenly in to their bodies, they settled down upon the shore.

The spot upon which they had chosen to alight was the prominence terminating a little peninsula that protruded out almost to the bed of lilies, and from which the three waders had themselves descended into the water. As the latter now stood knee-deep among the aquatic plants, they were distant not more than twenty paces from the point of this peninsula.

The storks, after alighting, stood upon the shore in erect attitudes— apparently as unconcerned about the presence of our three adventurers, as if the latter were only overgrown stalks of the Pythagorean bean— utterly incapable of doing them an injury.



CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

THE ADJUTANTS.

The brace of gigantic birds, that had thus alighted by the shore of the little lake, were, to say the least, uncouth creatures; for the whole ornithological world might be ransacked without finding a greater oddity than the adjutant.

In the first place, it stands six feet upon its long, straight shanks; though its actual length, measuring from the tip of its bill to the termination of its claws, is full seven and a half. The beak, of itself, is over a foot in length, several inches in thickness, with a gibbous enlargement near the middle, and having both mandibles slightly curved downwards.

The spread of a full-grown adjutant's wing is fifteen feet, or five yards, from tip to tip—quite equalling in extent either that of the Chilian condor or the "wandering" albatross.

In colour the adjutant may be described as black above and white underneath, neither [that] being very pure. The upper plumage is a dirty brownish black; while the belly and under parts present a dull white appearance,—partly from an admixture of greyish feathers, but also from the circumstance that the bird is usually bedaubed with dirt— as mud from the marshes, where it feeds, and other filth, in which it seems to take delight. But for this foulness, the legs of the adjutant would be of a dark colour; but in the living bird they are never seen of the natural hue—being always whitened by the dust shaken out of its plumage, and other excrement that attaches itself to the skin.

The tail is black above and white underneath—more especially the under coverts, which are of a pure white. These last are the plumes so highly prized under the name of "marabout feathers," an erroneous title, arising through a mistake—made by the naturalist Temminck in comparing the Indian adjutant with another and very different species of the same genus—the marabout stork of Africa.

One of the distinctive characteristics of the adjutant, or "argala," as it is better known to the Indians,—and one, too, of its ugliest "features,"—is a naked neck of a flesh-red colour the skin shrivelled, corrugated, and covered with brownish hairs. These "bristles" are more thickly set in young birds, but become thinner with age, until they almost totally disappear—leaving both head and neck quite naked.

This peculiarity causes a resemblance between the adjutant bird and the vultures; but indeed there are many other points of similarity; and the stork may in all respects be regarded as a vulture—the vulture of the grallatores, or waders.

In addition to the naked neck, the adjutant is furnished with an immense dew-lap, or pouch which hangs down upon its breast—often more than a foot in length, and changing from pale flesh colour to bright red, along with the skin of the throat. At the back of the neck is found still another singular apparatus—the use of which has not been determined by the naturalist. It is a sort of vesicular appendage, capable of being inflated with air; and supposed to serve as an atmospheric buoy to assist in sustaining the bird in its flight. The inflation has been observed to take place under exposure to a hot sun; and, therefore, it is natural to infer, that the rarefaction of the air has something to do in causing [the bird to use this organ]. As the adjutant often flies to a great height, it is possible that this balloon-like apparatus is necessary to sustaining it in the rarefied atmosphere found at such an elevation. The annual migration of the bird over the lofty chain of the Himalayas might not be possible, or if possible, more difficult, without this power of decreasing the specific gravity of its body.

It is scarce necessary to say that the adjutant—like all birds of the family to which it belongs—is a filthy and voracious feeder; carnivorous in the highest degree; and preferring carrion and garbage to any other sort of food. It will kill and swallow live kind—such as frogs, snakes, small quadrupeds, and birds—the latter not so very small either: since it has been known to bolt a whole fowl at a single "swallow." Even a cat or a hare can be accommodated with a passage down its capacious gullet; but it will not attempt to kill either one or the other: since, notwithstanding its gigantic size, it is one of the veriest cowards in creation. A child, with a bit of a switch, can at any time chase the adjutant away; and an enraged hen will put it to flight whenever it strays into the neighbourhood of her young brood. It does not retreat, without first making a show of defiance—by placing itself in a threatening attitude—with reddened throat, and beak wide agape, from which latter proceeds a loud roaring, like that of a bear or tiger. All this, however, is mere braggadocio; for, on the enemy continuing the attack, it immediately cools down, and betakes itself to ignominious flight.

Such are a few peculiarities of the gigantic stork, known as the adjutant or argala. It only remains to be added, that there are at least two, perhaps three, other species of storks of very large dimensions—though not so large as this one—that for a long time have been confounded with it. One of these is the marabou; which inhabits the tropical regions of Africa, and which also produces the plumes so much prized in the world of fashion. The feathers of the African species, however, are far less beautiful and valuable than those from the tail of the adjutant; and it is these last that are really best known as marabout feathers, in consequence of the mistake made by Temminck, and propagated by the anatomist Cuvier.

Another great stork—differing both from the argala of Asia and the marabou of Africa—inhabits the Island of Sumatra. It is known to the natives as the "Boorong Cambay;" while in the neighbouring Island of Java is found either a fourth species of these gigantic birds, or the same that belongs to Sumatra.

It is somewhat singular that such creatures should have remained so long unknown to the scientific world. It is not much more than half a century since travellers began to describe them with any degree of exactness; and even at the present time their history and habits have received but very slight elucidation. This is the more surprising when we consider that on the banks of the Ganges—even in Calcutta itself— the adjutant is one of the most common birds—constantly stalking about the houses, and entering the enclosures with as much familiarity, as if it was one of the regular domestics of the establishment!

Its services as a "scavenger" procure for it an immunity from persecution; and it is not only tolerated by the people, but encouraged, in its advances towards fellowship with them; notwithstanding that at times it becomes rather troublesome in its attentions to the young ducklings, chicklings, and other denizens of the farmyard.

Sometimes they are not even contented with such fare as may be found outside; but have been known to enter the bungalow; snatch a smoking joint from the table; and swallow it, before either master or servant could rescue the dainty morsel from between their long and tenacious mandibles!

When seen in flocks, wading through the water,—with wings outstretched, as is their custom,—they may be taken for a fleet of small boats. At other times, when stalking about over the sandy shores; and picking up the debris strewed along the banks of the sacred river; they resemble a crowd of native women engaged in the like occupation.

Ofttimes may they be seen feeding voraciously upon the filthiest carrion of animals; and not unfrequently upon a human body in a state of putrefaction—the corpse of some deluded victim to the superstition of Juggernaut—which has been thrown into the so-styled sacred river, to be washed back on the beach, an object of contention between pariah dogs, vultures, and these gigantic cranes of the Ganges!



CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN.

The standing sleepers.

The advent of the adjutants produced a vivid impression on the minds of all three of our adventurers—more vivid, perhaps, upon Ossaroo than either of the others. To him they seemed like old friends who had come to visit him in his prison; and though it never occurred to the shikaree, that they could be in any way instrumental in obtaining his release, still the impression produced was one of a pleasant nature. He saw before him two creatures whose forms, however uncouth, were associated with the scenes of his earliest childhood; and he could not help a passing fancy, that the pair, that had thus unexpectedly made their appearance, might be the same old cock and hen he had so often seen roosted on the branches of a huge banyan tree, that overshadowed the bungalow in which he was born.

Of course this could be only fancy on the part of Ossaroo. Out of the thousands of storks, that annually make their migration from the plains of Hindostan to the northward of the Himalaya Mountains, it would have been a rare coincidence if the two that for years had performed the office of scavengers in the shikaree's native village, should be identical with those now hovering above his head—for it was while they were yet upon the wing that Ossaroo had indulged in this pleasant speculation. Though scarce serious in his thought—and only entertaining it for an instant—he was nevertheless gratified by the sight of the two storks, for he knew they must have come from his native plains—from the banks of that glorious river in whose waters he longed once more to wet his feet.

The sight of the huge birds suggested to Caspar a different train of thought. As he beheld their immense wings, extended in slow but easy flight, it occurred to him that one or other of the great creatures might have the power to perform that task which had proved too much for the bearcoot; and for which the "kite" had been "flyed" in vain.

"Oh!" exclaimed he, as the idea came across his mind, "don't you think, Karl, that either of those great creatures would be strong enough to carry the line aloft? They look as if they could lift even one of ourselves to the top of the cliff."

Karl made no reply; though his silence was only caused by Caspar's suggestion—which he was proceeding to ponder upon.

The young hunter continued: "If we could only catch one of them alive! Do you suppose they are going to alight? They look as if they would. What do you say, Ossaroo? You know more of these birds than we do."

"Yees, youngee Sahib; ee speakee de true. Dey go for come down. You savey dey make long fly. Dey both weary on de wing—no able fly furder. 'Sides, ee see, here am de lake—water—dey want drinkee—want eat too. Dey sure come down."

Ossaroo's prediction was fulfilled, almost as soon as it was uttered. The birds, first one and then the other, jerked in their spread wings; and dropped down upon the shore of the lake—as already stated, not over twenty paces from the spot where the three waders were occupied among the leaves of the lilies.

The eyes of all three were now directed with a fixed gaze upon the new-comers,—in whose behaviour they observed something irresistibly ludicrous.

Almost on the instant of their feet touching terra firma, instead of moving about over the ground in search of food, or striding down towards the water to drink—as the spectators were expecting them to do—the two long-legged bipeds acted in an entirely different manner. Neither of them seemed to care either for food or drink. If they did, both these appetites must have been secondary with them to the desire for rest; for scarce ten seconds had elapsed after their alighting, when each drew in its long neck, burying it between the shoulders as in a case, leaving visible only the upper half of the head, with its huge scythe-shaped beak—the mandibles resting against the prominence of the breast bone, and pointing diagonally downwards.

Simultaneous with this movement, the spectators perceived another— equally indicative of a desire on the part of the birds to betake themselves to repose. This was the drawing up of one of their long fleshless legs, until it was entirely concealed under the loose feathers of the belly—a movement made by both so exactly at the same instant, as to lead to the belief that they were actuated by like impulses, by some spiritual union that existed between them!

In ten seconds more both birds appeared to be asleep. At all events, their eyes were closed; and not a movement could be detected in the limbs, wings, bodies, or beaks of either!

It was certainly a ludicrous sight to see these huge creatures—each supporting itself on a single stalk, so straight and slender that nothing but the nicest balance could have ensured their equilibrium; and this, too, while neither seemed conscious of any danger of toppling over—of which, indeed, there was not the slightest reason to be afraid.

The Hindoo had been too long accustomed to this sort of spectacle, to see anything in it worthy of being laughed at. Not so Caspar—whose mirth was at once excited to the point of risibility. The unconcerned manner in which the storks had come to a stand—along with the picturesque pose in which they had composed themselves to sleep—was even too much for the stoical Karl; who at once echoed the laughter which his brother had inaugurated.

Their united cachinnations rang loudly over the lake—reverberating in repeated peals from the adjacent cliffs.

It might be supposed that the fracas thus created would have alarmed the new arrivals: and caused them once more to make an appeal to their wings.

Nothing of the sort. The only effect perceptible on either, was the opening of their eyes, a slight protrusion of the neck, a shake of the head, an upraising of the long beak, with a quick clattering of its mandibles—which soon becoming closed again, were permitted to drop into their original position of repose.

This cool behaviour of the birds only increased the hilarity of the boys; and for several minutes they remained in their places, giving way to loud and uncontrollable laughter.



CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.

FRITZ AMONG THE FEATHERS.

Their hilarity could not be continued for ever. Even that of Caspar came to a termination; though not until his ribs ached with the agreeable exercise.

As their bean-sacks had been already filled, it was determined that they should first take them to the hut, and then return to the storks with the design of capturing them. Ossaroo was of the opinion, that they would have no difficulty in effecting this; declaring the birds to be so tame, that he might walk straight up to them, and throw a noose over their necks. This, in all probability, he might have done, had he been provided with a piece of cord proper for the making of such a noose. But there was no cord at hand—not even a bit of string—nothing but the rush baskets filled with the lotus beans. To obtain a snare, it would be necessary to make a journey to the hut.

In the minds of our adventurers there was no very clear conception of the object of capturing the storks: unless it might have been that the thought, to which Caspar had given speech, was still entertained by himself and his brother. That indeed would have justified them in their attempt to take the birds.

Another idea may have suggested itself—more especially to Ossaroo. If nothing else should come of it, there would be some pleasure in holding the birds in captivity—as pets and companions. Ossaroo had been involuntarily contemplating the prospect of a long lonely life in the solitude of that mountain valley. With such a prospect even the solemn stork might be regarded as a cheerful companion.

Stimulated by these thoughts—and some others of a more indefinite kind—our adventurers came to the determination to ensnare the adjutants!

All three commenced wading out of the lake—in a direction so as not to disturb the sleepers. Karl and Caspar—now that they had become inspired with a design—lifted their feet out of the water, and set them down again, as though they ere treading upon egg. Ossaroo sneered at their over-caution—telling them, that there was not the slightest fear of frightening the storks; and indeed there was truth in what he affirmed.

In most countries bordering upon the banks of the Ganges, these birds, protected alike by superstitious fears and edicts of law, have become so used to the proximity of man, that they will scarce stir out of their way to avoid him. It was possible that the brace in question might have belonged to some of the wilder flocks—inhabiting the swamps of the Sunderbunds—and therefore less accustomed to human society. In that case there might be some difficulty in approaching them; and it was for this reason that Ossaroo had consented to adopt the precautions for their capture which Karl had insisted should be taken.

The truth is, that Karl had conceived a deeper design than either of his companions. It had occurred to him—while engaged with his brother in that laughing duetto—and somewhat to the surprise of Caspar, it had caused a sudden cessation of his mirth, or at least the noisy ebullition of it.

The philosopher had become silent and serious; as if the thought had suddenly arisen, that hilarity under the circumstances was indecorous and out of place. From that moment Karl had preserved a mysterious silence—even refusing to explain it when interrogated by Caspar. He was only silent on this one theme. Otherwise his speech flowed freely enough—in counsel to his companions—charging both to adopt every precaution for ensuring the capture of the storks—and with an eagerness, which puzzled them to comprehend.

A few minutes' walk brought them back to the hut. It was rather a run than a walk—Karl going in the lead, and arriving before either of the others. The bean-sacks were flung upon the floor—as if they had been empty and of no value—and then the strings and lines that had been spun by Ossaroo were pulled out of their hidden places, and submitted to inspection.

It did not take long to make a running noose, which was accomplished by the nimble fingers of the shikaree. Easily also was it attached to the end of a long stem of the ringall bamboo; and thus provided, our adventurers once more sallied forth from the hut; and made their way towards the sleeping storks.

As they drew near, they were gratified at perceiving the birds still in the enjoyment of their meridian slumber. No doubt they had made a long journey, and needed rest. Their wings hung drooping by their sides, proclaiming weariness. Perhaps they were dreaming—dreaming of a roost on some tall fig-tree, or the tower of an antique temple sacred to the worship of Buddha, Vishna, or Deva—dreaming of the great Ganges, and its odorous waifs—those savoury morsels of putrefying flesh, in which they delighted to dig their huge mattocks of mandibles.

Ossaroo being entrusted with the noose, did not pause to think, about what they might be dreaming; or whether they were dreaming at all. Enough for him to perceive that they were sleeping; and, gliding forward in a bent attitude, silent as a tiger threading his native jungle, the shikaree succeeded in making approach—until he had got almost within snaring distance of the unconscious adjutants.

There is many a slip between the cup and the lip. The old saw was illustrated in the case of the shikaree while endeavouring to ensnare the storks; though it was not the snare, but the birds that now illustrated the adage.

After the attempt had been made, the snare could be still seen in its place, stiffly projecting from the point of the long bamboo rod; while the adjutants were soaring in the air, mounting still higher upward, their slender necks outstretched, their beaks cracking like castanets, and their throats emitting an angry sound like the roaring of a brace of lions.

The failure was not to be attributed to Ossaroo; but to the imprudence of one of his companions—an individual of the party close treading upon his heels. That individual was Fritz!

Just as Ossaroo was about casting his loop over the shoulders of a sleeping adjutant, Fritz—who had followed the party from the hut—now for the first time perceiving the birds, rushed forward and seized the tail of one of them between his teeth. Then, as if determined on securing the beautiful marabout feathers, he pulled a large mouthful of them clean out by the roots.

This was not exactly the motive that impelled Fritz to make such an unexpected attack—unexpected, because the well-trained animal would have known better than to fright the game which his masters were in the act of stalking; and such imprudence had never before been displayed by him. It was the particular kind of game that had provoked Fritz to act contrary to his usual habit of caution; for of all the creatures which he had encountered, since his arrival in the counted there, was none that had inspired him with a more profound feeling of hostility than these same adjutants. During Fritz's sojourn in the Botanic Gardens of Calcutta—where his masters, it will be remembered, were for some time entertained as guests—Fritz had often come in contact with a brace of these gigantic birds, that were also guests of that justly celebrated establishment: they habitually made their stay within the enclosure, where they were permitted to stalk about unmolested, and pick up such stray scraps as were cast out by the domestics of the curator's mansion.

These birds had grown so tame, as to take food freely out of the hand of anyone who offered it to them; and with like freedom, to take it where it was not offered, but found within reach of their long prehensile beaks. Often had they pilfered provisions to which they were anything but welcome; and, among other acts of their rapacity, there was one of which Fritz had been an interested spectator, and for which he was not likely ever to forgive them. That was, their robbing him of a dainty piece of meat, which one of the cooks had presented to Fritz himself; and upon which he had been going to make his dinner. One of the birds had the audacity to seize the meat in its mandibles, jerk it out of the dog's very teeth, and swallow it, before the latter had time to offer either interruption or remonstrance.

The consequence was, that, from that time, Fritz had conceived a most rancorous antipathy towards all birds of the genus Ciconia—and the species Argala in particular; and this it was that impelled him, on first perceiving the adjutant—for being by the hut on their arrival he had not seen them before,—to rush open-mouthed towards them, and seize the tail of one of them between his teeth.

It is not necessary to add that the bird, thus indecorously assailed, took to instant flight, followed by its more fortunate though not less frightened mate—leaving Fritz in a temper to treat Marabout feathers as they had never been treated before—even when by the hands of some scorned and jealous vixen they may have been torn from the turban of some hated rival!



CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.

CAPTURING THE STORKS.

Our adventurers witnessed the uprising of the birds with looks that betokened disappointment and displeasure; and Fritz was in danger of getting severely castigated. He merited chastisement; and would have received it on the instant—for Caspar already stood over him with an upraised rod—when an exclamation from Karl caused the young hunter to hold his hand, and saved Fritz from the "hiding" with which he was being threatened.

It was not for this that Karl had called out. The exclamation that escaped him was of a different import—so peculiarly intoned as at once to draw Caspar's attention from the culprit, and fix it on his brother.

Karl was standing with eyes upraised and gazing fixedly upon the retreating stork—that one with whose tail Fritz had taken such an unwarrantable liberty.

It was not the ragged Marabout feathers, hanging half plucked from the posterior of the stork, upon which Karl was gazing; but its long legs, that, as the bird rose in its hurried flight, hung, slantingly downward, extending far beyond the tip of its tail. Not exactly these either was it that had called forth that strange cry; but something attached to them—or one of them at least—which, as it came under the shining rays of the sun, gleamed in the eyes of Karl with a metallic lustre.

It had a yellowish sheen—like gold or burnished brass—but the scintillation of the sun's rays, as they glanced from its surface, hindered the spectators from making out its shape, or being able to say exactly what it was.

It was only Caspar and Ossaroo who were thus perplexed. Karl knew that glittering meteor, that for a moment had flashed before his eyes like a beam of hope—now slowly but surely departing from him, and plunging him back into the old misery.

"Oh! brother!" he exclaimed, as the stork flew upward, "what a misfortune has happened!"

"Misfortune! what mean you, Karl?"

"Ah! you know not how near we were to a chance of being delivered. Alas! alas! it is going to escape us!"

"The birds have escaped us, you mean?" inquired Caspar. "What of that? I don't believe they could have carried up the rope anyhow; and what good would it be to catch them? They're not eatable; and we don't want their feathers valuable as they may be."

"No, no!" hurriedly rejoined Karl; "it is not that—not that."

"What then, brother?" inquired Caspar, somewhat astonished at the incoherent speeches of the plant-hunter. "What are you thinking of?"

"Look yonder!" said Karl, now for the first time pointing up to the soaring storks. "You see something that shines?"

"Ha! on the leg of one of the birds? Yes; I do see something—like a piece of yellow metal—what can it be?"

"I know what it is!" rejoined Karl, in a regretful tone; "right well do I know. Ah! if we could only have caught that bird, there would have been a hope for us. It's no use grieving after it now. It's gone— alas! it's gone; and you, Fritz, have this day done a thing that will cause us all regret—perhaps for the rest of our lives."

"I don't comprehend you, brother!" said Caspar; "but if it's the escape of the storks that's to be so much regretted, perhaps it will never take place. They don't appear to be in such a hurry to leave us— notwithstanding the inhospitable reception Fritz has given them. See! they are circling about, as if they intended to come down again. And see also Ossaroo—he's holding out a lure for them. I warrant the old shikaree will succeed in coaxing them back. He knows their habits perfectly."

"Merciful Father!" exclaimed Karl, as he looked first at the flying storks and then at Ossaroo; "be it permitted that he succeed! You, Caspar, lay hold upon Fritz, and give Ossaroo every chance! For your life don't let the dog get away from you; for your life—for the lives of all of us!"

Caspar, though still under surprise at the excited bearing of his brother, did not allow that to hinder him from obeying his command, and rushing upon Fritz, he caught hold of the dog. Then placing the hound between his legs, he held him with both hands and knees as tightly as if Fritz had been screwed in a vice.

The eyes of all—the dog included—were now turned upon Ossaroo. Caspar contemplated his movements with an undefined interest; while Karl watched them with feelings of the keenest anxiety.

The cunning shikaree had not come to the spot unprepared. Having anticipated some difficulty in getting hold of the storks, he had providentially provided a lure, which, in the event of their proving shy, might attract them within reach of his ringall. This lure was a large fish—which he had taken out of the larder before leaving the hut, and which he was now holding out—as conspicuously as possible, to attract their attention. He had gone some distance apart from the others, and especially from Fritz, whom he had scolded away from his side; and, having stationed himself on a slight eminence near the edge of the lake, he was using all his wiles to coax back the birds that had been so unwittingly compelled to take wing.

It was evident to Ossaroo—as well as to the others—that the flight of the storks had been against their will; and that they had reluctantly ascended into the air. They were no doubt wearied, and wanted rest.

Whether this desire would have brought them to the earth again, Ossaroo did not stay to determine. As soon as by their actions he became convinced that they saw the fish held out in his hand, he flung the tempting morsel to some distance from him, and then stood awaiting the result.

It proved a success—and almost instantaneously.

There was nothing in the appearance or attitude of Ossaroo to excite the suspicion of the adjutants. His dark skin and Hindoo costume were both well-known to them; and though now observed in an odd, out-of-the-way corner of the world, that was no reason for regarding him as an enemy.

Fritz was alone the object of their fear, but Fritz was a good way off, and there appeared no longer any reason for dreading him.

Reasoning thus—and perhaps with empty stomachs to guide them to a conclusion—the sight of the fish—lying unguarded upon the grass—put an end to their fears; and, without further hesitation, both dropped down beside it.

Both at the same instant clutched at the coveted prize—each endeavouring to be the first in securing it.

As one of the birds had got hold of the fish by the head and the other by its tail, a struggle now arose as to which should be the first to swallow its body. Each soon passed a portion of it down its capacious throat, until its mandibles met in the middle, and cracked against each other.

As neither would yield to the other, so neither would consent to disgorge, and let go; and for some seconds this curious contention was kept up.

How long it might have continued was not left to the determination of the parties themselves; but to Ossaroo, who, while they were thus occupied, rushed upon the spot; and, flinging wide his arms, enfolded both the birds in an embrace, from which they vainly struggled to get free.

With the assistance of Karl and Caspar—who had in the meantime tied Fritz to a tree—the huge creatures were soon overpowered, and pinioned beyond the possibility of escaping.



CHAPTER SIXTY.

A LABELLED LEG.

"It is! it is!" cried Karl, stooping suddenly down, and grasping the shank of one of the birds.

"What?" inquired Caspar.

"Look, brother! See what is there, round the stork's leg! Do you not remember having seen that bit of jewellery before?"

"A brass ring! Oh yes!" replied Caspar; "now I do remember. In the Botanic Gardens there was an adjutant with a ring round its ankle; a brass ring, too—just like this one. How very odd!"

"Like!" echoed Karl. "Not only like, but the very same! Stoop down, and examine it more closely. You see those letters?"

"R.B.G., Calcutta," slowly pronounced Caspar, as he read the inscription graven upon the ring. "'R.B.G.' What do these initials stand for, I wonder?"

"It is not difficult to tell that," knowingly answered Karl. "Royal Botanical Garden! What else could it be?"

"Nothing else. For certain, these two birds must be the same we used to see there, and with which we so often amused ourselves!"

"The same," asserted Karl. "No doubt of it."

"And Fritz must have recognised them too—when he made that unprovoked attack upon them! You remember how he used to quarrel with them?"

"I do. He must not be permitted to assail them any more. I have a use for them."

"A use?"

"Ah, a most important one; so important that these birds, ugly and unamiable as they are, must be cared for, as if they were the prettiest and most prized of pets. We must provide them with food and water; we must tend them by day, and watch over them by night—as though they were some sacred fire, which it was our duty to keep constantly burning."

"All that, indeed!"

"Verily, brother! The possession of these storks is not only important—it is essential to our safety. If they should die in our hands, or escape out of them—even if one of them should die or get away—we are lost. Our last hope lies in them. I am sure it is our last."

"But what hope have you found in them?" interrogated Caspar—puzzled to make out the meaning of his brother's words, and not without wonder at their apparent wildness.

"Hope? Every hope. Ay, something more than hope: for in this singular incident I cannot fail to recognise the finger of a merciful God. Surely He hath at length taken compassion upon us! Surely it is He who has sent these birds! They are messengers from Heaven!"

Caspar remained silent, gazing earnestly in the eyes of his brother, that were now sparkling with mingled gratitude and joy. But although Caspar could perceive this expression, he was utterly unable to interpret it.

Ossaroo was alike puzzled by the strange looks and speeches of the Sahib Karl; but the Hindoo gave less heed to them—his attention being almost wholly taken up by the adjutants, which he fondled in turns—talking to them and embracing them, as if they had been his brothers!

As soon as the cord had been looped round their ankles, and there was no longer any danger of their getting away, Ossaroo cut up the fish into slices convenient for their gullets; and proceeded to feed them with as much fondness as he could have shown to a brace of human beings, who had arrived from a long journey in a state of starvation.

The storks exhibited no signs of shyness—not the slightest. It was not in their nature to do so. They gobbled up the morsels flung before them, with as much avidity and unconcern, as if they were being fed by the side of the great tank in the Garden at Calcutta.

The sight of Fritz alone had a disturbing influence upon them; but, by the command of Karl, the dog was kept out of view, until they had finished the meal with which Ossaroo had provided them.

Caspar, still in a cloud, once more interrogated the plant-hunter as to his purpose.

"Ho, brother!" answered Karl, "you are not wont to be so dull of comprehension. Can you not guess why I am so joyed by the presence of these birds?"

"Indeed I cannot—unless—"

"Unless what?"

"You expect them to carry a rope up the cliff."

"Carry a rope up the cliff! Nothing of the sort. Yes; perhaps it is something of the sort. But since you have made such a poor guess, I shall keep you in suspense a little longer."

"O, brother!—"

"Nay, I shall not tell you. It is news worth guessing at; and you and Ossaroo must make it out between you."

The two hunters, thus challenged, were about entering upon a series of conjectures, when they were interrupted by Karl.

"Come!" said he, "there is no time now. You can exercise your ingenuity after we have got home to the hut. We must make sure of the storks, before anything else be attended to. This cord is too slight. They may file it in two with their bills, and get free. The very strongest rope we have got will not be more than sufficient. Come, Ossaroo, you take one. Lift it up in your arms. I shall carry the other myself; while you, Caspar, see to Fritz. Lead the dog in a leash. From this time forward he must be kept tied up—lest any misfortune should happen to spoil the best plan that has yet offered for our deliverance."

So saying, Karl flung his arms around one of the adjutants. Ossaroo at the same instant embraced the other; and, despite the roaring that proceeded from their throats, and the clattering made by their mandibles, the huge birds were borne home to the hut.

On arriving there, they were carried inside, and fastened with strong ropes—carefully attached to their legs, and tied to the heavy beams forming the rafters of the roof. The door was to be kept shut upon them at all times when the eyes of the captors were not watching them: for Karl, knowing the importance of having such guests, was determined to make sure of his "game."



CHAPTER SIXTY ONE.

MAIL-CARRIERS ON WINGS.

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.



CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

CONCLUSION.

The deliverance came at length; though it was not immediate. Several months more, of that lonely and monotonous life, were our adventurers called upon to endure.

They had to wait for the return of the rainy season; when the rivers that traverse the great plains of Hindostan became brimful of flood— bearing upon their turbid bosoms that luxuriance, not of life, but of death, which attracts the crane and the stork once more to seek subsistence upon their banks. Then the great adjutant returns from his summer tour to the north—winging his way southward over the lofty summits of Imaus. Then, too, did Karl and his comrades believe that their adjutants would be guided by a like instinct, and go back to the R.B.G.—the Royal Botanic Garden of Calcutta.

Karl felt confident of their doing so, as certain almost as if he had stood on the banks of the sacred stream in the R.B.G. itself, and saw them descending from their aerial flight and alighting within the enclosure. This confidence arose from the remembrance of his having heard—while sojourning with the Curator—that such had been their habit for many years; and that the time, both of their departure and arrival, was so periodically regular, that there was not an employe of the place who could not tell it to a day!

Fortunately, Karl remembered the time, though not the exact day. He knew the week, however, in which his guests might be expected to take their departure; and this was enough for his purpose.

During their stay in the valley the birds had been cared for, as if they had been sacred to some deity, adored by those who held them in charge.

Fish and flesh had they a plenty—with Ossaroo as their provider. Food and drink, whenever they stood in need of either; freedom from annoyance, and protection from enemies of every kind—even from Fritz, who had long since ceased to be their enemy. Nothing had been wanting to their comfort; everything had been granted—everything but their liberty.

This, too, was at length restored to them.

On a fair morning—such as a bird might have chosen for its highest flight—both were set free to go whithersoever they listed.

The only obstruction to their flight was a pair of small skin sacks, one attached to the neck of each, and prudently placed beyond the reach of its mandibles. Both were furnished with this curiously-contrived bag; for Karl—as the spare leaves of his memorandum-book enabled him to do— had determined that each should be entrusted with a letter and lest one should go astray, he had sent his despatch in duplicate.

For a time the birds seemed reluctant to leave those kind companions— who had so long fed and cherished them; but the instinct that urged them to seek the sunny plains of the South at length prevailed; and, giving a scream of adieu—reciprocated by the encouraging shouts of those they were leaving behind, and a prolonged baying from the throat of the boar-hound Fritz—they soared aloft into the air; and in slow, solemn flight ascended the cliff—soon to disappear behind the crest of the encircling ridge.

Ten days after, on that same cliff stood a score of men—a glad sight to Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo. Even Fritz barked with joy as he beheld them!

Against the blue background of the sky, it could be perceived that these men carried coils of rope, pieces of wood, and other implements that might be required for scaling a cliff.

Our adventurers now knew, that, one or other, or both copies of their duplicate despatch, must have reached the destination for which they had designed it.

And the same destination was soon after reached by themselves. By the help of their rescuers, and the long rope-ladders which they let down, all three succeeded in climbing the cliff—Fritz making the ascent upon the shoulders of the shikaree!

All three, amidst a company of delighted deliverers—with Fritz following at their heels—once more descended the southern slope of the Himalayas; once more stood upon the banks of the sacred Ganges; once more entered within the hospitable gates of the R.B.G.—there to renew their acquaintance, not only with hospitable friends, but with those winged messengers, by whose instrumentality they had been delivered from their living tomb, and once more restored to society and the world!

THE END.