Once more was it launched out into the air; once more was rope given it, till it had ascended to the full length of its tether; and once more was it allowed to alight.
Again the pull downward and inward—again the cord came freely to hand—and again was the rounded bow seen upon the brow of the precipice, and outlined against the blue sky above; not like the beautiful bow of the iris—a thing of promise—but one of disappointment and chagrin.
Again the flight—again the failure—again and again; until the patience of the operators—to say nothing of their strength—was well nigh exhausted.
But it was no mere play for the sake of pastime. They were not flying that kite for their amusement; nor yet for the purpose of making some scientific experiment. They were flying it as a means of obtaining their personal liberty; and they were all of them interested in the success or failure of the attempt—almost as much as if their lives rested on the issue.
However tried their strength, or worn out their patience, it would not do to give up; and therefore—although at each unsuccessful effort, with hopes constantly becoming diminished—they continued their exertions.
For more than a score of times they had sent up the kite, and as often dragged it back to the brow of the cliff; not always at the same point: for they had themselves changed their ground, and tried the flight in different places.
In all cases, the result was the same. The bird refused to take hold with its claws—either on rocks, or blocks of ice, or banks of frozen snow—all of which lay scatter over the slope of the mountain.
Considering that it had caught hold on the very first trial, so many failures were regarded by our adventurers with some surprise. Had it never held, there would have been no cause for this; and after so many attempts, they would have been the more inclined to yield up their plan, deeming it impracticable. But the fact of their first success sustained them in the hope that success might again be obtained; and, in this belief, they were encouraged to “keep on trying.”
Half a dozen additional flights were made, but fortune still declining to favour them, they desisted from their efforts, leaving the paper-bird with its breast protruding over the cliff: as if perched there in preparation for a further flight.
By this time the kite had become sadly damaged—its plumage having received rough usage by constant trailing over the rocks and sharp angles of ice. While up in the air, daylight could be seen shining through it in several places; and it no longer exhibited that majesty of flight that had originally characterised it. It was evident that repairs would soon be needed; and to discuss this question, as also to consider the propriety of proceeding to make trial at some other place, our adventurers, for a time, discontinued their efforts.