All things were made ready at an early hour. The huge bag was set up between the supporting stakes the car was attached to it, as also several ropes to keep the balloon from being carried away; and these were fastened at their other ends to stout pegs, driven firmly into the ground; while a little furnace of stones was built underneath to hold the fire, whose ascending caloric was to expand the balloon, and raise it into the air.
The fuel out of which this fire was to be made had been already collected near the spot. It was not wood, nor faggots of any kind; for although these might have served after a fashion, Karl was acquainted with a better material. He remembered that the Montgolfiers, and other early aerostats—previous to the introduction of the inflammable gas—had used chopped straw and wool, and regarded these materials to be the best substances for inflating their balloons. Karl had adopted their idea; and had provided chopped grass as a substitute for the chopped straw, and in lieu of sheep’s wool he had procured a quantity of the poshm of the ibex, and other animals, that had been killed—the rich shawl-wool of Cashmere!
The car, which has already been described as a sort of deep hamper, was not over three feet in diameter. It was evidently not equal to the holding of three persons—to say nothing of a large dog—for it is hardly necessary to say that Fritz was not going to be left behind. The faithful creature had too long followed the fortunes of our adventurers to be abandoned by them now.
But there was not the slightest danger of that. The dimensions of the car were large enough for what the “vehicle” was intended to carry, which was only one.
Karl believed that there would be little chance of the balloon having sufficient power to take up all three of them, their united weight being over four hundred pounds. He would be but too contented if one should be carried aloft; and if that one should succeed in effecting a landing on the summit of the cliff, it was of no importance what afterwards became of the aerial ship. Having completed that one voyage, it might make another on its own account—either south to Calcutta or eastward to Hong Kong, if it liked China better.
Of course, if any one of them should succeed in surmounting the cliff, it would be an easy matter to get over the mountain; and as they had passed native villages on their way upward, these could be reached in a day or two, and a party of men, with a proper rope-ladder, brought to the rescue of the others.
Even had there been no prospect of assistance from any one outside, it would not matter very much. If only one of them could get to the top of the cliffs, they could construct a rope-ladder of themselves—by which the other two would be able to make the ascent.
It is hardly necessary to say who was to make the attempt—Ossaroo was to be the aeronaut. Ossaroo had voluntarily offered himself for this perilous performance; and his offer had been accepted.
Not that either of the others were at all afraid to have run the risk. It was from no desire to shirk the danger that they had appointed Ossaroo to undertake it; but simply because, once outside, the shikaree would be far better able to find his way down the mountains: and in his native language could readily communicate with the villagers, and give a correct account of their situation.