Some Heroes of Travel: or, Chapters from the History of Geographical Discovery and EnterpriseAdams, W. H. Davenport (William Henry Davenport)
History
Some Heroes of Travel: or, Chapters from the History of Geographical Discovery and Enterprise
Adams, W. H. Davenport (William Henry Davenport)
Discoveries in geography; Explorers
“Zepta and the hunter told me to drop the reins on my horse’s neck, and
he would go over with perfect safety. The former led the van; I
followed, as desired, at three or four paces behind him. For the first
twenty yards the sensation was not agreeable. After that I felt perfect
confidence in the animal, and was sure, if left to himself, he would
carry me safely over. The whole distance was about five hundred paces,
and occupied about a quarter of an hour in crossing. In some places it
was fearful to look down—on one side the rocks were nearly perpendicular
for five or six hundred feet; and on the other, so steep, that no man
could stand upon them. When over, I turned round and watched the others
thread their way across; it was truly terrific to look at them on the
narrow and stony path—one false step, and both horse and rider must be
hurled into the valley a thousand feet below! These are the perils over
which the daring sable-hunters often ride. With them it is a necessity;
they risk it to obtain food, and not for bravado, or from foolhardy
recklessness—like that of some men who ride their horses up and down a
staircase. Kalmuck and Kirghiz would laugh at such feats. I have seen
men who would ride their horses along the roof of the highest cathedral
in Europe, if a plank, eighteen inches wide, were secured along the
ridge. Nor would they require a great wager to induce them to do it;
theirs is a continual life of danger and hardships; and they never seek
it unnecessarily.”
This ridge carried them across the valley, and they descended through a
dense cedar forest to the bank of the river, where they supped splendidly
on a fine fat buck that had fallen to the guns of Zepta and Mr. Atkinson.
Next morning, they were again in the saddle _en route_ for Ouemonia,
where their safe return excited much popular enthusiasm. Bidding adieu
to his faithful companions, he crossed the Katounaia, and with a new
escort rode on towards the Koksa. Leaving it to the south, he struck the
river Tschugash, encamped for the night in a clump of pines on its bank,
and in a day or two arrived at his old quarters on the Tchenish.
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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