On the second day from Trebizond we arrived at the snow; the hoods with which we had provided ourselves were pulled over our heads. I tied my bridle to the pommel of my saddle, put my hands in my pockets, and nevertheless galloped along—at least the horse did, and all the better for my not holding the bridle. In mountain traveling this is perhaps the most necessary of all the whole craft and art of horsemanship, not to touch the bridle on any occasion, except when you want to stop the horse; for, in difficult circumstances, a horse or mule goes much better if he is left to his own devices. In some dreadful places, I have seen a horse smell the ground, and then, resting on his haunches, put one foot forward as gently as if it was a finger, cautiously to feel the way. They have a wonderful instinct of self-preservation, seeming quite aware of the perils of false steps, and the dangers by which they are surrounded on the ledges of bleak mountains, and in passing bogs and torrents in the valleys below.
At Beyboort we were received by the governor, a Bey, who gave us a famous good dinner or supper, whereof we all ate an incredible quantity, and almost as much more at breakfast next morning. At Gumush Hané, where there are silver mines, a good-natured old gentleman who was sitting by the roadside gave me the most delicious pear I ever tasted. This place is famous for its pears. Being situated in a deep valley, the climate is much better than most parts of the country on this road. Here we put up in a good house, slept like tops, and waddled off next morning as before. I had an enormous pair of boots lined with sheepskin, which were the envy and admiration of the party: they were amazing snug certainly, and nearly came up to my middle. If they had been a little bit larger, I might have crept into one at night, which would have been a great convenience; they were of the greatest service on horseback, but on foot I had much difficulty in getting along, and was sorry I had neglected to inquire how Jack the Giant-killer managed with his seven-league boots. Before arriving at Beyboort we passed the mountain of Zigana Dagh, by a place where a whole caravan accompanying the harem of the Pasha of Moush had been overwhelmed in an avalanche, over the icy blocks of which we made our way, the bodies of the unfortunate party and all the poor ladies lying buried far below. Beyond Gumush Hané rises the mountain of Hoshabounar, which is a part of the chain that bounds the great plain of Erzeroom. This was the worst part of the whole journey: we approached it by interminable plains of snow, along which the track appeared like a narrow black line. These plains of snow, which look so even to the sight, are not always really so; the hollows and inequalities being filled with the snow, you may fall into a hole and be smothered if you leave the path. This path is hardened by the passage of caravans, which tread down the snow into a track of ice just wide enough for a single file of horses; but while you think you are on a plain, you are, in fact, riding on the top of a wall or ridge, from whence, if your horse should chance to slip, you do not know how deep you may sink down into the soft snow on either side.
At the top of the mountain we met thirty horses which the Pasha of Erzeroom had sent for our use. We had above thirty of our own, so now there were sixty horses in our train. The Russian commissioner and I left all these behind, and rode on together with two or three guards, accompanied by the chief of the village where we were to sleep. At last we came to the brow of the hill—we could not see to the bottom from the snow that was falling—it was as steep as the roof of a house, and the road consisted of a series of holes, about six inches deep, and about eighteen inches apart, the track being about sixteen inches wide. To my surprise, the chief of the village, a man in long scarlet robes, immediately dashed at a gallop down this road, or ladder, as they call it; the Russian commissioner followed him; and I, thinking that it would not do for an Englishman to be beat by a Russian or a Turk, threw my bridle on my horse’s neck and galloped after them. Never did I see such a place to ride in! Down and down we went, plunging, sliding, scrambling in and out of the deep holes, the snow flying up like spray around us, to meet its brother snow that was falling from the sky. It was wonderful how the horses kept their feet; they burst out into perspiration as if it had been summer. I was as hot as fire with the exertion. Still down we went, headlong as it seemed, till at last I found myself sliding and bounding on level ground, and, rushing over some horses which were standing in an open space, I discovered that I was in a village, and was presently helped off my panting horse by the gentleman in the red pelisse, who showed the way into a cow-stable, the usual place in which we put up at night. Thus ended the most extraordinary piece of horsemanship I ever joined in. It was not wonderful, perhaps, for the rider, but how the horses kept their feet, and how they had strength enough to undergo such a wonderful series of leaps and plunges, out of one hole into another, appeared quite astonishing to me. The next day we proceeded to Erzeroom, and at a village about two hours’ distance we were met by all the authorities of the city on horseback. Some horses with magnificent housings were sent by the Pasha for the principal personages, and we rode into the town in a sort of procession, accompanied by perhaps 200 well-mounted cavaliers caracoling and prancing in every direction.
General View of Erzeroom.
[1] Caravan tea is tea which is brought by caravans, over land, from China, through the great deserts of Tartary: it is much superior to the tea which comes by sea. [↑]