Once I tried it myself. I was induced to scale the heights of a
horse that was built somewhat along the general idea of the Andes
Mountains, only more rugged and steeper nearing the crest. From
the ground he looked to be not more than sixteen hands high, but
as soon as I was up on top of him I immediately discerned that it
was not sixteen hands--it was sixteen miles. What I had taken for
the horse's blaze face was a snow-capped peak. Miss Anna Peck
might have felt at home up there, because she has had the experience
and is used to that sort of thing, but I am no mountain climber
myself.

Before I could make any move to descend to the lower and less
rarified altitudes the horse began executing a few fancy steps,
and he started traveling sidewise with a kind of a slanting bias
movement that was extremely disconcerting, not to say alarming,
instead of proceeding straight ahead as a regular horse would. I
clung there astraddle of his ridge pole, with my fingers twined
in his mane, trying to anticipate where he would be next, in order
to be there to meet him if possible; and I resolved right then
that, if Providence in His wisdom so willed it that I should get
down from up there alive, I would never do so again. However, I
did not express these longings in words--not at that time. At
that time there were only two words in the English language which
seemed to come to me. One of them was "Whoa" and the other was
"Ouch," and I spoke them alternately with such rapidity that they
merged into the compound word "Whouch," which is a very expressive
word and one that I would freely recommend to others who may be
situated as I was.