SPAIN: WINE, RAISINS, AND OLIVES. 119 



be on a full run. No sooner would be be in his scat than he 

 would recommence his yells, and ply his whip most vigorously. 

 There is on the leading mule or horse a postillion, whose only 

 duty is to halloo to wagons and carts which arc met to turn out 

 of the road. It is a curious sight thus to see twelve to sixteen 

 mules, in two or in three rows, going along with all their speed, 

 the two last only having lines, the others tied one to another by 

 their halter-strings. The postillion has a control only over his 

 own mule and the one beside it. Such a scene is as hard to de- 

 scribe as it is curious. Although the postillion only controls the 

 first two mules, and the driver the last two, they dash away at 

 the greatest speed, plying their whips, shouting, yelling, bawling. 

 "When the driver gets down to whip the mules, the conductor 

 takes his place, whips unmercifully all those he can reach, and 

 screams at those he can not reach. When an unaccustomed trav- 

 eler sees himself carried along at such a rate, on the brink of 

 precipices from two hundred to six hundred feet, by twelve to 

 sixteen mules without reins, he involuntarily shuts his eyes, and 

 recommends his soul to its Maker. 



We arrived at about ten o'clock in the evening at a place where 

 we were asked for our passports by the French authorities, who 

 scarcely gave them a glance. We crossed a bridge and were in 

 Spanish territory. Here we got out to have our baggage thor- 

 oughly examined, as well as our passports, by the Spanish author- 

 ities. For having the latter again vised we were obliged to pay 

 once more. We might have dispensed with their vise, but they 

 could not have done without our reals^ for they were a most hun- 

 gry-looking set. 



After uselessly spending two hours here, we resumed our course, 

 drawn on by sixteen mules. It was a fine moonlight night, and 

 I could see the country all around. We were ascending the Pyr- 

 enees. In the ravines was planted Indian corn. The hills are 

 barren, and have few, if even any trees on them. Soon it began to 

 rain, and I could no longer see out. At twelve o'clock we arrived 

 at St. Sebastien, where we were nearly upset in trying to get 

 through a gate. The string of mules was so long that they could 

 not give the proper turn, and the gate was so narrow that we ran 

 up against one of the posts. At last, after a few moments of hal- 

 looing and whipping, we got through. We changed mules and 

 continued our way, which ran along the sea-shore for about half 

 an hour, then left it for good. 



