TODOS SANTOS. 



235 



rocks and stones, hurrying on to the Atlantic ; we cross- 

 ed it perhaps fifty times on bridges wild and rude as 

 the stream itself and the mountains between which it 

 rolled. As we descended the temperature became 

 milder. At twelve o'clock the immense ravine opened 

 into a rich valley a mile in width, and in half an hour 

 we reached the village of Todos Santos. On the right, 

 far below us, was a magnificent table cultivated with 

 corn, and bounded by the side of the great sierra ; and 

 in the suburbs of the village were apple and peach trees * 

 covered with blossoms and young fruit. We had again 

 reached the tierras templadas, and in Europe or North 

 America the beauty of this miserable unknown village 

 would be a theme for poetry. 



As we rode through it, at the head of the street we 

 were stopped by a drunken Indian, supported by two 

 men hardly able to stand themselves, who, we thought, 

 were taking him to prison ; but, staggering before us, 

 they blocked up the passage, and shouted " Passeporte !" 

 Pawling, in anticipation, and to assume his new charac- 

 ter, had tied his jacket around his waist by the sleeves, 

 and was dragging one of the mules by its halter. Not 

 one of the three could read the passport, and they sent 

 for the secretary, a bare-headed Indian, habited in no- 

 thing but a ragged cotton shirt, who examined it very 

 carefully, and read aloud the name of Rafael Carrera, 

 which, I think, was all that he attempted to make out. 

 We were neither sentimental, nor philosophical, nor 

 moralizing travellers, but it gave us pangs to think that 

 such a magnificent country was in the possession of 

 such men. 



Passing the church and convent, we ascended a ridge, 

 then descended an immense ravine, crossed another 

 magnificent valley, and at length reached the Indian 



