These countries are still barbarous at heart,
but Europe cries out upon open atrocities, and so they have invented the
post-waggon. After all, pain is a thing one can add up, and the sum
total of misery produced by the post, travelling daily, must in time
exceed that of the Spanish Inquisition. Thus do they gratify their
brutal natures.
We bounded along. The brakes did not work, the carriage banged against
the horses' hocks, who, in turn, leapt forwards, and our four heads met
in a resounding thump in the centre of the waggon; after which Jo
insisted that the widow should turn her hatpins to the other side. The
widow's luggage cast loose and hit us in cunning places when we were not
looking. The cart rocked and heaved, and we expected it to turn over.
There were other waggons on the road--heavy, slow ox carts, exporting
wool or importing benzine or ammunition, with wheels of any shape bar
round--some were even octagonal; and as they filed along they gave forth
sounds reminiscent of Montenegrin song, a last wail from the hospitable
little country whose borders we were leaving behind us.
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