For this equestrian freebooter—the true type of the highwayman—you must seek, in modern times, among the mountains, and upon the plains, of Mexico. There you will find him in full fanfar; plying his craft with as much earnestness, and industry, as if it were the most respectable of professions!
In the city and its suburbs, brigandage exists in the shape of the picaron-à-pied—or “robber on foot”—in short, the footpad. In the country it assumes a far more exalted standard—being there elevated to the rank of a regular calling; its practitioners not going in little groups, and afoot—after the fashion of our thieves and garotters—but acting in large organised bands, mounted on magnificent horses, with a discipline almost military!
These are the true “bandoleros,” sometimes styled salteadores del camino grande—“robbers of the great road”—in other words, highwaymen.
You may meet them on the camino grande leading from Vera Cruz to the capital—by either of the routes of Jalapa or Orizava; on that between the capital and the Pacific port of Acapulco; on the northern routes to Queretaro, Guanaxuato, and San Luis Potosi; on the western, to Guadalaxara and Michoacan; in short, everywhere that offers them the chance of stripping a traveller.
Not only may you meet them, but will, if you make but three successive excursions over any one of the above named highways. You will see the “salteador” on a horse much finer than that you are yourself riding; in a suit of clothes thrice the value of your own—sparkling with silver studs, and buttons of pearl or gold; his shoulders covered with a serapé, or perhaps a splendid manga of finest broadcloth—blue, purple, or scarlet.
You will see him, and feel him too—if you don’t fall upon your face at his stern summons “A tierra!” and afterwards deliver up to him every article of value you have been so imprudent as to transport upon your person.
Refuse the demand, and you will get the contents of carbine, escopeta, or blunderbuss in your body, or it may be a lance-blade intruded into your chest!
Yield graceful compliance, and he will as gracefully give you permission to continue your journey—with, perhaps, an apology for having interrupted it!
I know it is difficult to believe in such a state of things, in a country called civilised—difficult to you. To me they are but remembrances of many an actual experience.
Their existence is easily explained. You will have a clue to it, if you can imagine a land, where, for a period of over fifty years, peace has scarcely ever been known to continue for as many days; where all this time anarchy has been the chronic condition; a land full of disappointed spirits—unsatisfied aspirants to military fame, also unpaid; a land of vast lonely plains and stupendous hills, whose shaggy sides form impenetrable fastnesses—where the feeble pursued may bid defiance to the strong pursuer.