Still more to be feared, and shunned, by the citizens of Puebla, was a band of regular robbers, whom General Scott—for some sapient purpose of his own—had incorporated with the American army, under the title of the “Spy Company”—the name taken from the service they were intended to perform.
They were the band of captain—usually styled “colonel”—Dominguez; an ex-officer of Santa Anna’s army, who for years had sustained himself in the mountains around Peroté, and the mal pais of El Piñol—a terror to all travellers not rich enough to command a strong escort of Government “dragones.”
They were true highwaymen—salteadores del camino grande—each mounted on his own horse, and armed with carbine, pistol, lance, or long sword!
They were dressed in various fashions; but generally in the picturesque ranchero costume of jaqueta, calzoneros, and broad-brimmed high-crowned hats; booted, spurred, sashed, laced, and tassel led.
On the shoulders of some might be seen the serapé; while not a few were draped with the magnificent manga.
On joining us they were a hundred and twenty strong, with recognised officers—a captain and a couple of “tenientes,” with the usual number of “sarjentes” and “cabos.”
So close was their resemblance to the guerilleros of the enemy, that, to prevent our men from shooting them by mistake, they had been compelled to adopt a distinguishing badge.
It consisted of a strip of scarlet stuff, worn, bandlike, round their sombreros—with the loose ends dangling down to the shoulder.
The symbol naturally led to a name. They were known to our soldiers as the “Red Hats”—the phrase not unfrequently coupled with a rude adjunctive.
Outlawed in their own land—now associated with its invaders—it is scarce necessary to say that the Red Hats were an object of terror wherever they had a chance of showing their not very cheerful faces.