Knowing this, I surrendered without making the least movement or resistance.
It was a motley group in whose midst I stood: in this respect equalling a party of Guy Fawkes mimers. No two were dressed exactly alike, though there was a general similitude of costume among them, especially in the particular articles of broad-brimmed hats, and wide-legged trowsers of velveteen.
Some of them had serapés hanging scarf-like over their shoulders; but all were armed with long knives (machetés), and lances; I could also see short guns (escopetas) strapped along the sides of their saddles.
“A guerilla,” I muttered to myself, thinking I had fallen among a hand of guerilleros.
I was soon undeceived, and found I had not been so fortunate. The ruffian countenances of my captors—as soon as I had time to scrutinise them more closely—the coarse jests and ribald language passing between them, along with some other professional peculiarities—told me that, instead of a band of partisans, I was in the clutches of a cuadrilla of salteadores—true robbers of the road!
My observation of the fact was not calculated to tranquillise my spirits, but the contrary. As a general rule, the bandits of Mexico are not bloodthirsty. If the purse be freely delivered up to them, they have no object in ill-treating the person of their captives. It is only when the latter show ill-humour, or attempt resistance, that their lives are in danger.
At that time, however, with the country in a state of active war—with a hated enemy marching victorious along its roads—some of the outlawed chiefs had become inspired with a sort of sham patriotism—in most instances for the purpose of being left free to plunder, or else with the design of obtaining pardon for past offences. Though occasionally acting as guerilleros, and attacking the wagon trains of the American army, their patriotism was of a very ambiguous order; and not unfrequently were their own countrymen the victims of their despoiling propensities.
In one respect only did this patriotism display itself with partiality, and that was in the ferocity with which they treated such American prisoners as had the misfortune to fall into their hands. Horrible mutilations were common—with all the vindictive modes of punishment known to the lex talionis.
I could easily believe, while regarding the ferocious faces around me, that I was in great danger of some fearful fate: perhaps to be drawn and quartered; perhaps burnt alive; perhaps—I knew not what—I could only conjecture something terrible.
After I had been pulled about for some minutes, and rudely abused by several of the band, a man made his appearance in their midst, who seemed to exert over the others some species of authority. The word “capitan,” pronounced by several as he came forward, told me that he was the chief of the robbers; and his appearance entitled him to the distinction.