Antonio, Whom I Had
Resolved To Take With Me, And My Two Horses, Departed With The
Convoy, Whilst In A Few Days I Followed With The Mail Courier.
We
travelled all the way without the slightest accident, my usual
wonderful good fortune accompanying us.
I might well call it
wonderful, for I was running into the den of the lion; the whole of
La Mancha, with the exception of a few fortified places, being once
more in the hands of Palillos and his banditti, who, whenever it
pleased them, stopped the courier, burnt the vehicle and letters,
murdered the paltry escort, and carried away any chance passenger
to the mountains, where an enormous ransom was demanded, the
alternative being four shots through the head, as the Spaniards
say.
The upper part of Andalusia was becoming rapidly nearly as bad as
La Mancha. The last time the mail had passed, it was attacked at
the defile of La Rumblar by six mounted robbers; it was guarded by
an escort of as many soldiers, but the former suddenly galloped
from behind a solitary venda, and dashed the soldiers to the
ground, who were taken quite by surprise, the hoofs of the robbers'
horses making no noise on account of the sandy nature of the
ground. The soldiers were instantly disarmed and bound to olive
trees, with the exception of two, who escaped amongst the rocks;
they were then mocked and tormented by the robbers, or rather
fiends, for nearly half an hour, when they were shot; the head of
the corporal who commanded being blown to fragments with a
blunderbuss.
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