“Now, in the part of Spain to which I have alluded, there is a set of people (Knights of the Moor, as Falstaff calls them), who make the mercurial art of robbery a profession—who pass for the most _cavalleros_ (gentleman-like) men. They are the padrones of old Castille. These brigands had, in the most polite manner imaginable, attacked several pleasure and business parties, with great benefit to themselves and discomfiture to their victims. The government, which in these countries, do everything, but nothing well, had our coach escorted by cavalry, as far as Baitroget; also certain stages between Arendo and Burgos. But when we got into one of the most cut-throat looking places, about three leagues from Orendo, at the cut-throat time in September of about eight in the evening, when the gloaming was fully set, and the moon had risen with a sickly, comsumptive aspect, our ‘John,’ or rather the head postillion was suddenly stopped short; a chain was immediately entangled in the wheel, the traces were cut, and both the postillions were pulled off their horses and thrown on the ground by a couple of surly, well-dressed brigands; while four others, two on each side, came to the carriage, and called upon the conductor and the people in the char-a-banc, as well as those in the coach, and those above, to come down and be robbed in a quiet way. One of the brigands had a hand-lantern, which he thrust into the ”interior“ of our vehicle. The old lady with her lap-dog gave a most piercing shriek, as did her waiting-woman, while the dog barked so furiously, that the brigand seemed excessively savage, and gave the yelping cur such a blow with the lantern, that it knocked the light out, and we were in a moderate degree of darkness. In a few moments, however, we felt the rough hands of two of the brigands, who pulled us out of the coach, and told us to lay down on our faces; the French opera-dancer appealed to their feelings as gentlemen, not to injure female delicacy, and to preserve the old lady, her waiting-woman, and herself from any unnecessary violence. The clown made a sudden summersault over the heads of the brigands, which astonished them to such a degree, that they thought they had come in contact with the Prince of Evil himself; while the Dutchman from the roof laid groaning and trembling all over like a jelly, and imploring for mercy. The other travellers were put _hors de combat_ without ceremony, and the whole group presented as pretty a picture of still life as can well be imagined.