The Madrid papers recite the particulars of a terrific scene which took
place on the 14th of August, 1851, at the house of Don Diego Garcia, an
old nobleman, who resided in the vicinity of that capital:
The night was dark and tempestuous. The rain poured down in torrents,
and induced the night-watch, who had been reinforced since the recent
augmentations of crime in the environs of the capital, to keep close to
their quarters. The roads were completely deserted, and at long
intervals only the shadow of a human figure flitted past the huge
portals of Don Diego's mansion, in anxious haste toward its habitation.
Juan Munoz, the Don's old valet, had been sent to this city, by his
master, and was now making the best of his way home. His errand to the
capital had been to procure some medicine which his master had been
ordered to take, he being at the time violently afflicted by the gout.
Juan, as we have said, was picking his way, as best he could, through
the deluged streets and roads, when, just as he came in sight of the
mansion, he heard the voices of a number of men behind him, and
supposing them to be a party of his fellow-servants who had been sent in
search of him, since he had been much later than he expected to be, he
drew back into an open recess to await their approach. He discovered
that he was deceived in his expectations; the men were strangers to him,
or, at least, he did not know their voices, but, while passing him, he
plainly heard the name of his master pronounced by one of their number,
and, stepping forward, he asked if they wished to see Don Diego that
night. The men seemed perfectly stupefied by his sudden apparition, but
they soon recovered from their surprise, and, after ascertaining that he
was alone, he was politely asked to go before them and show the way.
Scarcely had he proceeded a dozen yards; when a violent blow on the head
laid him prostrate; a knife was then twice thrust into his breast, and
the lifeless body was hurled into the middle of the road.
It was close upon midnight, when the wife of Don Diego, while tending
her sick husband, was startled by a noise from the adjoining room. She
immediately rang the bell, and was answered by the major domo, the only
servant who had not retired to rest, being determined to await the
return of Juan. As he entered, the door leading to the ante-chamber was
also quickly opened, and on the threshold appeared five masked men, who
were evidently unprepared to find more than one inmate in the sick
chamber. Quick as thought the major-domo attempted to reach the
bell-rope, that by a violent alarm he might awake the sleepers and
obtain their aid, but quicker even than he was the leader of the masked
band, who seized a pistol from his belt, and, with unerring aim,
discharged it at the devoted servant. There was a faint cry: the old
servant stretched out his hands for support, and then, with a heavy
groan, fell to the floor, where death closed his eyes.
This unexpected catastrophe seemed to spur on the robbers to instant
work. While one man was posted at each door, the three others insisted
upon being informed by Don Diego where he kept his money and valuables;
but the sick old man had sank into so complete a lethargy by the
dreadful event which had passed under his eye, that he was unable to
answer them. As rapidity of movement was, however, rendered peremptory
to insure the safety of the band, the chief addressed the Donna for the
same purpose, in answer to which, she evinced but little reluctance, and
bade them to follow her. The robbers at once declared their readiness,
and, after passing along the corridor, entered the dining saloon, where
the Donna pointed out a large box, which, she said, contained the plate.
Here another difficulty arose. The box, which in reality contained the
plate, was securely locked, and the key nowhere to be found. Anxious to
get at the rich booty, the leader, with an angry imprecation, put the
muzzle of his heavy horse-pistol to the lock; a sharp report followed,
and the lid thus unceremoniously opened offered no further obstacle to
the rapacity of the invaders. Donna Ignazia took advantage of the joyful
excitement of the band, and left the room to descend into the lower
story of the mansion, where her hurried summons at the chamber doors of
the servants were readily responded to by them, as they had already been
awoke by the double report in their master's apartments. The tempest,
which had raged so fearfully, had meanwhile ceased; the torrents of rain
were followed by a clear night; the fury of the elements appeared as
though, in momentary rest, they would gather strength for a fresh
outbreak--nature's wrath had given place to the wrath of man.
The inanimate body of Juan Munoz had been discovered by a patrolling
body of soldiery, who carried it to the guard-house. The stabs were
found to be of minor consequence, and the blow on the head, although it
had caused a very severe wound, had occasioned only a temporary loss of
consciousness. It must be borne in mind, that two hours had nearly
elapsed between the assault upon Munoz and the entrance into the house
by the robbers, which time had probably been spent by them in various
efforts to gain access. Strong restoratives, judiciously applied, soon
brought back animation, and, shortly afterward, Munoz could give a
confused narrative of what had befallen him. The officer on duty at once
saw through the scheme, and gave orders to proceed to the mansion of Don
Diego, which they reached at the precise moment when Donna Ignazia, with
an armed body of her own servants, was leading them to the dining
saloon. The summons of the officer at the front door was followed by a
dead silence on the part of the robbers: but when they heard the
measured tramp of the soldiery on the stair-case, they sought for means
of instant flight. This, however, had been provided for; a portion of
the military had surrounded the house, while the others, reinforced by
the servants, approached. The only chance then left to the brigands was
to cut their way through, or sell their lives as dearly as possible. In
an instant the huge oaken doors of the saloon were closed and barred,
the lights were extinguished, the windows opened, and everything made
ready for the last desperate chance. Fortune favored them; for the
soldiery, not anticipating a leap of their enemies from the high
windows, withdrew their sentinels from there in order to make them guard
the side and rear outlets of the mansion. Two of the bold ruffians had
already made their descent by means of tablecloths, tied together, when
the alarm was given. The soldiers rushed to the spot--a third robber was
clinging to the frail chance for life, and was rapidly descending, but a
well-directed shot bereft him of strength, and, after a few frantic
efforts to retain his hold, he fell heavily to the ground. His two
comrades made a firm stand: but vain was their boldness against the
numbers of assailants, and in a few moments they fell, grievously
wounded, into the hands of the victors.
Two more only remained of this desperate band, and the fact of their
being shielded by strong bolts massive walls, rendered them no
insignificant enemies. Ladders were placed against the windows, but the
true aim of the keen-eyed brigands made four successive shots tell with
appalling effect, since each of them laid low one of their assailants.
At last an attack upon the doors was resolved upon, and soon the heavy
blows of the ponderous axe resounded from the massive panels. One door
gave way: there was a stunning crash, followed by reports of fire-arms,
cries of agony, and the dull sound of falling victims. Again the numbers
were successful, but in this instance the victims knew no mercy, and,
when at last the tumult ceased, the mutilated corpses of the two
brigands could hardly be recognized from three of their late assailants.
The man who had been shot while descending from the window was found to
be quite dead, the ball having entered his heart. The two survivors were
subsequently identified as Ramon Gomez, and Pietro Vaga, better known as
"the Hunchback," two of the most notorious highwaymen and burglars, for
whose apprehension a large reward had been offered.