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Again and again they came over and searched us, pointing their knives. Twice I held my wallet in my left hand, over my head, while they checked my pockets, my crotch, my socks. Once I stood for a full 30 seconds, wallet in hand, while they shined a light in my face and we stared at each other. Finally, when they were absorbed in the looting, I stashed it under a rock.

Next the gang attacked two Germans, Andreas Spiegel, 32, and his girlfriend, Heike Schock, 30. Twice they stripped Heike naked, checking her bra and her panties, robbing her of earrings and necklace. There she stood, unclothed and shivering in the cold night, crying softly and filled with terror. This scene would later be repeated with the only other woman present, a 27-year-old German named Sylke Shirmer.

This was the darkest moment. The thieves found no money on Andreas and Heike, and they were in a bad mood. (Andreas wore a money belt, it turned out, which the bandits did not check.) Our group of four also had little money, having put it in a deposit box at the Senggigi Beach Hotel.

The angry robbers surrounded us and began to threaten us with their knives. The most aggressive one raised his machete over our heads, one by one, and yelled, "Dollars!" With Jagat translating, we explained: You already have all our money. The rest is at a hotel on Senggigi beach. We have no more money.

At long last, they stopped threatening us and attacked the tent of the other three Germans -- Shirmer, Holyer Zullchner, 37, and Martin Jacob, 25. The same scene was repeated: knives stabbed through their tents, flashlights in their faces, pockets checked, gear dragged out and plundered. We heard Sylke pleading for the thieves not to take her shoes. "Please. Please. It's the only pair I have."

Last they robbed Gary Ford, a 26-year-old American, and David Blonde, a 25-year-old Belgian. Ford's reaction was similar to mine: He was furious. As he argued with the desperate bandits, I could clearly see the foolishness of his actions (and mine).

Had the attack ended quickly, it would have been merely scary. But as it dragged on, the situation settled down somewhat. Bill, who has traveled widely in Mexico, South America, Asia and elsewhere, was the first to understand that their intentions were not violent. "I realized that like most criminals, they were young and dumb, and it was just a matter of doing what they wanted," he said. "They didn't make us kneel down, or line us up, or put knives to our throats, or any of that."

As we began to observe our attackers, the robbery acquired a tone of tense black humor. One of the thieves yanked the comb from Bill's pocket and held it up suspiciously. "What's this?" he shouted, in English. "It's a comb," said Bill, providing a helpful hair-combing pantomime.

Another thief found time to deliver an anti-drug lecture. Ripping open a pack of Drum tobacco, he sniffed suspiciously. "Ganja!" he shouted. "No, no," I said. "Tobacco. Tabac." Brandishing his machete, he flung the tobacco on the ground and yelled, in English, "No ganja on Lombok!"

They were picky about their pilfered food. They liked the Taiwanese peanuts and the local bananas, but the raisins met with disapproval. Tearing the box open with his teeth, one of the robbers shoved a fistful into his mouth. Pah! He spat them out and threw the pack on the ground in utter disgust, glaring at David.

The littlest thief puzzled for a long time over Bill's saccharine tablets. He held the container to his ear, shook it, looked at it, shook it again and looked again. In the end, the child-proof cap defeated him. He took the tablets anyway.

The meanest thief -- the man who kicked me, and raised his machete over each of our heads -- stalked about in white underwear, a filthy T-shirt and Bill's wool socks. It's true -- we were robbed by a thug in underwear. At one point the man in underwear asked us if we had any checks. Sure, we joked later: Who should I make it out to?

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