IN MORRO CASTLE.
That certainly was a day of triumph for the vindictive Spaniard. Not
only Clif Faraday was made wretched, but there was his friend, too, and
each a thousand times more unhappy because of the misfortune of the
other.
Clif as he went out of that room was almost dazed; he could think of
nothing. He scarcely heard the sailors sadly bidding him good-by.
Nor did he notice anything else until he heard the clang of a door
behind him, he realized then from the darkness and silence about him
that he was alone in one of the cells of the prison.
It was not for himself that the poor cadet feared. He could have marched
out without flinching and faced a dozen rifles aimed at his heart.
But it was for Bessie Stuart, fallen into the hands of these brutal men.
The fate that was before her was enough to make Clif wish her dead.
He racked his brains trying to think of how she could have come to
Havana; could she have been captured in a battle? And what had Ignacio
to do with it?
But poor Clif knew nothing, and could think of nothing except that she
was here, and he powerless to aid her.
His own fate was terrible enough, though he hardly thought of that.
He was to be sent at night to Morro.
Many indeed were the unfortunates who had gone to take that sea trip in
the darkness and never come back--and sometimes not reached their
destination either. It was a terrible journey, that short ride across
Havana Bay.
But the cadet did not even stop to realize that. He had but one thought,
and that he kept repeating over and over to himself in a state of
confusion and despair. He never moved from his one position on the
floor; and the hours flew by unheeded.
Once and once only the heavy door of the cell was opened and that by a
man who shoved in a pitcher of water and a dish of food. He must have
thought the prisoner asleep.
And as a fact, Clif was half unconscious; he was too dazed to think of
anything. He had no hope and no chance of life, and nothing to think of
except that Bessie Stuart was captured and he could not aid her.
So the long day wore by; it was as a man waking from a deep sleep that
the wretched American looked up when the door of that cell was opened
again. He found that the hours had flown by, and that the time for the
trip to Morro had come.
If Clif had cared about anything then he would have shivered with horror
at that moment, for it was surely gruesome and uncanny enough.
Three men there were, dark, silent, shadowy figures who entered the damp
cell. The only light they had was from a dark lantern, which they
flashed upon the solitary prisoner.
They found him still lying on the floor, but he raised up to look at
them, his haggard, tortured face shining white in the rays of the
lantern.
"Get up," commanded one of the men, in a low, muffled voice. "Get up."
The face of the speaker was shrouded in darkness, but Clif recognized
the voice, and a cold chill shot over him.
"Ignacio again!" he gasped.
Yes. And Clif thought that this was the last--that Ignacio had gained
his purpose. The task of murder was left to him.
But there was no chance of resistance. Clif felt the cold muzzle of a
revolver pressed to his head, and so he put the thought away.
One of the men snapped a pair of handcuffs about his wrists, as if to
make sure of him in case the ropes were not strong enough. And then one
of them seized him by each arm and Ignacio stepped behind with the
lantern.
And so out of the cell they marched and down the long corridor and out
of the building into the open air.
Clif had chance for but one deep breath of it. A moment later he was
shoved into a wagon that was in front of the door.
There he was seated between one of the men and the chuckling Ignacio.
The other man was driving and they rattled off down the street.
Where they were going the unfortunate victim had no idea. Perhaps to
some lonely spot where Ignacio could torture him to his fiendish heart's
content! But there was no use in making an outcry.
And Clif realized it and sat perfectly silent. He would give his enemies
no more satisfaction than he could help.
Clif did not think that it could be the trip to Morro that was before
him; it was too early for such a deed of darkness. If he were dropped
overboard upon the way some one might see it.
But as it actually happened, Morro was his destination. And he really
reached Morro, too. Perhaps the city jail was not considered strong
enough for such a villain as he.
And the carriage stopped at a wharf. A small launch was waiting there,
and the party boarded her and were swept across to the other side in a
very short while.
So in a short while the walls of Havana's strongest dungeon shut upon
Clif Faraday. He was a prisoner in Morro, famous or infamous, for its
deeds of horror.
For it was in this place, as Clif knew, that all the torture and cruelty
of the Spanish nature had been wreaked upon the unfortunate Cubans or
Americans who fell into the hands of Weyler. It was here that Ruiz had
been murdered, and hundreds of wretches besides--their name and fate
being hidden forever by the walls of that horrible place.
And Clif was going then under the guidance of Ignacio. It was plain that
the fiendish man had secured his purpose, for he was in command of the
little party. And it was his to decide what was to be done with Clif.
How the man had secured that privilege from the authorities Clif could
not hope to know. That he had gotten it as a reward for some deed of
darkness he did not doubt.
Perhaps it was for capturing Bessie Stuart, was the thought that flashed
over the lad.
Again when the black, silent walls of Morro loomed up before them and
the great gate opened nobody asked any questions of Ignacio. He showed a
note, and it passed him from sentry to sentry; and the party passed down
a flight of stairs into a cold, damp, stone corridor black as night.
Poor Clif could not help but think of his own fate then. Ignacio's
cruelty and hatred were such that no torture would be terrible enough
for him. And he seemed to have his prisoner entirely to his own
discretion.
The great vault through which they were going echoed dimly to the
footsteps of the party. They seemed to be down in a sort of a cellar,
and they were winding their way through secret passages in almost
absolute darkness.
But Ignacio knew the way--probably the fellow had been in those gloomy
dungeons before.
He stopped suddenly and flashed the lantern upon a rusty iron door. It
was solid and heavy, but Ignacio took a key from his pocket and unlocked
it.
It swung back, creaking dismally upon its hinges. And Ignacio flashed
the light of his lantern in.
He staggered back quite white with fright as he did so. For there was a
series of thumping, shuffling sounds, and a shrill noise that made his
blood run cold.
But in a moment he again stepped forward, laughing under his breath.
"Por dios!" he exclaimed. "The rats! They must be hungry!"
And he stepped into the room. His foot splashed into a small puddle of
water on the reeking, earthen floor. But he pressed on, flashing his
lantern about the granite walls.
It was a tiny black cavern into which he had come.
There was a stone bench at one side of the horrible place, and in the
wall by it a heavy ring and a thick iron chain.
It was but a minute more before Clif's ankles were locked firmly in the
ring, and then he was utterly helpless.
For but a moment Ignacio stood looking at him, flashing the lantern full
in his face. And then he turned and motioned to the two men.
Without a word they faced about and stole away. They went out of the
door, and Ignacio, trembling all over with his fiendish eagerness, shut
the great iron barrier and locked it.
And then with a hoarse cry of rage he faced about.
Clif Faraday was alone with his deadly and merciless foe!