THE GUARD I LOVED.
This sort of treatment was really rougher than I had reason to
expect--it gave me a very unpleasant realization that the alcalde must
be decidedly in earnest.
His dignity had been badly jarred, and I fancied it would take a
tremendous sum to act as balm to his lacerated feelings.
Perhaps the price might be too mighty for even my Fortunatus purse to
reach.
Well, I lay where I had fallen for a little time; it was just as good a
berth as any until my eyes could begin to grow accustomed to the inky
darkness.
That there should be such a place as a dungeon beneath the _hacienda_
of the alcade did not seem to astonish me in the least--indeed, I
appeared to take it as a most natural thing; as though these _casas_ of
the rich Bolivar citizens must be built something on the order of the
old-time feudal castles, with all manner of secret passages and doors.
I think a moat or a drawbridge, perhaps even a portcullis, might not
have been amiss in the premises.
After a while I found it useless to dream of seeing in such dense
blackness, and accordingly pulled myself together.
It required a pretty stout heart not to feel downcast over the
discouragements with which I found myself confronted.
One thing buoyed me up amazingly--even the hatred of the alcalde could
not dismay me when I knew I possessed the love and confidence of
Hildegarde; in the bitter past she could never come to regard me as
anything beyond a mediocre fellow, far below the standard she had set
for her hero; but, thanks to Heaven, a change had come over the spirit
of her dream, a change as tremendous as it was complete, and now in her
eyes I represented the flower of chivalry.
I remembered that blessed match box--if they had not surreptitiously
searched my pockets I should have that useful article still.
Yes, it was all right.
Eagerly I snapped a match--it flashed and went out, on account of
careless handling.
Come, this would never do--my stock was entirely too small for such
reckless waste.
The second trial proved a success, but it did not seem to arouse
my enthusiasm, for the place was apparently a hopeless hole in the
ground--heavy walls surrounded me on all sides, the door appeared to be
quite massive, and what little air penetrated the moldy dungeon came
from a grating of some sort high above my reach, probably opening into
the garden.
I laughed, perhaps not very merrily, but in grim humor, at the horrible
predicament in which I found myself.
Then, groping my way to a cot upon which I found some disreputable
straw, I rolled over and went philosophically to sleep.
For the life of me I could not tell how long I lay in this half stupor,
brought about by my recent tremendous exertions.
When I finally awoke, hours later, I was all of a tremble, partly from
the chilly surroundings, and also on account of a nasty dream that had
come to me, where I seemed once more on the wreck, lashed to the rail,
unable to move hand or foot, while Hildegarde, swept away on a giant
billow, held out her hands entreatingly in vain, calling my name in
agonized tones.
No wonder I shivered.
I was of a decidedly practical nature, and instead of bemoaning my
fate, I sprang erect, and began to thresh around as though suddenly
taking leave of my good senses.
The result became speedily apparent, for with the accelerated heart
movement a tingling of warm blood began to be felt to my very toes and
fingers, so that I was soon glowing.
I wondered what time it was.
They had not robbed me of my watch, but it had seen rough usage in the
sea, and I hardly expected to find it going.
To my surprise, upon holding it up to my ear I heard the busy ticking.
It required the sacrifice of another match to tell me it was seven
o’clock; but the game was really worth the candle, for I rejoiced that
the day had arrived.
After a while I had a visitor--the jailor was a heavily armed retainer
of the alcalde, whose piratical appearance was apt to discourage one
from all thought of attempting to overpower him and secure his outfit.
I pretended to be cheerful, and even joked with the fellow as well as
my knowledge of Spanish allowed.
Whether he understood me or not, he evidently was not inclined to join
in my light humor, for slamming down a pitcher of vile water, together
with a vessel containing some _tortillas_ and _frijoles_, he gave me a
black scowl that would have made his fortune on the stage, and stalked
away, noisily locking the door as if to comfort me.
His face looked a little familiar, yet for the life of me I could not
remember where I had seen him before, nor how I had injured him.
Never mind--I felt ravenously hungry, and the water, drank in the dark
where one might not see its defects, was not so bad.
I have partaken of many a dainty fare in my day, where tables groaned
beneath the weight of good things garnered from the four corners of the
earth; but, after all, appetite is the true connoisseur, and I honestly
believe that humble portion of beans and maize cakes, devoured much
after the manner of a savage, in that dark and damp dungeon, tasted
better than the historic feast of Lucullus.
At any rate, they did not mean to starve me--not that I had entertained
fears in this respect, for surely one who had the cupidity of the
alcalde would never kill the goose that laid the golden eggs--at least,
until he had good reason to believe the source had been drained.
When noon came my genial jailor again made his appearance.
More beans and fried cakes--never mind, one can stand even this
monotonous bill of fare when the appetite holds good.
All I found reason to complain of was the limited quantity; they forgot
that a man of leisure, who has nothing to employ his time, and to whom
the hours drag unmercifully develops an enormous capacity for devouring
food.
This thing began to grow monotonous.
The restless Yankee spirit aroused within me.
Since the mountain showed no inclination to come to Mahomet, it was
evident that he must make a virtue of necessity and go to the mountain.
In other words, I resolved to see what chances there might be for
escape.
Apparently the case was hopeless enough, with those impregnable walls
about me; but Nature had endowed me with an optimistic spirit, and
besides, I had read of many wonderful escapes--that of Monte Cristo,
for instance, and the Union prisoners who left old Libby prison by
means of tunnels and a chimney.
I had my knife still.
With this I managed to shave off numerous small pieces from the rude
cot--they might not be perfectly dry, but if properly arranged would
undoubtedly burn.
When illumination was thus brought about the old dungeon looked at
least a bit more cheery.
I must confess, however, that the chances for escape did not seem to
improve; those walls might as well have been adamant so far as my
ability to break through went.
Perhaps with patience and a year of time, one might have dug a hole
through, but I was not a life prisoner, like Edmond Dante, and my case
would evidently meet with speedy settlement at the hands of the irate
alcalde, who was laying his wires to get all that was possible out of
the game.
That meant, very plainly, that more urgent measures would have to be
adopted if I hoped to desert my palatial quarters.
My fuel, being very limited, the supply gave out, leaving me in
darkness.
All I could do was to walk up and down like a caged tiger; at first I
experienced more or less trouble, coming in contact with the walls,
which were very unsympathetic; but by degrees I learned caution, and,
counting my steps, managed to spare my head.
Then came my jolly friend, the black-bearded buccaneer, with his royal
fare--this time he had, with a generosity I could never forget, varied
the menu; it was no longer beans and cakes and water, but cakes, water
and beans.
Never mind, at least the supply was a little more generous than on
former occasions, and I was no fault-finder.
Again I rallied him, firing at him several chestnuts I had recollected;
but the fellow’s heart never gave a responsive throb, and I sighed to
think what a dreary desert this bright world must appear to a man of
his caliber. Perhaps he had recently been jilted by his best girl, and
was still in the throes of bitterness, for surely nothing else could
make a man look as though he would be happy to bite a piece of steel in
two.
So he faded from my view, and I was once more left alone.
But his coming had given me an idea.
He had suspended his lantern, an American one at that, from the iron
knob of the door, while he spread the festive board, or, in more simple
but less elegant language, dumped my grub upon the stone floor with a
recklessness that gave me pain.
My attention had been attracted toward the door, with the result that I
fancied it would repay me for a close examination.
So, after disposing of the last remnant of my supper, bestowed through
the courtesy of the alcalde--bless his benevolent heart--I set to work
examining that same door.
Here I squandered three more of my precious matches, but the investment
paid me--indeed, I almost came to worship at the shrine of those little
wooden, brimstone-tipped gods; never had I dreamed they could appear
so valuable, and more than once I vowed that, freed from this trouble,
I meant to never suffer for lack of a sufficiency again, if I had to
start a factory or even buy up the whole iniquitous match trust.
The door was a great big sham, a hollow mockery; apparently it was a
massive affair, capable of resisting a battering ram; but in reality
time had played such havoc with the oak, aided and abetted by some
mysterious boring worm, that it was the easiest thing in the world for
me to bury the blade of my pocketknife in its fiber.
This was joy indeed; my old run of luck had not yet reached the end of
its tether, and I rather guessed I was still in the game.
And the way I slashed into that humbug of a door was a caution; I made
the rotten stuff fairly fly in a shower, so that twice I had to stop
my work and indulge in a sneezing spell on account of the particles of
wood dust in the air.
Never mind, the hole grew apace and would speedily be large enough to
accommodate the prisoner who yearned to try his wings.
Then my rising hopes received a rude shock, for upon the stone flagging
of the corridor I heard the distinct sound of approaching footsteps.
A curse upon that meddling, black-muzzled jailor.