For Clif Faraday had not failed to learn something of what a prisoner might expect in Havana. A classmate of his, Vic Rollins, had spent a couple of months there and had emerged almost a physical wreck.
And Clif could not tell how long he might have to remain. The war had already been going on long enough for him to see that it would last some time.
And the amount of cruelty and starvation he had before him was enough to make the cadet tremble.
He knew that the severest privation would fall to his lot.
Ignacio could be trusted to see to that.
"I don't think they'll dare to let him kill me," the American muttered. "But he'll probably get his satisfaction somehow."
At any rate, it was plain that the vengeful Spaniard meant to try. He soon set to work.
That Clif understood Spanish he was well aware. But he did not seem to mind it.
For he began a conversation with the sergeant. And he did not take the trouble to whisper what he had to say, though one would have thought he would not care to have so villainous a plot known to any one.
The officer in charge of the Americans was sitting near them with his own sword lying in his lap. And Ignacio crept over to him.
"Jose," said he, "Jose Garcia, listen to me."
"What is it?"
"Jose, have you been paid your wages for the last six months?"
The soldier gazed at Ignacio in astonishment.
"Carramba! What's that to you?"
"Nothing, Jose, except that you need money, don't you?"
It was evident from the look that came over the Spanish soldier's face that the answer he made was sincere.
"Santa Maria!" he cried. "Yes! Why?"
"Would you like to make some?"
"How much?"
Slowly Ignacio reached his hand inside of his shirt and pulled out a little bag.
He loosened the mouth of it and took the contents out. He spread them out on the floor of the car.
"It is American money," he said, "the money of the pigs. But it is good money for all that."
"How much is there?"
"Ha! ha! You are interested, are you? Well, well!"
Ignacio's dark eyes glittered as he slowly went over the pile of bills.
"See, sergeant," said he, "here is a hundred-dollar bill. Just think of it! Look at it! Think if I should get that bill changed into good Spanish gold. The British consul would do it."
"Yes, he is a friend of the Yankees."
"Yes, he would do it for me. And then here is fifty dollars more. Look and count it. Think of what you could do with one hundred and fifty dollars of the Yankee's money. Think of what it would buy—food and I know not what—a fine dress for your sweetheart, to take her away from that rival of yours. And it is all good money, too."
"How am I to know it?"
"Carramba! Couldn't you take my word. You know me, Jose, and what I do for Spain. Do you not know that I am a friend of Blanco's? Hey?And you know that he trusts me when he trusts nobody else."
"And how did you get that money?"
"How did I get it! Ha! ha! I will tell—yes, por dios, I will, and those Yankee pigs may hear me, too. Ha! ha! There was what they called a traitor on the New York, the Yankee's flagship. She isn't much, but she is the best they have. One of our little gunboats could whip her, for it would be men fighting pigs."
The sergeant's eyes danced.
"And we'll sink her, too," went on Ignacio. "Just wait! I saw her run away once from a little gunboat. The Yankees build their boats swifter than ours so they can run away. But anyhow, as I said this man was working for Spain. And he tried to blow up the flagship."
"Por dios!" cried the sergeant, "like we did the Maine."
"Exactly. It would have been another glorious triumph for us. And, Jose Garcia, who do you think it was that prevented him?"
The man clinched his fists.
"I don't know!" he cried, "but I wish I could get hold of him."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"What would you do to him?"
"Santa Maria! I'd get him by the throat——"
"You would?"
"Yes. And I would choke him till he was dead."
"Dead!" echoed Ignacio, with a hoarse cry of triumph.
And then he raised one arm trembling all over with rage and hatred.
"Jose!" he half yelled.
"What is it?"
"Suppose I should tell you, Jose—suppose I should tell you that the villain is here?"
"Here?"
"Yes. By Heaven, he's here. Jose, that is he!"
And the fellow pointed straight at Clif, while he leaned forward and stared into the Spaniard's face, eager to see what the effect of his announcement would be.
It must have suited him, for he gave a low laugh, a fiendish chuckle.
Then he went on.
"And not only that, Jose! Think of what else he has done."
"Has he done more?"
"Yes, por dios, he has. Listen. Jose, we have in our power the worst of our country's enemies. Jose, he is a fiend, a perfect devil. He has ruined nearly every plan I tried. Do you know if it had not been for him—yes, for him—I should have stabbed the great pig admiral."
"Carramba!"
"Yes."
"Not Sampson."
"Yes, he, the villain who is blockading Havana and destroying our ships. I had the knife at his heart, and that Yankee pig prevented me. Do you wonder that I hate him?"
"No. I hate him, too."
"Yes! For you are a true Spaniard. But about that money, Jose. I got it as I say, from this Schwartz. For when this Yankee pig stopped him from blowing up the New York he ran away and hid. And he paid me this for helping him to Cuba."
Ignacio held up the bills before the hungry eyes of the Spanish sergeant.
And when he had given him time to look at it and think of what it meant for him, Ignacio suddenly bent forward and got close to him.
"Jose," he cried, "it's all for you!"
The man stared eagerly.
"What for?" he cried.
"I will tell you!" said Ignacio.
Once more he slipped his hand under his jacket.
"Look," said he.
And he drew out a sharp, gleaming dagger!
He ran his fingers over the edge, hissing as he did so between his teeth.
"It is sharp," he muttered. "Ha! ha! sharp! And it will do the work."
"What work?"
"Listen, Jose. There lies the fiend of a Yankee. He is in my power at last. He has baffled me, ruined me, but now I have him! Yes, he can't get away! Ha! ha! I feel merry. Jose, he is my deadliest enemy; he is your enemy, too, the enemy of our glorious country. I hate him—so must you."
"I do!"
"Then listen. I want to take this knife, this nice, sharp knife that I have been grinding for him. Ha! ha! Santa Maria, how sharp it is! And I will put this money, all this money, into your hands and you will turn away so as not to see. And I will take this knife in my hand so. And I will creep over toward that fellow——"
"And kill him?"
"Listen, Jose. You spoil it. He'll scream. He'll turn pale and tremble like the coward he is. But he can't get away, Jose, he can't get away! I've got him, Jose! And I'll unbutton his jacket, that hated Yankee uniform. And I'll take this knife and I'll put it right close to his soft, white skin. Then I will press down—down! And you'll hear him scream as it goes in; he'll twist about and shriek, but I will pin him to the floor. And then he will lie there, Jose, and we can watch him die. Ha, Madre di dios, how I hate him!"
The Spaniard's rage had been such that his face grew fairly purple. And he snatched up the knife and started forward toward the cadet.
"How I hate him!" he panted again.
What were the feelings of poor Clif may be imagined; he was perfectly helpless and could only lie still and gaze into the eyes of his deadly foe.
But there was some one else to stop Ignacio.
The sergeant caught him by the arm.
"So, no!" he cried. "Stop."
"What!" panted Ignacio. "Why?"
"They would punish me."
"But they need not know?"
"The others will tell."
"Nonsense."
"But they will."
"What? Cannot a knife kill more than one man. Carramba, I will kill all five."
"But I was ordered to deliver them alive."
Ignacio was nearly frenzied at those objections.
"Jose" he yelled, "you are mad. We can fix it. I will fix it with Blanco. Say they got loose, chewed the ropes, and attacked us. I will swear they did, swear it by all the saints. And I hate that Yankee so, Jose, that I would cut my own flesh to make the story seem more probable. I will say we had a desperate battle—tell them how you saved my life. And you will be promoted. Blanco will believe me, Jose."
But the Spanish soldier shook his head dubiously.
"I dare not," he said. "The captain's last words were to deliver them safely."
"But think of the money, Jose! Think of the money!"
Ignacio fairly ground his teeth with rage over the delay; he was like a wild man.
"Por dios," he cried, "how can you hesitate? It is the chance of your lifetime—of your lifetime!"
The five unfortunate prisoners had not all of them understood those words, but they had no doubt of their meaning. And they lay watching Ignacio feverishly.
It was as if they had been charmed by a serpent, their eyes followed his every motion. They realized that at any moment the cunning villain might leap at them.
But the sergeant, though wavering, still shook his head.
"The men will tell," he objected.
"Here is another hundred for them!" gasped Ignacio. "It is all I have. Por dios, what more?"
There was at least half a minute of agony after that while the man upon whom everything depended wrestled with that temptation. It was a great one, and Clif felt a cold perspiration breaking out all over him as he sat and watched.
But the stolid sergeant was apparently too much of a coward to take the risk. He said no, and Clif gave a gasp.
"Wait and see Blanco," he said. "I do not dare to let you do it."
And though Ignacio blustered and swore and pranced about like a mad man, the soldier was obdurate.
"The risk is too great," he reiterated. "I dare not."
And so Ignacio once more slunk back into a dark corner of the car and fell snarling to himself.
"But I'll have him yet!" Clif heard him hiss. "I'll have him yet. Just wait till we get to Havana."
The event to which Ignacio was looking forward with so much pleasure was not long in taking place.
The trip by the railroad lasted about half an hour only.
Ignacio would hardly have had more than time to carry out his dastardly purpose before the train arrived. The car came slowly to a stop and the sergeant got up and opened the door.
"Here we are," said he. "And I am glad."
Ignacio was apparently glad, too, since he had failed in his first plan. He sprang up eagerly and watched the removal of the prisoners.
The sergeant untied the Americans' feet and gruffly ordered them to march. With the soldiers before and behind they were led rapidly through the streets of Havana.
If the arrival of those prisoners in a small town created excitement, one may well imagine that the big capital turned out a crowd to watch them; but there was almost no demonstration against them, for the party hurried along rapidly. And Ignacio did not try any of his tricks; he knew that his chance would soon come, and he waited patiently.
Clif gazed about him as he walked. He was listless and hopeless, but he could not help feeling an interest in the city he had heard so much of and which he had been so busily helping to blockade.
But he had little chance to look about. He wasmarching down a long street crowded with Spaniards of all sizes and shades. And then suddenly before a dark, heavy-looking building, the guards came to a halt.
There was a heavy iron door in front of it that opened slowly.
"March in," said the sergeant.
And the prisoners, with bayonets at their backs, were forced up the steps and into the building.
The door shut again with a dull iron clang that sounded like a death knell to Clif.
Ignacio entered, too. He seemed to have the privilege of going where he chose; the sentries who were guarding that door asked him no questions.
It was apparently some sort of a military jail to which they had been taken. Down a long stone corridor they were marched, and then halted in front of a door.
The sergeant entered, and Ignacio after him. The rest waited outside.
It must have been at least fifteen minutes before anything more occurred. Then the sergeant came out, and ordered the prisoners to enter.
Clif, as the officer, entered first, and he found himself facing a tall, military looking Spaniard with a resplendent uniform and an air of authority. Who he was Clif had no idea, but he was evidently in command of the place.
He was a dark, savage-looking man, and his brows were drawn down as he frowned upon the prisoners.
And Clif was not surprised.
"He's had Ignacio to tell him about us," he thought to himself.
Ignacio was standing just behind the officer. There was a grin on his face and a look of delight; he rubbed his hands gleefully as he watched what transpired.
The Spanish officer glared at his prisoners sternly. Clif's bearing was quiet and dignified.
"So you are the officer who commanded the Yankee pigs?" growled the man.
"I am an American naval cadet," was the response.
The Spaniard said nothing more for a moment, but continued his piercing look.
"You put on a bold front," he said at last. "You must have looked differently when you were running away."
The remark required no answer, and got none. Clif did not mean to bandy words with the officer; if he wanted to taunt him he was welcome to do so.
"We treat our prisoners more politely," he thought, "but I suppose this is the Spanish way."
Meanwhile the officer went on.
"You will be less impudent later on," he snarled, "when you learn what is in store for you. You've no idea, I presume."
"I understood that I was a prisoner of war," was the American's quiet answer. "And I understood that Spain considered itself a civilized nation."
The Spaniard laughed softly.
"A prisoner of war," he chuckled. "So you really expect to be treated as such—and after what you have done!"
"What have I done?" asked Clif.
Ignacio's eyes began to dance at that; for the officer turned toward him.
"This gentleman," said the officer, "is one of our trusted agents. And I have learned from him of your villainy."
Clif was not in the least surprised at that. It was just what he had looked for.
"I should be pleased to learn also, if I may, what has this trusted agent told you?"
As he said that, he turned toward the grinning Ignacio.
But it was the officer who continued speaking.
"I suppose you wish to deny everything," said he. "But I assure you it will do not the least good in the world."
"I presume not," escaped Clif's lips.
The Spaniard frowned angrily, but he went on without a change of tone.
"You were captured, if I understand it truly, from a merchantman which you ran upon the rocks in order to prevent one of our vessels from recapturing her?"
"That is true," Clif said.
"And you must have thought it quite a smart trick! But according to this man here, you previously had some fighting with our vessel. Would you mind telling me about it?"
"I would not," said Clif. "We were steaming toward Key West, myself and these four men being a prize crew from the gunboat Uncas. We were hailed from the darkness by another vessel——"
"Ah! And what was the name of the vessel?"
"I do not know."
"Did you not ask?"
"I did. But she answered falsely. She pretended to be an American vessel——"
The Spaniard gave a sneer.
"So that is the yarn you mean to tell," he laughed.
"That is what occurred," said Clif, quickly. "If you have heard otherwise you have been told a lie. And my men will bear me out in the statement."
"Indeed! I do not doubt it."
There was fine sarcasm in that tone; but Clif did not heed it.
"Would you mind telling me what this fellow Ignacio has said?" he inquired.
"He says," responded the other, "that the vessel announced herself as a Spaniard, and called on you to surrender. You did so; and then when the boat's crew came aboard you shot two of them and steamed away. Is that so, Ignacio?"
"It is," snarled the "agent." "I will take my oath upon it."
It was of course a lie; and it made Clif's blood boil. The Spanish vessel had deceived them and tried to capture them by stealth. The men of the Spanish boat's crew had been shot while trying to hold up the American.
But Clif had expected that Ignacio would tell such a tale, and so he was not surprised. The offense with which the lad found himself charged was a terrible one, and he realized that he could be hanged for it.
Yet what was he to do?
"I fear," he said to the Spaniard, "that it will do me little good to deny this story."
"That is true," said the other, promptly.
And his cruel eyes gleamed as he watched the prisoner.
"Do you deny the shooting?" he demanded.
"No," said Clif, "I do not."
"You find it easier to say that the men pretended to be Americans."
"I find it easier because it is truer," was the cadet's answer.
And then there were several moments of silence while the three actors of this little drama watched each other eagerly.
Ignacio was fairly beside himself with triumph. He could scarcely keep himself quiet, and under his bushy eyebrows, his dark eyes gleamed triumphantly.
He had played his trump card. And he had his victim where he wanted him at last. To watch him under the torture of his present position was almostas good as to watch him under the torture of the knife.
For what could he do? He might bluster and protest (all to Ignacio's glee) but nobody would believe him.
For Ignacio knew that the Spanish officer was glad enough to believe the story the spy told him. His prejudice and his hatred of Americans would turn the scale.
And it would be fine to punish a Yankee pig for such a crime as this.
As for Clif, he was filled with a kind of dull despair; he knew the odds against him, and realized that his struggles would be those of a caged animal. He had done nothing but his duty and the law of nations would have justified him. But Ignacio's lie upon that one small point (of what the Spanish gunboat had done) was enough to make him liable to death.
The officer seemed to realize the smallness of difference, for he turned to Ignacio.
"Are you perfectly sure," he demanded, "that you heard our vessel announce her identity?"
"I am, senor."
"And what was her name?"
Clif's eyes brightened at that; he thought Ignacio would be caught there.
But the cunning fellow was prepared, and answered instantly.
"The Regina."
He had chosen the name of a Spanish gunboat he knew to be at sea; and the ruse worked.
"What more can you expect?" demanded the officer of Clif.
And then the cadet looked up to make the last effort for his life.
"As I have told you," he said, "this fellow's story is false. And now I will tell you why he hasdone it. He has long been an enemy of mine, and he is making an effort to ruin me. I foiled him——"
"If you are going to tell me about that attempt of his to kill your Yankee admiral," interrupted the officer, "I know it already."
And Ignacio gave a chuckle of glee.
"In fact," the officer added, "I have learned of all your adventures, young man. And I have no doubt you consider yourself quite a hero after what you have done against Spain. But you will live to regret it, I think."
And Clif saw that he had nothing to gain by pursuing that tack any further; he was silent, for he knew nothing more to do. The Spaniard went on:
"I know also of another affair of yours," he added. "It seems that your pig government sent a naval officer over to see that bandit robber Gomez. And our friend here, Ignacio, was leading him into our camp. I believe that was it, was it not, Ignacio?"
"It was, senor, and this Yankee here met us——"
"And wounded you and rescued the officer, with the aid of some of the robber's men, and that girl you told me about."
"Exactly," said Ignacio.
"What was her name?" the other continued. "Stuart, I think. We will soon manage to stop her tricks, I fancy."
Clif had been listening to their conversation without any particular interest. But suddenly as he heard that last speech his face flushed crimson and he half staggered back.
"Bessie Stuart!" he gasped, under his breath.
The Spanish officer was looking at him and he laughed as he saw the American's thunderstruck expression.
"Ha! ha!" he chuckled, "so you are interested in her, are you? A sweetheart, perhaps, hey?"
Clif did not answer that; he was staring at theman in horror. Stop her! What in the world could he mean? What could he know about Bessie Stuart?
The girl was a dear friend of Clif's who had come to Cuba to hunt for a relative of hers.
Clif had left her under the protection of Gomez; and that was the last he had heard of her.
And here was the brutal Spaniard mentioning her. How had he and how had the villainous Ignacio learned about her?
It was small wonder that Clif started back; Bessie Stuart was the dearest friend he had.
Meanwhile the Spaniard was leering at him.
"The Yankee pig seems worried," he said. "If that girl is his sweetheart, he did not do wisely to leave her with the bandit Gomez. Did he, Ignacio?"
"No, senor," was that person's grinning response.
"For she will soon be somebody else's sweetheart," chuckled the other.
That was too much. Clif had held himself back, for he did not wish those cruel men to know he could torment him.
But at that last remark he could no longer restrain his anxiety. He sprang toward the Spanish captain with a pleading look on his face.
"Tell me!" he cried. "Tell me—where is she?"
The other's lip curled sneeringly as he stared at him.
"You are very much interested," said he. "Well, to be sure, the girl is pretty—pretty as I ever saw, unfortunately for her. But you may see her again. I expect—she is likely to be in the same prison with you."
Every drop of blood left Clif's face at those terrible words. Bessie Stuart in prison!
"Merciful providence!" he gasped.
And then once more he sprang toward the Spaniard, a look on his face, a look of agony that would have touched a heart of stone.
"For Heaven's sake, sir," he gasped, "tell me!"
"Tell you what?"
"Is she in Havana?"
The Spaniard laughed softly.
Then he nodded toward Ignacio.
"Ask him," he said. "He keeps track of such people for us. She has been here some time now; and people who get into our prisons don't—ha! ha! they don't get out in a hurry, do them, Ignacio?"
"No, senor."
"And then she is very pretty, too," added the officer, with a laugh.
To the agony those remarks were raising in the mind of poor Clif those two brutal men seemed quite insensible. Or perhaps they were teasing him.
But if so, the officer had enough then, for he turned upon his heel impatiently.
"Enough of this nonsense," he said. "You need not worry about your sweetheart, for you will probably be dead by to-morrow."
And the man turned to the soldiers.
"Those four prisoners," he said, pointing to the sailors, "will be kept here for the present. They will probably be exchanged in a few days. We do not blame them for the crime this officer here committed. As for him, he will probably be sent over to Morro Castle to-night."
And then the file of soldiers closed about the dazed cadet and led him out of the room. He was scarcely able to walk by himself.
The last sound that he heard as he left the room was the fiendish chuckle of the triumphant Ignacio.
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 comeback—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—thatIgnacio 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!
Ignacio was a horrible object to contemplate at that moment, and it was but little wonder that Clif turned sick and faint as he watched him.
The man seemed fairly turned into a devil then. He seemed insane. He was alone, absolutely alone, with his victim. And no one under heaven could stop him. He had the key himself! And he had his prisoner iron-bound and helpless!
For several moments the man fairly danced about the place, yelling as if to prove to his hated foe that there was no care for anything any more.
And then suddenly he made a leap at him.
He crouched in front of him until his gleaming eyes shone into his face, and his hot breath could be felt. His claw-like fingers he seemed scarcely able to keep away from Clif.
"Yankee!" he hissed, in a wild voice. "Yankee, do you know where you are?"
The fiendish man saw the white look on his victim's face; and he laughed.
"You do know!" he cried. "You do know! Ha! ha! You are in Morro, deep in the lowest vault! And no soul can come near you—near you—hear me?"
He struck him in the face as if to draw his attention.
"Listen; yes, stare at me! I don't wonder you quake. You have defied me—ha, ha! You have ruined all my plans, but I've got you now. And, oh, how I will pay you back, how I will twist you and tear you! You shall pay for everything. Andyou may shriek and scream and no one will know it more than if you did not. Listen!"
And again from sheer bravado Ignacio raised his voice and shouted. The sound died in the grave-like cell—the granite and the iron shut it in.
"You see!" panted Ignacio. "Not a soul heard! And you are mine. Ah, they hate you and they like me, for I told them about that girl. Ha, ha! You wince!"
Ignacio's face was almost touching Clif's as he hissed that.
"You can't get away!" he yelled. "And, oh, the things that I shall do to you! I've got instruments up stairs to tear you to pieces, burn your eyes out—but never kill you, oh, no! And all night you will scream, and all to-morrow, if I choose. And I will watch you—I and the rats. And the rats will eat you, too!"
As if to add horror to the devil's gleeful statement, a huge slimy rat ran across Clif's body just then; it made him shiver all over.
And Ignacio danced about as he saw him.
"Ha, ha!" he cried. "You begin! But wait till I start—wait till you begin to feel some agony—till I begin to tear your eyes out! Then will you yell? When I get through with you—ha, ha!—when you are dead, perhaps weeks from now, you won't mind the rats any more! You may stay in here in this grave for the Yankees to find if they capture Morro as they say they will. Oh, I will make it a sight for them!"
Clif could not have stood the strain of that horrible ordeal much longer; he would have fainted away.
But then the fiendish Spaniard's impatience got the better of him. And he turned and crept toward the door again.
"I will get the instruments," he whispered,hoarsely. "The torture instruments. Santa Maria, what things they are! And how you will shriek!"
A moment later he turned the key and stepped out. He shut the door and locked it. And Clif was left alone in all the blackness and horror of that slimy place.
Never as long as he lives will he forget the agony of that long wait. He sat straining his ears and listening for the first sign of the fiend's return. He knew that he might come back any instant and begin his horrible, merciless tormenting.
Clif knew that man for a devil incarnate. He would sooner have looked for mercy in a hyena.
For Ignacio was of the race of the Inquisition; and of the horrors of the Inquisition this was a fair sample.
The wretched American knew that he was alone and that he could look for no rescue. He was buried in the very centre of the earth—or the centre of hades.
And his cries would be heard only by Ignacio.
Clif knew also that the frenzied villain would make haste, that he would come back panting and eager. Appalled, half dazed, he sat and listened.
The first thing he would hear would be the grating of the key; and then would come horrors inconceivable.
Seconds were years at that time. Clif thought that his hair would turn white from the suspense.
And then suddenly he gave a gasp.
There he was!
Yes, the key was sliding in. And now it was turning!
And then slowly the door was opened—groaning and creaking.
Clif imagined the dark, crouching figure. He had left the lantern behind while these deeds of darkness went on.
The tomb-like cell was absolutely black, and Clif could not see one thing. But he heard the door shut, heard the key turned. He shivered as in an ague fit.
Above the noise of the scampering rats he heard a soft, stealthy footstep as the man crept across the floor.
And then came the scratching sound of a hand running along the wall. He was feeling for him!
And a moment later Clif gave an involuntary cry as he felt the hand touch his face.
Perfectly motionless and paralyzed he sat and fancied what might be going on in the blackness after that. He felt, the hand pass downward along his body, felt it fumbling at the manacles that bound his ankles to the wall of the cell.
Then to his surprise, his consternation, he heard a key softly turned.
What happened then almost took away his breath.
The iron fell off.
He was loose!
"Can he be going to take me elsewhere?" Clif gasped.
But he nerved himself for one thing; gathered his muscles for it. Before Ignacio secured him again he would get a kick, one that would almost kill him.
Eagerly Clif waited, to see what would happen next.
But what did happen was more startling and incredible yet; he could scarcely believe his senses.
For he felt the hands running down his arm. They fumbled at his wrists for an instant.
And then with a clatter the handcuffs dropped to the ground!
"Merciful heavens!" Clif thought to himself. "Can he be insane?"
For a moment he actually thought so; then itflashed over him that perhaps the fiend was torturing him with the most horrible of all tortures—hope.
"He'll wish he hadn't!" Clif gasped, as he braced his muscles.
But that was not the true solution of the mystery; there were stranger things yet stranger and stranger.
The only things that bound Clif now were the ropes that had held his wrists at first. He tugged at them, but in vain.
There was a moment's silent pause. And then to Clif's unutterable consternation he heard another sound, a sound from across the room—a low, grating sound!
It left him breathless.
Some one else was coming into the cell!
And with one rush the true state of affairs swept over Clif.
"This isn't Ignacio!" he panted.
And a moment later he received proof positive of that fact. For again the hand stole down his arms and there came a couple of quick slashing cuts that hurt his wrists more than the ropes.
But seconds were precious then. In one of them Clif's hands were free.
And his pulses leaped as he felt the knife thrust into his palm. He clutched it, and he heard one word whispered—in English:
"Fight!"
And then the dark figure stole swiftly over to the other side of the cell. It was at the same instant that the door was opened and the light of a lantern flashed in.
It was Ignacio returning!
The furious Spaniard came in like some wild beast, fairly gnashing his teeth and snarling to himself in his rage.
Clif had but a moment, but he was quick to think; he sprang back to his old position, slipping his feet into the iron ring and putting his hands behind him.
And Ignacio never noticed any difference, in fact he did not look at Clif until he had set down the lantern and shut the heavy door.
He turned the key again and then faced about; touching low and muttering to himself, he stole swiftly across the floor.
And his gleaming eyes flashed into Clif's face.
"Yankee!" he hissed, "I am back. Do you hear me? Ha, ha!"
As if to make sure that he heard him he struck him once more across the face.
"Listen!" he cried. "Ha, ha!—and tremble."
Clif's blood rose at that blow, but he held himself back and watched and waited.
That was a moment of peril for the treacherous Spaniard; what would have been his terror may be imagined, had he known the victim into whose eyes he was glaring was clutching in one hand a sharp knife, ready at any instant to plunge it into him.
But the fellow had no idea of his peril; he was at the very height of his triumph and his dark, beady eyes gleamed ferociously out of the shadows of that damp and silent vault.
But he must have noticed that some of the color had come back into Clif's face.
"You are still defiant," he cried. "You still do not tremble. But wait—wait till you begin to feel what I have for you. Did you see those iron things I brought in? Ha, ha! There is one I will fasten about your forehead and draw it tight till your very brain bursts. And then will you like it? Hey? Will you turn pale then? Will you scream? Ha, ha!—and I shall dance around you and watch you. Will you be sorry you interfered with me then?"
Ignacio might have taunted his victim that way for hours, but he was too eager and impatient. He whirled about and sprang toward the door.
"Santa Maria!" he panted. "I will get it! I will begin! I must hear him yelling!"
And he snatched up something from the floor and taking the lantern in his other hand bounded back toward Clif.
"Are you ready?" he exclaimed. "Yankee pig, begin to scream!"
And he flashed the lantern's light upon him.
That was the crisis of the situation; for as the Spaniard looked he made the appalling discovery that his victim's feet were untied.
And he staggered back, dazed.
"Por dios!" he gasped.
And that exclamation was his last sound.
Clif had nerved himself for the spring; for he knew that Ignacio might have a revolver and that no risks could be taken.
But at that instant a dark, shadowy form rose up behind Ignacio.
And one of his own iron instruments was raised above his head. It came down with a hissing sound, and then a heavy thud.
And Ignacio dropped without a groan, withouteven a quiver. He lay perfectly motionless. His villainy was at an end.
Clif had sprung up as he saw that, and he gave a gasp of joy. Then he sprang toward his deliverer.
The shadowy stranger took no notice of him at first, but stooped and picked up the lantern, turning the light of it upon Ignacio.
The villain's face was fixed in a look of horror; it made both Clif and the stranger shudder.
The latter regarded it for a moment silently. The cadet could not see, but he was fingering a knife, as if undecided what to do.
Who his mysterious deliverer was Clif had no idea. The single ray from the lantern did not furnish light enough for him to see anything; and the person had spoken but one word—"Fight."
But the cadet's heart was full of gratitude; he sprang toward the stranger.
"Who are you?" he cried. "I owe my life to you—let me thank you!"
But the other motioned him back, and then for a few moments there was a silence, while both stared at Ignacio's silent form.
When the stranger moved it was to point toward the door.
"Go," said he to Clif, in a low, whispering voice. "Go; we will leave him here."
And with that the mysterious person unlocked the great iron barrier and followed Clif out. The door clanged upon that ghastly scene, and Clif Faraday gave a sigh of relief.
Yet there was so much before him that he soon forgot that hideous nightmare.
For where was he going? And who was this stranger? And why had he rescued him? And what did he mean to do to Clif?
Nothing could be learned in that dark corridor, for Clif could see no more there than inside of theroom. But the stranger stumbled on and Clif followed.
They came to an iron ladder, leading up to the floor above. Up that the man went, the cadet following; that took them to another long stone passage, dark as ever.
On they went, turning and winding about, but still not hesitating. And then suddenly the man halted in front of a grated door.
The key was in the lock and the door opened promptly as he turned it.
"Enter," said he.
Clif went in, and he heard the door shut behind him. It flashed over him then that he had only been taken to another cell.
But when he whirled about he saw that the stranger had entered, too. The dark figure brushed past him and went across the room. A moment afterward Clif heard him in the act of striking a match.
And then the light of a lamp lit up the little room. By it the eager cadet could see his rescuer, and he stared anxiously.
Further secrecy seemed not intended. The stranger faced about and each looked at the other steadfastly.
What the mysterious man saw was a tall, handsome American in a blue uniform, his face rather pale.
Clif in turn saw also a man in a blue uniform; he had to take but one glance to see that he was a lieutenant in the Spanish army.
He was a tall, finely proportioned man, rather young, and with a slight dark mustache. He had the dark skin and the features of a Spaniard; but Clif thought he had never seen a finer looking military man.
For a moment Clif gazed at him in silence. Then he stepped toward him.
"Tell me, sir," he said. "Why have you done this?"
The officer answered in a low, quiet voice:
"You will soon know," said he. "Do not be impatient."
"You have saved me from a horrible fate," said the cadet, his voice choking. "I do not know how to thank you."
"Do not try," answered the other. "You have some one else to thank."
And then he became silent again, watching Clif. He seemed to be very much interested in him, from the way he studied the American's face. And once he gave a slight sigh.
Clif looked at him in surprise; but the man turned away, and he went toward the door.
"I will return soon," said he, again in that quiet, firm voice. "Wait here."
There was nothing for Clif to do but wait; for when the door shut he was locked in the cell.
That man's action was a mysterious one indeed. It left the cadet plenty to think of. He saw now where he got the keys. He was evidently one of the officers in charge of the castle.
But why had he done it? Clif was utterly baffled before that question.
But it was not for very long; he soon learned, and in a startling and unexpected way.
Clif had not noticed it, but there was another door to that cell. It was behind him, leading to a small room in the rear.
While he stood there motionless and lost in thought waiting for the Spaniard's return, that door was silently opened, and a figure stood watching him.
And then suddenly it stepped out and came across the room.
The cadet heard it then, and whirled about. He took one glance.
And then he staggered back with a cry of consternation.
It was Bessie Stuart!
For one instant the two stood and stared at each other as if to make sure that their eyes did not deceive them. And then, with a cry of delight that came from his very soul, Clif sprang toward the girl.
Bessie Stuart looked as if she had been through some terrible ordeal, for her face was pale; the emotion of meeting Clif almost overcame her, and she burst into tears upon his shoulder.
Clif himself was so dazed that he hardly knew what to think. He caught the girl in his arms to keep her from falling.
"Bessie," he cried, "how on earth did you get here?"
The cadet's brain was in a whirl at that moment. He began to see what the Spaniard meant when he said it was for some other person's sake that he had rescued Clif. It was for her sake!
And it must have been by some terrible sacrifice that she had saved him from the torture.
"Bessie!" he cried. "Tell me—that officer. What——"
The girl looked up through her tears.
"S-sh!" she exclaimed. "It is all right. Wait."
And at that instant Clif heard a key turn in the door, and knew that it was the man returning.
Clif gazed into the girl's face and he saw a look of joy upon it that partially reassured him; then he looked up and saw that the Spanish lieutenant had entered and was watching them.
In his quiet way he studied the faces of the two;he saw the look of happiness on Bessie Stuart's face, and he must have known that it was because she had met the cadet again.
Clif saw him press his lips together resolutely. The cadet was watching him with the intensest anxiety, for he hoped in that man's actions to read the meaning of this mystery.
But the Spaniard's handsome face showed little emotion, though his chest heaved and fell as he stood there.
And then suddenly he stepped forward toward the two.
"I have brought it, Miss Stuart," he said, with a dignified bow.
He held out a heavy cloth cape, which the girl flung over her shoulders; then, leaning on Clif's arm, she stepped toward the door.
"I am ready," she said.
And without another word the officer turned and led the way out of the cell.
He shut the door and locked it behind him and then went on down the corridor.
Clif was mystified beyond expression, but he asked no questions. The three went on silently. Bessie Stuart was so weak that she had to be half carried.
They had gone but a short way down the long passage before they met a sentry with a gun upon his shoulder; he glanced at them inquiringly.
But the lieutenant was not one who could be asked for explanations, and the soldier saluted and passed on.
They passed through two heavily grated doors, each guarded in a similar way. But still not a word was spoken.
And then suddenly Clif saw the passage broaden out into a wide hall, and a moment later he came to what he knew to be the great door by which he had first entered.
There were two men standing on guard there, either sentries or jailers. Clif could not see which. The party came to a halt.
"Garcia," said the lieutenant, "these are two prisoners, Americans, whom I have been directed to take across the bay."
The man saluted and bowed respectfully.
"Have you the order?" he inquired.
"I have not. The commander had no time to give one to me. There is some hurry in the matter, I believe."
"It is somewhat irregular, lieutenant."
"I will assume full responsibility," said the other, quietly.
The man scanned the two prisoners closely.
"They are not even bound," he objected.
"I will assume full responsibility," said the officer again.
He spoke rather sharply; and without another word the man hastened to swing back the door.
And the three stepped out of that black prison into the open air and under the broad sky of heaven.
And the lieutenant turned toward the two Americans.
"You are free," he said, quietly. "Fly for your lives!"