CHAPTER XXIX.
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 thehaciendaof the alcade did not seem to astonish me in the least—indeed, I appeared to take it as a most natural thing; as though thesecasasof 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 Iseemed 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 sometortillasandfrijoles, 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 meI 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 thoseimpregnable 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 batteringram; 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.