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A Prisoner of Morro: In the Hands of the Enemy, a fiction by Upton Sinclair |
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Chapter 16. In The Dungeon Vaults |
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_ CHAPTER XVI. IN THE DUNGEON VAULTS 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. And you 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 it flashed 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! _ |
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