I said I would not put him to the trouble of reading them—I would tell nothing.
‘Take off his handcuffs,’ said the magistrate. They were removed. The executioner looked inquiringly at his patron.
‘I am not a cruel man,’ said the latter, drawling out his words, as though longer to enjoy my suspense and horror. ‘I would not wrench thy handsome limbs so as to spoil their symmetry. No, no; gentle means at first, Mr. Provost-Marshal—a squeeze or so on the nerve of the thumb, no stout-hearted Buccaneer can complain of.’
Instantly the provost-marshal, as though he had anticipated this commencement, whipped from his pocket a little instrument of iron. It was a thumb-screw, a ‘thumbikin,’ as my countrymen called it, and long was it remembered with curses in many a strath, and on many a hill side, in my native land. For the dragoons of James Graham, of Claverhouse, were wont to carry them in their pouches or haversacks; and, many a long year after I had left the Spanish Indies, when I talked to old Scotchmen about my adventures there, and told them of the alcaide and the provost-marshal of Carthagena, they would reply, ‘Ay, ay, we know somewhat of such torments. Even here, in Scotland, many a joint was wrenched, and many a bone splintered, of the men who in the old troublous days stood staunchly up under the blue banner, and bore faithful testimony for a broken covenant and a persecuted kirk.’
But I must hasten with the tale of my own trials.
‘Do your duty, provost-marshal,’ said the alcaide, gloating on the accursed iron machine; ‘but let us have all things in moderation—one thumb at a time; the prisoner cannot say that we have no bowels.’
Fortunately for me, as it turned out afterwards, the executioner stood upon my left. He laid hold of the hand nearest to him with cold, clammy-feeling fingers, which touched my flesh, to my thinking, like small twining snakes or worms, and with great dexterity slipped the iron apparatus upon my thumb, turning at the same time a screw, so as to make it press tight. The next twist I knew would produce torture.
‘Accused,’ began the alcaide again, ‘if you choose to tell us what you know of your comrades’ designs we will, even although your obstinacy hath been great, proceed no further in this business; if not, in the name of the law and the king I ordain the provost-marshal to proceed.’
I said not a word, but drew a long breath, and nerved myself, trying to fix and resolutely wind up my mind and body to endure. There was a pause for a minute, and then the alcaide nodded. The provost-marshal stepped forward, grasped my wrist with his left hand, and then, at the same time looking steadily into my eyes, twisted the screw round with a rapid wrench, and instantly a pang, a throb of pain horribly keen, cut, as it were with a knife, from the thumb up the arm to the shoulder-blade. I felt a hot flush come out upon my face, and then, the first agonizing jerk over, a horrible tingling began, pricking the limb as though myriads of red-hot needles had been thrust into it.
‘Do you still refuse to answer the question?’ said the alcaide. I bowed. He nodded, as before, and round again went the screw. This time the agony was fearful. I ground my teeth, my knees shook, and I felt the cold sweat start out in beads among the roots of my hair. The involuntary desire to scream was almost overmastering, but I curbed it with a mighty effort, swallowing down, as it were, the anguish, by violent efforts of the muscles of the throat. All this time the group who surrounded me preserved silence. There was a grim smile upon the face of the alcaide, but the ferret eyes of his clerk were gleaming with excitement, and his features were twisting with very pleasure. The doctor and the provost-marshal behaved like two men engaged in a perfectly-indifferent matter.