“I never saw or heard of this man before, señor. I broke in because I thought my father was a prisoner there. I heard an American was there, and I thought it must be he.”
“Aha, I see! Well, your father is not here, as you have found out.”
“Where is he?”
This question also remained unanswered. The officers began to consult among themselves, and then I was ordered back to the cell. I tried to protest, and pleaded for liberty, for a chance to find my parent, but it was all in vain. I was hustled off without ceremony and made as close a prisoner as before.
It was nearly noon before Gilbert Burnham joined me. In the meantime I had had nothing to eat or drink, and was beginning to wonder if my enemies meant to let me die of hunger and thirst.
The face of the newspaper correspondent was much downcast.
“I’m to catch it now,” he said. “To-morrow morning they are going to start to transport me to some regular fortress, and there I suppose I’ll be permitted to languish until this bloody war is over. I wish I had made a dash for liberty when I was out in that courtroom.”
“They would have shot you dead. They were too well armed for anything of the sort.”
“Maybe. But this is tough. Is there a pitcher of water anywhere?”