“Not a drop.”
At this he stormed more than ever, and finally shouted to the guard to bring some agua. But no one paid any attention to his cries, further than to order him to be silent, under penalty of being gagged, and then he subsided.
Slowly the morning wore away. The sun was shining brightly outside, and the cell, with only one narrow window, high up to the ceiling, was like a bake-oven. Once I climbed up to the window sill and looked out, only to have the muzzle of a gun thrust into my face, while a guard outside ordered me to drop. I dropped, and made no further attempt to get a whiff of fresh air.
I wondered if Jorge had escaped in safety and if Captain Guerez would do anything to save me. I felt certain he would be very angry over the way I had acted, and, looking back, I felt that I richly deserved to be censured.
It was high noon, and I and my companion were walking the floor, impatient for food and drink, when the door opened and a guard came in with a platter and an earthenware pitcher. He set both on the floor and withdrew without a word.
“Well, here’s something, anyway,” remarked Gilbert Burnham. “Bah! a stew of onions and garlic, not fit for a dog to eat. Let me have some of the water.”
Neither of us could do more than taste the mess which had been served; and as for the water, it looked as if it had been scooped from the river, and was both warm and muddy. I had just finished taking a gingerly drink, when a shot from outside startled both of us. Several more shots followed, and then came a blast on a trumpet from somewhere in the distance.
“Hullo! that means a fight!” ejaculated Gilbert Burnham, his face brightening. “I hope it’s a body of rebels to the rescue.”
“So do I, and I further hope they release us,” I replied.
At the first shot an alarm had been sounded in and about the fort. We could hear the soldiers hurrying in several directions and a number of orders issued in Spanish. The firing now continued to increase, and presently we heard a crash of splintered woodwork.