The bay is several miles long, and Santiago stands well in on the northeast shore. The land-locked harbor was alive with vessels, but not one of them floated the familiar Stars and Stripes of our own country.
“There is where we made our way across the bay when first Alano Guerez and I escaped from Santiago,” I whispered. “I am afraid I’ll not get another such chance now.”
Soon one of the numerous docks in front of the city was reached, and we were marched ashore. The news of our capture had spread, and a large crowd of curiosity-seekers gathered, to jeer and pass all sorts of unpleasant remarks. The city was now under stricter Spanish rule than ever before, and as we marched from the dock to the city prison not another American was to be seen.
At the prison a brief examination was held. When it was learned that my father was present, I was thrust aside and told that he could speak for me. Yet he was allowed to say but little. The authorities were certain that he, Burnham, and Mr. Raymond were spies, and the four of us were sentenced to confinement in another prison several squares away—a low, dingy pile of stone, every opening of which was heavily barred and grated.
Within this prison came the hardest parting of all. I was separated from my father, and, when I remonstrated, received a sharp blow on my shoulder from a jailer’s sword. Mr. Raymond and I were paired off as before, and conducted through a long stone passage-way and down a dirty flight of steps. Sunshine and fresh air were left behind, and the way was lit up by a smoky kerosene lamp. We were taken to a dungeon cell several feet below the sidewalk and locked in, and then our jailer left us.
I was too overcome to speak when we were left alone. Mr. Raymond strained his eyes and peered around at the four bare walls, the bare ceiling overhead, and the stone flooring with its water pitcher and heap of musty straw in one corner.
“This is awful!” he murmured. “Mark, how long do you think you can stand living in this place?”
“No longer than I have to!” I cried. “I’ll get out just as fast as ever I can.”
“If we ever do get out!” he concluded significantly.
The remainder of the day passed slowly. For supper the jailer brought us some stale bread and some more water, no fresher than that already in the pitcher. That night I did not sleep a wink.