“That afternoon the bolts were slid back and the head jailer, who had never before appeared at that hour, stood in the doorway.
“I thought right away that it was all over with us; that we were discovered and that we were either to be shot or moved to another cell—I really didn’t care which, for instant death could not be much worse than lingering in a South American prison until we were gray-bearded and forgotten.
“The jailer stepped inside, half closed the door, and made this announcement:
“‘The American consul is outside and wants to see you.’ Then he stepped out, leaving the door open.
“They have a way of coaxing you to escape down in that country and then filling you full of lead. It’s justifiable murder when sometimes a trial and conviction might raise unpleasant international questions. We all three looked at each other and instantly decided not to swallow the bait. The American consul dodge had been tried when they wanted to get legal possession of our letters. So it isn’t surprising that we didn’t believe him. Then, to my astonishment, I caught through the crack of the door a suit of white duck, and the natty young man stepped in.
“‘I’ve been down the coast,’ he began as chipper as if he was apologizing for not having called after we had invited him to dinner, ‘or I should have been here before. I have a permit from the governor to come as often as I like, or as often as you would be glad to see me. I must tell you, however, that I am pledged to keep faith with the authorities, and it is their confidence in me which has gained me this privilege. I can bring you nothing to eat or drink, no tools or knickknacks or any bodily comforts. I can only bring myself. This I have told his Excellenza, who has his orders, and who understands.’ Then he turned to the jailer. ‘Get me a stool and I will stay a while with them. You can leave the door open; I will be responsible that none of them attempts to escape.’
“When the jailer was out of hearing, he passed around cigarettes, lighted his own, and started in to tell us the news of the day: what was going on in town and country; how the revolution had been put down; how many insurgents had been shot, exiled, or sent to horrible prisons—worse than ours, which, he informed us, was really only a sort of police station and unsafe except for the dogs and the guards, who were picked men and who had never been known to neglect their duty. Only the year before five men had attempted to dig their way out and had been shot as they were climbing the outside wall—rather dispiriting talk for us, to say the least, but it was talk, and that was what we hungered for, especially as his spirits never flagged.
“All this was more or less entertaining, and he would have had our entire confidence but for two things which followed, and which we could not understand. One was that he always chose rainy or stormy nights for his subsequent visits, dropping in on us at all hours, when we least expected him; and the other that he never referred to what was being done for our release. That he would not discuss.
“By and by we began to grow uneasy and suspect him. One of the men insisted that he was too damned polite to be honest, and that the American consul yarn was a put-up job. Anyway, he was getting tired of it all. It would take him but half an hour to dig the loose earth out of the tunnel, and he was going to begin right away if he went at it alone.
“We at once fell to, working like beavers, digging with everything we had—our fingers bleeding—until we had cleaned out the dirt to the plank. Then we crawled back and waited for the consul’s customary visit. After that was over—no matter how long it lasted—we’d make the dash.