“I thought it best to wait for you,” said the alférez. “We have eight here,” he went on, pointing toward the door of the prison; “the one called Bruno died in the night. Are you ready to examine the two unknown prisoners?”
The curate sat down in the arm-chair.
“Let us go on,” he said.
“Bring out the two in the cepo!” ordered the alférez in as terrible a voice as he could command. Then turning to the curate:
“We skipped two holes.”
For the benefit of those not acquainted with the instruments of torture of the Philippines, we will say that the cepo, a form of stocks, is one of the most innocent; but by skipping enough holes, the position is made most trying. It is, however, a torture that can be long endured.
The jailor drew the bolt and opened the door. A sickening odor escaped, and a match lighted by one of the guards went out in the vitiated air; when it was possible to take in a candle, one could see dimly, from the rooms outside, the forms of men crouching or standing. The cepo was opened.
A dark figure came out between two soldiers; it was Társilo, the brother of Bruno. His torn clothing let his splendid muscles show. The other prisoner brought out was weeping and lamenting.
“What is your name?” the alférez demanded of Társilo.
“Társilo Alasigan.”