The Prime Minister

by William Henry Giles Kingston

As he was driven along through the dark and narrow streets, he knew not whither, without the remotest chance of escape, his meditations were melancholy in the extreme. He could not doubt that he was going to that dismal bourne from which so many travellers never return—a dungeon, or from which, too probably, he might be led forth but to the scaffold. After driving for a considerable distance, he again ventured to ask his destination, but a gruff “Silence, senhor! remember!” was the only answer he received. At length the carriage stopped. He heard the heavy sound of bolts being withdrawn, and chains dropped, when the mules again moved onwards a few paces. He could hear the gates, through which he had passed, again close with a loud grating and clanging noise, which struck a chill to his heart, and he was presently afterwards desired to alight. As he stepped from the vehicle, he looked round him, to endeavour to discover to what place he had been conveyed, and, by the glare of a torch which one of the under-gaolers held, it seemed to him that he was in a small court-yard, surrounded by lofty walls, and in front of a small door thickly studded with iron bolts. His attention was, however, quickly directed to other subjects, by the door opening, and the appearance of a personage who announced himself as the Governor of the prison, and to whom, with the most polite bows, his former attendants now delivered him. He was a small man, habited in a complete costume of black, with a placid expression of countenance, and a mild, conciliating tone of voice, more suited to a physician than the keeper of a prison, it appeared, on the first glance, as many of those unfortunate persons who came under his government supposed; but, on a further acquaintance, a most ominous gleam was observed to shoot from his cold grey eye, when the smile which usually played round his lips would vanish, and a frown, in spite of himself, would gather on his brow, betokening too clearly his real character.

The Governor’s first address was cordial in the extreme, though Luis would willingly have dispensed with his hospitality.

“You are welcome, Senhor d’Almeida, to my abode, and all which it contains is at your service,” he began. “I see you still wear your sword. I beg your pardon, but I must request you to deliver it up to me. None here wear arms but the guards, nor will you need it for your protection. We take very good care of our guests.”

Luis, as he was desired, unbuckled his sword, and, without speaking, delivered it into the hands of the Governor.

“Thank you, Senhor Conde,” continued the latter personage. “It is a pretty weapon, and I will take the greatest care of it for you. I will now, by your leave, conduct you to your apartment. It is rather small, and somewhat damp; but, to say the truth, we have but little room to spare, for we are likely to be crowded soon, and you will have plenty of companions. However, I am of a hospitable disposition, and I like to see my mansion full; yet I know not if you will be able to enjoy much of each other’s society, for our rules are rather severe in that respect.”

While the Governor was thus running on, he was conducting Luis through several arched passages, a man preceding them with a lantern, while four others followed close after, armed with drawn swords, as a slight hint to the prisoner that his only course must be obedience to orders. They then descended a flight of stone steps to regions where, it seemed, the light of day could never penetrate, so damp and chill struck the air they breathed.

“We lodge you on the ground-floor, Senhor Conde,” observed the facetious Governor. “It has its advantages and disadvantages. You will find some amusement in hunting the rats and toads, which are said to be rather numerous, though I confess that, in winter, the climate does not agree with some constitutions—perhaps it may with yours. Oh, here we are.”

Producing a large bunch of keys, he ordered one of the men to unlock a door, before which they stood.

“Enter, Senhor Conde. You will not find many luxuries, and, as for conveniences, I must supply those you require.”

Luis felt it was useless striving against fate, so he unresistingly walked into what was, in truth, a wretched dungeon, with little more than sufficient height to stand upright, and about eight feet square. It contained a pallet, destitute of any bedding, a single chair, and a rough deal table, with a pitcher to hold water. The only means of ventilation was through a narrow aperture, sloping upward, far too small to allow a human body to pass, even had it not been closely barred both inside and out.