“Thanks, Count, thanks! your words have made me a happier and better man,” said the Friar, much moved. “The knowledge that I am esteemed by one honest person, who knows me as I am, will prevent me from ever again acting the part of a knave.” He drew a deep sigh. “Ha! ha! we must not let care oppress us, so we will finish our bottle before the turnkey comes to summon me away. I will then visit your sick friend, and do what I can to comfort him. Remember, whatever happens, confide in me. If I find that your life is in the slightest danger, it shall not be my fault that you do not escape from hence.”
Luis warmly expressed his thanks to Frè Diogo, for he now felt convinced that he had gained an invaluable friend, and the dull leaden sensation he had experienced at the thoughts of his speedy execution, gave way to a renewed hope of life.
“Ah! here comes the gaoler,” exclaimed the Friar, as steps were heard in the passage; “he is a worthy fellow, and the only honest man employed in the prison. I now and then crack a bottle with him for society’s sake;—thinking of that, I must hide my friend and the glasses under my robe; so fare you well, Count, till to-morrow.” As he spoke the turnkey opened the door, when Luis, entreating him to introduce the Friar to the sick man in the next cell, he promised to comply, and the Count was left alone to meditate on his own fortunes.
Volume Three—Chapter Seventeen.
Words are insufficient to describe the sufferings of the high-born captives who lay in those wretched cells, formed to contain wild beasts instead of human beings, whither the stern policy of the Minister had condemned them to be conveyed. Kept apart from each other, in darkness and solitude, though near enough to hear each other’s groans and cries, they were allowed no change of garments from those in which they were first apprehended; straw heaped in a corner on the floor, unswept since the removal of its former savage inhabitants, formed their places of rest; the coarsest food, sufficient to sustain nature, was alone supplied them, and no one but the officers of justice was allowed to visit them.
Day after day they remained thus, in anticipation of their dreadful fate; then came ferocious looking men, callous to the sufferings of their fellow-beings, whose appearance bespoke them to be the detested executioners of the law; even the guards and gaolers shuddered as they beheld them entering the prison, bearing their implements of torture. Two Desembargadors, a notary, and a surgeon followed, repairing to a large hall, round which the cells occupied by the prisoners were ranged, their fronts being now blocked up with masonry. The executioners had here erected their instruments of torture, chairs being prepared for the judges and notary, with a table for the latter to take minutes of the examination.
The first prisoner led forward was the Duke of Aveiro, but he refused to answer any of the questions put to him.
“Since you refuse to speak in any other way, we must try what effect the rack will cause,” said one of the judges. “Let the question be administered to him.”