Across the Spanish Main by Harry Collingwood (uplifting novels .txt) 📖

window was beyond his range of vision. The sound, however, recalled the fact to their minds that they were very hungry, and that if they wished to keep up their strength they must eat. And, as Harry said, they had done good work during the night, so that they could spare the time. The tools were therefore packed up and hidden away; the bars already cut were replaced so that anybody chancing to look in should notice nothing out of the ordinary; then the stools were removed from below the window, and both lads sat down to their morning meal with keener appetites than they had known for some months past. Everything in the cell presented its usual appearance, and the twain were hastily finishing their meal when the tramp of feet was heard in the passage. No quiet, stealthy footstep this time, but a clatter of several approaching men which there was no mistaking. Roger and Harry looked at one another, dismay written all over their countenances. What was to happen now? Had the hour for their execution been advanced again, and were they to be led out to death at once, or was their cell to be changed and all their labour rendered useless, and their chance of escape destroyed at the very last moment? These, and a hundred other surmises, chased each other rapidly through the lads’ minds as they listened with bated breath to the noise of the approaching footsteps. Each, however, pulled himself together, and by the time that the cell door was opened the lads presented absolutely expressionless faces to their enemies. The door clanged open, disclosing to their sight a number of men in black robes and cowls.

“His Excellency the Viceroy requires the attendance of you both,” said one of the masked inquisitors in a deep voice and in remarkably good English. “Follow me at once.”

The man turned to lead the way. Harry followed close on his heels; but as Roger prepared to leave the cell he pretended to stumble, and when picking himself up adroitly deposited the little satchel of tools behind the open door. His action, he was much relieved to notice, attracted no attention, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the cell door closed after them, and of knowing, therefore, that the precious implements were safe for the time being.

They were led through the self-same passages and corridors by which they had walked to the torture-chamber a few days before, and their hearts sank within them, for this second journey seemed to them ominous of evil.

Yes, it was but too true. In a few minutes they reached the door of that Chamber of Horrors, passed through it, heard it shut after them, and found themselves once more in the presence of that arch-fiend, Alvarez, “Viceroy of the Province, Governor of the City, and Chief of the Holy Inquisition in the town of Vera Cruz”. They were not long left in doubt as to what was in store for them. Alvarez spoke:

“I understand that you two young men formerly belonged to the squadron of that most pestilent heretic and pirate, Cavendish; is it not so? Answer me!”

“Yes,” replied Harry, “we belonged, and consider that we still belong, to the ship of Mr Cavendish, who is no pirate, but a noble and true English gentleman.”

“Silence!” snarled Alvarez. “Do not dare to speak in that way to me! Answer my questions only, and make no remarks of your own. I say that the man Cavendish is a pirate, and that is sufficient. Now, you are both heretics, that I know, and I am shortly going to the trouble of attempting to convert you to the only true faith, through the gentle, loving, and persuasive methods applied to heretics by the most Holy Inquisition. You had an example, only the other day, of the way in which Mother Church deals with those who obey her not. She always uses the most gentle means to bring about conversion, and would lead heretics to a knowledge of the true faith by loving-kindness alone, as no doubt you noticed in the case of the man de Soto, who was undergoing the process of persuasion when you were last here.” And he gave vent to a most horrible and grating laugh.

“I am deeply grieved to inform you,” he continued, “that de Soto persisted in denying all knowledge of a certain matter, and—well, he is dead now, rest his soul!” he added sardonically.

“Since seeing you two,” he resumed, “I have come to the conclusion that I was perhaps somewhat hasty with de Soto, and imagine it is possible that he did not possess the knowledge I credited him with, and it may be that I punished him unjustly. But that little matter is now past regret, and we have to deal with the present. The matter in hand deals with the loss of a certain document from the cabin of a Spanish war-vessel, the Gloria del Mundo, which ship you both doubtless remember. I thought at first that de Soto was responsible for its disappearance; but, if my memory serves me aright, you two lads left the vessel after de Soto and myself, and, from what I have gathered, I imagine that you may know something about the paper. If you know, tell me where it is, and I will spare you; but if you decide not to speak—well, you saw what de Soto suffered the other day, and his treatment was gentle compared with what yours will be unless you decide to tell me where that paper is to be found, for I am convinced that you know. Now, speak; speak—you!” Again Harry acted as spokesman, and replied:

“Señor Alvarez, we have heard what you say, and we know to what paper you refer; but we have it not. It is no longer in existence, and consequently it can never be found. You may do your worst; but though you should torture us both to death, it is not in our power, or that of any other mortal, to give you a document which does not now exist.”

“I do not believe you,” shouted Alvarez. “It cannot be so. That paper must be somewhere,” he foamed, “and I will have it if I am compelled to tear you limb from limb to get it. Will you speak, or will you not?” Alvarez literally foamed at the mouth with rage, for indeed he was nearly mad with disappointment. In spite of himself, he had an inward conviction that what Harry said was true, and that, do what he might, he would never again set eyes on that paper, the possession of which he so earnestly desired.

Revenge, however, sweet revenge, still remained, and that he could and would have. He had worked himself up to a pitch of fury that very closely approached madness; moreover, his bitter disappointment demanded alleviation through the suffering of him who had inflicted it. So, without waiting for a reply, he roared, pointing to Harry:

“Seize that lad who spoke, and put him to the torture. I will soon see whether he still refuses to speak when I command! Bind that other one, and let him see all that happens; for it will be his turn next, and he may as well know what is in store for him. Ha! ha!” and he laughed again with sardonic fury.

Both lads struggled desperately in the grip of the black-cowled inquisitors; but their struggles were fruitless, and in a few minutes Harry was lying on the floor bound, while Roger was tied in an upright position to one of the pillars of the chamber, in such a fashion that, do as he would, he could not avoid witnessing the tortures that were to be executed upon the body of his dear friend and bosom companion from his boyhood upwards. At the last moment Roger would have intervened to save Harry, actually offering to yield up the coveted secret if Alvarez would relent. But the latter refused; his lust of blood was aroused, his passion for witnessing the agony of others must be satiated at any cost. Moreover, was not Roger in his power? He would compel the lad to witness his friend’s sufferings; give him the night wherein to dwell upon them; and, next morning, first wring the secret from him under a threat of torture, and afterwards—

It is unnecessary to harrow the feelings of the reader with a description of what next took place in that ghastly chamber. Suffice it to say that the torture and examination of Harry lasted until mid-day, when it was seen that his senses had left him, and that he was no longer conscious of the dreadful injuries that were being inflicted upon him. He was then carried back to the cell and laid upon the floor, while Roger was unbound and allowed to accompany him. The door was closed and bolted, and Roger was alone with the pitiful, scarred, torn, and bleeding wreck of his friend. He fetched water from the jug and forced a few drops down Harry’s throat, laved his brow, and bound up his seared and bleeding wounds as best he could. Presently Harry opened his eyes, and, seeing Roger bending over him, smiled even amid his pain.

“Do not weep, Roger, old friend,” he said, noticing the tears running down his chum’s face; “they have done their utmost on me, and I shall not last out long enough to surfer at their hands again. Nay, Roger, dear lad, it is of no use. You cannot save me, and indeed I do not desire to live; for of what use would life be to one in my condition? They have torn the life so nearly from my poor body that there is but little remaining, and that little you could not save, my dear old friend. You did your best before they began upon me, and failed. No man could do more. Just put your doublet under my head to keep it off the hard stone, dear lad; and oh, Roger, do not weep so bitterly; it tears my heart to see you. I feel but little pain now, and what still remains will not be for long. Now, Roger, listen to me, my friend. I shall be gone very soon; do not, I pray you, stay grieving over my body after I am dead, for that will avail me nothing, and only involve you in my fate. Therefore, get those tools and cut away at that grating, so that you will be ready when that unknown friend of ours comes to assist you to escape. Promise me, Roger. You will win home safely; I know it; I feel that you will. And you will take care of Mary, my dear sister Mary, will you not, Roger? See that she comes to no harm, old friend. Remember the secret of that cryptogram, Roger, and fetch that treasure away; my share of it is yours, my friend. I do not tell you to give it to Mary, for I think you can guess what I mean when I say I do not think it will be necessary. Roger,” he resumed after a short silence, broken only by the deep sobs of his sorrowing companion, “Roger, dear lad, hold my hand, for it is getting very dark, and I cannot see. I like to feel that you are near me, and I have no fear.” His breathing now grew rapidly weaker, until presently only a faint fluttering sigh could be heard; then his eyes opened again, and he said: “Good-bye, Roger, I am going, dear lad and faithful comrade; good-bye, and God bless you! Remember what I said about preparing for to-night; and do not grieve for me, for indeed I am quite happy. Good-bye!” His head fell back, his breathing ceased, and Roger knew that he was now alone. Alone in prison, and still in the hands of the Holy Office. He