|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 82
"I am beaten at a game in which I did my own shuffling. I never
believe in trying to bluff a full hand. Had I had but ordinary
detectives with whom to deal, I make bold to say I should have come
off rich and triumphant. I had no means of knowing that I was to
play with a chemist who would use against me the latest scientific
implements of criminal warfare. It is, therefore, to the
extraordinary means used for my detection that I impute my defeat,
rather than to any bungling of my own. This is a grim consolation,
but it is still a consolation, for I have always prided myself upon
being an artist in my line. As I propose to put myself beyond the
reach of further cross-examination, I take this opportunity to make
a last statement of such things as I care to have known. After this
is finished I shall sup on acetate of lead and bid good-night to the
expectant public.
"Lest some may marvel how I came by this poison, and even lay
suspicions upon my jailers, let me explain that there is a small
piece of lead water-pipe crossing the west angle of my room. This
being Sunday, I was permitted to have beans and brown bread for
breakfast. I asked for a little vinegar for my beans, and a small
cruet was brought to me. I had no difficulty in secreting a
considerable quantity of the vinegar in order that I might, when
occasion served, apply it to the lead pipe. This I have done, and
have now by me enough acetate of lead to kill a dozen men. This
form of death will not be particularly pleasant, I am aware, but I
prefer it to its only alternative. So much for that.
"I was horn in Marseilles, and my right name is Jean Fouchet. My
father intended me for the priesthood, and gave me a good college
education in Paris. His hopes, however, were destined to
disappointment. In college I formed the habit of gambling, and a
year after my graduation found me at Monte Carlo. While there I
quarrelled with a gambling accomplice and ended by killing him.
This made my stay in France dangerous for me, and I took the first
opportunity which presented itself to embark for America.
"Familiarity with criminals had made me familiar with crime, and I
added the occupation of detective to my profession of gambling.
These two avocations had now become my sole means of support, and I
plied my trades in New York, Boston, and Philadelphia for several
years, during which time I became a naturalised citizen of the
United States.
"When the Cuban rebellion broke out I could not restrain my longing
for adventure, and joined a filibustering expedition sailing from
New York. I did this from no love I bore the Cuban cause, but merely
for the excitement it promised. While handling a heavy shot during
my first engagement I accidentally dropped it upon my left foot,
crushing that member so badly that it has never regained its shape.
This deformity has rendered it impossible for me to conceal my
identity. Three months after this accident I was taken prisoner by
the Spanish and shipped to Spain as a political malefactor. A farce
of a trial was granted to me, not to see whether or not I was guilty,
but simply to determine between the dungeon and the garrote. It
would have been far better for me had I been sentenced to the latter
instead of the former.
"As a political offender I was doomed to imprisonment at Ceuta, an
old Moorish seaport town in Morocco, opposite Gibraltar and upon
the side of the ancient mountain Abyla. This mountain forms one
of the 'Pillars of Hercules,' the Rock of Gibraltar being the other.
It is almost impregnable, and is used by Spain as Siberia is used
by Russia, only it is far, far more horrible. The town was built
by the Moors in 945, and nowhere else on earth are there to be found
an equal number of devices for the torture of human beings. If
anyone thinks the horrors of the Inquisition are no longer
perpetrated let him get sent to Ceuta: I have good cause to believe
that the Inquisition itself is far from dead in Spain. Alas for the
person who is sent to Ceuta! The town is small, and, to guard
against possible attack, the Moors constructed a chain of fortresses
around it. It is in the black cellars of these disintegrating
fortresses that the dungeons are located. They are in tiers to the
depth of fifty or sixty feet, and are hewn out of the solid rock.
They are reached through narrow openings in the stone floors of the
fortresses, and when one of these horrible holes is opened the foul
odor of filth and decomposition is utterly overpowering. Some of
these dungeons contain as many as thirty or forty men. I was placed
in a cell reserved for solitary confinement. I have never been a
man who regarded life seriously, or feared to risk it upon sufficient
occasion, but my heart froze within me when the horror of my
situation was revealed to me. A stone box perhaps eight feet square
--as I lay upon the floor I could touch its opposite sides with my
hands and feet--had been prepared for my entrance by cutting a slit
in one of its walls just large enough for the passage of my body.
Through this narrow opening I was dropped into the total darkness
within. A blacksmith followed and welded my fetters, for locks and
keys are never used. A chain having a heavy weight pendant from it
was riveted to my ankle, and an iron band was similarly fastened to
my waist. This band was fastened by a chain to an iron ring deeply
sunk in the solid rock. When these horrible preparations were
completed the blacksmith left me and a mason bricked up the slit
through which I had entered, leaving only a hand-breadth of space
for air and the thrusting through of such scraps of food as were to
be allowed me. Language is powerless to describe the feelings of a
man in such a position. He realises that his only hope is in disease
--disease bred of the darkness, the dampness, the starvation, and
the horrible filth. He says to himself: 'How long, O God! how
long?'--For hours I remained prone and inert--how long I do not
know; night and day are all one in the dungeons of Ceuta. Then I
began to think. Could I escape? I felt that all power of thought,
all cleverness would soon desert me, and I said to myself: 'If
anything is to be done, it must be done at once.' I knew not then
what long-drawn horrors a mortal could endure. Whenever I attempted
to walk the iron mass fastened to my leg would 'bring me up short,'
often, in my early forgetfulness of it, throwing me prone upon my
face. After a little I learned to move with a halting gait,
striding out with the free limb and pausing to pull my burden after
me with the other. This habit, learned in the squalor and darkness
of the dungeon hells of Ceuta, I have never been able to unlearn.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|