The prison mirror. [volume] (Stillwater, Minn.) 1887-1894, 1890-05-01
Prison of Vera Cruz.

restaurant table last evening.
The speaker was a compactly-built man of me-
dunn height. whose blue eyes, blonde beard and
ruddy complexion bespoke his English birth. If
these indications were not sufficient the agreea-
BILE fullness of the refined English accent in his
speech left room for further doubt.
He proved to be Arthur ]. Gresham, of Man.
chester, England, at present the agent in Canada
of a company of English capitalists located in To
ronto, to which point he is returning after an ex-
tended tour in Mexico He has been travelling in
the latter country in the interest of his employers
who seeking financial venture there.
While not referring to the nature of his bust
ness. Mr. Gresham spoke entertainingly of his
travels in the land of the Aztecs. Especially was
he eloquent in describing the scenes in and about
Vera Cruz, that ancient fortress by the After
mentioning some of the interesting points his
brow suddenly contracted and his eyes flashed.
With much feeling in his tone he launched forth
into a description of the awful underground
prison of that city.
about half or a quarter of mile from the
port of Vera Cruz" said Mr. Gresham, there is
penitentiary for the confinement of violent and
desperate criminals that is literally in the waters
under the earth. Here. in fortress OF solid
rock extending many feet under the surface of the
ocean, encompassed by the seething waves that
dash ceaselessly against its pitiless portals are
hundreds of cells or pits rather, carved in the
solid stone and extending in all directions. grue
some labyrinth of many ramiications, for there is
no orderly arrangement whatever.
1.-The entrance is natural opening in the rock
above the surface of the water. and thence by
narrow, tortuous stairway the visitor leaves the
bright sunlight of the upper world, the fresh air
and cool breezes that are the daily blessings of
the freemen. and descends into this abyss that is
indeed the abode of woeful horrors. Sunshine
does not penetrate this place. for it must be re-
membered that the cells literally dug out of
the rock below the surface of the water, and the
light upon the damp. slippery steps beneath ones
feet is shed by the lamp carried by the guide
Down this uncertain footing the visitor takes his
way. with hesitatng and falterng footsteps, and
oppressive gloom weighs heavily upon him as
each step brings him nearer these subterranean
regions. The light above dies away, and in its
place is only the uncertain gloom, dimly lit by
the Pickering torch or the dull lamp of the guide
fetd, nauseous atmosphere clogs the breath,
and the bare, dark walls, with Shiny moisture
oozing in great drops on their surface. reflect
ftful, uncanny CLEAN. The descent made the
daring tourist is more than 100 feet below the
surface of the ocean; the roaring Of the waves
make q 1alnt tnunder ecnOlng nOuOWly through
the recesses of the prison. The dismal corridors
stretch away in labyrinthan turnings in every di-
rection and terminate in unfathomable gloom.
Here and there, at some sharp angle or dangerous
crossing. hangs lamp. whose feeble rays only
intensity the darkness beyond, and impart no
cheerfulness to the surroundings.
"Strange Shiny creatures glide noiseessly about
in the dampness beneath your feet and disappear
in tbo Of no
tice them; they familiar habitues Alasl there
are unhappy wretches within these walls, of
higher order of intelligence, whose intellect is
daily tortured by this terrible environment to the
limit of human endurance, if, indeed it has not
given way under the stress of horror and fled from
its tenant house forever.
'Here, in miserable cells, or caves rather, such
wild animals might have for their lairs, or. per-
haps, the primitive cave-dwellers might have
lived in, are immured in solitary confinement for
life the desperate villains. The cells simply
small, irregularly shaped pits the solid rock is
the floor, the sides and the ceiling; rayess and
soundless, save the ghosty murmur of the sea.
And the slow drip that percolates through the
ceiling and drops, drops with ceaseess insistence
night and day. day and night measuring the tort
uring hours that slowly drag into eternity laden
with the agonies of thousand deaths.
There is no companionship here. no kindly hu.
man face meets the prisoners, no human accents
fall upon his ear unless the CHASTITY echoes of his
own voice return to him he calls aloud in the
endless void that never breaks in day for him,
and beats in agonized and hopeless despair upon
the iron grating that is the sole opening from his
living grave The tomb itself not more
hopeless, and far more peaceful and quiet The
boon of employment is not granted to these
happy captives-they have neither light, exercise
nor work of any kind. Intellectual and spiritual
teaching is thing unheard Of within those dreary
walls. His cell door closes on him forever, and
pardon is thing unknown.