The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1937-04-28
C0NDEMNED'S
WORDS SCARED
ON WALLS
Writer Joined by Man
In Spanish Prison
About to Die
Continued from Page y

"S~ -
correspondent. Spaniards by thu
hundreds of thousands haVt
known the civil war chiefly from
the angle of prison. Ten time'
as many SpaniardS have me-
death within or just outside
prison walls as have died on the
battlefields.
Hide Their Justice"
This is the true war that Is
rending Spain today: A war Of
the terrors, the red and the white
From the United States. from
correspondents and visiting dele
cations and from all observers
from abroad the Spaniards hide
their terror. ashamed of it al
though they justify it, preterrlng
to keep their Justice quiet as
murderers try to hide their
crimes.
Denunciation by persons I'M
known had brought about my ar
rest The charges were never
made known to me. never
learned what they were, and never
was faced with an acCuser.F All l
could surmiSe was that in this
land of war hySteria, someone had
accused me of one of thousand
possible crimes against the state.
Now by an accident OF war, I
was given a full-length picture OF
the terror from the inside.
For six months I had seen every
other aspect of the Spanish war
from the moment I walked out
of an airplane in BurgoS July 81,
with rifles pressed against my
stomach and my hands in the air,
until today when, after a vacation
at home, I had returned to Spain.
l thought l had seen all there
was to semen blown to pieces,
their bodies headless and diSmem-
bered piled in heaps or lying in
sun-scorched fields; the keen BRAY
cry of storming troops and the
despairing white flag raised above
trenches.
The sick, sweet odor that pol
lutes battle fields still was strong
in my nostrils even after weeks
abroad.
"a MonstrOus Mistake"
Now, as I stared at the grim
interior of the "calabozo," I re-
allied I had never known before
what this war was like. That is
what the civil guard called it,:
"Calabozo." 1 took out my pocket
dictionary and looked it up: Dun
geon."
1 yelled to the guard, hurriedly
leafed through the dictionary,
and he turned his ear to the
three-inch aperture in the door,
my only outlet to the outside
world, I shouted in manufactured
Spanish:
"This is a mOnstrOuS mistake"
The ear of the civil guard dis
appeared and his eye stared
through the aperture. then dis
appeared.
Light Burns Eternally
A binding incandescent light
burned from the ceiling. I was to
learn it burned all day and all
night. 1t bored through my hat
brim pulled over my eyes and
drove through my arm flung
across my head.
1t lighted every corner Of the
filthu coll h1OIon Opoa ciIa ron q
heavy wooden bench about three
feet wide and built into the wall.
That was the sole furniture in the
room; two feet of dirty burlap
sacking the only bedclothes.
In the ceiling next to the out
side wall was a slit two feet long
and three inches wide communi-
eating with a concrete box so
that some air was admitted but
no light.
The atmosphere of the dungeon
was overpowering. I measured the
cell. 1t was three strides wide
and six strides long. I examined
the floor. 1t had peck marks in
it. For the rest. it was covered
an inch deep with the litter of
countless prisoners.
Record of the Walls
The walls and ceiling were
palimpsest. a record over-written a
score of times of all the bloody
civil struggles that have torn Spain
since this old building was erected
and this deep cavern reserved for
the last moments of their victims.
Here were the initials of all the
political organizations which have
striVen by terror to impose their
will upon others.
San HebaStian was Red at the
beginning Of the war, and during
the Red time this cell was full of
whites awaiting death.
So there were the letters "FE"
(FalangiSt ESpanoD. and beneath
them the names of five Spaniards