Heavy doors and iron bars that once protected precious stores of food and ammunition made the old fort a good prison, and the prison days soon obscured the olden times that the structure had outlived. The scarred walls of the past would not release their story and the accidental discovery of the sealed-up powder magazine and the chance mention of mouldering bones only served to deepen the mystery of its real story. Out of the “dungeon” darkness into the Anglo-Saxon mind flocked all the tales suborned by centuries of hate and misunderstanding. Forgotten was the fact that boot and rack, pincers and bar were in London Tower as well as in the Inquisitorial Chamber. None stopped to think that torture was past when the castillo was built. None knew how these isolated subjects of a decadent empire labored through the long, hard years, mingling their own sweat with that of the peons to build this impregnable defense. The countless instances of unselfish zeal and loyalty, the cases of Ransom, Collins, and Carr, the Crown’s patriarchal protection of its Indian vassals, the unflagging work of the friar—these histories were not handed down to help the castillo tell its long story. Yet, some saw past the blackness of the dungeon. “The old fort of St. Mark ... is a noble work, frowning over the Matanzas,” wrote William Cullen Bryant, “and it is worth making a long journey to see.” His words have become increasingly true. Bibliographical Note:—_This publication is based mainly upon material in the Spanish records of the North Carolina Historical Commission. The translation quoted on page 5 is from the Ruth Kuykendall translation of the records for the North Carolina Historical Records Survey._ Glossary