‘Go a-head! Signor Maretzo,’ said Blodget, ‘but remember that we have no racks and wheels, or any of those other ingenious contrivances so common in your precious country.’ ‘My country is what tyrants and priests have made it;’ returned the Italian. ‘Even the accursed act I am now about to practice I learned in the dungeons of the _holy_ inquisition. There my heart was turned to marble, and every drop of pity congealed forever.’ ‘Let the blessid church alone, or you and me’ll have a row, old black-beard,’ said Jimmy, quite fiercely. ‘That ‘Sazerac’ brandy has awakened Jimmy’s religious feelings. But, come, come—there’s been too much of this fooling. Maretzo, if you can make this stubborn devil talk, do so at once!’ Maretzo made some arrangements about his furnace, and joined the party gathered around Monteagle—who still lay, bound and blind-folded, upon the dungeon floor. The Italian then took up a piece of linen from one of the piles of dry goods, and placed it smoothly and tightly over Monteagle’s lips and nostrils. He then took a glass of water, and poured a few drops upon the linen. The poor youth could draw breath with difficulty through the dry linen, but when its threads became swollen by absorbing the water his respiration was almost entirely prevented. His breast heaved by involuntary muscular expansion—great drops of sweat started from every pore, while the veins of his neck and forehead grew swollen and purple. It required the united force of all the scoundrels that surrounded him to retain his writhing body on the earth. Poor Monteagle’s convulsive and spasmodic efforts, however, soon subsided, and it appeared as if his tormentors had gone too far, and that death had stepped in and snatched their helpless victim from further cruelties. Maretzo removed the cloth, and after a few heavy and painful attempts at breathing, Monteagle’s low groans and sighs told how dreadful had been his sufferings. ‘Now, G—d d—n your stubborn soul will you tell us where to find the money,’ said Blodget. Heavy, deep-drawn sighs, were the poor youth’s sole reply. ‘Give him another dose,’ said one of the heartless ruffians, ‘he likes the medicine so well.’ At this instant the trap door was lifted, and one of the gang, who had been stationed on the neighboring hill as a look-out, cried: ‘I see a party of horsemen making right for the hut, at full gallop. We must have been followed. Let’s be off, at once, or we’re sure to be taken!’ ‘Sure an’ let’s have a brush wid ’em,’ said Jimmy. ‘Never fight till you’re obliged to,’ said Blodget. ‘Lay hold of this fellow,’ said Maretzo, ‘and carry him to a horse, then let’s all start down towards the Heads. I know of a cave there, that has never had any dwellers except seals. There we can keep this youth, and wring the secret from him, or, failing that, put him where he’ll tell no tales.’