ericans, this
dungeon-like cell had been occupied by Spanish prisoners, who were
held by Aguinaldo's army. When I first saw the room, not more than
ten minutes after our arrival, I saw one of as sickening sights as
any person ever beheld.

This dungeon, or cell, was about ten feet high, the same in width, and
about fifteen feet in length. Through one small grated window passed
all the light that ever cheered this ante-chamber of hell. The door
leading into it was in a dark corner, and when one was on the inside,
he scarcely noticed whether it was open or closed.

By the aid of a lighted candle I saw the rock floor scantily covered
with coarse rice straw, flatly mashed by the emaciated bodies of the
Spaniards who had slept upon it. A few articles of Spanish uniforms,
tattered and torn, were strewn about. In the cracks of the walls were
hordes of vermin. Filth was present everywhere in its most germ-bearing
form. In the center of the room were a few live coals and over them
a quart cup about one-third full of boiling rice--probably the entire
meal for the six doomed prisoners whose home had been for weeks that
abode of lurking death.

At the end of the room and opposite the window was a raised platform,
eighteen inches high, made of rough boards. This was covered with dry
blood, and in the center was a large, quivering pool of clotted gore,
which had not more than an hour since coursed through the veins of
its owner.

Above this platform, a little higher than the height of the average
native, was the dangling end of a rope, freshly besmeared with the
life-blood of a recent victim.

On the plain white wall was the newly made print of the murderer's
hand, who had wiped the warm crimson fluid of the sufferer from the
blood-stained hand which held the throat, while the other, with the
deadly bolo, severed the head from the trembling body.

Everywhere were evidences of a recent, horrible murder. A trailing
streak of blood led from the platform toward the door and faded when
the street was reached.

I diligently looked for some last message from the victim or
victims. The walls showed nothing but spots of blood thrown there by
the struggles of the dying, and armies of pests traveling aimlessly
over the cold, bare surface. The plain, rough boards told nothing but
that the life had passed from many a defenseless soul while hanging
over them. But these boards were not nailed down, I turned one over
and looked beneath, bu