Four barefooted soldiers took Ned down through the dirty and evil-smelling streets of the city.  He wondered where they were going, but he would not ask.  They came presently to the sea and Ned saw before him, about a half mile away, a somber and massive pile rising upon a rocky islet.  He knew that it was the great and ancient Castle of San Juan de Ulua.  In the night, with only the moon’s rays falling upon its walls, it looked massive and forbidding beyond all description.  That cold shiver again appeared at the roots of the boy’s hair.  He knew now the meaning of all this talk of Santa Anna and Cos about their hospitality.  He was to be buried in the gloomiest fortress of the New World.  It was a fate that might well make one so young shudder many times.  But he said not a word in protest.  He got silently into a boat with the soldiers, and they were rowed to the rocky islet on which stood the huge castle.

Not much time was wasted on Ned.  He was taken before the governor, his name and age were registered, and then two of the prison guards, one going before and the other behind, led him down a narrow and steep stairway.  It reminded him of his descent into the pyramid, but here the air seemed damper.  They went down many steps and came into a narrow corridor upon which a number of iron doors opened.  The guards unlocked one of the doors, pushed Ned in, relocked the door on him, and went away.

Ned staggered from the rude thrust, but, recovering himself stood erect, and tried to accustom his eyes to the half darkness.  He stood in a small, square room with walls of hard cement or plaster.  The roof of the same material was high, and in the center of it was a round hole, through which came all the air that entered the cell.  In a corner was a rude pallet of blankets spread upon grass.  There was no window.  The place was hideous and lonely beyond the telling.  He had not felt this way in the pyramid.

Ned now had suffered more than any boy could stand.  He threw himself upon the blanket, and only pride kept him from shedding tears.  But he was nevertheless relaxed completely, and his body shook as if in a chill.  He lay there a long time.  Now and then, he looked up at the walls of his prison, but always their sodden gray looked more hideous than ever.  He listened but heard nothing.  The stillness was absolute and deadly.  It oppressed him.  He longed to hear anything that would break it; anything that would bring him into touch with human life and that would drive away the awful feeling of being shut up forever.

The air in the dungeon felt damp to Ned.  He was glad of it, because damp meant a touch of freshness, but by and by it became chilly, too.  The bed was of two blankets, and, lying on one and drawing the other over him, he sought sleep.  He fell after a while into a troubled slumber which was half stupor, and from which he awakened at intervals.  At the third awakening he heard a noise.  Although his other faculties were deadened partially by mental and physical exhaustion, his hearing was uncommonly acute, concentrating in itself the strength lost by the rest.  The sound was peculiar, half a swish and half a roll, and although not loud it remained steady.  Ned listened a long time, and then, all at once, he recognized its cause.