That was no time for hesitancy, and I was already preparing to do likewise, when the guard, a surly-looking brute, promptly inserted the point of his bayonet into my ragged garment, accompanying this kindly act with a stern order to remain where I was.
"An' what fo' yo' do dat, Senor Sojer ?" I cried, in unaffected anguish, rubbing the injured part tenderly, yet speaking loud so that my words should be distinctly audible below.

"Dat oppercer man he done tol' me to foller him to de Captain.

What fo' yo' stop me wid dat toastin' fork ?" "It's all right, Manuel," sung out a voice in Spanish from the lower darkness.

"Let the fool nigger come down." The thoroughly disgusted soldier muttered something about his orders, that his lieutenant had not ever authorized him to pass fools.
Overlooking this personal allusion, and fearing more serious opposition from some one higher in authority, I took advantage of his momentary doubt, promptly swung my legs over the edge of the hatch opening, groped blindly about with my bare feet until they struck the rungs of a narrow ladder, and went scrambling down into the semi-darkness of between-decks, managing awkwardly to miss my final footing, thus flopping in a ragged heap at the bottom.
"Holy Mother! you make more noise zan a sheep in action," grumbled the startled officer, as I landed at his feet.

"Vat for you come down ze ladder zat vay ?" Rubbing my numerous bruises energetically, I contented myself with staring up at him as if completely dazed by my fall.