THE
HAUNTED SENTRY BOX
OF
PORTO RICO
BY
LEWIS MILLER
The Knickerbocker Press
NEW YORK
1916
Copyright, 1916
BY
LEWIS MILLER
The Haunted Sentry Boxof Porto Rico
By
Lewis Miller
Directly below the old fort ofSan Cristobal, in San Juan,Porto Rico, projecting out overthe sea from a corner of the seawall, is a sentry box. Yearsago a sentry, placed on duty at this lonelypost, utterly disappeared, leaving behindonly his musket and side-arms. His disappearancewas so mysterious that it wasattributed to sea-devils, and the sentry boxhas ever since been given a wide berth by allsuperstitious natives.
The same night of this strange incident, apriest, the best liked and most admired of hissect in the city, disappeared. The only cluediscovered in regard to his disappearance was the small gold cross, which constantlyhung suspended from a chain around hisneck, found before the door of the cornersentry box.
I heard many stories in regard to thedisappearance of these two, but all were toopreposterous to allow any thought of truth.At last, however, good luck brought me intothe presence of a man who knew, and it is thestory as I heard it from him which I amundertaking to recount.
. . . . . . .
The proprietor of one of the “tiendas”in Mayaguez, Juan Cordo by name, was alarge, jovial old man full of stories of wildadventure, with which every Saturday nighthe entertained a gathering composed chieflyof the working men, who, their work over forthe week, were ready to listen to any talewhich would entertain them—and the oldstorekeeper was a good talker. It was at oneof these gatherings, to which I was frequentlydrawn by a desire to hear the old man'sramblings, that I heard the story of thehaunted sentry box.
As usual, the old fellow, who loved to be urged, could for sometime think of nothingto tell about, but he finally decided on hissubject and settling back in his chair, began.I noticed, however, that he carefully scrutinizedthe faces of his audience, that is, ofall except one. But this one was really oflittle importance as he was a late arrival intown and scarcely known to any one. As Ihave said, his face was free from the scrutinizingeye of old Juan Cordo, for, coming inlate, he had quietly seated himself behind thestory-teller without attracting his attention.
“My story begins back in the earlyseventies,” began