midnight
In his association of late with Ruez , the condemned officer felt purified and carried back to childhood and his mother 's knee ; the long vista of eventful years was blotted out from his heart , the stern battles he had fought in , the blood he had seen flow like water , his own deep scars and many wounds , the pride and ambition of his military career , all were forgotten , and by Ruez 's side he was perhaps more of a child at heart than the boy himself . How strange are our natures ; how susceptible to outward influence ; how attunable to harshness or to plaintive notes ! We are but as the ' olian harp , and the winds of heaven play upon us what times they will ! It was midnight in the prison of Havana ; nought could be heard by the listening ear save the steady pace of the sentinels stationed at the various angles of the walls and entrances of the courtyard that surrounded the gloomy structure . It was a calm , tropical light , and the moon shone so brightly as to light up the grim walls and heavy arches of the building , almost as bright as if it were day . Now and then a sentinel would pause , and resting upon his musket , look off upon the silvery sea , and perhaps dream of his distant Castilian home , then starting again , he would rouse himself , shoulder the weapon , and pace his round with measured stride . Lorenzo Bezan , the condemned , had knelt down and offered up a prayer , silent but sincere , for Heaven 's protection in the fearful emergency that beset him ; he prayed that he might die like a brave man , yet with a right feeling and reconciled conscience with all mankind .