out that the victim had attempted to escape and had brought his fate upon himself. Thus it is freely asserted that thousands of lives have been taken during the past thirty-four years. Today instances of the Ley Fuga are frequently reported in the Mexican press.
Many political outlaws end their days in prison. Among the Mexican prisons there are two whose horrors stand out far above the others—San Juan de Ulua and Belem.
During both of my trips to Mexico made during 1908 and 1909 I put forth desperate efforts to secure admission as a visitor to Belem. I saw the governor of the Federal District; I saw the American ambassador; I tried to enter with a prison physician. But I was never able to travel farther than the inner door.
Through that door I could see into the central court, where ranged hundreds of human beings made wild beasts by the treatment they received, ragged, filthy, starving, wolfish wrecks of men—a sight calculated to provoke a raucous laugh at the solemn declarations of certain individuals that Mexico has a civilized government.
But farther than that inner court I could not go. I was permitted to visit other prisons in Mexico, but not Belem. When I pressed His Excellency, the Governor, he admitted that it was not safe. "On account of the malas condiciones, the vile conditions," he said, "it would not do. Why," he told me, "only a short time ago the vice-president, Senor Corral, dared to make a hurried visit to Belem. He contracted typhus and nearly died. You cannot go."
I told him that I had heard of Americans being permitted to visit Belem. But he was unable to remember. Doubtless those other Americans were too well known
