"It's Young Glory I'd like to spake to. I'd like to shake his hand—" Dan's voice faltered here—"before I die."

"That young wretch!" cried the Spaniard, savagely. "So you're his friend?"[Pg 2]

[Pg 2]

"The truest he iver had."

"Then, as Young Glory is not yet in our hands, your request is denied."

Dan's eyes twinkled with fun. The nearness of death could not depress him.

"Shure, it's in no hurry I am. I can wait till you catch him."

The Spanish captain glared fiercely at Dan. Then he faced round towards his men.

"Are your rifles loaded?" he cried.

"Yes, yes, senor capitan!"

"Shoulder arms, then. Wait for the word."

Dan stared round, taking his last look of the earth.

The brave fellow had refused to have his eyes bandaged, and now he was staring defiantly at the men who were to be his executioners.

"They may miss you, senor, the first time," said the Spaniard. "Our men can't fire as straight as you Yankees."

Dan Daly understood what this speech meant. It was virtually a command to the firing party not to kill at the first volley. They intended to prolong Dan's agony.

"Ah! you tremble," cried the Spaniard, gleefully.

Dan held out his hand.

"Faith, it's not you can make my hand shake. It's firm as a rock."

The Spaniard bit his lips with passion. He saw that he could not subdue the proud spirit of the American sailor, and he had hoped to see him writhing on the ground with fear, begging for mercy.

"Yankees are animals, not men," he said, savagely. "No matter, the world is about to be rid of one of them."

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