A file of soldiers was rapidly marching to the place of execution, and their heavy tread could be plainly heard as each moment they drew nearer. The prisoner was standing against a wall, and immediately behind him was a closed door, which was the rear entrance to a large house in the village. The house itself was at least fifty yards from this wall. "Ah! how are the men?" said the Spanish officer. "So your waiting days are over." The file of soldiers drew up about thirty yards from the doomed man, and as they grounded arms the sound sent a sickening sensation through the brave Irishman's heart. "Shure, it's not war, but murther's your trade," said Dan. "It's the haythins thimselves wouldn't be afther tratin' me this way." "Talk on," said the Spaniard, coolly, "if it does you any good. It won't alter matters. You have been condemned, and must die." "Ah, but it's revenged I'll be." "How?" "You won't ask when you see the Stars an' Stripes, the flag of the free, floatin' over this island." The Spaniard laughed contemptuously. "That day will never come. Bah!" he added, stamping on the ground, "why do I waste time talking to a miserable Yankee spy?" The man turned away. But in an instant he came back to the prisoner. "Spy or not," he growled, rather than spoke, "I suppose you're a human being." "Faith, an' if you are, I'm not." The Spaniard's face grew dark with passion. "Silence! I ask you if you have any request to make. If possible, it shall be carried out." "Shure, an' I have, then." "Quick! my men are waiting. Speak!" "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?" "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.