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."
"We shall see."