Excerpt
CHAPTER I. SHOOTING A PRISONER OF WAR—A COMRADE TO THE RESCUE.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, senor."
"Faith, an' it's a polite nation I always said ye were."
The first speaker, a Spanish officer, laughed mockingly as he uttered this apology.
The man to whom he addressed his words was Dan Daly.
Dan had been a boatswain's mate on the battle ship Indiana, then on the Cruiser Columbia, and he was now filling a similar position on the Cruiser Brooklyn. Dan Daly was Young Glory's bosom friend, and the Irishman had been the companion of the gallant young hero in many of the daring exploits that had given him world-wide fame.
Dan's position now appeared desperate.
A landing party from the Brooklyn had been surprised by a body of Spaniards in a small village, not many miles from Matanzas, an important town on the north coast of Cuba.
After a short but desperate encounter, the American sailors, overwhelmed by numbers had retired to their boats, leaving Dan Daly behind, a prisoner in the hands of the Spaniards.
A short, quick trial took place. Dan was denounced as a spy, and instantly sentenced to death. It was ordered that the sentence should be carried out at once. So now Dan stood looking death calmly in the face as he had so often done before.
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.
"Yankees are animals, not men," he said, savagely. "No matter, the world is about to be rid of one of them."
"We shall see."
The words were not spoken by Dan, yet they seemed to come from the spot where he was standing.
Instantly the door in the wall was thrown open, and a man dashed through. He seemed to be a Spaniard, for he was wearing the Spanish costume.
Before the officer could raise a hand to defend himself, the stranger was within a yard of him, holding a six-shooter at his head.
Dan was paralyzed with astonishment.
The firing party had lowered their rifles. They had broken their ranks, and were talking together excitedly and rapidly.
By this time the Spanish officer had somewhat recovered from his surprise, and the color which had left his cheeks began to return.
"Who are you?" he demanded, sternly.
"Speak lower, senor, a little lower. I allow no one to address me thus."
"Address you! Caramba! I speak as I please. I am master here!"
The stranger laughed mockingly.
"We won't discuss that point, for I see we shall not agree."
"What do you want?"
"Ah! That's a different question, and I'll give you an answer. You have a prisoner here, an American sailor."
"What of it?"
"He is your prisoner no longer. He is mine."
"You dare to interfere between me and an enemy of your country!"
"I dare do even more than that, senor capitan."
"I will soon put an end to this farce. Hold!"
The officer called to his men, and instantly they were all attention.
"Put a bullet into this impudent rascal."
Quick as lightning the rifles went to the shoulders of the soldiers.
But the stranger was quite prepared for this maneuver.
Like lightning he grasped the Spanish officer and drew him towards himself.
"Now, senor capitan, you are between me and your soldiers. Your late prisoner is behind me....