then happened one of the most cruelly
refined, though unintentional, acts of torture that one can very well
imagine. As the officer slowly raised his sword, preparatory to giving
the signal, one of the mounted officers rode up to him and pointed out
silently that, as I had already observed with some satisfaction, the
firing squad were so placed that when they fired they would shoot several
of the soldiers stationed on the extreme end of the square.

Their captain motioned his men to lower their pieces, and then walked
across the grass and laid his hand on the shoulder of the waiting
prisoner.

It is not pleasant to think what that shock must have been. The man had
steeled himself to receive a volley of bullets. He believed that in the
next instant he would be in another world; he had heard the command
given, had heard the click of the Mausers as the locks caught--and then,
at that supreme moment, a human hand had been laid upon his shoulder and
a voice spoke in his ear.

You would expect that any man, snatched back to life in such a fashion
would start and tremble at the reprieve, or would break down altogether,
but this boy turned his head steadily, and followed with his eyes the
direction of the officer's sword, then nodded gravely, and, with his
shoulders squared, took up the new position, straightened his back, and
once more held himself erect.

As an exhibition of self-control this should surely rank above feats of
heroism performed in battle, where there are thousands of comrades to
give inspiration. This man was alone, in sight of the hills he knew,
with only enemies about him, with no source to draw on for strength but
that which lay within himself.

[Picture: The death of Rodriguez]

The officer of the firing squad, mortified by his blunder, hastily
whipped up his sword, the men once more levelled their rifles, the sword
rose, dropped, and the men fired. At the report the Cuban's head snapped
back almost between his shoulders, but his body fell slowly, as though
some one had pushed him gently forward from behind and he had stumbled.

He sank on his side in the wet grass without a struggle or sound, and did
not move again.

It was difficult to believe that he meant to lie there, that it could be
ended so without a word, that the man in the linen suit would not rise to
his feet and continue to walk on over the hills, as he apparently had
started to do, to his home; that there wa