Mr S----walked firmly up to the vacant bench,
knelt down, and covering his face with his hands, rested his head on the
edge of it. For a brief space he seemed to be engaged in prayer, during
which he sobbed audibly, but soon recovering himself, he rose, and folding
his arms across his breast, sat down slowly and deliberately on the
banquillo, facing the firing party with an unshrinking eye.
He was now told that he must turn his back and submit to be tied like the
others. He resisted this, but on force being attempted to be used, he
sprung to his feet, and stretching out his hand, while a dark red flush
passed transiently across his pale face, he exclaimed in a loud voice,
"Thus, thus, and not otherwise, you may butcher me, but I am an Englishman
and no traitor, nor will I die the death of one." Moved by his gallantry,
the soldiers withdrew, and left him standing. At this time the sun was
intensely hot, it was high noon, and the monk who attended Mr S----held
an umbrella over his head; but the preparations being completed, he kissed
him on both cheeks, while the hot tears trickled down his own, and was
stepping back, when the unhappy man said to him, with the most perfect
composure, "Todavia padre, todavia, mucho me gusta la sombra." But the
time had arrived, the kind--hearted monk was obliged to retire. The
signal was given, the musketry rattled, and they were as clods of the
valley "Truly," quoth old Splinter, "a man does sometimes become a horse
by being born in a stable.
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