nd in
Lugo, in a wine-shop, I knifed a man. But I died as a man should.
God save the King!'

"So the trumpeter went down the line; and when he had finished, the
drummer took it up, hailing the dead Marines in their order.
Each man answered to his name, and each man ended with 'God save the
King!' When all were hailed, the drummer stepped back to his mound,
and called:

"'It is well. You are content, and we are content to join you.
Wait yet a little while.'

"With this he turned and ordered my father to pick up the lantern,
and lead the way back. As my father picked it up, he heard the ranks
of dead men cheer and call, 'God save the King!' all together, and
saw them waver and fade back into the dark, like a breath fading off
a pane.

"But when they came back here to the kitchen, and my father set the
lantern down, it seemed they'd both forgot about him. For the
drummer turned in the lantern-light--and my father could see the
blood still welling out of the hole in his breast--and took the
trumpet-sling from around the other's neck, and locked drum and
trumpet together again, choosing the letters on the lock very
carefully. While he did this he said:

"'The word is no more Corunna, but Bayonne. As you left out an 'n'
in Corunna, so must I leave out an 'n' in Bayonne.' And before
snapping the padlock, he spelt out the word slowly--'B-A-Y-O-N-E.'
After that, he used no more speech; but turned and hung the two
instruments back on the hook; and then took the trumpeter by the arm;
and the pair walked out into the darkness, glancing neither to right
nor left.

"My father was on the point of following, when he heard a sort of
sigh behind him; and there, sitting in the elbow-chair, was the
very trumpeter he had just seen walk out by the door! If my father's
heart jumped before, you may believe it jumped quicker now.
But after a bit, he went up to the man asleep in the chair, and put a
hand upon him. It was the trumpeter in flesh and blood that he
touched; but though the flesh was warm, the trumpeter was dead.

"Well, sir, they buried him three days after; and at first my father
was minded to say nothing about his dream (as he thought it).
But the day after the funeral, he met Parson Kendall coming from
Helston market: and the parson called out: 'Have 'ee heard the news
the coach brought down this mornin'?' 'What news?' says my father.
'Why, that peace is agreed upon.' 'None too soon,' says my father.
'Not s