THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF

By A. T. Quiller-Couch ("Q. ")

"Yes, sir, " said my host, the quarryman, reaching down the relics fromtheir hook in the wall over the chimneypiece; "they've hung here all mytime, and most of my father's. The women won't touch 'em; they're afraidof the story. So here they'll dangle, and gather dust and smoke, tillanother tenant comes and tosses 'em out o' doors for rubbish. Whew! 'tiscoarse weather, surely. "

He went to the door, opened it, and stood studying the gale that beatupon his cottage-front, straight from the Manacle Reef. The rain drovepast him into the kitchen, aslant like threads of gold silk in the shineof the wreck-wood fire. Meanwhile, by the same firelight, I examined therelics on my knee. The metal of each was tarnished out of knowledge. Butthe trumpet was evidently an old cavalry trumpet, and the threads ofits party-colored sling, though fretted and dusty, still hung together. Around the side-drum, beneath its cracked brown varnish. I couldhardly trace a royal coat-of-arms and a legend running, "Per Mare PerTerrain"--the motto of the marines. Its parchment, though black andscented with wood-smoke, was limp and mildewed; and I began to tightenup the straps--under which the drumsticks had been loosely thrust--withthe idle purpose of trying if some music might be got out of the olddrum yet. 

But as I turned it on my knee, I found the drum attached to thetrumpet-sling by a curious barrel-shaped padlock, and paused to examinethis. The body of the lock was composed of half a dozen brass rings, set accurately edge to edge; and, rubbing the brass with my thumb, I sawthat each of the six had a series of letters engraved around it. 

I knew the trick of it, I thought. Here was one of those word padlocks, once so common; only to be opened by getting the rings to spell acertain word, which the dealer confides to you. 

My host shut and barred the door, and came back to the hearth. 

"'Twas just such a wind--east by south--that brought in what you've gotbetween your hands. Back in the year 'nine, it was; my father has toldme the tale a score o' times. You're twisting round the rings, I see. But you'll never guess the word. Parson Kendall, he made the word, andhe locked down a couple o' ghosts in their graves with it; and when histime came he went to his own grave and took the word with him. "

"Whose ghosts, Matthew?"

"You want the story, I see, sir. My father could tell it better than Ican. He was a young man in the year 'nine, unmarried at the time, andliving in this very cottage, just as I be. That's how he came to getmixed up with the tale. "

He took a chair, lighted a short pipe, and went on, with his eyes fixedon the dancing violet flames:

"Yes, he'd ha' been about thirty year old in January, eighteen 'nine. The storm got up in the night o' the twenty-first o' that month. Myfather was dressed and out long before daylight; he never was one tobide in bed, let be that the gale by this time was pretty near liftingthe thatch over his head. Besides which, he'd fenced a small 'taty-patchthat winter, down by Lowland Point, and he wanted to see if it stood thenight's work. He took the path across Gunner's Meadow--where they buriedmost of the bodies afterward. The wind was right in his teeth at thetime, and once on the way (he's told me this often) a great strip ofoarweed came flying through the darkness and fetched him a slap on thecheek like a cold hand. But he made shift pretty well till he got toLowland, and then had to drop upon hands and knees and crawl, digginghis fingers every now and then into the shingle to hold on, for hedeclared to me that the stones, some of them as big as a man's head, kept rolling and driving past till it seemed the whole foreshore wasmoving westward under him. The fence was gone, of course; not a stickleft to show where it stood; so that, when first he came to the place, he thought he must have missed his bearings. My father, sir, was avery religious man; and if he reckoned the end of the world was athand--there in the great wind and night, among the moving stones--youmay believe he was certain of it when he heard a gun fired, and, withthe same, saw a flame shoot up out of the darkness to windward, makinga sudden fierce light in all the place about. All he could find tothink or say was, 'The Second Coming! The Second Coming! The Bridegroomcometh, and the wicked He will toss like a ball into a large country';and being already upon his knees, he just bowed his head and 'bided, saying this over and over. 

"But by'm by, between two squalls, he made bold to lift his head andlook, and then by the light--a bluish color 'twas--he saw all the coastclear away to Manacle Point, and off the Manacles in the thick of theweather, a sloop-of-war with topgallants housed, driving stern foremosttoward the reef. It was she, of course, that was burning the flare. Myfather could see the white streak and the ports of her quite plainas she rose to it, a little outside the breakers, and he guessed easyenough that her captain had just managed to wear ship and was trying toforce her nose to the sea with the help of her small bower anchor andthe scrap or two of canvas that hadn't yet been blown out of her. Butwhile he looked, she fell off, giving her broadside to it foot by foot, and drifting back on the breakers around Cam Du and the Varses. Therocks lie so thick thereabout that 'twas a toss up which she struckfirst; at any rate, my father could'nt tell at the time, for just thenthe flare died down and went out. 

"Well, sir, he turned then in the dark and started back for Coverack tocry the dismal tidings--though well knowing ship and crew to be past anyhope, and as he turned the wind lifted him and tossed him forward 'likea ball, ' as he'd been saying, and homeward along the foreshore. Asyou know, 'tis ugly work, even by daylight, picking your way among thestones there, and my father was prettily knocked about at first inthe dark. But by this 'twas nearer seven than six o'clock, and the dayspreading. By the time he reached North Corner, a man could see to readprint; hows'ever, he looked neither out to sea nor toward Coverack, butheaded straight for the first cottage--the same that stands above NorthCorner to-day. A man named Billy Ede lived there then, and when myfather burst into the kitchen bawling, 'Wreck! wreck!' he saw BillyEde's wife, Ann, standing there in her clogs with a shawl over her head, and her clothes wringing wet. 

"'Save the chap!' says Billy Ede's wife, Ann. 

"'What d'ee mean by crying stale fish at that rate?'

"'But 'tis a wreck, I tell 'ee. '

"'Ive a-zeed 'n, too; and so has every one with an eye in his head. '

"And with that she pointed straight over my father's shoulder, and heturned; and there, close under Dolor Point, at the end of Coverack town, he saw another wreck washing, and the point black with people, likeemmets, running to and fro in the morning light. While he stood staringat her, he heard a trumpet sounded on board, the notes coming in littlejerks, like a bird rising against the wind; but faintly, of course, because of the distance and the gale blowing--though this had dropped alittle. 

"'She's a transport, ' said Billy Ede's wife, Ann, 'and full ofhorse-soldiers, fine long men. When she struck they must ha' pitched thehorses over first to lighten the ship, for a score of dead horses hadwashed in afore I left, half an hour back. An' three or four soldiers, too--fine long corpses in white breeches and jackets of blue and gold. Iheld the lantern to one. Such a straight young man!'

"My father asked her about the trumpeting. 

"'That's the queerest bit of all. She was burnin' a light when me an'my man joined the crowd down there. All her masts had gone; whether theycarried away, or were cut away to ease her, I don't rightly know. Herkeelson was broke under her and her bottom sagged and stove, and shehad just settled down like a sitting hen--just the leastest list tostarboard; but a man could stand there easy. They had rigged up ropesacross her, from bulwark to bulwark, an' besides these the men weremustered, holding on like grim death whenever the sea made a cleanbreach over them, an' standing up like heroes as soon as it passed. Thecaptain an' the officers were clinging to the rail of the quarterdeck, all in their golden uniforms, waiting for the end as if 'twas KingGeorge they expected. There was no way to help, for she lay right beyondcast of line, though our folk tried it fifty times. And beside themclung a trumpeter, a whacking big man, an' between the heavy seas hewould lift his trumpet with one hand, and blow a call; and every time heblew the men gave a cheer. There [she says]--hark 'ee now--there hegoes agen! But you won't hear no cheering any more, for few are left tocheer, and their voices weak. Bitter cold the wind is, and I reckonit numbs their grip o' the ropes, for they were dropping off fast withevery sea when my man sent me home to get his breakfast. Anotherwreck, you say? Well, there's no hope for the tender dears, if 'tis theManacles. You'd better run down and help yonder; though 'tis little helpany man can give. Not one came in alive while I was there. The tide'sflowing, an' she won't hold together another hour, they say. '

"Well, sure enough, the end was coming fast when my father got down tothe point. Six men had been cast up alive, or just breathing--a seamanand five troopers. The seaman was the only one that had breath to speak;and while they were carrying him into the town, the word went roundthat the ship's name was the 'Despatch, ' transport, homeward-boundfrom Corunna, with a detachment of the Seventh Hussars, that had beenfighting out there with Sir John Moore. The seas had rolled her furtherover by this time, and given her decks a pretty sharp slope; but a dozenmen still held on, seven by the ropes near the ship's waist, a couplenear the break of the poop, and three on the quarterdeck. Of these threemy father made out one to be the skipper; close by him clung anofficer in full regimentals--his name, they heard after, was CaptainDun-canfield; and last came the tall trumpeter; and if you'll believeme, the fellow was making shift there, at the very last, to blow 'GodSave the King. ' What's more, he got to 'Send us victorious, ' before anextra big sea came bursting across and washed them off the deck--everyman but one of the pair beneath the poop--and he dropped his hold beforethe next wave; being stunned, I reckon. The others went out of sight atonce, but the trumpeter--being, as I said, a powerful man as well as atough swimmer--rose like a duck, rode out a couple of breakers, and camein on the crest of the third. The folks looked to see him broke likean egg at their very feet; but when the smother cleared, there he was, lying face downward on a ledge below them; and one of the men thathappened to have a rope round him--I forgot the fellow's name, if I everheard it--jumped down and grabbed him by the ankle as he began to slipback. Before the next big sea, the pair were hauled high enough to beout of harm, and another heave brought them up to grass. Quick work, butmaster trumpeter wasn't quite dead; nothing worse than a cracked headand three staved ribs. In twenty minutes or so they had him in bed, withthe doctor to tend him. 

"Now was the time--nothing being left alive upon the transport--for myfather to tell of the sloop he'd seen driving upon the Manacles. Andwhen he got a hearing, though the most were set upon salvage, andbelieved a wreck in the hand, so to say, to be worth half a dozen theycouldn't see, a good few volunteered to start off with him and have alook. They crossed Lowland Point; no ship to be seen on the Manaclesnor anywhere upon the sea. One or two was for calling my father a liar. 'Wait till we come to Dean Point, ' said he. Sure enough, on the far sideof Dean Pont they found the sloop's mainmast washing about with half adozen men lashed to it, men in red jackets, every mother's son drownedand staring; and a little further on, just under the Dean, three or fourbodies cast up on the shore, one of them a small drummer-boy, side-drumand all; and near by part of a ship's gig, with 'H. M. S. Primrose' cuton the stern-board. From this point on the shore was littered thick withwreckage and dead bodies--the most of them marines in uniform--and inGodrevy Cove, in particular, a heap of furniture from the captain'scabin, and among it a water-tight box, not much damaged, and full ofpapers, by which, when it came to be examined, next day, the wreck waseasily made out to be the 'Primrose, ' of eighteen guns, outward boundfrom Portsmouth, with a fleet of transports for the Spanish war--thirtysail, I've heard, but I've never heard what became of them. Beinghandled by merchant skippers, no doubt they rode out the gale, andreached the Tagus safe and sound. Not but what the captain of the'Primrose'--Mein was his name--did quite right to try and club-haul hisvessel when he found himself under the land; only he never ought to havegot there, if he took proper soundings. But it's easy talking. 

"The 'Primrose, ' sir, was a handsome vessel--for her size one of thehandsomest in the King's service'--and newly fitted out at PlymouthDock. So the boys had brave pickings from her in the way of brass-work, ship's instruments, and the like, let alone some barrels of stores notmuch spoiled. They loaded themselves with as much as they could carry, and started for home, meaning to make a second journey before thepreventive men got wind of their doings, and came to spoil the fun. 'Hullo!' says my father, and dropped his gear, 'I do believe there'sa leg moving?' and running fore, he stooped over the small drummer-boythat I told you about. The poor little chap was lying there, with hisface a mass of bruises, and his eyes closed; but he had shifted oneleg an inch or two, and was still breathing. So my father pulled out aknife, and cut him free from his drum--that was lashed on to him with adouble turn of Manila rope--and took him up and carried him along hereto this very room that we're sitting in. He lost a good deal by this;for when he went back to fetch the bundle he'd dropped, the preventivemen had got hold of it, and were thick as thieves along the foreshore;so that 'twas only by paying one or two to look the other way that hepicked up anything worth carrying off: which you'll allow to be hard, seeing that he was the first man to give news of the Wreck. 

"Well, the inquiry was held, of course, and my father gave evidence, andfor the rest they had to trust to the sloop's papers, for not a soul wassaved besides the drummer-boy, and he was raving in a fever, brought onby the cold and the fright. And the seaman and the five troopers gaveevidence about the loss of the 'Despatch, ' The tall trumpeter, too, whose ribs were healing, came forward and kissed the book; but somehowhis head had been hurt in coming ashore, and he talked foolish-like, and'twas easy seen he would never be a proper man again. The others weretaken up to Plymouth, and so went their ways; but the trumpeter stayedon in Coverack; and King George, finding he was fit for nothing, senthim down a trifle of a pension after a while-enough to keep him in boardand lodging, with a bit of tobacco over. 

"Now the first time that this man--William Tallifer he calledhimself--met with the drummer-boy, was about a fortnight after thelittle chap had bettered enough to be allowed a short walk out of doors, which he took, if you please, in full regimentals. There never was asoldier so proud of his dress. His own suit had shrunk a brave bit withthe salt water; but into ordinary frock an' corduroys he declared hewould not get, not if he had to go naked the rest of his life; so myfather--being a good-natured man, and handy with the needle--turned toand repaired damages with a piece or two of scarlet cloth cut from thejacket of one of the drowned Marines. Well, the poor little chap chancedto be standing, in this rig out, down by the gate of Gunner's Meadow, where they had buried two score and over of his comrades. The morningwas a fine one, early in March month; and along came the crackedtrumpeter, likewise taking a stroll. 

"'Hullo!' says he; 'good mornin'! And what might you be doin' here?'

"'I was a-wishin', ' says the boy, 'I had a pair o' drumsticks. Our ladswere buried yonder without so much as a drum tapped or a musket fired;and that's not Christian burial for British soldiers. '

"'Phut!' says the trumpeter, and spat on the ground; 'a parcel ofMarines!'

"The boy eyed him a second or so, and answered up: 'If I'd a tav of turfhandy, I'd bung it at your mouth, you greasy cavalryman, and learn youto speak respectful of your betters. The Marines are the handiest bodyo' men in the service. '

"The trumpeter looked down on him from the height of six-foot two, andasked: 'Did they die well?'

"'They died very well. There was a lot of running to and fro at first, and some of the men began to cry, and a few to strip off their clothes. But when the ship fell off for the last time, Captain Mein turned andsaid something to Major Griffiths, the commanding officer on board, andthe Major called out to me to beat to quarters. It might have been for awedding, he sang it out so cheerful. We'd had word already that 'twas tobe parade order; and the men fell in as trim and decent as if they weregoing to church. One or two even tried to shave at the last moment. TheMajor wore his medals. One of the seamen, seeing I had work to keep thedrum steady--the sling being a bit loose for me, and the wind what youremember--lashed it tight with a piece of rope; and that saved my lifeafterward, a drum being as good as a cork until it's stove, I keptbeating away until every man was on decks and then the Major formed themup and told them to die like British soldiers, and the chaplain was inthe middle of a prayer when she struck. In ten minutes she was gone. That was how they died, cavalryman. '

"'And that was very well done, drummer of the Marines. What's yourname?'

"'John Christian. '

"'Mine's William George Tallifer, trumpeter, of the Seventh LightDragoons--the Queen's Own. I played "God Save the King" while our menwere drowning. Captain Duncanfield told me to sound a call or two, toput them in heart; but that matter of "God Save the King" was a notionof my own. I won't say anything to hurt the feelings of a Marine, evenif he's not much over five-foot tall; but the Queen's Own Hussars isa tearin' fine regiment. As between horse and foot, 'tis a question o'which gets a chance. All the way from Sahagun to Corunna 'twas we thattook and gave the knocks--at Mayorga and Rueda, and Bennyventy. '--Thereason, sir, I can speak the names so pat, is that my father learnt'em by heart afterward from the trumpeter, who was always talkingabout Mayorga and Rueda and Bennyventy. '--We made the rear-guard, underGeneral Paget; and drove the French every time; and all the infantry didwas to sit about in wine-shops till we whipped 'em out, an' steal an'straggle an' play the tomfool in general. And when it came to astand-up fight at Corunna, 'twas we that had to stay seasick aboard thetransports, an' watch the infantry in the thick o' the caper. Very wellthey behaved, too--specially the Fourth Regiment, an' the Forty-SecondHighlanders, an' the Dirty Half-Hundred. Oh, ay; they're decentregiments, all three. But the Queen's Own Hussars is a tearin' fineregiment. So you played on your drum when the ship was goin' down?Drummer John Christian, I'll have to get you a new pair of sticks. '

"The very next day the trumpeter marched into Helston, and got acarpenter there to turn him a pair of box-wood drumsticks for the boy. And this was the beginning of one of the most curious friendships youever heard tell of. Nothing delighted the pair more than to borrow aboat off my father and pull out to the rocks where the 'Primrose' andthe 'Despatch' had struck and sunk; and on still days 'twas prettyto hear them out there off the Manacles, the drummer playing histattoo--for they always took their music with them--and the trumpeterpractising calls, and making his trumpet speak like an angel. But ifthe weather turned roughish, they'd be walking together and talking;leastwise the youngster listened while the other discoursed about SirJohn's campaign in Spain and Portugal, telling how each little skirmishbefell; and of Sir John himself, and General Baird, and General Paget, and Colonel Vivian, his own commanding officer, and what kind of menthey were; and of the last bloody stand-up at Corunna, and so forth, asif neither could have enough. 

"But all this had to come to an end in the late summer, for the boy, John Christian, being now well and strong again, must go up to Plymouthto report himself. 'Twas his own wish (for I believe King George hadforgotten all about him), but his friend wouldn't hold him back. As forthe trumpeter, my father had made an arrangement to take him on aslodger, as soon as the boy left; and on the morning fixed for the start, he was up at the door here by five o'clock, with his trumpet slung byhis side, and all the rest of his belongings in a small valise. A Mondaymorning it was, and after breakfast he had fixed to walk with the boysome way on the road toward Helston, where the coach started. My fatherleft them at breakfast together, and went out to meat the pig, and do afew odd morning jobs of that sort. When he came back, the boy was stillat table, and the trumpeter sat with the rings in his hands, hitched, together just as they be at this moment. 

"'Look at this, ' he says to my father, showing him the lock. 'I pickedit up off a starving brass-worker in Lisbon, and it is not one of yourcommon locks that one word of six letters will open at any time. There's janius in this lock; for you've only to make the rings spell anysix-letter word you please and snap down the lock upon that, and nevera soul can open it--not the maker, even--until somebody comes along thatknows the word you snapped it on. Now Johnny here's goin', and he leaveshis drum behind him; for, though he can make pretty music on it, theparchment sags in wet weather, by reason of the sea-water getting at it;an' if he carries it to Plymouth, they'll only condemn it and givehim another. And, as for me, I shan't have the heart to put lip to thetrumpet any more when Johnny's gone. So we've chosen a word together, and locked 'em together upon that; and, by your leave, I'll hang 'emhere together on the hook over your fireplace. Maybe Johnny'll comeback; maybe not. Maybe, if he comes, I'll be dead an' gone, and he'lltake 'em apart an' try their music for old sake's sake. But if he nevercomes, nobody can separate 'em; for nobody besides knows the word. Andif you marry and have sons, you can tell 'em that here are tied togetherthe souls of Johnny Christian, drummer of the Marines, and WilliamGeorge Tallifer, once trumpeter of the Queen's Own Hussars. Amen. '

"With that he hung the two instruments 'pon the hook there; and the boystood up and thanked my father and shook hands; and the pair went out ofthe door, toward Helston. 

"Somewhere on the road they took leave of one another; but nobody sawthe parting, nor heard what was said between them. About three in theafternoon the trumpeter came walking back over the hill; and by the timemy father came home from the fishing, the cottage was tidied up, and thetea ready, and the whole place shining like a new pin. From that timefor five years he lodged here with my father, looking after the houseand tilling the garden. And all the while he was steadily failing; thehurt in his head spreading, in a manner, to his limbs. My father watchedthe feebleness growing on him, but said nothing. And from first to lastneither spake a word about the drummer, John Christian; nor did anyletter reach them, nor word of his doings. 

"The rest of the tale you're free to believe, sir, or not, as youplease. It stands upon my father's words, and he always declared he wasready to kiss the Book upon it, before judge and jury. He said, too, that he never had the wit to make up such a yarn; and he defied any oneto explain about the lock, in particular, by any other tale. But youshall judge for yourself. 

"My father said that about three o'clock in the morning, Aprilfourteenth, of the year 'fourteen, he and William Tallifer were sittinghere, just as you and I, sir, are sitting now. My father had put on hisclothes a few minutes before, and was mending his spiller by the lightof the horn lantern, meaning to set off before daylight to haul thetrammel. The trumpeter hadn't been to bed at all. Toward the last hemostly spent his nights (and his days, too) dozing in the elbow-chairwhere you sit at this minute. He was dozing then (my father said) withhis chin dropped forward on his chest, when a knock sounded upon thedoor, and the door opened, and in walked an upright young man in scarletregimentals. 

"He had grown a brave bit, and his face the color of wood-ashes; but itwas the drummer, John Christian. Only his uniform was different fromthe one he used to wear, and the figures '38' shone in brass upon hiscollar. 

"The drummer walked past my father as if he never saw him, and stood bythe elbow-chair and said:

"'Trumpeter, trumpeter, are you one with me?'

"And the trumpeter just lifted the lids of his eyes, and answered: 'Howshould I not be one with you, drummer Johnny--Johnny boy? If you come, Icount; if you march, I mark time; until the discharge comes. '

"'The discharge has come to-night, ' said the drummer; and the word isCorunna no longer. ' And stepping to the chimney-place, he unhookedthe drum and trumpet, and began to twist the brass rings of the lock, spelling the word aloud, so--'C-O-R-U-N-A. ' When he had fixed the lastletter, the padlock opened in his hand. 

"'Did you know, trumpeter, that, when I came to Plymouth, they put meinto a line regiment?'

"'The 38th is a good regiment, ' answered the old Hussar, still in hisdull voice; 'I went back with them from Sahagun to Corunna. At Corunnathey stood in General Fraser's division, on the right. They behavedwell. 

"'But I'd fain see the Marines again, ' says the drummer, handing himthe trumpet; 'and you, you shall call once more for the Queen's Own. Matthew, ' he says, suddenly, turning on my father--and when he turned, my father saw for the first time that his scarlet jacket had a roundhole by the breast-bone, and that the blood was welling there--'Matthew, we shall want your boat. '

"Then my father rose on his legs like a man in a dream, while they twoslung on, the one his drum, and t'other his trumpet. He took the lanternand went quaking before them down to the shore, and they breathedheavily behind him; and they stepped into his boat, and my father pushedoff. 

"'Row you first for Dolor Point, ' says the drummer. So my father rowedthem past the white houses of Coverack to Dolor Point, and there, ata word, lay on his oars. And the trumpeter, William Tallifer, put histrumpet to his mouth and sounded the reveille. The music of it was likerivers running. 

"'They will follow, ' said the drummer. Matthew, pull you now for theManacles. 

"So my father pulled for the Manacles, and came to an easy close outsideCarn Du. And the drummer took his sticks and beat a tattoo, there by theedge of the reef; and the music of it was like a rolling chariot. 

"'That will do, ' says he, breaking off; 'they will follow. Pull now forthe shore under Gunner's Meadow. '

"Then my father pulled for the shore and ran his boat in under Gunner'sMeadow. And they stepped out, all three, and walked up to the meadow. By the gate the drummer halted, and began his tattoo again, looking outtoward the darkness over the sea. 

"And while the drum beat, and my father held his breath, there came upout of the sea and the darkness a troop of many men, horse and foot, andformed up among the graves; and others rose out of the graves and formedup--drowned Marines with bleached faces, and pale Hussars, ridingtheir horses, all lean and shadowy. There was no clatter of hoofs oraccoutrements, my father said, but a soft sound all the while like thebeating of a bird's wing; and a black shadow lay like a pool about thefeet of all. The drummer stood upon a little knoll just inside thegate, and beside him the tall trumpeter, with hand on hip, watching themgather; and behind them both my father, clinging to the gate. When nomore came, the drummer stopped playing, and said, 'Call the roll. '

"Then the trumpeter stepped toward the end man of the rank and called, 'Troop Sergeant-Major Thomas Irons, ' and the man answered in a thinvoice, 'Here. '

"'Troop Sergeant-Major Thomas Irons, how is it with you?'

"The man answered, 'How should it be with me? When I was young, Ibetrayed a girl; and when I was grown, I betrayed a friend, and forthese I must pay. But I died as a man ought. God save the King!'

"The trumpeter called to the next man, 'Trooper Henry Buckingham, ' andthe next man answered, 'Here. '

"'Trooper Henry Buckingham, how is it With you?'

"'How should it be with me? I was a drunkard, and I stole, and in Lugo, in a Wine-shop, I killed a man. But I died as a man should. God save theKing!'

"So the trumpeter went down the line; and when he had finished, thedrummer took it up, hailing the dead Marines in their order. Each mananswered to his name, and each man ended with 'God save the King!' Whenall 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, now, a little while. '

"With this he turned and ordered my father to pick up the lantern, andlead the way back. As my father picked it up, he heard the ranks of thedead men cheer and call, 'God save the King!' all together, and saw themwaver 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 thelantern down, it seemed they'd both forgot about him. For the drummerturned in the lantern-light--and my father could see the blood stillwelling out of the hole in his breast--and took the trumpet-sling fromaround the other's neck, and locked drum and trumpet together again, choosing the letters on the lock very carefully. While he did this, hesaid. 

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

"My father was on the point of following, when he heard a sort ofsigh behind him; and there, sitting in the elbow-chair, was the verytrumpeter he had just seen walk out by the door! If my father's heartjumped 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. Itwas the trumpeter in flesh and blood that he touched; but though theflesh was warm, the trumpeter was dead. 

"Well, sir, they buried him three days after; and at first my father wasminded to say nothing about his dream (as he thought it). But the dayafter the funeral, he met Parson Kendall coming from Helston market; andthe parson called out: 'Have 'ee heard the news the coach brought downthis mornin'?' 'What news?' says my father. 'Why, that peace is agreedupon. ' 'None too soon, ' says my father. 'Not soon enough for our poorlads at Bayonne, ' the parson answered. 'Bayonne!' cries my father, witha jump. 'Why, yes;' and the parson told him all about a great sally theFrench had made on the night of April 13th. 'Do you happen to knowif the 38th Regiment was engaged?' my father asked. 'Come, now, ' saidParson Kendall, 'I didn't know you was so well up in the campaign. But, as it happens, I do know that the 38th was engaged, for 'twas they thatheld a cottage and stopped the French advance. '

"Still my father held his tongue; and when, a week later, he walkedin Helston and bought a 'Mercury' off the Sherborne rider, and got thelandlord of the 'Angel' to spell out the list of killed and wounded, sure enough, there among the killed was Drummer John Christian, of the38th Foot. 

"After this there was nothing for a religious man but to make a cleanbreast. So my father went up to Parson Kendall, and told the wholestory. The parson listened, and put a question or two, and then asked:

"'Have you tried to open the lock since that night?'

"'I haven't dared to touch it, ' says my father. 

"'Then come along and try. ' When the parson came to the cottage here, hetook the things off the hook and tried the lock. 'Did he say "Bayonne?'The word has seven letters. '

"'Not if you spell it with one "n" as he did, ' says my father. 

"The parson spelt it out--'B-A-Y-O-N-E' 'Whew!' says he, for the lockhad fallen open in his hand. 

"He stood considering it a moment, and then he says: 'I tell you what. Ishouldn't blab this all round the parish, if I was you. You won't get nocredit for truth-telling, and a miracle's wasted on a set of fools. Butif you like, I'll shut down the lock again upon a holy word that no onebut me shall know, and neither drummer nor trumpeter, dead or alive, shall frighten the secret out of me. '

"'I wish to heaven you would, parson, ' said my father. 

"The parson chose the holy word there and then, and shut the lock backupon it, and hung the drum and trumpet back in their place. He is gonelong since, taking the word with him. And till the lock is broken byforce nobody will ever separate those two. "