“Did you, indeed?”
“Nothing very singular about that, is there?”
“Rather a remarkable coincidence, I should say,” replied the captain with easy indifference, as he twirled his sword on the ground.
“I don’t see it.”
“You read the poem at school, and I was in that charge.”
“You?”
“Yes, my boy. I was a captain in that brigade. But what called the circumstance to my mind was the music which struck up just now. I had a bugler in my company who played ‘Hail, Columbia’ during the whole of the fight.”
“‘Hail, Columbia?’” demanded Somers.
“Certainly; the fellow had a fancy for that tune; and though it wasn’t exactly a national thing to the British army, he always played it when he got a chance. Well, sir, I think that bugler did more than any other man in the charge of the light brigade. He never lost a note, and it fired the men up to the pitch of frenzy.”
“He was a brave fellow,” replied Somers languidly; for he was too thoroughly worn out to appreciate the stories of his veteran companion.