"'Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered.'"

The pencil moved excitedly. Volumes of smoke curled and rolled and
writhed on the left-hand side of the sheet. The guns of Balaclava.

"'Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
Rode the six hundred.'"

A rush of hoofs and heads and lifted blades on the right hand. The horses
and swords of the Light Brigade.

"'Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die'"--

"You ought to be a soldier, Roddy, like Mark, not a farmer."

"Oh wise! Oh right!

"'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.'"