SOME OLD FRIENDS MEET.
For some time after their arrival on the Rock, the officers of the
Duke’s Own called it a detestable hole. They were sore at their
expatriation and the manner of it; they regretted the joys they
had left behind, and could see no good thing in the much vaunted
station where they were now relegated for their sins. There was
nothing to be done in the place; the climate was intolerable, and
there was nothing to eat. They had arrived towards the end of the
summer, and the season, never cool, had been unusually sultry.
They came in too for the tail end of a long visitation of the
‘Levanter,’ the much dreaded east wind, which caps the Rock with
a perpetual cloud and makes life miserable to all; and the welcome
change, when it came at length, was heralded by a tremendous
thunderstorm and drenching rains. The Duke’s Own were still under
canvas at the North Front, waiting till the outgoing regiment
vacated its quarters at Windmill Hill, and their encampment was
nearly swept away by the storm. Officers lost baggage, the men
their kits, and the whole regiment united in deep denunciations of
the inhospitable Rock.
Nor did Gibraltar seem to improve upon a closer acquaintance. Its
joys and amusements, what were they after London and the shires?
Racing! the idea was too preposterous. Half-a-dozen tinpot nags
without pace or breeding, cantering round a Graveyard and finishing
in a trot. What sort of sport was that to offer the Duke’s Own,
which had always had its own regimental drag to witness the great
events at home, and which kept open house in its luncheon tent at
Ascot and Goodwood and upon Epsom Downs? The hunting too! heaven
save the mark! To talk of hunting with the sweepings of a few
second-rate kennels, dignified with the name of a pack, when the
huntsman was a local genius, and foxes were said to be so scarce
or so little enterprising that it was often necessary to have
recourse to a red herring! What was such hunting to men who had
been constantly out (so they said) with the Heythorp, the Bramham
Moor, the Pytchley and Quorn?
These were the earliest impressions of Gibraltar prevailing among
the officers of the Duke’s Own. But our friends eventually changed
their tone. By their first contemptuous abstention, they found, in
the first place, that they lost all the fun that was going, and,
next, that, although the sport was second-rate, they could not
excel in it even when they tried. One or two of the Duke’s Own, who
were said to be in all the secrets of the Dawson and John Scott
stables, went in for some of the plates and cups at the autumn
meeting, and signally failed in everything. Later on, when the
hunting season really began, and they turned out in a body in red
coats and the most undeniable tops, to cut everybody down, they
were chagrined to find that it was much more difficult to follow
than they supposed. Red coats and mahogany tops were nowhere at
the end of the first burst. One or two men were completely thrown
out; a few tried the breakneck country between ‘the Rivers’
only to crane at length and turn back from the precipices and
steep inclines. After that first day the Duke’s Own spoke more
respectfully of the Calpe Hunt. By and bye they became less
critical in other respects, and at length, when they had been some
six months on the Rock, entered as fully into its amusements, and
enjoyed them as thoroughly as the oldest stagers in the place.
There was one person, however, connected with the Duke’s Own who
highly appreciated Gibraltar from the first. Mrs. Cavendish-Diggle
found the station extremely to her taste. A bride still in the
hey-day of her married life, full of satisfaction at the importance
of her position as the commanding officer’s wife, with the
attention she thereby received from all the Duke’s Own, Letitia
found soldiering, particularly at Gibraltar, everything that could
be desired. But what she enjoyed most of all was the chance she
now had of bullying the brother who hitherto had had it all his
own way at home. Ernest might be the most worthy at Farrington
Hall, but in the Duke’s Own he was under Colonel Diggle’s command,
and Colonel Diggle was now unquestionably under that of his wife.
How the exquisite and self-sufficient Diggle had succumbed was a
mystery which will probably remain unexplained till the curtain
lectures of the Diggle couple are given to the world. Then it will
no doubt transpire that in the exercise of those inquisitorial
functions which every wife naturally arrogates to herself, Letitia
had come across certain damaging facts connected with the Colonel’s
antecedents which put him completely under his partner’s thumb.
That Mrs. Diggle would come ere long to command the regiment was
already plainly apparent to all, and the fact was not hailed with
particular joy in the corps. Petticoat government in a regiment
is not the most successful with, nor is it the most palatable to,
those most closely concerned. Letitia’s temper was a little too
imperious to be pleasant. She made nipping remarks, and snubbed and
put people down in a way they hated but were powerless to resent.
‘Oh! how can you say so, Major Greathed! You are wrong, _quite_
wrong. She married Lord Chigford’s second son. But then you can’t
be expected to know;’ or ‘It’s not what I have been accustomed
to, Mrs. Moxon. In my father’s house the housekeeper looked to
these things. But then of course you--’ which might be taken to
imply that Mrs. Moxon had been brought up very differently, and
could not be expected to know what was what. Or she lectured
the youngsters when they came within her reach, which was only
when they wanted leave, knowing that without her good word they
could not expect an hour. ‘I hear you are getting sadly in debt,
Mr. Mauleverer. I shall write to Sir George.’ ‘So you were not
at church parade last Sunday, Mr. Smythe. The Colonel was quite
cross.’ ‘Don’t get entangled by any of these bright-eyed scorpions,
Mr. Curzon. You see I know all about it. Carmen Molinaro would
never do for you.’ All of which irritated and exasperated the
officers of the Duke’s Own very considerably.
The man who most cordially hated her, however, was the adjutant,
Mr. Wheeler. He was chafed perpetually by her interference. Nothing
was sacred to her. She rushed into professional matters with all
the effrontery of the fool. So long as she contented herself with
favouring her pets among the soldiers’ wives Wheeler did not care.
It was when she presumed to advise as to the orderly room work,
the correspondence, promotions, and daily routine, that he not
unnaturally turned rusty. Whether or not she read the colonel’s
letters he scarcely cared, but he did resent having to prepare
important despatches from her notes, or send out letters which
she had obviously drafted with her own hand. Nor could he, after
so many years of nearly absolute authority, readily or cheerfully
resign his power in the regiment. Hitherto advancement for the
non-commissioned officers had depended mainly upon his good word.
Now it was becoming evident that their promotion would depend
in future upon that of the colonel’s wife. In one particular
case which nearly affected a friend of ours they had fought
a sharp battle; the adjutant was obstinate, but the lady was
more so, and in the end the latter won the day. It was entirely
through Letitia’s good offices that Herbert Larkins became a
colour-sergeant long before the ordinary time. She had taken a
fancy to the young man--not, you may be sure, because of his
presumed connection with the family, for of that she had not the
slightest inkling--but because it had lain within his power to
do her important service, and because he was a smart, well-grown
fellow to boot. Letitia, like many other ill-favoured women, had a
keen eye for manly beauty.
But she had really reason to be grateful to Herbert. One day,
when he was on guard upon the Upper Road, Mrs. Cavendish-Diggle,
followed by her groom, passed on their way towards the town.
Something startled Letitia’s horse, and, although an excellent
rider, she found he was more than she could manage. After passaging
like a crab along the road for some hundred yards, he took to
plunging and rearing in a way to dislodge the most accomplished
horse-woman from her seat. The groom had ridden up alongside, but
he was able to render little assistance, and his best efforts only
made Letitia’s horse worse. Had not Herbert promptly supervened,
Mrs. Diggle would undoubtedly have been thrown, and probably badly
hurt. But with firm hand on the rein he soon mastered the horse,
then gradually pacified him.
‘I’m sure, sergeant, I’m extremely obliged to you,’ said Mrs.
Cavendish, directly she recovered her breath. ‘What is your name?
I must speak of you specially to the Colonel--Colonel Diggle--you
know me, I presume? and I see you belong to “us.”’
‘Herbert Larkins, Madam, F company,’ said our hero briefly, as he
saluted.
‘Thank you again, so much.’ And with that the Colonel’s wife rode
off.
She did speak of him and his conduct in the most glowing terms.
‘You must do something for him, Conrad.’
‘Certainly, I’ll make him a present; or, better still, you shall--a
watch, or a pencil-case, or something.’
‘No, no; something in the regiment, I mean. Promote him.’
‘He’s very young. Barely a year a sergeant. I don’t see my way, I
don’t indeed.’
‘There are those vacant colours in G company,’ she said, displaying
a curiously intimate acquaintance with regimental news.
‘Colour-sergeant! Impossible!’
‘Surely not, when I ask it.’
‘It would be grossly unfair. Promotions must not go by favour.’
‘Kissing does,’ she replied, as though he might expect no such
reward unless he were more obliging. It was just possible that
by this time Diggle could have deprived himself of the pleasure
without any acute pang.
‘What would Mr. Wheeler say?’
‘That’s where it is. You think far more of displeasing Mr. Wheeler
than of pleasing me. I feel hurt, Conrad; it’s not what I have a
right to expect, considering--’
When she got on this tack the Colonel threw up the sponge. He gave
in about the promotion, although the adjutant, thereby making
Letitia his enemy for life, tried hard to keep him up to the mark.
The whole thing would have been a job of the worst kind had Herbert
been less worthy. But he had really developed into an excellent
soldier, smart, personable, and thoroughly well up in his work. He
had his drill-book at his fingers’ ends, and could handle a squad
as well as any man in the corps. He had learnt by heart all the
details of interior economy, and was fully competent to take the
charge and payment of a company, or to do credit to his regiment in
any position in which he might be placed. All this Mr. Wheeler was
forced to admit; and although he cherished a grudge against Herbert
on account of what had passed, he so loved a good soldier that he
could not bear malice long.
Colour-Sergeant Larkins was indeed fast becoming a very prominent
person in the corps. Some backbiting and no little jealousy
existed, no doubt, but he was the sort of man to soon outgrow and
outlive such feelings. There was much in his manner and address to
make him generally popular. His bright face, his cheerful voice,
his manly straightforward ways, commended him of themselves. But
he had other claims to the suffrages of his fellows. His old
skill in games had not deserted him, and soldiers are very like
schoolboys in their admiration and respect for personal prowess.
The Duke’s Own eleven, thanks to Herbert’s batting and bowling,
won every match always at the North Front. His brother sergeants
felt lucky if they could secure him for a hand of fives. In all
other gymnastic exercises he came equally well to the front. At the
garrison athletic sports, which presently came off, as they always
do, upon the racecourse at the North Front, he carried everything
before him, to the intense gratification of his comrades in the
corps.
The name of Sergeant Larkins was indeed on every lip that day. All
the world of Gibraltar was present. His Excellency the Governor
came in state, so did the general, second in command, and officers
of all grades with their wives; crowds of soldiers of all the
regiments in garrison were there, and all cheered Herbert to the
echo as he carried off the hurdle-race in magnificent style. As
for the Duke’s Own, a lot of them, frantic with delight, got him on
their shoulders, and were carrying him about in triumph, when some
one came up, and with a hurried nervous manner, said,
‘Sergeant Larkins; where’s Sergeant Larkins?’
‘Who wants him?’ said a dozen voices, thinking perhaps the governor
had asked him to dinner, or the Queen had sent to make him a
general on the spot.
‘An old friend. The oldest he’s got, I think he’ll say, when he
sees me and hears my name.’
His enthusiastic supporters dropped Herbert, who came forward to
speak to the inquirer.
‘It’s himself, himself, by all that’s holy! Hercules Albert, don’t
you remember me?’ cried the man, as he seized both Herbert’s
hands, shaking them furiously, and seeming to wish to hug him in
his arms.
It was the old Sergeant Larkins, his stepfather, for whom he had so
long searched in vain.
‘I heard them calling out the name, and it sounded so queer that I
thought I’d have a look at you. How you’ve grown! But tell me all
about yourself. Quick, lad. I want to hear, and the mother she--’
‘She’s all right and well, I hope,’ Herbert asked, as soon as he
could put in a word. ‘Let’s go to her at once. How comes it I’ve
never seen you before?’
‘Only landed from Malta on transfer last week, myself, the missus,
and three of the bairns, that’s how it was. But come along, come to
the mother at once; she’ll be crazy with delight when she sees you,
and so will all the rest.’