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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
This novel was published in two volumes. This is volume 2; the first
volume can be found at https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57195
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
A SON OF MARS.
_In June next, at every Library_,
LORD OF HIMSELF.
A NOVEL, IN THREE VOLUMES.
BY
LORD WILLIAM LENNOX,
AUTHOR OF ‘FIFTY YEARS’ ‘BIOGRAPHICAL REMINISCENCES,’
‘CELEBRITIES I HAVE KNOWN,’ ‘FASHION THEN AND NOW,’ ETC.
Crown 8vo, One Guinea.
REMINGTON & CO. 133 NEW BOND STREET, W.
_Of every Bookseller._
A SON OF MARS.
BY
MAJOR ARTHUR GRIFFITHS,
AUTHOR OF
‘THE QUEEN’S SHILLING,’ ‘LOLA,’ ‘A WAYWARD WOMAN,’ ETC.
VOL. II.
_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED._
LONDON:
REMINGTON AND CO.
133 NEW BOND STREET, W.
[_Removed from 5 Arundel Street, Strand, W.C._]
1880.
LONDON:
ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE ROUTE 1
II. THE VICTORIA CROSS 20
III. MAKING THE AMENDE 39
IV. VISITORS AT GREYSTOKE 58
V. A MOMENTOUS QUESTION 79
VI. BACK ON THE ROCK 98
VII. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 116
VIII. HERBERT ON HIS METTLE 134
IX. ON THE TRAIL 152
X. A LAWYER’S LETTER 166
XI. TAKING ACTION 184
XII. TURNING THE SCALE 201
A SON OF MARS.
CHAPTER I.
THE ROUTE.
Poor old Larkins and his wife were completely broken by Mimie’s
terrible mishap. They could not find it in their hearts to speak
harshly of their unhappy child; but they were loudly indignant
against the man who had tempted her to leave her home. Herbert,
too, came in for his share of their reproaches, when he confessed
that he had been for some time aware of the intimacy between Mimie
and Ernest Farrington, and had long dreaded some such catastrophe.
‘Oh, Herbert!’ Mrs. Larkins had said to him more than once, ‘to
think you should have seen her in such danger, and never to let on
a word. I thought better of you--after all--’
‘I know I am greatly to blame, mother. You cannot say anything
harder of me than I do of myself. But she promised me never--never
to meet him again, and I trusted her. Wasn’t it natural?’
‘Trust her? I’d have trusted her with untold gold. I thought she
was as good as gold herself, and better. That’s what stings me.
To think that she should have held herself so cheap as to be led
astray by such a fellow as that, and a Farrington, too.’
‘Farrington or no Farrington, he shall answer for this to me,
mother, and that I swear.’
‘Hush, Herbert lad, remember who he is, and who you are.’
‘I warned him that if she came to any harm, I’d be even with him,
and I will, so help me Heaven,’
‘Don’t, Herbert, don’t talk like that. You might be
court-martialled, and for ever disgraced, even for those words.
Do you think he will not be punished some day as he deserves, and
that, whether you raise a little finger against him or no? We must
leave him in other hands.’
Mrs. Larkins’ resignation hardly chimed in with Herbert’s impetuous
mood.
‘I’d be after him now; aye, although I’m a soldier, and tied by the
leg. I’d show a clean pair of heels, only--’
It was clear that desertion was in his mind.
‘Promise me, Herbert, swear to me, Herbert, that you will do
nothing rash. Don’t desert your colours. Don’t forget your sacred
duty, even for us.’
‘I had made up my mind to follow them last night. I could have got
a passage home, and plain clothes and everything, but the steamer
did not start, and to-day it’s too late.’
‘Too late? Thank God for that; but why?’
‘Haven’t you heard the news, mother?’ Then he bethought himself
that in her grievous trial there was but little likelihood of the
gossip of the garrison reaching her ears.
‘The route’s in,’ Herbert went on, using the catch phrase of the
soldier. ‘The regiment’s under orders for active service, and we
start directly the steamer arrives.’
‘Start? For where?’
‘Ashanti. It was in orders last night, and the generals coming to
inspect us this afternoon, with the P.M.O., to see who’s fit for
service and who’s not. The whole barrack’s upside down. Officers
and men mad with delight. So should I be for this chance, which may
not come twice.’
‘Mayhap when you meet him next it will be on more equal terms.’
‘Aye, but when will that be? I may have to wait months before I get
my knuckles at his throat.’
‘Surely these orders will bring him out to head-quarters at once?’
‘They ought to; but he’s mean enough to try and shirk the whole
business, I’ve heard officers of the regiment say as much--and in
any case he can’t arrive before we start for the Coast.’
The staunch old couple came down themselves to the new Mole to bid
their boy Godspeed.
‘There’ll be more Larkins’ out there than you, Herkles, boy,’ said
the old Sergeant, with a fierce light in his eye. He had made no
great demonstrations; but Mimie’s conduct had, perhaps, wounded
him more deeply than his wife. Now, for a moment, he brightened up
like an old war-horse, but it was with more than the scent of the
coming fray. ‘Rechab’s ship ordered to the coast, and maybe they’ll
send him ashore with the Naval Brigade. He’s carpenter’s mate and
a right handy lad. So you’ll foregather, and between you you might
have a chance of bringing yon scoundrel to book.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Herbert, with his teeth set.
‘If he’d only make an honest woman of my sweet bird. If he’d only
marry and behave decently to her.’
‘Decently!’ cried Mrs. Larkins, interposing in a strong indignant
voice. ‘Was there ever a Farrington who behaved decently to one of
us?’
‘I’d like to force him and all his relations too. But time’s up.
God bless you, mother, and you, sergeant, and bring all things
right in the end.’
With that, amidst thundering cheers and the invigorating strains
of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and ‘The Girl I left behind me,’ the good ship
slowly got under weigh.
It is no part of my intention to dilate upon the events of the
Ashanti war. It will be in all men’s minds how early mischances
brought the enemy close to our gates and rendered imperative the
despatch of some capable leader to grapple with the emergency;
how Sir Garnet Wolseley, the hero of the hour, accompanied by a
brilliant staff, was desired to drive back the foe with such
forces as he found to his hand; how Fantee allies proved the most
despicable cowards, and the small force of British seamen and
marines were clearly unequal single-handed to the task of marching
upon Coomassie, the objective point; how the demand for British
regiments was at length complied with by the home Government, and
how, when these had arrived and all was ready for the forward
movement, a sudden collapse in transport arrangements threatened
to paralyse the whole of the operations. Hence it was that the
British regiments were not immediately disembarked, but cruised
the seas till a new and more vigorous organisation of transport
could be devised and carried out. We will take up the thread of our
narrative at a time when the little invading army was across the
Prah and almost within striking distance of Coomassie. No serious
collision with the enemy had as yet occurred, but some sharp
fighting was obviously imminent. It was thought that the Ashantis
would hold the Adansi Hills, and, even if forced therefrom, would
make more than one subsequent stand; and it was probable that by
nothing less than obstinate fighting would the ends of the campaign
be achieved.
They had been long days of weary waiting for all concerned. The
country was hateful and noxious in the extreme; yet all fought
bravely, not against the foe, with whom they had scarcely been
pitted, but against the malaria, the ever present fever, the
intolerable heat. None behaved more pluckily than the Duke’s Own.
Wellington once said, ‘Give me the dandies for hard work,’ and
the apothegm might be extended, into including crack corps. Now
that they were at the real business of war, they bore hardships,
privations and continuous discomfort without a murmur. The once
splendid mess was now represented by a scratch meal under the
fetich tree of a deserted village; its entertainments were to
offer to comrades a cup of chocolate, a slice of tinned meat or
sardine _au naturel_ upon biscuit instead of toast. Luxury was
a thing forgotten by all. Days of toilsome marching through the
interminable forest, nights in drenching rain, with short commons
in almost everything except quinine, were but poor substitutes for
what they had left behind at Gibraltar and at home. Yet the Duke’s
Own took everything as it came, indulging only in the occasional
grumble which is deemed the British soldier’s birthright, and
which, if nothing else, is an outlet and safety-valve for
discontent.
But the regiment had suffered considerably from sickness. Colonel
Diggle was down with fever. He had been one of the first attacked,
and though he had borne up with all the fortitude he could muster,
his nature was not of that resolute kind which successfully resists
disease. Very soon after disembarkation he had succumbed, and while
he was lying in his cot on board the hospital ship Major Greathed
had the honour of commanding the Duke’s Own in the field. Several
other officers were also on the sick list, and a large percentage
of the rank and file. Among the latter was Herbert Larkins.
He had fought with extraordinary pluck against the insidious
advances of the fever. He had doctored himself, had taken quarts
of quinine, had refused persistently to seek for medical advice
lest he should be struck off duty and sent to hospital. With it
all he had stuck manfully to his work--no easy task--for during a
portion of the time the quartermaster-sergeant had been _hors de
combat_, and Greathed had selected Herbert to act in his place. All
this told on him.
One day after many hours’ unremitting toil whipping up the craven
carriers who tardily brought forward the regimental supplies,
followed by long labours in issuing rations, Herbert suddenly
dropped as if he had been shot through the head. They laid him
in a hammock and carried him with them for a time, as they were
then approaching the Adansi Hills, and an action seemed imminent.
Nothing of the kind, as is well known, occurred. After a short
breathing space the advance was resumed. Herbert, who had at length
recovered consciousness, saw to his mortification the regiment
march out of the village in which they had been encamped, while he
was left with a score or so of sick and helpless behind. It was the
more aggravating because the crisis of the campaign was seemingly
near at hand. Coomassie itself was not more than five and twenty or
thirty miles distant; the enemy was known to be in force in front
and in flank. Fighting more or less severe there must be, and that
very soon. To think that he should miss it after all!
But, as will be seen, Herbert’s luck was not entirely against him.
Young, strong, and sound as a bell, he had rallied wonderfully from
his attack, and was already on the high road to convalescence
within a day or two of the regiment’s departure.
‘If ye gae on like this, ye’ll be as fit as a fiddle in a week,’
the Scotch doctor said.
‘And when may I go to the front, sir?’
‘At once, if the commanding officer here’ll let you.’
Herbert almost jumped off his bed, and hurriedly smartened himself
as well as he could, to appear before the commandant.
But on leaving the hospital, a substantial building which had
evidently been the palace of an Ashanti chief, he found the little
garrison which held the village--I will call it Yankowfum--in a
state of agitation, almost uproar. Important news had come back
from the front. There had been a great battle (Amoaful). We had
won it, but not without serious losses. The enemy was still full
of fight. A special despatch had been received by the commandant
at Yankowfum to be on the look-out. His and the other posts along
the line of advance would probably be attacked in force, and
the Ashantis must be driven back at all costs. This, with many
additions, had gone forth among the handful of sailors and West
Indians composing the garrison, and was being loudly discussed when
Herbert appeared.
‘Where’s the commandant?’ Herbert asked. ‘Who is he?’
‘Don’t know his name; he’s one of your lot,’ said an A.B.
‘And a poor lot, too, I take it,’ said another, ‘to judge by his
looks and his ways.’
Herbert was about to retort, when a black soldier in his
picturesque Zouave dress came up, and said, ‘Staff colonel one
time come. Very much angry with buckra officer.’
It was the officer in general charge of the communications who had
hastened back from Amoaful to look to the security of his posts.
He was travelling almost alone in a hammock carried by bearers,
and seemed to think nothing of the dangers he braved as he passed
through the bush swarming with enemies.
He was apparently seeking to infuse some of his own spirit into the
commandant of Yankowfum.
‘You’ll do it easily enough,’ Herbert heard him say as he
approached them, meaning to offer his services. ‘This place is
stockaded, you’ve got a garrison.’
‘But it’s so small,’ said the other, ‘not fifty men, and half of
them blacks.’
That voice? Surely it was familiar, Herbert thought.
‘I can’t give you another man. There isn’t time. Besides, every
other post is threatened. However, you’ve got your orders; you must
hold out to the last, you understand?’ said the colonel, pretty
sharply.
‘But, sir, it’s not fair upon us. I must really protest. We shall
be cut to pieces. What can such a handful do? For God’s sake don’t
leave us like this--’
The other turned on his heel, but stopped short to say,
‘Upon my word, Mr.--Mr.--Farrington--I cannot compliment you on
your demeanour. If there was another officer within reach I’d
relieve you of your command. I wish even there was a steady old
sergeant or two--’
Then his eye fell upon Herbert, who had moved a little farther away
during the foregoing colloquy, partly because he felt that he ought
not to overhear the colonel’s strictures, and partly because he was
greatly excited at this unexpected rencontre with Ernest Farrington.
‘Ah, a sergeant, a colour-sergeant too? You have heard, no
doubt? The post is about to be attacked. I have been telling the
commandant here he must draw in the line of defence. Be careful not
to waste ammunition, and hold on like grim death. You understand?’
‘All right, sir,’ answered Herbert cheerily, and the colonel went
off, probably a little happier in his mind.
‘Any further orders, sir?’ Herbert quietly asked of Ernest
Farrington, who was ashen pale, and too much agitated seemingly to
recognise the man who spoke to him.
‘No, no; do the best you can, sergeant.’
Whereat Herbert saluted and walked off.
It would be time enough to settle their differences by and bye.
Perhaps by nightfall neither of them would be alive.