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.’