Herbert woke after a troubled night’s rest, disturbed by the occasional irruption of comrades brought in by the piquet and patrols, in various stages of intoxication, and the visits of the sergeant of the guard. The bare boards had been his bed, and he ached in every limb. It was with a sense of relief almost, although he dreaded the ordeal before him, that he washed and cleaned himself up preparatory to taking his place in the ranks with the rest of ‘the prisoners.’ With them, under escort of the guard, he was presently marched to the orderly-room, and then, after waiting half-an-hour for his turn, he was marched into the presence of[131] his commanding officer, to answer for his alleged crime.

He and Jubbock appeared together before their judge, Colonel Prioleau. The sergeant, who was the only witness, gave his evidence fairly, although not without a bias against Herbert, but the Colonel withheld judgment till he heard the defence.

‘What have you got to say?’ he asked of both abruptly.

‘Please, your honour,’ began Jubbock, ‘we wasn’t fighting at all; we was only wrastling. This young chap says, says he, he knew a thing or two about the Cumberland cropper, and I, says I, know’d more about the Hampshire hug; and with that we had a set-to, and the sergeant found us at it.’

The old soldier’s tendency to misstatement—to call it by no stronger name—was very repugnant to honest Herbert.

[132]

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he put in, ‘he is not telling you the truth. We were fighting. He struck me, and I knocked him down.’

Colonel looked up a little curiously. Herbert’s accent and his language were both more accurate than one is accustomed to find in a private soldier.

‘You did, did you? And would you do it again?’

‘I would, sir, if he provoked me; I’m not afraid of him,’ cried Herbert, hotly.

‘He’d better try,’ Jubbock said, growing also warm, notwithstanding the awe inspired by the great man in whose presence he stood.

‘It’s quite evident you can’t agree. There’s bad blood between you still. Well, you know the old rule—no, Captain Greathed, I won’t hear a word—young soldiers[133] must find their level, and hold their own. Besides, there is the old regimental custom. You must fight it out. Send them down to the main ditch, as usual, and let the orderly sergeant go with them to see fair play. It’s no use talking to me, Captain Greathed; I shall stick to the old rule of the Duke’s Own so long as I am commanding the corps.’

Captain Greathed thought it wisest to let matters take their course. Any further interference to protect Herbert might have looked like favouritism, and have done the young fellow more harm than good. He may have thought, too, that Herbert could give a good account of his antagonist.

The mill was conducted according to custom, in semi-official fashion. The orderly sergeant, as before said, and two[134] bottle-holders—Hanlon was Herbert’s—were the only spectators.

For a long time it seemed a close affair. Jubbock’s weight and great reach of arm were immensely in his favour. But Herbert had more science. Self-defence, although fast becoming an old-fashioned art, was not unknown at Deadham School, and he had grown into an accomplished practitioner in it. He was lighter, too, and far more active than Jubbock, and this told in the long run. His adversary tried in vain to get at him; but Herbert danced around him like a cork, till by degrees Jubbock lost all patience and struck out wildly. The wily Herbert promptly seized his advantage, and began to punish Jubbock severely. After this the victory was not long in doubt. At the end of the fourteenth round, Jubbock[135] threw up the sponge, and Herbert was declared, officially, to have won the day.

The result of the fight, noised about as it was in the company, naturally added greatly to Herbert’s prestige. Jubbock was a coarse, rough fellow, inclined to be brutal and overbearing, and he had so long tyrannised over his comrades that his defeat was hailed with much satisfaction. ‘The Boy’—old Joe Hanlon—was wild with delight. He was never tired of expatiating upon Herbert’s prowess, and talked so much about it, taking so much credit to himself, that you might have thought it was he who had won the fight.

Herbert received even higher approval.

‘So I hear you held your own,’ the captain had said to him one day. ‘I thought it was not unlikely you would. But don’t be puffed up by your victory. Take heed[136] to your going—Jubbock’s not likely to love you the more because you have shown yourself the better man.’

There was wisdom in this advice. Jubbock bore malice, as Herbert soon found, from his sulky demeanour and the way he scowled when he dared. Hanlon too reported that Jubbock had sworn to be even with young Larkins yet. But what could he do? Herbert laughed such vague threats to scorn.

It was not long after this that unpleasant rumours became rife in the barrack-room. It was clear that the occupants thereof were not all loyal to one another. The men missed things. First, odds and ends disappeared. A button-brush, a comb, a tin of blacking or a red herring bought for tea. Then money went—pence, not too plentiful with soldiers, and hoarded up[137] between pay-days, in cleaning bag or knapsack, to be drawn upon as required for the men’s menus plaisirs.

There was evidently a thief in the room.

‘Yes: and he’s got to be found out too,’ said Joe Hanlon. ‘There ain’t been such a thing known in the Duke’s Own these years past.’

‘No, nor wouldn’t be now,’ said another, ‘if we got honest lads as recruits. We want no swell-mobsmen and high-falutin dandies with their grand airs, and their fine talk, who come from no one knows where.’

‘What d’ye mean?’ asked Hanlon sharply. ‘If that’s a slap at my towney, I give you the lie, and no two words about it. Larkins is as honest a young chap as ever took the shilling.’

‘Well, Jubbock said—’

[138]

‘It’s just what I thought,’ said ‘the Boy.’ ‘Jubbock means mischief, but I’ll circumvent him, or my name’s not Joe Hanlon.’

Matters were presently brought to a crisis. Two half-crowns, a shilling and some coppers were stolen on the day following pay-day, and the men were growing furious.

‘I’d swear to my half-crown anywhere,’ said one victim. ‘It had a twist at the edges and a scar on the Queen’s nose.’

‘Let’s all agree to be searched—our kits, and packs, and all.’

‘Yes, yes,’ everybody cried. ‘We’ll call the colour-sergeant, and do it all reg............