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,[185] 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[186] 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[187] 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[188] 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[189] 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[190] 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[191] 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[192] 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[193] 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;............