As October approached, and with it the time for rejoining his regiment, Herbert became more and more eager and excited. He was quite angry with himself for being so pleased. It seemed such base ingratitude to Lady Farrington to be so delighted to leave her. But he was not that in the least. He felt an increasing regard for her which promised to develop some day into deep affection. He was only overjoyed at the prospect of once more resuming his work. Those who have been long in regular harness can best realize how flat, stale, and unprofitable is life without a fixed object and employment, more or less constant, from morning till night. Neither by[99] inclination nor by his recent training was Herbert of the sort to eat the bread of idleness, or be satisfied with having nothing to do. Therefore it was, that when his adieux were made, and the poor old lady left to her solitary grief, Herbert returned to soldiering with all the vigour and elasticity of a steel spring, which has been set free. He could never forget all he owed his first patron and firm friend; he meant to spend a certain portion of his time with her still; he would go to her always gladly and with the utmost alacrity, when she expressed a wish to see him or desired to have him at her side. But in spite of all, he was like a schoolboy just released from school. The expiration of his leave and his return to duty, which is to some officers such an inexpressible bore, was to him a source of the most unfeigned delight.

[100]

Yet it was not without a certain trepidation that he prepared to take up his new position. How would his brother officers receive him? Would they accept him as one of themselves? He remembered, certainly, that when the news of his promotion first reached the Coast, all had congratulated him warmly, and made many cordial and civil speeches, declaring him to be an honour to the Duke’s Own. But these were days of abnormal excitement; a sharp campaign was barely ended, and active service does much to sweep away formality and level class distinctions. It would be different now, perhaps, at an expensive and brilliant mess in a gay garrison town, where social life was always bubbling up and boiling over in festive gatherings, race-meetings, days with the Calpe hounds, theatricals, and balls. Herbert had no particular[101] craving for these joys. But would he be freely admitted and readily welcomed everywhere? Might not some, unmindful of the fact that he had a gentleman’s education, and that possibly his birth, if he got his rights, was better than theirs, be disposed to look down upon him, and despise him as a man who had ‘risen from the ranks?’

Herbert was little acquainted with the tempers and idiosyncrasies of British officers. Although long associated with them, it had been only as an inferior separated from them by a wide gulf, and he saw only what was on the surface: brusquerie, often, an arrogant manner and a self-satisfied air. He did not know that at bottom they were honest and well-meaning fellows full of prejudices—not all Newtons perhaps, or John Stuart Mills—but straightforward honourable men, who were in the habit of taking[102] their comrades just as they found them, and just for what they were worth. There may be snobs who will kotow to a duke’s son, or revolve as satellites round a wealthy young parvenu; but the general verdict of a British mess upon the individuals who compose it, is based always upon their intrinsic qualities and personal claims.

The Duke’s Own were not long in finding out that Herbert Larkins was ‘a man of the right sort,’ ‘a thorough good chap all round.’ They saw, not without surprise, perhaps, that he took his place among them quite naturally, almost as though to the manner born.

He behaved quite properly at the dinner-table; he did not eat peas with a knife, or drink with his mouth full; he could take his share in the conversation—never very abstruse or wide in its range—and[103] that without dropping his h’s or miscalling his words. He could do most things, too; play cricket and racquets, shoot, ride or play a rubber of whist. Above all, he had a pleasant face and a genial manner, with a smile and a civil word for all who spoke to him, whether on duty or off.

This last was almost sufficient recommendation in itself, especially when found in the adjutant, as it was in Herbert’s case. Colonel Greathed was not a commanding officer to be led by the nose; he drove his own coach, and had his team always well in hand. But even under his régime the adjutant was as he must always be—a considerable personage. He really wields much power; he is the usual channel of communication with the colonel; through him officers apply for leave or other indulgences; he keeps the duty roster, and can, if he[104] pleases, do even the oldest a good turn, by carrying out exchanges, and substituting one name for another, even at the eleventh hour. Over the prisoners he exercises the sway of a task-master and pedagogue combined; he can prolong drill-instruction to a maddening length; and upon his good or evil report much of their happiness depends. With the non-commissioned officers, and rank and file, the adjutant is generally an irresponsible autocrat and king. He holds the sergeants in the hollow of his hand; the colonel nearly always relies upon him to recommend men for promotion, and it is he who brings forward deserving private soldiers and raises them out of the ruck. All this tends to make his position dangerously full of snares. He may easily become puffed up and conceited; worse still (and this is especially noticeable in adjutants[105] who have risen from the ranks), he may drift into favouritism; and, by reason of his intimate acquaintance with the ins and outs of military life, fall into the error of knowing too much and seeing too much. That Herbert steered clear of all the hidden rocks which threaten the adjutant’s course was the best testimony to his worth. Although he never swerved from his duty, no adjutant could have been more generally popular.

The days passed evenly and pleasantly enough. They were happy days for Herbert, which he remembered always in his after life. Busy days, beginning with the fresh morning hours, when he took the battalion out for early drill, and ending with the inspection of the non-commissioned officers at tattoo. Guard-mounting parade in a fortress bristling with sentries; orderly-room[106] in a place where liquor, unfortunately, is cheap; much correspondence and many intricate returns, in a garrison fully provided with the regulation number of staff officers, all these kept him close till it was long past mid-day. Then there was afternoon parade, more writing, the drill of young officers, and a few recruits, or awkward squads, and the day was well advanced before he could call himself really free; but there were few days when he did not find time for a smart canter along the beach of Gibraltar Bay, the Rotten Row of the Rock, or for a longer ramble upon the slopes below the Queen of Spain’s Chair, or on the San Roque road and towards the Cork Wood. Now and again, but rarely, and chiefly when the meet was near at hand, he gave himself a h............