‘Be good enough to form open column, pile arms, and lay out kits,’ he was saying to Colonel Diggle, which manœuvre satisfactorily carried out, the general continued his inspection on foot, accompanied by his daughter, who tripped along, holding up her habit, nodding to old friends as she went along, and so deeply interested in holdalls, tins of blacking, and pairs of socks, that you might have thought kit inspection was the one joy of her life.
‘I am very glad to see you’ve got on so quickly,’ she said gravely to young Colour-Sergeant Larkins, as she touched him on the arm with her whip by way of emphasis. ‘You promised well, and I am pleased to think I was not disappointed,’ went on the young personage, with the air of a queen-regnant reviewing her troops.
It was a gracious sight, and one no man—an impressionable young sergeant like Larkins least of all—was likely to forget. The trim figure in its snow-white habit, the pretty bright face and its framework of light curls, surmounted with a coquettish little white hat; the air with which she pointed with her whip to his chevrons and the bright colours surmounting them, as she tripped daintily along. Never before or afterwards did Edith Prioleau seem more bewitching, and Herbert Larkins felt that he could lay down his life for her then and there.
Perhaps he talked a little more about her than he need have done when he next visited the cottage near the Moorish Castle. The Larkins’ house had come to be quite his home, and he went there whenever he was off duty and could spare time. Life upon the Rock was a little monotonous for all below the rank of officer, and Herbert was thankful that he had friends in the place. The narrow limits of the fortress, beyond which none but the commissioned may pass except on rare occasions, and then only by special permission, forbade any great variety of amusement or much change of scene. The rank and file rung the changes upon guard-house and drinking shop; when the first was done with for a time they identified themselves with the other. After twenty-four hours on Ragged Staff or New Mole, at Landport, Waterport, or the North Front, there was an especial sweetness for the soldier in ‘black strap’ or ‘partridge eye’—variations of the local wine; while for the fireproof head which craved for the strongest stimulants, there was the aguardiente, or burning water, a title this engaging but curiously potent liquid richly deserved. For the sergeants, in whom steadiness and sobriety were indispensable traits, these delights were forbidden, and they had but little relaxation after they had completed their day’s routine, including the preparation of small returns, the responsibilities of minor commands, beyond a stroll upon the Alameda when the band played, or the perusal of the newspapers in the mess.
Herbert was more fortunate. Fond of books, Major Greathed supplied him with plenty, mainly of professional character, for although still in subordinate grades, soldiering was becoming more and more to our hero’s taste, and he was eager to qualify for higher charges should it ever be his good fortune to rise. But it was greater pleasure to him still to talk at the cottage over what he had read; to pour forth to his mother, as he still called her, his ambitious yearnings, to express with increasing vehemence his vain regrets that he had not lived in another country and another age.
‘I wish I had been a Frenchman in the last century! No soldiers had such chances! One day a private, the next commanding a brigade. You’ll never see such things in our service.’
‘Don’t be cast down, Herbert,’ said warm-hearted sympathetic Mrs. Larkins. ‘Your chance will come if you’ll only wait.’
‘Yes, wait till I’m grey-haired. And when it comes what’ll it be? They may make me a quartermaster at fifty, or a second lieutenant at forty-five. I want my cake now, when it’s sweet and I am fit to enjoy it.’
‘And offer half to some one else? Is that what you’re dreaming about?’ asked Mrs. Larkins, with a sigh.