CHAPTER II. THE VICTORIA CROSS.

A stout and substantial stockade of bamboos, having loopholes and a shallow ditch, surrounded the village of Yankowfum, and seemed sufficient if it were only manned throughout to keep out any attacking force. But the little garrison was not strong enough to occupy more than a third of its length. It was a question, therefore, whether it would not be wisest to limit the defence, and, instead of holding the outer and too extended line, concentrate the whole force within the hospital building, which was certainly large, but still compact and reasonably strong. This is what our hero had to decide, for it was upon Herbert that[21] the responsibility seemed to fall. Ernest Farrington was almost helpless, whether from abject incapacity, or from the more despicable reason of total want of nerve. Besides, after what the staff colonel had said Herbert felt that he was bound to act and do the best he could.

He consulted with one or two of the others, particularly an old lance-sergeant who deferred to him as senior in rank, and a very smart young sailor, a petty officer, who, like every true blue jacket, was ready to put his hand to anything.

‘Best hold on to the front line at least for a bit,’ the lance-sergeant thought. ‘We can fall back upon the hospital if we’re hard pressed.’

‘Yes, I agree to that,’ replied Herbert. ‘But the hospital will be our real centre and chief defence. It must be strengthened,[22] barricaded, the walls pierced with loopholes, and the thatch taken off the roof for fear of fire. Who’ll see to all that? will you?’ he asked of the sailor.

‘Aye will I. Give me half a dozen hands, that’s all. Them blacks’ll do. I’m rated carpenter’s mate, and I can show them how to work. I’ll make everything taut and shipshape, or my name’s not Rechab Larkins.’

‘Rechab Lar—’ Herbert’s jaw dropped with amazement. ‘Son of the barrack sergeant, once at Triggertown and now at Gib?’

The other nodded.

‘Do you know who I am? Why—Hercules Albert, your half-brother.’

It was Rechab’s turn to show astonishment.

‘Avast there. None of your games. You little Herkles boy?’

[23]

‘Yes. You may take your oath, to that.’

‘Well; I am blowed.’

Then they shook hands warmly and looked at each other, and shook hands again and again.

‘Come, lads,’ interposed the lance-sergeant, ‘time’s up. Don’t get looking for the strawberry marks, or may be the niggers will drop on to you and save you all the trouble.’

‘You’re right,’ said Herbert promptly. ‘All this will keep. Now, Rechab, lad, to your post. There’s more to tell you, but that, too, will keep.’

Why tell him that Ernest Farrington was also there sharing their danger?

Herbert, following the lance-sergeant’s advice, resolved to hold the stockade, but at its angles and points only, whence a fairly good flanking fire across the front could be[24] maintained. At each of these he posted a small detachment under the command of a non-commissioned officer, to whom he gave explicit orders. They were to save ammunition, to ‘fire slow and fire low,’ as the general said, and hold on till they got the signal to retire. This would be passed from the centre the moment the stockade was forced at any point. The retreat was to be made with all speed upon the hospital under cover of its fire. At the hospital itself a small garrison was also posted from the first, composed of the convalescents; of all, in fact, who had spirit enough to rise from their beds. Even Dr. McCosh got out his revolver and promised to assist. None of the sick were strong enough to form part of the outer line, nor could they have retreated rapidly when that line was broken through, but they would be able to load and fire alternately[25] standing and sitting, and so contribute much to the general inner defence.

When these dispositions were in a fair way towards completion, Herbert went in search of his commanding officer to report progress.

‘Will you inspect the post, sir? Everything is as ready as we can make it. We only want the enemy now, and they can come on as soon as they please.’

Mr. Farrington winced slightly at the mention of the enemy, but he was now far more master of himself than when Herbert had seen him last. He had pulled himself together, and seemed about to take his proper position as commanding officer and chief. Like many other weak spirits, he made up for former shortcomings by assuming a blustering air.

‘I daresay you have done your best.[26] We shall see. Where are the men posted? At the stockade? Oh, this won’t do at all. We cannot hold the stockade; we are too few. The hospital is our only chance. Everyone must be concentrated there.’

‘But, sir, we cannot resign the stockade without a shot.’

‘Do you dispute my orders? I’ll put you under arrest, and have you tried for mutinous conduct. Who are you? What’s your name?’

‘I am Colour-Sergeant Larkins, of the Duke’s Own.’

‘Larkins? Larkins? What Larkins? Not Mi—Mi—Mimie’s brother?’

‘Her half-brother, Mr. Farrington, who told you not so long ago that if you injured her he would break every bone in your skin. Her own brother is here, too. What’s to hinder us from putting a bullet[27] through you now, you white-livered cur?’

‘How dare you address me like that? I’ll have you placed in irons. You shall be charged with mutiny, by George. I’ll get you shot.’

‘Perhaps the Ashantis will save you—and me—the trouble,’ said Herbert, significantly. ‘But if we get through this day all right, you and I have other differences to settle, remember that.’

‘Threats? This is insufferable. I’ll shove you in arrest; I’ll put a sentry over you.’

Farrington suddenly turned quite white; his teeth chattered, and he could hardly stand.

‘What in heaven’s name is that?’ he stammered out.

A roar of voices, harsh, discordant, and[28] loud enough to rouse the dead. It was the Ashanti song of battle, sung by thousands, as it seemed, uniting into one grand but savage chorus of defiance. Behind all was the hideous noise of screeching horns and the rattle of native drums. For some minutes the uproar continued, then ceased as suddenly as it had arisen. It was followed by a sound more familiar and far more impressive, at least in a soldier’s ears. This was the sharp and sustained crackling of musketry fire.

The ball had begun.

‘Our quarrel will keep, sir. There’s something else to be done now. Any orders, sir?’

‘No; at least, yes. Perhaps the men had better stay where they are just at first. You can withdraw them when you think you ought. I shall go myself to the hospital.[29] It is more central, and I can see all around from there.’

And Mr. Farrington, who was becoming more than uncomfortable as the slugs were falling rapidly around, went off with rather indecent haste.

The enemy were still in the bush surrounding the village, and the garrison had not yet returned the fire. Emboldened by this, the Ashantis came out from their cover, and showed themselves in increasing numbers all round the stockade. This was the opportunity for the defenders. At a signal from Herbert, a well-directed fire from the several flanks made considerable havoc, and the Ashantis fell back. They came on however again and again. Again and again they were repulsed. But they were maddened, not disheartened, by their losses; and once more attacking with determination,[30] at one point carried the stockade.

It was time now to retire upon the hospital. This was effected rapidly, but without disorder. The wounded—happily very few, so far—were carried within the walls, where all who were still sound also took up their posts. This inner citadel was perhaps not impregnable, but with resolution it might be held against very considerable odds.

‘I told you the stockade should not have been held,’ some one said to Herbert, and turning he saw Mr. Farrington, who had not before shown himself during the fight.

‘I beg your pardon, sir; if you had been with us in the front you would have thought otherwise,’ Herbert answered, rather intemperately; but it chafed him to[31] find his officer keeping out of harm’s way. ‘At any rate, we can’t fall back any more. If the enemy force their way in here, we are lost men.’

But this the Ashantis could not effect. They surged up against the walls like waves upon a rocky headland, only to fall back like breakers in a thousand drops. They sought to force the barricades, to escalade and enter by the roof. Once or twice their efforts seemed near success, but the obstinate opposition which they met sent them reeling back discomfited. At this juncture Herbert, with the intuitive judgment of the true general, felt that a counterstroke would probably give the defenders the day. He proposed a sally of the whole force, and a bayonet charge.

‘On no account—it would be madness,’ said Ernest Farrington, whom he discovered[32] with difficulty ensconced behind some cases of commissariat stores.

‘What do you say, boys? Shall we give ’em a touch of the cold steel?’ cried Herbert.

A hearty cheer was the ready response.

‘Won’t you lead us?’ Herbert said to Farrington, in a strong accent of scorn. ‘It’s your last chance to retrieve your character.’

‘I distinctly forbid you to sally. Not a man shall leave the hospital. Halt! halt! I say.’

The men were like bloodhounds tearing frantically at the leash.

‘It’s your last chance,’ Herbert repeated, as he went close up to Farrington, and whispered. ‘Your last chance, you cowardly cur. Come on, or be shamed for[33] ever; a disgrace to your cloth, your regiment, and a good old name.’

Stung to the quick by these taunts, Ernest hurriedly drew his sword, and placing himself at the head of his men, gave the order to port arms, and prepare to charge. With a loud ‘hurroosh’ the gallant garrison rushed out pell-mell, and fell upon their foe.

The enemy could not face the British bayonet. They broke even before their assailants reached them, and fled in disorder towards the stockade. The garrison pursued them, Mr. Farrington still leading. He was like a jibbing horse, which having long refused to move, at last bolts headlong. Herbert was also well to the front, but he saw the danger of pushing the success too far, and before reaching the stockade he paused and endeavoured to restrain the[34] men. Many halted at his voice and rallied round him, but a few more unmanageable continued to race ahead beyond the stockade as far as the bush. Mr. Farrington, half-mad with excitement, was one of these, and with them he fell into a trap. A number of Ashantis reinforced, probably from behind, had rallied just within the bush and opened a very destructive fire.

Ernest Farrington was the first to fall. Many others were struck down, and the too eager band of pursuers were suddenly effectually checked. But all who could retired in hot haste upon the main body, which under Herbert’s command had made a stand to cover their retreat.

Mr. Farrington was not killed outright. He was evidently badly wounded, but he was able to rise to his feet, and strove feebly to make his way back to the shelter[35] of the stockade, the enemy slowly ‘potting’ at him as he crawled along.

‘We must bring him in,’ cried Herbert, hotly. ‘Come on, Rechab; Farrington or no Farrington—’

‘Is yon Ernest Farrington? Mimie’s——? Yes? Let him be; let him die the death. I won’t stir a step to help the accursed hound.’

Herbert did not wait to hear all Rechab’s words, but rushed forward alone into the open. The fire increased in fury, but he passed through it and reached Ernest’s side, unscathed.

‘Come on, sir,’ he said; ‘lean on me; we’ll get back together.’ But almost as he spoke Ernest fell helplessly, struck by a second slug.

There was nothing for Herbert but to lift the inanimate body upon his shoulders[36] and stagger back as best he could. He was himself wounded more than once, but only slightly, before he regained the stockade, but still he regained it and laid his burden safely within.

‘Weel done, mon, weel done,’ said the surgeon. ‘Let’s see if ye were in time or no,’ and he proceeded to examine Ernest’s hurts.

The pain of probing the wounds brought the unfortunate officer to his senses, and opening his eyes, he looked wildly around.

‘Larkins, Larkins; is Larkins here?’ he gasped.

Both who bore that name knelt by his side, and hung breathlessly upon his words.

‘I loved her. I did, upon my soul. Tell her I said so with my last words; that I ask her forgiveness, as I do yours. I wronged her, but I—I—repaired it—’

[37]

The blood gushed in a torrent from his mouth, and in another second he was dead.

The enemy made no further demonstrations against Yankowfum, and by nightfall the post had almost regained its normal condition. It had been an eventful day for Herbert Larkins, and one likely to lay the foundation of his fortunes; for his gallant conduct did not pass unnoticed.

Early the next morning the staff colonel returned and heard a full account of the fight. Herbert was too modest to descant upon his own deeds, but Dr. McCosh and the others described in glowing terms the story of the defence and of Herbert’s brave attempt to save Farrington’s life.

‘You ought to have the Cross for this,’ said the colonel, a quiet self-contained man, rising for the moment into enthusiasm.[38] ‘You deserve the Victoria Cross, and a commission, too. I’ll do my best to help you to both.’

He was as good as his word. Before the Duke’s Own left the Coast the Gazette contained both announcements, and Herbert Larkins was now ‘an officer and a gentleman’ at last.