Hervey 07 - An Act Of Courage (34 page)

Barrow paused, as his manuscript indicated he should, and looked at the president and members – as did every man in the room.

It did the trick: they each nodded gravely, publicly, at least, disowning any thoughts of frivolous prosecution or – as some of the tattle in the army had it – a trivial affair of dandies over a horse. Without doubt, however, Barrow’s Birmingham vowels had already persuaded some members that not
everything
was elegance about Princess Caroline’s Own. For his part, Hervey was a little surprised by the adjutant’s evident command of legal formularies, though dismayed, too, by their length.

‘Mr President and gentlemen, the charges relate to an incident almost immediately before the general action at Talavera de la Reina, following from a continuous period of many weeks’ marching, of which the members of the court will be only too perfectly aware. Although the horses of the regiment were in pretty good condition, as its veterinary surgeon would testify, Cornet Daly’s second charger, a brown colt, was suffering from lampas. As a result—’

The judge martial looked up from his ledger and turned to the president.

The president had anticipated the enquiry, however. ‘Mr Barrow, would you explain, for the benefit of the court, what precisely is lampas.’

The adjutant lowered his page of manuscript. ‘Mr Knight, the veterinary surgeon, will be able to give a complete description, sir, but in essence the lampas is an excrescence on the first bar in the roof of the horse’s mouth, not common but prevalent in younger animals from irritation occasioned by the growth of or changes in the teeth. It may also occur in horses at work from inflammation set up by injuries from the bit. I trespass further on the veterinary surgeon’s ground when I say that in the past the treatment was frequently the burning out of the excrescence, but that recent practice has tended away from this, and to treat instead by frequent washing of the mouth with an acerb mixture.’ He waited for acknowledgement that his explanation would suffice.

The president looked at the judge martial, who nodded. ‘Very well, Mr Barrow. Would you say that the nature and treatment of this condition is of essential substance in this trial?’

The adjutant smiled slightly. ‘Sir, my own knowledge of both is not greatly more than that which I have just rendered to you, and I have not found it difficult to reach a conclusion.’

The president, while not reflecting the smile, evidently found the reassurance welcome. ‘Very well, but I may require the veterinary surgeon to give his professional opinion in the matter separately to any other evidence, and if necessary at an early stage should it become apparent that the court has need of it.’

The adjutant looked not the slightest perturbed at the prospect of departure from his carefully prepared script. ‘Of course, sir. If I may continue now?’

The president nodded.

‘Mr President and gentlemen, as I was saying, Cornet Daly’s colt was suffering from lampas, to an extent that made it unfit for service. The veterinary surgeon prescribed the washing treatment I referred to, refusing Mr Daly’s request for firing. Later that evening, Mr Daly took it upon himself to burn out the lampas. The veterinary surgeon will testify that in his opinion the procedure was done ineptly, and that in consequence the animal died from a condition which he will refer to as “the shock”.’

‘One moment, please,’ said the judge martial, turning to the president for his approval, and then back to Barrow. ‘You say, Mr Barrow, that the veterinary surgeon is of the opinion that the procedure was done ineptly. Is there any suggestion that it was unauthorized? An improper procedure?’

Again, Barrow did not flinch. ‘The horses of the regiment, be they owned by government or not, are deemed to be in the King’s service, and the veterinary surgeon is responsible to the lieutenant-colonel for the treatment of all sick animals. To that extent, Your Honour, if a treatment is not authorized by the veterinary surgeon, it is an unauthorized procedure – an improper procedure, yes. And in the case of Mr Daly’s colt, the veterinary surgeon will testify that he specifically forbad the firing.’

The judge martial wrote in his ledger very deliberately. His knowledge of the military was limited, and it was his first trial in the field. It was, indeed, the first trial in the Peninsula at which a judge martial had been present, and the first in which the new rules of procedure –
controversial
rules of procedure, lately enacted by parliament – were to apply. Sir Arthur Wellesley himself had asked for a judicial presence, so that courts martial could conduct their business expeditiously rather than having to send the proceedings to England for review. Judge Advocate Jenkyns was not about to invite the wrath of the commander-in-chief on account of any mistrial over a point of law. At length he stopped writing. ‘Thank you, Mr Barrow,’ he said, in a noncommittal tone, then turned and nodded to the president.

‘Very well, Mr Barrow,’ said the president, sounding perfectly certain.

‘Sir. After Mr Daly had burned out – had
attempted
to burn out – the lampas, the regimental—’

The judge martial stopped writing again. ‘Which is it to be, Mr Barrow? I should like to be certain. Did he burn out the excrescence or no?’

Barrow hesitated. ‘It is my understanding, Your Honour, that Mr Daly failed to burn it out. But to what extent he failed I must refer to the veterinary surgeon.’

Hervey, sitting bolt upright still, felt an anxious twinge at the way the questioning appeared to be going. Did the judge martial believe that Daly had a right to attempt the procedure? It would be but a short step thereafter to consider the colt’s death to be the unavoidable consequence, the occasional price, of a practice accepted by some parts at least of the veterinary profession. It boded ill.

‘It’s not true!’

Daly’s protest stunned the court.

‘I burned it out good and proper!’

Daly’s escort clapped a hand to his shoulder, and Lieutenant Beale-Browne tried to stay the protest by seizing his arm.

‘That so-called—’

The president growled. ‘Mr Daly! Compose yourself, sir! You will conduct yourself as if on parade. You will have ample opportunity to state your case.’ He turned again to the adjutant. ‘Continue.’

Whatever doubts he entertained still about the wisdom of accepting a commission, Lieutenant & Adjutant Ezra Barrow, sometime serjeant-major of the 1st Dragoons, perfectly concealed it. And if Lord George Irvine, who had brought him in from the Royals, had ever entertained a moment’s doubt as to his man’s capability in the arcane proceedings of courts martial, he could now rest, for Barrow stood erect throughout the interventions and the altercation with not a flicker of distaste or dismay. ‘Mr President and gentlemen, the prosecution will call as witness Serjeant Treve, who was regimental orderly quartermaster that evening, and who will testify that on doing his rounds of the horse lines he came across Cornet Daly and the colt, which was lying distressed, and that he instructed H Troop’s duty dragoon to summon the veterinary surgeon. At this Cornet Daly protested, very strongly; indeed, intemperately.’

‘That’s not true! Treve was—’

The president exploded. ‘Mr Daly! I have warned you once already, and I would have thought that sufficient for any man! If there is another outburst I shall convict you summarily of insubordination. Do I make myself clear, sir?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Mr Barrow, if this is indicative of the state of discipline in the Sixth Light Dragoons then I am very much of the opinion that we shall not arrive at any satisfactory judgement in the matter before us.’

The adjutant bridled at the imputation, as did the Sixth’s assembled officers, Lord George Irvine not least. Restraint prevailed, however, helped to no small extent by the judge martial, who leaned over and whispered in the president’s ear.

When Colonel Pattinson resumed, he sounded, if not exactly chastened, more circumspect. ‘Mr . . . Beale-Browne, be so good, sir, as to instruct Cornet Daly to direct any remarks to the court through you, his defending officer.’

Lieutenant Beale-Browne, already on his feet, bowed. ‘Very good, sir.’ He had thought for an instant to beg the defence of Irish temperament, but then thought better of it.

The president turned back to Ezra Barrow, with a distinctly dyspeptic look. ‘Proceed, Mr Barrow; and as succinctly as may be.’

The adjutant had no intention of proceeding otherwise. He had spent the previous day, and had been up half the night, preparing his summary of evidence. His milieu was the stable, the parade, the field day and the orderly room,
not
the ‘literary’ world of officers and lawyers; and he was damned if he, ranker lieutenant or not, was going to be found wanting. He may not have had an education, but the Methodists had taught him to read and write, and if he could speak it, he could write it; and if he could write it, he could now read it.

‘Mr President and gentlemen, as I was saying, Cornet Daly protested strongly to Serjeant Treve that he was
not
to summon the veterinary surgeon, and when Serjeant Treve repeated the order to the duty dragoon, Cornet Daly ordered Serjeant Treve to place himself in arrest. At this point, Serjeant Treve instructed the orderly corporal to inform the picket-officer, who was Cornet Hervey.’

The president and the judge martial, and all the other members of the court, looked directly at Hervey – or so it felt to him. Daly’s interventions, Hervey reckoned, could only serve to demonstrate a disposition to excitement, to pugnacity even, although it seemed to him that the judge martial at least was minded that a botched firing was a matter of judgement rather than of discipline. The adjutant’s choice of words to describe what had happened next would therefore be crucial. Hervey could only trust in the assurances of support which Edmonds and Lankester had given, albeit some time ago now. Barrow was prosecuting officer, after all: he could hardly stay his hand.

Be what may, the eyes of the court were now turned to him. He did not calculate that to sit at attention would be to demonstrate a proper, regulated, officerlike demeanour, for that was his instinct; but he knew it to be the right one
particularly
at this time, and the more so in contrast with Daly’s. He had not one scrap of sympathy for him now.

The adjutant continued. ‘Cornet Hervey, on arriving at the horse lines, perceived the colt to be lying on the ground, and asked what had happened, and if the veterinary surgeon had been called. To which Cornet Daly made violent objection, and insisted once more that the orderly quartermaster be placed in arrest. In the exchanges which followed, Cornet Daly made a threatening gesture towards Serjeant Treve and was struck a blow by Cornet Hervey.’

Hervey winced, but hoped not visibly. The account was correct, but so succinct as to suggest he struck without cause. He looked the president in the eye, however.

‘That, Mr President and gentlemen, concludes the summary of evidence. The prosecution intends calling four witnesses, first Serjeant Treve, then Veterinary Surgeon Knight, then Corporal Rawlings, the regimental orderly corporal that day, and finally Corporal Mains, the picket-corporal. The prosecution may, however, have recourse to calling an additional four non-commissioned officers or dragoons.’

The president looked at the judge martial, who nodded, then back at the adjutant. ‘Very well, Mr Barrow, distasteful as that may be.’

Distasteful
– NCOs and men testifying against an officer: that would be the feeling of every officer in the court. Hervey groaned inwardly. But he had seen the look on Treve’s face as he waited to be called. Treve was as upright as they came – sixteen long years of service and good conduct; everyone spoke of him as being of the best. And now he was to be subjected to examination by the adjutant, and in front of his commanding officer and a whole court of outsiders. Would it have come to this if he,
Cornet
Hervey, with but one year only in the King’s uniform, had better regulated his actions that evening? Might he have done so? Had it been at all possible? So far he had not doubted it, but the process of court martial could gnaw at a man’s certainty.

Serjeant Treve, in full dress, spurs ringing loud on the flagstone floor as he marched, halted before the members’ table, and saluted.

‘Remove headdress,’ barked the court orderly, startling the judge martial.

Serjeant Treve removed his Tarleton helmet and placed it under his left arm. The court orderly handed him a bible, and held a board up to him, on which the oath was written.

‘I swear, upon the holy Evangelists, that the evidence which I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth; so help me, God.’

‘Be seated, Serjeant,’ said the adjutant.

The court orderly placed a chair before the members’ table.

‘State your name, rank and appointment, Serjeant.’

‘Walter Treve, serjeant, quartermaster B Troop, Sixth Light Dragoons, Princess Caroline’s Own, sir.’

‘Were you, on the twenty-fourth day of July this year, regimental orderly quartermaster?’

‘Sir.’

The judge martial looked up. ‘Is that a “yes” or a “no”, Mr Barrow?’

‘It is a “yes”, Your Honour. In the Sixth Light Dragoons the custom is that the affirmative is so-stated.’

‘And the negative?’

‘The same, Your Honour.’

The judge advocate sighed as he smiled. ‘Mr Barrow, you will appreciate, I am sure, the difficulty which may arise in a court of law were such a procedure to be followed. How is the difference discerned?’

‘Everything is conveyed in the tone of the response, Your Honour.’

‘Well, Mr Barrow, for the benefit of those of us unpractised in the no-doubt admirable custom of the Sixth Light Dragoons, perhaps we may adhere to the common form of affirmative and negative – a simple “yes” or “no”?’

‘Sir.’

The president stifled a smile.

‘Serjeant Treve, were you that evening orderly quartermaster?’

‘Sir, yes, sir.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I am obliged, Mr Barrow,’ said the judge martial, taking up his pen once more.