‘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.
Barrow made a small bow, then resumed. ‘Tell the court what you found on visiting H Troop’s horse lines.’
‘Sir. I found the brown colt belonging to Mr Daly lying with its head on the ground, shivering, and Mr Daly standing by holding a cautery, sir.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I asked Mr Daly what had happened, sir. He replied that he had removed a lampas from the horse’s mouth.’
‘What then did you say?’
‘I said that the horse looked in distress, sir. I asked if the veterinary were called.’
‘And Cornet Daly replied?’
‘Mr Daly said it weren’t necessary, sir.’
‘Did you press Cornet Daly upon this point?’
‘Sir, I did, sir.’
‘And what was Mr Daly’s reply?’
Serjeant Treve hesitated. ‘He said as how he didn’t need me to tell him what was wanted for a horse of his.’
‘Were those Mr Daly’s exact words?’
Treve hesitated again. ‘Not exactly, sir. Mr Daly put it more blunt.’
The judge martial looked up. ‘I think we had better have them out, Mr Barrow.’
Barrow frowned, though he had known it must come. ‘Serjeant Treve, tell the court exactly what Cornet Daly said.’
Treve looked directly at the president. ‘Mr Daly said, “I don’t need a fucking little serjeant to tell me how to cope with a horse.” ’
The president raised his eyebrows.
‘What was your reply?’ asked the adjutant.
‘I said, sir, as there was no cause to speak to me like that, that I was orderly quartermaster and it was my duty to report any sick or injured horse at once to the veterinary surgeon. Sir.’
‘And how did Cornet Daly reply to this?’
‘Mr Daly said as how the animal wasn’t sick or injured, and that it was his charger and his business, sir.’
‘He used those exact words?’
‘Again, sir, Mr Daly swore. I believe he used the same word three or perhaps four times, sir.’
‘Was this in front of witnesses?’
‘Sir, the orderly corporal and the duty dragoon. Some of the picket came by, but that was later, sir.’
‘What did you then do?’
‘I instructed H Troop’s duty dragoon to inform the troop farrier and the veterinary surgeon that there was a horse down and in distress, sir.’
‘Did Cornet Daly say anything further?’
‘Mr Daly told me to place myself in arrest, sir.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘I instructed the orderly corporal to bring the picket-officer, sir.’
‘So you were then alone with Cornet Daly?’
‘Sir, yes, sir.’
The adjutant turned to the members. ‘Mr President and gentlemen, the prosecution does not intend questioning Serjeant Treve on the period in which there were no witnesses present.’
The president nodded, but the judge martial looked doubtful. ‘For what cause, Mr Barrow? Each of the parties gives evidence under oath.’
Hervey became aware of whispering behind him, Cornet Daly to Lieutenant Beale-Browne.
Barrow resumed. ‘Your Honour, it is the prosecution’s opinion that no good shall come of it.’
‘No good? Mr Barrow, the court is concerned not with “good” but with the law.’
Hervey hoped it would be concerned rather more with justice. And he hoped the judge martial would press to hear the evidence, for he had heard that Daly had become entirely obnoxious during the time before the picket arrived.
‘Nevertheless, Your Honour, the charge against Cornet Daly is substantially proved by the officer’s conduct before witnesses, and with Your Honour’s permission, I will not – at this point at least – examine the witness as to the private exchanges.’
‘Mr Barrow, let me remind you that it is the court which will decide whether or not the charge be proved. Nevertheless, if it is the wish of the prosecution then so be it. Proceed.’
Hervey sighed, but inaudibly. It seemed to him that Barrow was letting off Daly lightly. Why should Treve’s word, on oath, be doubted? He would be as guilty of perjury as Daly.
‘Thank you, Your Honour. Serjeant Treve, tell the court what happened when the picket-officer came.’
‘Sir. Mr Hervey was picket-officer, sir. He came after about ten minutes, not more. He asked what had happened to the colt, and if the veterinary had been called. Sir.’
‘Go on.’
‘Mr Daly said as how it was his business and he wanted Mr Hervey to place me in arrest, sir.’
‘Go on, Serjeant!’
‘Sir, Mr Hervey asked me what I had said to Mr Daly, and I told him what I told you earlier, sir, and said that Mr Daly had been abusive. At that point, sir, Mr Daly said it was a lie and stepped towards me and—’
‘Stepped towards you, Serjeant?’ The judge martial, who alone of those sitting at the members’ table had seen the written witness statements, sounded incredulous.
Hervey was glad of his diligence.
‘Sort of . . . lunged towards me, sir, as if with a sword, though I could see he hadn’t one, sir.’
‘Did you believe it to be in a menacing fashion?’
‘Sir, yes, sir.’
‘You thought Cornet Daly was about to strike you?’
Hervey almost breathed his relief.
But Treve hesitated. ‘To be honest, sir, I cannot recall if I believed Mr Daly was intent to strike me, sir. But he was very angry.’
Hervey groaned.
‘Mr Daly had taken much drink, sir.’
‘Oh, indeed?’ The judge martial looked at Barrow. ‘There is no mention of that elsewhere.’ He turned back to Treve. ‘Did you see Mr Daly consume this drink?’
Barrow’s eyebrows were now rising. He and the lieutenant-colonel had hoped to keep this out of the proceedings.
‘Sir, I did not, sir.’
The judge martial turned to Barrow again. ‘Unless the prosecution intends calling witnesses to testify in very particular terms as to this assertion, I rule that the remark be struck from the record, and that the members of the court take no notice of the assertion. Mr Barrow?’
Barrow shook his head. ‘There is no intention to call witnesses, Your Honour.’
The judge martial now turned to the defending officer. ‘Mr . . . Beale-Browne, may I take it that Cornet Daly will not be entering any plea in mitigation to this effect?’
Lieutenant Beale-Browne’s first instinct was to check the certainty of this with Cornet Daly, but he recognized the difficulties of doing so in front of the court. ‘No, Your Honour.’
‘Very well, then. The remarks will go unrecorded and are to be entirely disregarded by the members of the court. Proceed please, Mr Barrow.’
Lieutenant Barrow found the page in his notes. ‘Serjeant Treve, what happened when Cornet Daly . . . lunged towards you?’
‘Mr Hervey stepped in front of Mr Daly,
sir.’
‘And?’
‘I didn’t actually see that well, sir, it being dark, but Mr Daly seemed to be very angry and lunged again, and then I saw him fall to the ground. At that stage, sir, the veterinary came.’
It was the truth, Hervey knew, and if it was not the whole truth then that must be because Treve genuinely could not have seen. The court must conclude that his own blow was gratuitous.
The adjutant turned to the president. ‘I have finished with this witness, sir.’
‘Very well, Mr Barrow. Mr Beale-Browne, do you have any questions of the witness?’
Hervey was conscious of renewed, and urgent, whispering behind him, and wondered what might be Daly’s objection to a most impartial account. How he wished the adjutant had questioned Treve about Daly’s condition that night: it could only have helped his case. Except, of course, that to do so would have risked suggesting the regiment’s discipline was defective, as the president had already intimated, and that would go hard with mess and canteen alike.
Lieutenant Beale-Browne stood up. ‘Only one, sir. Serjeant Treve, the language in which Mr Daly addressed you: though it sounds indelicate, no doubt, in a court such as this here, now, was it unusual for the horse lines?’
‘Sir, with respect, it is most unusual to hear an officer speak in that way.’
There was a degree of throat-clearing in various quarters. Beale-Browne, having done Daly’s bidding in asking the question, might now have withdrawn decently, saving himself – and others – the risk of ridicule. But strong though his own distaste for Daly was, Lieutenant Beale-Browne perceived he had a duty to perform, and when this business was over, from which he knew that none could emerge with much honour, he was damned if he was going to give anyone the opportunity to find him wanting. ‘Serjeant Treve, have you ever before heard Mr Daly speaking in the language, let us say, of the horse lines?’
Treve hesitated. ‘Sir, if I might put it this way, Mr Daly, sir, is known for his colourful language.’
There was more throat-clearing. Hervey groaned inwardly again. Daly would now appear to the court as the quintessential Irish squireen, fond of the bottle, as all his fellow countrymen – ‘splendid fighting men, if unruly’ – his language strong, but affectionately so. Hervey felt the court turning against him even before he had had the opportunity to speak.
‘I have no more questions, sir.’
The president looked at Lieutenant Martyn, who rose quickly.
‘I have no questions, sir.’
The president turned to the judge martial, who shook his head, and then to the members of the court. None had any question.
‘Thank you, Serjeant; dismiss.’
Serjeant Treve sprang up, replaced his Tarleton, turned to his right and saluted, then left the room at a brisk march.
The adjutant got to his feet again. ‘Mr President and gentlemen, I wish to call as witness Veterinary Surgeon Knight.’
The president nodded, and the court orderly went out to summon him.
A full minute passed. Hervey was aware of half a dozen whispered asides and exchanges, but he said nothing, looking straight ahead throughout, conscious that the members before him must now think the regiment to be little more than a collection of—
The heavy oak doors opened and John Knight entered. He had the gait of a man used to marching in his own company, his right arm describing curious and erratic patterns as he swung it, his left elbow sticking out as if to barge someone out of the way, and the hand grasping a borrowed sword scabbard without its slings. His right spur was adjusted too high and the roundel was jammed, so that only the left spur rang as he marched, which made for added curiosity among the members of the court. He came to a halt, more or less precisely, and saluted by placing several fingers to the point of his bicorn.
‘Remove headdress, sir,’ said the court orderly, voice lowered.
Knight took off his hat and handed it to the serjeant, who, surprised, found himself trying to hold it while handing him the bible. It was managed, but not as a serjeant of Foot Guards would have preferred, and to the amusement of the junior members.
The court orderly cleared his throat pointedly, composing himself and the court for the due gravity of the swearing-in.
‘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.’
Hervey heard Daly whispering to Beale-Browne again, and insistently. He could not imagine to what he might already be objecting.
‘Be seated, Mr Knight,’ said the adjutant, respectfully.
The court orderly brought a chair. Knight sat down, letting his sword clatter to the floor, and crossed his legs.
‘Please state your name, appointment and qualifications.’
‘John Knight, veterinary surgeon, Sixth Light Dragoons, licentiate of the London Veterinary College.’
‘Would you tell the court what happened on the evening of the twenty-fourth of July in respect of a colt belonging to Cornet Daly.’
‘At about nine o’clock I received an urgent summons to attend at H Troop’s horse lines. On arrival there I saw Daly’s colt lying on the ground – as well as Daly himself, I might add. I attended at once to the colt, but the animal had died.’
‘Did—’
The defending officer rose, hesitantly.
The president glowered at him. ‘Yes, Mr Beale-Browne?’
‘Sir, I . . . I beg you would forgive the interruption, but . . . Mr Daly would know why it is that the veterinary officer was sworn, since he is an officer.’
The president was taken aback. He turned to the judge martial.
‘Really, Mr Beale-Browne,’ began the judge martial, laying down his pen and taking off his spectacles. ‘Such enquiries are not appropriate at this time.’
Beale-Browne cleared his throat apologetically. ‘I am sorry, Your Honour, but Mr Daly is very desirous to know why it is that an officer is sworn to tell the truth, which is not the usual practice, his word being always taken for the truth.’
‘Mr Beale-Browne,’ replied the judge martial, sounding more than a shade irritated, ‘it has not been the practice for an officer to take an oath in a regimental court martial, but it has ever been the practice in a general court martial. And, I might add, parliament has very recently passed an act requiring the same of regimental courts martial. So, I hope that is an end to it.’
Beale-Browne looked deeply embarrassed. ‘Thank you, Your Honour.’
The president sighed, audibly. ‘Proceed, Mr Barrow.’
Barrow bowed. ‘Mr Knight, did you ascertain the cause of death?’
‘Yes. It was from the shock, occasioned, in my opinion, by the introduction of a red-hot cautery into the animal’s mouth.’
‘By whose hand?’
‘Daly’s; the cautery was still in his hand, and he later admitted he had used it.’
‘Had you earlier spoken with Cornet Daly on the subject?’
‘I had, earlier in the day. The colt was suffering from lampas. Daly wanted me to burn it out. I refused. I disapprove of the practice.’
‘If you had approved, would you have instructed a farrier or would you yourself have done it?’
‘I most certainly would not have instructed a farrier. The procedure would require a very particular skill.’
‘Thank you, Mr Knight. I have no further questions.’
The adjutant turned again to the president, and bowed.
‘Mr Beale-Browne, do you have any questions of this witness?’ asked the president doubtfully.
Beale-Browne was still in an agitated, whispering exchange with Daly.
‘Well, sir?’
‘I beg your pardon, sir. I have but one question. Mr Knight, is the universal opinion of your profession against firing of lampas?’
‘By no means.’
Beale-Browne cleared his throat apologetically again. ‘Might I press you to more?’
‘It was
in my time a procedure taught at the London Veterinary College, but progressive opinion is against it.’
‘Then you would not dismiss Mr Daly’s opinion as being without foundation?’
‘No, but I would dismiss his skill as a veterinary practitioner as without foundation, and that is the material point.’
Beale-Browne had seen it coming. He had seen it coming before he rose, but Daly had insisted. He wondered, now, how to make a retreat without looking too bruised. It did not help that he was uncertain of the law, but he had one more line of enquiry. ‘Mr Knight, there is nothing in law, so far as I am aware, that prevents a farrier from attempting such a procedure. He regularly attends to the horse’s teeth, for instance?’
‘That is my understanding.’
Beale-Browne cleared his throat again. ‘Mr Knight, besides the many learnèd books by veterinary surgeons, you will know the work of Mr Francis Clater, in particular Everyman his own Farrier?’
‘Of course. In the main an admirable book.’
‘And in that book, in the part addressing the lampas, it says that the cure is generally performed by burning it out with a hot iron.’
‘Indeed it does. But it goes on to say that it requires care and a man of judgement to perform operations of that kind, and that in general farriers are too apt to take more out than is necessary.’
There was a murmur of appreciation in the ‘public seats’ for the evident depth of John Knight’s professional opinion.
‘But the law nevertheless does not prevent it?’
‘As I have said, Mr Beale-Browne, it is my understanding that the law does not, but that is not an end to it: by regimental standing order, no farrier is allowed to make any surgical intervention without the express approval of the veterinary officer.’
Beale-Browne was crestfallen, and becoming desperate. He fired one last round, even sounding hopeless. ‘And burning out the lampas is a surgical intervention?’
John Knight huffed. ‘If it ain’t medical then it’s surgical, and I’m damned if I can see how anyone could administer medicine with a cautery!’
The president cleared his throat very pointedly. Knight had overstepped the mark, but with provocation. ‘I think we have reached the end of this line of questioning, Mr Beale-Browne?’
Beale-Browne made a determined effort to hide his mortification. ‘Yes, sir.’
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