Lord Towcester had not the slightest doubt, however. Private Hopwood had struck an officer, and he had done so in front of his troop, entirely unprovoked. His reason for the assault was both cynical and at the same time naive. ‘His lordship is therefore determined to make such an example of the man that it will arrest any tendency to the striking of officers,’ said Adjutant Dauntsey, in reply to Hervey’s intercession on the man’s behalf.
‘But there has been no tendency to the striking of officers. Indeed, there has not been a single case in my entire time with the regiment,’ Hervey pointed out.
‘And a flogging shall ensure that the regiment’s record is restored. You do know, Captain Hervey, that his lordship might have imposed a penalty of death?’
Hervey knew it perfectly well. Striking a superior officer, along with mutiny, desertion, plundering, burglary with violence, giving false alarms, sodomy, carnally abusing children, ravishing women, and riotously beginning to demolish a house, could bring a man before a firing squad or the hangman. And yet the details of the offence were so bizarre as to trouble the sternest of disciplinarians. ‘I should like one final attempt to persuade his lordship to further clemency,’ said Hervey, careful to make acknowledgement of the concession so far.
‘I shall convey your request to his lordship, Captain Hervey. Is there anything else?’
‘No, there is nothing else,’ Hervey replied. In his heart he knew that Lord Towcester was not for turning, but that could not bar his trying.
It soon became clear, too, that Major Joynson wanted no confrontation with the lieutenant colonel. The major sat in his office surrounded by ledgers and sheaves of paper, and evidently regarded the question of Hopwood’s punishment as a distraction to his work. ‘Hervey, there hasn’t been a flogging in years – that, I grant you – but then, there hasn’t been a case of violent insubordination either.’
‘It wasn’t “violent insubordination”,’ insisted Hervey, shaking his head in despair. ‘It was no more insubordination than—’
‘Than?’
Hervey sighed. ‘Do you know all the details, sir?’
‘I know that a dragoon called Hopwood struck Mr Seton Canning in the face with his glove, in front of the whole troop. Do I need to know more?’
‘You were not at the court martial, sir. Do you know why he did it?’
‘Is it of any consequence?’
In one sense the major was entirely correct: a private man striking an officer was an unallowable occurrence. But the major’s manner suggested to Hervey that his submission in the business was entirely pragmatic. If there was nothing he could do about it, then why provoke trouble?
‘Hopwood struck Seton Canning because a man from the fusiliers had told him that striking an officer brought deportation. He has a wife in Australia whom he abandoned three years ago, believing her to be untrue to him, and he has learned that she was accused falsely, and he is in despair of seeing her again.’
‘And yet I am unmoved.’
‘Sir, I relate the story not to excite sympathy for him, but to show how unmalevolent was his intent. I know that may sound strange at first, but it was no more an act of rebellion than—’
The major sighed and took off his spectacles, rubbing his eyes wearily, though it was not past nine. ‘Hervey, has it ever occurred to you that the threat, the possibility of the lash – no matter that it has not been used in twenty years – may hold some of the regiment’s meaner sorts in check? That this flogging, irrespective of the offence, may keep others from transgression in the future? Not insubordination, I mean, but generally.’
There was undoubted logic in the major’s argument, and Hervey was conscious of beginning to sound like those evangelicals who went round calling for the prisons to be made comfortable and the poor laws bountiful. But flogging had not been the Sixth’s way, and the regiment had pulled through the severest times without it. ‘With respect, sir, I do not believe that many in either the officers’ or the serjeants’ messes share that view.’
The major put his spectacles back on and looked at him severely. ‘You have not been discussing the matter with them, I hope, Hervey?’
‘No, sir.’ Hervey tried to conceal his mounting exasperation. ‘I should not dream of it. There is talk of nothing but the matter in the canteens.’
‘The canteens? How do you know that, Captain Hervey?’
‘Oh, sir!’ This time he was not going to trouble to conceal his dismay, or even to answer directly. ‘The talk can’t be anything other than injurious to discipline, for it implies that striking an officer is the most heinous of crimes in the lieutenant colonel’s judgement. Unless, that is, he intends restoring the lash for any number of offences.’
‘Hervey, I should be very careful were I you. We do not wish any more trouble than we have already.’
‘With respect again, sir, that is my intention also. That is why I am come before you.’
The major took off his spectacles once more. ‘Are you sure you are not drawn into this too far, because the dragoon is from your troop?’
Hervey could not follow his reasoning. His obligation to act was precisely because Hopwood was one of his troop.
‘I mean,’ Joynson explained, ‘that you may be seeing in this an affront, given that the lieutenant colonel has been so obviously displeased with you since the general’s inspection.’
This was a terrible prospect indeed. Had Lord Towcester ordered the flogging to humiliate him and his troop? Would a lieutenant colonel order a dragoon to be flogged solely to humble his officer? No, surely not! Surely not even a man who had run from battle. Hervey breathed deeply and shook his head to dispel the notion. ‘What is Mr Lincoln’s opinion?’
‘Hervey,’ sighed the major, beginning to polish his spectacles. ‘I do not think that that is anything to do with you.’
The major was right, of course. Outside Hervey’s own squadron, matters were the preserve of the regimental staff. ‘No, indeed, sir,’ Hervey conceded. ‘I will take my leave, then. I have requested a hearing of the lieutenant colonel. I thought one last attempt at—’
‘Yes, Hervey,’ the major interrupted, his voice seeming almost to tremble. ‘Do not think that I do not admire your dedication to principle, and indeed to your men.’
But the last thing Hervey wanted now was Major Joynson’s shrift. ‘Thank you, sir. I’m very much obliged for your time and counsel. We can only pray that it turns out well.’ He put his cap back on, saluted and left the major’s office, and with a truly heavy heart.
‘We can only pray,’ echoed Joynson softly, alone now. One hundred lashes? The law allowed three times that. It should not be impossible to bear.
Prayer was indeed all that remained, for Hervey was unable to gain a hearing of the lieutenant colonel. Lord Towcester remained out of barracks until the hour appointed for the punishment, and Hervey knew that any appeal in public would not only be to no avail but might prejudice the peace generally.
At midday the regiment turned out for foot parade in full dress, with side arms, the officers in front of their troops. It was a solemn affair, without the usual banter from the ranks. Only the words of command, and these muted, broke the heavy silence from time to time. Private Hopwood was marched onto parade under close escort, and with him the half-dozen other prisoners in confinement at the time, so that they too might experience the benefit of his example. When he reached the centre of the front of the regiment he was halted, and the adjutant, stepping up to the commanding officer and saluting, received a sheet of paper, which he proceeded to read aloud. It detailed the finding of the court martial and the sentence awarded. Hopwood stood erect throughout, so that only the guard at his side was able to detect the involuntary trembling which he struggled hard to control. Hopwood had not been at Waterloo, but one could readily suppose that his conduct there would have been as it was now. Hervey felt anger welling as he wondered, by contrast, how the Earl of Towcester would have stood. Seton Canning, five paces behind,
had been at Waterloo, and he would rather have been there this day. He it was who had received Hopwood’s blow; it had not been much of one, and it had certainly not drawn blood. Canning had also been the first to ask the court martial for clemency on the man’s behalf, yet still he could not but feel that what he was about to witness was in some measure his fault.
The reading finished, the regiment received the order ‘fours right’ from Major Joynson, in a faltering voice, and the band struck up ‘Seventeen Come Sunday’. It was so curious a choice that it had the reverse effect from that doubtless intended, for as the squadrons marched to the riding school by its merry tune, the resentment was almost palpable. At the doors, the squadrons halted and fell out to line the sides, four deep. At the furthest end, opposite the door, stood a wooden triangle six feet at the apex, and next to it the farrier-major and two brawny farrierserjeants, jackets off, sleeves rolled up, and each holding a cat-o’-nine-tails. Beside them stood the trumpet-major in full dress.
Hopwood was marched up and halted. He placed a piece of silver in the trumpet-major’s hand – a custom which not even the adjutant had recalled until Lord Towcester reminded him (the regulations said the trumpet-major was responsible for training with the cat). The trumpet-major then marched to the door to take up his post, and when he was out of sight of the lieutenant colonel he threw the coin as far as he could, and with unconcealed contempt. Hervey saw it, but he could take no satisfaction in having told Major Joynson the affair would have that effect.
Lord Towcester, in a clear voice, gave the order ‘Proceed.’ The farrier-serjeants seized the prisoner and tied him to the triangle. Hopwood made no struggle. It seemed he was trying the while to meet his punishment squarely. But although he had stood without support he could not now control his bladder, and the wretched dragoon’s incontinence became at once apparent to all. Hervey felt tears come.
Soon Hopwood was firmly triced up, his shirt stripped from his back and a leather gag placed between his teeth. The farrierserjeants took post either side of the triangle at attention. Lord Towcester was allowing the moment to have its full effect, but the chaplain, hitherto silent – and who, indeed, had made little impression on the regiment since his joining six months before – stepped forward and bowed to him.
‘My lord,’ he begged, ‘have mercy now on this miserable offender, as we hope Our Lord Himself shall have in the dreadful Day of Judgement.’
Lord Towcester went a deep shade of red. ‘When I wish to hear you, reverend sir, you may be sure that I will let you know. Proceed, farrier-major!’
‘Sir!’
There was not another sound in the school.
The farrier-major raised his right arm. Its muscles tightened, the veins swelled. Down swung the lash with a sickening crack on Hopwood’s bare flesh. ‘One!’ called the farrier-serjeant.
Hopwood writhed as no one had ever seen, as if the lash flayed his spirit from one side of his body to the other. Blood oozed from where the thongs cut deep into his side, his back vivid with great weals. Two dragoons fainted behind Hervey. He heard them fall, and saw three more across the school. One or two men were already pushing their way outside to throw up. Hervey had prayed hard that Hopwood would not cry out, but the sheer force of the lash drove the air from his lungs, his mouth already open in shock, the gag expelled. Hervey looked across at Lord Towcester. He could not be sure, but his face had a look of triumph at the sound. One of the farrier-serjeants picked up the gag, brushed off the dust and jammed it hard into Hopwood’s mouth – a rough but necessary kindness.
‘Two!’ cried the farrier-major, laying the cat a little higher this time, opening new wounds and making more weals. But Hopwood had clamped his mouth hard this time, and there was nothing but the noise of the lash. Despite everything, Hervey felt pride swelling in him: there were other ways to demonstrate courage than on the battlefield.
‘Three!’ Hopwood’s back was now a livid mass of raw flesh. Blood dripped to the sand.
‘Four! … Five! … Six!’
Methodically the farrier-major continued the count, the strokes falling regularly – ten to the minute.
Past twenty, and still the odd dragoon fell in a dead faint.
‘Twenty-five!’ Yet Hopwood made not a sound.
The farrier-major stood back, and the surgeon stepped forward to feel the prisoner’s pulse, as the regulations demanded. ‘He is fit to continue, my lord,’ he declared, shaking his head sadly, and then he signed for the punishment to proceed.
Hervey thought to appeal now, on account of Hopwood’s fortitude. But he reasoned that the lieutenant colonel would surely see that for himself, and might indeed be inclined to order the full punishment to run if he interfered. The farrier-serjeant now relieved his senior, and the farrier-major took up the count. At the fortieth lash Hopwood suddenly gave a convulsive jerk, and then hung limp. The surgeon raised his hands and the falling blow was diverted. He felt Hopwood’s pulse again, pulled up an eyelid to examine the pupil, then stepped forward to the lieutenant colonel. ‘My lord, he can bear no more.’
A sigh of relief went up from all, officers and men alike.
Without a word Lord Towcester strode from the riding school.
The farrier-major threw a bucket of salt water over Hopwood’s back, untriced him and handed him over to the hospital orderlies. Seton Canning made to go to him, but Hervey caught his arm. ‘Not now, not now,’ he said, kindly but emphatically.
As they left the school, Ezra Barrow came up to Hervey’s side. ‘A word if you please. Shall you come to my rooms?’
In Barrow’s quarters in the mess – he was not married – the captain from the ranks produced a brandy bottle and two glasses. ‘I can send for water, if you prefer.’
‘Don’t trouble,’ said Hervey. ‘I think my stomach could do with it undiluted.’
Barrow poured until the glasses were full, sat heavily in an armchair and took a large gulp of his. ‘I’ve a mind to send in my papers, Hervey. I’ve never been opposed on principle to touching over – as the regiment is supposed to be – but neither ’ave I seen any occasion when I thought it was truly necessary. Perhaps once, when I were a young trooper – two men ’ad got horrible drunk and spoiled another man’s wife. But never since then . . .’ The strange Brummagem vowels had returned as strong as ever.
Hervey too had taken a large measure of the brandy, and was beginning to feel its powers. ‘I’ve heard it said there is something of a man’s spirit that’s for ever broken when he’s been flogged; that however his body mends, he’s never the same again.’
Barrow nodded. ‘I’ve heard that as well. All men are different, mind.’
‘Do you know what was Mr Lincoln’s opinion of the matter?’ The RSM’s opinion was always inscrutable outside the orderly room.
Barrow took another gulp of brandy. ‘I do. Even an RSM must confide in someone, and it’s only natural to confide in one who’s been in that seat himself.’
‘And?’
‘I said “confide”, Hervey.’
Hervey would dearly have known the RSM’s opinion, for it was so rarely given, and Mr Lincoln had served the longest of any man in the Sixth. ‘I hope you won’t send in your papers, Barrow. It seems that Strickland will, and soon enough there’ll be no one but Towcester’s lackeys. Besides aught else, your dragoons wouldn’t thank you.’
The glasses were by now full again.
‘Cod’s, Hervey! My troop’s well-found – it’s true. But they’d no more miss me than . . . They like a gentleman, not one as is like them under the skin. You know that as well as I.’
As a rule, Hervey knew it to be right. But though there was little actual love for Barrow in the ranks, there was respect nevertheless. ‘Barrow, your troop would follow you. That’s the important thing, is it not?’
‘Of course they’d follow. There are serjeants behind them!’
Hervey frowned. ‘Would follow willingly.’
Barrow huffed and drank more brandy. �
��Brighton’ll be one turnout after another. Towcester will be lashing the whole regiment before a week. I haven’t the stomach for it.’
‘It may not be so bad. We might see inside the Prince Regent’s pavilion,’ tried Hervey, with a sort of smile.
‘Hervey, I don’t like saying this. It goes against everything I’ve held to in two and a half score years in the service. But yon Earl of Towcester is a bad lot. He’ll fall foul of the Horse Guards sooner or later. They all do. But he’ll lead the regiment a pretty dance ere then. And a lot of men shall pay a heavy price – Hopwood, me, you even . . .’
‘I’ve been trying to tell myself that it won’t be so bad once we have real work to do.’
‘Maybe,’ Barrow conceded, though not sounding convinced. ‘But if I had the means . . .’
‘For what?’
‘To let them in authority know what is his true nature, I would!’
Hervey understood that the financial stake for Barrow was too high. And perhaps, in its way, it was for him too. He shuddered at the notion. It must never be so, he told himself: he must act disinterestedly, always. And if a man like Barrow was driven to thoughts of defiance, then was it not time that he himself made such a stand?
When Hervey returned home that evening, a little before eight, the brandy was no more than a dull headache, for he had turned out his troop for sword drill in the afternoon to sweat the flogging out of them. It had been a woeful affair to begin with, for Serjeant-Major Kendall seemed wholly incapable of exercising any mastery over a body of men; and had it not been for the most judicious, and surprisingly tactful, intervention of Serjeant Armstrong, the parade might have become like a shambles of a busy morning. He had wondered when he could be rid of Kendall, when he might raise the matter with Lord Towcester. He had even discovered lately that the serjeant-major had managed to get himself and the commissary wagons thoroughly lost during the general’s inspection, where but for the early finish to the scheme there would have followed certain disarray in the troop. But at the moment Hervey could not broach the subject even with the adjutant, for such was the strong detestation in that quarter that a request to have the man moved would only be met with accusations that he was trying to deflect the blame for his own shortcomings. There seemed no end to his problems.
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