He looked at the other officers in turn, twelve of them, making thirteen in all, the minimum required for a general court martial. The junior member was Newton, lieutenant of the 48th (Northamptonshire), the regiment that had done more than any to save the day at Talavera. What would he make of a quarrel between cornets of light dragoons – an affair of peacocks? Next was Zwicky, from the 97th (Queen’s Germans); what might his notions of high honour make of the conduct of two British officers? The other two lieutenants, Podmore in the blue of the Royal Artillery, and Ince in the green of the Sixtieth’s rifle battalion, he imagined would think much the same. The captains, three in red, two in blue, looked as if they would share the opinion, but more vehemently. Hawkins, second of the two Connaught captains, had a raw powder-burn across his nose and left cheek, vivid evidence of a fighting disposition. What would he care for a brawl in the horse lines, safe behind the infantry’s pickets? Would he know that the Sixth had had their share of fighting too, had gone hard at the French time and again, first with Moore and now with Wellesley? It was the old trouble – the work of cavalry, light cavalry especially, went unseen for the most part. It was too easy to think of them trotting here and there looking as if they were off to escort the Prince of Wales at Brighton. No one had seen them on the march to Corunna, though they had held the French cavalry at bay and bought the infantry precious time. But they had not been there when Sir John Moore had finally given battle, for he had sent his cavalry rear. There was nothing to earn the contempt of a soldier more than to be absent from a battle.
Captain the Honourable F. Purdon, 7th Foot, the Royal Fuzileers, a peer’s son from (it was said) Sir Arthur Wellesley’s favourite regiment: what would he make of a drunken squireen and a parson’s son who resorted to his fists? The Sixth’s reputation would be tarnished, whatever the outcome. And the tarnishing would be under the gaze of their new commanding officer: Lord George Irvine was taking his seat behind the prosecuting officer’s table.
Hervey now glanced at the two majors. They looked every bit as severe as Joseph Edmonds. Finally, he turned his eyes to the lieutenant-colonel, the only cavalryman, from the quartermastergeneral’s department of Sir Arthur Wellesley’s staff. He presumed the exclusion of any other was deliberate, perhaps because it was difficult to find anyone who did not know something of the affair; perhaps because another officer of light dragoons might be prejudiced in his opinion.
The president broke the silence. He read out the warrants for the convening of the court martial, then turned his gaze directly on the accused. ‘Do either of the prisoners have objection to me or to any other member of the officers here assembled for the purpose of trying the cases before the court?’ He addressed the question directly to the two defending officers.
Lieutenant Martyn, standing to Hervey’s right, turned to him for an answer.
Hervey shook his head.
‘Mr Hervey has no objection, sir.’
Lieutenant Beale-Browne asked the same of Cornet Daly.
There was an exchange, sotto voce, but evident enough.
‘Mr Daly objects to Captain Aplin on the grounds that his family and Mr Daly’s are in dispute over certain matters.’
The president looked at Aplin.
‘I am not aware of these matters, sir,’ replied the Connaught captain. ‘Neither that my family has any business with Mr Daly’s. I myself do not know him, but I am ready to stand down, of course, if Mr Daly believes I might be prejudiced.’
The accent was not dissimilar to Daly’s own, thought Hervey, but neither was it exactly the same.
The president turned back to Lieutenant Beale-Browne. ‘I myself would not consider there to be sufficient evidence of the likelihood of prejudice on the part of Captain Aplin, but the prerogative is the prisoner’s.’
There was another whispered consultation. Hervey thought Beale-Browne sounded agitated.
‘Mr Daly is still of the opinion that Captain Aplin be not a member, sir.’
The president stifled a sigh. ‘Very well. Captain Aplin, you are released. Court orderly, be so good as to summon the waiting member.’
Hervey imagined that Daly had not served himself well by insisting on Aplin’s replacement, and could not help being pleased by it; except that officers sitting in judgement were sometimes contrary and might take it as evidence that Daly was of a very ‘independent’ mind – which to any thinking officer could be no bad thing.
The waiting member was a lieutenant of the 29th (Worcestershire). He entered by a side door, stood at attention and saluted.
‘State your name, if you please, sir,’ said the president.
‘Hyacinth Hames, sir.’
Cornet Daly smirked noisily.
The president rounded on him. ‘Mr Daly! This is a court of law and you are in contempt of it.’
Hervey started. Character appeared to be outing: he almost felt sorry for Daly.
‘Well, sir? Have you nothing to say?’
‘I meant no offence to the court, sir,’ replied Daly boldly.
The president looked even blacker. ‘Do you have objection to this officer?’
‘No, sir.’
The president looked at Hervey.
‘None, sir.’
‘Very well then. Court orderly, be so good as to inform the judge martial that the court is assembled.’
‘Sir!’
The court orderly, a lantern-jawed serjeant of the 1st Guards, spun round and marched out. The members placed their swords on the long table before them, removed their hats and took their seats. The president nodded to the escorts, who in turn propelled their charges to chairs, one in front of the other, facing forward on the right-hand side of the court.
‘His honour, the judge martial!’ barked the court orderly.
The court rose as the bewigged representative of the judiciary entered. He and the president exchanged bows, and then both sat down, the judge martial to the president’s right.
Then the judge martial rose again, followed by all the members except the president. He bowed once more, and looked at each member in turn. ‘You shall well and truly try and determine according to your evidence in the matter now before you, between our Sovereign Lord the King’s Majesty, and the prisoner to be tried. So help you, God.’ He next gave a bible to the president, together with an ivory board the size of a cartridge case, on which was printed the oath. ‘I require, on His Majesty’s behalf, that each now swear upon the holy evangelists to this effect.’
The president, Granby-bald, and in consequence looking twice as severe as before, rose and growled his way through the solemn declaration: ‘I, Sir John Pattinson, do swear that I will duly administer justice, according to the Rules and Articles for the better Government of His Majesty’s Forces, and according to an Act of Parliament now in force for the punishment of Mutiny and Desertion, and other Crimes therein mentioned, without Partiality, Favour, or Affection; and if any doubt shall arise, which is not explained by the said Articles or Act of Parliament, according to my Conscience, the best of my Understanding, and the Custom of War in the like Cases. And I further swear, that I will not divulge the Sentence of the Court until it shall be approved by His Majesty, the General, or Commander-in-Chief; neither will I, upon any Account, at any time whatsoever, disclose or discover the Vote or Opinion of any particular Member of the Court martial, unless required to give Evidence thereof, as a Witness, by a Court of Justice in due course of Law. So help me, God.’
The president sat down, and the judge martial proceeded to swear the remainder. To Hervey it was interminable. He tried to assess, from the tone and stance of each member, what might be his attitude to the proceedings, but evidently the gravity of the law was amply conveyed by the process, for every officer spoke as if he were facing the Awful Day of Judgement. That was reassuring in one respect, but he found it disconcerting nevertheless.