A Regimental Affair

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 farrierserjeants 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 farrierserjeant.

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 farrierserjeants 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 farrierserjeant 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.’