An Act Of Courage

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 learned 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.’

But he conceded too soon. The judge martial had a question. ‘Would that standing order be known to every officer?’

John Knight half shrugged his shoulders. ‘I cannot say. My business is the horses and the farriers.’

The judge martial turned to the man most likely to be able to answer.