loss of a man who lived and died with honour.
Captain Joseph Reavley, Chaplain
He looked on it and read it again. It still seemed formal. Should it be? Perhaps that was the only way that kept the dignity if there could be any dignity in mud and blood and pain, and coughing your lungs up.
Then he picked up the pen again and added,
We sat in the lamplight together and he spoke to me with great frankness. He had the courage to call my bluff, and ask me what I really believed. I think in trying to answer him honestly, which he deserved, I answered a few of my own questions also. I owe him a gratitude for that, and I shall not forget him.
Joseph Reavley
Before he could think better of it, or feel self-conscious, he folded the letter and put it in one of the envelopes. Perhaps the fact that it was personal would one day make her feel closer to the man she had loved.
That afternoon Joseph went with Sam to perform the duty he hated most of all, worse even than writing to families of the dead. The court martial of Private Edwin Corliss had been unavoidable. Since it was a capital charge, it was presided over by Major Swaby, from another division, with two junior officers, Lieutenants Bennett and Mac Neil neither of whom looked to be over twenty-three. They were all pale-faced, stiff and profoundly unhappy.
They were all behind the lines. Such proceedings were not conducted under fire. One room of a cafe had been temporarily commandeered and it had an oddly comfortable look, as if a waiter might appear with a bottle of wine at any moment.
Swaby came over to where Joseph and Sam were waiting. He spoke to them briefly. "Your man, Major Wetherall?"
"Yes, major," Sam said stiffly, his face pale and tight with anxiety. "He's a good man." He did not add any details of his service. This was not the time. Swaby understood.
"Don't worry," Swaby said calmly. "Straightforward case. We'll hear it and debate for a few minutes, then send the poor devil home. Wouldn't have brought it at all if the sergeant hadn't been pushed into a bit of a corner. Can't be seen to overlook these things."
"No, major." Sam relaxed only a fraction.
Swaby went up to the front and sat down at the table. The proceedings began.
Sergeant Watkins gave evidence, looking acutely unhappy, but he told the truth exactly as he saw it, standing to attention and facing forward.
Every accused man was entitled to ask an officer, usually of his own unit, to defend him, and Corliss had chosen Sam. Now Sam stood to question Watkins. He was courteous, even respectful. He knew enough to take great care neither to embarrass the man, nor seem to be condescending to him. Watkins was a career soldier. He would rather be abused than patronized.
Sam did not argue with the facts, he simply allowed Watkins to tell as little as possible, and choose his own words. It was apparent that if he had been allowed to, he would have let the matter go.
"Then why didn't you, Sergeant Watkins?" Sam said tartly. His face was pale, his eyes glittering with anger, his body stiff. He leaned forward a little and winced, probably as the bandage tightened over the gash on his chest.
"Civilian present, sir!" Watkins said bitterly. "Newspaper man. Couldn't let them write up that we 'ave no discipline. And 'e'd take it 'igher, sir!"
"I see. Thank you."
The surgeon looked so tired Joseph was afraid he was going to pass out before he was finished giving his evidence. Even Major Swaby seemed concerned for him.
"Are you all right, Captain Harrison?" he asked gravely.
"Yes, sir," the surgeon answered, blinking. "I really can't help you. I know Corliss lost two fingers in the accident, and we had to take a third off later, but I have no idea how it happened. Don't have time to think about such things, if it doesn't matter to the treatment. I certainly didn't ask him, and I've no idea if he said anything. People behave differently when they're in shock, and a lot of pain. There was an accident. That's all
Captain Joseph Reavley, Chaplain
He looked on it and read it again. It still seemed formal. Should it be? Perhaps that was the only way that kept the dignity if there could be any dignity in mud and blood and pain, and coughing your lungs up.
Then he picked up the pen again and added,
We sat in the lamplight together and he spoke to me with great frankness. He had the courage to call my bluff, and ask me what I really believed. I think in trying to answer him honestly, which he deserved, I answered a few of my own questions also. I owe him a gratitude for that, and I shall not forget him.
Joseph Reavley
Before he could think better of it, or feel self-conscious, he folded the letter and put it in one of the envelopes. Perhaps the fact that it was personal would one day make her feel closer to the man she had loved.
That afternoon Joseph went with Sam to perform the duty he hated most of all, worse even than writing to families of the dead. The court martial of Private Edwin Corliss had been unavoidable. Since it was a capital charge, it was presided over by Major Swaby, from another division, with two junior officers, Lieutenants Bennett and Mac Neil neither of whom looked to be over twenty-three. They were all pale-faced, stiff and profoundly unhappy.
They were all behind the lines. Such proceedings were not conducted under fire. One room of a cafe had been temporarily commandeered and it had an oddly comfortable look, as if a waiter might appear with a bottle of wine at any moment.
Swaby came over to where Joseph and Sam were waiting. He spoke to them briefly. "Your man, Major Wetherall?"
"Yes, major," Sam said stiffly, his face pale and tight with anxiety. "He's a good man." He did not add any details of his service. This was not the time. Swaby understood.
"Don't worry," Swaby said calmly. "Straightforward case. We'll hear it and debate for a few minutes, then send the poor devil home. Wouldn't have brought it at all if the sergeant hadn't been pushed into a bit of a corner. Can't be seen to overlook these things."
"No, major." Sam relaxed only a fraction.
Swaby went up to the front and sat down at the table. The proceedings began.
Sergeant Watkins gave evidence, looking acutely unhappy, but he told the truth exactly as he saw it, standing to attention and facing forward.
Every accused man was entitled to ask an officer, usually of his own unit, to defend him, and Corliss had chosen Sam. Now Sam stood to question Watkins. He was courteous, even respectful. He knew enough to take great care neither to embarrass the man, nor seem to be condescending to him. Watkins was a career soldier. He would rather be abused than patronized.
Sam did not argue with the facts, he simply allowed Watkins to tell as little as possible, and choose his own words. It was apparent that if he had been allowed to, he would have let the matter go.
"Then why didn't you, Sergeant Watkins?" Sam said tartly. His face was pale, his eyes glittering with anger, his body stiff. He leaned forward a little and winced, probably as the bandage tightened over the gash on his chest.
"Civilian present, sir!" Watkins said bitterly. "Newspaper man. Couldn't let them write up that we 'ave no discipline. And 'e'd take it 'igher, sir!"
"I see. Thank you."
The surgeon looked so tired Joseph was afraid he was going to pass out before he was finished giving his evidence. Even Major Swaby seemed concerned for him.
"Are you all right, Captain Harrison?" he asked gravely.
"Yes, sir," the surgeon answered, blinking. "I really can't help you. I know Corliss lost two fingers in the accident, and we had to take a third off later, but I have no idea how it happened. Don't have time to think about such things, if it doesn't matter to the treatment. I certainly didn't ask him, and I've no idea if he said anything. People behave differently when they're in shock, and a lot of pain. There was an accident. That's all
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