by Lynn Bryant
“I have thought about it,” he said, looking up. “All the way home. I know that however this turns out, it is going to reflect on you, sir, and I am sorry for any embarrassment that I’ve caused you. But I’m not resigning my commission. There are people out there saying I bought my way to where I am and I suppose they’re right. But you can’t buy the respect of fellow officers and the loyalty of my men and I’ve worked hard to earn those. I’m not giving up without a fight. I’ve never yet had to surrender. If they want me out, they’ll have to cashier me.”
Franz was looking at him steadily. After a moment he said:
“Then you’ll need legal advice.”
“I’ve the direction of a man named David Solomons; Wellesley gave it to me. Apparently he’s an expert in courts martial. I’ll represent myself at the trial, it’s the usual way, but he can advise me on witnesses and help me to prepare my defence.”
“Solomons?” Joshua said. “A Jewish lawyer? That isn’t possible.”
“Probably not, but just because he has a Jewish name doesn’t mean he doesn’t go to church,” Franz said. “There are a fair few bright lads out there who choose ambition over religion I imagine. Why don’t you meet with him? If you’re not happy, we can find somebody else. Keep me abreast of how things are going. I’m away for a few weeks, I’ve been invited to Lincolnshire, to Belton. A matter of business. I’d offer to stay but you’ll be a lot happier without me here poking my nose into your affairs.”
Paul laughed aloud. “You make me sound really ungrateful, sir. Thank you. I know you want to help, but I’m not always good at accepting it.”
“Well I will be here, I’m needed at the office,” Joshua said. “But I’ll leave you alone. Talk to me if you want to. Is that why you won’t let Rowena come up to town?”
Paul nodded. “She’s worried,” he said. “You know how she frets, and I know it’s because she cares. But just at the moment it would drive me mad. I’ll be short with her and then I’ll feel guilty about it…I’ve written to her and I’ve promised to write often with news. But she’s better off at Southwinds with Patience and the children.”
Franz nodded. “It’s your choice, boy. Tell me more about this Danish affair. There’s a lot of talk about it in town and it’s not well-liked. They’re calling it a national disgrace, saying we bullied a neutral nation and slaughtered innocent people.”
“We did,” Paul said. He gave a somewhat forced smile and shook his head. “Sorry. It’s been an unpleasant experience from start to finish, this campaign. I missed the bombardment itself as I was under arrest at Roskilde but I saw the mess we’d made of the city and it’s heartbreaking. Those poor people. I liked the Danes.”
“I don’t suppose they liked you very much,” Joshua said.
Paul grinned. “It wasn’t all bad. One of my lieutenants will be bringing a Danish wife home with him.”
His father and brother stared at him in astonishment. “I’m surprised you allowed that,” Franz said. Paul laughed.
“I’m not sure I had much of a choice given that they had anticipated the marriage vows rather thoroughly.”
He told the story, glad to be able to talk about something light-hearted. The conversation moved on to the shipping business and some of Franz’s other investments and the court martial was not mentioned again.
It was difficult for Paul to think about anything else. Sir Arthur Wellesley, after a series of meetings to report on the progress of the Copenhagen campaign, had returned to his duties as Chief Secretary in Dublin. He had promised to write weekly to Paul and to return in plenty of time for the trial.
Paul met with David Solomons. He was younger than Paul had expected, probably in his thirties, a Cambridge scholar who had very firmly set aside the religion of his fathers to open up a legal career. Paul liked him immediately and quickly understood why Wellesley had recommended him. Solomons had worked on a number of very high profile courts martial, both in the army and the navy and had a very good grasp of procedure and rules of evidence. It made Paul feel better to have the system explained to him by a man without any personal interest in the case.
Paul took over one of the small sitting rooms at Tevington House as a study and spent days reading trial transcripts and newspaper accounts of past cases. He became fascinated by the recent trial of Sir Home Riggs Popham. Paul remembered reading about the case but he had been busy with his own career and apart from a passing thought that Popham had probably got off lightly with a reprimand, he had thought little about it at the time.
He looked at the case now with new eyes, having met Popham. He was clearly a very ambitious officer with his eyes on an Admiralty appointment and had served as an MP in two constituencies. Several years earlier, Popham had submitted a paper to the Prime Minister, William Pitt about a possible expedition to attack the Spanish colonies in South America but the idea was set aside and Popham was sent to the Cape of Good Hope with a force under Sir David Baird. The expedition was an easy success and with the Dutch colony in British hands, Sir Home Riggs Popham had come up with a plan to attack the River Plate.
It had been an insane chance to take and made Paul feel considerably better about his own minor breach of discipline aboard a navy frigate. With Pitt and the Tories in power he supposed that Popham had thought he would get away with it, providing he was successful. Reluctantly, Baird allowed him 1200 men and he acquired another 180 from St Helena on his way to Argentina, along with the news of Pitt’s untimely death. With no idea who was now in power in London, Paul was astonished that Popham had not abandoned the expedition and sailed back to the Cape.
Popham’s small force, a total of 1635 men including a marine battalion, was commanded by Brigadier-General William Carr Beresford. Landing near Buenos Aires it took the Spanish by surprise and on 2 July the city surrendered, and Beresford took possession. Popham sent an enthusiastic open letter to the merchants of England announcing this lucrative new market for their goods but he had been over-optimistic. A Spanish force was assembled and on 10 August they entered the city, overwhelmed Beresford's men, and forced their surrender. Beresford’s men were taken prisoner and Popham was left to blockade the river and await reinforcements. With them, arrived his replacement and orders to return to England where he was arrested on two charges, found guilty and severely reprimanded. Three months later he was aboard the Prince of Wales as Gambier’s Captain of the Fleet and Paul was bitterly aware of the value of friends in high places.
Paul did not have Popham’s connections in government, but he knew that Wellesley was not wholly without influence and his regular letters suggested that he was working hard on his protege’s behalf. He was urging Paul to go out and be seen around town but Paul ignored that advice and concentrated on his defence. He had not the temperament for seeking political favours from people he barely knew but he did have the ability to put together a good argument and to deliver it publicly. Reading through his notes at a morning meeting, Solomons said:
“You would have made a good lawyer, Major. I wish all my clients were like you. I’m not sure you need me.”
“Oddly enough my father had ideas of me going into the law,” Paul said with a grin. “Naturally I immediately found myself a commission. And I really do need you, Mr Solomons, I don’t have the faintest idea what I’m doing here. My brother doubted they’d want to hear from Mrs Kelly - what’s your opinion?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Solomons said. “You’re entitled to call whatever witnesses you like, and if she is able to testify as to conditions aboard that ship, she’ll be a big help. What is she like? Is she going to get upset under questioning?”
“I don’t think so,” Paul said considering. “She’s quite young but seems very down-to-earth. And she very much wants to testify.”
“Good, we’ll call her. Captain Kelly will be called by the Judge-Advocate. On paper he is their witness but you seem to think not?”
“He’ll do his best for me. We were both furious that night, bu
t once he’d calmed down, he’s been very supportive.”
“Excellent. They will call Wilson and probably one or two other men from the crew but if Kelly will testify that they were drunk and incapable we can cast serious doubt on their memory of the evening. What about his marines?”
“They were there and they definitely heard me blow up at Captain Kelly. So did several of my men. My lads will be very careful about what they say. I’m not asking them to lie but they’ll have discussed it in detail and I’d be very surprised if any of them will say anything to my discredit.”
“Good. Sir Arthur Wellesley will appear. He will confirm your efforts to reach him before you took action and the lieutenant aboard the Prince of Wales will confirm that you made several visits there as well. And then we have Sir Home Popham.”
“Yes.” Paul met the intelligent dark eyes. “That’s what they’re going to get me on, isn’t it?”
“Very possibly, Major. But if you’re only found guilty on that one charge, with mitigating circumstances regarding the lives you saved, I doubt they’ll cashier you. We’ll see. Let’s go over this part again.”
***
A blustery autumn had blown itself out and it was cold and wintery on the morning of the 7 December as the carriage dropped Paul outside the entrance to the Chelsea Royal Hospital. He was accompanied by Jenson who was one of his witnesses and had been told to present himself to the Judge-Advocate’s officers.
“You all right, sir?” Jenson asked. Paul glanced round at him and gave a poor attempt at a smile.
“Do I look it?”
His orderly shook his head. “No, sir. You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“If I am, I’m heading straight for Popham and he’s getting it right down the front of his uniform.”
Jenson laughed and put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “You’ll be all right, sir. You always are once the fight’s started. Let’s go and find out where you should be.”
As they moved forward, a figure detached itself from a group of elderly pensioners who had been standing talking at the bottom of the steps. The man walked with a cane, white-haired and grizzled and as he reached Paul it became clear that one eye was damaged, hidden under a neat patch although the scar which ran from beneath the patch down the man’s face made Paul wonder what had caused the injury.
“Major van Daan?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t…”
“A man asked me to give you this.”
It was a folded sheet of paper. Paul took it, bewildered, and reached into his pocket for a coin. “Thank you.”
Inside the building they were separated, with Jenson being led away to wait with the other witnesses while Paul was ushered in to a small room adjoining the great hall where the trial would take place. It was very cold and he ignored the single chair and walked up and down trying to keep warm. He was nervous enough as it was and he did not want to begin his defence shivering from cold.
While pacing, he took the paper from his pocket and unfolded it. There were only a few words of writing and he did not recognise the hand.
“Ask Wilson why he was court-martialled. HK.”
“Major van Daan. This way, sir.”
Through the door, Paul followed the adjutant. The trial was a public occasion although there did not seem to be many spectators on the wooden benches. He had asked his brother and his fellow officers not to be there and for the most part they had obeyed his instructions. Paul took up his station facing the bench, which was currently empty. He had been here before some years ago; a charitable dinner, he seemed to remember. It was an impressive high-ceilinged room with panelled walls and a black and white checked floor which for some reason made Paul feel slightly dizzy. He looked up from it and over at the spectators and among the well-dressed gentlemen and the elderly officers for whom this was presumably a form of entertainment before the theatres opened, he saw a red coat with silver-grey facings and he looked up and into the face of Captain Johnny Wheeler.
Johnny met his eyes and gave a very slight smile, hardly visible. Paul had known that the battalion was home from Denmark and back in barracks at Melton Mowbray. He had assumed Johnny was with them. He tried to frown and instead felt himself return the very small smile. Then he looked away again. The sight of Johnny, here against very definite instructions, made him feel immeasurably better.
There was a sound from the main door and it opened to admit Richard Ryder, the Judge-Advocate General followed by the thirteen members of the court. The president handed the warrant for holding the court to Ryder who accepted it and turned to Paul.
“Major Paul Benedict van Daan, step forward to the bar.”
Paul did so. He had no idea if he was supposed to salute but he was halfway to doing so before he thought about it so he completed the move. The members of the court waited, as Ryder began to read the warrant. Paul knew none of them personally other than the president, and his eyes were fixed on the face of General Sir John Moore. Moore was in his forties, an unassuming figure with slightly wispy brown hair, showing signs of some grey and a pair of warm brown eyes. He had none of the patrician arrogance of Sir Arthur Wellesley and there was nothing about him to suggest his formidable abilities. Paul had trained under him at Shorncliffe but had not seen him for several years, since they had met at a reception in London and he had approached Paul to congratulate him on his promotion to captain and on his service in the recent campaigns in Naples and Sicily.
Paul had thought Moore in Italy himself and wondered when he had returned. The sight of Moore leading the way to the long table when the warrant was read gave Paul unexpected courage. He knew that Moore would not grant any special favours to a man who had trained under him at Shorncliffe but he also knew that he would be scrupulously fair.
There were thirteen members of the bench and Ryder called them each by name. They took their places on either side of Moore according to rank and the date of their commissions, alternately on the right and left of the president. When they were seated, Ryder turned to Paul.
“Major van Daan, have you any objection to any of the General Officers now appearing to serve on this court?”
Paul shook his head. “None, sir.”
“Very well, I shall proceed to swear the members in.”
It was a tedious process and Paul stood immobile, studying a painting on the opposite wall. The great hall had originally been intended as a dining hall for the inmates of the hospital but recently it had become the custom for the men to dine in their wards and the hall was used now for recreation, courts martial, Army entrance examinations and social events. The painting was of what looked like a Parliamentary general and Paul wondered who it was.
With the swearing-in finally over, Ryder turned to Paul.
“Major van Daan. I shall now read the charges against you and when they are read, I shall ask you whether you are guilty or not guilty of the matter of accusation. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. The charges are as follows.”
He read them and Paul listened, although he had spent so much time studying them that he could have recited them off by heart by now.
“How do you plead, Major?”
“Not guilty to all charges, sir.”
In the intensive preparation for his defence, it had not occurred to Paul to ask any questions about the procedure of the actual trial or how he would be expected to address members of the court. It had bothered him, standing at the bar, but he had decided to fall back on using ‘sir’ for everybody he possibly could. He had a sense that a show of good manners at this point would not do him any harm.
With the formalities out of the way, the court was seated. Paul remained standing as Ryder moved to his small table to collect his notes.
“Major van Daan,” Sir John Moore said pleasantly. “You may sit.”
Paul looked up at him startled. “Thank you, sir.”
Ryder looked around, apparently surprised. Moore was s
miling faintly.
“I am sorry, General, I…”
“It is quite all right, Mr Ryder, I am aware that you have only been in post a short time. You are as new to this as Major van Daan although his part in the proceedings is slightly less comfortable.”
Paul closed his eyes briefly as the Judge-Advocate began his statement for the prosecution. Suddenly he realised that his stomach was no longer churning and his hands were still. Ryder’s voice was clear and steady, going over the story of that evening on the Flight in full detail. Most of the details were essentially correct although there were some that Paul intended to question.
With the prosecution case set out, Ryder called his first witness, Wilson who had been the boatswain in command of the stricken vessel. He took the oath and Ryder took him through the events of the evening. Paul was faintly amused by the dramatic account of his boarding of the Flight. While he knew he had been in the grip of sheer fury, he had no recollection of any of the crew being particularly frightened. They had been too drunk and had been more indignant when his men had bundled them into the captain’s cabin and locked the door.
“Major van Daan, have you any questions for this witness?”
“One or two, sir.” Paul got up and walked forward. “Are you still with the impress service, Mr Wilson?”
The man looked surprised. “No, sir.”
“Where do you serve now?”
“Aboard the Defence, sir. She’s a…”
“I know the Defence. In what capacity?”
The man’s eyes shifted. “Petty officer, sir.”
Paul felt a rush of satisfaction and silently blessed Hugh Kelly. “Really? Hard work, isn’t it? I was a petty officer myself as a boy before I changed services. But that’s a bit of a step down from Boatswain of a frigate, isn’t it, Wilson?”