The Secret Battle

by A. P. Herbert

Then again it had been fixed that Travers should be Prisoner's Friend; he knew more about the Papers and the Summary of Evidence, and so on, than any one (though as the papers had only been sent down the morning before, he did not know a great deal). So we left it at that. Travers was a young law student in private life, but constitutionally timid of authority, and he made no great show, in spite of the efforts of the Deputy Judge Advocate, a person supposed to assist everybody. But, as I have said, perhaps it was as well.

For what they thought of as the 'hard facts of the case' were all that mattered to the Court, and as related by Philpott and Burnett and Peters, they were pretty damning. That bit about the 'running' was fatal. It made a great impression. Both the Prosecutor and two of the Court asked Burnett, 'Are you sure he was running?' If he had only been walking away from the enemy it would have made so much difference!

Travers did ask Burnett why was he in the dug-out entrance; and it showed you what a mockery any kind of cross-examination would have been. In the absence of short-hand writers every question and almost every answer was written down, word for word, by the Deputy Judge Advocate. After a question was put there was a lengthy pause while the officer wrote; then there was some uncertainty and some questions about the exact form of the question. Had Travers said, 'Why were you in the dug-out?' or 'Why did you go to the dug-out?' Finally, all being satisfactorily settled and written down, the witness was allowed to answer. But by then the shiftiest witness had had time to invent a dozen suitable answers. No liar could possibly be caught out—no deceiver ever be detected—under this system. That was 'being fair to the witness.'

Burnett answered, of course, that he had gone there to inquire if the working-party had been seen.

To do Burnett justice, he did not seem at all happy at having to tell his tale again. If his original report had really been made under a sudden impulse of spite and revenge (and, however that may be, he could certainly have made a very different report), I think perhaps he had not realized how far the matter would go—had not imagined that it would come to a Court-Martial, and now regretted it. But it was too late. He could not eat his words. And that was the devil of it. Burnett might have made a different report; Philpott could have 'arranged things' with the Brigade—could have had Harry sent to the Base on the ground of his record and medical condition, and not have applied for a Court-Martial. But once those 'hard facts' came before the Court, to be examined under that procedure, simply as 'hard facts'—an officer ordered up with a party and important stores; some of the party scattered; officer seen running, running, mind you—in the wrong direction; officer 'shaken' on the evidence of his men, and refusing to obey an order—it was too late to wonder whether the case should ever have come there. That was Philpott's business. He did not seem disturbed. He even mentioned—casually—that 'there had been a similar incident with this officer once before, when his conduct with a working-party by no means satisfied me.' Quite apart from the monstrous misrepresentation of the thing, the statement was wholly inadmissible at that stage, and the President stopped him. But that also was too late. It had sunk in....

And so the evidence went slowly on, unshaken—not that it was all unshakable; no one tried to shake it.

After Philpott came Peters, the N.C.O., a good fellow.

He told the Court what Harry had said about 'going back to wait a bit,' instead of going straight on when the party collected again.

They asked him, 'Was there any reason why the party should not have gone on then?'

'Well, sir,' he said, 'the shelling was bad, and we should have had some casualties, but I daresay we should have got through. I've seen as bad before.'