II
But he got no mercy. The sentence was confirmed by the higher authorities.
I cannot pretend to know what happened, but from some experience of the military hierarchy I can imagine. I can see those papers, wrapped up in the blue form, with all the right information beautifully inscribed in the right spaces, very neat and precise, carefully sealed in the long envelopes, and sent wandering up through the rarefied atmosphere of the Higher Formations. Very early they halt, at the Brigadier, or perhaps the Divisional General, some one who thinks of himself as a man of 'blood and iron.' He looks upon the papers. He reads the evidence—very carefully. At the end he sees 'Recommended to Mercy.'—'All very well, but we must make an example sometimes. Where's that confidential memo. we had the other day? That's it, yes. "Officer who fails in his duty must be treated with the same severity as would be awarded to private in the same circumstances." Quite right too. Shan't approve recommendation to mercy. Just write on it, "See no reason why sentence should not be carried out," and I'll sign it.'—Or, more simply perhaps: 'Mercy! mercy be damned! must make an example. I won't have any cold feet in my Command.' And so the blue form goes climbing on, burdened now with that fatal endorsement, labouring over ridge after ridge, and on each successive height the atmosphere becomes more rarefied (though the population is more numerous). And at long last it comes to some Olympian peak—I know not where—beyond which it may not go, where the air is so chill and the population so dense, that it is almost impossible to breathe. Yet here, I make no doubt, they look at the Blue Form very carefully and gravely, as becomes the High Gods. But in the end they shake their heads, a little sadly, maybe, and say, 'Ah, General B—— does not approve recommendation to mercy. He's the man on the spot, he ought to know. Must support him. Sentence confirmed.'
Then the Blue Form climbs sadly down to the depths again, to the low regions where men feel fear....
The thing was done seven mornings later, in a little orchard behind the Casquettes' farm.
The Padre told me he stood up to them very bravely and quietly. Only he whispered to him, 'For God's sake make them be quick.' That is the worst torment of the soldier from beginning to end—the waiting....
III
After three months I had some leave and visited Mrs. Harry. I had to. But I shall not distress you with an account of that interview. I will not even pretend that she was 'brave.' How could she be? Only, when I had explained things to her, as Harry had asked, she said: 'Somehow, that does make it easier for me—and I only wish—I wish you could tell everybody—what you have told me.'
And again I say, that is all I have tried to do. This book is not an attack on any person, on the death penalty, or on anything else, though if it makes people think about these things, so much the better. I think I believe in the death penalty—I don't know. But I did not believe in Harry being shot.