Herr Major Character Analysis

“There’s fine breeding here—too fine, perhaps, Herr Major. Could well be his undoing. He’s too fine to pull a gun. I’d pull him out, but you have no horse to take his place, have you? He’ll go on, I supposed, but go easy on him, Herr Major. Take the team as slow as you can, else you’ll have no team, and without your team your gun won’t be a lot of use, will it?”

“He will have to do what the others do, Herr Doctor,” said the major in a steely voice. “No more and no less. I cannot make exceptions. If you pass him fit, he’s fit, and that’s that.”

“He’s fit to go on,” said the vet reluctantly. “But I am warning you, Herr Major. You must take care.”

After a brief inspection he, too, pronounced Topthorn to be dead. “I thought so. I told you so,” he said almost to himself. “They can’t do it. I see it all the time. Too much work on short rations and living outside all winter. I see it all the time. A horse like this can only stand so much. Heart failure, poor fellow. It makes me angry every time it happens. We should not treat horses like this—we treat our machines better.”

“He was a friend,” said Friedrich simply, kneeling down again over Topthorn and removing his headcollar. The soldiers stood all around us in complete silence, looking down at the prostrate form of Topthorn, in a moment of spontaneous respect and sadness. Perhaps it was because they had all known him for a long time and he had in some way become part of their lives.

Major Martin cleaned my wound and stitched it up, and although at first I could still put little weight on it, I felt in myself stronger with every day that passed. Albert was with me again, and that in itself was medicine enough; but properly fed once more with warm mash each morning and a never-ending supply of sweet-scented hay, my recovery seemed only a matter of time. Albert, like the other veterinary orderlies, had many other horses to care for, but he would spend every spare minute he could find fussing over me in the stable […].

But time passed and I did not get better.

David spoke up now in support. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he said. “But I remember you telling us when we first came here that a horse’s life is maybe even more important than a man’s, ’cause a horse hasn’t got no evil in him except any that’s put there by men. I remember you saying that our job in the veterinary corps was to work night and day, twenty-six hours a day if need be to save and help every horse that we could, that every horse was valuable in himself and valuable to the war effort. No horse, no guns. No horse, no ammunition. No horse, no cavalry. No horse, no ambulances. No horse, no water for the troops at the front. Lifeline of the whole army, you said, sir. We must never give up, you said, ’cause where there’s life there’s still hope. That’s what you said, sir, begging your pardon, sir.”

“There’s fine breeding here—too fine, perhaps, Herr Major. Could well be his undoing. He’s too fine to pull a gun. I’d pull him out, but you have no horse to take his place, have you? He’ll go on, I supposed, but go easy on him, Herr Major. Take the team as slow as you can, else you’ll have no team, and without your team your gun won’t be a lot of use, will it?”

“He will have to do what the others do, Herr Doctor,” said the major in a steely voice. “No more and no less. I cannot make exceptions. If you pass him fit, he’s fit, and that’s that.”

“He’s fit to go on,” said the vet reluctantly. “But I am warning you, Herr Major. You must take care.”

After a brief inspection he, too, pronounced Topthorn to be dead. “I thought so. I told you so,” he said almost to himself. “They can’t do it. I see it all the time. Too much work on short rations and living outside all winter. I see it all the time. A horse like this can only stand so much. Heart failure, poor fellow. It makes me angry every time it happens. We should not treat horses like this—we treat our machines better.”

“He was a friend,” said Friedrich simply, kneeling down again over Topthorn and removing his headcollar. The soldiers stood all around us in complete silence, looking down at the prostrate form of Topthorn, in a moment of spontaneous respect and sadness. Perhaps it was because they had all known him for a long time and he had in some way become part of their lives.

Major Martin cleaned my wound and stitched it up, and although at first I could still put little weight on it, I felt in myself stronger with every day that passed. Albert was with me again, and that in itself was medicine enough; but properly fed once more with warm mash each morning and a never-ending supply of sweet-scented hay, my recovery seemed only a matter of time. Albert, like the other veterinary orderlies, had many other horses to care for, but he would spend every spare minute he could find fussing over me in the stable […].

But time passed and I did not get better.

David spoke up now in support. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he said. “But I remember you telling us when we first came here that a horse’s life is maybe even more important than a man’s, ’cause a horse hasn’t got no evil in him except any that’s put there by men. I remember you saying that our job in the veterinary corps was to work night and day, twenty-six hours a day if need be to save and help every horse that we could, that every horse was valuable in himself and valuable to the war effort. No horse, no guns. No horse, no ammunition. No horse, no cavalry. No horse, no ambulances. No horse, no water for the troops at the front. Lifeline of the whole army, you said, sir. We must never give up, you said, ’cause where there’s life there’s still hope. That’s what you said, sir, begging your pardon, sir.”