Major Martin Character Analysis

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.

[Major Marin will] look you over and if there’s anything wrong he’ll put you right ‘quick as a wink,’ as my father used to say. Wonder what he would think now if he could see us together? He never believed I’d find you, either—said I was a fool to go. Said it was a fool’s errand and that I’d likely get myself killed in the process. He knew he’d done wrong and that seemed to take all the nastiness out of him. He seemed to live only to make up for what he’d done. He stopped his Tuesday drinking sessions, looked after Mother as he used to do when I was little, and he even began to treat me right—didn’t treat me like a workhorse anymore.

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.”

“You’re not going to like what I have to tell you,” he said. “I’m afraid a decision has been made to sell off many of the army’s horses here in France. All the horses we have here are either sick or have been sick. It’s not considered worthwhile to transport them back home. My orders are to hold a horse sale here in this courtyard tomorrow morning. A notice has been posted in neighboring towns to that effect […].”

[…] “But you know what they’ll go for,” said Sergeant Thunder, barely disguising the disgust in his voice. "There’s thousands of our horses out here in France, sir. War veterans they are. D’you mean to say that after all they’ve been through, after all we’ve done looking after them, after all you’ve done, sir—that they’re to end up like that? I can’t believe they mean it, sir.”

Sergeant Thunder carried a small tin box that was being passed around from one to the other and I heard the clink of coins as they were dropped in […]. I could just make out Sergeant Thunder’s low, growling voice. “That’s the best we can do, boys […]. I’m not supposed to tell you this—the major said not to—and make no mistake, I’m not in the habit of disobeying officers’ orders. But we aren’t at war anymore, and anyway, this order was more like advice, so to speak. So I’m telling you this ’cause I wouldn’t like you to think badly of the major. He knows what’s going on right enough. Matter of fact, the whole thing was his own idea […]. What’s more, boys, he’s given us every penny of his pay that he had saved up—every penny. It’s not much, but it’ll help.”

You do not understand at all. I will sell you this horse for one English penny, and for a solemn promise—that you will always love this horse as much as my Emilie did and that you will care for him until the end of his days. And more than this, I want you to tell everyone about my Emilie and about how she looked after your Joey and the big black horse when they came to live with us. You see, my friend, I want my Emilie to live on in people’s hearts. I shall die soon, in a few years, no more, and then no one will remember my Emilie as she was […]. I want you to tell your friends at home about my Emilie […]. That way she will live forever, and that is what I want. Is it a bargain between us?

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.

[Major Marin will] look you over and if there’s anything wrong he’ll put you right ‘quick as a wink,’ as my father used to say. Wonder what he would think now if he could see us together? He never believed I’d find you, either—said I was a fool to go. Said it was a fool’s errand and that I’d likely get myself killed in the process. He knew he’d done wrong and that seemed to take all the nastiness out of him. He seemed to live only to make up for what he’d done. He stopped his Tuesday drinking sessions, looked after Mother as he used to do when I was little, and he even began to treat me right—didn’t treat me like a workhorse anymore.

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.”

“You’re not going to like what I have to tell you,” he said. “I’m afraid a decision has been made to sell off many of the army’s horses here in France. All the horses we have here are either sick or have been sick. It’s not considered worthwhile to transport them back home. My orders are to hold a horse sale here in this courtyard tomorrow morning. A notice has been posted in neighboring towns to that effect […].”

[…] “But you know what they’ll go for,” said Sergeant Thunder, barely disguising the disgust in his voice. "There’s thousands of our horses out here in France, sir. War veterans they are. D’you mean to say that after all they’ve been through, after all we’ve done looking after them, after all you’ve done, sir—that they’re to end up like that? I can’t believe they mean it, sir.”

Sergeant Thunder carried a small tin box that was being passed around from one to the other and I heard the clink of coins as they were dropped in […]. I could just make out Sergeant Thunder’s low, growling voice. “That’s the best we can do, boys […]. I’m not supposed to tell you this—the major said not to—and make no mistake, I’m not in the habit of disobeying officers’ orders. But we aren’t at war anymore, and anyway, this order was more like advice, so to speak. So I’m telling you this ’cause I wouldn’t like you to think badly of the major. He knows what’s going on right enough. Matter of fact, the whole thing was his own idea […]. What’s more, boys, he’s given us every penny of his pay that he had saved up—every penny. It’s not much, but it’ll help.”

You do not understand at all. I will sell you this horse for one English penny, and for a solemn promise—that you will always love this horse as much as my Emilie did and that you will care for him until the end of his days. And more than this, I want you to tell everyone about my Emilie and about how she looked after your Joey and the big black horse when they came to live with us. You see, my friend, I want my Emilie to live on in people’s hearts. I shall die soon, in a few years, no more, and then no one will remember my Emilie as she was […]. I want you to tell your friends at home about my Emilie […]. That way she will live forever, and that is what I want. Is it a bargain between us?