“I don’t doubt for one moment,” said Hornblower, “that when Villanueva sent Ortega here to open negotiations about the prisoners he also told him to put out a feeler regarding this evacuation.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” said Buckland.
“Well, sir, put Yourself in Ortega’s position. Would you say a word about a subject of that importance if you weren’t authorised to? If you weren’t expressly ordered to, sir?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” said Buckland.
No one could doubt that who knew Buckland, and for himself it was the most convincing argument.
“Then Villanueva had capitulation in mind as soon as he knew that we had captured this fort and that Renown would be able to anchor in the bay. You can see that must be so, sir.”
“I suppose so,” said Buckland, reluctantly.
“And if he’s prepared to negotiate for a capitulation he must either be a poltroon or in serious danger, sir.”
“Well —”
“It doesn’t matter which is true, sir, whether his danger is real or imaginary, from the point of view of bargaining with him.”
“You talk like a sea lawyer,” said Buckland. He was being forced by logic into taking a momentous decision, and he did not want to be, so that in his struggles against it he used one of the worst terms of opprobrium in his vocabulary.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Hornblower. “I meant no disrespect. I let my tongue run away with me. Of course it’s for you to decide where your duty lies, sir.”
Bush could see that that word ‘duty’ had a stiffening effect on Buckland.
“Well, then, what d’you think lies behind all this?” asked Buckland. That might be intended as a temporising question, but it gave Hornblower permission to go on stating his views.
“Villanueva’s been holding this end of the island against the insurgents for months now, sir. We don’t know how much territory he holds, but we can guess that it’s not much — only as far as the crest of those mountains across the bay, probably. Powder — lead — flints — shoes — he’s probably in need of all of them.”
“Judging by the prisoners we took, that’s true, sir,” interrupted Bush. It would be hard to ascertain the motives that led him to make this contribution to the discussion; perhaps he was only interested in the truth for its own sake.
“Maybe it is,” said Buckland.
“Now you’ve arrived, sir, and he’s cut off from the sea. He doesn’t know how long we can stay here. He doesn’t know what your orders are.”
Hornblower did not know either, commented Bush to himself, and Buckland stirred restlessly at the allusion.
“Never mind that,” he said.
“He sees himself cut off, and his supplies dwindling. If this goes on he’ll have to surrender. He would rather start negotiations now, while he can still hold out, while he has something to bargain with, than wait until the last moment and have to surrender unconditionally, sir.”
“I see,” said Buckland.
“And he’d rather surrender to us than to the blacks, sir,” concluded Hornblower.
“Yes indeed,” said Bush. Everyone had heard a little about the horrors of the servile rebellion which for eight years had deluged this land with blood and scorched it with fire. The three men were silent for a space as they thought about the implications of Hornblower’s last remark.
“Oh, very well then,” said Buckland at length. “Let’s hear what this fellow has to say.”
“Shall I bring him in here, sir? He’s been waiting long enough. I can blindfold him.”
“Do what you like,” said Buckland with resignation.
A closer view, when the handkerchief had been removed, revealed Colonel Ortega as a younger man than he might have been thought at a distance. He was very slender, and he wore his threadbare uniform with some presence at elegance. A muscle in his left cheek twitched continually. Buckland and Bush rose slowly to their feet to acknowledge the introductions Hornblower made.
“Colonel Ortega says he speaks no English,” said Hornblower.
There was only the slightest extra stress on the word ‘says’, and only the slightest lingering in the glance that Hornblower shot at his two superiors as he said it, but it conveyed a warning.
“Well, ask him what he wants,” said Buckland.
The conversation in Spanish was formal; obviously all the opening remarks were cautious fencing as each speaker felt for the weaknesses in the other’s position and sought to conceal his own. But even Bush was aware of the moment when the vague sentences ended and definite proposals began. Ortega was bearing himself as a man conferring a favour; Hornblower like someone who did not care whether a favour was conferred or not. In the end he turned to Buckland and spoke in English.
“He has terms for a capitulation pat enough,” he said.
“Well?”
“Please don’t let him guess what you think, sir. But he suggests a free passage for the garrison. Ships — men — civilians. Passports for the ships while on passage to a Spanish possession — Cuba or Puerto Rico, in other words, sir. In exchange he’ll hand over everything intact. Military stores. The battery across the bay. Everything.”
“But —” Buckland struggled wildly to keep himself from revealing his feelings.
“I haven’t said anything to him worth mentioning, so far, sir,” said Hornblower.
Ortega had been watching the byplay keenly enough, and now he spoke again to Hornblower, with his shoulders back and his head high. There was passion in his voice, but what was more at odds with the dignity of his bearing was a peculiar gesture with which he accentuated one of his remarks — a jerk of the hand which called up the picture of someone vomiting.
“He says otherwise he’ll fight to the last,” interposed Hornblower. “He says Spanish soldiers can be relied upon to die to the last man sooner than submit to dishonour. He says we can do no more to them than we’ve done already — that we’ve reached the end of our tether, in other words, sir. And that we daren’t stay longer in the island to starve him out because of the yellow fever — the vomito negro, sir.”
In the whirl of excitement of the last few days Bush had forgotten all about the possibility of yellow fever. He found that he was looking concerned at the mention of it, and he hurriedly tried to assume an appearance of indifference. A glance at Buckland showed his face going through exactly the same transitions.
“I see,” said Buckland.
It was an appalling thought. If yellow fever were to strike it might within a week leave the Renown without enough men to work her sails.
Ortega broke into passionate speech again, and Hornblower translated.
“He says his troops have lived here all their lives. They won’t get yellow jack as easily as your men, and many of them have already had it. He has had it himself, he says, sir.”
Bush remembered the emphasis with which Ortega had tapped his breast.
“And the blacks believe us to be their enemies, because of what happened in Dominica, sir, so he says. He could make an alliance with them against us. They could send an army against us here in the fort tomorrow, then. But please don’t look as if you believe him, sir.”
“Damn it to hell,” said Buckland, exasperated. Bush wondered vaguely what it was that had happened in Dominica. History — even contemporary history — was not one of his strong points.
Again Ortega spoke.
“He says that’s his last word, sir. An honourable proposal and he won’t abate a jot, so he says. You could send him away now that you’ve heard it all and say that you’ll give him an answer in the morning.”