Finally the Highlanders left their positions, marching out together, tears of frustration and rage on many. They halted and the colours of the 71st Highland Regiment were given up to the enemy.
The officers were then separated from their men, who were taken off to the other end of the square where they were ordered to ground arms. Many threw down their muskets bitterly before being placed in three ranks under guard.
Such a brave and pitiful sight brought a catch in Clinton’s throat. These few hundred who had achieved so much – then to be overcome by numbers so overwhelming.
They were marched away to cat-calls and defiant shouts, which left no doubt that their captivity would not be easy.
Quintana asked the officers to go back into the fort where they were invited to sign a book of parole. General Beresford stepped forward first, there seemed little point in refusing, and Clinton added his own name.
After that, nothing seemed to matter any more.
Chapter 15
‘Boooat ahoy!’ the forward lookout yelled into the night.
With L’Aurore at such a pitch of nervous tension and her first lieutenant pacing the deck like a penned-up hound, it would never do to allow a stranger to approach too near without challenge.
An answering shout came, weak and distant.
Gilbey arrived to stand beside the lookout. ‘Tell that lubber t’ stand away or he’ll get a cold shot in the guts,’ he said peevishly.
The hail was dutifully made, but the little fisherman’s punt kept on obstinately, a single indistinct figure at the oars. When he was close enough he stood up swaying and hailed back in unmistakable English, ‘L’Aurore, ahoy – one t’ come aboard!’
Men scrambled up from below, eager to hear any news, and with them Renzi, who had become increasingly troubled. Since the betrayal at Punta Pavon they had lain at anchor for several days waiting for orders – or even word of how matters stood for their friends and shipmates ashore.
‘One to come aboard,’ agreed Gilbey.
Slowly and painfully the figure came up the side; by the time he swung inboard an eager welcoming committee was waiting for him.
‘Begob! It’s Sar’nt Dodd!’
An excited babble broke out and Gilbey thundered, ‘Hold y’ tongues! Silence fore ’n’ aft! Make y’r report, Sergeant.’
Dodd straightened with difficulty. ‘Bad news, sir. Th’ worst.’
‘Get on with it!’
‘Well, as we’ve struck t’ the Spanish, sir.’
After a moment of shocked surprise, there was pandemonium. ‘Silence!’ Gilbey yelled. ‘Anyone says a word more goes t’ the bilboes.’
He waited for quiet then said, ‘Carry on.’
‘I’ve to give ye this,’ Dodd said, fumbling for the dispatches. ‘Seein’ as you’re the new captain. From m’ officer, L’tenant Clinton, sir, urgent like.’ He managed a tired but proud salute.
Gilbey snatched it and read it avidly. He frowned, then reread the paper, his brow darkening. ‘What’s this nonsense? Do you know what’s in this, Sergeant?’
Confused, Dodd shook his head. ‘M’ orders were t’ get it to you wi’ all dispatch, is all I know, sir.’
Glaring, Gilbey thrust it at Renzi. ‘Can you make anything of this?’ he asked angrily.
Renzi took it and read:
To the commanding officer, HMS L’Aurore
In fifteen minutes we shall be obliged to lay down our arms. In all conscience I cannot allow the bearer, Sergeant Dodd, a man I have come to value above all reason in these ruinous days, to be carried off to a vile captivity at the greatest loss to His Majesty’s service. This therefore is the only method I have of ensuring his obedience in quitting his men.
Signed, Clinton, lieutenant Royal Marines
Folding the paper, Renzi replied, ‘Well, Mr Gilbey, I see it to be Clinton’s thoughtfulness in providing us with one who may give us verbal news of conditions in Buenos Aires, this paper a means of getting him past our sentries.’
‘Oh. Well, what the blazes is happening, Dodd?’
‘Sir. After them Dons got across, th’ whole town rose up an’ we had t’ fall back on the fort. Too many on ’em, the general had t’ ask for terms, is all.’
‘Where’s Captain Kydd?’
‘Don’t rightly know, sir. Went off on a raid or such, sorry t’ say he didn’t come back.’
‘You mean . . . ?’
‘Taken maybe or, er, snabbled.’
Dumbfounded, Gilbey simply stared.
Renzi swallowed, tightly controlling his feelings. ‘Then our forces have capitulated?’ he asked gently. ‘And General Beresford and all others are captured?’
‘Must be, I suppose,’ Dodd said, scratching his head. ‘I got away before, y’ see.’
Gilbey came to, and snapped irritably, ‘Then how many of the enemy are there now in the city? Come along, man, what’s their force?’
‘Er, can’t rightly say f’r sure, sir, seein’ as how m’ post was in the fort.’
‘What? You’ve no idea?’ said Gilbey, contemptuously. ‘You’re sent to inform us-’
‘Sir. The man is sorely tried after his ordeal,’ Renzi came in. ‘I’ll take him below and see he has something to recruit his strength while I build up an idea for you of how things are.’
‘Very well. I’ll see you in half a glass, Renzi.’
In the privacy of his own cabin, Renzi teased out the story. Finding a hiding place, the wily sergeant had lain low while the surrender was completed, waiting as the city erupted into celebration. Then, after dark, he had stolen a fishing punt and made his escape, rowing single-handed against wind and the sea’s bluster. Mutely he held up his hands: they were piteously blistered and bloody.
Asked about surrender terms, Dodd could shed no light on them, but believed they had been concluded rapidly as he’d heard the men being marched off within less than an hour after the guns had stopped firing.
This implied overbearing force and therefore an unconditional capitulation of the whole city. ‘And you’ve no idea what happened to the captain?’ enquired Renzi, feeling a cold pit forming in his belly.
‘Sorry, sir,’ Dodd said sorrowfully. ‘Jus’ didn’t come back. Don’t mean t’ say he’s not in clink somewhere,’ he added, with loyal fervour.
Renzi left the exhausted man wolfing cheese and hard tack, and appreciative of a jug of thin wine.
Gilbey impatiently dismissed the report. ‘Clinton should have had more sense than t’ leave it to a Royal to get intelligence out to us. Completely useless.’
Renzi bit back a hot retort, while Gilbey went on, ‘So Mr Kydd is taken, or more probably killed. It means I’m captain o’ the barky now.
‘I have m’ duty, and that’s to get to Commodore Popham an’ acquaint him of developments ashore. Likely he’ll confirm me in post on the spot, I wouldn’t wonder. Should I move into my captain’s quarters now, do y’ think, or wait till I’m confirmed?’
‘As being somewhat more important than we, the commodore will certainly have been advised by now,’ Renzi said icily. ‘And I believe your assumption of the dignity of captain should certainly wait.’
‘Wait? What for?’
On impulse, Renzi rapped, ‘Until I’ve returned from Buenos Aires. I’m going back to find him.’
It had been said, and he felt a fierce glee begin to swell in him.
‘You’re what? Be damned to it, man, you’re proposin’ to present yourself in a city new relieved an’ swarmin’ with poxy Spanish to demand what happened to y’r captain?’
Fighting down the temptation to reveal that he’d done something like that in Revolutionary Paris, Renzi contented himself with a simple, ‘Yes, I am.’
Gilbey sat back with a look of bafflement, then retorted, ‘You’re mad. Even if he’s still alive, how th’ devil will you find where he is? No! It’s lunacy, and I won’t have it.’
‘I’m going.’
‘You’re not – as acting captain o’ this ship, an’ you crew, Renzi, I forbid it.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said acidly. ‘You’ve not the authority. Recollect – I’m Captain Kydd’s confidential secretary, his personal retinue, not a member of the ship’s company.’