“Let’s hear you, then.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Hornblower stepped up on the parapet; the Spanish officer, looking up from the edge of the ditch, took off his hat at sight of him and bowed courteously; Hornblower did the same. There was a brief exchange of apparently polite phrases before Hornblower turned back to Bush.
“Are you going to admit him to the fort, sir?” he asked. “He says he has many negotiations to carry out.”
“No,” said Bush, without hesitation. “I don’t want him spying round here.”
Bush was not too sure about what the Spaniard could discover, but he was suspicious and cautious by temperament.
“Very good, sir.”
“You’ll have to go out to him, Mr. Hornblower. I’ll cover you from here with the marines.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
With another exchange of courtesies Hornblower came down from the parapet and went down one ramp while the marine guard summoned by Bush marched up the other one. Bush, standing in an embrasure, saw the look on the Spaniard’s face as the shakos and scarlet tunics and levelled muskets of the marines appeared in the other embrasures. Directly afterwards Hornblower appeared round the angle of the fort, having crossed the ditch by the narrow causeway from the main gate. Bush watched while once more hats were removed and Hornblower and the Spaniard exchanged bows, bobbing and scraping in a ludicrous Continental fashion. The Spaniard produced a paper, which he offered with a bow for Hornblower to read—his credentials, presumably. Hornblower glanced at them and handed them back. A gesture towards Bush on the parapet indicated his own credentials. Then Bush could see the Spaniard asking eager questions, and Hornblower answering them. He could tell by the way Hornblower was nodding his head that he was answering in the affirmative, and he felt dubious for a moment as to whether Hornblower might not be exceeding his authority. Yet the mere fact that he had to depend on someone else to conduct the negotiations did not irritate him; the thought that he himself might speak Spanish was utterly alien to him, and he was as reconciled to depending on an interpreter as he was to depending on cables to hoist anchors or on winds to carry him to his destination.
He watched the negotiations proceeding; observing closely he was aware when the subject under discussion changed. There was a moment when Hornblower pointed down the bay, and the Spaniard, turning, looked at the Renown just approaching the point. He looked long and searchingly before turning back to continue the discussion. He was a tall man, very thin, his coffee-coloured face divided by a thin black moustache. The sun beat down on the pair of them—the trumpeter had withdrawn out of earshot—for some time before Hornblower turned and looked up at Bush.
“I’ll come in to report, sir, if I may,” he hailed.
“Very well, Mr. Hornblower.”
Bush went down to the courtyard to meet him. Hornblower touched his hat and waited to be asked before he began his report.
“He’s Colonel Ortega,” said Hornblower in reply to the “Well?” that Bush addressed to him. “His credentials are from Villanueva, the Captain-General, who must be just across the bay, sir.”
“What does he want?” asked Bush, trying to assimilate this first rather indigestible piece of information.
“It was the prisoners he wanted to know about first, sir,” said Hornblower, “the women especially.”
“And you told him they weren’t hurt?”
“Yes, sir. He was very anxious about them. I told him I would ask your permission for him to take the women back with him.”
“I see,” said Bush.
“I thought it would make matters easier here, sir. And he had a good deal that he wanted to say, and I thought that if I appeared agreeable he would speak more freely.”
“Yes,” said Bush.
“Then he wanted to know about the other prisoners, sir. The men. He wanted to know if any had been killed, and when I said yes he asked which ones. I couldn’t tell him that, sir—I didn’t know. But I said I was sure you would supply him with a list; he said most of them had wives over there”—Hornblower pointed across the bay—“who were all anxious.”
“I’ll do that,” said Bush.
“I thought he might take away the wounded as well as the women, sir. It would free our hands a little, and we can’t give them proper treatment here.”
“I must give that some thought first,” said Bush.
“For that matter, sir, it might be possible to rid ourselves of all the prisoners. I fancy it would not be difficult to exact a promise from him in exchange that they would not serve again while Renown was in these waters.”
“Sounds fishy to me,” said Bush; he distrusted all foreigners.
“I think he’d keep his word, sir. He’s a Spanish gentleman. Then we wouldn’t have to guard them, or feed them, sir. And when we evacuate this place what are we going to do with them? Pack ’em on board Renown?”
A hundred prisoners in Renown would be an infernal nuisance, drinking twenty gallons of fresh water a day and having to be watched and guarded all the time. But Bush did not like to be rushed into making decisions, and he was not too sure that he cared to have Hornblower treating as obvious the points that he only arrived at after consideration.
“I’ll have to think about that, too,” said Bush.
“There was another thing that he only hinted at, sir. He wouldn’t make any definite proposal, and I thought it better not to ask him.”
“What was it?”
Hornblower paused before answering, and that in itself was a warning to Bush that something complicated was in the air.
“It’s much more important than just a matter of prisoners, sir.”
“Well?”
“It might be possible to arrange for a capitulation, sir.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“A surrender, sir. An evacuation of all this end of the island by the Dons.”
“My God!”
That was a startling suggestion. Bush’s mind plodded along the paths it opened up. It would be an event of international importance; it might be a tremendous victory. Not just a paragraph in the Gazette, but a whole page. Perhaps rewards, distinction—even possibly promotion. And with that Bush’s mind suddenly drew back in panic, as if the path it had been following ended in a precipice. The more important the event, the more closely it would be scrutinized, the more violent would be the criticism of those who disapproved. Here in Santo Domingo there was a complicated political situation; Bush knew it to be so, although he had never attempted to find out much about it, and certainly never to analyse it. He knew vaguely that French and Spanish interests clashed in the island, and that the Negro rebellion, now almost successful, was in opposition to both. He even knew, still more vaguely, that there was an anti-slavery movement in Parliament which persistently called attention to the state of affairs here. The thought of Parliament, of the Cabinet, of the King himself scrutinizing his reports actually terrified Bush. The possible rewards that he had thought about shrank to nothing in comparison with the danger he ran. If he were to enter into a negotiation that embarrassed the government he would be offered up for instant sacrifice—not a hand would be raised to help a penniless and friendless lieutenant. He remembered Buckland’s frightened manner when this question had been barely hinted at; the secret orders must be drastic in this regard.
“Don’t lift a finger about that,” said Bush. “Don’t say a word.”
“Aye aye, sir. Then if he brings the subject up I’m not to listen to him?”
“Well—” That might imply flinching away from duty. “It’s a matter for Buckland to deal with, if anyone.”
“Yes, sir. I could suggest something, sir.”
“And what’s that?” Bush did not know whether to be irritated or pleased that Hornblower had one more suggestion to make. But he doubted his own ability to bargain or negotiate; he knew himself to be lacking in chicane and dissimulation.
“If you made an agreement about the prisone
rs, sir, it would take some time to carry out. There’d be the question of the parole. I could argue about the wording of it. Then it would take some time to ferry the prisoners over. You could insist that only one boat was at the landing stage at a time—that’s an obvious precaution to take. It would give time for Renown to work up into the bay. She can anchor down there just out of range of the other battery, sir. Then the hole’ll be stopped, and at the same time we’ll still be in touch with the Dons so that Mr. Buckland can take charge of the negotiations if he wishes to.”
“There’s something in that notion,” said Bush. Certainly it would relieve him of responsibility, and it was pleasant to think of spinning out time until the Renown was back, ready to add her ponderous weight in the struggle.
“So you authorize me to negotiate for the return of the prisoners on parole, sir?” asked Hornblower.
“Yes,” said Bush, coming to a sudden decision. “But nothing else, mark you, Mr. Hornblower. Not if you value your commission.”
“Aye aye, sir. And a temporary suspension of hostilities while they are being handed over, sir?”
“Yes,” said Bush, reluctantly. It was a matter necessarily arising out of the previous one, but it had a suspicious sound to it, now that Hornblower had suggested the possibility of further negotiations.
So the day proceeded to wear into afternoon. A full hour was consumed in haggling over the wording of the parole under which the captured soldiers were to be released. It was two o’clock before agreement was reached, and later than that before Bush, standing by the main gate, watched the women troop out through it, carrying their bundles of belongings. The boat could not possibly carry them all; two trips had to be made with them before the male prisoners, starting with the wounded, could begin. To rejoice Bush’s heart the Renown appeared at last round the point; with the sea breeze beginning to blow she came nobly up the bay.
And here came Hornblower again, clearly so weary that he could hardly drag one foot after another, to touch his hat to Bush.
“Renown knows nothing about the suspension of hostilities, sir,” he said. “She’ll see the boat crossing full of Spanish soldiers, an’ she’ll open fire as sure as a gun.”
“How are we to let her know?”
“I’ve been discussing it with Ortega, sir. He’ll lend us a boat and we can send a message down to her.”
“I suppose we can.”
Sleeplessness and exhaustion had given an edge to Bush’s temper. This final suggestion, when Bush came to consider it, with his mind slowed by fatigue, was the last straw.
“You’re taking altogether too much on yourself, Mr. Hornblower,” he said. “Damn it, I’m in command here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hornblower, standing at attention, while Bush gazed at him and tried to reassemble his thoughts after this spate of ill temper. There was no denying that Renown had to be informed; if she were to open fire it would be in direct violation of an agreement solemnly entered into, and to which he himself was a party.
“Oh, hell and damnation!” said Bush. “Have it your own way, then. Who are you going to send?”
“I could go myself, sir. Then I could tell Mr. Buckland everything necessary.”
“You mean about—about—” Bush actually did not like to mention the dangerous subject.
“About the chance of further negotiations, sir,” said Hornblower stolidly. “He has to know sooner or later. And while Ortega’s still here—”
The implications were obvious enough, and the suggestion was sensible.
“All right. You’d better go, I suppose. And mark my words, Mr. Hornblower, you’re to make it quite clear that I’ve authorized no negotiations of the sort you have in mind. Not a word. I’ve no responsibility. You understand?”
“Aye aye, sir.”
XII
Three officers sat in what had been the commanding officer’s room in Fort Samaná; in fact, seeing that Bush was now the commanding officer there, it could still be called the commanding officer’s room. A bed with a mosquito net over it stood in one corner; at the other side of the room Buckland, Bush, and Hornblower sat in leather chairs. A lamp hanging from a beam overhead filled the room with its acrid smell, and lit up their sweating faces. It was hotter and stuffier even than it was in the ship, but at least here in the fort there was no brooding knowledge of a mad captain the other side of the bulkhead.
“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 authorized 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 be 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 the 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 temporizing 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,” interjected 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 Buc
kland 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 pretence 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 flavour; 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.”
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