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.”
“Very well.”
There were ceremonious speeches still to be made. Ortega’s bows were so polite that Buckland and Bush were constrained, though reluctantly, to stand and endeavour to return them. Hornblower tied the handkerchief round Ortega’s eyes again and led him out.