Chapter 13
‘You’ve just missed him, sir,’ Clinton said. ‘He’s marched out to meet the Spanish advance.’
Keyed up to explain himself to the general, Kydd searched the marine officer’s face but saw no condemnation, pity or contempt. ‘Did he leave any orders for me?’ he asked.
‘None, sir.’
Apparently when Liniers had made his crossing he had joined very quickly with Pueyrredon’s gauchos, the
Beresford had wanted to deal with the threat as soon as possible, and had stripped the city of most of its troops and left for the north at a rapid pace. With the number of his field guns much increased by earlier captures, with the discipline and experience of the Highlanders on the battlefield, there was every hope that, even heavily outnumbered, he could at least cause a halt in the advance and gain time for the reinforcements to arrive.
Kydd looked around. The fort was near deserted, the only men those on guard duty. ‘Then who is the garrison commander?’
Clinton grinned awkwardly. ‘I do confess it’s me, and if it’s orders you seek, then they are that I desire you tell me what happened.’
Kydd took a seat. ‘I did what I thought right at the time,’ he said defiantly, lifting his chin. ‘And I vow I’d do it again, should I have the same information as then.’
He had no need to justify himself to his junior lieutenant of marines – but he wanted to get it off his chest, and he suspected Clinton had realised this.
‘Whoever gave Serrano his false-hearted lay knew what he was about, and no time for me to send reconnaissance to verify – and it had to be a strike with all my ships. So they came up with a convincing enough tale and a likely place on the chart, and I was gulled.’
He glowered for a moment and added, with heat, ‘And that bloody dog did swear on his honour to the truth of it, may his soul roast in hell.’
‘Just so, sir,’ Clinton said, leaning forward in sympathy.
‘It’s done, and there’s nothing more to be said about it,’ Kydd concluded bitterly. ‘And who’s to say – with a bare handful of sail left to me, would we have prevailed?’
Consumed by restlessness and frustration, he stood and paced about the room. ‘There has to be something the Navy can do.’
‘There’s the Royal Blues, sir. They’re with the general now and he’s openly declared they’re worth a battalion in the field.’
Kydd didn’t answer. This was not the best use of a navy – he could think of countless devastating exploits that had changed the course of many a campaign, from bombardment with the equivalent of a regiment of artillery to daring raids by marines.
There was nothing for it – he couldn’t just sit around waiting.
‘I’m to go to the general, I believe.’
He found Beresford at the edge of the city, with his troops at rest but drenched after yet another heavy rain squall. He looked up dully, his eyes tired and bloodshot. ‘Yes, Captain?’
‘General, I came to offer my most earnest apologies for-’
‘For Liniers’s crossing? Don’t be. Do you really think you’re the first commander to be betrayed by false intelligence? No, sir. I’ve always thought it to be the mark of a leader that he makes his determination on the best evidence, acts on it and, if it goes against him, does not repine.’
Kydd felt a surge of both anguish and warmth that the man who must take the consequences of his decision had not held it against him.
‘Sir, is there any service we can perform for you? Even carronades on our smaller vessels might-’
‘Thank you, no,’ Beresford muttered. ‘Do you see there?’ He pointed ahead to where the heavily rutted stony road gave way to a puddled quagmire of red mud. ‘After that frightful rain there’s no point in trying to haul guns through that, still less the bogs beyond they’re pleased to call pasture. No, Kydd, I have my own decision to make and that as harsh as the one you faced.’
‘Sir?’
‘I will teach you something of military affairs: that all strategy fails if the gods decree that nature aligns with the enemy.
‘Consider – we defeated the Spanish and their superior cavalry numbers in the field because we deployed in line and square as needs must, and none may stand against us. In going as bad as this – aught but a wretched swampy mire – our infantry will struggle hopelessly in the mud. Not so the enemy, for horses will make light of such. Should I send my columns forward, they will find it impossible to move rapidly when necessary in order to draw up in square. My brave fellows will therefore be cut to pieces by their cavalry.’
‘You must fall back.’
‘To retreat? My duty as I see it is to play out the game to gain every hour I can for those wretched reinforcements to come. Not to mention what a regrettable effect it would have on morale – on Highlanders not accustomed to retreat and on the city, which sees us cowed by General Liniers and his host.’
‘Um, then hold position here, sir, deny the enemy entry to Buenos Aires.’
‘Even that will not be possible. In a city of this size any half-competent commander will try to circle around our rear and cut us off while they retake it, and General Liniers is a wily sort. French – did you know that? In the Spanish service these thirty years, fought against us before the Revolution.’
‘Sir, I beg you’ll tell me what else is possible,’ Kydd said uncomfortably.
‘Nothing. Of these alternatives I must choose the least bad.
‘At one extreme I could fall back in the face of impossible odds, leave Buenos Aires to the Spanish and quit the country, but this can never be in consideration. At the other, I could move forward to endeavour to inflict as much damage on Liniers as I can but at grievous cost. This also is not to be contemplated, not for the pity of the thing but that I’d then have too few to garrison the city.’
‘Therefore?’
Beresford shook his head sadly. ‘Therefore I choose to contest his entry with half my force, the other half to return and secure the city.
‘Colonel Pack, sir!’ he called out.
Kydd knew what was being said. This was a fighting retreat but a retreat for all that. Liniers would have parties out probing, thrusting, and must eventually drive a wedge in Beresford’s forward elements, causing it to fall back by stages. The only saving grace was that even he could see that city streets were not the place for cavalry and the two armies would in these terms at least be on a level footing.
As far as naval support went, a battlefield hidden among the streets would make targeting from seaward out of the question – an impossibility. But surely there must be tasks for the Navy to do.
When Beresford had concluded his dispositions he cast one long look about him, exchanged deep-felt salutes with Pack, his forward commander, then moved off with half of his men, some five hundred-odd only – less than a single battalion to hold a modern city.
The column marched off to the sound of a defiant piper, joined by another until, heads high, the proud Scots were swinging along as if on parade before the world. As the suburbs became denser, so did the onlookers. This time there was little curiosity, only a sullen, hostile stare. From balconies came cat-calls and jeers, then ugly shouts that had an edge of contempt.
There was now a different mood: a surging restlessness, a tension that radiated out from tight knots of people. Others hurried to distance themselves.
In another interminable rain flurry they at last halted by the colonnades of the Plaza Mayor outside the fort.
Kydd followed Beresford, and a conclave of officers was hastily convened; Clinton was appointed second-in- command after Captain Arbuthnot for the internal security of the city.
