Ramage & the Saracens (34 page)

It was the first time in his life that Ramage had issued a list of signals to ships under his command, but having special signals got rid of some shortcomings of the signal book. For instance, he would want to signal “Sloops to go alongside the wall,” a signal which could not be made with the standard signal book. He only needed—or might need—a dozen signals, but they were important, and he had numbered them in the order in which they were likely to be used. Thus signal number one had been to heave-to and hoist out boats; number two had been to get under way again towing boats. From number three onwards the signals would be concerned with the actual attack.

Two miles to go. He turned to Aitken. “Beat to quarters, if you please, Mr Aitken.”

Aitken picked up his speaking-trumpet and shouted the order and a few moments later the marine drummer was at work sending the staccato order through the ship. Ramage had heard it dozens of times (no, hundreds) but it always excited him: to an actor it would be like the moments before the curtain rose on the first act. Of course, one could look at it another way: to the man about to be hanged, it was like having the noose adjusted round his neck.

“Orsini,” he said, “my compliments to Major Golightly: In fifteen minutes' time I would like his detachment drawn up ready for landing.”

By now the deckwash pump had been rigged and was spluttering water across the deck, and men were following behind it flinging sand on the planking as though sowing seeds.

Down below the gunner would have unlocked the magazine and let fall the thick felt “fearnought” curtains intended to prevent an accidental flash from reaching the powder. While men wetted the curtains he would be preparing to issue flintlocks and prickers to the second captains as soon as they arrived at the half-door. They would be followed by powder monkeys, boys whose job it was to take cartridges up to the guns, using wooden cylinders to carry them.

It was all a drill which had long since become a ritual the men could perform with their eyes shut. On the quarterdeck men prepared the carronades, and Lieutenant Rennick inspected his marines, all of whom were standing stiffly at attention, eyes fixed firmly to the front.

Ramage reflected that he had to do no more than give a few orders: thanks to training—years of training by now—he did not have to go round making sure that his orders had been obeyed properly. The young lieutenants, Kenton, Martin and Hill, would all be standing by their division of guns.

Up here on the quarterdeck an extra two men had gone to the wheel, so that there were now four, and Jackson had taken over as quartermaster. That meant a change on Jackson's gun, Ramage knew; Stafford would now be the gun captain and Rossi the second captain. Aitken and Southwick stood close to him by the quarterdeck rail. The
Calypso,
in other words, was ready for action.

The same drill would be carried out on board the other frigate and the two sloops. Altogether, counting the troops, more than nine hundred men would be prepared for battle. How many would answer a roll call in two or three hours' time?

Ramage cursed himself; this was always the time when he started having black thoughts like that. He would be all right by the time the first shot was fired; it was just the waiting that left him prey to doubts and fears for success or failure. This time failure meant the galleys—or worse.

Over on the starboard bow he could make out Sidi Rezegh with the naked eye: he could distinguish buildings and clumps of palm trees, and on either side the dun-coloured desert, sand scattered with rocks throwing shadows, and scrub: bushes which fought hard for life amid drought and broiling sun.

Had the approaching flotilla been spotted and the alarm raised? Even now were the Saracens preparing what weapons they had? Were the cannon on the fort being made ready? There were plenty of questions and no answers.

He turned and looked astern. First there were the
Calypso
's four boats towing quietly in her wake; then a cable astern of them came the
Amalie
frigate, looking fine under all plain sail. Roper had already run out her guns, and Ramage could imagine the soldiers and marines paraded on deck.

Then came the
Betty,
and Ramage could picture the stocky figure of King watching the coast through his telescope. Much depended on the
Betty
and the
Rose,
and Ramage was confident of both King and Payne. In fact he was lucky with all three of them: Roper was a level-headed young man, even though he was the admiral's favourite. In fact, for a favourite, Ramage thought wryly, he was a sound type of person.

Ramage took another look at the port through his telescope. The entrance, lying at right angles to the
Calypso
's present course, was clearly defined. With this north wind it would be easy enough to turn and reach in to get alongside the quay. He thanked the former slaves: they had good memories and they had built up an accurate picture for Southwick to turn into a chart. His own elevation drawing had been fairly accurate but, thanks to Southwick's chart and the humpbacked hills, not really necessary. And there were the galleys, five of them, masts sticking up behind the breakwater.

A mile to go? Perhaps a little more. The ship was cleared for action and it only remained for the guns to be loaded and run out. Ramage gave the order to Aitken, who repeated it through his speaking-trumpet.

Behind him the carronades grumbled as they were run out. They were easier to load and run out than the twelve-pounders. All the guns were being loaded with case shot—forty-two 4-ounce shot packed into tin cans which fitted the bore of the guns and which burst after being fired, spreading out a deadly hail and best suited to cutting a swathe through a crowd of men. Case shot had been very effective at Licata against the hordes of Saracens, and they should be equally effective here. He had given orders for the other three ships to use case, and particularly the sloops at the wall.

By now they were closing fast with the entrance: if anything the wind seemed to be freshening and he guessed the
Calypso
was making a good six knots. The
Calypso
was to be the first through the entrance, and as soon as she turned the
Amalie
would follow. The
Betty
and the
Rose
would come round in turn and while the frigates made for the quay, the sloops would pass outside them and head for the wall, turning at the last moment to come alongside opposite the barracks.

Ramage was thankful that each captain knew what he had to do. King's suggestion had been so simple, and like the rest of the plan for the attack on Sidi Rezegh, depended on only one factor—the depth of water inside the port. Depths had been the only thing that the former prisoners had had to guess at; depths were the only question marks on Southwick's chart. Depths could ruin the attack.

Ramage looked at the land on either side of Sidi Rezegh. It was low, flat and sandy, with grazing suitable only for camels and goats. Low shore, shallow water: it was an old rule of thumb, whether one was in the cold North Sea, the temperate Mediterranean or the heat of the Tropics. Cliffs meant deep water close in, and if there was anything that Sidi Rezegh lacked it was anything approaching a cliff.

Now the entrance was coming up fine on the starboard bow and Ramage glanced across at Aitken and Southwick. Both men were ready. “Stand by, Jackson,” he called.

There were no defiant shots from the fort, which was almost abeam. Perhaps they had caught the Saracens unawares: there was nothing like a hundred years of security for making you careless. Nor were the Saracens great fishermen: he had half expected to find several fishing boats clustered off the entrance—boats which would spot the flotilla as it approached and raise the alarm. But he had been lucky: Sidi Rezegh's fishermen had stayed in their beds.

And then it all happened in a rush: a shout to Jackson to put the wheel over, an order to Aitken to brace up the yards and trim the sheets, and an instruction to Southwick to watch the following ships.

The
Calypso
turned to starboard amid the flapping of sails and the creaking of yards as they were braced up. Now she was heading for the centre of the entrance, perfectly positioned, with the wind on the starboard beam and the sails soon drawing well.

Two hundred yards to go before she was abeam of the fort at the entrance, and still not a shot fired.

“The
Amalie
's just beginning to turn,” Southwick reported.

Aitken put down his speaking-trumpet: the yards were braced and the sails trimmed.

Ramage picked up the speaking-trumpet and called down: “Major Golightly, are your men ready?”

“Ready and willing!” shouted back the major.

Ramage aimed the speaking-trumpet at the marines.

“Mr Rennick, how about you?”

“Ready, sir,” he replied.

The fort was fifty yards ahead, now thirty, and then the
Calypso
was surging through the entrance, followed by the
Amalie
and the two sloops. Then she was abreast the fort, then on the quarter, and the
Calypso
slowed to a stop.

It was gentle but there was no mistaking what had happened. The fort and the beginning of the quay, which had been speeding past, came to a stop. The
Calypso
was aground, forty yards short of the quay. And astern the
Amalie,
further out, came to a stop on the same sand bank.

Just as Ramage swung round to watch her and the sloops, he saw the
Betty
and the
Rose
turn slightly to larboard: Jason King was taking a chance that deeper water lay on the side away from the quay.

T
HERE was no time to watch the sloops: Ramage snatched up the speaking-trumpet and called forward: “Major Golightly! Have your men stand by to embark in the boats!”

Then he shouted louder: “Boats' crews, to your boats. After-guard—smartly there, haul the boats round to the entry ports.”

There was going to be a mad rush of soldiers, marines and seamen for the quay: the boats were ready to ferry them, but it would take minutes to row them across: minutes in which the Saracens could prepare for the attack.

Now the
Betty
had passed safely, and was heading for the wall. The
Rose
was swinging out to follow in her wake. Was there another sandbank between the sloops and the wall? Jason King was taking a chance that there was not; the
Betty
was still under full sail, though Ramage could see men aloft preparing to furl the canvas.

By now the cutters were alongside, one to larboard and the other to starboard with the jolly-boat and gig waiting, and the soldiers were scrambling down after the boats' crews. They were making good time: all the exercising was paying off. They knew how to sling their muskets; they knew how to kick their swords out of the way so that they did not catch between their legs.

As the last of the soldiers disappeared over the side, the marines split in two sections, one going to starboard and the other to larboard, one led by Rennick and the other by Sergeant Ferris.

Apart from the soldiers, the quay was still empty: obviously the flotilla had not been spotted approaching. Ramage picked up the speaking-trumpet and shouted to the seamen below at the guns: “Boarding parties fall in.”

Nearly two hundred seamen armed with cutlasses, pikes and tomahawks stood by at the entry ports. Ramage intended that only twenty-five seamen would be left behind on board. Would they be enough to work under Aitken to get the
Calypso
off the sandbank?

“Will you have enough men to refloat the ship?” he asked the first lieutenant.

“I'll make do,” Aitken replied. “You need all the men that can be spared.”

“Very well, it's time I went on shore. I'll tell the jolly-boat to come back as soon as possible so you can use it to take soundings. I think you'll find deeper water a few yards further out—where the sloops went. We were just a bit too close to the quay.”

“Leave it to us,” said Southwick, who had got over his disappointment at not being in the landing parties. The argument with the master had been brief: Ramage had pointed out that Major Golightly had two ensigns with him to command the troops, there were Kenton, Martin and Hill to command the seamen, and Rennick and Sergeant Ferris could look after the marines. Meanwhile, unless Southwick stayed behind, Aitken would be left alone in the
Calypso,
having to face any emergency alone. And, as it happened, there was now a real emergency: the frigate was stranded on a sandbank right at the beginning of the attack.

Ramage scrambled down into a boat and found himself among a party of marines and a few seamen. The boat cast off and the crew struck out for the quay. It was not high; it took only a few moments for all to scramble out of the boat and up on top.

Suddenly Ramage realized that he had come on shore in the jolly-boat and he shouted to its coxswain to return to the
Calypso
and report to the first lieutenant, who would use it to sound round the ship.

The sudden roar of the
Betty
's first broadside showed that not only had she arrived alongside the wall but there were Saracens there. Were they the normal guards at the barracks or were they men from the town? Ramage had not heard any alarm.

He saw that Major Golightly was already leading his soldiers, including those from the
Amalie,
at the double down the quay, running round towards the barracks. Now Rennick's marines were following and the three lieutenants were hurriedly forming up their seamen, the last to get on shore.

Ramage drew his cutlass and waited for the seamen. Then, as soon as they were ready he waved his cutlass in the air. “Come on lads, follow me!”

As he began running he heard the
Rose
's first broadside, followed a few moments later by the
Betty
's second, and he thought of the balls of the case shot cutting into the Saracens. And the popping of distant musketry showed that the marines on board the sloops were adding their share.