Ramage & the Saracens (37 page)

Golightly gestured along the quay towards the Saracens. “Those fellows seem to be getting more excited.”

And Ramage realized that the major was right: the Saracens were shouting more excitedly, and seemed to be jumping up and down more vigorously. He looked round and saw that fewer than fifty soldiers remained, with the seamen and marines from the two frigates.

He then saw more Saracens streaming along the road to join the rest at the end of the quay. He estimated there must be a couple of hundred of them hurrying to join the three hundred already waiting. Obviously they were concentrating for another attack. Would there be more reinforcements? Five hundred raving Saracens …

Finally Golightly said, “That's the last of my men.”

Ramage turned and saw two boats leaving the quay. “Why didn't you go with them?”

“I thought it would be more interesting to stay with you.”

“You should be with your men.”

“They know their way round the
Calypso
now, and the rest are safely on board the
Amalie
.”

Ramage shrugged his shoulders. “There's nothing for you to do here now.”

Golightly grinned cheerfully and said, “I enjoy stretching my legs on shore: very confining, being on board a ship. Besides, I enjoy killing a few Saracens.”

There was little left to do but prepare for an attack by the Saracens, and Ramage gave orders to Rennick, Kenton, and Hill to assemble their men round the embarkation point. The lieutenants from the
Amalie
quickly obeyed Ramage's order and grouped their men next to the Calypsos.

More than a hundred of the
Amalie
's and
Calypso
's seamen had been taken off in the boats when Hill suddenly called: “Here they come!” And at last the Saracens, scimitars waving and robes flying, came running along the quay, screaming at the tops of their voices.

They were, Ramage decided, the most frightening sight he had ever seen on land. He knew that not one of those men cared whether he lived or died: that the only thing that made him retreat was knowledge that he was outnumbered, and the mathematical certainty that he would be driven off.

Now, though, they knew they were not outnumbered; they were charging to cut off the hundred or so British seamen and marines left waiting on the quay.

Ramage hoped that Southwick was watching with his telescope—not that one needed a bring-'em-near to see what was going on. Nor, for that matter, an ear-trumpet to hear.

The Arabs had covered thirty yards. Now fifty and they were another fifty yards away. Ramage imagined the carronades trained round to cover a small area of the quay into which the Saracens were now running. The guns would be loaded with case; forty-two 4-ounce balls to a case. The locks would be cocked; the gun captains would be taking the strain on the trigger-lines.

Then, suddenly, they fired: there was a shattering concussion and spurts of smoke, and Ramage felt the muzzle blast. And the oncoming horde reeled as the barrage of case shot bit into them. At first glance it seemed to Ramage that fifty or more of the turbaned figures now lay sprawled in the dust, and while the rest stood paralysed by the shock of the attack, Rennick's marines and the seamen opened fire with their muskets.

The gunners on board the
Calypso
would be reloading the carronades knowing their shipmates' lives depended on their speed, and for the moment the Saracens were stopped in their tracks, obviously uncertain what to do next.

“What a sight!” Golightly said conversationally. “Close-range case shot … Most effective.”

He might, Ramage thought, be commenting on the progress of some game. How impressed he would have been had the twelve-pounders been able to fire, but they could not be trained as far as the carronades, and with the
Calypso
firmly aground there was no way of turning the ship.

Even before the Saracens had collected themselves, the carronades thundered out again, cutting another swathe through them. Just at that moment four boats came alongside the quay but none of the seamen made a move to climb down into them. Ramage turned and shouted at the men nearest the boats to embark, but they did not move.

“We want to stay with you, sir,” one of the men shouted.

There was no point in arguing—or giving overriding orders with men showing that spirit, so Ramage threw up his hands. “Keep up a hot fire, then!”

Looking back at the Saracens, Ramage saw that the second blast from the carronades had been more effective than the first because they had bunched up with the shock. The second round had swept into the heart of the crowd of men and bodies were beginning to pile up, one on top of another.

A couple of crazed men began a desperate dash towards the seamen and were picked off by Rennick's marines, sprawling into untidy heaps, looking as though someone had dropped two piles of old clothes.

“The third should do it,” Golightly said judicially.

“There are plenty more,” Ramage said grimly. “I want to kill ‘em, not drive ‘em off. We've got to refloat the frigates yet.”

At that moment Orsini came up. “The men in the boats want to know if they can join in, sir: they've muskets with them.”

“No they can't,” Ramage growled. “This isn't a party!”

Golightly said: “Your sailors seem to be in fine spirit.”

Ramage realized that he had become so used to the men's attitude that he was in danger of taking it for granted, and it took the comments of someone like Golightly to draw attention to it.

The third round of fire from the carronades crashed out and once again the case shot cut a swathe through the Saracens, who were by now grouped helplessly and obviously did not know what to do next.

Ramage guessed that there were a hundred and fifty bodies now lying on the quay: the carronades had killed a good third of the men who had been gathered at the end of the quay. Now, he calculated, the seamen and marines were not outnumbered—not that the Saracens looked as if they were going to resume their charge.

In fact even as he tried to gauge how many of them were left, the first of them began to run back along the quay towards the town, and they were quickly followed by the rest, who left the dead and wounded where they were lying.

Had they lost their nerve? Ramage decided not. They had simply realized that they were outnumbered and that they could do nothing against the guns that were firing at them, and very sensibly they were withdrawing.

Ramage waited until he was absolutely sure that all the Arabs had withdrawn and then he shouted an order for the men to start embarking. Three more boats had arrived alongside the quay and they were soon on their way back to the frigates with the majority of seamen and marines.

S
OUTHWICK handed him the slate on which was drawn the plan of the frigate and, scattered with soundings, the rough outline of the sandbank on which the
Calypso
had grounded. Ramage saw that the sandbank was half-moon shaped and stuck out from the quay so that both the
Calypso
and the
Amalie
had just caught the eastern edge of it, and there was deeper water to larboard.

“Very conveniently placed to stop us getting alongside,” Ramage said bitterly. He looked at the soundings and took into consideration the
Calypso
's draft. “Another foot and we'd have gone over it.”

“At least we're not hard on,” Southwick said. “We must just be perched on it, like a starling on a fence.”

Ramage nodded. “Backed forecourse, topsail and topgallant should swing the bow off. Main and mizen topsails set and shivering should keep us under control and see us heading for the entrance as soon as we're clear and can wear round.”

He thought for a moment. “Has Roper seen these soundings?”

“Yes, sir, a couple of the
Amalie
's boats helped with the soundings and made a copy.”

“Well, if he's at all worried, he'll see what we're doing,” Ramage said, trying not to show his doubts of Roper.

Ramage glanced along the quay and saw that the Saracens were still grouped at the end, obviously concerned that the guns would open fire on them again. Well, there was no point in wasting time.

“Are all the Italians below now?”

“Yes, sir,” Aitken replied. “Orsini soon got them sorted out. They were excited at being on board a British frigate, apparently, and grateful that their womenfolk are in the sloops.”

Aitken added: “They were anxious about how they were going to get home again, but Orsini reassured them. Told them how we had saved the men and women at Licata. I don't know what else he told them, but
il Commandante
is already their hero, sir!”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Ramage said briskly. “Now, let's see about getting this ship afloat again.”

He gave Southwick and Aitken detailed instructions. The risk was, he said, that the
Calypso
's bow would swing off all right under the thrust of the backed forecourse, topsail and topgallant, but unless the after sails—kept shivering and with no weight on them—were quickly brought into action there was nothing to stop the frigate blowing on to the big shoal in the middle of the harbour.

“We haven't much room to play around in,” he said. “The moment we are off the sandbank, we must wear and then head for the entrance. Missing that shoal in the middle is going to be a close-run thing. If we go aground there, it'll be to leeward of us, and that'll mean laying out anchors to haul ourselves off.”

Aitken grinned confidently and said: “It's like one of those imaginary situations that the Board set you when you're taking your examination for lieutenant!”

“The only difference,” Ramage replied, “is that if you failed then you just carried on as a midshipman or master's mate. If you fail here, you might end your days in the galleys!”

Aitken turned and looked at the five galleys, riding at anchor between the outer breakwater and the shoal in the middle of the harbour. “They're bigger than I thought. The two we captured at Licata were smaller.”

“These row another twenty or thirty oars,” Southwick said. “But they look clumsier than the ones we captured. Much beamier, too.”

“Let's get on with it,” Ramage said impatiently. The manoeuvre was going to be difficult, and the consequence of failure did not bear thinking about.

Were the decks clear for the seamen? “What of the soldiers—are they below as well?”

“They're all below, sir: I wanted the ship clear when we start to get off the shoal.”

“Very well. We'll start off with a backed topsail: that may be enough, with the topgallant. I'd just as soon not set the course.”

He estimated that the wind, still from the north, was not blowing at more than ten knots. A backed topsail in a ten-knot wind was not going to apply much sideways thrust, but he wanted to get off with as little as possible: the other shoal in the middle was lurking like a trap.

Aitken picked up the speaking-trumpet and shouted the order for topmen. Soon the men were running up the ratlines like spiders, and then out along the yards. Quickly they let go the gaskets and the sail flopped down like a tired curtain.

A quick order to the afterguard and men hauled down on the halyard and lifted the yard into position. Another order braced the yard and yet another saw the sheets trimmed. Now the sail was flat, pressing against the mast and trying to thrust the ship sideways, away from the quay and off the sandbank.

Ramage watched the bowsprit and jib-boom outlined against the town but they did not move. The topsail was not enough.

“Topgallant, if you please, Mr Aitken.”

The first lieutenant gave a sequence of similar orders and the topgallant was let fall and sheeted a'back.

Ramage watched the jib-boom against the houses beyond. There was a slight movement.

“Mr Aitken—let fall the main and mizen topsails: I want them shivering!”

More topmen raced up the other two masts and cast off the gaskets. Halyards were hauled and then the yards were carefully braced and the sails trimmed so that the wind blew down both sides of the canvas, without exerting any thrust. The sails flapped and shivered, like drying laundry.

As Ramage watched the bow moved agonizingly slowly away from the quay with the two backed sails pressed hard against the mast. The pressure was just enough to lever the
Calypso
's bow off the sandbank. Ramage walked over to the starboard side of the quarterdeck and looked over the side. Yes, the sea forward was turning muddy as the keel slid across the sand and stirred up the water.

He looked across at Southwick and grinned. “Slow but sure!”

“Aye,” said the old master, running his hand through his hair after carefully removing his hat, “at least we know where the shoal is if we have to come here again!”

“Once is enough,” Ramage said. “Almost too much!”

Foot by foot the
Calypso
's bow swung clear, carrying the ship into deeper water; any minute now, Ramage realized, she would come clear of the shoal so that there would have to be fast work to get her under control again and heading for the entrance. He looked longingly at the galleys: a pity he could not give them a broadside, but the angle was wrong and anyway the frigate would be swinging too fast for the gunners to do any good.

Yet without slaves to row them, the galleys were no use to the Saracens. What did they use them for anyway—to raid to get more slaves? Or did they prey on passing ships? If so they must confine themselves to coastal traffic: Ramage could not remember any complaints that they were capturing passing British ships.

Now the bow was swinging faster and he had time to look astern at the
Amalie
. She was just letting fall a topsail; obviously Roper was waiting for the
Calypso
to get clear so that he could manoeuvre without risk of collision. How carefully Roper must be watching the
Calypso,
and how relieved he must have been when he saw her starting to swing—an indication that the
Amalie
would be able to get off without too much trouble, since she had hit the shoal astern of the
Calypso
and had driven that much less on to the sand.