by Dudley Pope
“Of course, sir. There’s just one other thing: I’d like to call at all the ports from which prisoners were taken—those places where we delivered men we freed from those two galleys—so that I can question the men more fully.”
Rudd frowned. “Why do you want to do that?”
“Well, sir, I am going to attack a port I have never seen and for which I have no charts. Nor do I know where the slaves and the women are kept, except that they are in barracks somewhere there. These men know all the answers. After some questioning, I should be able to draw a serviceable chart to work with.”
“Of course, of course,” Rudd said impatiently, as though it was his idea originally and Ramage was questioning it. “It’s most important that you have a good chart. And make sure it shows the barracks, or whatever it is, that the slaves are kept in. And the brothel.”
“Yes, sir, I will,” Ramage said, hard put to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I’ll pay particular attention to that.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BACK on board the Calypso, Ramage called Aitken and Southwick to his cabin, and as soon as they were in their accustomed places—Aitken on the settee, Southwick in the armchair—he told them of the admiral’s orders.
“So we get a frigate and a couple of sloops,” Southwick chortled. “If we go on like this you’ll get a commodore’s pendant!”
Ramage grinned at the old man’s enthusiasm. “More important are the three hundred soldiers,” he said. “It was a damn’ close-run thing at Licata because we had so few men, and we’d have been overwhelmed but for the carronades. Even now we’ll be heavily outnumbered.”
“Oh, it won’t be so bad as that, sir,” Southwick said.
“You’re an optimist. It’s really a job for those two 74s, with the two frigates, and a thousand troops. I’d have told the admiral that but I realized that if the 74s are involved one of the two captains would be the senior officer.”
“So you’re not going to give up command, even if we are outnumbered three to one!”
Ramage laughed and said: “Very well, old chap, who would you prefer to serve under at Sidi Rezegh, me or the captain of one of the 74s?”
Southwick shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “The devil and the deep blue sea, sir. No, on balance, I suppose I’d choose you because you have more experience fighting these heathens.”
“Thank you for that commendation,” Ramage said. “I’m surprised that you bargain away your skin so lightly.”
“Habit,” Southwick said succinctly. “One gets into the habit of serving under the same person. It’ll probably be the death of me one day, but I live in hope.”
“Right, now let’s get down to details. Provisions and water for three months. That’s so that we have enough food and water for the people we rescue. Arrange to berth a hundred and fifty troops—which means drawing more hammocks from the stores. That’ll be a hundred and fifty men for us, and a hundred and fifty for the other frigate. We’ll have to carry the major commanding the troops, so someone is going to have to give up his cabin.”
“That’ll be me, I suppose,” Aitken said. “Oh well, everyone is going to have to move down one.”
“And powder and shot,” Ramage said. “Check with that fool of a gunner that we have a full outfit for the twelve-pounders and the carronades. And muskets and pistols too: this might end up as a desperate business with a lot of fighting in the streets.”
“I’ll see to that, sir,” Aitken said. “Will we have any chance of giving the soldiers some training in boat work before we arrive at Sidi Rezegh? Some of them can get seasick after a hundred yards in an open boat, and they’re always so clumsy.”
Ramage explained how they were going to call at Empedocle, Sciacca, Mazara, and Marsala. “We’ll practise landing from boats at all of them. We’ll have Rennick’s marines going green with envy!”
Aitken laughed and then Ramage said: “The soldiers will need more training in embarking in the boats from the Calypso than landing on beaches. It’ll be up to our boats’ crews to get the boats in the right place for the soldiers.”
“I agree,” said Aitken. “Anyway, we don’t know yet whether the men will be landing on the beach or on a quay, stepping ashore like gentlemen out for an afternoon’s stroll.”
“Whether it’s on a beach or at a quay, one thing is certain,” Ramage said grimly. “The reception committee will not be holding bunches of flowers.”
“What are we going to do about a chart of this place, Sidi Rezegh?” Southwick asked.
“I just mentioned that we are going to call in at Empedocle, Sciacca, Mazara, and Marsala. The whole point of that is to question the men we freed from the galleys. They rowed out of the place, and I presume they were housed in some sort of barracks, and they should know where the women are held. From the scraps they tell us, we should be able to draw some sort of chart. Enough to get into the place and know where we have to go.”
Southwick sniffed disparagingly. “Men hauling at those great oars won’t be paying too much attention to where the galley is going,” he said.
“No, but if they have to make any turns they’ll have had to back water or row faster to turn the galley, and they might remember that. And it’s almost as important to know where the buildings are: we don’t want to have to go round the town knocking on doors.”
“Is the place going to be big enough to get in a couple of frigates and the sloops?”
“I’ve no idea,” Ramage admitted. “Beyond the fact that it was once a Roman port, I know nothing about it.”
“Who commands the other frigate—do you know him?” Southwick asked suspiciously.
“He’s a man called Herbert Roper, the admiral says. I’ve never met or heard of him. The commanders of the sloops are Jason King and William Payne. Never heard of them, either.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” Southwick said gloomily. “All these ports along a sandy shore are shallow. Low land, shallow water; high land, deep water.”
“Yes,” Ramage agreed, “all these ports along the desert coast must be shallow, but we only need to get our bows in. We can put the men ashore in boats, if we can’t get alongside a quay.”
“There’ll be hordes of screaming bashibazouks,” Southwick said gloomily. “All shouting about Allah and waving scimitars. And popping away with muskets, too, I’ve no doubt.”
“What’s got into you?” demanded Ramage. “Grumble, grumble, grumble. Why were you so enthusiastic about Licata, then?”
“At least we knew where we were. We knew there were no sandbanks—and we got those carronades ashore in commanding positions.”
“We still didn’t know it was going to work,” Ramage pointed out. “It’s all very well looking back on it and saying how wonderfully we planned it, but at the time we weren’t sure. In fact, it was touch and go; they outnumbered us two to one, and if you hadn’t arrived with the Calypso it might have been a different story.”
“Well, we got away with it,” Southwick said, slightly mollified. “This time we should have enough men and guns. As long as we can bring the guns to bear and land the men!”
Aitken stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’d better see to the watering and provisioning. It’s a pity we can’t send out a wooding party: the cook’s grumbling that he’s getting short of fire-wood.”
“How long will watering and provisioning take?”
“We should be completed by this time tomorrow, sir.”
“Good. I’ll get the other captains over this evening and plan to sail at noon tomorrow.”
Captain Herbert Roper, commanding the frigate Amalie, was a tall and thin man with a narrow face and protruding teeth. His face was pale, as though he was never on deck exposed to wind and sun.
Roper settled down in the armchair and Ramage considered the older of the two sloop commanders, Jason King of the Betty. The captains of the two sloops were known as “masters and commanders,” the rank that went with command of a sloop, and although
they were in fact the captains of their ships, they were known as commanders.
King was a man of fifty; someone who had obviously failed to make the vital jump to the Post List, and who would end his days as a commander. He was stocky with a startlingly short neck; in fact his head seemed to fit directly on to his shoulders. He was red-faced, but that was due rather to a tendency towards apoplexy than exposure to the sun and wind. Ramage was not sure if he was not something of a drinker. Not a drunkard, but a man who liked his tipple. He was a northcountry man with a broad accent of Yorkshire or Lancashire, and he seemed to be cheerful.
William Payne, commander of the Rose, was an open-faced young man who, Ramage guessed, had a chance of making the Post List on merit, assuming that merit ever got a man on to the List in preference to having “interest” with an admiral. Payne obviously had a clear brain and needed only a little luck to get command of a frigate in a few years’ time, allowing him to call himself “captain,” instead of “commander.” And, incidentally, increasing his half-pay, should he end up on the beach between commands.
Payne was as much a southerner as King was a northerner and Ramage guessed that he came from Hampshire or Sussex. His voice was low and even, yet he spoke like a man who considered what he was saying, in contrast to the outspoken manner of King, who gave the impression of speaking freely without considering what he was saying.
“Well, gentlemen,” Ramage said, “you have all received orders from the admiral to put yourselves under my command. I don’t know if the admiral has told you anything about this operation. If he has not, you must be puzzled.”
Both King and Payne nodded their heads, but Roper shook his, clearly the only one who had any inkling of what they had to do.
“So that you understand better what it’s all about, I’d best describe the operation I have just completed.”
Ramage went on to detail how the Saracens had raided Marsala and the other ports, and an appeal from the King of the Two Sicilies to the British minister in Naples had resulted in the Calypso being sent out. He concluded with the fight at Licata and the rescue of many prisoners from the galleys.
“After hearing about this, the king has asked that we make an attempt to rescue the men and women taken to Sidi Rezegh, and that is what we are about to attempt. We are to get three hundred soldiers to help us—they will embark this evening, a hundred and fifty on board the Calypso, and a hundred and fifty for the Amalie.
“Now, you know what soldiers are like in boats: they are not used to them. I don’t know if we’ll be landing on a beach or at a quay, but we have to exercise the troops in the boats as frequently as we get an opportunity. It’s probably more important to train them to embark from the ships.”
“When shall we get the opportunity?” Roper asked.
“Ah,” Ramage said. “You’ll soon see. At present we have no chart or map of Sidi Rezegh. Being a port along a sandy coast, it may well be shallow. The only way we can get any information is to question the men we freed from the galleys, since they’ve been to Sidi Rezegh. So we’ll call in at Empedocle, Sciacca, Mazara, and Marsala to question them.
“All of these ports have both quays and beaches, so while I am on shore questioning the men, you will hoist out your boats and exercise the troops.”
“When shall we get the charts, sir?” asked King.
“Empedocle is the last port. By then my master, Southwick, should have a decent chart drawn up, and something of a map of the town showing where the barracks are, and the brothel.”
“Supposing some of the galleys are at sea?” asked Payne.
Ramage shrugged his shoulders. “Unless we can capture them, there’s nothing we can do. Let’s just hope that they’re all in port and the slaves are in the barracks. Which reminds me, I hope you are well provisioned and watered—you’ll be getting a number of freed prisoners, of course.”
All three men assured him they were.
“The troops will be on full rations, of course. Make sure they don’t use too much water: prisoners when they are released may need plenty. Fresh water is probably rare in Sidi Rezegh, and you can bet that the slaves will get only enough to keep them alive.”
“You don’t know yet how you will attack?” asked Roper.
“I’ve no idea, and until we have a chart drawn up, I’m not even thinking of it. But judging from what happened at Licata, I warn you, don’t underestimate these people: they fight bravely and wildly. To them we are infidels, and their religion tells them that to die in battle means they go straight to Paradise. So they have no fear.
“But fortunately for us, they probably don’t have many guns or small arms. With them it is spears and scimitars. Our tactics,” Ramage said, “are to keep them at a distance and pound them with our guns. And, of course, the marines and seamen will have muskets and pistols, and the soldiers will add another three hundred muskets.”
Roper, thinking aloud, said: “Three hundred soldiers, plus say one hundred and fifty seamen and marines from each frigate, make six hundred, and fifty from each sloop means seven hundred altogether. That should be enough.”
“I very much doubt it,” Ramage said. “They had four hundred men at Licata. Now we’re attacking the nest; the home of these Saracens. And don’t forget that men will fight desperately in defence of their homes. Not only that, they’ll know every street and alley. I’m thinking more of fighting a thousand of them.”
“That makes formidable odds,” observed Roper.
“Indeed it does. But we mustn’t fight a pitched battle with them—if we have to do that, I don’t think we’ll stand a chance. No, we make two concentrated attacks—on the barracks and on the brothel. We are not interested in capturing the town—though we might be able to set fire to it, if it will burn. No, we have limited objectives, which is a big help. And I hope we can get in close with the ships: as many broadsides as possible will mean fewer Saracens for our men to fight. If need be, we can pound ‘em for hours before making our attacks on the barracks and the brothel. No one is going to come to the help of the Saracens, thank goodness, so we needn’t hurry.”
Ramage looked round at the three men. “Are there any more questions?”
All three of them shook their heads.
“Very well, written orders will be in your hands by this evening. They will be brief; final orders will come at Empedocle, when we have the chart. So off you go and get ready to receive the troops.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RAMAGE’S little flotilla got under way at noon next day, the Calypso leading the way out of Naples Bay, followed by the Amalie and with the two sloops astern of her.
Southwick, standing next to Ramage at the quarterdeck rail, was in bubbling good humour. “Congratulations, sir; this is the biggest flotilla you’ve ever commanded. It’ll be a fleet before long, mark my words.”
The remarkable thing about Southwick, Ramage thought, is that the man does not understand the word “flattery.” His comment about a fleet was a genuine expression of his feelings, and given that when he had first met him Ramage had been a very junior lieutenant (and since then they had been in action together dozens of times, and Southwick had become quite a wealthy man from prize-money) it meant the remark came from the heart.
“I’m glad I made charts of Licata and the rest of those ports,” Southwick said. “Admittedly, I never thought I’d be using them again so soon.”
“If only we’d made notes from what the prisoners said after we freed them from the galleys,” Ramage said. “Still, I must admit I never thought we’d need a chart of Sidi Rezegh.”
“Let’s hope this decent weather lasts: I don’t fancy trying to get in there with a scirocco blowing.”
“We can wait for good weather,” Ramage said. “For once we’re not in a hurry. We can wait for the weather, and we can stand off and pound them for a couple of days, if necessary.”
Southwick gave one of his doubting sniffs. “We’ll probably find that the town lies a couple of mile
s back from the beach, out of range of our guns.”
Ramage shook his head. “Perhaps, but I doubt it: that wasn’t the way the Romans built ports. Very practical people, the Romans; they’d decide there’s no point in carrying supplies a couple of miles from ships … they’d build warehouses right next to the quays.”
“That was then,” growled Southwick. “The Saracens could have spread out since then.”
“I doubt if they have any more wish to carry supplies unnecessarily.”
“We will soon know, once we start questioning our former galley slaves,” Southwick said. “That’s one thing they’ll know about, even if they aren’t sure about depths in the harbour.”
For the rest of the day it continued to blow a good breeze from the north-west as the little flotilla stretched its way southwest towards the western tip of Sicily, leaving Ischia and Procida to the north and Capri to the south. And it was a simple course: the first land they would sight would be the tooth-shaped volcanic island of Ustica, forty miles north of Sicily and directly on the line to Cape San Vito, where they started turning to larboard to pass Trapani and then Marsala, Mazara, Sciacca, and Empedocle.
Would it be necessary to visit every one of the ports, or would they get enough information from the first two? Ramage knew that although there was no great hurry, he did not want to waste too much time sailing up and down the Sicilian coast. Way to the south was the challenge of Sidi Rezegh, at present an unknown quantity. Unknown but not necessarily unwelcome. Not having the faintest idea of what was ahead, the operation had a tinge of mystery.
Supposing, Ramage thought to himself, the Saracens so outnumber us that they capture the two frigates and two sloops: would all the ships’ companies and the troops be sent to galleys? The Saracens would probably have too many slaves for the number of galleys they now possessed. Well, Ramage thought harshly, they would have a spare set.
He had thought a lot about the slaves in the galleys. Theirs was a terrible fate. Kept on shore in what were no doubt terrible conditions, they were (according to the prisoners they had released) taken to the galleys as needed and then held in position at the oars by chains round the ankle, so their bodies were free to work at the oars but they could not leave their seats.