Ramage & the Saracens (29 page)

Oh, what a tangled story it all was; it angered Ramage that it was rare to be involved in any operation without favouritism entering the story. Favouritism? Why not call it nepotism?

This fellow Rudd was as guilty as any other admiral: he had sent off two favourite captains in their 74s to deal with the Frenchmen on Capraia, but it had fallen through. The favourite frigate captain had not been sent off to deal with the Saracens along the Sicilian coast because there was every likelihood of failure. No, the
Calypso
had been sent off, so that the scapegoat for any failure would be this newly arrived Captain Ramage, not the admiral's favourite.

Now the admiral's favourite was having to go on the Sidi Rezegh expedition because the admiral dare not risk any failure, so he was sending all the ships he could spare, two frigates and two sloops. If the expedition failed, the fault was obviously Captain Ramage's, since he would be in command of the whole affair. If the expedition succeeded, well, much of the credit was due to the favourite, who conducted himself with great skill…. Ramage could see the copperplate writing of the admiral's despatch to the Admiralty.

Very well, that was the way things were done, and the only thing to do was to smile gracefully and do one's best—and, if one was honest, pray for the day when one became the favourite of a powerful admiral.

Suddenly Ramage felt almost ashamed of his thoughts: he had been something of the favourite of the late Lord Nelson; he must have aroused jealousy in other captains less favoured. Now he was out of luck but, if he was fair, that was no reason to get cross with this other wretched frigate captain. If you succeed, he told himself, no one can blame you, just as his recent success against the Saracens had made Admiral Rudd change his tune—to some extent, anyway.

“Yes,” Rudd said judiciously, “another frigate and two sloops—and three hundred troops—should do the job. The troops will be a major's command, Major Henry Golightly, but of course he will be told that he takes his orders from you. The frigate will be the
Amalie,
Captain Herbert Roper, and the sloops the
Betty,
master and commander Jason King, and the
Rose,
master and commander William Payne. Your orders will be delivered by noon tomorrow, and by that time the others will have received theirs, and know that they are under your orders. The troops will embark tomorrow evening, by which time you should have let them know in which ships they are embarking. Now, is there anything else you want to know?”

Ramage thought for a few moments. “No, sir. I have to water and provision the
Calypso,
and it would be better if the other ships were watered and provisioned for three months.”

Rudd nodded. “Very well, but do you expect to be away so long?”

“No, sir; but we shall be taking on five or six hundred men and women at Sidi Rezegh, all being well, as well as three hundred soldiers, so we shall need extra water and provisions.”

“Quite so, quite so,” Rudd said, revealing that he had not thought of it. “As many people as that?”

“They took around a hundred and fifty men and women from each port, sir. And I presume that if I find slaves taken from ships I should release them as well?”

“Yes, of course. But if any are French … ?” Obviously Rudd was doubtful about freeing any of the king's enemies, but Ramage was certain.

“If they are French they'll still be our prisoners. We can't leave them chained up for the rest of their lives in the hands of those heathens.”

“No, of course not,” Rudd said hastily. “But if there is any haste, the Italians have priority: you do understand that, don't you?”

“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.”

B
ACK 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.