Twenty, forty, sixty - that was two hundred. Quickly he reached a total of four hundred standing about on the quay, and that seemed the end of the exodus from the boats.
The four hundred stood in a crowd, as though undecided what to do next, but Ramage guessed that their leader - or leaders - were just getting their bearings.
If only the crowd would stay together and move into the area he had called the killing ground, but they would probably split up into groups as they made their way towards the town. Was there one leader or did each craft have its own leader - a man who became the chief of his own men as soon as they landed? It did not really matter except it might have some bearing on whether the men stayed together or split into smaller groups.
Then, watched by a startled Ramage, all the men turned to the east and flung themselves on to the ground. And from down on the quay Ramage could just hear a faint wailing: rhythmic and persistent but high-pitched.
'They're praying, by God!' exclaimed Orsini. 'Those damned heathens are praying!'
'Praying for the souls of the infidels they are about to disembowel or drag off,' Ramage said drily. 'Don't forget we often have a prayer before battle - it's the same sort of thing.'
'Yes,' said Orsini, who did not agree with the prayers, 'it gets everyone into the right attitude for murder and mayhem, knowing that God is on their side. These fellows call him Allah, but the idea is the same.'
Then the Saracens stood up, gave a bloodcurdling shriek while waving their scimitars in the air, and turned towards the town. But they did not run: they did little more than amble, breaking up into small groups as they made their way along the quay.
Ramage could imagine six triggerlines belonging to six carronades being tightened as the gun captains took up the first strain. In the houses seamen and Marines would be cocking their muskets and pistols. The second captains of the carronades, too, would have cocked their locks and stood back clear of the recoil. Every one of the Calypsos would be listening for the crackling of the rocket as they watched the advancing Saracens.
The horde of men had covered about fifty yards so far: they must be very confident of themselves because they were not hurrying. And indeed, why should they not be confident? As far as they were concerned Licata was just another fishing port, so placed to provide Saracens with ablebodied men for their galleys and nubile women for the brothels.
The Saracens had covered seventy-five yards by now, a shambling group of men who were doing little more than shuffling their way towards the town. But more important, they were heading directly for the killing ground. They were not bunched up enough to make perfect targets for the carronades: in fact it was hard to believe that such a casual crowd of men were a menace to Licata. Except, Ramage realized, for the glint of the sun on the scimitar blades. The men were walking along swinging their scimitars just as men out for a peaceful walk might swing at flowers with walking sticks - in England it would be dandelions, but Ramage realized he was not sure that they grew in Sicily.
He almost laughed at himself when he found he was thinking about dandelions while at the same time he watched the Saracens through his telescope. No, there did not seem to be a particular leader, or at least no one man was heading the crowd. They were now thirty yards from the edge of the killing ground, and Ramage said to Orsini: 'Stand by with the slowmatch.'
Orsini picked it up and blew on it so that it glowed red, and he moved close to the rocket as it stood in its tube canted over the town.
Then the first of the Saracens had reached the edge of the killing ground itself. Ramage could see that all of the men were dressed in robes with scarves or cloths covering their heads. And they all had beards; black beards which made them look fierce.
Now half of them were in the area, the rest of them shuffling along as though they had all the time in the world - which, as far as they knew, they had. Most of them, Ramage thought grimly, have very little time left in this world, although they were blissfully ignorant of the fact.
Ramage felt the excitement gripping him now: so far his plan was working out and everything depended on the timing of that rocket. If it was too soon, it would raise the alarm for the Saracens; if it was too late then many of them would be outside the target area before the guns fired.
He watched and waited, looking sideways to make sure that Orsini was ready at the rocket with the slowmatch. Yes, the slowmatch was glowing. And he found he could judge the position of the Saracens better with his naked eye: the telescope distorted the view by foreshortening the foreground.
Damn, he had to watch that the leading men were not out of the area before the ones in the rear had entered it. There, now was the moment!
'Fire the rocket!' he snapped at Orsini and a moment later the rocket hissed up in the, air over the town and exploded with a crackling noise as it sped over the quay.
Before the last of the rocket's noise was lost there was a series of deep coughs as the six carronades opened fire and the barrage was punctuated by the lighter banging of the boat guns and the popping of more than two hundred muskets and pistols.
The leading Saracens collapsed in piles, cut down by caseshot and musket balls as they walked, and the rest of the crowd froze, taken completely by surprise. Then the muskets crackled again as seamen and Marines fired the spare guns they had beside them. And Ramage could imagine the carronade crews desperately ramming home cartridges, wads and caseshot and then he wing away with handspikes to aim the guns again.
Again the carronades barked out, cutting down more Saracens, who were now beginning to crouch down, obviously puzzled where the noise and swathe of death was coming from. The boat guns joined in, like puppies barking, and many more Saracens collapsed: the bodies were beginning to pile up on the quay.
But to Ramage's surprise the Saracens did not run back to their craft alongside the quay: instead they seemed to bunch up together, shouting and waving their scimitars as though in defiance. As the third blast of fire from the carronades bit into the crowd, they started running towards the town and towards where most of the carronades were positioned. And Ramage realized he had made a mistake in keeping the guns and the seamen and Marines separate: there were no men to guard the guns; the carronade crews would be cut down by the Saracens, who did not fear death. In fact, he suddenly remembered, they regarded death in battle as a certain way to Paradise, so they were men without fear.
How many had been killed - or, more important, how mam were left alive? Bodies were so piled up on the quay, sprawled in the ungainly poses of men unexpectedly hit by death, that it was hard to count, but Ramage guessed a hundred: that left three hundred getting ready to attack the guns and the town.
Again the carronades coughed and Ramage saw they were firing at ranges of only a few yards: the screaming Saracens were now running towards the wreaths of smoke spurting from the guns, which they obviously did not fear. There were fewer muskets and pistols crackling: the men had not had time to reload. The Saracens would be at the first of the houses in a couple of minutes. And the seamen would not be prepared for them: they had orders not to move until they heard the three rockets which would stop the carronades firing.
There was only one way out of this mess, Ramage decided.
'Fire the three rockets!' he shouted at Orsini and, looking round at the six lookouts, he added: 'Bring cutlasses and follow me: we're going down to the town!'
The mad run downhill to the quay was a nightmare: the carronades had stopped firing the moment the rockets had crackled overhead, but as Ramage and the lookouts neared the quay in their wild dash through the town they could hear the screaming of the Saracens and the shouts of the Calypsos. Then, punctuating the shouting, they heard a single carronade fire.
It was the one of which Jackson was the captain. A couple of minutes earlier, just before the rockets, the four Frenchmen and Rossi were hurriedly reloading the gun when Stafford, walking to the door, exclaimed: 'Jacko! The Saracens are coming here! They're charging the guns!'
As the rockets crackled, Jackson said grimly: 'This gun is our best protection: hurry up and load!'
Stafford stood by the door watching the approaching Saracens, until the last moment, when he ran with pricker, quills and powder horn. Although he could not see them he knew the first of the Saracens were only a few yards away when he clicked back the lock to cock it and then sprang back telling Jackson: 'Ready!'
The American waited, listening as the shouting grew nearer and watching the doorway, the triggerline taut in his right hand. Suddenly half a dozen raggedly dressed Saracens appeared at the door, yelling and waving their scimitars, Jackson waited a moment and then, as the first three Saracens were bursting in through the doorway, pulled tight on the triggerline.
The three men vanished in the cloud of smoke spewing from the muzzle of the carronade and, as Stafford ran through the smoke to the doorway, he saw five or six bodies, with heads and limbs missing, scattered across the paving in front of the stable.
Ramage in the meantime had arrived at the quay to find the Calypsos in a desperate fight with the Saracens, cutlass against scimitar. As far as he could see the Calypsos were in three groups, led by Kenton, Martin and Hill, and the Marines making a fourth group with Rennick.
Ramage, with the six seamen and Orsini, flung themselves against the nearest group of Saracens, slashing with their cutlasses. Ramage heard Orsini cursing them in shrill Italian as he slashed with his cutlass. Ramage stabbed at the back of one Saracen who was about to chop at a seaman and then turned just in time to parry a scimitar slicing down at himself.
The shouting of the Saracens was so intimidating that Ramage realized it could affect his men, so he began shouting 'Calypsos! Calypsos!' and the seamen and Marines began to take up the cry until they were making as much noise as the Arabs.
Followed by Orsini, Ramage slashed his way towards the party led by George Hill, which was the nearest, and was amused to hear the jaunty way that Hill was encouraging his men. Ramage lunged at an Arab who parried, shouting at the top of his voice. As his cutlass slid down the curved scimitar Ramage snatched it back and stabbed again and the Saracen collapsed. So much for the lessons learned as a boy from an Italian fencing master, Ramage thought grimly. But there was no question that the Saracens wielded their scimitars crudely; they were no match for the seamen, who had cutlass drill at least twice a week.
A screaming Saracen dashed at Ramage with his scimitar held high over his head and before he had time to slice down Ramage lunged with his cutlass, which penetrated the man's stomach so that he collapsed gurgling, almost disembowelled.
The Saracens were holding their ground: they were standing and fighting, instead of making a bolt for their boats, and Ramage saw that by now eight or ten seamen and a couple of Marines were lying among the Saracens dead or badly wounded. Then in the distance he heard the cough of a carronade and for a moment wondered if it was firing into the middle of the swirling mass of Saracens and Calypsos.
In fact it was Jackson's gun. The American had realized that the Saracens' boats, secured alongside the quay, made a perfect target, and he had guessed that the captain would want them destroyed or damaged. He had therefore ordered his men to train round the carronade so that it raked the craft. It took him only a moment to decide that the slaves in the galleys would have to take their chance, and he fired the first round. After each round Stafford ran to the smoke-filled doorway to see if any more Saracens were coming to attack them, but they all seemed to be occupied fighting the seamen.
After six rounds Jackson went to the doorway himself to inspect the boats and he was satisfied to note that the masts and yards of three tartanes were now slewed down over the deck.
'If only we had some roundshot!' he exclaimed to Stafford. 'This caseshot is only pecking at 'em!'
