Only then did Ramage realize that the young Italian was with the two lieutenants, shouting orders at the Italians, who were now formed up into orderly groups.
Ramage glanced at the boats. Well, the oarsmen were bending their backs. The danger would come when there were only a hundred seamen and Marines left: that was when the Saracens were likely to make a last desperate attack.
But the Calpyso's carronades could hold them off. Ramage acted quickly. 'Martin,! Go out in the next boat and warn Mr Aitken to stand by to open fire on the quay with the carronades using case: the Saracens might well try and rush us when there are only a few of us left.'
The first of the boats were returning and Orsini was giving sharp orders to get the rest of the Italians embarked. Now that the Italians were being given clear and concise orders they were much calmer, and they scrambled down into the boats without any delay.
Ramage realized that Golightly was standing beside him and the major said: 'We'll form the rearguard while your seamen and Marines get off.'
Ramage shook his head. 'Very kind of you, but my men will stay on the quay until all your men are embarked. You've saved us twice, now it's our turn!'
Golightly shrugged his shoulders. 'Please yourself, Ramage.'
Ramage quickly explained that the Calypso's carronades should be able to cover them for the last few minutes, and Golightly nodded approvingly. 'Very good,' he said. 'I hadn't thought of that.'
Finally the last of the Italians dropped down into a boat which shoved off at once, making for the Amalie. When the next boat arrived alongside the quay Ramage signalled Golightly to start embarking his troops. At once thirty soldiers dropped down into the boat, which set off for the Calypso. Ramage then noticed that the Rose was now outside the harbour and lying hove-to while the Betty was passing outside of the Calypso, using her as a mark to keep clear of the shoal. King and Payne had done their jobs perfectly; at least the women had been rescued, even if the men were for the moment marooned on board two grounded frigates.
If only the frigates had more boats; four each seemed enough for most occasions, but now they needed eight to embark men from the quay while two more continued taking soundings - or even laid out an anchor if it proved impossible to sail off the shoal.
What was Roper going to do during the next fifteen minutes? Ramage had to admit that his opinion of the young man had gone down considerably when he realized that he had stayed on board, instead of leading his landing party. Staying on board had not done any good - the Amalie was still as hard aground as the Calypso, so Roper's presence had contributed nothing.
Ramage glanced up the quay. The Saracens were still waiting at the far end. Had they been genuinely scared off by Golightly's attack on their rear or were they waiting until the last of the frigates' men were waiting to be embarked? It was impossible to guess. Had they got over the shock of being attacked from the sea so that they could work out the tactics for counter-attacking? As far as Ramage could see, they were men who fought bravely and desperately up to a certain point: after that their nerve failed them and they quit. Yet was that reading too much into what they did at Licata? Was it reading too much into Golightly's two attacks on them? Well, when they outnumbered their enemy they fought well; perhaps when they equalled him they would fight well. But when they were outnumbered - there was the question mark.
But outnumbered or not, the important thing for the moment was that they were staying at the other end of the quay and Golightly's soldiers were being embarked in the boats of the Amalie and the Calypso. There were heads looking over the bulwarks on the quarterdeck of the Calypso and Ramage could see that the carronades had been run out and trained as far forward as possible, covering the quay between the Saracens and the landing place. Ramage could imagine Southwick watching the Saracens through a telescope while Aitken was at the entryport, hurrying soldiers below as soon as they climbed on board. Aitken, he guessed, was anxious to get the ship afloat again; being aground induced a strange feeling of physical helplessness, like having one's arms tied behind the back.
Did Aitken and Southwick already know the direction of the deep water? Had they just completed the soundings when the time came to send the boats over to the quay? Or did that interrupt them in the tedious job of rowing, a cast of the lead, note the depth on the slate and row on farther? Had they already decided that a backed topsail (perhaps topgallant as well) would swing the bow round enough, or would it need an anchor carried out in the boats and laid in the right place to let them warp the ship off, using the brute strength of the men at the capstan?
Ramage realized that there was nothing to compare with the helpless feeling of a captain standing on shore while his ship was lying aground: Aitken and Southwick might feel helpless, but at least they were on board and not standing here on a dusty quay looking after four hundred seamen and fifty Marines from two frigates, and embarking three hundred soldiers.
Well, look on the bright side, if there is one. At least the women are safe in the sloops and the Italian men are in the Amalie and the Calypso. Apart from the two frigates being aground, the orders (request, rather) of the King of the Two Sicilies had been carried out (probably much to the surprise of Rear-Admiral Rudd).
Carried out except that the two frigates were aground. And you might as well face the fact that if you sailed a frigate on to a sandbank with all plain sail set, you were making enough knots to drive on hard; hard enough for it to be very difficult to get off.
At least it had not felt as though there had been rock under the sand - rock that would wedge the ship. It had been a gentle business, like sliding off a mattress filled with goose down. It was sand (of that he was fairly certain) and not mud, which sucked at the hull and would not give a decent bite to an anchor. If you are going to go aground, for preference always choose a sandy shoal.
And three more boats left the quay loaded with soldiers while two more came alongside. Sixty soldiers scrambled on board them and they cast off, and Major Golightly walked across and said: 'Your fellows are making quick work of it: they must be exhausted with all that rowing.'
'They're used to it,' Ramage said. 'You should see them when they have to tow the ship for eight or ten hours in a flat calm.'
Golightly shuddered at the thought. 'That must be equal to a fifty-mile route march under a tropical sun.'
Now it was Ramage's turn to shudder. 'Perish the thought! Think of those blisters on the feet!'
'Think of the blisters your men are getting on their hands!'
'My men's hands are probably as tough as your men's feet,' Ramage said. 'In other words, they are well trained for their individual jobs.'
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 four-ounce balls to a case. The locks would be cocked; the gun captains would be taking the strain on the triggerlines.
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 caseshot 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 caseshot. . . Most effective.'
He might, Ramage thought, be commenting on the progress of some game. How impressed he would have been had the 12-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.'
