CHAPTER ELEVEN

Down in his stable, Jackson walked round the carronade like an anxious hen circling its chicks. "I hope we'll hear the rocket," he said. "Here, Rosey, you station yourself by the door. But make sure you jump back quick when you hear the rocket because I shall fire at once. Almost at once, anyway."

"You be patient," said the practical Rossi, moving to the door. "If I am to be sure of hearing the rocket I'll be standing only a foot from the muzzle."

"All right, all right," Jackson said and turned to Stafford. "To save our Italian friend from being blown to pieces accidentally, don't you cock the lock until the rocket's gone off. Does that satisfy you Rosey?"

The Italian nodded grudgingly.

Stafford was busy preparing the gun. First he took the long, thin, pricker and thrust it down the vent, jabbing it in and out until he was sure it had pierced the cartridge. Then he pushed a quill down the vent and then sprinkled some priming powder from the horn round his neck, so that it filled the pan and covered the top of the quill. The moment that Jackson pulled his firing lanyard and the lock was triggered to make a spark, the powder would fire the quill and a spun of flame would flash down the vent and detonate the cartridge. But until the lock was cocked, there was no way that the flintlock could cause a spark.

His job as second captain completed, except for cocking the lock, Stafford stood back. Jackson crouched down and s'ghted along the barrel, although he knew the gun was already trained on the right section of the quay.

"I wonder how many there are," said Stafford.

"I heard Mr Ramage say he reckoned they'd have about twenty boats," Jackson said. "Tell me how many men the boats carry and I'll tell you how many men they have."

"They'll be galleys and tartanes and maybe a few fishing boats. Thirty or forty men in each boat?"

"I doubt if they'd have as many as that," Jackson said. "They need room for prisoners."

"Even if they have only twenty in each boat, they'll outnumber us two to one."

"But they won't have six carronades, half a dozen boat guns and a couple of hundred muskets and pistols," Jackson pointed out. "Cheer up, Staff, you probably won't end up your days in a Saracen galley!"

Stafford shuddered. "I should hope not. I can feel that whip across my shoulders, and my hands are raw from holding the oar."

"It's your imagination that makes you tired," Jackson said unsympathetically. "You just keep this gun firing and we'll all be all right."

"We'll certainly surprise 'em," Stafford said, seeking some consolation in the fact. "There they come dancing ashore thinking they're attacking a helpless fishing port, and bang, bang, there are the Calypsos waiting for them."

"I suspect that's why we're here," Jackson said sarcastically. "I can't help thinking that that's what crossed Mr Ramage's mind when he first stepped ashore here."

"I 'sped so," Stafford said in the tone of voice that took it for granted that the captain worked miracles. "He's usually got a reason."

"I don't understand when we know to stop firing so that the seamen and Marines attack along the quay," Gilbert said.

"You weren't listening properly when Mr Ramage was giving us our orders," Jackson said. "There'll be a rocket - maybe more than one - telling us when to open fire, and three rockets when we're to cease fire and the seamen and Marines to go chasing up the quay."

"Supposing we don't hear the rockets?" Gilbert persisted.

"We'd better, otherwise we're going to kill a lot of our own men as they run out," Jackson said. "Anyway, we'll either see the rockets as they burst, or we'll hear the other guns stop firing. Or not hear them, rather."

"It's not a very good idea," Gilbert said. "Rockets don't make such a noise."

"As Mr Ramage said," Jackson growled, "there's no other way: men won't have time to run from gun to gun saying 'Please stop firing'. Anyway, rockets make a completely different noise from carronades or muskets. You listen hard, Gilbert - and the rest of you. Staff and Rosey and I will have enough to concentrate on."

"Rockets!" Gilbert said crossly. "Might as well have someone up at the castle blowing a whistle!"

Jackson stared at the Frenchman. "Say a prayer that we stay alive to hear the rockets. If those Saracens get near us with their scimitars, it will be all over!"

"They'll have to run fast to catch me," Gilbert said drily.

Up in the castle Ramage watched the oncoming Saracen boats. It was impossible to see how many men they carried but the telescope revealed one thing: the decks were not lined with men. The Saracens, Ramage concluded, were sure that all they were doing was attacking yet another undefended small fishing port; as far as they were concerned this was a repeat of Marsala, Mazara, Sciacca and Empedocle: a routine attack, nothing to get excited about.

"Light another slowmatch," he told Orsini. "I don't like having to rely on one. In fact light two more: let's have one each when we want to fire off three rockets. The men are more likely to hear three rockets fired almost simultaneously."

"We have about seven feet of slowmatch left, sir," Orsini reported.

"That's enough for another three Saracen raids," Ramage said impatiently.

The glare from the sea was strong now as the stiff breeze pewtered the water, throwing up small waves which reflected the sun like a million flashing diamonds. The Saracen craft were approaching like water beetles advancing across a pond. With this south wind, Ramage noted, the Saracens would be able to run into the port with a commanding wind, rounding up alongside the quay. It would be a head wind for them leaving - but, unless his plans went badly adrift, none of them would be doing that.

Five hundred yards? About that, then the first of the craft, a tartane, would be coming in through the entrance. Then a second and third tartane and then three galleys. They were gaudily painted. The tartanes were decked out in strakes of green and red, with blue and white triangles and stripes apparently painted on the hulls at random. The galleys were similarly painted but as Ramage swung his telescope further round he could see that the fishing boats were still painted in the Sicilian fashion, each with a big eye painted on either side of the bow.

Gaudy colours and patched sails, yet to give the devils their due the boats were fast: the tartanes were slipping along and the galleys, under sails and oars, were keeping up with them. The tartanes had pleasantly sweeping sheers while the galleys had almost flat sheers, with the banks of oars moving in unison as though the craft were breathing.

Now the first tartane had sailed through the entrance, followed by the second and then the third. The rest of the craft were beginning to turn like a gigantic tail. Very soon the first of the tartanes would be rounding up to come alongside the quay and the men at the guns, peering out of the stable doors, would be able to see them. If only all the Saracen craft had come alongside at the same time - then the guns could have opened fire on them before the men landed. A big if, Ramage thought.

The first tartane swung round head to wind and crashed alongside the quay. Ramage could not hear the noise but he saw the long yard quiver from the impact. The Saracens were more skilled at sailing their boats than handling them in confined spaces. Now the second and third large tartanes were alongside and the galleys were manoeuvring into position, an operation which took more care because each captain had to make sure the oars on the landward side did not hit the stonework of the quay.

"How do they boat those great oars?" Orsini asked.

Ramage shrugged his shoulders since he had no idea.