'One had better come with me; there's no point in both being with you.'
They both speak English, sir,' Rennick said thankfully.
Ramage called one of the guides, gave the order for Rennick to move off and with the guide hurried back to the head of his own company and followed the Marines. His orders to his lieutenants had been simple enough - follow the company in front.
The road out of Amsterdam was cobbled for a few hundred yards past the last house, but after that it was dried earth, so that the marching men made almost no sound. The moon had not risen - nor would it for several hours - but there was very little cloud so the stars were brilliant. And somewhere along the road, dose to Amsterdam, Dutch soldiers would be watching them pass - the Governor still had a platoon of soldiers scattered round the west side of Amsterdam to intercept any spies or sympathizers who might try to sneak out of the city to warn the rebels that the British were landing troops and seamen.
Less than a mile up the road Ramage felt the muscles in his shins beginning to tighten up with the unaccustomed marching, and the jarring of his heels was giving him a headache. The road turned inland and then turned west again to form the spine of the island. The figure appearing suddenly in the darkness was Rennick, acting as whipper - in, making sure the companies were keeping closed up.
An hour and a half later, when the guide reckoned that the village of Daniel was only three miles away, Ramage was hot, sticky and tired. His heels were raw, his feet felt swollen to twice their normal size. His jacket was sodden with perspiration, his stock chafing his neck and the band of his hat like an iron strap being tightened with a thumbscrew every half a mile. It was time to call a halt, their second, and a few minutes later the whole column was resting on the side of the road, most of the men lying down with their feet in the air, quietly cursing the blisters but admitting this tip given them by Lieutenant Rennick really worked.
Rennick had just loomed up in the darkness, apparently full of energy and with feet that never swelled or blistered, when the faint popping of muskets stifled every groan. It continued for ten or twelve seconds, by which time Ramage was on his feet and looking in the direction from which the sound came. Then, just as he was refocusing his eyes in the darkness on what seemed to be a faint pink glow low on the horizon, there were several tiny flashes at the base of it, like fireflies, followed by more popping.
Rennick, clicking his heels as if indicating to Ramage that he was speaking officially, gave his verdict: 'Muskets being fired without using ball, in my opinion, sir.'
And Ramage realized that the Marine was right: distant musket fire always sounded unreal, little more than a pop, but the last ones had been fired with the muskets pointing in their direction - that was clear from the brightness of some of the flashes - and the pop was more like the sound of corks leaving bottles. If the muskets had been loaded with shot one would expect a sharper note. That was where Rennick's military training came in usefuclass="underline" he knew instinctively what Ramage might well not have noticed.
Now, Ramage realized, Rennick expected an explanation of the pink glow. Well, it was a fire, obviously, but it was a steady glow. The few houses that Ramage had seen burning in darkness at a distance, tended to flare up and die down, then flare again as the flames found fresh wood to consume. This steady glow seemed to indicate a fire that was being fed regularly - a large bonfire, for instance, that had been burning several hours.
'How far away were those shots?'
Two miles at the most, sir.'
And it was about the fourteenth of July. Then there were more musket shots.
'Round up our other company commanders,' Ramage said. 'I'd better have a word with them.'
It was surprising how the military phrases crept in - com pany commanders, indeed! But it sounded better, when giving orders to as keen and competent a sea soldier as Rennick, to call the lieutenants and sergeant 'company commanders', even though their companies were no bigger than platoons. However, Ramage thought idly as he waited for them to arrive, it was wiser when you put sailors on shore to divide 'em into companies (after all, they were always known as 'the ship's company'; it was only fishing boats and privateers that had 'crews'). Referring to them as platoons risked a lot of ribaldry. Finally Aitken, Wagstaffe, Baker and Kenton, Lacey and the sergeant reported themselves and gathered round, blurs in the darkness, waiting to hear what their captain had to say. Ramage, unused to meeting his officers on land, was suddenly reminded of Mr Wesley's preachers conducting services on Cornish roadsides (and having large congregations, too!). He coughed, as much to stifle a laugh as draw their attention.
'All of you heard the musketry and can see the fire. There's no village in that direction and a plantation house would not burn so steadily - or for so long. I think our rebel friends and the privateersmen are beginning a celebration party: we know, from the Dutch patrols, that they have been rounding up cattle. My guess is that they are roasting the carcases on that fire - which is why it is burning so steadily. The musketry is simply firing volleys for fun, celebrating the fall of the Bastille. They're starting early because it's not the fourteenth of July for a few hours yet. So by midnight . . .'
'Aye,' Aitken said, with a wealth of contempt in his voice for men who were not only revolutionaries and drinkers but, until recently at least, avowed Catholics, 'they'll be so besotted by midnight it'll be like picking apples.'
'But we're not taking prisoners, are we, sir?' Kenton asked, obviously shocked and clearly thinking Aitken was referring to plucked apples in a basket 'Well take them if they come to hand,' Ramage said evenly, remembering the Tranquil's victims. 'Now, your men had better put the bands of cloth round their heads now, so there are no mistakes, and tell 'em once again that anyone without a white headband is an enemy.
'And don't let's forget that whether those rebels are drunk or sober, they outnumber us more than two to one. But we have some advantages, so listen carefully while I explain them.
First, we can't hope to kill them all. Our first objective is to drive diem away from Amsterdam, so when we attack we want to make sure that the survivors try to escape to the westward.
'Second, from whichever direction we attack, they are against the light of the bonfire. The wind, such as it is, seems unable to make up its mind whether to be south - east or east, but the point is that the smoke is blowing to the west. If we attack from the windward side - from the east, this side - we can reasonably expect the survivors to run away to the west.'
'But sir,' Baker asked, 'supposing they don't bolt to the west but stand and fight?'
Then we'll bolt to the east,' Ramage said lightly, but added as soon as the others had stopped chuckling: Though it is a good question to which there's no answer except that we must make sure they do.
'Now, Rennick, the Marines are the sharpshooters. As the rebels bolt I want your men to pick off as many as possible with muskets and, using your own judgement about numbers, chase the first group. There will be some smoke and a ragged column, I imagine, with our seamen becoming mixed up with the tail of them, which is why we've taken so much of the purser's white duck to make headbands.
'So your Marines will be out on each side of the bonfire while the six companies of seamen attack from this side, driving the rebels past your men, like beaters at the butts. Volleys first from muskets and pistols; then close in with pike and cutlass.'
'Can we be sure the rebels will be gathered this side drinking and eating, sir?' Wagstaffe asked cautiously.
Rennick laughed. 'Spoken like a true Londoner!'
'Well, finish the answer,' Ramage said, laughing with Rennick and Aitken.