'It's a hot night and anyway no one sits on the lee side of a huge bonfire I They'll all be up to windward, clear of the smoke and beat Even the men tending the roasting carcases will be up to windward.'
'Aye, but they won't be roasting whole carcases on a bonfire like that,' Aitken said. The outside flesh would get charred long before the rest was cooked. They'll be roasting nice cuts on long poles, if I know anything about it. A whole carcase means a spit and someone to turn it - and it takes hours. And to feed five hundred or more .. . better to cut up the carcases and issue raw meat and leave it to individuals to do their own cooking.'
'Very well,' Ramage said, 'the main thing is that we don't kill each other accidentally. We all have watches, and the bonfire means we can see the time.' He took out his watch and saw it wanted three - quarters of an hour to midnight 'We'll allow an hour and a quarter for us to get into position. So at half past midnight, the moment you hear three musket shots one after another at one - second intervals, you all open fire. The three shots should be enough to make the sleepers and the drunks sit up to see what's going on, providing you with more targets, and reveal where the sentries are. One hundred and eighty musket balls, followed by one hundred and eighty pistol balls, should kill a few, because Rennick's Marines have only forty muskets and forty pistols to bring down the rest'
That's only four hundred and forty shots, sir, and you said there are five hundred rebels and privateersmen!' Aitken said.
True enough,' Ramage said with mock seriousness, 'but you speak as a seaman. Rennick's sea soldiers reckon to make one ball go through at least two men at night and three in daylight.
'Now, I want the second company of Marines under the sergeant to go to the rear of our column, then well be approaching in the order we attack. Your company will be to the south, Rennick, at the end of the bonfire, then mine, then Baker, Lacey, Kenton and Wagstaffe, who will be roughly in the middle, then Aitken, with the sergeant and the second company of Marines beyond. Any questions or suggestions?' The earth was baked as hard as pottery by scorching sun, with no rain for many days, and (it seemed to Ramage) liberally covered with small, sharp rocks that dug into hips and elbows and made cutlass hilts dank with the slightest movement Ramage pulled out his watch and held it up so that he could read the dial by the light of the great long bonfire burning less than a hundred yards away. Twenty minutes past twelve; ten minutes to wait His wrists seemed swollen to twice their normal size, the flesh itching in a fiery torture, and mosquitoes were landing boldly on his face.
The bonfire was a good twenty yards long, but low now, the rebels had obviously started off with a great blaze in the afternoon and then kept it stoked so that the whole mass glowed red, just right for roasting. Dozens of shadowy figures moved about, lit up by flames spurting up from time to time as more tree branches and brushwood were flung on.
Many rebels were lying on the ground, holding out long sticks - they might well be boarding pikes - with cuts of meat cooking on the end, like men fishing from a river bank. There were few sentries; Ramage could see only one in front of his position, a man squatting down with a musket clasped in his arms.
The rebels were drinking - one could see bottles being passed round, and men were occasionally filling jugs from some casks propped up dear of the ground, well to windward of the flames. Occasionally they burst into snatches of revolutionary songs, but the heat, the wine, the mosquitoes and sheer sleepiness seemed to be draining their martial ardour. As far as Ramage could make out, only a quarter of the rebels were actually asleep, dark shadows lying like sheep in a meadow forty yards or so in front of the bonfire.
He wriggled and carefully moved a sharp stone thai was numbing his left thigh. He looked at his watch again. Only three minutes had passed. He was sure that if he looked again he'd find the watch was going backwards. Jackson was lying to his left, musket in' front of him, the butt ready to slide against his shoulder, Stafford was to his right, with Rossi beyond. The rest of the men were lying to left and right, so that Ramage was in the middle of the line, the best place to shout orders both ways.
Rennick and one company of Marines should be hidden over there on the left, to one side of the bonfire, while Baker, Lacey, Wagstaffe and Kenton were on die right, parallel with the bonfire, with Aitken at the end and the Marine sergeant's company along the right - hand edge. There had been no messengers so he presumed they were in position. He had shocked Rennick by saying he did not want runners bringing messages that all was well; that they should be reserved for bad news. Every movement risked them being spotted by the rebels, so 'Qui vive?'
The challenge was from over to the right, in front of Baker's company.
'Qui va la?'
The French sentry, obviously a privateersman, sounded certain that he had spotted someone.
Then Ramage saw the sentry: he was standing bolt upright, staring into the darkness, a darkness which was emphasized by the light of the bonfire behind him. Then suddenly the man raised his musket to his shoulder and fired.
At once scores of rebels began rousing themselves in front of the fire. Now for the signal!
'Jackson, Stafford, Rossi . . . Well attack now. Ready, Jackson? Fire! ... Stafford, fire! ... Rossi, fire!'
To Ramage's right the British muskets fired in a ragged drumroll with the muzzle flashes flickering like summer lightning. Against the bonfire he saw men collapsing like half - filled sacks tossed from a granary steps, while others went down flat in a dive, showing they were unwounded and seeking safety.
Ramage had a pistol in each hand as he scrambled up and began to run towards the fire. 'Forward, men! Pistols when you're within range, then cutlass and pike I'
He was shrieking with excitement, but he knew it; there was no need for self - control now - he wanted his one hundred and eighty men to rout five hundred, and an excited, shouting and howling dash might do it!
Jackson to one side, Stafford the other - and out of the corner of his eye he could see a dark line rising up on his right and sweeping forward. Ahead there were fast - moving shapes against the flames and red glow: startled rebels scrambling up, flashes here and there as flames reflected on sword blades. A few flashes from pistols or muskets, but Ramage knew they must be through the line of sentries.
Cock the left pistol, now the right; cutlass slapping against his left leg. Don't trip and sprain an ankle. Paolo somewhere over to the right, with Aitken, and for Gianna's sake ... but the boy was excitable and keen and likely to run ahead of the rest Some of the rebels crouching now, aiming pistols: several tiny eyes winking in red flashes which only the targets saw. Thirty yards - too far for half - drunk, drowsy and frightened men to aim accurately. And the rebels are half - blinded anyway because they have been in the bright light of the bonfire for hours while the British, the targets, are sweeping in from a dark background.
The smell of roast beef makes the feeling of hunger nudge out fear. They are all running towards rebels with pistols but the British seamen are still obeying orders to hold their fire to be sure of hitting: it takes several moments for an excited man to stop running, aim with any accuracy, and then fire.
A crackling to his right: some of the seamen are firing their pistols. And now movement on the left of the bonfire. Like maggots squirming in rotten meat, dozens of rebels are bolting round the left - hand edge of the bonfire, yelling and tripping, some swaying because they are too drunk to do anything more than follow their friends. In a few moments they will run into a murderous fire from Rennick's Marines. Yes, there go the muskets.
But still there are scores of men in front of the bonfire; men who are not bolting. Far too many for playing around with pistols, he decided, and jamming them back in his waistband as he ran he grabbed his cutlass.