"Each captain must make up his own mind," he told Roper. "I shall hold each one of you responsible for the behaviour of your men, so it will be up to you. But if the mayors give out invitations I want at least some men at any festivities, if only out of politeness. I am sure all of you have enough men you trust to make some sort of showing."
Looking round at the three captains, Ramage had his doubts. It was probably not desertion but drunkenness they were worried about: there were few seamen that could safely be left to drink a reasonable amount: for too many of them wine or spirits represented oblivion, to them a blessed state even if it resulted in a flogging.
"Right," Ramage said, "Marsala will be our first port. Are there any questions?"
There was none and the captains left the cabin and returned to their boats, and fifteen minutes later the Calypso hoisted the signal to get under way. The wind had backed a little, to north-west, and as the ships began to roll slightly the wailing started as the rescued men and women in the flotilla began being seasick.
Major Golightly joined Ramage on the quarterdeck. "I am a lucky man," he commented.
Ramage raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Seasickness. I am one of the lucky ones who seem to be immune."
"How about your men?"
Golightly shrugged his shoulders. "About a third of them suffer from it. And having all these Italians retching and wailing isn't helping much."
Ramage grimaced sympathetically. "It won't be for long," he said. "Only a few hours, and we shall be anchored off Marsala."
"I have three men who are so seasick at anchor that they cannot function. They could not even take part in the landing at Sidi Rezegh."
"The poor devils: they're going to suffer until we get back to Naples."
"Yes, they didn't bargain for sea passages when they took the King's shilling."
Golightly was silent for a while, and then asked: "Tell me, Ramage, are you satisfied with the way we carried out the attack?"
Ramage was not quite sure what Golightly meant. "I was more than satisfied with your soldiers," he said. "I am angry with myself that this ship went aground, although there was always such a risk since we did not have proper charts."
"I think you did brilliantly," Golightly said, suddenly and spontaneously. "Particularly the way you used the ship's guns to drive off the last attack. I thought at first the damned Saracens had us trapped. I hadn't realized you could train your guns round so far."
"We were lucky," Ramage admitted. "That was one of the reasons why I was angry with myself for going aground - we could not haul the ship round to bring all the guns to bear where we wan ted them."
"You didn't do too badly!" Golightly said.
"I know, but if we'd been able to bring our broadside to bear on the square in front of the barracks we wouldn't have lost so many men."
"How many did you lose in the end?"
"Eighteen dead and twenty-six wounded," Ramage said. "About the same for the Amalie. A high price."
"Yes, add them to my seventeen dead and twenty-three wounded and it gets less of a bargain."
"About fifty-three dead - I am not sure about the Amalie's figures - and some seventy-five wounded. More than 125 dead and wounded."
"When you look at it like that it doesn't seem such a great victory," Golightly said soberly.
"I don't know about your general, but my admiral will be satisfied: we rescued the Italians, and that is what we were sent to do. Admirals tend not to worry about the price as long as their orders are carried out."
"Generals are the same: I shan't be blamed. In fact it often works the other way - the bigger the butcher's bill, the higher the praise."
"It's the same in the Navy. Any captain fighting a ship-to-ship action in which he loses half his ship's company is regarded as a hero. No one asks if he fought the ship properly and could have avoided such casualties."
"Well, we've killed enough of our men to be secure from blame," Golightly said bitterly.
CHAPTER TWENTY
When the flotilla arrived off Marsala, Ramage signalled to the two sloops to anchor as close in as possible, wanting to avoid a long trip in open boats for the women.
The Marsala men on board the Calypso had been separated and now waited on deck. As soon as a boat could be hoisted out, Orsini was sent off to the Amalie, and after he had separated the Marsala men there, he went on to the Betty and the Rose, to check up on the women. In the meantime Ramage ordered the cutter prepared, with Jackson as coxswain, and had himself rowed ashore.
He was met on the quay by an anxious mayor and many other leading citizens of Marsala, all agitated and puzzled at the sudden reappearance of the flotilla. The only explanation they could think of was that they came to warn of another attack by the Saracens.
Ramage heard the mayor's excited questions and then smiled. "Yes, I have returned," he said, speaking very clearly so that the whole crowd could hear him, "but not to warn you that the Saracens are coming. No, the Saracens will not be back for a long time. No, I bring you your men and women back again. They are thin and frightened, but they are alive and unharmed."
For several moments the mayor stood transfixed, unable to believe his ears. "You have . . . brought back . . . our men and women?"
Ramage patted him on the shoulder, hoping that physical contact would reassure the old man. "Yes, our boats will be bringing them to this quay in the next half an hour. You have time to warn your people to be down here to welcome them."
The old man suddenly burst into tears, and then he embraced Ramage, enveloping him in the smell of garlic. "Do you hear that?" he cried to the crowd. "He brings back our people! Mamma mia, what a man! Did you kill many Saraceni?" "Enough," Ramage said shortly. "We taught them a lesson. And now you can have a big celebration."
"Oh, we will, we will. Will your honour attend and bring your sailors?"
Before Ramage could reply a woman weeping hysterically had flung herself round Ramage's neck. "My man, have you brought back my man?" she cried.
Ramage, suddenly fearful that some of the men might have died before he arrived at Sidi Rezegh, said placatingly: "I am sure he is all right: wait here and you will see."
The mayor insisted on taking Ramage to his house for a glass of wine, asking to be told all the details of the rescue. Ramage tried to describe it in terms the old man would understand, but found difficulty in describing the lethal effect of a round of caseshot from the Calypso's carronades. But the old mayor was content with what he heard. He then declared: "Today will be a festa! And tomorrow. And the next day. Oh, what a holiday! As soon as the priest hears, you will hear the church bell ringing out. Oh, what a day!"
It was a good half an hour before Ramage could get back to the quay and by that time the Calypso's red cutter, with Orsini on board, was bringing the first of the men on shore.
Ramage was startled when several women started shrieking as they recognized their men sitting in the boat, and by the time the boat was alongside the quay more women, all of them laughing and crying with excitement, were jostling each other and too excited to talk sensibly.
Ramage found himself strangely moved by the touching reunions: each of the men had a dozen or more men, women and children round him, many of them patting him or holding on, as if to reassure themselves of his presence. Every five minutes or so the mayor ran up to Ramage and shook his hand again, babbling his thanks, and calling to whoever was nearest: "This is the man! You owe it all to him!"
Orsini, who had come on shore, said: "You ought to stand as mayor, sir; you are sure of being elected!"