Ramage's Diamond

As soon as me men were standing by the guns ready for the order to load, and with Southwick at the co

Johnson came up from the magazine with the big key in his hand as proof that he had left the door locked. He was a tiny man with iron-grey hair and although the skin of his face was wrinkled as an old leather boot he usually wore a cheerful expression. Now, as he reported to the Captain, he looked worried: he had seen what had already happened this morning and dreaded to think what surprises were in store for his little kingdom of guns, powder and shot, ranges and trajectories, flintlocks and slow match.

'We'll inspect the guns, Johnson,' Ramage a

As soon as Aitken joined them Ramage said: 'We are in battle, we've suffered heavy casualties, and the men at the maindeck guns are all you have left - forget the 6-pounders. When I give the word, you'll fire two broadsides to larboard and two to starboard.'

'But sir,' the gu

'Tell that to the French, Mr Johnson,’ Ramage said grimly. 'Imagine that we are trapped, ru

'But sir -' Johnson broke off as he saw Ramage rubbing the scar over his brow, and then taking out his watch. The First Lieutenant gestured to the gu

Southwick walked over to Ramage and gri

Ramage nodded. 'Except that we learned all these things the hard way!'

'Aye, and I'm begi

‘He's been in action half a dozen times, but only a few casualties,' Ramage said. ‘That's -'

He broke off as Orsini hurried up, saluted and reported that they were ready to open fire.

'My compliments to Mr Aitken,' Ramage told him, 'and tell him to open fire when he is ready.'

Ramage was curious to know what Aitken and the gu

There was a shout from forward and several guns on each side fired, the sharp explosions followed a moment later by the heavy rumbling of the trucks rolling across the decks as the guns flung back in recoil. Ramage saw that alternate guns had fired: the remainder were still run out.

The spurts of smoke merged into oily yellow clouds drifting forward in the following wind and some of it, swirling across the group of men on the fo'c'sle, set many of them coughing. Ramage glanced at his watch and waited as men hurriedly sponged them and began to reload. Then the remaining thirteen guns fired and Ramage, stifling a sigh of relief, glanced across at Southwick, who was nodding his approval.

Aitken and Johnson had done the right thing. They had obviously had all the guns loaded - two men at each gun could manage that. Then two men from alternate guns had helped the two at the next to run out and fire - that accounted for half the broadside on each side. Each four men had then run out the remaining guns, which had fired the second half of the broadsides.

So far, so good: the real test was how long it would take two men to reload each gun and then repeat the whole performance. But the important thing, Ramage knew, was that Aitken and Johnson, faced with two choices, had picked the right one. They could have run all the guns out and fired a full broadside, or they could divide them. Either way was effective but Ramage had a particular reason for preferring the divided broadsides. A ship firing full broadsides but at long intervals revealed to the enemy that heavy casualties had slowed her rate of fire. However, dividing the broadsides meant that at least some guns were firing frequently - and making a lot of smoke which would certainly obscure all the gun ports and probably conceal from an excited enemy that the real rate of fire was very slow. In battle it might prove decisive: at a critical moment for the Juno the enemy might sheer off, convinced they were doing no good. It will be interesting to hear the explanation of Aitken's choice, Ramage thought; it is easy enough to do the right thing for the wrong reason...

Ten minutes later the guns had been sponged out and secured, the magazine locked, rammers and sponges lashed, tubs emptied and stowed and men were busy washing away the sand which had already dried on the deck from the hot sun. Ramage thought of the other orders which he could give to test the ship's effectiveness in battle - rigging out boarding nets, hoisting grapnels to the yardarms ready to run alongside an enemy ship and hook them in the rigging so they could board, making the men shift guns from one position to another - but he was satisfied. The men were working with a will and the officers were wide awake. Later there would be extra questions for the officers, and he already knew what they would be.

Finally the Juno's decks were clean, the brasswork shone, ropes were coiled neatly, leather buckets were back on their hooks. The time had come to begin his inspection, accompanied by Aitken and Southwick, with young Benson following, armed with a pencil and notebook ready to write down any faults that Ramage might find. It took two hours, and by the time he had finished Ramage was hot and weary: below decks the heat was stifling, even though ventilators and wind sails were rigged. The ship was making six knots but the Trade winds were blowing at a little more than fifteen, giving a breeze of only nine knots across the deck: not enough to make a decent cooling draught through the ship.

Ramage had to admit that the general condition of the Juno was a credit to Aitken, even if not to the Portsmouth Dockyard. Paint bubbles on beams and planking had set Ramage digging with a knife that revealed patches of rot; many beams and some futtocks should have been doubled before the ship left Spithead for the West Indies. Benson scribbled hastily as Ramage made his comments, and Aitken had been shamefaced at some of them. Most of the axes stowed ready for wreck-clearing or any other emergency were not only blunt but had their blades pitted and scarred where at some time or other they had bitten into metal. More than half the tomahawks and cutlasses which would be wielded by a boarding party would not, as Ramage had commented acidly, have cut into a ripe paw-paw, and while the heads of boarding pikes were neatly black-enamelled most were so blunt they would hardly drive through a rip sail, let alone a thick-ski

Finally, back on the quarterdeck, Ramage had taken Benson's notebook, glanced at it and given it back to the boy. 'Can you read your own writing?' he asked incredulously, and when the midshipman, his face crimson, said he could, Ramage ordered him to go down to the midshipmen's berth and make a fair copy.