'I've brought you all some food, anyway,' Ramage said with a grin. 'And powder and shot for the first round!'
Within fifteen minutes the men had hurried through their meal and were overhauling the train tackles which had kinked and tangled themselves, carrying the heavy breeching from the cove and clearing small rocks away on the ledge to make the gun platform comparatively smooth. Lacey had chosen a site which was in fact a slight depression with a piece of rock protruding like a stump of a tree on each side, ideally placed to secure each end of the breeching which, passing through the cascabel ring at the breech end of the gun, would bring the gun to a stop after it had recoiled a few feet.
Ramage went over to explore the big cave again while Lacey and his men finished preparing the gun and he was several yards inside the cave, examining it as possible accommodation for the men and a store for provisions, when he was startled to hear Lacey calling him from the entrance, obviously uncertain about entering.
Ramage joined him to find the lieutenant looking embarrassed.
'The men - er, well sir, the men have asked me to, er . . .'
‘Take a deep breath and spit it out, man,' Ramage said impatiently. 'I assume they aren't telling me they're planning a mutiny.'
'The gun's ready for firing, sir,' Lacey said hurriedly, 'and the men want you to name the battery.’
'Name it? What on earth for?'
'Well, sir, I believe there are going to be three batteries, and I think they had in mind that it would be easier to distinguish them if each had a name. They seem particularly concerned about this first one.'
Ramage was hot, tired, and in no mood for thinking of names. 'Tell them I'll think of a name tomorrow.'
Lacey's face fell. 'They - well, sir,' he said with a rush, 'they've already chosen a name, and they want you to approve it, sir.'
Ramage frowned. With Jackson, Rossi and Stafford out there, he suspected they had thought of some ludicrous name that would be impossible for him to use in official reports: something like the Nipcheese Battery, as a dig at the purser, or the Checkmate, to tease the Surgeon.
'They want to call it the Marchesa Battery, sir,' Lacey said nervously. ‘I - er, I understand there's an Italian Marchesa for whom some of them had a very high regard; the aunt of young Orsini, I think.'
Ramage tried to keep a straight face. Obviously Lacey was picturing some ancient Italian dowager. 'Yes, that is correct; Orsini's aunt is the Marchesa di Volterra.' He began walking towards the battery so that Lacey should not see the delighted grin on his face. 'A most appropriate name in the circumstances; yes, most appropriate,' he said with all the seriousness he could muster. Most of the former Tritons were grouped round the gun: Jackson, Stafford, Rossi, Maxton . . . All could see from Ramage's expression that he had agreed to the name. The gun was ready: the trigger line was neatly coiled on top of the breech, the lock was in position, the rammer, sponge and handspikes were ready. Well clear of the gun were the cartridge boxes with two round shot beside them. Jackson had the long metal primer tucked in his belt and a powder horn on a lanyard round his neck.
They seemed to be taking the naming ceremony seriously, and Ramage decided he should, too. 'I think we might fire a round in celebration, Mr Lacey,' he said briskly.
'Aye, aye, sir!' Lacey said happily and barked out an order. Immediately the eight men sprang forward and the rest stood back. Obviously the gun crew had been chosen while he was in the cave, and all of them were former Tritons.
Jackson, as gun captain, had the long pricker - officially known as the priming wire - and the powder flask ready. Stafford as the second captain was checking the lock, snapping it to make sure the flint made a good spark. One man had picked up the rammer while a fourth ran up with the thin flannel cylinder of gunpowder that was the cartridge, lifted it to the muzzle and pressed it in. He then helped the man with the rammer push it home, took the wad that was handed and helped ram that home. A fifth man came up with shot and that was pushed down the bore and rammed home. Both men jumped back clear of the muzzle as the men at the tackles ran the gun forward. If it had been mounted on board the Juno, the muzzle and much of the barrel would be poking out through the port, clear of the ship's side. Now it was run out to leave the heavy rope breeching slack, ready to take the strain when the gun recoiled.
The drill was excellent. Lacey, in contrast to the unnecessary orders he had been giving as the men lashed the cutter together, was now standing silent at the rear of the gun, waiting for Jackson to give the signal.
The American held up his hand and Lacey shouted, 'Prime!'
Jackson went to the vent, rammed the priming wire down the hole and made sure it had penetrated the flannel of the cartridge inside the breech, making a small hole and exposing the powder inside. Then he poured a small amount of powder into the pan, checking that it covered the vent.
'Point!' shouted Lacey.
Jackson took the trigger line coiled on top of the breech and walked back until he was standing at its full extent. He bent down on his right knee with his left leg flung out sideways. As he did that men picked up the handspikes and stood ready.
Jackson sighted along the barrel and called 'Muzzle left!' to the handspikemen, gesturing with his left hand. They levered the rear of the carriage to the right, so that the muzzle of the gun came round to the left, and stopped when Jackson called,'Well!'
Lacey then gave the third order in the sequence of single word commands normally used. 'Elevate!' he shouted.
The men thrust their handspikes under the breech of the gun, levering it up by using the steps cut into the after end of the carriage as a pivot, and lifted. Stafford pulled out the wedge-shaped quoin and the handspikemen slowly lowered the breech again, watching Jackson as he sighted along the barrel.
The moment he called, 'Well!', Stafford rammed in the wooden wedge and as soon as he felt the weight of the breech firmly resting on it he called, 'Down!' The handspikemen jumped clear but Stafford stood by the breech, awaiting the next order.
'Ready!' Lacey called, looking anxiously at Ramage.
Stafford leaned over and cocked the lock, and the click, combined with Jackson looking round expectantly at him, suddenly roused Ramage; with a shock he realized that he was not sure whether he should first have taken formal possession of the Diamond Rock. What on earth did one do? When you captured an enemy ship you hoisted your own ensign above his, but what did you do with an island? He remembered vaguely that he had occasionally read of some formal annexation when a new island was discovered. A flag was hoisted and speeches were made. Did the same rules apply when you captured one?
He racked his brain for a precedent, could think of none, and hastily decided that too much formality would be better than too little. It was wiser to say a few pompous words that subsequently proved to be unnecessary than to fail to say them and provoke Their Lordships' wrath. Apart from that, young post captains at the bottom of the Navy List rarely capture islands. If Ramage, Nicholas, is setting a precedent, then he will do it in style, he told himself.
He removed his hat and Lacey hurriedly did the same. The men stood rigidly to attention and did it so naturally that he realized they were all expecting some sort of ceremony, though probably for their battery rather than for the whole Rock.
What the deuce should he say? He coughed and tucked his hat under his left arm. He ought to be wearing his sword. Lacey's rapt expression would have been more suitable if he was about to be blessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury rather than listen to his Captain make a fool of himself.
'I, Nicholas Ramage, Captain in the Royal Navy and commanding officer of His Majesty's frigate Juno ...’ That was a good start, but what now? He thought for a moment and continued '. . . do hereby take possession of this island, known as the Rocher du Diamant, or the Diamond Rock . . . for and on behalf of His Majesty King George the Third!'