'I should do,' he shouted back, 'I've been here over sixty times.'

The French and British warships drew nearer and nearer until the Victory was so close to the Bucentaure that I could see the faces of the staff in the staterooms as we passed. There was a deafening broadside from the guns and the stern of the French ship was torn apart as the British cannon balls ripped through it and down the length of the gun deck. In the lull, as the cannon crews reloaded, I could hear the multilingual cries of injured men. I had seen warfare in the Crimea but nothing like this. Such close fighting with such devastating weapons reduced men to nothing more than tatters in an instant, the plight of the survivors made worse by the almost certain knowledge that the medical attention they would receive was of the most rudimentary and brutal kind.

I nearly fell over as the Victory collided with a French ship just astern of the Bucentaure, and as I recovered my balance I realised just how close the ships were to one another in these sort of battles. It wasn't a cable's length – they were actually touching. The smoke of the guns swirled about us and made me cough, and the wheeezip of musket shot close by made me realise that the danger here was very real. There was another deafening concussion as the Victory's guns exploded and the French ship seemed to tremble in the water. My father leaned back to allow a large metal splinter to pass between us, then handed me a pair of binoculars.

'Dad?'

He was reaching into his pocket and pulling out, of all things, a catapult. He loaded it with a lead ball that was rolling across the deck and pulled it back tight, aiming through the swirling smoke at Nelson.

'See the sharpshooter on the most forward platform in the French rigging?'

'Yes?'

'As soon as he puts his finger on the trigger, count two and then say fire.'

I stared up at French rigging, found the sharpshooter and kept a close eye on him. He was less than fifty feet from Nelson. It was the easiest shot in the world. I saw his finger touch the trigger, and—'

'Fire!'

The lead ball flew from the catapult and caught Nelson painfully on the knee; he collapsed on the deck while the shot that would have killed him buried itself harmlessly in the deck behind him.

Captain Hardy ordered his men to take Nelson below, where he would be detained for the rest of the battle. Hardy would face his wrath come the morning and would not serve with him again for disobeying orders. My father saluted Captain Hardy, and Captain Hardy saluted him back. Hardy had marred his career, but saved his admiral. It was a good trade.