He stiffened, realising that one bank of oars on the leading boat had halted, poised above the sea, so that even as he watched the hull seemed to shorten until it was pointing directly towards him. Only then did the motionless bank of oars begin to move again, but at a slower pace, the water creaming back from her stem in a fine white arrowhead.

There was a sudden puff of dark smoke from her bows, followed instantly by a loud bang. He saw the water quiver as the invisible ball hurled itself just a few feet above the surface to smash hard into the Navarra’s side directly below where he was standing. He heard sharp cries of alarm from below, a momentary pause in the pumping, and saw several figures leaping up and down on the enemy’s forecastle as if in a frenzy of excitement.

Another bang, from ahead this time, and he saw a tall water-spout leap skyward some three cables abeam. The other chebeck had fired and missed, but the plume of spray gave a good hint of the size of her gun.

Helplessly the Spanish seamen waited by their ports, staring at the mocking squares of empty water and tensing their bodies for the next ball.

They did not have to wait long. The boat closest to the lar-board quarter fired, and the ball smashed hard into the poop, hurling wood splinters across the sea alongside and making the deck quiver violently.

Bolitho snapped, “I am going aft, Mr Grindle.”

He trusted Meheux to obey his orders more than he did his own ability to remain inactive under this searching, merciless bombardment. Yet that was how it must be if they were to have even a shred of hope.

He found Meheux leaning against the gun, his eyes wary as he watched the oared hull gliding easily towards the quarter, now a cable away.

Bolitho tensed as the chebeck’s bow gun belched smoke and fire, and felt the ball crash into the transom below him. Probably close to the damage already made worse by the storm.

Meheux said between his teeth, “My God, she’ll come apart with much more of this, sir!”

Bolitho looked along the gun barrel, noting the stiffness in the naked backs and shoulders of the seamen, who like Meheux were expecting the next shot to be amongst them.

Bang. The muffled explosion was followed by the telltale shiver as a heavy ball struck the Navarra’s hull right forward. But he could not be up there as well as here. And this was the ship’s vital and most sensitive part.

The next shot from astern cleaved through the empty gunport on the transom, and Bolitho gritted his teeth as he listened to it smashing deep into the hull, the attendant cries and screams which told him it had found more than mere timber this time.

Meheux snarled, “What is he waiting for, damn him?”

Bolitho realised that the enemy had not fired again, although his previous timing between shots had been regular and extremely quick. He watched, hardly daring to hope, as with sudden determination the chebeck began to edge across the Navarra’s stern. For a moment longer he tortured himself that it was just an illusion. That the Navarra was really moving slightly in some additional undertow.