Meheux said breathlessly, “He’s coming in for the kill, sir!” He darted Bolitho a quick glance, his eyes wild with admiration. “By God, he thinks we are undefended here!”

Bolitho nodded grimly. The chebeck’s commander had tested their ability to hold him off and was certainly moving closer for a direct shot into the Navarra’s stern. Seeing the damage, the two ports left empty in the transom, he might well believe her to be helpless.

Meheux said sharply, “Right, my boys.” The men seemed to come alive around the gun. “Now we shall see!” He stooped behind the breech, his eyes glittering above it in the sunlight like two matched stones as he watched the enemy’s slender masts edging into direct line astern. “Right traverse!” He stamped with impatience as the men threw themselves on their handspikes. “Well!” He was sweating badly, and had to dash it from his eyes with his torn sleeve. “Point!”

McEwen stepped clear, pulling his trigger lanyard until it was bar taut.

“Ready!” Meheux swore obscenely as the chebeck swung momentarily out of line before the drum brought the oars back under control.

In the sudden stillness Bolitho’s voice was like a pistol shot. “Now, Mr Meheux!”

“Aye, sir.”

The seconds felt like hours as Meheux stayed crouched behind the gun like a carved figure.

Then with a suddenness that caught Bolitho unprepared even though he had been expecting it, Meheux leapt aside and yelled, “Fire!”

In the close confines of the cabin the noise was like a thunderclap, and as the men reeled about coughing and choking in the dense smoke, Bolitho saw the gun hurl itself inboard on its tackles, felt the planking shaking wildly beneath him, and wondered dazedly if it would tear itself free and smash him to pulp against the bulkhead. But the tackles held, and as the billowing smoke funnelled clear of the windows he heard Meheux yelling like a maniac, “Look at the bastard! Just see him now, lads!”

Bolitho pushed towards the windows and stared with amazement at the leading boat which seconds before had made such a picture of grace and purpose. The massive thirty-two-pound ball must have ploughed right amongst one bank of oars, for many appeared missing, and beneath the pall of smoke he could see the slim hull broaching to, the remaining bank of oars hacking and slashing at the water in a wild attempt to hold it steady.

Meheux roared, “Stop your vent! Sponge out!” To Bolitho he shouted, “Double-shotted this time, sir?”

“If you can be quick, Mr Meheux! Bolitho’s ears were still cringing from the explosion, but he could feel his sudden desperate excitement rising to match the lieutenant’s as he added, “And grape for good measure if you have any!”

To the seamen who worked so eagerly in the shattered cabin the gun was as familiar as those which shared their daily lives. The strain and tension of waiting helplessly and watching the enemy shoot into the battered hull without being able to hit back was past in an instant. Yelling and whooping they rammed home the charges, watched closely by McEwen, who was too experienced a gun-captain to allow anything to alter his sense of vigilance. He even fondled each ball before allowing it to be rammed into the muzzle, making quite sure it was as perfect as could be hoped for in a Spanish ship.