Proby cleared his throat loudly. ‘Suppose this ship is about to engage an enemy to wind’rd? With the deck tilting to the wind, how would seven men manage to haul the gun up to its port? A “Long Nine” weighs a pretty piece, I’d say.’

Bolitho wanted to lick his dry lips. Anything. He answered, ‘Three tons, sir.’ He waited, but nobody commented. ‘I would take men from the gun on the opposite side. With the same precautions to ensure no hands and feet were broken or damaged when the gun recoiled. But bandages should always be close by.’

‘You seem to care a great deal for their welfare, Bolitho. But the fight should always come first.’

Bolitho felt his fingers relax. He had not realised that his hands had been so tightly clenched. It was Greville. In some strange way, the challenge was almost a relief.

He said, ‘Badly injured men cannot fight a gun, sir. It could delay a complete broadside.’

‘But the battle is joined.’ It was Maude again. ‘Loading, firing, and once more running out. Provided, of course, that you have enough men. Is there anything else against which you should guard?’

‘Every third shot or so, I’ll have the barrel cleaned out, its full length, with the worm and then the sponge. Remove any burning fragment. And to prevent a misfire when a new charge is rammed home.’

Maude nodded. ‘Discipline is everything in gunnery, as in most matters in our service. All orders will be obeyed without question – I daresay you have heard that a few hundred times since you donned the King’s coat?’

Bolitho looked at him. A strong, proud face, not unlike the sketches of Captain James Cook he had seen in the Gazette, accompanying tales of his latest voyages. A man you would willingly serve no matter what.