A few moments later with the shell settled in the barrel, they were unhooking the lines and getting clear. The mortar was then trained round to the bearing that Kenton had already given to Jackson. The muzzle was lifted with handspikes and the bed bolster was slid underneath so that the mortar was inclined at the precise angle which a harried Kenton had worked out earlier, with a slight correction to allow for the Brutus's overshooting.

Jackson reported to Kenton that the mortar was loaded and primed. Barnes, whose job it was to light the fuse of the shell, and Jackson, who would fire the mortar when Kenton gave the order, hurriedly wound slow match round linstocks, thin snakes round sticks each with a single red eye, where it burned.

Kenton nodded to Jackson, who signalled to Barnes. The seaman reached carefully into the bore with his linstock and warily held the glowing end of the slow match against the fuse. The moment it began to fizz, he jumped back and Jackson touched the vent with his slow match. The mortar gave a gigantic cough and suddenly the men were standing in a cloud of smoke. Kenton and Orsini, both coughing, ran to the bow, looking up into the sky. Above them the shell curved up in the first part of its parabola, wobbling slightly.

On board the Calypso, Ramage watched the shell as Southwick said to Aitken: "It'll land among the pine trees and start a big fire, you see."

"Aye, if Wagstaffe was a hundred yards over, those two mathematical wizards in the Fructidor will be five hundred. The fuse must have been defective."

"There are times when it's better to be lucky than good," Ramage reminded them.

The three men watched the cask but suddenly it was obscured by a cloud of brownish, oily smoke.

"By Jove, and that's one of them," Southwick said in an awed voice. "Thirty yards short but the fuse burst it only four or five feet above the ground."

Almost simultaneously there was a throaty explosion behind them as the Brutus fired again. They watched the shell, which exploded four seconds after it landed a good fifty yards beyond the cask.

"Both of them are training accurately," Aitken commented. "It's just the range that's bothering them. They've got to watch the amount of powder they use for the charge."

"That French powder varies a lot," Ramage said. "The Board of Ordnance say that any captured should be used only in an emergency, and must never be mixed with ours."

"But the powder in this ship is French," Aitken protested, "and it's never given us any trouble, sir."

Ramage shook his head and Southwick laughed. "It's British powder," Ramage said. "The French must have taken it from a prize they captured. They do, when they can. Southwick and the gunner checked it all as soon as we captured the ship and knew the admiral was going to buy her in."

"The powder is that different?"

"Yes - the French is coarser for a start. But we tested it with paper."

"Paper?" Aitken asked, obviously surprised.

"Yes - you put a clean piece of writing paper down on the deck, make a small pile of powder (a drachm or so) in the middle, and then fire it. The best way is to use a length of wire heated until it's red-hot: slow match can leave some residue because the explosion usually blows the tip off."

"But what does that tell you about the powder, sir?"

"Good powder gives a good flame and makes a crisp bang. More important, there is no residue, and no burn marks on the paper. If you find white specks left on the paper, or burn marks, you know it's inferior."

He swung round as he spoke because the Fructidor's shell was already in the air and he watched it land twenty yards beyond the little crater made by the first round. It sat there a moment, a grotesque black egg, and then vanished in smoke. Ramage waited for the smoke to clear and then inspected the cask with his telescope. It still stood four-square, but one of the staves had been pushed in just enough to make a shadow.

"Twice can still be luck," Southwick said, his voice full of disbelief, as though he knew his eyes were playing him tricks but dare not admit it.

Ramage watched Kenton's crew reloading the mortar and was pleased at the smoothness with which they worked. He had already seen Wagstaffe's team at work and, as he had commented earlier to Aitken, they looked as though they had spent the last few weeks serving in a bomb ketch.

Suddenly he saw all the men serving the Fructidor's mortar standing to attention behind the gun, with Kenton and Orsini standing in front. He pointed them out to Aitken and Southwick. "They load faster, and they want to make sure we notice it!"

A full minute passed before the Brutus's mortar fired. The shell landed only a yard or two beyond the water's edge and burst two seconds later, fifty yards short of the cask and spraying up sand and water in a muddy fan.

"Bit heavy-handed," Southwick commented. "Fifty yards over, and then fifty yards short. . . still, he's cutting the fuse to the right length."

Kenton's fourth shell burst in almost the same place as the third, and when the smoke cleared Ramage saw that the shallow craters almost overlapped.

"That's the powder," he commented to Aitken. "Kenton must have made a correction in the charge, but the quality of the powder varies so much that it can trump the correction."

Wagstaffe's fifth shell landed within ten yards of the cask and for a few breathless moments the three men watched, waiting to see if the fuse would fail. Ramage counted eight seconds and suddenly a cloud of smoke spurted outwards from the shell, swirling slightly in the breeze, and when it had cleared the cask had vanished. Ramage then saw a few pieces of wood scattered across the sand. He swung round to look at the Fructidor and realized that Kenton and Paolo were not bothering to look at the fall of the Brutus's shells, so they did not know that Wagstaffe had won. Still, the Fructidor had her fifth shell to fire before the Brutus could claim the guinea.

Again the mortar grunted and spurted smoke, and Ramage, Aitken and Southwick watched the shell soaring up, the master cursing the sun, which had risen high enough to make a glare. They followed the black speck as it dropped towards the beach but before they could see where it had fallen a deep thud echoed back from the pines, with a ball of smoke, which the breeze quickly dispersed.

Ramage was just going to turn to the boatswain to tell him to hoist a signal when Aitken croaked, rather than spoke. "A direct hit, sir! It must have exploded just as it landed right on the cask!"

Ramage stared unbelievingly through his telescope. The cask was gone; in its place was a large crater. He could just make out small pieces of wood, many yards away.

He glanced across at the Fructidor. Six seamen and two powder boys were lined up behind the gun, Orsini was standing to attention in front of it, but Kenton was at the bow, staring towards the shore. He was still looking for the cask, Ramage realized; his height of eye was much lower than those in the Calypso - a little more than level with the bank of sand on which the casks had been placed. Then suddenly he pointed doubtfully and Orsini suddenly ran forward to join him.

Southwick saw what was happening. "It's cost you two guineas to find out that these old ketches are good for breaking up casks, sir. Can we change the prize crews round so that I can challenge the first lieutenant?"