Patrick O'Brian - The Thirteen Gun Salute

Their intentions were perfectly obvious, piracy being a way of life in these parts; and although ships the size of the Diane were rarely attacked it had happened on occasion, sometimes with success. 'Mr Richardson,' called Jack.

'Sir?' came the answer. 'Stand by to run out the guns as brisk as can be when I give the word. The hands are to keep out of sight.'

The proas separated, one on the frigate's larboard quarter, the other to starboard, and they approached cautiously, spilling their wind as they came. The tension mounted. The gun-teams crouched by their pieces, as motionless as cats. But no, it was not to be: the proas hesitated, decided that this was a real man-of-war, not a merchant disguised, hauled their wind and were gone: a universal sigh along the gundeck, and the handspikes were laid aside.

For some reason this stilled the Old Buggers' complaints for the following days, which was just as well, since just under the equator the Diane had to leave the Indiamen's course and sail into uncharted shallow seas, traversed only by proas or junks, which drew almost no water at all, whereas the frigate, with her present stores, drew fifteen feet nine inches abaft: perhaps they were dimly aware of the gravity aboard, an atmosphere in which querulous words might meet with a short answer.

Yet even so Jack was glad to be rid of them at the end of the voyage, a voyage indeed that ended in beauty. After a night of ghosting along the parallel under close-reefed topsails, the lead going all the time, dawn showed the perfect landfall, a large, unmistakable volcanic island directly to leeward, with a fine breeze to carry them in.

Jack kept to his reefed topsails, however. He wanted to give the Malays long warning of his arrival; he wanted the ship and the mission to have plenty of time for their preparations; he also meant to have his breakfast in comfort.

This he accomplished, together with Stephen, Fielding and young Harper; and when it was over they returned to the crowded quarterdeck, where Fox and his companions and all the officers were gazing at Pulo Prabang, now very much nearer. They gazed in silence, and apart from the sigh of the breeze in the rigging the only sound in the ship was the measured chant of the man in the chains: 'By the deep, twelve. By the deep, twelve. And a half, twelve.' To be sure, it was an arresting sight. The island stretched wide across the field of vision, most of it dark green with forest, the truncated cone of the central volcano soaring up in a pure line beyond the level of the trees; there were other peaks, lower, less distinct and perhaps much older, in the interior, but they could only be made out by attentive inspection, whereas the craters they were approaching, the crater in the sky and the crater at sea-level, could not conceivably be missed or mistaken. The second was an almost perfect circle a mile across, and its wall rose ten and even twenty feet above the surface; here and there a palm-tree could be seen, but otherwise the ring was unbroken except in one place, the gap towards which the ship was heading. Though it is true that on the landward side it was obscured by the long slow accumulation of earth and silt, the delta of the river on which the town was built.

On one of the horns of this immense harbour-wall stood a fort: ancient, perhaps Portuguese, obviously deserted. Jack fixed it with his telescope, saw grass growing in the empty embrasures, and shifted his glass to the farther side, where something not unlike a castle stood apart from the houses, commanding the approach to the shore, a shore lined deep with craft of various kinds and one that reminded him of Shelmerston, though the strand was black, the vessels often masted with tripods of bamboo, their sails made of matting; perhaps the common quality was a certain piratical air.

'By the mark ten.'

The water was shoaling gradually, and from the slight surf on the outer wall it was clear that the tide was making. Jack considered the rest of the harbour - a certain amount of activity among the fishing-boats and one of the big proas being careened - and the town - a mosque; another mosque; some houses built on piles along the river; a massive formless affair that must be the Sultan's palace.

'By the deep, nine. And a half, nine. By the deep, nine.'

Houses in large gardens or compounds round the town. Green fields beyond, some bright green: rice paddies, no doubt: all the flat ground cultivated: rising forest beyond.

He focussed his glass on the entrance to the harbour, a hundred yards wide, nodded, glanced at the boats, ready to be hoisted out, at the best bower a-cockbill, at Mr White with his guns; and turning to the master he said, 'The middle of the channel, Mr Warren, and round-to at eight fathom or a cable's length inside, whichever comes first.'

They came almost together. The Diane rounded to, dropped her anchor, broke out her colours, and began her salute. Ordinarily in the unknown port of an unknown island Jack would have sent ashore to make certain that the salute would be returned gun for gun, the Royal Navy being very particular about its compliments; but Fox had assured him that the Sultan and his people laid great store by good manners and would never be found wanting in a matter of formal politeness. Even so, the prompt reply, well-spaced and correct in number, was a relief to him; so was the fact that the answering guns were little more than swivels. In case of disagreement it would not be pleasant to lie within range of a battery of eighteen-pounders.

With the last gun a canoe put off from the shore, a highprowed tiger-headed canoe with an outrigger and a deck-house in the middle; it was paddled by twenty men and it obviously carried an important person.

'Mr Fielding,' said Jack,'sideboys and manropes. But no piping the side, no Marines, I think.' He looked across at Fox, who nodded.

The canoe ranged neatly along; the important person, a slim brown man with a speckled orange-tawny turban and a kris tucked into his sarong, came aboard in a seamanlike manner and bowed gravely to those on the quarterdeck, putting his hand quickly to his forehead and his heart. At the same time the canoe-men raised some baskets of fruit on hooked poles to the hands on the gangway. Fox stepped forward, welcomed him in Malay, thanked him for the presents, and presented him to Jack, saying, 'This is Wan Da, sent by the Vizier. We should drink coffee with him in the cabin.'

The coffee-drinking went on and on. From time to time word came out, borne by Killick or Ali, once to lower down the launch, once to warn the gentlemen of the suite to stand by to go ashore, once to the mate of the hold to rouse their baggage up on deck; and during this time Ahmed, Yusuf and those Dianes who had any word of Malay conversed with the canoe-men through the gun-ports in the waist. At one point Killick darted up, seized the baskets with an angry suspicious glance all round, and disappeared again. Hope faded; the eager talk along the rail died away. But at six bells the word was passed for Mr Welby, and the large cutter was ordered over the larboard side, where it was filled with baggage, servants, five Marines and a corporal. And after another fifteen minutes Wan Da, Mr Fox and the Captain came out: Wan Da went down into the canoe and pulled off a little, while the launch advanced for the envoy and his suite. As the three boats pulled away for the shore the envoy's thirteen guns boomed out again; and when the triple echo of the last had died away Jack turned to Stephen and said, 'Well, and so we have delivered him at last. There were times when I thought we should never do it.'

Stephen, who could perfectly well see that Fox had been, or was just about to be set down on Pulo Prabang, frowned and replied, 'Would there be any of that coffee left, at all? I have been smelling it this last age, and never a sip sent out.'