Julian Stockwin - Artemis

Kydd nodded. Hallison glanced again at the weather leech and said, 'Go 'n' have some breakfast - be sure an' relieve me at one bell.'

It was greatly satisfying, the way that seamen gave way to him at the sight of his blue jacket and twinkling brass buttons. His confidence soared as he bounded up the ladder to relieve Hallison. He had skipped his burgoo and hard-tack, quickly stitching the buttons with their stout anchor to his best and only blue jacket. He would not be found wanting in any particular.

Hallison raised his eyebrows in surprise at Kydd's transformation, but did not comment. He crossed to the binnacle and reached below for the log-board. Opening it out he referred to the chalked entries. He looked at the hanging traverse board to check that it agreed and turned to Kydd. 'Course sou'-east b' east, good breeze fr'm the nor'-west. Mr Party 'as the deck, Evans on the wheel. You has the conn.'

'I have the conn,' Kydd repeated, with beating heart.

'Petty Officer Kydd has the conn, sir,' Hallison called to Parry, who looked around at the hail, but only grunted and turned back.

'Are ye ready, lad?' Hallison said gravely. If anything went wrong there would be no time for Kydd to rush below and call him - and the blame would be entirely his.

'Yes,' Kydd said.

'Right. I'll have me breakfast an' be up here after.' He disappeared down the after hatchway leaving Kydd with direct responsibility for ensuring the ship actually sailed where it was supposed to.

Nervously Kydd looked over the helmsman's shoulder at the binnacle. The due course lazily swam under the lubber's line. 'See she stays that way,' he growled, and stepped back. The whites of the helmsman's eyes showed briefly as they followed Kydd. A hard quartermaster could make a trick at the helm a misery.

Unable to prevent a grin of sheer elation, Kydd paced over to leeward, and looked down the ship's side at the wake, bubbling and hissing its way aft. He followed it as it slid away past the stern to merge in a ruler-straight line that stretched away in the distance. He drew a deep breath, strolled back to the helm and stood, arms akimbo, the picture of a taut petty officer.

Hallison returned, and took the conn. Again there was no comment, the traverse board had been properly kept up, the pegs in their holes stepping out from the centre telling of the ship's progress every bell of the watch. In the swelling warmth of the sun it was proving to be a fine morning; the sea was in the process of changing from the grey-green of temperate latitudes to a deep tropic blue.

Hands for exercise was piped for the forenoon, and while Kydd watched idly from the quarterdeck, topsails were loosed and furled at a great rate. He would still be required to haul on ropes, but only at times when skilled seamanship was needed, such as when tacking ship.

Hallison touched his hat, and Kydd saw that Mr Prewse, the sailing master, had come on deck. 'This is Thomas Kydd, been rated quartermaster's mate,' said Hallison. Kydd doffed his hat and stood respectfully.

'Just so,' said the Master, looking at Kydd keenly. 'Have you your letters?'

'Aye, sir.' It would probably not be to Kydd's advantage to mention that he had acquired an intimacy of the works of both Mr Diderot and Mr Locke recently.

'Then this afternoon, I desire you should assist the mate of the hold when he opens it. You shall take the reckoning.' He paused, watching Kydd pensively. 'Have you an acquaintance of the sea chart? No? Perhaps you shall do so presentiy. Attend me in my cabin at four bells this forenoon.'

Mr Prewse had his cabin opening on the wardroom, along with all the officers except the Captain. This was the first time Kydd had entered the area. The Master had personal custody of the ship's charts, with the responsibility of entering unusual observations such as uncharted islands or breakers betraying a reef.

'Do you take the pen, and make a fair copy beneath,' Prewse said, sliding across a hatched representation in minute detail of a section of coastline from the seaward. His extensive notes and sketches revealed the painstaking care he brought to his responsibility.

Kydd took the chair in the cramped cabin, and pulled the lamp closer. It was charged with spermaceti oil and gave a pure, clean flame, well suited to the close work. He lifted the pen and inspected it. It was the smallest quill he had ever seen, the carefully shaped nib ending in a tiny hair's breadth. He dipped it into the stone well and set to work.

'I shall return in one bell,' Prewse said.

With keen eyes and hands unaffected by grog-tremor, Kydd executed a neat and clean drawing, as near as he could judge to the original, well before the Master's return. He sat quietly waiting, but his eyes were drawn to the chart underlying his sketch. 'The Great China Sea', it said in large curlicued words in the tide cartouche, and in smaller print was 'From Lye Moon to the Philippine Islands'. Modestly beneath in plain letters was, 'By James Boyde, a Master in the Royal Navy, mdcclviii.'

There was a scale at the edge and it was covered with tiny numbers, but the expanse of China and a spill of islands were clear enough. Complex star concentrations of lines were scattered randomly across the chart, lines that to Kydd made not the slightest sense. At the bottom were several views of coastlines similar to the one Kydd had just done and he bent with interest to look at them.

'The great Captain Cook never sailed these seas — yon is a poor enough thing to compare.' Kydd had not heard Prewse return, and scrambled awkwardly to his feet. 'No, lad, sit y'self down.' He picked up Kydd's work. 'Hmm - a fair hand ye have. I think we can make use of you. Kydd, is it not?' 'Sir.'

Kydd's eyes strayed back to the chart. The Master's eyes softened. 'I lost a good man in Macao t' the bloody flux, you show willing and you c'n take his place.'

'By y'r leave, sir, I need t' get m' learning as quartermaster first,' Kydd said respectfully. He didn't want to be tied to sedentary work below while the action was on deck.

'You shall,' Prewse said sharply.

There was no need for the raucous thunder of the drum at the main hatch. Everyone knew they would approach the Spanish possession of the Yslas Philipinas in this cool dawn at quarters, guns run out and battle ensign swirling defiantly. If war had already been declared there was every chance that Spain would send out a squadron to their territory. That would make it a risky business to approach the deeply enclosing Manila Bay. When far inside, if there were powerful enemy men-o'-war within, a rapid escape could prove problematical.

Artemis raised land at three bells, the northern tip of the enclosing arm of the great bay. The opposing southern tip was visible a bare ten miles away, but ahead it was as if they were passing into open sea. Closer to the passage, first one, then many small fishing-craft appeared. With their double outriggers and nipa sails they skimmed like pond insects in the calmer seas, keeping the occupants' brown skins wet with spray. They kept effortlessly with the frigate, which was under easy sail, some waving, but all clearly curious at the big warship arriving.

There was a scattering of small, low-lying islands in their path, a number with isolated white buildings glistening in the strengthening sun, and an indeterminate flag flying on one.

Lookouts were posted at each masthead, and two at each top; even so the highest could not detect the inner limits of the bay within the far horizon. They passed into the wider expanse, tension mounting. They might well be fighting for their lives within the hour.

'Sail hooooo!’ the fore masthead lookout yelled. His outstretched arm was flung out to fine on the leeward bow. Parry hastened to clamber up the fore-shrouds, his telescope awkwardly under his arm. In the foretop he had it up instantly, trained on the bearing.