Julian Stockwin - Artemis

For a space, nothing, then — 'Deck hooo! An aviso!’ A fast government despatch boat: she would have had no warning of their approach. As her single sail grew in definition, they saw it angle towards them. Artemis held her course, and the aviso closed to within clear visual distance, then pirouetted about and foamed back the way she had come.

The die was now cast. They approached the far side of the bay, where the city of Manila was clearly distinguishable. Every spy-glass was up and trained, straining for the sight of men-o'-war.

The minutes dragged.

At last it became clear there was no danger. The long anchorage off the sleepy tropical city was dotted with a scattering of merchant ships and native craft scudding about, but not even a minor warship was to be seen.

Powlett swept his glass up and down the coast, then back to the squat, sprawling fort that was becoming prominent on the flat land. 'They do not appear to be concerned, Mr Fairfax,' he grunted.

'No, sir,' Fairfax said, not easing his habitual worried expression. 'Then we take it they have no news of a war?'

'Keep the men at the guns, but prepare a salute on the fo'c'sle,' Powlett ordered. 'It would be a folly to trust the Dons, I believe.'

The frigate, by far the biggest vessel in the anchorage, slowed in its approach.

'It would be their folly to take us for fools,' growled Parry. 'We can take the whole lot o' these should we please.'

Powlett's sardonic smile was hedged with exasperation. 'Have a care, Mr Parry. You will remark the flags of these ships. I see but one with Spanish colours — ah, there we have an English, our proof there is no war.' He snapped his glass closed.

A heavy thud drew attention to the fort. Smoke drifted from the embrasures. Another gun fired.

'Prepare our salute, Mr Fairfax.'

'Don't look up t' much,' Doud said doubtfully, looking shorewards at the low, somnolent landscape with its fringing palms, muddy river oozing into the bay, and the maze of rickety huts on the outer fringes of the small city. Above all was the smell of the warm, heavy odour of pigs and tropical vegetation.

Around the ship hovered a dozen or more of the distinctive twin-outrigger boats, hawking strange fruits, fish and vegetables. They were kept at a respectful distance by a vigilant watch-on-deck.

'Don' ye worry, mate, it'd have ter be the first sailor's port ever without it's got its cunny burrows.' Cundall had his back to Kydd, deliberately excluding him from the conversation on the fo'c'sle.

This would be the last port of call before they re-entered the Indian Ocean on their way back to England that could in any way be classed as 'civilisation' and Powlett would be sure to grant shore-leave.

'Ye're missin' a fuckle, are ye, Cundall?' said Doud contemptuously. He winked openly at Kydd past Cundall.

Kydd felt awkward, unsure of how he should relate to his old friends in his new rating. He winked back and gave an uneasy smile.

Doud sauntered past Cundall and stood companionably next to Kydd at the fore shrouds. 'What's his grandevity think o' this, Tom?'

Gratefully Kydd took up the lead. 'Nicholas? Thinks we're wastin' time. If it was war, this time o' year we'd have no chance t' catch the Manila Galleon and the prizes we'd take wouldn't be worth sailin' all the way back.'

Grimacing, Doud nodded. 'Thought as much. Sooner we head back, better it is fer all.'

Kydd felt grateful to Doud, not so much for the friendliness but for how he had shown Kydd that he could still be sociable with old friends, and wear a different face when on duty. The bell sounded sharp behind them, a double strike. Kydd made a brief goodbye and went aft to his part-of-ship station.

'We has visitors, then,' murmured one of his men, waiting at the base of the mizzen. He nodded to a merchant ship's longboat approaching Artemis from astern. It was pulled by four sailors who were making heavy weather of it. In the sternsheets was a single figure, from his cocked hat and breeches obviously no seaman.

'Boat ahoooy!’ bawled the mate of the watch, Quinlan. The boat did not lie off and hail but made to come alongside immediately.

'Stand off, the boat!' roared Quinlan.

The officer of the deck, Rowley, stepped over to the ship's side. 'Give him a cold shot if he tries it again,' he said. A grinning seaman helped himself to a twelve-pounder carronade round-shot and held it above his head. At the threat, the boat ceased rowing and the men lay on their oars. One of the men in the sternsheets scrambled to his feet, swaying wildly. He called out but his thin, fretful voice was impossible to catch in the slop and hurry of waves against the ship's side. When this produced no response from the frigate, the man threw down his hat in exasperation and shook his fist.

'Perhaps we should allow that untutored boor to approach,' drawled Rowley, easing his cuffs. 'Only one to come aboard, Hallison.'

When the man finally appeared over the bulwarks he had worked himself into a state. 'You, sir!' he stormed at Rowley. 'You are the Master of this vessel, this - this—'

Rowley waited, allowing the splutters to subside. 'No, sir, I am not. Lieutenant Rowley, third of His Majesty's frigate Artemis ,' he said, with a slight bow that would not have been out of place at introductions in Carlton House.

The man stared, then resumed tetchily, 'Kindly fetch him, then, if you please.'

'Captain Powlett is not at liberty to see you, sir,' Rowley said sharply. 'He is ashore paying his respects to the governor.'

'Then, sir, I shall wait.' His plain dark grey and black garb suggested he was perhaps a member of the clergy.

'I should be obliged if you would state your business, sir,' said Rowley stiffly.

'No business of yours, I assure you, sir - it is your captain I wish to see, and the matter is, I might allow, of a degree of urgency.'

Rowley hesitated. 'He may well be some time. Might I suggest—'

'I shall wait, however long it takes.'

He folded his arms and glared at Rowley, who pursed his lips. 'Get a chair from the wardroom,' he ordered. When it arrived he thumped it to the deck and gestured mutely.

Powlett returned over an hour later, his face tight. The boatswain's calls twittered and he hauled himself rapidly up the side. 'God in heaven, what's this?' he roared, at the sight of the figure sitting obstinately in a chair in the middle of the deck.

'You are the Captain?' the man said icily. 'Who the devil—?' Powlett threw at Rowley. 'Sir, this man—'

'Hobbes, Edward Hobbes. You may be acquainted with the name?'

The high, hectoring voice could not have been more calculated to inflame Powlett on his own quarterdeck, but his hesitation, more at the effrontery than at an effort of memory, gave Hobbes more time. 'Or perhaps not. It is of no consequence.' He fumbled inside his coat and brought out an envelope. 'But I rather fancy this is.' He handed it to Powlett with a drooping wrist, the fouled anchor cypher of the Board of Admiralty prominent on the envelope.

Powlett accepted it with bad grace and took out the contents to read.

'You will note the provision of "all possible assistance from any King's ship",' Hobbes said, with an irritating level of assurance.

'I see from this that you are a man of science, sir, who is at present engaged in a voyage of discovery. I do not possibly see how this can be allowed to affect the affairs of a ship-of-war.'

'Then, sir, I will tell you.' Hobbes looked around the anchorage, and pointed. 'That is my ship, a brig of some species. It has split its front mast in a storm and until it gets a piece of the right kind of wood from somewhere or other it seems it cannot venture further on the high seas.' His nostrils pinched in exasperation. 'My purpose, sir, is astronomical. It is essential for me to be at a point on the meridian diametrically in opposition to that of Greenwich on a date not far hence for a crucial observation, the nature of which need not concern you. Thus you will see that I am at a stand, sir, in need of conveyance to that point — to the Great South Sea I have no need to remind you.'