Lord Elmhurst and his equerry turned - and stopped. The formed up ceremonial guard that stared back at them was of every possible tint of mestizo, undersized and with threadbare regimentals. Their European officers wore ornate uniform that, however, drooped sadly. But there was no mistaking the warmth of the welcome. With earnest cries of welcome the desembargador advanced on them.
The envoy, deciding that there was no deeper meaning to the astonishing sight, moved forward, to the almost perceptible relief of the Portuguese.
'So it's leave t' both watches,' Doud said, with relish. 'An we're gonna be here fer ever, if it's ter be believed,' he added contentedly.
'Aye, but without s' much as a single cobb in me bung, what's th' use?' said Cundall ungraciously.
Petit had a long face. 'What's amiss, Elias?' Kydd asked.
Stirring in his seat, Petit said dourly, 'It ain't good fer a man-o'-war ter stay too long in port. Seen it 'appen in foreign parts, y' gets all the sickness 'n' pox goin' from off of the land. Sea, it's clean 'n' good, land . . .'
'Yeah, well, no harm in a frolic ashore,' laughed Doud. 'A cruise with a right little piece sets a man up fer his next v'yage.'
Kydd was stitching carefully at the fluting of the smart blue jacket Renzi had last worn in celebration in Portsmouth, on the other side of the world. 'Seems regular enough, buildings and such/ he said, biting off the thread and picking up his own jacket.
'They've been here since before the age of old Queen Bess - plenty of time to make themselves comfortable, I think,' Renzi replied, and put on his jacket.
'What d'ye think to find there, Nicholas?'
'I'd be content to see where Camoens wrote the immortal Luisiadas.' At the dry looks this received, he persevered: 'Grievously shipwrecked, then manages to get himself banished to here. The poem is about one of the greatest of sailors — Vasco da Gama.'
There were no sudden cries of understanding although Petit nodded wisely. 'But, mark you, Kydd's right - this's still China, 'n' Toby 'as told me a piece about what he saw in Canton. I'd steer small were I ashore, if I wuz you.'
With the Walmer Castle on her slow way up-river to Whampoa to discharge and load, and the rest of the envoy's party safely conveyed to their lodgings, the ship prepared for the wait. Even with the busy China trade vulnerable, for some reason the French had not reached this far across the globe, perhaps distracted by the work of the guillotine and the frenzied mob at home. It was considered therefore that the threat was low, and that the frigate could remain quietly at rest.
Artemis lay in harbour to two anchors. Her sails were thoroughly dried, naked topmasts sent down. Communication was set up with the shore for a daily supply of victuals, and soft tack was on the table for the first time since England. With the frigate as trim and shipshape as could be found in any top naval port it was time to step ashore.
The leafy sweep of the Praia Grande gave the appearance of some comfortable Iberian town but for the fact that the majority of the population was not European. Besides the ubiquitous Chinese there was the black of Negro slaves, the varying shades of brown of half-castes, and only occasionally the short, dark, compact figure of a Portuguese.
The gaudily coloured buildings were Portugal transplanted, and Pinto's eyes glistened with emotion. He stopped a Portuguese striding past and babbled to him, a curious thing for his shipmates to witness. The man looked at him contemptuously and gestured eastwards into the crowded city. 'He say all sailor go to Solmar to get hickey,' Pinto said happily.
'So we claps on all sail 'n' shapes course for th' Solmar!' Stirk said, to general approval.
'Perhaps we will join you later, Toby,' said Renzi diplomatically, catching Kydd's arm, and they plunged into the unknown inner city. The streets were steep and impossibly crowded. It was as if every square inch was valuable, and they were soon lost in the maze of ancient shops and anonymous structures seething with humanity.
They emerged suddenly from the press towards the top of a rise at the stone face of a cathedral, glowering down the hill at them, it seemed to their Protestant sensibilities. From the dark interior a priest emerged, a neat goatee beard flecked with grey on his sensitive lined face. He paced down the hill towards them, clearly in deep thought.
‘S'il vous plait, aidez nous, mon Pere!’ Renzi tried, his Portuguese non-existent.
The man's head jerked up in astonishment, and his hands fluttered in non-comprehension. 'Non, er, non!’ he said, his voice high-pitched and agitated.
Renzi tried again. 'Bitte helfen Sie uns, Hochwurden.' The language of Goethe would be an unlikely acquisition for a Portuguese, but Renzi felt that his Latin would not be equal to the strain, and he was now at a loss.
'Do you have any Englis'?' the priest asked hopefully, his eyes darting between the two of them.