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.
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.