Eleven days after the flotilla had arrived off Penang a lookout sighted sails approaching from the south-west. As word of the sighting spread from ship to ship the men on the decks scanned the horizon, shading their eyes against the glare coming off the surface of the sea.There was a tense atmosphere as the ships crept into view.The crews and soldiers aboard the transports had good reason to be nervous. Although the French navy had ceased to be much of a threat in the East Indies there were still plenty of privateers in these waters, a handful of which preferred to operate in small squadrons that would be more than a match for the Company vessels.Then the lookout aloft positively identified them as Indiamen and the tension was relieved, some of the men even cheering as the Madras squadron approached the flotilla and reduced sail. Even before the leading ship had dropped anchor a boat was launched and rowed hurriedly across to the transport carrying the general and his staff.

‘Now, what do you suppose that is all about?’ Fitzroy asked languidly.

Arthur shrugged. ‘We’ll know soon enough, I imagine. Someone’s in a pressing hurry to tell St Leger some news.’

‘I wonder what kind of news, sir?’ Fitzroy asked with a tinge of alarm. ‘Nothing that will stop us taking Manila, I trust. I sincerely hope the bloody Spanish haven’t gone and changed sides again.’

‘I wouldn’t be too concerned,’ Arthur responded easily.‘There are more than enough enemies of England in this part of the world. You’ll still get your chance to fight, and win that glory you’ve set your heart on. Trust me.’

He turned away from the side rail and called down the gangway for his steward to fetch his coat, hat and sword. As he checked his appearance in the small mirror held out by his steward a string of flags broke from the halyard of St Leger’s vessel.

The first mate of the Indiaman translated the signal. ‘Officer commanding to captains and senior army officers, repair aboard immediately.’

The heat in the cabin was stifling, even though the stern windows stood open and the vents on the skylight had been raised to admit whatever breeze was wafting over the anchored vessel. General St Leger, wearing a loose shirt, raised the dispatch he had received.