'Mr Ballantyne,' said Drinkwater, without lowering the glass, 'there is a gentleman aboard that junk who appears to be a man of some importance.'

'He's the hoppo, sir, the mandarin charged with the duty of collecting the customs revenue, the chop. I imagine he will board Musquito when we bring her to anchor. We should take in the fore-course now, sir ...'

'Very well.'

'Fore clew-garnets! Rise fore-tacks and sheets!'

Drinkwater turned his attention to the forts. Brilliant-hued banners fluttered over ramparts of pale stone and he could see the muzzles of heavy cannon.

'Antique guns, sir,' reassured Ballantyne.

'What are those things beside the banners?' Drinkwater pointed to coloured shapes bobbing up and down behind the parapet.

'Tiger masks, sir, intended to intimidate us.'

'I see ...' replied Drinkwater uncertainly.

But the Chinese cannon did not dispute their passage, though the war-junks hung on their flanks until they had passed beyond the Bogue and the First Bar. Under topsails, Patrician forced her ponderous way upstream against the yellow ebb of the Pearl River. To starboard the hills rolled away to the east, echoing the jagged peaks of Lin Tin Island offshore, but to larboard a flat alluvial plain stretched westwards, intersected by convoluted channels and formed from marshy and insubstantial islands that altered as the river altered. The hills to the east were bare of trees, stripped by the hand of man, terraced here and there to form fields which fell away from the walled villages on their summits.

With sharply braced yards and the jibs and spanker to assist, Patrician rounded a long bend, finding the main stream divided by low islands. Although the layered spire of a pagoda broke the skyline, it was the tall masts and yards of the East Indiamen that dominated the anchorage.