“I know. What else?”
“The lighter with the freight came alongside her early in the second dog-watch. Just after dark, My Lord.”
A short, dark man came unobtrusively into the cabin as he spoke, and remained in the background.
“Well?”
“This gentleman whom Mr Sharpe sent kept watch as well as me on what they took on board, My Lord.”
“What was it?”
“I kept count as they swayed it up, My Lord. They had lights in the mizzen stay.”
“Well?”
Harcourt had a piece of paper in his hand, and he proceeded to read from it.
“There were twenty-five wooden cases, My Lord.” Harcourt went on just in time to forestall an exasperated exclamation from Hornblower. “I recognised those cases, My Lord. They are the usual ones in which muskets are shipped, twenty-four stand of arms in each case.”
“Six hundred muskets and bayonets,” put in Gerard, calculating rapidly.
“I guessed as much,” said Sharpe.
“What else?” demanded Hornblower.
“There were twelve large bales, My Lord. Oblong ones, and twenty other bales, long, narrow ones.”
“Couldn’t you guess -”
“Would you hear the report of the hand I sent, My Lord?”
“Very well.”
“Come down here, Jones,” yelled Harcourt up the companion, and then turned back to Hornblower. “Jones is a good swimmer, My Lord. I sent him and another hand off in the quarterboat, and Jones swam to the lighter. Tell His Lordship what you found, Jones.”
Jones was a skinny, stunted young man, who came in blinking at the lights, ill at ease in this distinguished company. When he opened his mouth he spoke with the accent of Seven Dials.
“Uniforms, they was, in them big bales, sir.”
“How do you know?”
“I swum to the side of the lighter, sir. I could reach over an’ feel ’em, sir.”
“Did anyone see you?” This was from Sharpe.
“No, sir. No one didn’t see me at all, sir. They was all busy swayin’ up the cases. Uniforms, they was, in the bales, like I said, sir. What I could feel through the sacking was buttons, sir. Not flat buttons, sir, like yours, sir. Round buttons, like bullets, sir, rows of ’em, on each Coat. An’ I thought I could feel hembroidery, too, gold lace, p’raps, sir. Uniforms, they was, sir, I’m sure of it.”
The dark man came forward at this moment; in his hands was a limp something that looked like a drowned black cat. Jones pointed to the object before he went on.
“I couldn’t guess for the life of me what was in the other bales, sir, the long ones. So I outs with my knife -”
“You’re sure no one saw you?”
“Certain sure, sir. I outs with my knife an’ cuts the stitching at the end. They’ll think it come apart in the handlin’, sir. An’ I takes the end one out an’ I swims with it back to the quarterboat, sir.”
The dark man held it forward for inspection, and Hornblower took it gingerly, a black, soggy, wet mass of hair, but his fingers encountered metal as he turned it in his hands.
“Heagles, sir,” said Jones.
There was a brass chain and a big brass badge – the same displayed eagle as he had seen that evening on Cambronne’s chest. What he held in his hands was a bearskin uniform cap, soaked with its recent immersion, and adorned with the brass finery.
“Is that what the Imperial Guard wore, My Lord?” suggested Gerard.
“Yes,” said Hornblower.
He had seen prints for sale often enough purporting to illustrate the last stand of the Guard at Waterloo. In London now the Guards sported bearskin caps not unlike this that he held in his hand; they had been awarded to the Guards in recognition of their overthrow of the Imperial Guard at the crisis of the battle.
“Then we know all we need to know,” said Sharpe.
“I must try and catch him,” said Hornblower. “Call all hands, Mr Harcourt.”
“Aye aye, My Lord.”
After the automatic reply Harcourt opened his mouth again to speak, but he could make no sound come from it.
“I remember,” said Hornblower, his cup of unhappiness filling to the brim. “I said I would not need the hands before morning.”