“My Lord?” Sharpe asked.
“See for yourself, Sharpe!”
Sharpe took the glass. Dim in the gauzy light and through the shredding plumes of foam that obscured the sea’s edge like a fog he could just see the first of the harbor’s forts. “That’s Fort Ingles!” Cochrane said. “The beach is just below it.”
Sharpe moved the glass down to where the massive waves thundered up the Aguada del Ingles. He edged the glass back to the fortress which looked much as he remembered it from his earlier visit—a makeshift defense work with an earthen ditch and bank, wooden palisades, and embrasures for cannon. “They’re signaling us!” he said to Cochrane as a string of flags suddenly broke above the fort’s silhouette.
“Reply, Mister Almante!” Cochrane snapped, and a Chilean midshipman ran a string of flags up to the Kittys mizzen yard. The flags that Cochrane was showing formed no coherent message, but were instead a nonsense combination. “In the first place,” Cochrane explained, “the sun’s behind us, so they can’t see the flags well, and even if they could see the flags they’d assume we’re using a new Spanish code which hasn’t reached them yet. It’ll make the buggers nervous, and that, after all, is a good way to begin a battle.” At the Kitty’s stern the Spanish ensign rippled in the wind, while below her decks the pumps sucked and spat, sucked and spat.
The gaunt arms of the telegraph atop Fort Ingles began to rise and fall. “They’re telling the other forts where we are,” Cochrane said. He glanced down at the waist of the ship where a crowd of men lined the starboard gunwale. Cochrane had permitted such sight-seeing, reckoning that if the Kitty were indeed a Spanish transport ship, the men would be allowed on deck to catch this first glimpse of their new station. Also on deck were four nine-pounder field guns that had been manhandled on board from Puerto Crucero’s citadel. The guns were not there for their firepower, but rather to make it look as if the Kitty was indeed carrying artillery from Spain. Cochrane, unable to hide his excitement, beat a swift tattoo on the quarterdeck rail with his hands. “How long?” he snapped to Fraser.
“We’ll make the entrance in one more hour,” Fraser spoke from the helm. “And an hour after that we’ll have moonlight.”
“The tide?” Cochrane asked.
“We’re on the flood, my Lord, otherwise we’d never make her past the harbor entrance. Say two and a half hours?”
“Two and a half hours to what?” Sharpe asked.
“One hour to clear the point,” Cochrane explained, “and another hour to work our way south across the harbor, then half an hour to beat in against the river’s current. It’ll be dark when we reach Fort Niebla, so I’ll have to use a lantern to illuminate our ensign. A night attack, eh!” He rubbed his big hands in anticipation. “Ladders by moonlight! It sounds like an elopement!” Below the Kitty s decks were a score of newly made ladders which would be taken ashore and used to assault Niebla’s walls.
“There’s a new signal, my Lord!” The midshipman called aloud in English, the language commonly used on the quarterdeck of Cochrane’s ship.
“In Spanish from now on, Mister Almante, in Spanish!” If the Spaniards did send a guard ship then Cochrane wanted no one using English by mistake. “Reply with a signal that urgently requests a whore for the Captain,” Cochrane gave the order in his execrable Spanish, “then draw attention to the signal with a gun.”
The grinning Midshipman Almante began plucking signal flags from the locker. The new message, gaudily spelled out in a string of fluttering flags, ran quickly to the Kitty’s mizzen yard and, just a second later, one of the stern guns crashed a blank charge to echo across the sea.
“We are spreading confusion!” Cochrane happily explained to Sharpe. “We’re pretending to be annoyed because they’re not responding to our signal!”
“Another shot, my Lord?” Midshipman Almante, who was not a day over thirteen, asked eagerly.
“We must not overegg the pudding, Mister Almante. Let the enemy worry for a few moments.”
The smoke from the stern gun drifted across the wildly heaving swell. The two ships were close to land now, close enough for great drifting mats of rust-brown weed to be thick in the water. Gulls screamed about the rigging. Two horsemen suddenly appeared on the headland’s skyline, evidently galloping to get a closer look at the two approaching boats.