The dawn fog rolled over Southsea in low sheets, thick enough to mute the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones as Phillip and Henry arrived at the lighthouse fort. The garrison had been awake for an hour already. Soldiers hauled crates, carpenters tightened bolts on freshly raised poles, and laborers lifted bundles of copper wire onto their shoulders. The place had changed in the twenty-four hours since Admiral Grant issued the order. Where yesterday had been a sleepy coastal post, today looked like a hive preparing for a storm.

Phillip stepped down from the carriage and took in the sight of the half-completed telegraph station being assembled against the old stone wall. The fort's lantern tower stood behind it like a watchful guardian. A sailor directed two men carrying the insulated wire reels toward a wooden spool rack. Another crew lifted a long timber pole with ropes and braces, straining against the wind that gusted in from the Channel.

Commander Vale approached from the yard's far gate. His coat was open at the collar, and his gloves were already darkened by tar. "We've reinforced the first poles. Your design held up through the night wind," Vale said. "Good signs."

Phillip walked with him to the newly built platform. "Good. But the real test is today."

Henry came up behind them, clutching his notebook and rubbing cold from his fingers. "Sir, the men from the Portsmouth yard arrived with additional insulators. We should have enough to reach the East Battery."

"Two miles of line," Phillip murmured. "Enough for a proper field test."

"And the Admiralty?" Henry asked.

"Waiting," Vale said. "Grant has officers stationed at the East Battery already. The moment you give the signal, they'll respond."

Phillip nodded. He inspected the telegraph room they had assembled overnight. The structure was simple but sturdy, made from thick timber and roofed with tarred planks to keep out the sea spray. Inside sat the equipment he had personally tested the night before: a polished sending key mounted to a wooden block, a pair of electromagnets that formed the sounder, and a bank of six galvanic cells arranged neatly in a brass tray.

The faint tang of acid drifted from them. It made Henry wrinkle his nose.

Phillip checked each wire connection and tightened the brass screws. "We run the first current through only three batteries. If the resistance is too high, we add more. No more than six."

Henry scribbled. "Understood."

Vale folded his arms. "The Admiralty expects proof that this works beyond your inland tests. If both ends speak clearly, we will begin planning the extension to Dover."

Phillip met his eyes. "It will work."

Vale didn't verbally agree, but his jaw relaxed slightly.

Outside, the carpenters raised the final pole. Soldiers pulled ropes, steadying it while a sergeant poured packed earth around the base. When it was upright and true, the workers cheered, but only briefly. They still had to string the line. The sea wind pushed at them with steady pressure, but the wire crews worked with focus, looping the copper wire around each insulator and securing it with resin coating.

Phillip oversaw the tensioning. The wire needed to bow slightly but never droop enough to catch the wind like a sail. When the last stretch tightened cleanly between the fort's edge pole and the distant one carried forward by the advance team, Phillip finally allowed himself a breath.

"We're ready."

Vale turned to a signalman nearby. "Send word to the East Battery. They are to stand by at the receiving key."

The man saluted and ran toward the horse lines.

Henry flipped to a clean page in his notebook. "Do we open the circuit now?"

"Not yet," Phillip said.

He knelt beside the batteries and connected the final brass clips. A faint hum rose from the coils as the galvanic cells reacted. It wasn't a sound so much as a presence—like the quiet tension before a storm.

He adjusted the sounder's alignment until the iron lever hovered exactly the width of a fingernail above the brass plate. Any closer and it would stick. Any farther and the electromagnet might not pull it down hard enough to produce an audible click.

Henry watched him work. "We've done this dozens of times already."

Phillip shook his head. "Not here. Not with this much wire. Not with the sea working against us."

He stood. "Open the shutters. Let the officers see."

Two sailors pushed open the wooden shutters facing the parade ground, where about forty assembled men waited—officers, seamen, shipwrights, engineers, and a few skeptics from the coast artillery regiment. Vale stepped outside and gestured for silence.

Phillip placed his hand on the sending key.

Henry whispered, "Ready when you are."

Phillip gently pressed the key. The brass contact closed.

Click.

He held it for a breath.

Then released.

Two short taps followed.

The message: C.

Henry glanced at the coil. "Signal sent. Now we… wait."

The wind rose, carrying the smell of brine and distant smoke from the dockyard chimneys. Somewhere to their left, waves crashed against the sea wall.

The sounder remained still.

Phillip kept his eyes on it.

Vale stepped into the room. "They should respond. They… should be receiving it by now."

Another moment passed.

Then another.

Henry's grip tightened on his pencil.

Vale frowned. "Could there be wire damage?"

Phillip didn't answer.

The sounder was motionless.

And then, faint and shallow, the iron lever twitched.

Henry blinked. "Did it—?"

A second twitch.

A third.

Then it dropped fully.

Click.

Long.

Short.

Short.

Long.

Henry let out a terse breath. "That's it. They sent the same signal back."

Phillip nodded once. "The line works."

But he didn't smile. Not yet.

The officers outside heard the click and began murmuring. Vale straightened with relief. "Good. Now send a full message. Something longer. Something they can't mistake."

Phillip pressed the key again and began a steady sequence of taps. No dramatic phrasing. Nothing that risked confusion. Just a simple instruction.

TEST COMPLETE. SEND STATUS.

The room grew quieter than before.

The sounder began to tap within seconds.

Henry leaned closer. "They're sending…"

Click. Click. Hold. Release.

Phillip didn't translate in his head as he usually did. He listened to the rhythm, the pattern, the consistency of the pulses. This was communication in its purest form—no flourish, no artistry. Just the shortest path between two distances.

Henry decoded aloud. "RECEIVED. SIGNAL CLEAR. WIND HEAVY BUT LINE HOLDING. AWAITING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS."

Vale's shoulders loosened. "Impressive."

Phillip nodded once more. "Let's push it harder."

He sent a longer string this time—one that demanded precision.

REPORT VISUAL STATUS OF CHANNEL.

Henry lifted his pencil. "That's ambitious."

Minutes passed. The longest since they began.

Outside, even the officers seemed to sense the intensity of the test.

Then the sounder clicked again.

Slow, steady, confident.

Henry translated. His voice gained volume with each word.

"CHANNEL CALM. NO SHIPS SIGHTED. VISIBILITY MODERATE. TIDE OUTGOING."

Vale grinned. "They're describing the coast without leaving their post. Incredible."

Phillip leaned back, resting one hand against the table. "One more test."

He pressed the key.

SEND LOCATION OF YOUR BATTERY FLAG.

A simple coordinate relay.

But the response came slower.

Much slower.

And then the sounder tapped unevenly. A stutter rather than a clean rhythm.

Henry frowned. "That wasn't clear. Look."

Phillip adjusted the spring tension. "Signal is weakening. Wind resistance may be pulling the wire."

Vale ducked outside and shouted for the pole crew to check the anchors.

Phillip waited.

Another sequence came through—still uneven.

Henry scribbled. "Interference. Maybe salt moisture on the insulator?"

"Or a loose contact," Phillip said.

He pulled open the battery tray and tightened the brass clips. "Try now."

The sounder tapped weakly.

Not good enough.

Phillip stepped outside. The wind had risen sharply, pushing the long span of wire so it vibrated like an instrument string.

He cupped his hands and shouted to the nearest crew. "Check the insulator on the third pole!"

A man climbed quickly, legs braced against the wind. He reached the crossbar and examined the ceramic piece. "Sir, resin's holding. No cracks."

Henry called from inside the station. "It's getting weaker!"

Phillip thought for a moment, then moved back inside. "Give me the spare battery."

Henry fetched a seventh cell. Phillip clipped it into the circuit. The coils hummed louder.

He tapped the key.

The sounder twitched.

Not enough.

Phillip exhaled. "We're losing current somewhere along the line."

Vale returned, water on his coat. "The poles are steady. What now?"

Phillip stepped to the sending key. "We confirm if the line is still continuous."

He pressed a long pulse—one that any operator would recognize as a verification pattern.

A pause.

Then a faint, almost imperceptible tap.

Henry strained to hear. "They responded. Barely."

Phillip adjusted the contacts again, pressing the iron arm slightly closer to the coil. "Salt in the air accelerates corrosion. We'll need better sealing on the insulators."

Vale paced. "Can the test still continue?"

"Yes," Phillip said. "But we need power reinforcement."

He connected the final eighth battery.

The line steadied.

The sounder regained clarity.

And then came the full response from the East Battery.

Henry translated, relief in his voice. "FLAG POSITION: SOUTH TOWER. LINE RESTORED. SIGNAL CLEAR."

Phillip allowed himself a slow breath. "Good."

Vale broke into a short, sharp laugh. "You brought the railways into the Navy. Admirals won't know whether to thank you or fear you."

Phillip picked up his coat. "We're not finished."

He sent a final message.

TEST COMPLETE. END. PREPARE FOR EXTENSION TO FORT CUMBERLAND.

The answer arrived almost instantly.

"ACKNOWLEDGED."

Outside, the officers clapped. Not loudly, but with the restrained approval of men who understood the implications.

Vale stepped beside Phillip. "We can report full success."

Phillip shook his head. "Not full. The wind revealed weaknesses. We strengthen the anchoring stones. Improve the resin. And seal every connection twice."

Henry smirked. "You'll have an entire coastal regiment climbing poles by the end of the week."

Phillip looked toward the sea where the waves churned in steady rhythm. "If that's what it takes."

Vale gestured toward the fort's gate where messengers waited. "Admiral Grant wanted immediate results. He'll have them within the hour."

Phillip didn't move yet. He watched the horizon. Ships were nothing but silhouettes in the distance, but he imagined enemy sails there, imagined the panic of a message that arrived too late.

No more.

Henry closed his notebook and stepped beside him. "Phillip… it worked. Truly worked."

Phillip nodded slowly. "Yes. The coast can speak now."

"And soon," Henry added, "the whole country."

Phillip didn't answer.

Not because he disagreed.

But because he knew the work had only just begun.

The first test was complete.

The next would decide Britain's future.

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