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.
