Scott frowned as Johnson passed him the glass. Fumbling the telescope to his eye, he focused it on the gunboat, the prow of which was still facing the shore. There didn’t appear to be a lot of movement from the men on board.

“I see Boone,” Scott said, “and his damned rifle. What’s that he’s doing with his other hand?”

“Talking.”

“Talking? To whom? I don’t understand.” Perplexed, Scott lowered the glass.

“That’s because you’ve never hunted with the Iroquois. Indian hunting parties travel through the forest in silence when they’re after game. They use signals to communicate – hand-talking, they call it. Our Mr Boone is using the sign language of the Mohawk hunters to send us – or rather me – a signal.”

Scott blinked, rammed the glass to his eye and watched as the scout continued to open and close his left hand in a sequence of curt gestures. “What’s he saying?”

“That we are not to wait. He will follow in due course.”

“He’ll what?” Shocked, Scott nearly dropped the glass.

“It would seem that Boone and Cavett have just added the unlawful seizure of one of His Majesty’s gunboats to their expanding list of misdemeanours.”

Dumbstruck, Scott stared at his colonel, wondering why he wasn’t seeing a more spectacular display of outrage. Then the penny dropped. “Bloody hell! The stupid, stupid buggers! Do you think they’re acting alone, or are the boat crew in on this?”

Johnson smiled grimly. “Oh, I’d say most certainly that the crew are part of it. Seeing as Mr Boone’s gun doesn’t appear to be pointed at anyone.”

“Is he mad? Disobeying an officer’s a hanging offence.”

“Yes, it is,” agreed Johnson. “Though, strictly speaking, I don’t recall giving either of them a direct order. I believe I merely declined their offer of assistance.”

Scott opened his mouth and then closed it again quickly. It was only after a further period of contemplative silence that he finally found his voice. He cleared his throat, leaned in and asked, “Should we alert the ship’s captain?”

“Oh, I rather think Lieutenant Schank has enough on his hands at the moment, don’t you? A vessel like this, his duties must be immeasurable. Not unlike mine,” Johnson added ruminatively, staring back at the gunboat as Inflexible pursued her steady course towards the open mouth of the bay. Banging a fist on the rail, he straightened. “By God, Thomas, they may be insubordinate devils, but you couldn’t wish for finer men, could you?”

Scott looked at him. “If you mean am I glad they’re on our side, then the answer’s yes.”