Breaking the Line (19 page)

The whole table had gone quiet now. Orders were being issued to be accepted with good grace or ill-will. There was no doubt that they would be obeyed, since they would carry Parker’s signature, but Nelson knew that the way in which they were taken on would have a bearing on individual conduct. Thinking of his talk with young Frears he wondered how many Mark Antonys were in this cabin, and how many Agrippas?

‘And now, gentlemen, you are aware that Sir Hyde has orders to attack Copenhagen and bring the Danes to sue for peace.’

Some nodded, other faces remained blank and one or two shook their heads, as if wondering at the folly of such a notion. What Parker
had heard about the Danish defences had wormed its way round the fleet and along with it, Nelson suspected, a good dose of the commander’s pessimism.

The charts of the Sound were replaced by those of Copenhagen Roads, and the north and south approaches to the harbour. Each captain was given a layout of the Danish defences, which the master of the
St
George
and his mates had spent half the night drawing. Again it was instructive to watch each face as they perused details they had heard only by word of mouth. Again a mixture: an amused smile here, a sucking of teeth there, some peering, others barely looking as if to imply that if the others were in ignorance they were not. And then Nelson called for their attention.

First he gave them his impression of Danish thinking, which was that if the British fleet wanted to dictate peace terms, it would need to take the harbour and with it the arsenal and the navy yard. Command of the harbour would also give them absolute command of the city, the royal palaces and all the official buildings, though the Castellet battery, set so close to the city, would seem safe from anything other than an assault by soldiers.

‘So you see, gentlemen, the Crown Prince has only one question he feels needs an answer. He knows that it is possible to take the harbour, but will we be prepared to pay the high price such an assault would entail?’ That brought forth much agreement. ‘It cannot be done without severe damage to several ships, perhaps half the fleet, and perhaps fatal damage.’

A buzz of assent, and even more worried looks from the captains of shallow draught ships. These men were not cowards. But when a man suspects he and his ship’s company are about to be sacrificed, he has the right to enquire of the necessity.

‘That north-south channel is too narrow to deploy the whole fleet, so we would be required to throw ships piecemeal into the maw of the Danish defence, trading our damage for theirs, trying to wear them down. I do not doubt that we could carry that objective, gentlemen, we have the men and the courage to do it, but at what cost?’

‘He has obliged us by arranging his defences for that very possibility, his strongest ships, his best gunners manning his most modern ordnance, covered by the two forts mounting over a hundred pieces of ordnance, all there to greet us as we attack. So, as a responsible commanding officer, Sir Hyde has wisely decided not oblige him.’

Smiles from different people now, yet surely everyone knew these were Nelson’s orders they were about to hear, not Parker’s.

‘You will observe, gentleman, the passage to the east of the Middle Ground Shoal known as the Holland Deep, which is the route taken by merchant vessels bypassing the port of Copenhagen. It is my intention, with ten sail-of-the-line, those that draw the least under their keel, and all the bomb ketches, to sail down that channel, then come about at the eastern end of the Middle Ground Shoal and attack the Danes from that point. There they have nothing like the strength that they can muster at the head of the King’s Deep. The aim will be to subdue those forces ranged along the sandbank that abuts before Amager Island so that we can take position to bombard the city at will. Our aim will be to force the Danes to sue for peace or see their capital city reduced to rubble. In order to lead this attack, I will be shifting my flag to HMS
Elephant,
since
St
George
draws too much water.’

Hardy looked crestfallen. Dull he might be, but he loved the idea of a fight. Nelson’s old shipmate Tom Foley of the
Elephant
looked mightily pleased. If anyone believed in the Nelson method it was he, the man who had led Nelson’s fleet into Aboukir Bay, taking the French on their unprotected inside flank without bothering to ask his admiral for instructions.

‘The rest of the fleet will stand off in Copenhagen Roads ready to lend what support we require.’

Then the questions started, and over the next five hours, Nelson was able to sort out the meek from the strong, the eager from the cautious, those keen to fight from those who cared more for what they had than what they might gain. There were those who enthused so much he suspected they secretly harboured an opposite opinion, and others, like William Bligh, in command of the converted East Indiaman,
Glatton,
who hid behind his dour nature and ponderous features the dogged determination that might win the day.

Some, like Captain Bertie, had genuine concerns and had to be reassured. HMS
Ardent,
an old 64, was slow, unwieldy and given to falling off at the slightest excuse, so any narrow channel held a greater terror for Bertie than for others. Added to that,
Ardent
had the residue of a crew that had been decimated at Camperdown, and might balk at a similar battle. And there were those who, as they consumed too many glasses of his wine, went from caution to braggadocio.

Tom Allen had already packed Nelson’s sea chest and Midshipman Frears had been alerted to stand by to accompany his admiral. As a tired Nelson explained to Tom Foley, just before he was hauled up and over the side, he owed a duty to the boy’s father.

‘To take him into the thick of a desperate battle?’

Nelson smiled. ‘Neither father nor son would ever forgive me if I did not. Young Frears comes from a family that could use a bit of glory.’

Deciding to sail through the Sound and achieving it depended on the right wind and an eastward running current, so that any damaged ship could be taken in tow and got to the safe anchorage in Copenhagen Roads. Nelson spent a frustrating twenty-four hours, not aided by the attitude of the pilots he had had brought aboard from HMS
London
so that he could quiz them himself. If some of his captains had been less than enthusiastic, they were paragons of vim and fire compared to the pilots, not one of whom would do other than issue dire warnings. To hear them moan, it was as if the Sound was unnavigable, the Holland Deep a graveyard for ships and the King’s Deep ten times worse. Nelson sent round the fleet to ask if any of the masters had Baltic experience.

The next day the wind turned northerly, which was perfect for square-riggers, and the main current, which might have been dead against them even with an opposite wind, obliged the fleet by setting to the east. HMS
Monarch,
the lead ship, had taken station at the entrance to the Sound, there to wait for the rest of the fleet. Murray, with the bomb ketches like a flock of ducklings about their mother, had got off early too, and taken station to enter the narrow passage on a course just south of the main body, preparatory to anchoring and running out his guns.

Aboard HMS
London
Parker sat in his cabin, alone, before a stiff glass of brandy, contemplating for the last time what he was about to do: commit a whole fleet to action that, once joined, could not be called off. He was lonelier than he had ever been in his life. Above his head, everyone was waiting, so sinking the spirit in one gulp he stood up, grabbed his hat and made his way to the quarterdeck.

Dommet and Otway were already there, and there was a light in the eyes of all the others present, which lifted his mood. He turned to Dommet and gave the order to weigh. Flags streamed up to the masthead, fluttering on the stiff breeze carrying the order. As soon as they were in place the signal gun banged out its message that all should look. It was superfluous: it was clear from the speed with which sails appeared and the ships were hauled over their anchors that every sailor had been at his station in readiness for this moment. And much as Sir Hyde Parker had his doubts as to the outcome of this adventure he could not but be uplifted by the sight of so many
noble
ships making sail. There was a catch in his voice as he issued the next order, ‘To all captains, Dommet, form line of battle.’

Nelson stood easily on the quarterdeck of HMS
Elephant
with a proud Midshipman Frears, appointed the Admiral’s special messenger. In front of them stood Tom Foley and his officers, the former silent while his lieutenants got the ship under way. There would be much backing and filling as ships got into their order of sailing and no doubt the odd yell through a speaking trumpet for some bugger or other to sheer off and damned quick, but it was impressive nonetheless.

Monarch
was already under way, with
Edgar,
and the bomb ketches heading for the gap between Kullen on the Swedish shore and Gilleleje on the Danish, both ships with leadsmen already in the bows reeling off the depth of water under the keels. Ahead of Captain Mosse, clear in the late afternoon light, the channel narrowed all the way to that vital gap between Helsingborg and Cronberg.

‘Mark this moment Mr Frears,’ said Nelson, ‘for it will live with you for the rest of your life. No matter what you do nothing will ever outweigh the first time you go into battle.’

As soon as the Sound began to narrow Murray and his bomb ketches pulled away to anchor. Nelson watched, and pointed out to Frears the way the 74-gun ship positioned herself. ‘See, he drops the stern anchor, and below decks his men have prepared a spring, a hawser that, fed out the front ports, will be attached to that anchor cable so that
Edgar
can be hauled round and have all her cannon facing the castle. The bomb ketches will use twin anchors and their capstan not only to position themselves but also to adjust their aim.’

Nelson was talking, he knew, to allay his own late doubts. It was a common thing, this series of afterthoughts about what might go wrong, made worse by the length of time that the whole adventure would take. Behind him the fleet was strung out and he knew it would be near nightfall – a late darkening indeed in these northern climes – before the last ship cleared the danger.

All eyes were on Helsingborg, telescopes adjusted constantly for a clearer picture of the battlements. There were men there for sure, and a sharp eye through a long glass could see a trace of the smoke from the tubs of slowmatch set behind the guns as an insurance in case the flintlocks didn’t fire. But there was no great activity, no sign that the cannon, so much closer to the fleet than those of Cronberg, were preparing to open fire.

It was about an hour later that
Monarch
got abreast of both fortresses. Nelson pointed as Mosse raised his colours and the great
battle flag streamed out from the masthead. It was as if Colonel Strickler, the officer in charge of the Cronberg gunners, had been waiting for that: the signal that battle was about to be joined. Before it was halfway up to the peak, a huge jet of smoke appeared from the walls. That beat the sound of the cannon, and the sound beat the black heavy ball that arced through the air towards HMS
Monarch.
Hitting the water it sent up a huge plume of white spray that shot forward and smashed into the side of the ship.

‘Make a note of the time,’ said Sir Hyde Parker, ‘and signal Captain Murray to open fire.’

Aboard
Edgar
and the bomb ketches they had been waiting too, bent over their ordnance, every gun at maximum elevation to make the range. Hyde Parker’s signal was also half way up to the mast when those guns spoke, no single weapon now but everything they had aboard. Even in the rolling heavy smoke from
Edgar’
s broadside Nelson could see the way the bomb ketches dipped and reversed as their great mortars fired. Those balls, ten times the size of that from Cronberg, seemed to fly so slow it was a wonder they stayed in the air. But when they came down, they did so with awesome power, sending up great plumes of earth and stones, part of the escarpments in front of the fort.

‘Now our friend Colonel Strieker has a conundrum Mr Frears. Would you care to outline for me what that is?’

Frears gulped, but even to a near child the answer was obvious. ‘Does he direct his fire on to the
Edgar
, sir and ignore the fleet? Or does he seek to damage us?’

‘Well said Mr Frears. And what would you do?’

It was with no pleasure that Frears replied, ‘I would concentrate on us sir, since his object is to prevent us making Copenhagen Roads.’

Nelson watched the water around
Monarch
start to boil, as Strickler opened up with his entire barrage. Some balls fell well short, the odd one made the range but did no damage, the majority landing between the stern of one ship and the bowsprit of the next in line. And Helsingborg, more than a mile distant, stayed silent. The following ships reached the point of maximum danger, but before that happened to HMS
Elephant
Nelson announced his intention of going below. While most on the quarterdeck were astonished, Captain Foley was not. He had known Nelson since they were boys together, warring with the senior midshipmen aboard their first posting. What he was doing was typical. The message was simple: we are in no danger.

‘I think Mr Strickler will need to be damned lucky,’ Nelson said,
just before he disappeared down the companionway. ‘The Swedes, it seems, prefer caution to war, and unless he sinks one of our ships in the deep water channel, he is doing nothing but waste his powder and shot.’

As the fleet sailed on
Edgar
kept up a steady barrage, doing little damage, but the shots obliging the Danish gunners to keep their heads below the parapet lest some ricocheted stone from the exploding ramparts inflict a serious wound. Nelson had left Frears on deck, his task to tell his admiral when the last ship had cleared the narrow part of the Sound. The sky was the azure blue of approaching night, the gun flashes, from both fort and ships orange tongues of flame that darted into the clear icy air, before the boy came down to find his admiral calmly writing letters.