After remaining at the inn for another hour, Giles gave up on Sir Walcott’s imminent appearance. He returned in his barge to Glaucus where he detailed Midshipman Stewart to take the cutter and return to Chatham to await the special ambassador. He had better ways to spend the time than cooling his heels in Chatham until his wayward passenger should appear. He did indeed occupy his time by reading and by visiting other ships whose captains he knew in order to renew friendships and exchange gossip. He was pleased to discover that his capture of Le Jour de Triomphe was still unknown in other ships, so there was some hope that Sir David could put things in motion to deal effectively with the spies and traitors.
Midshipman Stewart returned with no news about Sir Walcott. Next day, Giles dispatched Mr. Fisher to wait for him and Mr. Dunsmuir on the following one. He was about to send Mr. Stewart again on the fourth day when a dangerously overloaded boat appeared through the early morning mist. In it was a clearly angry and disheveled Sir Walcott along with innumerable pieces of baggage and six liveried servants.
“Captain Giles, you have been derelict in your duty. I arrived in Chatham to find no welcoming party. I had to hire a boat to take me out here. This will not do, sir, this will not do! I demand an apology.”
“Apology! Apology!” roared Giles, rather to the poorly suppressed delight of the onlookers. Captain Giles rarely lost his temper, but, when he did, it was the stuff of legends. “You dare to come onto my quarterdeck and accuse me of a court-martial offence? You, who are six days late in coming to Chatham without sending any note of explanation! You, who caused delay by not keeping to the Admiralty’s schedule about when we should meet in Portsmouth! Apology? It is you who should apologize to me and to all my crew!”
Only when this outburst was out of his mouth did Giles remember that it might not be the best idea to issue such fighting words to a man whose courage and skill with pistol or sword were unknown to him. A duel would certainly not be conducive to getting underway soon. Moreover, Daphne would be furious if she found out that he had fought a duel.
Giles need not have worried. “Captain Giles,” replied Sir Walcott, clearly cowed by Giles’s greeting. “I could not be in Portsmouth on the appointed date. The Prince of Wales was having a rout the next day that I simply had to attend. Such an event! All the ton* were there. And it was clear that the Prince was leading the way for the most refined fashions. It was Mrs. Fitzherbert* herself who pointed out how elegantly Georgie* was dressed. I couldn’t possibly go to St. Petersburg, representing his Majesty, in my out-of-date wardrobe. It took my fool of a tailor all this time to make the new clothes. Why, I only received them yesterday afternoon, and then I had to, simply had to, comfort my friend Allen – Lord Allen Hatch, you know, who had had such a bad time with his friend – that I could only leave London late in the evening. Why, I have been up all night to get here!”
Giles recognized that there was no point remonstrating more on his passenger’s lateness. Instead, he turned to the next matter. Sir Walcott’s servants were lined up behind them waiting for instructions. They were in for a surprise.
“Didn’t Sir David tell you that there was room for only two servants and wasn’t that included in your written instructions, Sir Walcott?”
“Yes, but I took them to be standard orders; they don’t apply to me.”
“I am afraid that I have had the same orders and, yes, they do apply to your men. Choose two to be your servants; the others will have to join my crew. Those are my orders.” Giles deliberately made it unclear whether he meant that he had been ordered to take this action or it was being taken on his own initiative.
“Oh, good. So the others will still be serving me,” Sir Walcott seemed much relieved by Giles statement.
“No, they will be enlisted as landsmen, hopefully as volunteers but, if necessary, as pressed men. They will be assigned duties that will keep them busy. Now please indicate which two you want. The others are becoming seamen,”
Sir Walcott’s men were all very handsome individuals with faces unmarred by scars, warts, or pox marks. They were all quite tall and varied between being slim and of graceful stance to being stocky and standing solidly. Giles was relieved that Sir Walcott, after much humming and hawing, chose the two most graceful individuals. The others might be made into useful seamen.
“Very good,” Giles commented. “Mr. Hendricks, enroll these four men as landsmen. Offer them the King’s shilling, otherwise list them as pressed. It doesn’t really make much difference. They are in for the duration of the war. They have lost their protections from being pressed by Sir Walcott having them accompany him here, knowing that they would then be vulnerable. He had been warned explicitly about would happen. Oh, and have the purser give them some more suitable clothes.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Now, Sir Walcott, most of your belongings will have to be stowed in the hold. They won’t be available to you on the voyage and you may have only limited access to them when we reach St. Petersburg, where presumably you will be housed with the Ambassador and I have no idea of how much space he will be able to afford you.”
“What? But they are packed in such a way that each day I have to get at different trunks. Breeches in one, shirts in another, and so on. I cannot do without any of them in my cabin.”
“I am afraid that that is impossible. Maybe one of your men can repack your things before we have them stowed. I’ll be getting us underway immediately, so you must have it done before we get into rougher water. I do hope that you will dine with my officers and me later. We usually dine at sea at noon, except for special occasions, so tonight we will make it later. I should warn you that we also rise early in the morning. The ship has to be cleared for action before dawn, and that involves dismantling our cabins, I am afraid. You will have to be up and dressed an hour before dawn.”
“What! I can’t. I simply can’t get up at that hour! I always sleep until noon.”
“Not on this ship, I am afraid, Sir Walcott. There is no choice. We will be in possibly hostile waters and we must be ready for any surprise encounter at dawn. You will, of course, be at liberty to resume your cot when the cabins are restored.”
Giles was delighted, even though he knew that he should be ashamed, at the pleasure he felt in his guest’s being put upon to follow the ship’s routine. “Bear a hand there,” he ordered two passing seamen. “Help Sir Walcott get his belongings to his cabin. Though I imagine most of those crates can be stowed in the hold immediately.” The crates in question were clearly filled with wine. There were a couple of dozen full crates, even though their total trip would not last more than nine weeks, and much of the time would be spent in St. Petersburg which could be presumed to have adequate supplies of wine. In addition to being saddled with a pretentious fop, did he have to cope with a serious drunkard as well?
Giles turned away from dealing with Sir Walcott’s arrival to give the orders to get Glaucus underway. Although his crew had only done the maneuver twice before in this ship, it went very smoothly. Soon they were out of the Nore and traversing the Thames Estuary. They sailed on a light northerly breeze that was just strong enough to hold the ship steady in the small waves hitting her side. Sir Walcott, however, did not appear for luncheon, his servant mentioning that he was fast asleep in his hanging bed.
The wind freshened and veered somewhat as they sailed into the North Sea, and soon they were pounding along close-hauled in a fresh breeze. The shallow water guaranteed rough seas and Glaucus had to corkscrew her way through them. It was soon evident that seasickness had struck Sir Walcott, as well as the men whom he had brought with him. Nothing was seen of the baronet for the rest of the day or the next one, except when he was turned out of his hanging cot so that the cabin could be struck below as the ship cleared for action. The following morning, Giles had mercy on him by ordering only a partial clearing for action before dawn that left the stern cabins untouched. Sir Walcott remained all day in his cabin and it was evident that he had yet
to find his sea legs.
By noon on the fifth day of their voyage, the Skagen* marking the north tip of Denmark was to starboard. That was the name given to the place on Mr. Brooks’ chart, which had been copied from a Danish one. The English usually called it ‘The Scaw.’ Giles had decided that it would lessen confusion if they used the chart names rather than the English ones when they differed. Soon they started easing their sheets* as they turned southward down the Skagerrak*. The wind had moderated a bit and before long they were running before it with the Glaucus gently making her way up and down the much smaller waves. Giles cracked on all sails, including the studding sails* and they surged along very smoothly. Sir Walcott appeared, still looking rather green around the gills. He complained vociferously about the awful conditions he had to endure to carry out his duties and how badly he had been served. It apparently never occurred to him that the conditions had been equally bad for everyone else on board and that the servants he had brought with him would have had a much more disagreeable experience.
The eased conditions did, at last, enable Giles to have the dinner to welcome Sir Walcott aboard. It was not a particularly happy occasion. Sir Walcott showed no interest in the officers with whom he was dining. Instead, his conversation consisted of long harangues about his own importance, how many fashionable events he attended and people he knew, demonstrating how important he was, matched by complaints about how badly he was being used by the Admiralty in not supplying a proper warship for his transportation. He seemed to think that nothing less than Victory would be suitable for his importance. This complaint was interrupted by grumbles about everything to do with Glaucus including this dinner where the joint of fresh beef, which was its centerpiece, was, he claimed, greatly inferior to what he was used to.
After a few attempts to enter the conversation, spurred on by remarks by Giles about their trip and about their various experiences, the lieutenants and doctor lapsed into silence, and Giles soon stopped making the effort to have conversation. The lieutenants found excuses for their being required urgently on deck in order that they might escape to the wardroom. Even the midshipmen, who usually were so hungry that they never left the table until long after the cloth* was drawn in the hope that nuts or fruit might accompany the port, found that they desperately needed to study so that they could pass their lieutenant’s examinations.
Sir Walcott was quite happy for Giles’s participation in the conversation to consist of various grunts. The baronet’s monologues became more and more rambling and incoherent as he downed glass after glass of port, and Giles was starting to worry that he was on the verge of becoming privy to liaisons of a disgraceful nature when the baronet’s head started nodding and he planted his nose on the table. Giles promptly summoned Sir Walcott’s servants to put their master to bed.
Giles could not believe how much wine his guest had consumed. Sir Walcott would quite exhaust Giles’s supply if he entertained the special envoy often while they were at sea. He was glad that he had intercepted his original orders to serve delicacies from his collection of cabin supplies at the end of the dinner. He now ordered his servant to bring them and the port wine to the wardroom, where he could expect to find much more congenial and appreciative company.
Glaucus continued to make good progress during the night. The sky was clear and the moon was almost full. Giles took silent glee in ordering a full clearing for action before dawn and seeing an obviously hung-over Sir Walcott shivering on deck as he waited for his cabin to be restored. After it was clear that all was well, Mr. Brooks approached his captain with a navigational problem that they had discussed without a firm resolution, partly because the most advantageous way to proceed through the passages that led to the Baltic would depend to some extent on the wind. With the wind that was presently blowing, it was clear that the best way would be through the Øresund, the straight that passed between the entrance to Copenhagen and Sweden. It was the most direct of the three ways, though it was also the one that would call the greatest attention of the Danish authorities to Glaucus’s presence. Giles felt that this was preferable to having vague rumors about their possible purpose and destination being circulated. He was sure that, as he passed Copenhagen, some sort of vessel would intercept him so that he could be questioned about his destination. He could only hope that it would not try to detain him.
Mr. Brooks was completely confident that he would have no trouble navigating the channel, especially with a northerly wind. The passage ran in an almost straight line for about sixty nautical miles, he said, though, at its narrowest, it was hardly two miles wide. It would be no joke to have to beat up it, but it would be easy to traverse with a following wind – far easier than either of the other two passages. Giles agreed with his master and ordered him to steer the course that would take them to the mouth of this passage.
Glaucus arrived at the entrance to the strait at two bells of the forenoon watch to find two Danish frigates on patrol. After being hailed by one of them on friendly, even welcoming, terms, and after Giles explained that they were on their way to St. Petersburg on a peaceful errand, the British frigate sailed down the Øresund without reducing sail. Soon they were approaching the narrowest section, with the towns of Helsingør to starboard and Helsinborg to larboard. Giles started to worry about the possibility that the Danes or Swedes had joined Napoleon. Batteries on either side of the strait could easily hit Glaucus as she moved along. He need not have worried; his ship sailed uneventfully past the towns, dipping her flag to the fortresses and receiving reciprocal salutations from each.
The Øresund then widened considerably. Giles debated whether he should keep to the eastern side, which was the more direct route, or to go along the side on which Copenhagen was located so that it would not appear that he was trying to avoid the Danish capital. He decided on the latter course. He was somewhat surprised to see a powerful Danish armada anchored at the entrance to Copenhagen harbor with what he thought must be an admiral’s flag on one of the largest ships of the line. Like many others hearing news of the battle three years earlier, he had thought that Admiral Nelson had destroyed the Danish fleet completely, but this was a strong fleet, and clearly not newly built. As he examined the flagship, he saw a small boat with sails raised peel away from the mammoth warship and head towards Glaucus.
The boat sailed up to Glaucus and, after receiving permission, hooked on to her side. Giles went to the entry port to greet the smartly dressed captain who, Giles presumed, was the flag captain to the admiral in charge of the Danish Fleet. Giles’s order that the standard honors for a captain coming aboard be made to welcome the Danish officer had been appropriate.
“Captain Madsen,” the arrival declared himself, in clear though heavily accented English, after saluting the quarterdeck. “Greetings and welcome from Admiral Holm. He would like to know your purpose.”
“Captain Sir Richard Giles,” responded Giles, quite forgetting that he was in fact a Viscount, even if it was only a courtesy title. “We are in transit to St. Petersburg with a special envoy on board, Sir Walcott Lainey. Are we still at peace?”
“Yes, we have no news of any change in that. Might I suggest, Captain, that you salute the Admiral. Fifteen guns is what is customary among us. The Royal Family is not in residence, and in any case you would not be able to see the Royal Standard over the Palace, so a full salute would not be appropriate.”
“I was intending to begin the salute when we were closer, Captain Madsen,” Giles replied. “After it is completed, perhaps you will join me for some refreshments.”
Having ordered the fifteen-gun salute and staying on deck for the response from the flagship, Giles led the way to his cabin. There was still no sign of Sir Walcott, who had retired to his bed again after having been forced to rise for the pre-dawn ritual. Giles ordered his servant to pour two glasses of the excellent Madeira which Daphne had included in the cabin supplies that she had chosen for him, and the two Captains settled down to a friendly chat.
; They got on well, as professional sailors often did on first meeting. After the standard exchange of complaints about the ignorance concerning naval matters of the governments they served, they ventured into the political situation. The Danish captain was quite frank about their worries about Bonaparte. The Danes were puzzled by his inaction. It was not like him to sit idly by, though they did realize it was partly on account of most of his attention being directed at preparations to invade England. However, while he was waiting to accomplish that endeavor, they were surprised that he had not seized their country or forced them to ally themselves with France in the way that the puppet Dutch government now was subservient to the Emperor, the title with which Bonaparte had recently rewarded himself. Possibly, he was waiting for his coronation, which was rumored to be planned on the most elaborate scale, before taking hostile actions against his neighbors, but somehow there were still anxieties about what he would do even before that.
Giles happily concurred in the reality of the worries, but he then very much exaggerated the extent to which England would be defended against a French landing even if the French were able to seize command of the Channel. He also stressed the strength of the Royal Navy and how all their captains were itching to get at the French fleets. He suspected that his remarks about the importance of Danish neutrality, though delivered in no official capacity, would reverberate with the Danes. He even mentioned how surprised he was to be able to see no longer the effects of Hyde Parker’s and Nelson’s most regrettable attack on the fleet at Copenhagen. The last was most certainly a delicate subject, he realized, and his raising it was inviting an official reprimand if it ever became known to his superiors. He had been given no explicit instructions on what to say Britain’s position on Denmark might be, but his thoughts were out of his mouth before he realized how inappropriate they might turn out to be.
A War by Diplomacy_At Home and At Sea, 1804 Page 13