Nelson: Britannia's God of War

by Andrew Lambert

  On 19 March the fleet arrived in the Skaw to find Vansittart had been dismissed. It was time for war. On the 21st and 22nd gales forced the fleet to anchor. Late on the 22nd, Vansittart and Drummond joined the fleet from Copenhagen on HMS Blanche. Parker realised Bernstorff’s letter was a declaration of war, and learnt of the preparations in hand at Kronborg and Copenhagen. He informed the Admiralty that the moment the wind allowed, the fleet would enter the Sound and ‘put their orders into execution’.49 Reports of two hundred cannon at Kronborg and floating harbour defences and batteries at Copenhagen shook Parker. He had expected to support the Danes against the Russians, and now decided to go direct to Revel through the Great Belt ‘to attempt the destruction of the Russian ships at Revel which are expected’. If necessary he could attack Copenhagen from the south. However, the wind was against him, and he anchored. It appeared to him that the Danish defences were very strong: ‘from the depth of water it will be very difficult to dislodge them without vessels of force, of a less draught of water than the ships of the line.’50

  Nelson, appalled by Parker’s procrastination, quickly compiled a sermonising letter, setting out the issues as he saw them and stressing the need to act immediately. The enemy was daily growing stronger; the British would never be better placed than they were at the present moment. The Government expected him to attack Copenhagen if the Danes would not negotiate. He had the honour and safety of England in his hands: ‘never did our Country depend so much on the success of any fleet as on this’. Anxious to attack Russia, he was ready to lead a detachment to Revel, going through the Sound, or the Great Belt, as long as they acted now.51 Perplexed and uncertain in the face of such tremendous responsibility, Parker called Vansittart and Nelson to the flagship on 24 March.52 In view of the preparations at Kronborg and Copenhagen, they agreed to proceed through the Great Belt. Colonel Stewart, convinced the real object of Government policy was to strike the Russians, considered that attacking Copenhagen via the Belt was wrong, and a waste of time.53 On 25 March, the fleet weighed at 3 a.m., but Nelson and George Murray of the Edgar went to Parker and persuaded him to go back to the previous anchorage near the Sound and resume the original plan. A squadron led by Nelson and Rear Admiral Graves would attack the defence line at Copenhagen.

  The fleet sailed for the Belt, but Parker’s staff persuaded him to return to the Sound route. The Belt was a longer, and more difficult passage: only Murray had navigated it in a battleship, and it would not be ideal for an attack on Copenhagen. On 26 March Nelson shifted his flag into the seventy-four, HMS Elephant, commanded by Foley. The name of this ship, while hardly euphonious to English seamen, was carefully chosen. The Danish royal badge was an elephant.

  Lying at anchor, Nelson continued to bemoan the loss of time: now that there was no hope of reconciliation it would be best to go to Copenhagen. Hyde Parker’s ‘diffidence’ and ‘hesitation’ over the past four days could not be justified.54 Captain of the Fleet Domett, too, observed on 26 March that ‘this delay is ruin to us, I hope the wind will soon be to the southward’.55 He had to wait three more days. Nelson considered Domett the root of Parker’s indecision but pitied them both for being placed in a situation that neither was equipped to handle, in which ‘the spur of the moment must call forth the clearest decision and the most active conduct’. Now they were out of their depth Domett was indecisive, while Parker suddenly abandoned the high-handed and haughty tone he had presumed since Yarmouth.56

  When the wind finally shifted on 29 March, Parker ordered George Murray of the Edgar to place the bomb vessels to fire on Kronborg and the town of Elsinore while the fleet passed. The impressive baroque fortress of Kronborg, associated with Hamlet and the scene of more than one memorable performance of the tragedy, was more symbol than substance. Although it served as a statement in stone of the Danish claim to collect Sound Dues – a tax on ships entering or leaving the Baltic, levied since the Middle Ages – it was in reality perfectly impotent. The sound was more than three thousand yards wide, and even if the Swedish batteries at Helsingor fired, ships could pass down the centre of the channel with impunity. It is revealing that Parker and Nelson did not know this: with this information Parker’s indecision could have been avoided, and the attack mounted sooner.

  On 30 March, Nelson’s division led the fleet past the fortress, with the bomb vessels providing supporting fire. They were through the Sound by 9 a.m. without damage: as the Swedes did not fire the fleet shifted to the eastern side of the channel, far beyond the range of Danish guns. Some of the British bombs reached the target, and one remains stuck in the ceiling of St Olaf’s Cathedral in Elsinore as a reminder of passing greatness. The fleet then anchored north-east of Copenhagen while Nelson led the reconnaissance on board the frigate HMS Amazon, Captain Edward Riou’s ship-handling and insight made him an instant favourite. Nelson reported that the fire from the Kronborg had been a tremendous waste of powder and shot, and his opinion of the Danish defence line was no more complimentary: ‘It looks formidable to those who are children at war, but to my judgement with ten sail of the line, I think I can annihilate them; at all events I hope to be allowed to try.’57 Parker remained pessimistic, findng the defences ‘far more formidable than we had reason to expect’, but accepted Nelson’s offer to command the attack, and gave him two more ships than he had requested. Defence, Ramillies and Veteran would move down from the main fleet to menace the northern part of Danish line and assist any disabled ships.58

  The purpose of the attack was to clear away the Danish floating defences, exposing the dockyard, arsenal and the city to the fire of the fleet’s seven bomb vessels. The Royal Artillery officers directing the mortar fire reported that:

  if the outer line of the enemy’s defences afloat – that is, all the vessels to the southward of the two crowns island (Trekroner) – were removed, a bombardment would be attended with the best possible success; but that until that was done the attempt could be attended with none.

  A Council assembled on the Elephant after dinner on 31 March, including Nelson, Parker, Domett, Foley, Fremantle, Riou, Graves and Murray. The next day, Nelson’s division shifted to the starting position for the attack, the wind failing as the last ships reached position, just as Nelson had anticipated.59

  That evening Nelson wrote his instructions for the attack on the Danish defence line. They were very detailed, and left little or nothing to the initiative of his captains. The navigational difficulties, the nature of the task and the importance of clearing the entire Danish line made ‘mission-analysis’ inappropriate. He arranged his forces to achieve a real firepower superiority, certain his ships could overwhelm the static Danish line. Yet as Clausewitz observed, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. When three ships went aground and the plan began to fall apart, he had the mental resources to reorganise and carry on.

  Even with the wind in his favour, Nelson was still entirely dependent on navigating intricate shoals to get into the King’s Deep. Only at 10 a.m. on 2 April did he find a willing pilot, who led the fleet from Murray’s Edgar. Once Murray was under way, Nelson signalled the rest to follow. Firing began around 10.30. Soon afterwards his old favourite the Agamemnon failed to clear the Middle Ground shoal, spending the rest of the battle as a spectator. Other ships spent the entire day getting into position, and most of the flotilla were not ready until after the fighting. Nelson reacted quickly, signalling the Polyphemus to replace her classical sister. He also saw that the Bellona was too close to the shoal, but his signal was too late: she grounded, and was followed by the Russell, which lost her bearings in the gunsmoke. By word of mouth and flag signals, Nelson shortened and tightened his line of battle, to ensure he maintained a clear firepower advantage over the Danes, at the expense of leaving the Trekroner battery to be masked by Riou’s frigates. To the consternation of his captains, Riou used his five frigates to extend the battleline north, and fill the space left by the missing battleships. This was Nelson’s reward for an instant rapport wi
th the brilliant frigate captain: Riou trusted Nelson, and acted like him. By the time all the battleships had anchored Nelson had redrawn his battle plan, concentrating on the south and centre of the Danish line, and maintained his superiority in numbers of guns. He was rather further away than he had hoped, as nervous officers feared the enemy were inside the shoal. In fact they were outside it, and the intervening waters were deep.

  To the north, Parker’s division was under way, but with the wind dead ahead the three supporting ships would be hard pressed to work up into action. Nelson’s leading ship – appropriately named the Edgar, after the Saxon King who first established England’s Sovereignty of the Seas – took up her position under sail, and under fire from the Danish ships. The other battleships followed. The range was short, around four hundred yards, and the Danish guns soon scored damaging hits. Captain Mosse was killed on his own quarterdeck as the Monarch dropped anchor. By 11 a.m. all the British ships were in action, Elephant flying Nelson’s favourite signal, No. 16: ‘Engage the Enemy more closely.’

  For Nelson the tension was almost unbearable. He paced the quarterdeck, often talking with Colonel Stewart, who had seen nothing like the combat, or the admiral. ‘I never passed so interesting a day in the course of my life or one that so much called for my admiration of any officer.’ From a Peninsula War veteran that was high praise. Nelson was philosophical about the danger. When a round shot smashed into the mainmast, sending a shower of splinters across the upper deck, he turned to his companion and observed drily, ‘It is warm work, and this day may be the last for any of us at any moment. But, mark you, I would not be anywhere else for thousands.’ Who would not be inspired by such resolve? It is also, and perhaps more authentically, recorded that he declared: ‘Well Stewart, these fellows hold us a better jig than I expected. However, we are keeping up a noble fire, and I’ll be answerable that we shall bowl them out in four if we cannot do it in three hours.’ Suitably prompted, Stewart noted that the British were firing faster, and as they also had more guns in action the result, as Nelson well knew, was inevitable. Brave as they were, the inexperienced Danes must be beaten – it was a question of time. A few weeks earlier Nelson had explained his views on gunnery to Berry:

  I hope, we shall be able as usual to get so close to our Enemies that every shot cannot miss their object, and that we shall again give our Northern Enemies that hail-storm of bullets which is so emphatically described in the Naval Chronicle, and which gives our dear country the Dominion of the Seas. We have it, and all the Devils in Hell cannot take it from us, if our Wooden walls have fair play.60

  He had secured just such a position, and the Danes, be they men or Devils, would soon discover the truth of his remark.

  Nelson’s opposite number, Commodore Olfert Fischer on the old seventy-four Dannebrog, was well aware of the superior British fire. He faced the Elephant and William Bligh’s Glatton, armed with sixty-eight- and forty-two-pounder carronades, firing shells. At four hundred yards every shot told: inside half an hour Fischer had to shift his pendant. Nelson had destroyed the enemy’s flagship, and with it their cohesion. Soon the Dannebrog was on fire, while her gun crews were remorselessly scythed down. At 14.30 her flag came down, and the survivors went ashore. Her cable burnt through: she drifted north past the Trekroner fort, still ablaze, and at 16.30 she blew up, just like L’Orient. Long before that, several of the smaller Danish vessels had left the scene, unable to sustain the unequal combat with such powerful foes. By 14.30 the south and centre of the Danish line was beaten, but the ships were still in Danish hands. They could fire on the bomb vessels and had to be cleared away. To the north Commodore Fischer had to abandon his second ship of the day, the Holsten, at 14.15, taking his pendant ashore to the Trekroner before the ship surrendered.

  While the smoke of battle hung thick and the situation appended uncertain, Parker watched from afar. At 13.15 he ordered signal No. 39, ‘Discontinue the Action’, to be hoisted, and enforced by firing guns. No one on the London’s quarter-deck that afternoon ever explained this action. Once again Parker’s underlying irresolution burst through, propelled by uncertainty, anxiety and lack of confidence. Personally brave, he was unnerved by the responsibility of battle, not the shot and splinters. The signal applied to every ship, and was obligatory. Parker never said why he flew it. Nelson did not mention it in his official report, but he was once again faced with an order from a superior officer that he considered dangerous, and impossible to execute. Unlike Keith’s foolishness over Minorca, this contained the seeds of immediate tactical catastrophe. Any attempt to get out of the King’s Deep under fire from a position close to the Middle Ground would have left his squadron in chaos, with many aground, giving the Danes every prospect of a remarkable victory. When the signal was pointed out Nelson had it acknowledged, as was proper, but demanded that his own No.16 was kept aloft. He did not repeat Parker’s signal. With Stewart and Foley at his elbow, he played out, legend has it, a little joke: saying, ‘You know Foley, I have only one eye and I have a right to be blind sometimes,’ he lifted his telescope to his right eye and announced, ‘I really do not see the signal.’ The more authentic report given by Minto the following month was: ‘I have only one eye, and it is directed on the enemy.’61 The exact words matter less than the sentiment: Nelson was going to disobey Parker, and face the consequences. He could see the Danish line crumbling, ships slipping out of the battle, guns falling silent and his own firepower superiority increasing with every minute. There was no reason to fear defeat: although the Danes were holding out a little longer than he had expected, they would be beaten within four hours. Only a heartbroken Riou, far closer to the flagship, acted on No.39: ‘What will Nelson think of us?’ he lamented. As the Amazon showed her stern to the Trekroner, a round shot cut him in two. For Nelson this was ‘an irreparable loss’.62 Rear Admiral Sir Thomas Graves asked his signal officer to check Nelson’s response, and elected to follow his commander, not Parker. The battleship captains shared his faith in their admiral, and stayed put.

  The battle of Copenhagen

  Nelson followed up the signal incident with another stroke of genius. He had defeated the less powerfully armed Danish vessels, and if this had been a sea battle the Danes would have surrendered long before, their masts shattered. However, they were at anchor. So at 13.45 he went below and wrote a letter to the Danish Government, ordering Danish speaker Frederick Thesiger to take it by boat under a flag of truce along the disengaged side of the line. Thesiger landed at the Citadel at or before 15.00. The letter spoke of events that had not occurred when Nelson wrote, notably the capture of the Danish blockships, and warned of serious consequences if the Danes did not stop firing. Many have argued that this was a trick, a ruse de guerre, to escape a difficult situation. His own explanation was simple humanity, and he was not a competent liar. In reality his immaculate timing was the key. He knew how long it would take to get the letter ashore, and reckoned, very nicely in the event, that in an hour it would all be over, and his letter would be read by men facing utter defeat. He had not won when he sent the letter, but he had when it arrived.

  It was also a neat political stroke, ending the battle and limiting the damage to Anglo-Danish relations. As he would stress to the Crown Prince, the real problem was Russia, so an emollient note, letting the Danes know they had done quite enough for honour, and warning them of the consequences if they did not see this, was just what the situation required. When the Danish Crown Prince received Nelson’s letter, he could see that the defence line had stopped firing, and that none of the ships had an ensign aloft. Parker’s squadron was working into range, and his leading ships were firing on the Danish forces north of the Trekroner. He took the hint that it was time to negotiate, because he knew the battle was lost. To avert the impending bombardment of the arsenal, dockyard and city he ordered a ceasefire, and sent his English speaking aide de camp, Lindholm, out to meet Nelson. On his arrival Nelson also ordered a ceasefire. The Danes wanted to avoid furt
her fighting, but did not dare accept the terms that Parker conveyed to Lindholm that evening: to leave the Armed Neutrality and join Britain. With guns falling silent the British ships worked out of the King’s Deep, although two went aground, including the Elephant. Nelson returned to the St George for the night, exhausted and anxious. He need not have worried: it was obvious to all who had won the battle, and what that said about the principal protagonists:

  What another Feather this is to Lord Nelson. I can’t help thinking, what the difference of feelings there must be between him and the Commander in Chief, to let him get such a Victory, and the other to be looking on – for God’s sake say nothing about this.63

  The statistics of the battle told their own story: the British lost 254 dead and 689 wounded, the Danish losses were around double this. The British had taken twelve of the eighteen Danish vessels, but only the Holsten was worth refitting and sending home.64 The rest were too old or unusual to warrant the cost of repairs. Most were stripped of any useful stores, bronze guns and equipment, before being burnt, usually at night.65

  On the morning after the battle, all seven British bomb vessels lay in the King’s Deep, ready for action. These ships were fitted with thirteen-inch mortars, firing two-hundred-pound shells filled with ten pounds of powder up to four thousand yards. This was far beyond the accurate range of any existing cannon, and as bomb vessels were small targets they could bombard a port or city with impunity. They were now in range of the dockyard, arsenal, the Royal Palace and key parts of the city. The Crown Prince considered fighting on, to prove his loyalty to his allies, but the result would have been useless sacrifice. Instead he pressed for a negotiated settlement that would appease the Tsar and the French: to accept the British terms risked the loss of Norway and the mainland provinces; to reject them would cost him Copenhagen and the fleet.