‘No, sir.’
There was something not quite right about all this. Nelson was prepared to accept that a man like Parker might both dislike and distrust him: he came from a school of old-fashioned thinking with which Nelson had no truck but old ideas were hard for those raised in their shadow to throw away. That letter had been designed not to dent Parker’s amour propre. But even a dolt could see, reading between the lines, that it could only have been composed in the face of Parker’s total lack of authority. To show it to others, to risk opening it up to public scrutiny, struck Nelson as odd.
He knew enough about flagships to be aware that they could be many things, depending on the admiral in charge: happy ships, setting an example to the fleet, which he hoped was the case on his own vessel, or a floating hell when an admiral wanted to show how much command he had over his captains. Or they might be gossip parlours, which was the impression he had gained on going aboard London, leaderless three-decked hotbeds of rumour and chatter, with plenty of slander and calumny stemming from the lack of positive leadership.
Now, all of a sudden, there was a definite air of that most necessary commodity. Who had engineered it? He was not vain enough to believe that his letter had been sufficient, nor did he truly suppose a sudden conversion in Parker from timidity to bellicosity. If Dommet and Otway had been the force of persuasion, what words had they used that he had not? Why did he feel, for no apparent reason, that what had happened might threaten him? Nelson forced himself to bury these speculations. It mattered not a jot why the change had occurred, it was enough to rejoice in the fact that it had.
‘Sir Hyde,’ Otway added, with just a touch of nervousness, ‘particularly wished to ask if you still inclined towards the Belt.’
‘I say to you what I said to him, Otway, the Belt or the Sound, it makes no odds.’
‘But the Sound for preference?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then Sir Hyde requests that you proceed on that assumption.’
Otway did not know Nelson except by reputation, but as he warmed his hams against the stove he was treated to a view of the man in action. And seeing the orders that flowed from him he could not help but contrast it with what he had observed of Sir Hyde Parker. With no reference to a single sheet of paper Nelson reeled off to his secretary the order of sailing for the entire fleet. At the same time, almost, he planned boat exercises that had a succession of midshipmen scurrying from the great cabin on to the deck, where a harassed signal lieutenant sought to keep pace with the raft of instructions.
He and Otway returned to HMS London where, with Parker present, the difference was even more marked: an excited Nelson made absolute sense while the occasional words of caution Parker interjected sounded a false note. In a tour de force of explanation, Nelson outlined how he would get the fleet to Copenhagen and, since that was the nub of Parker’s orders from the government, how he would go about subduing the defences, provided no other threat appeared to prevent it.
Nelson was in seventh heaven. He had what he wanted, a fleet to organise and a target to attack. As he paced up and down, he felt sorry for Parker, which tempered his ebullience. The man had not been born to this situation: that he was here was the fault of the system and of a government too weak at the time of his appointment to risk alienating any of their political allies. No good would come of humiliating him, so what would have taken time anyway took much longer as he nudged Parker into pronouncing obvious conclusions.
‘I do feel it necessary, sir,’ Nelson concluded, ‘that you personally explain our plans to all captains.’
Parker put his hands under his double chin as if in prayer. He was thinking this was Nelson’s plan and not his. His mind was in the same turmoil he had gnawed on for weeks – victory with laurels or defeat and disgrace – but his junior was so anxious to lead that he could operate at one remove. This might gift him the victory without effort or temper any odium.
‘Lord Nelson, since you are appointed to lead the fleet through the Sound and the attack on Copenhagen, I think that is a duty better left to you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Meanwhile,’ Parker added, spoiling the air of martial endeavour, ‘I shall send a message to Colonel Strickler, the commandant of Cronberg fort, asking him what his intentions will be if we attempt to make the passage through.’
None of the others looked at him then, but they were all wondering why he wanted to alert the Danes to his intentions.
Prior to the captains’ meeting Nelson watched the result of an order he had issued when Otway was warming himself by the stove. Every flat-bottomed boat in the fleet, each with an officer or midshipman in charge, and half a dozen marines and a cannon in the bows, was required to wheel and manoeuvre round St George. Even young Frears had a command, though several experienced hands were in his launch to ensure he made no cardinal errors. Formed into squadrons, the boats mounted mock attacks on the side of the ship only sheering off once contact had been made.
‘There, Hardy,’ Nelson cried, pointing as another section of a dozen boats surged in. ‘Let any one of those fortress gunners fire on us and I will send our brave lads ashore in their boats to singe their tails.’
Hardy responded to this in his usual manner, which left Nelson wondering if he was happy at the idea or thought it madness. Not for the first time he realised that this man would never do in high command: he would get there, of course, if he stayed alive and enough admirals before him died. Competence had little to do with the system of promotion: once on the captain’s list you rose inexorably to become a flag officer. God forbid the Ghost should ever have to fight a fleet action!
‘Make an order, Captain Hardy,’ Nelson said, with just a trace of a sigh. ‘Boats to break off and return to their ships.’
The conference of captains was not as Nelson expected. Instead of the enthusiasm to be at the enemy that he had anticipated, he heard many objections to his plans. These men had not sailed with him before, although he had met many of them in his years in the service, some a long time ago, like Thomas Bertie who, as a brand new midshipman, had journeyed with him and Troubridge in HMS Seahorse on the voyage to Calcutta in ’76. Now he commanded HMS Ardent, which had fought and suffered against the Dutch at Camperdown.
Those who had previously been under his command, like Freemantle and Foley, posed pertinent questions and accepted his answers, showing trust in his judgement. But most did not, and Nelson was forced to admit that not only had he been lucky in the quality of his Nile captains, but that he had had the time to introduce them to his mode of thinking. Here in the Cattegat, he was trying to do in one day what had taken three months in the Mediterranean, and to a far more numerous body of men, over thirty officers of post rank.
Why did he have to explain to professional naval officers, not once but several times, that in a four-mile wide channel the largest Danish cannon, now known to be thirty-six pounders, with an effective range of less than two miles, could not even command the middle of the Sound? Why did they doubt his assertion that the Swedes manning Helsingborg would do nothing, and that if they dared he would not only bombard them into submission, but send in his flat bottomed boats to assault what was an under-manned fortress.
‘Gentlemen, we face two nations who have no recent experience of war. Even should our ships be forced by wind and current into the extreme arc of their fire, where are the gunners who can hit moving targets.’
Regardless of the truth of that remark – that for a shore-based gunner to employ deflection gunnery required a high degree of skill – it was met with demands to know what would happen if they were becalmed or the wind backed so that the fleet would have to come about in narrow shoal water. He answered that the former, in these seas, was a near impossibility while the latter would see them anchor rather than run. He wanted to say that this was war and not for the cautious or cowardly, but he must carry the doubters with him – no good would come of ruffling their pride.
‘Captain Mosse, you will lead th
e fleet through the Sound in HMS Monarch.’ Mosse nodded, but in a way that told Nelson nothing about his opinion of the honour. ‘Captain Murray, you will take under your charge the bomb ketches. You are to take Edgar into the Sound and anchor, here, to the north-west within range of the fortress of Cronberg, your task to play on Colonel Strickler’s gunners and unsettle them should they open fire on us.’
George Murray had lost HMS Colossus off the Scilly Isles, the ship that had taken down with it most of Sir William Hamilton’s fortune. Despite that, he was not one to demur, nor had he objected to Nelson’s plan. A sailor of great experience, he had fought in the Far East against the great French admiral Suffren. He had also been with Nelson at St Vincent, so was no stranger to fleet actions. He was the only officer in the entire group who had made the passage of the Sound, albeit in peacetime, so could claim to know the waters.
‘You will not be a target to them while the fleet is in view, but you must be prepared to win your anchors quickly as soon as we are through, or risk facing the whole barrage once they have levered round their guns.’
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.
Ab
oard 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.’
Breaking the Line Page 20