‘With your permission, sir,’ said Nelson, ‘I will return to Elephant. We must buoy the Holland Deep tonight, for I have an instinct we may have the wind we want on the morrow.’
‘Carry on, Lord Nelson.’
The dripping wet men who stood before him in the pre-dawn glow looked as though they had been dragged through a soaking hedge backwards. A night spent in the Holland Deep, anchoring barrels to mark one side of the deep-water channel, was a wearing activity. Nelson could see chapped hands, red-rimmed eyes and a general air of exhaustion. But these men had done what was asked. He could take his ships to the southern edge of the King’s Deep in safety.
They hadn’t slept and neither had Nelson. In passing the task to him Parker had also handed over executive control. So it fell to Nelson to take the general orders and apply them to each individual officer and ship. He was not one to leave a battle to chance: each captain must know their role, and be aware of the general outline so that they did not foul one another’s progress, and a comprehensive knowledge of the overall plan allowed them to know just how far they could vary their orders.
Every line-of-battle ship must be prepared to anchor by the stern, relying on the current to keep their heads round and their vessels broadside on to the enemy. Another party would have to go out the night before the attack to try to buoy the King’s Deep, using the same method as had been used on the Holland Deep, empty, sealed water barrels anchored to the seabed with four lashed roundshot. With his own ship denied the battle, Hardy undertook to oversee that task, well aware that Olfert Fischer would have armed parties out in boats to stop him.
HMS Amazon, HMS Cruiser, and the sloops Lark and Fox were to proceed into the channel before the main attack to act as markers off the Middle Ground Shoal. Sir Hyde had added two ships to his squadron to boost its strength and these two vessels had to be fitted in to the overall scheme. Tirelessly Nelson had worked and fretted, never once forgetting to sniff for the wind he required, once more obliged to bless the gods of battle who so favoured him, because when dawn broke he had it.
Tom Allen’s insistence that his master should rest was ignored. Nelson was in a high old state, jittery, nervously starting at any sharp noise, but alert and his mind on fire. He fretted over every detail, only calming down when the ships were under way, hierarchy demanding that the order to do so come from Sir Hyde Parker. The flags flew up the mast at three in the afternoon, Number 66. ‘All ships to weigh’ Captain Riou, who had so impressed Nelson on the reconnaissance, took the lead in HMS Amazon, with the other frigates, the line of battleships, and even the bomb ketches, thirty three ships in all, sticking rigidly in his wake. There was one moment of anxiety, as Amazon touched on a shoal, checking very slightly. But Riou proved that Nelson’s confidence was well founded, since the sailors standing by to the back of the ship were switched to putting on sail with such speed that the frigate was carried over the sandbank. Naturally the rest of the van squadron steered well clear as HMS Cruiser, another frigate, took up the lead position.
‘That gentleman,’ cried Nelson to Foley and Hardy, standing close by, ‘is my kind of seaman.’
Foley and the Ghost exchanged a glance and a smile, well aware of Nelson’s habit of adopting and favouring officers that took his fancy, merry Ed Parker was one, much cosseted by his admiral, who loved him for the cheerfulness with which he always undertook any duty. Clearly Riou was a candidate for the same sort of intimacy.
Nelson was almost dancing by now, itching for a battle while gnawing on potential upsets. Both Foley and Hardy knew he would be like this until the action was won or he was dead, and no words of theirs would calm him. It was left to Tom Allen to fret, to make sure he ate, to try to get him to sleep, lest he collapse from sheer exhaustion.
Within an hour and a half Nelson was making the signal to anchor as convenient, and he was where he wanted to be, surrounded now by a group of admiring mids all of whom had, at some time in the passage, pestered him with a question. Now, as HMS Elephant came up on her anchor, he beamed at the group, his eyes fixed on those of young Frears.
‘There we are,’ he cried, pointing up the King’s Deep, to the beginning of the Danish defence line, no more than a mile and a half away. ‘We have humbugged the Crown Prince. We are where he did not expect us to be, with a powerful fleet still to the north so that he has no idea if this is a feint or the point of attack. That means, gentlemen, we have the one commodity that is worth more than anything in war. Surprise! A signal for all captains if you please.’
With a smaller group to talk to, and this being in the main his own van division, enthusing his officers was easier than it had been on the other side of the Sound. There was the odd doubter, of course, but in the main Nelson felt he was carrying the group, imbuing them with his beliefs and methods.
‘The only beaten enemy, gentlemen, is an enemy destroyed. We have been raised to praise commanders who have enjoyed a few captures and the sight of an enemy breaking off an action. I intend no insult to them, men of an older generation, when I say that in these times that will not do.’
He stooped to look into their faces, enough of which shone with anticipation to make him happy. If Nelson loved anything he loved this, and he wished that his beloved Emma could see him now. As he spoke he could feel the mood of the meeting getting more and more excitable, while he became calm. They were not all officers he would have chosen, but there were several here he would not wish to be without.
Freemantle, who had brought Ganges in as one of Parker’s extra 74’s, The Ghost, Hardy, without his ship but reassuring by his presence; high command might not suit him but bloody battle was meat and drink. Foley, who had teased and fought alongside him when they were but boys, Murray of Edgar, tough calm and full of experience. Even Admiral Graves in HMS Defiance, the other extra line-of-battle ship, who despite his reservations had bowed to the decision, asked for the duty, and was now all for a swift assault. That marked him as special to Nelson.
Dour, uncommunicative William Bligh, he of the Breadfruit Mutiny, spoke little and glowered much. He was a man who suspected his fellow officers of motives to do him down that, in reality, they were to busy to hold. Nelson had him marked as a fighter, a yardarm to yardarm hard-pounder who had the good fortune to be in a ship, HMS Glatton, that had been designed for the purpose. A bought-in former East Indiaman she was not sleek. But she was armed with nothing but forty-two-pounder carronades, a weapon known as the smasher for its ability to fire a very large ball at high velocity over a short distance.
‘When we enter yonder channel, the object is the obliteration of the defence. It is not a gunnery duel that will be taken up over several days. It will last for one day only.’ A few eyebrows lifted at that, from men who knew what they faced. ‘In that one day we will lay our ships alongside the Danes, and pound them into submission. I wish to see a British flag above every masthead before nightfall. I wish for the inhabitants of Copenhagen to fear the morrow, to know that the very roofs of their abodes are about to cave in upon them. And I tell you gentlemen, it is my intention to gift to Admiral Sir Hyde Parker the ability to sail for Revel within the week, and crush the Russian fleet.’
Thomas Hardy was never happier than when he was in some form of danger. That irritatingly sedate nature and expressionless countenance, which could infuriate on the quarterdeck, was exactly what was required for his present service. Danger could not make blood race in a man poorly conditioned for such a thing. In an open boat, with muffled oars, he had found the bearing for the southern end of the Middle Ground Shoal. From there, in bitter cold, he worked his way along the sandbank, noting that water close to the shoal was shallow; that the deeper water lay close to the other bank where the Danish defences lay.
Having worked his way silently along the shoal he headed out in to deeper water, casting his lead every few yards, marking the depth from the knots counted off the recovered line. Every ear aboard was alert for the sound of other oars, an enemy boat, which would be
full of armed men and probably mount a cannon in the bows. If they were caught they could be sunk, and in pitch dark and in water so cold, death would swiftly follow.
The thin skein of cloud obscured whatever light the stars might have provided, so there was no reflection off the water. Fearing discovery from the noise of a splash, Hardy substituted a pole for his lead line when he thought they might be near the enemy. To the consternation of his boat crew he took them so close to the nearest Danish ship that they could hear men talking, all the time Hardy dipping his pole and finding no ground to touch. The sighs from his men, who saw themselves as ordinarily brave instead of foolishly so, as he ordered them back to HMS Elephant, was audible enough to require from him a whispered command for silence.
Nelson was up all night again, on deck in a boat cloak, sat in a chair, there better to see and hear what was going on, Foley beside him, Merry Ed close by waiting to carry an order. He had one ear cocked for a sudden burst of gunfire that would tell him that his greatest fear had been realised: Hardy in his surveying boat had run in to a Danish patrol. And that nose of his sniffed for the wind his god of battles should provide, a south wind strong enough to fill his sails and create a current that would make the entry into the King’s Deep easy.
Foley knew that Nelson was near to collapse, because he wanted to cover every possible avenue of how the battle would develop, what his captains had to know exactly, and what to do in any given development. Foley had suggested that he fetch his cot on deck, only to be told to belay such nonsense. But as a member of the Crocodile Club he knew Nelson as well as Nelson knew him. He sent Midshipman Frears, still present as the Admiral’s on board messenger, to fetch Tom Allen.
‘You will take to your cot, or your grave, which is it to be?’
Tom Allen had arrived on deck minutes after Foley’s request, and it was edifying to watch Nelson’s servant deal with his black looks and harsh remarks. What Foley did not know was that Tom, at one time a bit timorous, had become more forthright following on from Nelson’s affair with Emma Hamilton. Like the man who had served Nelson before him he now felt he had something on his master, and that made him bolder.
‘If you think I am going to face your dear old Papa, and say you passed on ’cause you was foolish not brave then you have another thing coming,’ barked Tom. The ‘your honour’, was tacked on as an afterthought.
‘Tom,’ said Nelson wearily, ‘go back to your pantry or your bed but leave me in peace.’
‘I will not,’ Tom replied. ‘I shall fetch that damned cot on this here deck and see you into it if it be the last thing I do.’
‘Oh very well.’
He was lying down, still dictating orders when a cold and wet Thomas Hardy came back on board to tell him the results of his survey. Nelson was surprised at the findings; that the deep water was away from the Middle Ground shoal, which was contrary to what he had been told by the merchant captains.
‘Those damned pilots are useless,’ he barked, ‘give me a warranted navy master any time.’ Then his voice softened. ‘Get out of those wet clothes, Captain Hardy, I need you fit and well.’
Hardy’s information led to another flurry of ordering and writing as these details had to be communicated to every commanding officer, including the notification of such to Dommet aboard HMS London. Naturally he kept up a communication by boat with Sir Hyde Parker. He had remained at his anchorage well north of the Danish defences, and had told Nelson of his intention to weigh and join in as soon as the attack began. Parker seemed unaware that any wind which favoured Nelson would be dead foul for him if he maintained his present position. This was something the Ghost took the liberty of reminding him of.
‘You can ask, sir, indeed demand, that he move closer to the enemy so he can be of assistance. There’s deep water within three miles of Steen Bille’s line. Otherwise you will be attacking without even the threat of support.’
Nelson answered quite snappily. ‘If he cannot see it himself Hardy, then Captain Dommet would certainly have done so. I can only assume he has had that advice and chosen not to take it.’
Faced with such a rare public rebuke, only an officer who knew him as well as Hardy would have dared to continue. He chose to remind a man who was a far better seaman than himself that Parker’s ships, beating up from the present anchorage eight miles from the Danes, would have to sail as much as twenty miles, tacking and wearing, to get into action. This compared to the van squadron’s one and a half miles.
‘He has promised me his 74’s will weigh as soon as we do,’ Nelson replied.
‘They will achieve nothing, sir,’ said Foley, supporting Hardy. ‘And the Danes will ignore them.’
‘And so shall I, Tom,’ Nelson insisted. ‘I have no need of Parker and his ships. Let them do what they will. The battle will be won at this end of the King’s Deep not from the north. It falls to us on our own to win this, and once let it prey on our minds that we require assistance and the zeal we need will diminish.’
17
Although he was not in command of a ship taking part in the action, Hardy was amazed at the detail of Nelson’s orders. The last notes had been made at one in the morning, the final parts of a plan that relied on tidal flows, depth of water and the strength of each enemy number from one to twenty along the Danish line.
It was as if Nelson wanted to be on the deck of every vessel, personally directing both men and guns. Every captain was told which of their enemies to engage, and what they had to undertake while proceeding to their station. The frigates had detailed orders for their support and harrying role, prior to their engagement with the Trekroner fort. Hardy knew he could never have written these up, and even after perusing them a dozen times he could not fault them.
Though Nelson was exhausted, he was no longer fretting for anything except that wind to turn these written instructions into a reality. This was not like a naval battle in open water, with a hundred variables. He had an enemy in place, and even as he saw that Olfert Fischer had moved his floating batteries out from the shore to form a continuous line with his ships, thus creating a single defensive line, he knew that to be a minor alteration. Major change was not an option for his opponent. That was the beauty of the surprise he had achieved, so complete that Steen Bille, at the northern end of the King’s Deep, must stay moored in his present position in case this southern squadron was just a feint. Parker had the major portion of the fleet to the north of the Danish commodore and even if Nelson doubted that Parker’s ships would pose a serious threat to the enemy, they were a visible reminder of what had to be guarded against.
In essence, though it might look complicated on paper, the plan was simple. Nelson’s object was speedily to destroy the ships at the southern end of the line by bringing to bear overwhelming fire on them, then to work his way up the King’s Deep, each ship-of-the line, as it became free, leapfrogging its compatriots to engage new opponents. Being moored, the numerical advantage enjoyed by the Danes would thus be nullified.
He had been tempted to try a repeat of the Nile, sailing some of his ships inside the Danes and doubling up on them in a way that would guarantee total destruction. But among many other imponderables he had no idea of the depth of water under the keel on the landward side of the defence line, the Amager shoal, and no way of finding out. He did know that the tactics he had used in Aboukir Bay two years previously were now common knowledge, and he had every right to suspect that the Danes knew that he, the commanding admiral of that battle, was present – just as he knew that, were he the defender instead of the attacker, this was something he would have taken steps to guard against.
It was around six a.m., just as hammocks were being piped up, that Nelson noticed the wind was shifting. This he confirmed with the Elephant’s master, slightly irritated that he had felt it and had had to call for verification when he should have been informed.
‘Maundy Thursday,’ said Tom Foley, who had been with him all night. He and Nelson had walked to the windward s
ide of the ship, from where they could feel the breeze freshening on their faces.
‘We’ll gift the Danes more than a Maundy sixpence,’ Nelson replied, conjuring up the image of Farmer George – if he was well enough – handing out sixpences to the poor specially assembled to receive his largesse.
‘Have you had occasion, Tom, to observe Captain Riou?’
‘Only socially, though I believe him to be a competent officer.’
From the best cut of cloth,’ replied Nelson, his voice enthusiastic. ‘He handles Amazon brilliantly and his lead through the Sound was exemplary.’
‘I do believe, milord, that you remarked on his seamanship at the time.’
‘Am I milord to you, Tom?’ asked Nelson, sadly
‘It is a mode of address I am proud to use,’ Foley said, adding a smile that had never failed to disarm Nelson.
‘I want to give Riou a chance to distinguish himself.’
Foley knew it was part question, but there was a hint in it that he expected any preferment to be questioned. It always happened when Nelson adopted an officer. Foley wondered if he knew more about Riou than he was saying, perhaps that the man lacked influence, or was under a cloud for a previous act. Whatever, Nelson liked and admired him – he had misplaced his trust in young officers in the past, most notably his own stepson, but his opinions of competence, bravery and zeal had generally been proved correct.
Enthusiasm for the advancement of younger men was commonplace in a Nelson command. It wasn’t just Riou, there was young Edward Parker as well and Midshipman Frears. Foley thought Nelson almost feminine in the way he took up the careers of those who caught his eye. Malicious tongues in the service questioned his motives, but Foley had known him too long to ascribe to it anything other than innocent admiration.
Breaking the Line Page 22