by Lynn Bryant
It was a sunny morning; the sea was smooth and the crossing easy onto a sandy beach. There were forests of pine and beech within easy sight of the landings and Wellesley ordered the rifles up into the woods to reconnoitre and to ensure that no hidden troops could interfere with the landings. Paul was ordered to deploy his men at the edge of the woods overlooking the beach to cover the rest of the troops coming in but they had little to do, other than watch the landings and make derogatory comments about some of the other regiments.
There was no resistance. Whatever orders General Peymann had received from the Crown Prince, they did not, apparently, involve preventing the British from landing. Several Danish cavalry videttes kept a cautious watch on the troops as they landed but no shots were fired. Paul, marching at the head of his battalion towards Copenhagen on the following day, had the impression that for the Danes, this war was still not real.
By the morning of the 17th, Copenhagen was invested. The British commander ran his line from Swan Mill in the north, touching the sea at both ends and passing through Emdrup, Gladsaxe and Vanlose to Frederiksberg Palace, recently vacated by the King, and set up his headquarters at Hellerup. Two battalions of the KGL were left at Charlottenbund a little to the south to cover the landing of the artillery.
Wellesley’s reserve was positioned at the centre of Cathcart’s lines between Gladsaxe and Emdrup with Ludlow’s division on one side and Baird’s division on the other. With the men in position and pickets sent out to the rear in case of an unexpected land attack there was little for the 110th to do. They were not directly involved in the siege works and the increasing skirmishes between the smaller vessels of the Danish and British navies and the batteries which Lord Cathcart had ordered constructed were no more than distant sounds.
There were a number of elegant houses in the area, built by prosperous Danish merchants as country homes outside Copenhagen. Cathcart had taken over one of these as headquarters and several of the divisional commanders had followed suit. The supply situation was remarkably easy thanks to the surprising cooperation of the Danish population. Proclamations had been sent out assuring the Danes that all supplies taken would be paid for, as well as assuring them that the British hoped for a peaceful solution to the problem of the Danish fleet.
Paul shook his head, studying the initial proclamations which had been issued in English and German, making them completely incomprehensible to the local people. As his men had settled themselves into their bivouacs, creating what shelter they could using local material, he had established himself and his officers in a substantial inn on the road just out of Emdrup about three miles from the coast. His regiment had been given the eastern end of Wellesley’s line and with his NCOs under strict instruction to keep a close eye on the men to ensure no looting or bad behaviour he allowed himself a few days of relative comfort.
Hr Lund, the proprietor of the inn, quickly became resigned to his visitors. He spoke only a few words of English but more German and several of Paul’s officers spoke some of the language from previous service in Europe. He also spoke Swedish, and Lieutenant Carl Swanson of the light company knew some of the language from childhood, picked up from his grandfather who had moved to England from Stockholm during the previous century. It made communication easier and after a few days Paul no longer felt that his host flinched every time one of the officers entered the tap room.
Initially many of the local villagers and farmers had fled in terror from the invading English, abandoning their homes and loading goods onto wagons and handcarts, taking shelter in the local woods. Gradually they began to return, as it became clear that for the most part the troops were behaving themselves.
Paul was leaving nothing to chance. He was concerned about the lack of organisation of the army. Once the divisions were in position, Lord Cathcart seemed willing to do nothing. Desultory preparations were made for a siege and batteries were being constructed, but despite a number of meetings between the army chiefs and the navy aboard the Prince of Wales, Admiral Gambier’s flagship, no decision had been made about the best way to proceed. There seemed to have been no provost-marshal appointed for the expedition and no explicit instructions had been given about the behaviour of the troops. Lord Cathcart appeared willing to leave discipline to trust.
Paul had no intention of doing the same. He waited twenty-four hours and receiving no orders, he summoned his officers to a meeting in the big dining room at the Preinsesse Charlotte. It was a high ceilinged room with open beams under the roof and walls painted white. Long tables and benches ran down the room and there was a huge fireplace on the outside wall which Lund kept burning low through the day.
“We need to keep discipline,” Paul said without preamble. “I’ve no idea when we’ll see action or even if we will. This might be a prolonged siege or it might be a quick bombardment; I don’t know which. What I do know is if the men get bored they’re likely to run wild. I’ve been told there have already been a couple of incidents with the 95th and General Wellesley informs me that three men from the 52nd have been arrested for trying to break in to one of the big houses in Gladsaxe. Any problems with our lads yet?”
“Not that I know, sir,” Captain Young said. “Apart from Cooper and the blacksmith’s daughter.”
There was a ripple of laughter around the room and Paul fixed Captain Wheeler with a basilisk stare. “What has he done?” he asked frostily.
Wheeler shook his head. “Nothing she didn’t encourage him to do, sir,” he said calmly. “Mr Denny found them both drunk in her father’s stable, curled up in the hay with a bottle between them. He has been dealt with.”
“I am trusting you with that, Johnny. But it’s exactly what I mean. We’ve been here forty-eight hours and the likes of Cooper have already potentially polluted the local bloodline. Keep them close, keep them busy and keep an eye on them. I’ve managed to hire a couple of horses from Hr Lund and I’m going to be touring the lines over the next few days. Best speak to your NCOs and make sure they let the men know that, because if I find anything I don’t like the look of, they are going to be face down in a pile of fish-guts in the Strandvejen herring sheds and that is not an idle threat. Make sure they know it.”
He was as good as his word and toured the lines daily, eavesdropping on his men and ensuring that they knew that he might appear unexpectedly at a moment’s notice. The tedium was enlivened by a sortie from the Copenhagen garrison on some of the outposts to the left of the British line, supported by fire from some of the small Danish gunboats. Paul pulled his men back quickly out of range and as he had expected, the Danes retreated, unwilling to advance beyond the protection of their ships. Once the English batteries were operational the naval threat would be neutralised. In the meantime a fierce duel was daily underway between the small boats of both nations and Paul was not prepared to put his men within reach of their fire.
He was summoned by Wellesley and found him preparing for a visit to headquarters. “Sir - any idea what Lord Cathcart’s plans are?”
Wellesley shook his head. “I am not sure that Lord Cathcart is sure what his plans are.” he said. “I believe that the Admiral and Sir Home Popham wish to discuss that very issue with him.”
Paul met the blue-grey eyes. “Looks as though you were right, sir,” he said. “He doesn’t want to do this.”
“None of us want to do this, Major, but it has to be done. I have attended several pointless meetings. His lordship seems to have hoped that Copenhagen would submit without a fight, although I am not sure why. There was a skirmish with some local levies out at Roskilde. The King’s German Legion dispersed them very effectively but the incident appears to have upset Lord Cathcart. He says that the city cannot be taken without an extended siege and he has not the equipment or men to conduct one.”
“And the alternative is a naval bombardment? I’ll bet they’re just dying to get started,” Paul said bitterly. “Who planned this damned operation in the first place? Surely it must have been obvious…
”
“It is seldom obvious to those in London,” Wellesley said caustically. “There is another meeting at Hellerup. Not aboard the flagship for once. I think it is in the nature of a deputation to urge his lordship into making a decision. I have been invited - somewhat reluctantly - along with the other commanders.”
Wellesley was looking around, an expression of irritation on his austere face. Paul suppressed a laugh and went to retrieve the general’s hat from its place on top of a marble bust of some Danish dignitary. He handed it to Wellesley who frowned, brushed it, and placed it on his head.
“Is that bag of bones outside yours?” he asked.
Paul looked out of the window where a solid piebald mare was eating placidly from a manger outside the stable and grinned.
“Her name is Luna. I hired her from the landlord of the inn. That’s very rude of you, sir. And inaccurate as well, she is anything but a bag of bones, she’s so fat that I think she’d die if I pushed her above a gentle stroll. But very good natured. She reminds me of a dog I once had.”
Wellesley shot him a look of pure disgust. “Is that supposed to be a good thing? I saw that roan you bought in Ireland just before we sailed. Why didn’t you bring him?”
“Rufus? He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? I’ve sent him back to Melton. Not worth shipping my horses out here, I don’t think we’ll be here for long enough and I hate making them sail unnecessarily, it’s not good for them.”
“You are as soft as a woman with your horses, Major.”
“Considerably more so, I suspect, sir. It’s why the cavalry would never have suited me. Do you want me to come with you to this meeting?”
“I do.”
“I thought you had a staff, sir.”
“I have. They are currently delivering messages for me.” Wellesley looked at him and then relented slightly. “I want your opinion,” he said. “I also want somebody to shout at on the way back if this goes the way I think it is going to go.”
Paul laughed and picked up his own hat from a side table. “At least you’re honest about it,” he said. “You need to find an ADC who is less sensitive.”
“Do you want the job, Major?”
“No, sir. We’d kill each other in a week.”
“Considerably less, I imagine. Shall we go?”
***
Hugh Kelly, having delivered his prize safely back to the fleet and set his first lieutenant to organising repairs on both the Iris and the Kronborg after the brief action, slept for eight hours and then shaved and changed and took himself over to the Prince of Wales to give a report to Admiral Gambier about the success of his attack. He had already spoken to Captain Heywood of the Comus who was elated about his own successful capture of the Frederickscoarn.
“Poor Ekins is as sick as a dog,” Heywood had said, unable to hide his glee. “Didn’t catch up with us until it was all over. I think he wishes he’d gone with you.”
“I gave him the choice,” Hugh said.
“He said that. Well done though, Captain. Much damage?”
“More to them. But I lost John Randall, the master.”
“Christ, sorry to hear that. He’s been with you a while, hasn’t he?”
Hugh nodded. “Came with me from the Newstead. I’m going to miss him like hell, can’t really believe he’s gone.”
“Have you spoken to the Admiral yet?”
“No, I’m going over there now,” Hugh said.
“He’s not there,” Ekins said. “He’s gone ashore for a meeting with Lord Cathcart and the army chiefs. I think he’s gone to put a rocket up their arses and get them to actually do something.”
“I wish he would,” Hugh said. “Thanks, Charles, I’ll have to wait.”
“I’d go over there,” Ekins said. “I’m told they’ll be spending the night, dining over there and whatnot. You know Dismal Jimmy likes to know what’s going on.”
Hugh thought about it and decided to follow Ekins advice. The ship’s boat took him in as close as possible to Cathcart’s headquarters in Hellerup. There was a gig, drawn by a tired looking nag waiting by the dock for a fare but Hugh smiled and waved the driver away. It was a fine morning and with no particular need to hurry he was happy to walk up to the fine old house where Lord Cathcart had set up his headquarters.
The wealthy citizens of Copenhagen had begun to establish the practice of building themselves elegant country estates outside the city, especially to the north, while maintaining their town houses in the city centre. Hugh admired some of the examples as he passed, some white and some painted in shades of ochre and yellow, set in graceful parklands. The house selected by the army command belonged to a wealthy Danish merchant and Hugh wondered if the owner was still in residence or if he had abandoned the house in disgust until the unwanted visitors had departed.
Red coated sentries were stationed outside the impressive entrance and Hugh was directed to a harassed looking ADC who informed him that Admiral Gambier was currently meeting with Lord Cathcart but that a message should be given to him as soon as he emerged. His duty done, Hugh went back outside for a stroll around the house. He was enjoying the opportunity to stretch his legs and to see something of the countryside and he doubted that he would be summoned to see Gambier or Popham any time soon.
Returning after a brisk walk through the park and gardens, he found himself coming round through a different path which led to the stables. There were several stable blocks built around a big, well-tended yard and as he approached Hugh noticed a selection of ill-matched horses tied up to a long wooden bar in the yard. He suspected that since few of the army had brought horses with them, other than the cavalry, he was looking at the best the vicinity could manage in terms of hired hacks and he smiled a little at the assortment.
Hugh moved back towards the house in search of a room to wait in and possibly a drink then turned at a sudden noise from the stable yard. There was no sign of a groom but one of the horses, a rangy grey with knots in his mane had broken loose from the rail and was backing up across the yard. His freedom was making the other horses restive and they were pulling on their tethers. Hugh swore softly under his breath and changed direction.
Another man was ahead of him, possibly one of the escort who had arrived with the army commanders. He was tall and fair, an officer in a red coat, his back to Hugh as he approached the grey, placing himself between the horse and the way out of the yard. Hugh went to the bar where the other horses were tied and inspected the ropes. As he had suspected, every one of them was poorly tied, ready to be loosened with a determined tug. Hugh sighed and released the first of them, retying it.
The officer spoke, his voice a clear baritone which was hard to place. The accent spoke of privilege and wealth and the purchase of a commission but the phrasing and words were slightly unusual, as if this man had lived a varied life in many places.
“Stand still, you cross-eyed Danish bastard, I’m not chasing you halfway across the city because a groom can’t tie a knot. Come here.”
He caught the loose rein and then moved in confidently as the horse reared up in fright, putting a soothing hand on the ungroomed neck and running it down the horse’s shoulder. “All right lad, I know you’re scared. No need to be. Let’s get you back where you should be and fed and watered. And by the look of you a brush wouldn’t go amiss. Come on.”
He was holding his body against the horse, steadying him, and the animal quietened immediately, soothed by the confidence in both voice and body. Hugh watched in some admiration as the man turned, leading the horse back into the yard. He was wearing the insignia of a major and looked several years younger than Hugh with fair hair cut shorter than was fashionable, especially in the army or navy, and a pair of surprising blue eyes. The eyes rested on Hugh for a moment assessing him then the major saluted. Hugh returned the salute and the major led the horse back to its place at the rail and began to tie him up. Hugh watched him for a moment, recognising the knot and then looked up into the major’s face.
>
“I doubt he’ll break away from that,” he said in matter-of-fact tones, moving on to re-tie the next horse.
The major did the same. “How to tie a knot that stays tied was one of the only two useful things the navy taught me,” he responded, pleasantly.
“What was the other?” Hugh asked with genuine curiosity.
“How to kill people. I got very good at that.” The major tied the last knot and surveyed Hugh’s handiwork to ensure that it was properly done with an arrogance which both irritated and amused Hugh. Then the man looked up and saluted again. “Major Paul van Daan, Captain, 110th first battalion. I’m here with Major-General Sir Arthur Wellesley.”
“Major-General Sir Arthur Wellesley might have been walking back to his lodgings if you’d not been as quick,” Hugh said, returning the salute. “You’d think a groom would be better at tying up horses, wouldn’t you?”
“A Danish groom, this week? What do you think, Captain?”
Hugh grinned. “I think a pack of British commanders having to walk through town because their hired horses have buggered off might be a small victory but very satisfying,” he said. “Captain Hugh Kelly of the Iris, Major. How did you end up in the army, then? Navy didn’t suit?”
“I was fifteen and I didn’t volunteer, Captain. Put me off a bit.”
Hugh shot him a startled glance. “Christ, you don’t sound like a man who ought to have been pressed.”
“They don’t always play by the rules. But it was definitely educational.”
“How long were you in?”
“Two years. Made petty officer, fought in a few skirmishes and at the Nile.”
Hugh felt his respect grow. “I was there myself,” he said. “Are you on Wellesley’s staff?”
The major grinned. “Not officially, although he seems to think I am. Thank you for your help, sir, I appreciate it.”