by Lynn Bryant
“When you’re ready to leave, I’ll get Carter to drive you back. What happened with your first lieutenant?”
Hugh grimaced. “He’s developed a thing with Popham - he’s very bright and very much interested in communications and signalling and anything vaguely scientific. Popham has rather adopted him, I don’t think he often finds a junior officer who can listen to him talk without expiring from boredom. I don’t mind; thought it might be good for the boy. But he’s incapable of keeping his mouth shut on any subject whatsoever and it appears he informed Captain Popham of my girl’s presence in my cabin. Popham, of course, went to Gambier.”
“And Gambier has the mind of a particularly nasty sewer,” Paul finished. “I can see why you’re angry but I doubt the lad meant any harm. Looks like the gig. Why don’t you go and find your lady, sir, and agree a price with Inge? My lads can set off with the baggage but I’ll wait and ride back with you to show you the way.”
Hugh looked over at the horse and grinned. “You sure she’ll make it, fella?”
The major laughed. “She’s looking a bit trimmer,” he said, regarding the horse with a critical eye. “I think she was only ever used for the odd trip to church or to market, I’ve been good for her.”
“How did she cope with the battle?”
“Oh she wasn’t there. It wasn’t really a battle that required much horsepower frankly although I think we sweated off a few pounds we’d put on sitting around Copenhagen with nothing to do.”
The journey to Roskilde took a little over two hours and Hugh sat beside Roseen, sensing her enjoyment at being out in the fresh air. The day was bright and sunny and she talked little, watching the passing scene with serene pleasure. It was farming country with both sheep and cattle grazing peacefully in wide fields. Harvest time had arrived and the fields were busy with farmhands, armed with scythes, building sheaves of wheat, corn, barley and rye. It was familiar to Hugh, coming from farming stock, and he found himself unconsciously assessing the land and its yield.
“I wonder if it’s very wet, being this close to the sea?” Roseen said, and he realised her thoughts had been echoing his.
“I think it must be, but they’ve good drainage systems; those ditches are well maintained. Looks like good farmland.”
She turned to smile at him. Fru Lund had found her a plain muslin gown in a dull shade of yellow and a pair of black kid boots. She had also provided a dark green woollen shawl and an elderly straw hat. Roseen had found the means to put up her dark hair at the inn and she looked more like herself, wearing the shabby clothing with unselfconscious charm. Hugh did not grudge the ridiculously inflated price he had been asked to pay for the clothing although he suspected a London dressmaker would have been cheaper. It was worth it to see Roseen looking more comfortable.
“You’ll soon be back at Ballabrendon, Hugh,” she said, and Hugh put on hand on her knee.
“Not without you, I won’t. I’ve not even tried to work out a plan for our marriage, love, but once this campaign is over, I’ll bend my mind to it. In the meantime I’m leaving you in the care of the army which is not something I ever thought I’d be happy to do.”
“I heard that,” Major van Daan said amiably. “You need have no fear, sir, we will be the soul of courtesy to Miss Crellin. I will personally keep an eye on Sir Arthur Wellesley, mind, because he is going to take one look at your lady and not look away for a very long time. But I will make sure he behaves.”
Roseen laughed. Hugh observed, with grim resignation, that his socially awkward love bloomed like a rose under the expert charm of Major van Daan. Hugh had never seen her so comfortable with a man she barely knew and he paid attention to his horse and listened as Paul coaxed her into conversation and then into laughter. He was still deciding whether to be jealous or not when he felt her hand on his leg in a manner which immediately gave him something else to think about and he concluded that he had nothing to fear from a smooth-tongued charmer in a red coat.
Dinner at the mansion was a surprisingly relaxed affair. Sir Arthur Wellesley welcomed Roseen kindly and stayed to dine with the officers of the 110th but left early. The others lingered, vying for her attention in a way which Roseen clearly found slightly overwhelming. Major van Daan kept a careful eye on her and moved to intervene at the slightest hint of discomfort from her and Hugh ate his dinner and held her hand under the table and felt himself begin to relax. He was dreading the order for the bombardment to begin and he was glad Roseen would be well away from that, but once it was done he could take some time to arrange their future together.
The table broke up late, and Hugh willingly accepted Paul van Daan’s offer of a bed for the night. He slept well and woke early, going downstairs into a rosy light to find the officers of the 110th awake and about their business. Paul van Daan was giving orders to a tall sergeant and Captain Wheeler was nearby haggling with a Danish carter over what appeared to be a delivery of fish. Hugh had had very little to do with the army other than in the course of his duty and he was unexpectedly entertained by this brief glimpse into the running of a regiment, although he found himself wondering how typical this regiment actually was.
“Are you leaving, Captain?”
He turned, smiling, and went to meet Roseen. “I need to get back. Major van Daan is lending me his horse, he’ll send his orderly to collect it later. Did you sleep well, love?”
“Very well. I will miss you, but I am very comfortable here so don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself.”
“I will. I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you need me, I’m sure the major will send a message. Goodbye, love.”
He bent to kiss her, vaguely aware of the sound of horses coming up the carriage drive; an early arrival. There was a sudden stillness around him and Hugh turned, his arm about Roseen.
Four men had ridden in, a cavalry officer and three hussars. They were dismounting and looking about them, and Hugh saw the expression on the faces of the officers and men of the 110th who were about and understood. He turned to look at Major Paul van Daan.
Paul was slightly pale but looked very composed as the officer approached him. He was a captain, somewhat older than Paul, looking tight-lipped and uncomfortable.
“Major Paul van Daan?”
Hugh found that he was holding his breath and he was fairly sure that he was not the only one. Paul did not move or speak for a moment. Finally he said:
“Captain.”
The other man opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again and snapped to attention, saluting. Paul gave a faint smile and returned the salute.
“Thank you,” he said gently. “I’m rather guessing I know what this is about.”
“Yes, sir. I am sent to arrest you by the provost-marshal, under…”
“I am very relieved to learn that we actually have a provost-marshal at last, it should cut back on our troops looting the local population,” Paul said. His voice was very steady, although the expression in his eyes made Hugh look away. He was furious suddenly that this should have been allowed to happen to a man he was coming to like more and more.
Beside him, Roseen said:
“Oh no. They cannot, Hugh.”
“They can, love. Nothing we can do about it now.”
The arresting officer, who appeared to have been thrown by Paul’s comment, was gathering himself again. He looked more and more uncomfortable and Hugh did not blame him. Those members of the regiment close enough to hear and understand what was going on had moved closer as if by some unspoken order, standing behind their commanding officer, their expressions ranging from grim resignation to complete fury. None looked indifferent and Hugh wondered suddenly if he would receive the same unquestioning loyalty and support from his own crew. It was a sobering thought.
“You are under arrest, Major, on four charges. The first charge, that you did, on the afternoon of 25 August of this year, illegally board the frigate HMS Flight and did wilfully imprison the crew, going about their lawful duties a
nd did furthermore threaten the Boatswain, James Wilson, using language unbecoming an Officer.
“The second charge is that you did did wilfully and illegally usurp the authority of the Royal Navy aboard HMS Flight by directing the removal of lawfully pressed seamen from the said frigate.
“The third charge is that you did use intemperate and threatening language to a senior officer of the Royal Navy, Captain Hugh Kelly of HMS Iris, and than you did furthermore threaten to have the said Captain Hugh Kelly shot if he intervened in the removal of the sick men and did order Corporal Josiah Grogan and Private Daniel Carter to point rifles at the said Captain Kelly.”
“The fourth and final charge is that you did wilfully and knowingly disrespect the authority of the Royal Navy and its officers during the whole conduct of this matter by failing to report your concern about the Flight to the proper naval authorities.”
The captain lowered the paper and looked at Paul. “I am required to ask you, sir, to surrender your sword.”
The major hesitated. Then he nodded, not speaking, and unbuckled his sword belt. Hugh had not noticed the sword before; it was not the traditional army issue but an elaborate sheath which looked as though it might have come from the East somewhere.
“One moment, Captain.”
Hugh turned to see Sir Arthur Wellesley coming down the steps of the main door. He walked forward ignoring the flurry of respectful salutes, although Hugh had the strongest sense that he was very aware of them. He crossed the gravel circle in front of the mansion and stopped in front of Paul.
“That is an unusual sword, Major.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do I recall that it was given to you in India?”
“Yes, sir. My light company presented it to me after my first skirmish in command.”
“Will you allow me to take charge of it until I can give it back to you?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Paul handed over the sword and Hugh felt an enormous sense of relief. Wellesley turned to the cavalry officer and spoke quietly for a few minutes. The officer saluted smartly and returned to his horse. Wellesley turned and put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. Without speaking he led him into the house.
Around him, Hugh felt the men stir, as if woken from some spell, and move about their business again. There was little conversation and Hugh knew that just at this moment he did not belong here. He kissed Roseen and turned to survey the drive.
“Lieutenant Swanson.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m off, need to get back. May I leave my lady in your care?”
“Gladly, sir.”
“You don’t need me here right now, but when you’re able to speak to him, will you tell him I will see him at the court martial, if not before. I’ll speak for him and so will Miss Crellin if they’ll allow her to.”
“I will, sir. And thank you.”
Hugh mounted the fat piebald and set off towards Copenhagen without looking back. He was angry, understanding what had happened but feeling a huge sense of injustice and frustration that he had been unable to prevent it. He hoped Swanson would pass on his message and that it might give at least a small comfort to the young major who had looked, standing on the drive with his sword in his hands, like a man seeing the end of his world.
***
Time ran out for the citizens of Copenhagen on the evening of the second of September.
The news arrived on the Iris by messenger, the small boats rowing out from the flagship delivering orders to the various captains of the ships. Hugh read his in grim silence. He was conscious of a sense of relief that the Iris was not likely to be called upon to fire upon the city. After extensive and unsuccessful attempts to persuade General Peymann to yield and to give up the Danish fleet, a plan had been adopted which gave the land based artillery the work of battering the city into submission. Gambier would send in his bomb vessels to support the attack, but the warships would remain inactive, to be called into action only at need.
“Orders, sir?” Lieutenant Durrell said, and Hugh turned to give him a look.
“Orders are to remain here and do nothing, Mr Durrell. They’re letting the army massacre the innocents this week and I’m happy not to have the job. Stand them down, we’re not needed.”
“It is happening then, sir? The bombardment?”
“It is. Starting tonight. I am surprised you haven’t been apprised of the details by Sir Home Popham, Mr Durrell.”
Durrell’s face flushed and his lips tightened. Hugh did not respond, merely looked at him. After a moment his first lieutenant saluted and moved away. Hugh looked after him and then shook his head and turned back to survey the city.
His improving relationship with Durrell had disintegrated completely when he had realised that Durrell had been responsible for the removal of Roseen from the Iris. Durrell had apologised stiffly, assuring him that it had not been his intention to cause trouble. He had launched into one of his long-winded speeches about his respect and regard for her and Hugh had cut him short with unusual brutality and sent him about his business. He was furious, not only because of the consequences of Durrell’s careless talk but also because he objected to any of his junior officers sharing any information about the Iris. He might have been more understanding with one of the younger boys, but Durrell was his first officer and had a very good understanding of how politics and patronage worked. Hugh suspected that Durrell’s enthusiasm for the company of Sir Home Popham was another step on the ladder and he considered that Durrell had been disloyal for his own advantage.
As it grew dark, he stood at the rail of the Iris along with several of his other officers and heard the unmistakable sound of the first guns. Cathcart had completed his last batteries on the previous day and sent a final ultimatum to General Peymann. If it proved impossible to bombard the city into submission, Cathcart had made preparations to take it by storm. Admiral Gambier had provided a battalion of marines and seamen to assist in crossing the flooded ditches should it prove necessary. Hugh had sent a contingent upon request. Some of his marines were still tending the sick from the Flight. The remaining pressed men who were either recovering or had not had the illness had been brought aboard the Iris and sworn in as volunteers.
The British guns crashed out along the whole of Cathcart’s line facing the western ramparts of Copenhagen and continued for the next twelve hours through the night. The noise was almost unbearable even from the ships and there was no possibility of sleep. Gradually men came up onto deck and Hugh did not reprimand them. They stood in small groups and watched as Copenhagen burned.
The British were concentrating their fire on the northern part of the city, using the spires or towers of the churches as targets. As the bombardment went on through the night, fires could be seen springing up; one or two at first and then many more. Hugh stood thinking about the people in the city. Men, women and children, they must be terrified, scrambling for water to try to douse the fires, cowering in cellars with their hands over their ears, waiting for the shots to hit their house, their church, their business.
Hugh was glad that Roseen was not close enough to see it, although he thought that she would be able to hear the guns clearly and possibly, from a top window, to see the flashes lighting up the night sky.
“Our bomb vessels are being driven back, sir,” Lieutenant Greene said, beside him. “Their gunboats are doing a good job.”
Hugh had been watching it; easier to see now that fires were providing a garish light. “Good,” he said briefly. “Nice to know they’re putting up a fight. How long do you think they’ll leave it and how many innocent people will they lose before they realise they should have given in to start with?”
“They’re a proud nation, sir.”
“I come from a proud nation myself, Mr Greene, and we’ve been fucked by the English more times than I can tell you. The secret is to know when you’re beaten and then come back once they’re gone. Where’s Mr Durrell?”
“
Below, sir, in his cabin. He said he didn’t want to see it.”
Hugh snorted. “Well he won’t be sleeping much with this noise. Perhaps he’s studying semaphore to impress Sir Home Popham when they next get together for a chat.”
Greene did not reply and Hugh said nothing more. He knew that at some point he was going to have to deal with his enormous resentment of his first lieutenant if they were going to repair their working relationship. If it could not be done, it might be better to see if he could arrange a transfer to another ship for Durrell. Trust between a captain and his first lieutenant was crucial, particularly in battle and they could not go on like this.
At dawn the guns fell silent. As the sun rose over Copenhagen, Hugh came up onto deck to survey the battered city. The fires had been extinguished although a lazy plume of black smoke rose from what he suspected had once been a church, its tower now a jagged scar across the lightening sky.
“Looks like the citizens have had enough,” Greene commented. Hugh followed his pointing hand and could see them in the distance, streaming over the two bridges from the devastated northern quarter towards Christianshaven and on to the open flat plains of Amager. There were men, women and children, many of them burdened down with their most valuable possessions. Some had handcarts piled high with furnishings and boxes. One or two even had horse or mule drawn carts.
A boy was driving a small flock of sheep. He looked young although even through his telescope, Hugh could not see him clearly. Other people were leading cows or goats. They moved steadily, heads bowed, a city fleeing in terror. Hugh watched silently.
“Today’s log, sir.”
The precise tones of his first lieutenant made Hugh turn. Durrell saluted, holding out the log and Hugh took it with a nod. Durrell saluted again and moved away. On impulse, Hugh said:
“Did you get any sleep?”
Durrell stopped and turned. “I did not, sir. I think it is extremely unlikely that any man in this fleet slept last night.”