Stewart made his way over to Arthur and nodded to the dunes rising up ahead of them. ‘Shall I post some pickets up there, sir?’
‘Yes, of course. See to it, please.’
Stewart took the nearest ten men of the Light Company and trotted away across the sand. Arthur watched him with a thoughtful look. He had been about to order the pickets forward himself and now Stewart would no doubt assume he had scored a point over his superior. At some point the man was going to have to be firmly reminded who was in charge. But there was no time for that now. Arthur turned towards the gap in the dunes, a quarter of a mile further along the beach, where the Danish horsemen had appeared earlier. He called the captain of the Light Company over.
‘Sir?’
‘See that gap?’
The captain followed the direction that Arthur pointed out. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Take the rest of your company over there and form them in line across it. They are not to fire on any Danish soldiers they may encounter. If we can avoid a confrontation we must.’
‘And if they fire on us, sir?’
‘Make every attempt to parley, first. If they are still not amenable to persuasion you may fire on them. Now off you go.’
As the captain led his men down the beach at the double Arthur glanced back towards the ships. The first boats were still rowing back and it would be at least half an hour before they returned. More boats were putting out from the other ships to help convey the rest of the brigade ashore, but Arthur estimated it would be some hours yet before his command was safely landed. He turned and strode up the beach to join Stewart and the pickets, spread out along the dunes.
From the top of the highest dune close to the beach there was a clear view over the surrounding landscape.The dunes continued inland for a few hundred paces before giving way to pastureland, where the tiny figures of cows and sheep dotted the fields. A vague haze and the spires Arthur had seen earlier indicated the direction of Copenhagen.
‘Any signs of activity?’
‘No, sir,’ Stewart replied. ‘But we can be sure the men we saw will have made their report by now. I’d guess we will have some company before too long.’
Arthur nodded. ‘It would seem likely. Tell the pickets to keep their eyes open. I’m going to join the Light Company. Send a runner the moment you sight anything.’
‘Yes, sir.’
They exchanged a brief salute before Arthur turned away and strode off through the dunes towards the men blocking the opening to the beach. The air was still and hot and insects buzzed drowsily amid the tufts of grass that clung to the sandy soil. He removed his cocked hat and mopped his brow, puffing his cheeks out as the heat became decidedly uncomfortable. Even so, he infinitely preferred to fight in such fine weather rather than the bitter freezing cold he had experienced the last time he had fought on the continent. That had been in the Low Countries early in the war, when a terrible winter and incompetence had cost the British army dear and convinced Arthur that he would always look to the welfare of his men first, wherever and whenever he was called upon to fight.
Once Arthur’s brigade had secured the beach, the rest of Lord Cathcart’s army began to land, and as night fell the dunes were illuminated by hundreds of campfires built from the stunted trees that grew on the fringes of the sand. Scores of cattle and sheep had been taken from the nearest farms and slaughtered, and now were roasting over the fires. Arthur was angry over such looting, knowing full well how it would be bitterly resented by the locals and make the task of securing the Danish fleet that much more difficult. But Lord Cathcart was unmoved by his protests.
‘Come now, Sir Arthur, we are here to steal a fleet!’The commander of the British army smiled as he carved a large chunk of meat from his steak. He was entertaining his senior officers in his command tent, erected in the shelter of the dunes. It had proved a poor spot to choose as the air was thick with midges.‘I think the odd bit of beef and mutton along the way will hardly matter.’
‘Precisely, sir,’ Arthur’s immediate senior, David Baird, added. ‘Spoils of war and all that.’ The conqueror of Seringapatam turned to Arthur and wagged a finger. ‘Ah, but I was forgetting. Seems you still harbour the same scruples concerning the local people as you did back in India.’
Arthur ignored the goading and kept his attention focused on Lord Cathcart. ‘It makes little sense to antagonise the local people if we can avoid it, sir. We are a small enough force as it is, and it would be better if we maintained good relations with the people whose lands we are obliged to pass through. It is my conviction that it always pays dividends in the long run.’
‘And it costs a small fortune to pay for local produce in the short term,’ Cathcart countered. ‘Besides, it is not as if the practice of living off the land is not without precedent.Why, Napoleon’s soldiers have all but turned it into a way of life.’
‘To their detriment, sir. Now farmers and landowners conceal their stock and grain stores at the first sign of the advance of a French army. With the result that the French troops are obliged to use force to discover the location of concealed supplies, which in turn promotes a bitter hatred and thirst for revenge amongst those whose lands they pass through. In the end they will be obliged to deploy as many men to protect their communications as they have available to fight the main force of their enemy.’ Arthur shook his head. ‘I would rather not burden the British army, small as it is, with such concerns if I could avoid it.’
Lord Cathcart thought about it for a moment, as he chewed on another large piece of steak, and then nodded.‘It’s a fair point,Wellesley. But what would you have me do? Hang those who purloin the odd specimen of livestock?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Arthur replied seriously. ‘I would. The lesson would be learned soon enough.’
‘Good God, man,’ Baird protested. ‘You would value an enemy pig or a sheep above the life of a British soldier?’
‘No. I would value the safety of a man’s comrades over the life of one looter. I would value the reputation of a British army over the needs of an individual soldier.That is all.’
Baird shook his head. ‘Mad. Quite mad,’ he muttered.
As they neared the city Arthur could see that the inhabitants had made some efforts to defend themselves. A ring of simple earthworks surrounded the approaches to Copenhagen and the muzzles of cannon could be seen protruding from the embrasures of some formidable-looking redoubts. In the distance, towering above the buildings of the city, were the masts of the Danish fleet, the prize the army had been sent to seize.
There was no question of the brigade’s leading an immediate attack and Arthur ordered his men to form an extended line around the earthworks to keep watch on the enemy until Lord Cathcart and the main body of the British army arrived, with the siege train that had been landed to batter the Danes’ defences.
As Cathcart and his staff came trotting up the turnpike Arthur turned his horse and saluted.
‘What’s this, Wellesley?’ Cathcart frowned. ‘Why have we halted?’
Arthur indicated the earthworks. Flags were fluttering above each one, and the heads and shoulders of their defenders were clearly visible as they watched Arthur’s brigade deploy. ‘The Danes have been preparing for us, sir. It seems that we won’t be permitted to simply walk in and seize their fleet. I had hoped that they would see reason.’
‘Well, no one really imagined they would simply roll over for us.’ Cathcart surveyed the defences briefly. ‘Very well, gentlemen, it seems we are in for a short siege.’ He turned to his aide and dictated a brief order. ‘The army will disperse around the city and form a cordon.The engineers are to begin constructing siege batteries and approach trenches at once.Then we’ll see how long it takes them to come to their senses and offer their terms for surrender.’
As the last days of August came to an end the small British army laboured under the hot sun digging a series of trenches that zigzagged across the fields towards the enemy redoubts. By night, another relay of men
went forward to work on the batteries that were to blast the city’s defences to pieces before bombarding Copenhagen itself in an effort to compel surrender. If the Danes continued to resist there would be no alternative to an assault, which would be bloody and would spare neither the Danish militia nor the civilians of the city. There was no possibility of Danish reinforcements arriving by sea, or of escape by the same means, since the warships of the Royal Navy lay anchored off the approaches to the capital, beyond the range of the guns in the forts that guarded the harbour.
Arthur watched the preparations for the siege with a growing sense of unease. The work was proceeding too slowly, to his mind, yet Lord Cathcart seemed content with the present pace and spent much of his time entertaining his officers in his command tent, which was dominated by a long dining table that had been brought ashore in his personal baggage train, together with an ample supply of wines, brandy and fine foods.
Every evening the senior officers dined with their commander, waited on by half a dozen footmen who had accompanied Lord Cathcart from Britain. And outside the sounds of picks and shovels came faintly from the direction of the siege works, together with the occasional shouted order or dull thud of a musket being discharged as the nervous sentries of both sides fired at shadows.
One night, just over a week after the British army had arrived before the city, Arthur was the last to arrive at the usual evening gathering.
‘Wellesley!’ Cathcart shouted a greeting from the head of the table. ‘Sit yourself down, man! What kept you?’
‘My apologies, sir, but I had to discipline one of my corporals for looting.’
‘Looting?’ Cathcart chuckled. ‘Hope you didn’t have the man shot! Eh?’
‘No, sir. He is to be broken back to the ranks and given the lash at dawn.’
‘Ah, well, I’m sure it will teach him a lesson,’ Cathcart concluded dismissively. ‘Anyway, eat up. My steward has managed to prepare a fine saddle of mutton, though I fancy it will have gone cold by now.’
Arthur helped himself to a few cuts of meat from the platter offered to him by one of the footmen. Major Simms, commander of the small contingent of engineers attached to the expeditionary force, was sitting opposite and Arthur leaned towards him. ‘What news, Simms? How long before the batteries are completed?’
‘Two more days, sir. Three at the most.’
Arthur nodded and was about to ask another question when General Baird, two places further along from Simms, interrupted. ‘What’s the matter, Wellesley? The Danes aren’t going anywhere. We have ’em bottled up like pickled onions.We can take as much time as necessary.’
‘I’d like to think so,’ Arthur replied evenly,‘but by now the whole of Denmark will know that we are here, not to mention the French. We need to finish the business before they can react.’
‘Pah!’ Baird shook his head. ‘You fuss so, Wellesley. But then you always did.’
Before Arthur could reply a young lieutenant entered the tent, breathless. He strode up to Lord Cathcart and leaned down to talk softly to the commander.
‘There’s trouble,’ Simms said quietly.
Lord Cathcart nodded to the lieutenant and waved him aside before tapping his wine glass with the edge of his knife.
‘Quiet, gentlemen! I pray you, be quiet.’
Once all had fallen silent and were looking in his direction Cathcart lowered his knife and cleared his throat. ‘One of our cavalry patrols has spotted a column of Danish soldiers marching on Copenhagen, no more than twenty miles away.’
‘What is their strength?’ asked Baird.
‘At least a division.’
Not enough to have any hope of defeating Cathcart’s force, Arthur decided, but if they managed to break through to Copenhagen it would make any assault on the city a much greater risk.
‘They must be halted,’ said Cathcart. ‘Halted, or, better still, driven off. But we must move swiftly.’
Before any of the other officers could speak, Arthur rose to his feet. ‘My men march as fast as any men in the army, my lord. Let me deal with the Danes.’
Cathcart considered the offer. ‘I admit your men are fine soldiers, Wellesley, but setting a brigade against a division? Those are not good odds.’
‘I beg to disagree, sir. A brigade of good British soldiers is worth a division in any foreign army.’
Cathcart grinned. ‘Well said, sir! Well said. Then you may put your confidence to the test.Take your brigade and drive those rascals before you.’
‘Thank you, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I must rouse my men. We’ll march within the hour.’
Chapter 36
‘What town is that?’ Arthur asked, nodding across the fields towards the modest-looking settlement two miles away. Even at this distance he could see the figures of a line of men well in advance of the buildings. Skirmishers most likely, he decided. Beyond them scores of men were busy barricading the streets that led into the town.The Danes must have been alerted to the approaching column of redcoats at first light and had used the intervening hours to prepare to make their stand.
His question was greeted with silence by his staff officers and Arthur looked round with an irritated expression. ‘Well?’
General Stewart came to their rescue. ‘It’s called Køge, sir.’
‘Køge.’ Arthur nodded. ‘Well, it seems that the Danes have reached the place before us and dug themselves in. That could be a promising sign.’>
‘Promising?’ Stewart cocked an eyebrow. ‘How is that, sir?’
‘If the Danes have stopped and are setting up defences, that means they are not confident of advancing any further, not without reinforcements. So we have a moral advantage over them already, and I intend to exploit that to the full.’
‘You will attack then, sir?’
‘Of course.’ Arthur fished for his fob watch and glanced down. ‘Just after eleven. Plenty of time to clear them out.’
‘Good! I’ll give orders for the brigade to deploy. Two battalions in the front line and the third in reserve,’ Stewart announced. ‘Better send our guns forward to soften them up first. Then a rapid advance while they’re still reeling should do the trick.’
Arthur listened to his subordinate’s plan with a growing sense of irritation. Before Stewart could elaborate Arthur raised a hand to still his tongue and smiled genially. ‘Come, come, General Stewart, it is my turn to command.’
‘What?’ Stewart looked puzzled for an instant before he realised he had overstepped the mark and was being put back in his place. He stiffened his back and nodded.‘Yes, sir. Of course.What are your orders?’
‘That’s better. Now then, I’ll have the brigade formed up, as you suggest. No closer than a mile to the town. No sense in exposing the men to any cannon fire unnecessarily.’ Arthur smiled at Stewart. ‘Be so good as to see to it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Stewart saluted and turned his mount away to ride back down the column and pass the orders on to the battalion. Arthur concentrated his attention on Køge once again. If there really was a division there, and they had entrenched themselves effectively, it would present a sizeable challenge for his brigade to overcome.They would be outnumbered at least two to one, and would have the further disadvantage of being forced to attack regular troops in prepared defences. Normally, it would be rash to even contemplate such an action, Arthur mused. But he had meant what he had said to Cathcart. His men were more than a match for the Danes. Provided they were manoeuvred and fought well, they should win the day.
As the British battalions marched up the road and then turned off it to deploy into line, Arthur and his staff rode ahead until they reined in just outside the range of the Danish skirmishers. It occurred to Arthur that he had not once referred to them as the enemy. The only enemy that mattered was the French, the common enemy of all the nations of Europe, if they but realised it.This conflict with the Danes was a matter of tragic necessity. Britain could not afford to let the Danish fleet fall into Bonaparte’s hands, just
as the Danes could not let their national pride be shamed by submitting to British demands. Even so, Arthur decided, there might still be a chance to avoid bloodshed. He turned to his staff.
‘Wait here. I will return shortly.’
Spurring his horse forward, he trotted along the road towards Køge, making directly towards a small party of Danish soldiers spread across the turnpike. They advanced their muskets and eyed him warily as Arthur approached. He slowed his mount and halted no more than ten paces away from them, and saluted.
‘Good day. Is there any man amongst you who speaks English?’
There was a pause before a sergeant nodded. ‘A little.’
‘I am Major-General Wellesley and I have a message for your commander. Would you be kind enough to ask him to speak to me? I will wait here for his reply. Do you understand all that?’
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