‘You know that we cannot do that. Do you think for a moment that the French Emperor would tolerate such meek behaviour? No, he would punish Denmark severely.’ General Peymann smiled bitterly. ‘So it seems that my people are damned either way.’
It was true, Arthur reflected sadly. There was no easy choice for the Danes.
General Peymann stiffened his back and continued. ‘Besides, what gives your government the right to demand possession of our warships?’
‘Only the right of self-preservation. Britain cannot let those ships fall into French hands.You would do the same in our position.’
‘Perhaps,’ Peymann conceded. ‘And what about you, General Wellesley? If our positions were reversed, would you surrender your capital city and your warships?’
Arthur thought for a moment and shrugged.‘I doubt it. But we must deal with the present realities, sir. Will you surrender?’
‘No.’
‘Then there is nothing more to say.’
Peymann shrugged. ‘I bid you farewell.’
The Danish commander tugged on his reins and turned his mount away. Arthur glanced at Schmeiler and thought quickly.There was still a chance that General Peymann might yet be persuaded to see sense. He reached over and touched Schmeiler’s arm.
‘I release you from your parole.’
Schmeiler looked at him in surprise. ‘You release me? Why?’
‘There is no point in keeping you prisoner any longer. It serves no purpose. You are free. I hope that you live through what is to come.’ Arthur offered the Dane his hand and Schmeiler shook it warmly before Arthur turned his mount away and spurred it back towards the British lines, hurriedly followed by the ensign still carrying the flag of truce.
That night the British fleet sailed within range of the city and began to bombard Copenhagen.Arthur watched from one of the British outposts close to the coast. Scores of flashes illuminated the sides of the warships as their solid shot arced across the harbour and pounded the buildings of the Danish capital. Fire was returned from the citadel that guarded the harbour until the guns there were silenced, and for the rest of the night the ships of the Royal Navy continued to pour a devastating barrage of shot on the Danes.
From the landward side the siege guns added their weight, pounding the defences before them, while the rockets shrieked out from their launchers, inscribing a flaring parabola across the night sky before they fell inside the city and exploded with bright flashes that brought cheers from the ranks of the excited British soldiers who had gathered to watch the spectacle. Some fires began to start where the rockets had landed and wavering orange flames steadily spread across expanses of the city as the night drew on. Only as the first glimmer of dawn appeared did the fire begin to slacken as the British warships made sail and withdrew out of range of the remaining Danish guns. As the light strengthened and Arthur trained his spyglass on the city his heart sank at the sight of the shattered roofs and the clouds of smoke billowing up from the fires that still raged.
The bombardment continued for the following two nights, increasing in intensity. Once the initial exuberance of the first night had worn off the redcoats watched the terrible pounding in awed silence, their faces dimly lit by the distant glow of flames and the sudden flare of explosions as they witnessed the death of a great city. Then, on the morning after the terrible destruction of the third night, General Peymann sent a message to Lord Cathcart offering to surrender both Copenhagen and the fleet. A treaty was signed two days later and the garrison laid down its arms and opened the city to the victors.
When Arthur inspected the town he was horrified to see the damage that had been inflicted.Wide stretches of ground were little more than charred ruins and most buildings had been damaged by round shot that had carried away chimneys, smashed through roofs and walls and left the streets littered with debris. Then there were the bodies. In places they had been laid out neatly and covered with blankets. There had been little time to bury them as the citizens had struggled to fight the fires and find shelter for themselves and their families. But there were still hundreds sprawled in the street or buried in the ruins and the air was thick with the sickly sweet smell of corpses rotting in the heat of the late summer.
By the terms of the treaty the Danes gave up their fleet, together with those naval stores and supplies that had survived the bombardment. In return Britain agreed to quit Copenhagen as soon as the troops could be embarked. Over the following days the heavy guns were carefully loaded back on board their transports and then the infantry battalions followed suit. Arthur’s brigade was the last to go aboard the final squadron of warships that lay at anchor in the harbour. He had received reports that a French corps was on the march towards Copenhagen and the leading elements were already little more than a day’s march from the city.While the other battalions waited on the quay to be rowed out to the warships Arthur took command of the rearguard and positioned them in a cordon around the dock area.
The streets were eerily silent as the Danish inhabitants hid away, bolting their doors and shuttering their windows before retreating further inside to pray for their deliverance. Arthur stood in the tower of the customs house resting his telescope on the back of a chair as he fixed his attention on a French cavalry patrol that had appeared on a low rise inland that overlooked the capital. Well, let them look, he mused to himself. They were already too late. The Danish fleet had weighed anchor and was already on its way across the North Sea to Britain. Eighteen ships of the line together with twelve frigates. Those ships undergoing repairs in the dry docks had been fired a few days earlier and only the skeletal remains of their great timbers remained.
He turned at the sound of footsteps and saw General Stewart climbing into the tower behind him.
‘How is the loading proceeding?’
‘Almost done with the first battalion, sir.’ Stewart saluted.‘The second should be aboard within an hour or so.Then it’s just the rearguard.’
‘Very well. I shall be glad when we have quit this place.’
Stewart nodded.‘I am sure that some in Britain will say that this was not our finest hour.’
‘That is true. However, we must let them say what they like as long as they leave the soldiering to us.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right then, time to be off.’ Arthur took a last look at the enemy cavalry scouts, and was about to collapse his spyglass when a new movement caught his eye. Just to one side of the enemy horsemen the head of a column of infantry had appeared and was already pouring down the far slope and marching towards Copenhagen as swiftly as they could. Arthur waited a moment longer so that he could ascertain their strength. When the first three battalions had crossed over the rise he snapped his glass shut and stood up stiffly. ‘We have company.’
Stewart scanned the horizon, saw what Arthur had seen and nodded. ‘They’ll reach the city within the hour.’
‘Yes,’ Arthur responded dully. ‘Best prepare for them. Have the rearguard occupy the buildings along the waterfront.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Stewart saluted and disappeared back down the stairs.Arthur stared at the French for a few minutes longer, gauging the pace of their advance.They were making good time and he felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realised they would reach the quay well before the last men of the brigade could quit the city.
‘This is going to take some careful timing,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Very careful timing.’
Down on the quayside, the last companies of the other battalions were being herded aboard the launches as Arthur emerged from the customs house. He marched along the quay making sure that his men were well placed to guard the approaches to the embarkation area.Time seemed to crawl as the boats rowed steadily to and fro between the ships and the waiting soldiers, and Arthur tried not to let himself fret at the time it took his men to climb aboard and take their seats on the thwarts before each small vessel was fended away and the oars dipped into the calm sea to power the boat to the
waiting warships.
Then at last he heard the drums of the approaching French soldiers and almost at once the crackle of musketry as they ran into the first of the British outposts.The sound quickly increased in intensity as General Stewart came striding up to join him.
‘Now we’re in for it, sir.’
‘Yes, quite,’ Arthur replied absently as he tried to gauge the direction of the main thrust of the enemy. ‘Seems to be heaviest towards the left flank. As soon as the next boat reaches the quay pull back one company at a time from our right and have them embark as swiftly as possible. Have the Grenadier Company form up on the quay.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As the firing continued to the left, the battalion’s line began to shorten from the right as one company at a time withdrew and trotted along the quay and down the stone steps to the waiting boats. Arthur was glad to see that one of the warship captains had taken the initiative of placing two launches armed with carronades in the bows to cover the evacuation of the last troops. When there were only two companies left ashore, Arthur had one form up around the steps and then sent a runner to the flank company still holding the houses that covered the approaches to the quayside to order them to fall back. A short time later a handful of redcoats came trotting into sight, then some more, and finally the stragglers and wounded, with several men fighting a rearguard action as they fired and then retreated to new cover.
Arthur filled his lungs and called out calmly, ‘Grenadier Company! Stand to!’
The men in front of the steps dressed their line and stood waiting with muskets grounded as their comrades from the Light Company hurried towards them. The captain, breathing heavily, drew up in front of Arthur and saluted.
‘Enemy’s going to be on us any moment, sir. I also saw some parties making off down side streets to try to outflank us.’ He turned and gestured towards the buildings crowding the edge of the quayside. Just then Arthur caught sight of a figure in one of the narrow alleys leading into the dock quarter. An instant later there was a flash, a puff and a crack and a musket ball whirred overhead.
‘Very well, Captain. Get your men aboard the launches.’
The officer saluted and stood by the top of the stairs as he urged his men on. As the wounded were helped into the first boat and the rearguard turned and trotted to catch up with the rest of the company, the head of the French column swarmed out on to the quay, a tricolour swirling through the air above their shakos and glinting bayonets. At the same time, more enemy soldiers were emerging from the alleys, cheering as they caught sight of the small band of redcoats remaining to face them.
‘Time for you to go, Stewart,’ Arthur said quietly.
‘Aye.’ Stewart nodded. ‘Mind you follow on as soon as you can, sir.’
‘I will.’ Arthur patted him on the back and then turned to face the approaching enemy. ‘Grenadier Company, make ready to fire!’
Primed and cocked, the muskets came up and were levelled towards the leading Frenchmen, who drew up at sight of the line of muzzles facing them.
‘Fire!’
There was a deafening crash as the volley went off, sending a blast of deadly lead shot through the leading ranks of the French. As the gentle breeze swiftly cleared the smoke Arthur saw that a dozen or more of the enemy were down and it took a moment before those behind pressed on, over the bodies of the dead and wounded. A man close to Arthur suddenly doubled up with a deep grunt and collapsed on to the ground, kicked once and died. Looking round, Arthur saw that those enemy soldiers who had managed to find other routes to the quay were firing into the Grenadier Company from the shelter of the nearest alleyways.
‘Fire at will!’ he ordered, then glanced round and saw that two launches were approaching the stone steps below the quay. He strode over to the company sergeant and grasped his arm. ‘Get the wounded into those boats as soon as they are alongside.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The French had halted a short distance away and both sides were firing freely at each other, and Arthur had to steel himself not to react to the whirr of balls flying past, and the thuds as they struck his men. The wounded were carried down to the first boat and then the sergeant began to pluck men out of the line and send them down until the first boat was full and it pulled off, heading back to the nearest warship. As the second boat came up to the steps Arthur bellowed the order to cease fire.
‘Quick as you can, lads! Into the boat!’
Together with the last men of the grenadier company, Arthur clambered down the steps and stepped into the launch, half falling on to one of the thwarts.The company sergeant came last and the seamen thrust the launch away and began to row.With a triumphant shout the French surged forward and Arthur realised that he and the others in the boat would be easy targets from the top of the quay.
‘Row for your lives!’ the midshipman, little more than a boy, in the stern of the launch cried out in a high-pitched voice.
The enemy began to appear along the quay and a shout went up at the sight of the launch. As the first muskets were raised in his direction Arthur felt utterly vulnerable and afraid, yet forced himself to sit quite still and not flinch. There was nothing he could do. Only providence could save him now.
There was a sudden roar from one side, and then the other, and a hail of grapeshot swept the top of the quay clear of enemy soldiers. Startled, Arthur turned and saw that the launches on the flanks had fired their carronades, and were already reloading as the men on the oars began to stroke the vessels away from the quay. One of the seamen in Arthur’s boat let out a cheer.
‘Shut your bloody mouth!’ the midshipman shouted. ‘Keep rowing!’
For a moment there was no further sign of the French soldiers, and then the more stout-hearted of them showed themselves along the quay again and took aim on the retreating boats. Shots slapped into the water close by, sending up narrow spouts of silver into the salty air. But the range was already long and within a minute the lusty strokes of the men at the oars had carried the launch to safety. Arthur felt the tension and fear begin to drain from his body as he turned to stare back towards Copenhagen and the tricolour flag waving over the heads of the French soldiers as they hurled insults after their enemy.
Even though the operation had been a success and the Danish fleet was on its way to Britain, he could not help feeling a sense of failure. Once again a British army had secured a small foothold on the continent, only to have to give it up. As long as that remained the pattern of the conflict, Britain would never defeat Bonaparte. As he stared at the enemy flag, swaying defiantly from side to side, Arthur made a resolution. The instant he returned to London he would do whatever he could to persuade the government to commit itself to a full-blooded campaign on the continent. It was only through such action that Britain could begin to topple the edifice of Bonaparte’s vast empire.
Chapter 38
Napoleon
Paris, December 1807
The Emperor sat at his desk, hands folded together and supporting his chin as he stared into the middle distance. It was the day after Christmas, yet he felt not the slightest inclination to share the festive mood of the rest of his household and the people of Paris. Before him, on the desk, lay the report from General Junot, detailing his operation in Portugal. Despite marching across Spain and through Portugal with commendable speed, Junot’s corps had captured Lisbon only to discover that the royal family, the government and the warships of the Portuguese navy had fled to their colonies in Brazil just two days before. They had quit the capital so swiftly that they had abandoned on the quayside scores of wagons carrying chests of gold and silver, works of art, linen, dinner services and fine furnishings from the palace. None of which compensated for the loss of the fine ships of the Portuguese navy, Napoleon reflected ruefully.
Now that he had lost the chance of seizing both the Danish and the Portuguese fleets there was no chance of redressing the imbalance in naval power that had existed between France and Britain since the disaste
r at Cape Trafalgar. The only hope of defeating Britain now lay in the full implementation of the closure of European ports to British trade and British vessels.
Napoleon let out an explosive, exasperated sigh. He rose abruptly to his feet and crossed over to the long windows overlooking the courtyard of the Tuileries and the open square beyond. A thin veil of snow had descended on Paris the night before and much of it had been trampled into the cobblestones during the morning so that the streets looked peculiarly grimy compared to the gleaming white mantles that covered the roofs of the capital. Overhead the sky was filled with thick grey clouds that wholly obscured the sun and threatened further snow. Down in the square a large crowd of street urchins were engaged in a snowball fight and their shouts and shrill cries of laughter carried faintly through the glass as Napoleon gazed down. He felt a brief twinge of envy as he watched them.
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