Parker could see the northern end of the line more clearly. Frigates engaged with prepared positions presaged disaster, while his three battleships were clearly going to be unable to relieve Riou as they were still too far off.
‘Pusillanimous Parker’s lost his bloody nerve, eh?’ said Rogers levelling a glass alongside Drinkwater.
‘I think,’ said Drinkwater, ‘he’s giving Nelson the chance to get out while he may. But I think he little appreciates what bloody chaos there will be if Nelson tries to disengage at this juncture . . .’
‘Well Nelson ain’t moving!’ Rogers nodded across at Elephant.
‘No.’ Drinkwater paused. ‘Tell Matchett to veer that cable again, Sam . . . Mr Tumilty! Re-engage!’ A cheer went along Virago’s deck and the next instant her waist filled with smoke and noise as the mortars roared.
‘ “Flag to Virago, Number 214, for a “Lieutenant to report on board the Admiral,” sir,’ said Quilhampton diligently.
‘Very well, pass word to Lieutenant Rogers, Mr Q.’ Quilhampton went in search of the first lieutenant who had disappeared off the poop. Astern of them Explosion hauled down Number 39.
It was twenty minutes before Rogers returned. Rogers was elated.
‘By God, sir, you should see it from over there, Nelson himself claims it’s the hottest fire he’s ever been under and the Danes are refusing to surrender. They’re striking, then firing on the boats sent to take ’em . . .’
‘What did the admiral want?’ cut in Drinkwater.
‘Oh, he remarked that Virago’s shells were well directed and could we drop some into the Trekroner Forts.’
‘Mr Tumilty!’ Drinkwater shrieked through the din. He beckoned the Irishman onto the poop. ‘His lordship wants us to direct our fire at the Trekroner Forts.’
Tumilty’s eyes lit up. ‘Very good. I’ll switch the ten-inch to firing one pound shot, that’ll shake the eejits if they haven’t got casemates over there.’
Tumilty took ten minutes and four careful shots to get the range. The Trekroner Forts were at extreme range and the increased charge of twice the amount of powder used to reach the arsenal made Virago shake to her keel.
The one-pound shot arrived in boxes, and stockingette bags of them were lifted into the forward mortar, one hundred to a shot. Drinkwater found the trajectory of these easier to follow than the carcases as they spread slightly in flight.
For half an hour Virago kept up this bombardment until Quilhampton reported a flag of truce flying at Elephant’s masthead. All along both lines the fire began to slacken and an air of uncertainty spread over the fleet.
Looking northwards Drinkwater saw Amazon leading the frigate squadron towards Parker’s anchored ships and rightly concluded that Riou, unable to see Nelson’s signal for close action, had obeyed Parker’s order to withdraw. It was only later that he learnt Riou had been cut in two by a round shot an instant after giving the order.
Desultory firing still rippled up and down the line as observers saw boats of both nations clustered round Elephant flying flags of truce. As the sun westered it appeared some armistice had been concluded, for Nelson made the signal to his ships to make sail. A lieutenant was pulled across to the line of bomb vessels to order them to move nearer the Trekroner Forts and remain until the admiral sent them further orders.
‘That will bring the whole city in range,’ grinned the smoke-grirned Tumilty.
‘I think, gentlemen,’ said Drinkwater shutting the Dollond glass with a snap, ‘that we are to be the ace of trumps!’
Chapter Nineteen 2-9 April 1801
Ace of Trumps
‘Oh, my God!’ Drinkwater peered down into the boat alongside Virago. By the lantern light he could see the body of Easton lying inert in the stern sheets.
‘Where’s the other boat? Mr Quilhampton’s boat,’ he demanded, suddenly, terribly anxious.
‘Here sir,’ the familiar voice called as the cutter rounded the stern. There were wounded men in her too.
‘What the devil happened?’
‘Elephant ordered us to carry out a cable, sir, and then, when we had done that, Captain Foley directed us to secure one of the Danish prizes . . .’
‘Foley?’
‘Yes, sir. Lord Nelson returned to St George when Elephant grounded trying to get away to the north . . .’
‘Go on . . .’
‘Well sir, we approached the prize about two o’clock and the bastards opened fire on us . . .’
Drinkwater turned away from the rail to find Rogers looming out of the darkness.
‘Get those men out, Mr Rogers, and then take a fresh crew and get over to the Monarch.’
‘The Monarch, sir?’
‘I sent Lettsom over there earlier tonight, she was in want of a surgeon.’
‘Bloody hell.’
Drinkwater did what he could while he waited for the surgeon’s arrival. It was little enough but it occupied the night and he emerged aching into the frozen dawn. It was calm and a light mist lay over the King’s Deep.
The hours of darkness had been a shambles. After the exertions of the previous nights and the day of the battle, Drinkwater was grey with exhaustion. The British ships had not extricated themselves from the battle without difficulty. In addition to Elephant, Defiance had gone aground. Monarch, which had been badly damaged in the action and suffered fearful loss of life, had become unmanageable and run inshore only to collide with Ganges, run aground and come under the renewed fire of the Danes. Fortuitously the impact of Ganges drove Monarch off the mud and both ships got away in the growing night. One of the Danish ships had exploded with a fearful concussion and the air was still filled with the smell of burning.
Drinkwater had worked his own ship across the King’s Deep during the evening, answering Elephant’s signal for a boat to attend her cables and Monarch’s for a surgeon. Virago was now anchored closer to the city, commanding the Trekroner Forts with her still-warm mortars and in company with Explosion, Terror and Discovery.
A rising sun began to consume the mist revealing that the majority of the British fleet had joined Sir Hyde Parker at the north end of the Middle Ground. Lettsom returned with Rogers, whose boat’s crew had worked like demons. To the south Bellona and Russell had gone, the former by picking up Isis’s cable and hauling herself off. Désirée, too, seemed to have got off. Nearer them Defiance was still fast, but by the time Drinkwater sent the hands to breakfast she too was under way.
Shutting the magazines and exhorting his officers to use the utmost caution bearing in mind the weary condition of the men, Drinkwater had the galley range fired up and all enjoyed a steaming burgoo. Drinkwater was unable to rest and kept the deck. The excitement and exertions of the last hours had driven him beyond sleep and, though he knew reaction must come, for the moment he paced his poop.
The Danish line presented a spectacle that he would never forget. From his position during the battle Drinkwater’s view had been obscured by smoke. He had been able to see only the unengaged sides of the British ships and had formed no very reliable opinion of the effects of the gunfire. But now he was able to see the effect of the cannonade on the Danish vessels.
The sides of many of the blockships and hulks were completely battered in, with huge gaps in their planking. Many were out of position, driven inshore onto the flats off Amager. Some still flew the Danish flag. Looking at the respective appearance of the two protagonists, the shattered Danish line to the west, the British battleships licking their wounds to the north east, Drinkwater concluded there seemed little to choose between them. Possession of the field seemed to be in the hands of the Danes, since no landing of the troops had taken place; no storming of the Trekroner from the flat boats had occurred.
And then his tired mind remembered his own words of the previous night. Here they were, the line of little bomb vessels, the tubby Cinderellas of the fleet, holding the field for the honour of Great Britain and turning a drawn battle into victory.
‘Sir, bo
at approaching, and I believe his lordship’s in it!’
‘What’s that?’ Drinkwater woke abruptly as Quilhampton’s bandaged head appeared round the door. He stretched. His head, his legs and above all his mangled arm ached intolerably. He could not have slept above half an hour.
‘What did you say? Lord Nelson?’
‘Yes sir . . .’
Drinkwater dragged himself on deck to see the admiral’s barge approaching Explosion. It passed down the line of bomb vessels. The little admiral wore his incongruous check overcoat and sat next to the taller Hardy. The Viragos lined the rail and gave the admiral a spontaneous cheer. Nelson raised his hat as he came abeam.
‘Morning Drinkwater.’
‘Good mornin’, my lord.’
‘I have been in over a hundred actions, Mr Drinkwater, but yesterday’s was the hottest. I was well pleased with your conduct and will not forget you in my report to their Lordships.’
‘Obliged to you, my lord.’ Drinkwater watched the boat move on. Beside him Lettsom emerged reeking of blood.
‘His lordship has paid a heavy price in blood for his honours,’ the surgeon said sadly.
‘How was Monarch?’
‘A bloody shambles. Fifty-six killed, including Mosse, her captain, and one hundred and sixty-four wounded seriously. They say her first lieutenant, Yelland, worked miracles to bring her out. Doubtless he will be promoted . . .’ Lettsom broke off, the implied bitterness clear. How many surgeons and their mates had laboured with equal skill would never be known.
‘Flat-boats approaching, sir.’
‘Mr Q, will you kindly desist with your interminable bloody reports . . .’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Drinkwater was immediately ashamed of his temper. Quilhampton’s crestfallen expression was eloquent of hurt.
‘Mr Q! I beg your pardon.’
Quilhampton brightened immediately. ‘That’s all right, sir.’
Drinkwater looked at the flat-boats. ‘Let me know what they are up to, Mr Q.’ He went below and immediately fell asleep.
He woke to the smell of smoke rolling over the sea. Going on deck he found an indignant knot of officers on the poop. ‘What the devil’s this damned Dover court, eh?’ He was thoroughly bad-tempered now, having slept enough to recover his spirits but not to overcome his exhaustion.
‘Old Vinegar’s ordered the prizes burned,’ said Rogers indignantly. ‘We won’t have the benefit of any prize money, God rot him.’ In a fleet that had subsisted for weeks upon rumour and gossip no item had so speedily offended the seamen. It was true that there was little of real value among the Danish ships but one or two were fine vessels wanting only masts and spars. Only the Holstein was to be spared and fitted as a hospital ship for the wounded. Nelson was reported to be furious with Parker and had remonstrated with his commander-in-chief on behalf of the common seamen in the fleet, arguing that their only reward was some expectation of prize and head money.
The vice-admiral seemed indefatigable. He was known to have arranged the truce and that evening went ashore to dine with his former enemies. Although peace had not been formally concluded the fleet had persuaded itself that the Danes were beaten.
Drinkwater shut the prayer book and put on his hat. The gospel of the resurrection had a hollow ring this Easter Sunday.
‘On hats!’ bellowed Rogers. Drinkwater stepped forward to address the men.
‘My lads, I do not propose to read the Articles of War today, simply to thank you for acquitting yourselves so well on Thursday.’ A cheer went up from the men and Drinkwater mistily realised it was for him. The shouting died away. ‘But . . . but we may not yet have finished work . . .’ The hands fell silent again, staring apprehensively at him. ‘I received orders this morning that the truce ends at noon. If no satisfactory explanation is heard as to why our terms have not been accepted we will bombard the city.’
He went below and Rogers dismissed the hands.
‘Sir! Mr Rogers says to tell you there’s boats coming and going between the shore and the Trekroner . . .’
Drinkwater went on deck and stared through his glass. There was no doubt about it – the Danes were reinforcing the defences.
‘So much for his lordship’s toasts of everlasting fraternity with the Danes,’ remarked Rogers sourly.
‘Man a boat, Mr Rogers, and take command of the ship in my absence.’
The boat could not go fast enough for Drinkwater and it wanted a few minutes before noon when he clambered up London’s side and reported to the commander-in-chief. Parker astonished him by remembering his name. ‘Ah, Drinkwater, the officer of the watch informs me you have intelligence regarding the Trekroner Forts.’ Drinkwater nodded. ‘By the way, my wife writes and asks to be remembered to you, it seems I was not appreciative of your services to her last year when we met before.’
Drinkwater bowed. ‘That is most kind of her ladyship, sir.’ He was desperately anxious to communicate the news about the Danish reinforcements.
‘The Danes are pouring men into the Trekroners, sir, reinforcements . . .’
‘I think you may compose your mind on that score, Mr Drinkwater. The Danish envoys have just left me. The truce is extended.’ It was only much later that Drinkwater wondered if Lady Parker implied anything in her kindness.
For two days the British fleet repaired the damage to itself, took out of the remaining prizes all the stores that were left and burnt the hulls. A south westerly wind swept a chill rain down over them and once again all was uncertainty. The seamen laboured at the sweeps of the flat-boats as they pulled between the plundered prizes and the British anchorage.
The cutter Fox left to survey the shallows over the Grounds to the south, past Dragør, in an attempt to find a channel suitable for the deep hulls of the first-rates and enable them to get through to the Baltic. Eager to assist, Drinkwater was ordered to remain on his bomb and keep his mortars trained on the city of Copenhagen.
Nelson and Colonel Stewart again dined ashore and the truce was further extended. News came that letters might be written and transported to England. Drinkwater sat at his reinstated table, snapped open the inkwell and paused before drawing a sheet of paper towards him. There was one duty he was conscious of having put off since the battle. Instead of the writing paper he pulled the muster book from its place and opened it.
He ran his finger down the list of names, halting at Easton. He paused for a second, recalling the man’s face, then his mouth set in a firm line and he carefully wrote the legend ‘D.D.’ for ‘discharged dead’. He repeated the process against the name Jex, suppressing the unchristian relief that clamped his lips even more tightly, then hurried down the list, and inserted the cryptic initials against four other names.
At the bottom of the column he paused again. Then, dipping his pen in the inkwell with sudden resolution he wrote ‘D.D.’ against the entry ‘Ed’d. Waters, Landsman Volunteer’, sanded the page and pushed the book aside.
He found his hand shaking slightly as he began his letter to Elizabeth.
H.M. Bomb Virago
Copenhagen Road
Wednesday 8th April 1801
My Darling Elizabeth,
Cruizer is about to leave with despatches and I have time to tell you that on Thursday last the fleet was engaged before this city. The action was furious but I escaped unscathed, so your prayers were answered. Many brave fellows have fallen but you may tell Louise that James got only a scratch. He has done well and exceeded my expectations of him. Peace is still not confirmed, but I think it likely. You will read in the papers of great exertions by Lord Nelson and I flatter myself that his lordship took notice of me. Some good may yet come of it, although I must not be too sanguine, his lordship not having the chief command.
Tell Susan that Tregembo is fit and in good health.
I hope you continue in health and your condition is not irksome. Kiss Charlotte Amelia for me and remember me as your devoted husband . . .
He signe
d the letter, disappointed that it was not more personal. Somehow Elizabeth’s remoteness made her existence unreal. Reality was this penetrating chill and the endless ache in his right arm.
The cutter Fox returned to the fleet anchorage on the following evening. She had found a passage over the shoals into the Baltic. The next day came news of a fourteen week armistice. The Danes would supply the fleet with water and other necessaries and in return the bomb vessels would haul off. Other news came aboard too, news that had little impact on anyone except Lieutenant Nathaniel Drinkwater.
Danish and Prussian troops had entered Hamburg and the port had been closed to all communication with Britain.
Chapter Twenty 10 April–19 June 1801
Kioge Bay
‘General signal from Flag, sir: “All ships to send boat.” ’
‘That ought to be for mails, see to it Mr Rogers.’
Every glass in the fleet had trained on Lynx when she arrived at Kioge Bay. Captain Otway was on board with news of the outside world. After the efforts and tribulations of the last few weeks almost any news that was not pure gossip about the fleet was welcome.
Strenuous efforts had been made to work the big ships, particularly London and St George, over the shallows. Their guns and stores had been hoisted out into merchant ships while the lightened battleships, riding high in the water, were hauled into the Baltic. Following the London, St George had grounded. Parker heard that the Swedish fleet was at sea and sent for Nelson to leave St George and rejoin Elephant anchored with the rest of the British warships at Kioge Bay. Nelson had his barge pull the twenty-four miles in the teeth of a rising and bitter wind to rejoin his former flagship.
While the big ships sailed to seek out the squadron from Carlscrona, the bombs and small fry waited in Kioge Bay and wondered if they were to sail against the Russians. Despite the recent carnage of the battle, relations with the Danes were good and the anchorage was usually enlivened by the sight of several Danish galliots among the anchored ship, selling cream for the officers’ coffee and cheese and chickens to those who could afford them.
The Bomb Vessel Page 23
