As they fired over the main action Drinkwater was able to see something of the progress of the battle. Already damage to the British ships was obvious. Several had lost masts and others flew signals of distress. Amongst the splashes of wide cannot shot the flat-boats and boats of the fleet pulled about, coolly carrying out anchors. Through this hail of shot Brisbane sailed the Cruizer from her now redundant duty of marking the south end of the Middle Ground, the length of the line to Riou's support. Of the Danish line Drinkwater could see little beyond those hulks and prames on his beam. One appeared to have got out of the line and several seemed to strike their flags, but as they had reappeared the next time he looked he could not be sure what was happening. Terror, Explosion and Discovery were throwing shells into Copenhagen. Neither Heda, Zebra nor Sulphur appeared to have weathered the Middle Ground and got into the action.
'Fire! Fire!' Drinkwater swung round. A flicker of flames raced along the larboard rail but Rogers was equal to it. 'Fire party, hoses to the larboard waist!'
Drinkwater looked in vain for Jex, but his men were there, dragging an already pulsing hose towards the burning spars lying on the rail.
'Part-burnt wads, Nat'aniel,' shouted Tumilty unconcerned, identifying the cause of the fire.
'Where the devil's Mr Jex?' Drinkwater called out, frowning.
'Don't know, sir,' replied Rogers, as he had men cutting the lashing round the spars and levering them overboard. A shot whined over his head and he ducked.
'Mr Easton!'
'Sir!'
'Find Jex!'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
But Easton had not left the poop when Jex appeared through the smoke that billowed back from the ten-inch mortar forward. He was drunk and in his shirt-sleeves. 'I hear the cry of fire!' he shouted, holding up his hands above his head and staggering over a ring-bolt. 'Here I am you bastards, at my fucking action station, God rot you all…'
Men turned to look at the purser as he reached the after mortar and was again engulfed in the smoke of discharge. He emerged to the astonished onlookers like a theatrical wraith, his face flaccid, his cheeks wet with tears. Drinkwater was aware of a sniggering from the men at the shell-hatch.
'Bastards, you're all bastards…' Jex flung his arms wide in a gesture that embraced them all.
'Mr Jex…!' Drinkwater began, his jaw dropping as Jex's right arm flew off, spun round and slapped a topman across the face. The astonished man put up his hands and caught the severed limb.
'Cor! Pusser's give me back me bleeding eighth…'
The grotesque joke ended the brief hiatus on Virago's deck. Jex looked stupidly at his distant arm then down at the gouts of his blood as it poured from the socket. He began to scream and run about the deck.
Rogers felled him with one end of a burning royal yard he was heaving overboard. Jex fell to the deck, his legs kicking and his back arching, the red stain growing on the planking.
'Jesus Christ,' muttered Easton watching, fascinated.
At last Jex grew still. Jumping down from the rail having tossed overboard all the burning spars Rogers pointed to the body and addressed two seamen standing stock still beside a starboard carronade.
'Throw that damned thing overboard.'
Then Tumilty's after mortar roared again.
'Mr Drinkwater, sir! The Commander-in-Chief is signalling, sir!'
'Well Mr Q, what is it?'
'Number 39, sir: "Discontinue the action," sir.'
'"Discontinue the action"? Are you certain? Drinkwater raised his Dollond glass and levelled it to the north. Ramilles, Veteran and Defence were still clawing to windward and he could see London still at anchor, with her blue admiral's flag at the main. And there too were the blue and white horizontal stripes of Number 3 flag over the horizontal red, white and blue of Number 9.
'Mr Easton, what o'clock d'you have?'
'Twenty minutes after one, sir.'
'You must log receipt of that signal, Mr Easton… Mr Matchett… where the devil's the bosun?'
'Here sir.'
'Prepare to weigh.'
'Aye, aye, sir.' Drinkwater looked again at the London. There was no mistaking that signal. It was definitely Number 39.
'Cease fire, Mr Tumilty… Mr Rogers, disperse the hands to their stations for getting under way…' Drinkwater looked anxiously about him. Disengagement was going to be difficult. The battleships had only to cut their cables, they were already headed north and would soon be carried out of the action but the bombs had to weigh and turn. Virago could not turn to larboard, away from the Danish guns, because of the Middle Ground upon whose edge she had been anchored. To turn to starboard would put the ship under a devastating raking fire. Drinkwater swallowed. If he weighed immediately he might obtain a little shelter behind the battleships but he ran two risks in doing so. The first was that with the prevailing current he might run foul of one of the bigger ships; the second was that too precipitate a departure from the line of battle could be construed as cowardice.
'What the devil d'you want me to cease fire for?' Tumilty's purple face peered belligerently through the smoke.
'The Commander-in-Chief instructs us to abandon the action, damn it!'
'What the bloody hell for?'
'Do as you're told, Tumilty!' snapped Drinkwater.
'Beg pardon, sir, Flag's only acknowledged the signal…'
'Eh?' Drinkwater looked where Quilhampton pointed. Elephant had not repeated Parker's order. He looked astern and saw Explosion had repeated Number 39.
'What the bloody hell…?'
'Can you see Defiance, Mr Q?' Quilhampton stared over the starboard quarter and levelled the big watch-glass.
'I can't be sure, sir, but I think Admiral Graves has a signal hoisted but if he has it ain't from a very conspicuous place…'
'Not very conspicuous…?' Drinkwater frowned again and returned his attention to the Elephant. Nelson had signalled only an acknowledgement of sighting Number 39 to Parker but not repeated it to his ships, and Number 16, the signal for Close Action, hoisted at the beginning of the battle, still flew.
Drinkwater tried to clear his head while the concussion of the guns went on. Nelson was clearly not eager to obey. From Parker's distant observation post it must be obvious that Nelson was in trouble. Bellona and Russell were aground, both flying conspicuous signals of distress; there was a congestion of ships at the southern end of the line which, combined with the presence of some bombs and the gun-brigs still in the southern anchorage, suggested that something had gone dreadfully wrong with Nelson's division. Agamemnon, after repeated efforts to kedge round Cruizer, had given up and sent her boats to the assistance of the fleet while Cruizer, the mark vessel, had abandoned her station to support Riou.
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-grimed Tumilty.
'I think, gentlemen,' said Drinkwater shutting the Dollond glass with a snap, 'that we are to be the ace of trumps!'
Chapter Nineteen
Ace of Trumps
2-9 April 1801
'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 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, boat 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.
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