by Roy Adkins
On board the Elephant Lieutenant-Colonel Stewart, who also had no specific duties, paced the deck with Nelson watching the progress of the battle: ‘Nelson was . . . walking the starboard side of the quarter-deck; sometimes much animated, and at others heroically fine in his observations. A shot through the mainmast knocked a few splinters about us. He observed to me, with a smile, “It is warm work, and this day may be the last to any of us at a moment;” and then stopping short at the gangway, he used an expression never to be erased from my memory, and said with emotion, “but mark you, I would not be elsewhere for thousands.”’11 Splinters were a major hazard, as Millard in the Monarch recounted:Our signal-midshipman (the Honourable William Bowes) was bruised from head to foot with splinters in such a manner as compelled him to leave the deck . . . When the wheel was shot away, I was in a cloud [of splinters]; but being some little distance before the wheel I did not receive any of the larger pieces. When I passed backwards and forwards between my quarters and the mainmast, I went on the opposite side to that which was engaged, and by that means probably escaped a severe wound; for as I was returning with two shot in one hand and a cheese (or packet) of wads in the other, I received a pretty smart blow on my right cheek. I dropped my shot, just as a monkey does a hot potato, and clapped my hand to the place, which I found rather bloody, and immediately ran aft to get my handkerchief out of the coat-pocket. 12
Millard’s wound was slight and so he continued his work on the quarterdeck, but soon after he had to go to the magazine and was shocked to find that conditions below were much worse: ‘When I arrived on the maindeck, along which I had to pass, there was not a single man standing the whole way from the mainmast forward, a district containing eight guns on a side, some of which were run out ready for firing; others lay dismounted; and others remained as they were after recoiling. In this dreary scene I shall be excused for shuddering as I walked across the body of a dead soldier.’13
As the morning of the battle wore on, some Danish batteries ceased firing and some surrendered, but others continued to put up a strong resistance. Several British ships were being badly mauled, and in the Monarch Millard was horrified that ‘after my return from the magazine Mr. Ponsonby (midshipman), who had been quartered on the forecastle, came on to the quarter-deck, his face and the collar of his coat partly covered with a coagulated compost of human blood and brains. He presented himself and three of his men . . . as all that were left [of those stationed on the forecastle].’14 A little later Millard was sent to the poop deck, but found this too was devoid of anyone left alive, although he noticed ‘a musket, the barrel of which was bent in a semicircle; this I apprehended must have been struck on the muzzle at the very instant the man was presenting it; it could not otherwise have been driven into that form’.15
Parker’s ships were playing no part in the battle as they had made virtually no progress against the headwind, and around noon Parker sent the captain of his flagship, Robert Otway, in a boat to Nelson. Otway was one of the most senior officers in the fleet and a personal friend of Parker’s. Nearly 700 miles to the north-east, at St Petersburg, Tsar Paul of Russia had been assassinated nine days earlier, on 24 March. In summer, news of such a momentous event, travelling by sea, would have reached Copenhagen long before the battle, but the Russian ports were still icebound, and for much of their journey couriers had to take a longer, overland route. There is a mystery about exactly when the news arrived at Copenhagen, and it has been suggested22 that it came while the battle was still raging and influenced subsequent events. This theory may explain some aspects of the battle that otherwise appear irrational, particularly Parker sending Otway, in the heat of the battle, on an errand to Nelson’s flagship. It is tempting to suppose that news of the Tsar’s death had reached Parker, who, realising the political significance, entrusted theinformation to one of his closest companions. Neither at the time, nor in subsequent years, did Parker, Nelson or Otway record or comment on this incident.
Otway was in a hurry and hailed a passing launch, which proved to be heavily laden and made slow progress. It was a long distance to row and after more than an hour Parker could see that Otway had still not reached Nelson’s ship. He seems to have panicked, and at a quarter past one the admiral hoisted signal number 39 commanding all ships to leave off the action. On board the Elephant it was observed by the signal lieutenant, who made his report. Nelson, according to Stewart,continued his walk, and did not appear to take notice of it. The Lieutenant meeting his Lordship at the next turn asked, ‘whether he should repeat it?’ Lord Nelson answered, ‘No, acknowledge it.’ On the Officer returning to the poop, his Lordship called after him, ‘Is No. 16 still hoisted?’23 the Lieutenant answering in the affirmative, Lord Nelson said, ‘Mind you keep it so.’ . . . After a turn or two, he said to me, in a quick manner, ‘Do you know what’s shown on board of the Commander-in-Chief, No.39?’ On asking him what that meant, he answered, ‘Why, to leave off Action.’ ‘Leave off Action!’ he repeated, and then added, with a shrug, ‘Now, damn me if I do.’ He also observed, I believe, to Captain Foley, ‘You know, Foley, I have only one eye - I have a right to be blind sometimes;’ and then with an archness peculiar to his character, putting the glass to his blind eye, he exclaimed, ‘I really do not see the signal.’16
Nelson’s action was the origin of the saying ‘to turn a blind eye’.24
The signal caused confusion among Nelson’s ships - some obeyed and started to pull out of the battle, while others, observing that the Elephant had not repeated the signal, carried on fighting. The frigates under Riou’s command, which by this time had suffered dreadful damage and casualties, were at the head of the British line nearest to Parker. Riou decided he must obey and reluctantly ordered the frigates to move out towards Parker’s ships. Moments later Riou was killed by a cannonball.
Nelson was right to disobey Parker’s direct order even though, after the battle, he commented to Stewart: ‘I have fought contrary to orders, and I shall perhaps be hanged: never mind, let them.’17 For the frigates to sail out of the line of fire was relatively easy, because they were at the head of the line, and as they had taken such a battering it was only sensible to retreat. The largest warships further down the channel were in a different situation. Any attempt to sail up through the channel under fire from the Danish batteries would have led to a chaotic situation, perhaps more ships being grounded and certainly the abandonment of those ships already aground. To have obeyed Parker’s signal would have snatched defeat at the point of victory, and just as Nelson did not mention the signal in his official reports, Parker never commented on why he sent it. It was inexplicable to Nelson and his officers at the time, and remains so today.
It became obvious that the Danish defence was crumbling, and yet the Danes fought on doggedly. Midshipman Finlayson was helping out in one of the boats, and when the Danes slackened their fire he was ordered ‘to pick up as many as possible of the poor Danes, who were jumping overboard from the blazing Hulks. We saved a great many, some without arms or legs, and others in some way or other dreadfully wounded, and put them on board . . . the first ship we could get near.’18 Half an hour after the signal was hoisted, and with Otway having reached the Elephant, Nelson decided to call for a truce. The purser of the Elephant, Thomas Wallis, said that ‘Lord Nelson wrote the Note [suggesting a cease-fire] at the casing of the rudder-head, and as he wrote, I took a copy, both of us standing. The original was put into an envelope, and sealed with his Arms; at first I was going to seal it with a wafer [gummed paper in the form of a seal that would take some time to fully dry], but he would not allow this to be done, observing that it must be sealed, or the Enemy would think it was written and sent in a hurry. The man I sent below for a light [to melt the sealing wax] never returned, having been killed in his way.’19
A second messenger was more successful, and the letter was sealed and dispatched under a flag of truce with Captain Frederick Thesiger, a Danish speaker who volunteered to act as courier.
The letter read: ‘To the Brothers of Englishmen, the Danes. Lord Nelson has directions to spare Denmark, when no longer resisting; but if firing is continued on the part of Denmark, Lord Nelson will be obliged to set on fire all the Floating-batteries he has taken, without having the power of saving the brave Danes who have defended them. Dated on board his Britannic Majesty’s Ship Elephant, Copenhagen Roads, April 2nd, 1801.’20
If Parker knew that the Tsar was dead and the whole political and diplomatic landscape had been turned upside down, every minute more of fighting produced unnecessary bloodshed and made a diplomatic settlement harder. It was only after Otway reached the Elephant that Nelson wrote this letter to the Danes proposing a cease-fire. Although this was possibly a clever ploy to allow his ships to pull out of a difficult situation, Nelson always maintained that he sent the letter on humanitarian grounds. He knew he had the upper hand and would ultimately win the battle, and his normal policy, once committed, was annihilation of the enemy, so perhaps learning of the Tsar’s death forced the cease-fire offer.
Because Thesiger’s boat had to take a circuitous route to avoid the worst of the gunfire, it was around three o’clock when he finally landed at the Citadel of Copenhagen. Nelson’s timing was perfect: when the letter was delivered, it was apparent that further resistance from the Danes would only cause more bloodshed without achieving anything. The Danes agreed to a cease-fire. The letter was not just a humanitarian gesture, but a useful political move, limiting the damage already done to Anglo-Danish relations. The cease-fire also allowed time for the British ships to work their way out of the channel, as they had been ordered to do by Parker several hours earlier. Even without being under fire, ships ran aground, but eventually the warships cleared the channel to be replaced by the bomb vessels that were ready to bombard the city and dockyard if fighting broke out again.
The day after the battle, Nelson went on shore and was astonishingly well received, as one Danish observer recorded:In the course of the forenoon, Admiral Nelson came in his barge in the inner roads, and went on board the Denmark, where he partook of some refreshment, and then proceeded ashore. On his landing he was received by the people, neither with acclamations nor with murmurs; they did not degrade themselves with the former, nor disgrace themselves with the latter. The admiral was received as one brave enemy ever ought to receive another - he was received with respect. A carriage was provided for his lordship, which he, however, declined, and walked amid an immense crowd of persons anxious to catch a glimpse of the British hero, to the palace of the Prince Royal. After dinner the Admiral was introduced to the Prince, and the negotiations commenced.21
Once the firing had stopped, both sides could pay full attention to the casualties. Midshipman Edward Daubeny in the Bellona wrote to his father that there had been ‘great slaughter, I am very sorry to say, on both sides, particularly on the enemy’s. Some of their ships were manned three times [with reinforcements from the shore]; eight hundred were killed and wounded in one of their ships, and almost as many in their others. Our ships have suffered very much from the enemy’s shot.’22 Daubeny himself was wounded, but made light of it so as not to alarm his relatives: ‘We have besides about 80 killed and wounded by the bursting of our guns. I am, thank God, only slightly burnt by the bursting of one; don’t be at all alarmed when you see my name amongst the wounded in the papers; to be sure I am weak, but that is occasioned by the length of the engagement, and I was not very well before.’23 The actual casualty figures on the British side were around two hundred and fifty killed and seven hundred wounded, some of whom later died of their injuries. Estimates of casualties on the Danish side vary widely because the floating batteries were continually supplied with fresh crews during the battle, but around four hundred were killed and perhaps a thousand wounded.
It is usually accepted that reliable news of the Tsar’s death did not reach the Danes at Copenhagen until 8 April, while they were still negotiating terms for an armistice with the British, but Peter Cullen, a surgeon in the Agamemnon, recorded in his journal that ‘it was in consequence of the intelligence received of the death of the Emperor Paul of Russia, that the Truce was extended from 24 hours to 14 weeks. This intelligence was received at Copenhagen the day after the battle [the 3rd], and which if received previously would in all probability have prevented this melancholy affair.’24 The news changed the negotiating position of the Danes. After six days of diplomatic wrangling, agreement was suddenly reached and an armistice was signed the next day.
Official news of the Tsar’s death and a change of Russian policy reached London on the 13th, and the British fleet, which had moved on from Copenhagen to threaten the Russian ports in the Baltic, was recalled. Parker was also recalled, leaving Nelson in charge. Despite much public and private criticism of Parker’s actions, there was no formal investigation or censure, and the whole episode was quietly covered up. Whatever the truth of the Battle of Copenhagen and the death of the Tsar, Britain was ultimately triumphant - the Armed Neutrality fell apart within a matter of weeks. With the emergency over, Nelson had time to consider his health, which was still not good, and he applied for leave to return home to recuperate. On 1 July he was back in Great Yarmouth.
A year had passed since Nelson was in the Mediterranean, but the French and Spanish continued to be harassed by the British, while blockades were maintained at various ports, including Alexandria and Toulon. Lieutenant Thomas Cochrane was appointed commander of the 14-gun sloop Speedy, and in May 1801, a month after the Battle of Copenhagen, he captured the Spanish frigate Gamo, an act of bravado that passed into legend. Shortly after, he was back on convoy duty - Cochrane’s little sloop Speedy was now an escort for the packet ship carrying mail between Minorca and Gibraltar. It was tedious work with little chance of capturing prizes, but on 3 July three ships were unexpectedly spotted in the distance.
Cochrane recounted that ‘at daybreak, on the morning of July 3rd, these large ships were observed in the distance, calling up to our imaginations visions of Spanish galleons from South America, and accordingly the Speedy prepared for the chase’.25 Such galleons carried so much bullion that the prize money from the capture of just one, divided among the small crew of the Speedy, would have made each man the equivalent of a modern millionaire, so doubtless Cochrane’s enthusiasm was mirrored by his men. The dream was short-lived, although Cochrane admitted that ‘it was not till day dawned that we found out our mistake, the vessels between us and the offing being clearly line-of-battle ships, forbidding all reasonable hope of escape’.26 They were French battleships, under Rear-Admiral Charles Linois, that had evaded the blockade of Toulon and were heading for Cadiz. The Speedy was trapped between them and the coast, with limited room to manoeuvre, but Cochrane was determined to try:Being to windward, we endeavoured to escape by making all sail, and, as the wind fell light, by using our sweeps [large oars]. This proving unavailing, we threw the guns overboard, and put the brig before the wind; but notwithstanding every effort, the enemy gained fast upon us, and, in order to prevent our slipping past, separated on different tacks, so as to keep us constantly within reach of one or the other; the Desaix, being nearest, firing broadsides at us as she passed when tacking, at other times firing from her bow chasers, and cutting up our rigging. For upwards of three hours we were thus within gunshot of the Desaix, when finding it impossible to escape by the wind, I ordered all the stores to be thrown overboard, in the hope of being able, when thus further lightened, to run the gauntlet between the ships, which continued to gain upon us. 27
Having failed to outrun the French ships, the last resort was to try to outmanoeuvre them, a dangerous gamble that would initially take the Speedy closer to the French ships, when a broadside from any one of them could have blown the sloop out of the water. Cochrane described what happened next:Watching an opportunity . . . we bore up, set the studding sails [to maximise speed], and attempted to run between them, the French honouring us with a broadside for this unexpected movement. The Desai
x, however, immediately tacked in pursuit, and in less than an hour got within musket-shot. At this short distance, she let fly at us a complete broadside of round and grape [shot], the object evidently being to sink us at a blow . . . Fortunately for us . . . her round shot plunged in the water under our bows, or the discharge must have sunk us; the scattered grape, however, took effect in the rigging, cutting up a great part of it, riddling the sails, and doing material damage to the masts and yards, though not a man was hurt. To have delayed for another broadside would have been to expose all on board to certain destruction, and as further effort to escape was impotent, the Speedy’s colours were hauled down. 28
Cochrane was taken prisoner, but because the French captain had been impressed by his courage and seamanship, he happily found that ‘on going aboard the Desaix, and presenting my sword to the captain, Christie Pallière, he politely declined taking it, with the complimentary remark that “he would not accept the sword of an officer who had for so many hours struggled against impossibility,” at the same time paying me the further compliment of requesting that “I would continue to wear my sword though a prisoner.”’29 This was an unusual honour, as surrendered swords were regarded as trophies. Cochrane was treated well by his captors, and the French battleships sailed on into the Spanish port of Algeciras, across the bay from Gibraltar, with the Speedy and the packet ship as their prizes. The Rock of Gibraltar commands a good view of Algeciras, and although no British ships there were large enough to make an attack, little time was lost in sending a message to Sir James Saumarez, now a rear-admiral, who was blockading Cadiz.
