Breaking the Line

by David Donachie

  Several thoughts were chasing themselves round Parker’s head, the first being that what Nelson was proposing was not something he would be in a hurry to try. To come from the east up the King’s Deep was hazardous to say the least. It wasn’t all plain sailing between the Amager sandbanks and the Middle Ground Shoal: there were plenty of treacherous sandbanks known only to the local pilots – no merchant vessel would sail through that approach without one aboard. Knowing the dangers, the enemy had removed all the buoys that marked the deep-water channel, so the risk of running aground, even for ship without great depth of keel, was high. Again he had that vision of ships on fire …

  In his mind’s eye he could envisage Nelson’s artillery duel, and appreciate how damned hot it would be. The land batteries of Quintus and Sixtus were manned by soldiers, and on terra firma their rate of fire would match and might exceed that of a ship rolling, even on a gentle swell. And as ships entering the east of the King’s Deep encouraged their predecessors on, they would be pushing them into the maw of the enemy’s greatest strength.

  But there was a positive thought too: if his fleet were to attack from the south there was a relatively risk-free way to get there, and that was by the Great Belt, which would put his ships where Nelson claimed he wanted them.

  ‘What you propose carries great risks, Lord Nelson. Here we are, east of Zeeland, in open water. What happens if, while we are preparing to subdue the Danes, a Russian fleet appears?’

  ‘Excellent, sir,’ Nelson cried. ‘The more the merrier, I say.’

  Even Vansittart, who had been a silent witness to his tactical suggestions, raised an eyebrow at that point. But Nelson knew of what he spoke. ‘Give me my ten ships of the shallowest draught, and I will undertake to get them down the King’s Deep. The winds are variable enough, blowing east one day, south or north on another, and very likely west the next, so we will attack as soon as it is favourable.’

  ‘Combined enemies, Lord Nelson? You said yourself that presented the greatest danger.’

  ‘Naturally we would have a screen of frigates to the east, perhaps even a fast vessel off Revel to tell us when the ice melts. As to the Danes, it is my opinion that they will not dismantle a carefully constructed defence to come out and attack. If the Swedes emerge, we can interpose ourselves between them and the Russians and choose whom to do battle with first.’

  Parker suddenly realised, and it was underlined by the way that Vansittart was looking at him, that he was behaving like the junior officer and Nelson like the commanding admiral explaining his aims. For a man so proud, the consciousness of that reversal of roles came like a slap. Yet with his mind still in a tactical fog he was at a loss to know what to do about it.

  Nelson was thinking that it was a wearying business being second-in-command, that he had suffered the same problem up to a point with Lord Keith, though he would grant that his Mediterranean commanding officer had been a fighter. Parker was not that now, if he ever had been. He was more like a rabbit caught in the open, unsure whether to bolt for his hole, or to seek invisibility with stillness.

  Parker’s finger shot out and jabbed at the chart right at the point where the King’s Deep met the Holland Deep at the eastern end of the Middle Ground Shoal. He then traced his finger south-east to the southernmost point of Zeeland, before it headed west through the Great Belt. It was with the voice of command that he said, ‘I approve of your notion, Lord Nelson, but I do not think our cause would be aided by risking the ships we might need against the guns of Cronberg and Helsingborg. A passage by the Great Belt will bring us to the position you desire to be in, here at the eastern end of the King’s Deep.’

  ‘By the Sound or the Belt, sir, I do not care, as long as we get there.’

  There was a flaw in Parker’s appreciation that immediately became obvious to Nelson. It could take at least three days, if not a whole week, to get the whole of his fleet through the Belt, time enough for the Danes to shift the focus of their defence to what would become the obvious point of attack. But since he wanted to take on the Russians first, sure that the Danes would not remain bellicose without support, he cared nothing for how they would react. All he wanted was movement, action, a chance to do battle, instead of sitting in the Cattegat doing nothing.

  Parker had stood up, swelling out both chest and belly as if determined to impose himself physically in compensation for his mental inferiority. ‘Mr Vansittart, do you anticipate any good will come of further representations being made to the Danish court?’

  ‘I fear not, Sir Hyde.’

  ‘Then I require you to take for me a despatch back to London. In it I will tell the government of my intention to sail my fleet through the Great Belt. Once in the Baltic, I will make my dispositions to respond to whatever threat then presents itself.’ He turned to his second-in-command. ‘Lord Nelson, thank you for your contribution. My orders will be with you before first light tomorrow.’

  In his barge, rowing back to St George, his mind ranging over what had just been discussed. Nelson was troubled. Even strapped in his chair to be hauled aboard the thought nagged at him that Sir Hyde Parker might be in a quandary about what action to take, but also that he did not trust him. His commander was evincing the same opinion he had had of Nelson when he was in command of HMS Agamemnon, that he was a glory-seeker who cared nothing for the reputation either of his country or his superiors, only for himself. That nothing could be further from the truth made no difference. He resolved at once to write to Parker in the hope of changing that opinion.

  The following morning, on board HMS London, the atmosphere was still gloomy, but topped with anger. A whole day had gone by with the ships inactive, the wind too strong to allow them to lift their anchors. But the course they were going to sail was no secret, since the Master of the Fleet had told anyone who cared to listen of his concerns regarding his own ability to get them safely through the Great Belt.

  Parker had consulted the men he had brought to the Baltic as pilots, the masters of merchant vessels involved in the northern trade who sailed the routes of both Sound and Belt frequently. He did not confine himself to their opinions on that, but asked them for their thoughts on the approaches to Copenhagen, and the possibilities and dangers of taking warships down unmarked channels between encroaching sandbanks.

  That explained the gloom, for these ‘pilots’ made it clear that the prospect horrified them. They did not mention that what horrified them most was being on board ships under fire even should they succeed in getting them to where the fighting sailors wanted them to be. There was not a warrior among them: they were tradesmen from Leith and the ports of eastern England whose stock in trade were manifests not men o’ war.

  The contrary emotion stemmed from Parker’s executive officers. His Captain of the Fleet, Dommet, the man responsible for the smooth running of the ships under his command, was an experienced officer. He had held the same office under Lord Howe at the battle of the Glorious First of June in ’94 and reckoned that he knew a bit about fleet actions. Otway, the captain of HMS London, was also an experienced officer, who expected at the very least to be informed of any course of action and to have his views on the efficacy of any proposals receive proper due. It was they who were angry.

  Vansittart, his despatch for Earl St Vincent written and safe in an oilskin pouch, was gone, sent off in a fast frigate to carry the news of Parker’s intentions to London without either of these officers having had any say in the contents. Subsequently it was made obvious to their commander that they took great exception to the way he kept asking civilians, diplomats and non-naval sailors about military matters while ignoring those aboard who had the experience properly to advise him. Then, in the midst of Parker’s solitary dinner, with his secretary scribbling away in one corner of the cabin, Nelson’s letter arrived.

  Parker read it more than once, long as it was, although he was as aware as the writer of most of the points it made. But certain passages received more attention, causing knife, f
ork and wineglass to remain untouched, not least the passage that reminded him of his position …

  … you have the honour of England more entrusted to you than ever fell to any British officer. On your decision depends whether our country will be degraded in the eyes of Europe, or whether she shall rear her head higher than ever.

  There were the ‘what ifs?’. The idea that should Parker not go through that damned Sound, the Danes might take their seven seaworthy capital ships out to join the French. That Nelson discounted it did not stop Parker worrying about it.

  It was all very well for Nelson to say that it was acceptable for ships to be crippled and lost, for he would not be obliged to account for them. When appointing a commander the Admiralty did not give him ships to keep or lose, they entrusted the vessels and men to his care, certain that that officer would know just how much the country’s well-being depended upon their safe return. It was all attack, attack, attack in this letter – typical of a man like Nelson who could easily hide behind his inferior rank while the blame for failure rained on Parker’s head. And could he believe the closing paragraph?

  The measure may be thought to be bold, but I am of opinion that the boldest measures are the safest: and that our country demands the most vigorous exertion of her force, directed with judgement. In supporting you, my dear Sir Hyde, through the arduous and important task you have undertaken, no exertion of head or heart shall be wanting from your most obedient and faithful servant,

  Nelson and Brontë

  ‘Obedient, by damn!’ growled Parker. ‘That, sir, you never are. And as for faithful that has yet to be proved to me.’

  He realised he had spoken aloud in the presence not only of his secretary but of his cabin servants, and in a voice that must have sounded close to that of a spoilt infant. And he realised his food had gone cold. With the wine now tasting somewhat sour he abandoned any pretence of enjoying the meal. He dismissed everyone and sat in solitary unhappiness, gazing out at a northern sky that seemed to darken so very slowly, ranging again and again over all the tactical and strategic alternatives, and the possible consequences.

  Captains Dommet and Otway finally saw Sir Hyde Parker at first light the following morning, just as the fleet weighed, as per orders, and headed south for the Great Belt. It was an uncomfortable interview for all three. Against his will, Parker was forced to relate to the two officers what had taken place over several days. His rank gave him many privileges, but that did not include discounting the thoughts of these men.

  True, he could issue orders and demand that they were obeyed, but that would not protect him from written submissions of disagreement, with copies kept by the originator to be produced at a future hearing. The two captains became increasingly tight-lipped the more Parker prevaricated, and it was clear from their faces that they profoundly disagreed with the conclusions he had reached. Then Dommet asked what Nelson thought and Parker, in a move he instantly regretted, handed over Nelson’s letter.

  The Captain of the Fleet lacked a sense of humour, and he had the face to go with that. Everything about him seemed squashed, the eyes too close, the nose too sharp, the mouth small over a jutting chin. Yet even he, who had expressed little love for the writer, as he read the letter, gave a look of such deep disgust that his admiral was in no doubt of his opinion. As Otway read it, Dommet quietly questioned his commander.

  Parker had to restate his reasons for his actions, reiterating Vansittart’s opinions, those of the merchant captains he had engaged as pilots, and last his own inclinations that the losses might outweigh the gains in any action undertaken by the fleet. That the task was to get into the Baltic and there decide what future course of action to adopt.

  Parker was unaware that he was creating exactly the same impression with this pair as he had with Nelson: namely that he would prefer to do nothing; that in sailing by the Great Belt he was merely buying time in the hope that some peaceful conclusion might present itself.

  ‘You do not feel, sir, that Admiral Lord Nelson’s letter answers those points?’ asked Dommet. He then turned to Otway, who was gazing at his commanding admiral with barely disguised repugnance. ‘Captain?’

  ‘Sir,’ said Otway, addressing Parker, ‘you are aware that I dissented from your opinion to send Mr Vansittart to negotiate, thus wasting a whole seven days in which, it appears, the Danes have merely made more difficult an already formidable defence.’

  Parker could remember nothing of the sort. Neither Dommet, who was nodding agreement, nor Otway had expressed a contrary opinion regarding that course of action. Yet he could see from their expressions that they would swear blind, if asked, that they had. No stranger to naval politics Parker realised that these two men were preparing to detach themselves from him if the situation demanded it.

  ‘Lord Nelson says,’ Dommet added, ‘that the boldest methods are often the safest. As someone who has fought in a wholly successful and undisputed fleet action, I can only say that I am inclined to agree.’

  Then Otway spoke. ‘Another four to five days while we crawl round Zeeland by the Great Belt will alert the Danes to our line of attack. They may well alter their defence to thwart us.’

  ‘And since Lord Nelson had advised the actions he has outlined, and put them in writing …’

  Dommet stopped, leaving Parker’s mind in turmoil. What where they saying, this pair? That he was wrong and Nelson right? Or that with Nelson’s letter he could afford to give the man his head and claim as a success anything he achieved while escaping any responsibility for failure?

  As he looked at the two captains Parker realised that he would never know their true motivation. Professional pique at the lack of consultation or a genuine belief that he was wrong? Faith in Nelson, or a deep seated concern for their own reputations? There might be a multitude of explanations but the real reasons would never be stated, since Otway and Dommet were too well versed in naval politics to ever voice them. In contrast was the naïvety of Nelson, in so openly writing to him regarding the alternatives. Could he really so naïve, or was it possible that his sentiments were genuine?

  ‘Your suggestions would be most welcome, gentlemen,’ said Parker, who felt he could play politics as well as the next man, ‘and I would appreciate that you give them to me in writing.’

  15

  Nelson, pacing the windward side of the deck, was relating to an enthralled Midshipman Frears the tale of the ancient battle of Actium when the first of the two signal guns banged out from HMS London, sending a puff of white smoke racing away on the breeze. The wind was stiff and invigorating, and the St George was pitching and rolling on a choppy sea typical of the narrow channel between the North Sea and the Baltic.

  ‘You must always stand to the fore, Mr Frears, and accept the prospect of death or a crippling wound if you wish to lead men into battle, and it is best to stand out to sea, for sailors only become good hands in open water. Keep them idle in port and they go to seed.’

  ‘Mark Antony did not do that, sir?’ asked Frears, as more guns boomed.

  ‘He did not, Mr Frears. He kept his ships idle at their anchorage.’ Nelson stopped then, conscious of the second gun, not wishing to mention that the great Roman general was more interested in dallying with his mistress, Cleopatra, than going out to meet Agrippa, the commander of the rival fleet. ‘Marcus Antonius had heavier vessels, more numerous than those of his enemies, reports say twice the number, but Agrippa, just like the fleet of your own country, had the better men. So when Antony emerged, he was outmanoeuvred by swift sailing ships and forced to flee the battle. He was, of course, like that devil Bonaparte, a soldier not a sailor.’

  ‘You would never flee a battle sir?’

  Nelson smiled as the first lieutenant approached, throwing a frown at Frears who, like all the mids aboard, was far too familiar with the admiral.

  ‘I hope not, Mr Frears.’

  ‘Sir,’ said the first lieutenant. ‘A signal from the flag to wear round on a course north-north east.’
Nelson turned to look at the flag streaming from Parker’s masthead, as he continued, ‘and HMS London has put off a boat, which is heading for us. We think it is Captain Otway.’

  Nelson dropped his gaze to the grey, uninviting water, crisscrossed with white wave tops. ‘Poor Otway boating in this sea. May I borrow Mr Frears?’

  ‘Sir,’ said the First Lieutenant, nodding, still surprised, even after weeks of sailing with Nelson, that he should he asked.

  ‘Please go to my cabin and ask Tom Allen to prepare a hot punch for Captain Otway.’

  ‘It may not be him, sir,’ the first lieutenant insisted. ‘We only had a fleeting glimpse.’

  ‘Whoever it is will be wet and cold, I daresay,’ Nelson replied, as Frears ran off. ‘Even a midshipman needs a warm drink in these waters.’

  Otway was both cold and wet. Even in a dreadnought oilskin boat cloak the choppy freezing sea had penetrated to his uniform. By the time he made Nelson’s cabin the fleet was on its new course, which Nelson was informed was to take them to a new anchorage off the Sound.

  ‘Sir Hyde has been mulling on your suggestions, Lord Nelson, and feels, like you, that to waste time only aids the enemy.’ Otway had an open, honest looking face, but perhaps because he was shivering his words lacked verisimilitude. ‘Captain Dommet and I, when finally asked our opinion, could only concur with the sentiments you expressed in your letter.’

  ‘Admiral Parker showed you my letter?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Otway replied. He said this as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was not so to Nelson. That letter had been intended as private advice. ‘Sir Hyde wishes me to tell you that he will abide by any suggestions you make regarding the dispositions of the fleet. He also asks if you are prepared to agree that Copenhagen should be the primary target.’

  ‘Not the Russians?’