Breaking the Line (17 page)

‘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, fork and wineglass to remain untouched, not least the passage that reminded him of his position …

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?

‘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?