The Bomb Vessel (27 page)

‘Thank you, my lord.'

‘And now will you be so kind as to direct Fothergill that when he returns to
Cruizer
he is to have one of the brig's boats placed in accordance with our decision.'

Drinkwater slept in a chair in
Amazon's
wardroom as the frigate reached the end of the Holland Deep, sighted his spar buoy and turned north to order
Fox
anchored south of
Lark
. Nelson had concluded there was ample room to anchor his division off the southern end of the Middle Ground out of range of the Danish guns. The wind had veered again and
Amazon
had to beat laboriously back through the Holland Deep to report to Sir Hyde Parker. This delay enabled Drinkwater to sleep off most of his exhaustion.

He was pulled back to
Virago
with Fothergill who handed him his copy of the chart before leaving for
Cruizer
and his own trip south to replace Drinkwater's buoy.

‘The cartography isn't up to your own standard, Mr Drinkwater, but it'll serve.'

Drinkwater unrolled the corner of the chart. ‘A midshipman's penmanship if I ain't mistaken,' he grinned at Fothergill. ‘Your servant, Mr Fothergill . . . Reaching up for the manropes he hauled himself up
Virago's
side, the chart rolled in his breast.

‘Welcome back, sir,' said Rogers.

‘Thank you. Where's Mr Tumilty?'

‘Here, sir, here I am Nat'aniel . . .'

‘I owe you five guineas, Tom . . .'

‘You do? By Jesus, what did I tell 'ee, Mr Rogers, that's five from you too . . .' Tumilty burst into a fit of gleeful laughter. ‘An' it's All Fool's Day so it is.'

‘All ready, Mr Drinkwater?' Drinkwater leaned over the rail to look down at Nelson in his barge. He was an unimpressive sight, his squared cocked hat at a slouch and an old checked overcoat round his thin shoulders.

‘We await only your signal to weigh, my lord.'

‘Very good. Instruct that Irish devil to make every shot tell.'

‘Aye, aye, my lord.' Nelson nodded to his coxswain and the barge passed to the next ship in his division.

An hour later the greater part of the British force placed under Lord Nelson's orders stood to the southward, leaving the two three deckers,
St George
and
London
, four seventy-fours and two sixty-fours with Sir Hyde Parker at their anchorage at the north end of the Middle Ground. Passing slowly south under easy sail between the lines of improvised buoys and the anchored warning vessels Drinkwater was able to steady his glass on the horizon to the westward.

Preoccupation with other matters had not given him leisure to study the object of all their efforts, the city of Copenhagen. Above its low stretch of roofs the bulk of the Amalienbourg Palace was conspicuous. So were several fantastic and exotic spires. That of Our Saviour's church had a tall elongated spire with an exterior staircase mounting its side, while that of the Børsen was equally tall and entwined by four huge serpents.

But in the foreground the fortress of Trekroner, the Three Crowns, and the batteries of the Lynetten that lay before them, guarded the approaches to the city and combined with the line of blockships, cut down battleships, floating batteries, frigates and gun vessels to form a formidable defensive barrier. The enemy was only a little over two miles away, just out of range, though an occasional shot was fired at the British as they boldly crossed the Danish front.

Nelson made few signals to his ships. At half past five he ordered the
Ardent
and
Agamemnon
to take the guard duty for the night and shortly after eight in the evening, the wind falling light and finally calm, the last ship came to her anchor in the crowded road. This was
Cruizer
, withdrawn from her station as a mark vessel.

As
Virago
came to her own anchor at about six-fifteen, Nelson made the signal for the night's password.

‘Spanish jack over a red pendant. What does that signify, Mr Q?'

‘Er . . . “Winchester”, sir.'

‘Very well. Pass word I want all the officers to dine with me this evening within the hour. I anticipate further work later in the night.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.' It would scarcely be a ‘dinner' since the galley stove was now extinguished and Tumilty and Trussel had begun to make their preparations for action, but Jex could hustle up something and Drinkwater wished to speak to them all.

He looked down into the waist in the gathering dusk. A party of artillerymen under the bombardier, Hite, were scouring the chamber of the after mortar to remove any scale. He wondered how the soldiers had got on between decks for there was little enough room for them all. They had slung their hammocks in the cable tier and he did not think either Tumilty or Rogers had spared much effort on their welfare.

At eight, just as
Virago's
officers sat down to dinner, shells were reported coming over from howitzer batteries ashore, but the activity soon died away. Mr Quilhampton, shivering on the poop and excluded from the meal, recorded in
Virago's
log various signals passed from the
Elephant
by guard boat and rocket. Mostly the signals concerned the direction of boats from the brigs and gun vessels as the admiral made his final dispositions. The bomb vessels were left largely alone.

But it was not for long. While Mr Tumilty was expatiating on the forthcoming employment of his beloved mortars, Mr Quilhampton had his revenge for missing dinner.

‘Beg pardon, sir, but a boat's alongside from the flagship. His lordship's compliments and would you be kind enough to attend him at once.'

Drinkwater stood. ‘It seems you must excuse me gentlemen. Please do not disturb yourselves on my account, but I would recommend that you rested. There is likely to be warm work for us tomorrow.' A cheer went up at this and only Jex remained silent as Quilhampton added:

‘It is exceeding cold, sir . . .'

‘I think I can manage, Mr Q, thank you,' Drinkwater replied drily.

Drinkwater scrambled down into the waiting boat. In his pocket he had stuffed notebook, pencil and bearing compass. As he settled alongside the unknown midshipman he observed the truth of Mr Quilhampton's solicitude. It was bitterly cold and the ice floes were even more numerous than they had been previously. The current, too, was strong, sweeping them northwards towards The Sound. The wind had died away to a dead calm. Above the surface of the sea the low wisps of arctic ‘sea-smoke' almost hid the boat itself, though it was clear at eye level.

They crossed
Elephant's
stern. The windows were a blaze of light with the shadows of movement visible within.

‘Admiral's dining with the captains of the fleet, sir,' explained
the midshipman, swinging the boat under the two-decker's quarter and alongside her larboard entry.

Drinkwater reported to the officer of the watch who conducted him to the ante-room. A number of officers were gathered there, mostly wearing the plain blue coats of sailing masters. There was a group of pilots who looked more worried than when Drinkwater had last seen them. From beyond the doors leading into the
Elephant's
great cabin came the noise of conviviality.

A man in lieutenant's uniform detached himself from a small knot of masters and came over to Drinkwater with his hand extended.

‘Evening. John Quilliam, third of
Amazon
.'

‘Evenin'. Nathaniel Drinkwater, in command of
Virago
.' They shook hands.

‘Captain Riou spoke highly of you after your visit to
Amazon
the other day.'

Drinkwater blushed. ‘That was exceedingly kind of him.' He changed the subject. ‘I trust your frigate was not damaged by the grounding?'

‘I imagine she may have lost a little copper, but she'll do for today's work . . .' Quilliam smiled as a burst of cheering came from the adjacent room.

‘Take no notice of that, Drinkwater, his lordship'll not let it interfere with tonight's business.'

‘Which is . . .?'

‘There is a little dispute about the water in the King's Deep. The pilots incline to the view that it is deeper on the Middle Ground side. Briarly, master of the
Bellona
opposes their view, while Captain Hardy and Captain Riou are undecided. The Admiral has two boats assembled, one for Briarly and myself, the other for Hardy and you . . .'

‘Me?'

Quilliam smiled again but any explanation as to why Drinkwater had been specially selected was lost as the double doors of the cabin were opened by an immaculate, pig-tailed messman and a glittering assembly of gold-laced officers emerged. They were all smiling and shaking hands, having dined well and in expectation of lean commons on the morrow. Drinkwater recognised Admiral Graves and Captain Foley, familiar too was ‘Bounty' Bligh of the
Glatton
, Edward Riou and George Murray of the
Edgar
, but the remainder were largely unknown to him. At the
rear of the group the short, one-armed admiral, his breast ablaze with orders and crossed by the red ribbon of the Bath, had his left hand on the elbow of a tall post-captain who ducked instinctively beneath the deckhead beams.

‘Ah, Quilliam,' said his lordship, catching sight of the two lieutenants, ‘is all made ready?'

‘Aye, my lord.'

‘And you have briefed Lieutenant Drinkwater?' Quilliam nodded. ‘Very good. Captain Hardy, I commend these two officers to you and I rely upon you to find out the truth of the matter.'

‘Very well, my lord,' the tall captain growled and turned to the two lieutenants. ‘Come gentlemen . . . Mr Briarly, let us make a start.'

They climbed down into the boats and were about to leave
Elephant
's side when Nelson's high-pitched voice called down to them.

‘Are your oars muffled?'

‘Yes my lord.'

‘Very well. Should the Danish guard boat discover you, you must pull like devils, and get out of his way as fast as you can.'

There was a murmur of enthusiastic assent from the seamen at the oars.

‘Good luck then.'

Hardy, captain of the
St George
anchored eight miles to the north, had brought his own boat. A bright young midshipman leant against the tiller. He was muffled in an expensive bearskin coat provided by an indulgent parent well acquainted with the fleet's destination weeks earlier.

‘I've had a long pole prepared for sounding, Mr Drinkwater, it'll make less noise than a lead.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater wondered how close to the enemy they were to go that they needed to take such a precaution. They pulled in silence for a few minutes and Drinkwater noted their course by the light of the shaded lantern on the bottom boards.

‘This north-going current is damned strong . . .'

‘About two knots, sir.'

‘Did you lay the mark on the south end of the Middle Ground?'

‘Yes, sir. I laid a buoy on it and Lord Nelson ordered the buoy substituted by a boat.'

‘Let us hope we can find it in the dark.'

They did find it. After half an hour of pulling east and then west after finding five fathoms, they discovered the set of the current was considerable and had misled them. But, having established the bearing of the moored boat from the admiral's lights hung in
Elephant
's rigging, they began to move away.

‘May I suggest we pull round the mark boat, sir, in order to establish that it has not substantially dragged and still marks the south end of the shoal.'

Hardy grunted approval and Drinkwater directed the midshipman while a man dipped the long pole overboard like a quant and peered at the black and white markings painted on it.

‘It seems to be holding sir. I was worried because I only laid moorings for a spar buoy. I think Mr Fothergill must have laid a proper anchor.'

‘ 'Tis no matter, Mr Drinkwater. Time in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.'

They pulled west, losing the edge of the bank and swinging across the King's Channel that ran north, parallel to the Amager shore, the waterfront of Copenhagen and the defensive line of the Danish guns. The water deepened rapidly and the call came back that there was ‘No bottom' until it gradually began to shoal on the Amager side.

Hardy swung the boat to the north while a man forward with a boat hook shoved the ice aside and the oarsmen struggled to pull rhythmically despite the floes that constantly impeded their efforts.

‘There seems to be between six and eight fathoms in the main channel, sir,' Drinkwater said in a low voice after crouching in the boat's bottom and consulting his notebook. He was by no means certain of their exact position, but their line of bearing from
Elephant
was still reasonably accurate. ‘The Middle Ground seems to be steep-to, with gentler shoaling on the Amager shore.'

Hardy leaned over his shoulder and nodded. ‘Now I think you had better shutter that lantern and wrap canvas round it . . . not a word now, you men. Pull with short easy strokes and let the current do the work . . . Mr Fancourt . . .' Hardy pointed to larboard and the midshipman nodded. Drinkwater looked up and it took some minutes for his eyes to adjust again after the yellow lamplight.

Then he saw the enemy, dark, huge and menacing ahead of
them. The southernmost ship of the Danish line was an old battleship. The spars that reared into the night sky showed that she had been cut down and was not rigged to sail, but two tiers of gun ports could just be made out and she was moored head and stern to chains.

Perfect silence reigned, broken only by the occasional plash and dribble as Hardy himself wielded the sounding pole. They could hear voices that spoke in a totally unfamiliar tongue, but they were not discovered. They were so close as they sounded round the enemy vessel that they thought there must have been times when the upper end of the pole appeared above the enemy's rail.