Fire and Sword

Chapter 37

The preparations for the siege were completed shortly after Arthur’s brigade returned to the British lines outside Copenhagen. Several batteries had been constructed within range of the city, and the engineers had ensured that the guns would be well protected by great ramparts of earth, fortified with fascines and stout wooden props. Behind the defences the siege guns were hauled into place and stores of powder and shot brought forward by long lines of redcoats sweating under the late summer sun as they toiled along the trenches that zigzagged towards the Danish positions. All of which activity was scrutinised by the defenders of Copenhagen as they helplessly watched their enemies crafting their doom.

There had been one attempt to disrupt the work when a Danish battalion had crept out from the city on a moonless night. Stealing across the open ground they had soon run into British outposts and after a brief skirmish, illuminated by orange flashes of musket fire, the Danes had been forced back having done little more than smash a score of fascines, and inflict a handful of casualties.

When the last of the siege guns was eased forward, and aimed at the outer works of the city, Lord Cathcart nodded with satisfaction as he inspected the biggest of the batteries in the company of his senior officers. In addition to the siege guns there were several peculiar iron contraptions that looked like cooking tripods except that one leg was longer than the others and was angled inside like a length of guttering. After a moment’s reflection Arthur realised that these must be the launch beds for the modest supply of Congreve rockets the army had brought with them from Britain. Sure enough, a small column of men approached carrying the experimental weapons, which looked to Arthur’s eye like large fireworks.

‘Damn fine work.’ Cathcart nodded happily as he leaned forward and squinted down the length of one of the rockets, which was lined up with a church tower the best part of a mile away. In the far distance lay the delicate-looking masts of the fleet that would be the prize of a successful siege. Outside the entrance to the harbour lay the fleet of Admiral Gambier, bottling the Danish vessels up and ready to bombard the city from the sea if necessary.

Cathcart clapped his hands together. ‘Those bloody Danes will have to come to terms now. If not, then we’ll pound their city to dust, and good riddance.’

Arthur cleared his throat and Cathcart turned towards the sound with a frown. ‘D’you have something to say,Wellesley? Speak up.’

Arthur glanced towards the distant roofs of Copenhagen gleaming dully in the sunshine. A faint haze hung over the landscape, adding to the peaceful appearance of the setting. He turned his attention away from the city and looked steadily at his commanding officer. ‘We have been sent here to secure the Danish fleet, my lord.’

‘I know that well enough, thank you. What is your point?’

‘Well, it seems to me that the most prudent course of action would be to do all in our power to take those warships with the least loss of life and damage to property.’

‘Damn it, man.’ Cathcart thrust his hand out towards the Danish warships. ‘There is the fleet, Wellesley. In case you had not noticed, the city lies between us and those ships.We must overwhelm the one to win through to the other.’

‘I agree, my lord.We must have those ships. But we do not want this affair to damage Britain’s reputation unnecessarily. Surely it would be better to try to persuade the Danes to surrender before any more blood is shed? If we can demonstrate that violence is our last recourse then we may yet emerge from this with more credit than we brought into it.’

Lord Cathcart shook his head.‘Do not if and but me,Wellesley.That is no way for a soldier to think. We have our orders and we will obey them to the best of our ability. Now then.’ Cathcart forced a smile. ‘Since you insist on using those terms, then if the enemy can be persuaded to surrender as soon as possible, then so much the better, eh? But if he is resolved to fight, then we must make sure that we crush him without mercy. Then all Europe will know the dreadful price that comes with defying the interests of Britain.’

Arthur thought about this for a moment before responding. ‘You are probably right, my lord. It might well be better to be feared than befriended. ’ He paused and tried to restrain a small smile as he continued. ‘However, I would rather not have our country compared to France in terms of the lessons we teach other nations.We make war as a last resort and even then we should not make enemies if we can avoid it.’

‘Stuff and nonsense!’ General Baird snorted.‘War is war. It’s a bloody business. Besides, the Danes have brought this on themselves. They should have given way when they had the choice,Wellesley.’

‘That is so,’ Arthur conceded. ‘But their pride was affronted. Now that they have suffered a number of reverses, and are looking upon the muzzles of our siege guns, they might be more willing to negotiate.’

Cathcart shut his eyes for a moment and breathed heavily, as if struggling to control his temper. ‘Look here, Wellesley, if you think you can talk them round then you are welcome to try. I don’t give a damned fig for their city, but I will do what I can to spare our boys.’

Arthur felt his heart lift at Cathcart’s words. He saluted. ‘I’ll see to it at once, my lord.’

‘You do that,’ Cathcart replied flatly and turned away as he raised his telescope and examined the Danish defences.

Arthur galloped back to his brigade headquarters and hurriedly briefed Stewart.

‘If anything happens, you will take command of the brigade.’

‘Yes, sir. Be careful.’

Arthur stared at him a moment as he sensed the man’s sincerity, and then bowed his head. ‘Thank you, Stewart. Now you have your instructions. I will need an officer to carry a flag of truce. Also I want General Schmeiler brought forward.’

‘Schmeiler?’

Arthur nodded. ‘I have a feeling he may prove useful.’

Stewart saluted and strode off to carry out his instructions leaving Arthur staring out of his tent flaps towards Copenhagen, shimmering in the heat. He reached down and unbuckled his sword, and laid it down on his campaign desk. Now that he was about to approach the Danish lines unarmed and with just one of his men, Arthur felt the first cold tingle of fear trace its way up his spine. At once he was furious with himself for the unworthy sentiment, and forced it from his mind. A general simply could not afford to succumb to such moments of weakness. He drew a cloth from his pocket and mopped the sweat from his brow before pressing his cocked hat firmly down over his crown.Taking a deep breath, he strode out into the sunshine and called for his horse.

Shortly before noon, the three men rode out from the British lines, down the turnpike leading towards Copenhagen. Arthur rode a short distance ahead. To his left a young ensign bore a white flag aloft, gently waving it from side to side in the breathless air to ensure that the Danes would see that it was a flag of truce that he carried. To Arthur’s left, General Schmeiler sat erect, a strained expression on his face. He had cracked some ribs when he had crashed to the ground back in Køge and was in some pain as his horse walked slowly forward.

They passed between the last of the British outposts and emerged into the open ground between the two armies. The air was still and a slight haze wavered off the dried track in the distance.The hooves of the horses scraped and clopped as the saddlery creaked under the three riders. Now and then one of the horses snorted or ground its teeth on its bit. As they approached the Danish outposts several of the militiamen emerged from shelter, holding their muskets at the ready.

‘General Wellesley,’ Schmeiler said softly.‘What is to prevent me from joining my countrymen when we reach their lines?’

‘Just your word of honour.You have given your parole and I will not release you from it until this conflict is over.’

Schmeiler eased his mount forward until he was alongside Arthur. ‘And then you will release me?’

‘Of course. What would be the point of holding you prisoner any longer than was necessary? As I explained, we are here for your fleet and nothing more. Once France is defeated the warships will be returned to Denmark.’

‘So you say.’

‘So I mean.’Arthur looked at the Danish general.‘You have my word on it.’

They continued forward until they were no more than fifty paces from the nearest of the militia.Then one of them, a junior officer, raised his hand and shouted to the three riders.

‘He says we are to halt,’ muttered Schmeiler.

Arthur reined in. ‘Would you be kind enough to explain that I wish to speak to the senior officer of the gallant defenders of Copenhagen.’

Schmeiler translated the request and after a further brief exchange the officer saluted and trotted off towards the nearest redoubt. A moment later Arthur saw him emerge on horseback from behind the earthworks and gallop off towards the town a quarter of a mile beyond. They waited patiently in their saddles as their mounts ambled towards the grass growing along the side of the turnpike and lowered their heads to feed. Arthur turned to Schmeiler.

‘It is a shame that Denmark does not join us in the fight against Bonaparte. Surely you must see the danger he poses to us all?’

‘Of course. But what can we do about it? Denmark is a small nation. Our army is no match for soldiers of France, or Britain for that matter, as I have discovered. If we defied the Emperor he would swallow us up in a matter of days. So we bide our time, and attempt to keep out of the wars of greater nations. Now you have brought war to us and we find ourselves caught between Britain and France without even the consolation of making a friend out of an enemy’s enemy.’

‘What’s that?’ Arthur looked at the Dane sharply.

‘Copenhagen is besieged by Britain and Denmark is besieged by France. Before I encountered your brigade, I had just been informed that a French army was massing on our border. I think their intention is clear enough. They mean to let you weaken our defences before marching on your rear, and taking Copenhagen the moment they have dealt with you.They could arrive within a week.Ten days at the most.’

Arthur nodded towards the militiamen watching them closely from a short distance away. ‘Did you say anything about the column to that officer?’

‘No. I will save it for his commander.’

Arthur felt his pulse quicken.This was bad news indeed and made it essential that the Danes surrender as soon as possible. He cleared his throat and continued calmly. ‘It would seem that Denmark faces a choice of giving way to us, or to France. I need not tell you that the consequences of the latter option are far more dire than permitting Lord Cathcart to remove your warships. Once we have those there is no purpose to our remaining on Danish soil. I doubt the French would leave your country quite so readily.’

Schmeiler thought on this a moment and then nodded slowly. ‘I think you are right.’

‘Then can I count on your assistance in helping to persuade the commander of the Copenhagen garrison to lay down his arms?’

‘I will not go that far,’ Schmeiler replied.‘But I will present your case fairly.’

‘Thank you.’

A quarter of an hour later a small party of horsemen reined in a short distance from Arthur and his two companions. Some were dressed in civilian clothes and one, their leader, wore a gaudy uniform. He saluted Arthur as he approached, and then frowned as he saw General Schmeiler. He addressed the latter sharply and there was a brief exchange before he turned his attention back to Arthur.

‘Sir, I am General Peymann, commander of the garrison. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

‘Major-General Sir Arthur Wellesley at your service, sir.’ Arthur touched the brim of his hat.

Peymann eyed him appraisingly.‘Is it true that your brigade defeated a division of regular troops?’

‘Why, yes, sir.’ Arthur sensed Schmeiler flinch at his side and decided it would be best to spare the man as much embarrassment as he could. ‘But only after a stiff fight, sir.Your compatriots did all that they could before yielding to my men.’

‘I am gratified to hear that,’ Peymann responded flatly. ‘Though it would have been better if our men had fought with more zeal. I can assure you that the defenders of Copenhagen will fight with rather more heart than General Schmeiler and his men.’

‘I have no doubt of that,’ Arthur replied politely. ‘I am sure that they are all good patriots. Like any man who volunteers for the militia. Be that as it may, they are up against regular soldiers, the best trained infantry in Europe. Our fleet anchored off the approaches to your harbour is manned by the victors of Trafalgar. Sir, there can only be one result if you should make the tragic mistake of opposing our demands. Admiral Gambier’s fleet will bombard Copenhagen.Thousands will die and many fine buildings will be crushed to rubble. Then the army of General Cathcart will storm the city.You know the rules of war, sir. If you fail to come to terms with us before the assault begins then our men will be fully within their rights to sack Copenhagen and take what, and whom, they like.’

General Peymann eyed him coldly. ‘You would let them do that?’

‘I regret to say that I, or any British general, could do little to stop them,’ Arthur replied.The redcoats were fine soldiers on the battlefield but could be perfect devils when given their head and Arthur dreaded to consider the consequences should a drunken host of British soldiers descend on the helpless population of the Danish capital. He decided to make one final effort to persuade General Peymann to see reason. ‘Sir, much as I admire your determination to defend your country’s honour, I would beg you to spare your people the horrors of war.What glory is there in such an end? I implore you. Surrender your fleet to Admiral Gambier while there is still time.’

‘You know that we cannot do that. Do you think for a moment that the French Emperor would tolerate such meek behaviour? No, he would punish Denmark severely.’ General Peymann smiled bitterly. ‘So it seems that my people are damned either way.’

It was true, Arthur reflected sadly. There was no easy choice for the Danes.

General Peymann stiffened his back and continued. ‘Besides, what gives your government the right to demand possession of our warships?’

‘Only the right of self-preservation. Britain cannot let those ships fall into French hands.You would do the same in our position.’

‘Perhaps,’ Peymann conceded. ‘And what about you, General Wellesley? If our positions were reversed, would you surrender your capital city and your warships?’

Arthur thought for a moment and shrugged.‘I doubt it. But we must deal with the present realities, sir. Will you surrender?’

‘No.’

‘Then there is nothing more to say.’

Peymann shrugged. ‘I bid you farewell.’

The Danish commander tugged on his reins and turned his mount away. Arthur glanced at Schmeiler and thought quickly.There was still a chance that General Peymann might yet be persuaded to see sense. He reached over and touched Schmeiler’s arm.

‘I release you from your parole.’

Schmeiler looked at him in surprise. ‘You release me? Why?’

‘There is no point in keeping you prisoner any longer. It serves no purpose. You are free. I hope that you live through what is to come.’ Arthur offered the Dane his hand and Schmeiler shook it warmly before Arthur turned his mount away and spurred it back towards the British lines, hurriedly followed by the ensign still carrying the flag of truce.

That night the British fleet sailed within range of the city and began to bombard Copenhagen.Arthur watched from one of the British outposts close to the coast. Scores of flashes illuminated the sides of the warships as their solid shot arced across the harbour and pounded the buildings of the Danish capital. Fire was returned from the citadel that guarded the harbour until the guns there were silenced, and for the rest of the night the ships of the Royal Navy continued to pour a devastating barrage of shot on the Danes.

From the landward side the siege guns added their weight, pounding the defences before them, while the rockets shrieked out from their launchers, inscribing a flaring parabola across the night sky before they fell inside the city and exploded with bright flashes that brought cheers from the ranks of the excited British soldiers who had gathered to watch the spectacle. Some fires began to start where the rockets had landed and wavering orange flames steadily spread across expanses of the city as the night drew on. Only as the first glimmer of dawn appeared did the fire begin to slacken as the British warships made sail and withdrew out of range of the remaining Danish guns. As the light strengthened and Arthur trained his spyglass on the city his heart sank at the sight of the shattered roofs and the clouds of smoke billowing up from the fires that still raged.

The bombardment continued for the following two nights, increasing in intensity. Once the initial exuberance of the first night had worn off the redcoats watched the terrible pounding in awed silence, their faces dimly lit by the distant glow of flames and the sudden flare of explosions as they witnessed the death of a great city. Then, on the morning after the terrible destruction of the third night, General Peymann sent a message to Lord Cathcart offering to surrender both Copenhagen and the fleet. A treaty was signed two days later and the garrison laid down its arms and opened the city to the victors.

When Arthur inspected the town he was horrified to see the damage that had been inflicted.Wide stretches of ground were little more than charred ruins and most buildings had been damaged by round shot that had carried away chimneys, smashed through roofs and walls and left the streets littered with debris. Then there were the bodies. In places they had been laid out neatly and covered with blankets. There had been little time to bury them as the citizens had struggled to fight the fires and find shelter for themselves and their families. But there were still hundreds sprawled in the street or buried in the ruins and the air was thick with the sickly sweet smell of corpses rotting in the heat of the late summer.

By the terms of the treaty the Danes gave up their fleet, together with those naval stores and supplies that had survived the bombardment. In return Britain agreed to quit Copenhagen as soon as the troops could be embarked. Over the following days the heavy guns were carefully loaded back on board their transports and then the infantry battalions followed suit. Arthur’s brigade was the last to go aboard the final squadron of warships that lay at anchor in the harbour. He had received reports that a French corps was on the march towards Copenhagen and the leading elements were already little more than a day’s march from the city.While the other battalions waited on the quay to be rowed out to the warships Arthur took command of the rearguard and positioned them in a cordon around the dock area.

The streets were eerily silent as the Danish inhabitants hid away, bolting their doors and shuttering their windows before retreating further inside to pray for their deliverance. Arthur stood in the tower of the customs house resting his telescope on the back of a chair as he fixed his attention on a French cavalry patrol that had appeared on a low rise inland that overlooked the capital. Well, let them look, he mused to himself. They were already too late. The Danish fleet had weighed anchor and was already on its way across the North Sea to Britain. Eighteen ships of the line together with twelve frigates. Those ships undergoing repairs in the dry docks had been fired a few days earlier and only the skeletal remains of their great timbers remained.

He turned at the sound of footsteps and saw General Stewart climbing into the tower behind him.

‘How is the loading proceeding?’

‘Almost done with the first battalion, sir.’ Stewart saluted.‘The second should be aboard within an hour or so.Then it’s just the rearguard.’

‘Very well. I shall be glad when we have quit this place.’

Stewart nodded.‘I am sure that some in Britain will say that this was not our finest hour.’

‘That is true. However, we must let them say what they like as long as they leave the soldiering to us.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right then, time to be off.’ Arthur took a last look at the enemy cavalry scouts, and was about to collapse his spyglass when a new movement caught his eye. Just to one side of the enemy horsemen the head of a column of infantry had appeared and was already pouring down the far slope and marching towards Copenhagen as swiftly as they could. Arthur waited a moment longer so that he could ascertain their strength. When the first three battalions had crossed over the rise he snapped his glass shut and stood up stiffly. ‘We have company.’

Stewart scanned the horizon, saw what Arthur had seen and nodded. ‘They’ll reach the city within the hour.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur responded dully. ‘Best prepare for them. Have the rearguard occupy the buildings along the waterfront.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Stewart saluted and disappeared back down the stairs.Arthur stared at the French for a few minutes longer, gauging the pace of their advance.They were making good time and he felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realised they would reach the quay well before the last men of the brigade could quit the city.

‘This is going to take some careful timing,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Very careful timing.’

Down on the quayside, the last companies of the other battalions were being herded aboard the launches as Arthur emerged from the customs house. He marched along the quay making sure that his men were well placed to guard the approaches to the embarkation area.Time seemed to crawl as the boats rowed steadily to and fro between the ships and the waiting soldiers, and Arthur tried not to let himself fret at the time it took his men to climb aboard and take their seats on the thwarts before each small vessel was fended away and the oars dipped into the calm sea to power the boat to the waiting warships.

Then at last he heard the drums of the approaching French soldiers and almost at once the crackle of musketry as they ran into the first of the British outposts.The sound quickly increased in intensity as General Stewart came striding up to join him.

‘Now we’re in for it, sir.’

‘Yes, quite,’ Arthur replied absently as he tried to gauge the direction of the main thrust of the enemy. ‘Seems to be heaviest towards the left flank. As soon as the next boat reaches the quay pull back one company at a time from our right and have them embark as swiftly as possible. Have the Grenadier Company form up on the quay.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As the firing continued to the left, the battalion’s line began to shorten from the right as one company at a time withdrew and trotted along the quay and down the stone steps to the waiting boats. Arthur was glad to see that one of the warship captains had taken the initiative of placing two launches armed with carronades in the bows to cover the evacuation of the last troops. When there were only two companies left ashore, Arthur had one form up around the steps and then sent a runner to the flank company still holding the houses that covered the approaches to the quayside to order them to fall back. A short time later a handful of redcoats came trotting into sight, then some more, and finally the stragglers and wounded, with several men fighting a rearguard action as they fired and then retreated to new cover.

Arthur filled his lungs and called out calmly, ‘Grenadier Company! Stand to!’

The men in front of the steps dressed their line and stood waiting with muskets grounded as their comrades from the Light Company hurried towards them. The captain, breathing heavily, drew up in front of Arthur and saluted.

‘Enemy’s going to be on us any moment, sir. I also saw some parties making off down side streets to try to outflank us.’ He turned and gestured towards the buildings crowding the edge of the quayside. Just then Arthur caught sight of a figure in one of the narrow alleys leading into the dock quarter. An instant later there was a flash, a puff and a crack and a musket ball whirred overhead.

‘Very well, Captain. Get your men aboard the launches.’

The officer saluted and stood by the top of the stairs as he urged his men on. As the wounded were helped into the first boat and the rearguard turned and trotted to catch up with the rest of the company, the head of the French column swarmed out on to the quay, a tricolour swirling through the air above their shakos and glinting bayonets. At the same time, more enemy soldiers were emerging from the alleys, cheering as they caught sight of the small band of redcoats remaining to face them.

‘Time for you to go, Stewart,’ Arthur said quietly.

‘Aye.’ Stewart nodded. ‘Mind you follow on as soon as you can, sir.’

‘I will.’ Arthur patted him on the back and then turned to face the approaching enemy. ‘Grenadier Company, make ready to fire!’

Primed and cocked, the muskets came up and were levelled towards the leading Frenchmen, who drew up at sight of the line of muzzles facing them.

‘Fire!’

There was a deafening crash as the volley went off, sending a blast of deadly lead shot through the leading ranks of the French. As the gentle breeze swiftly cleared the smoke Arthur saw that a dozen or more of the enemy were down and it took a moment before those behind pressed on, over the bodies of the dead and wounded. A man close to Arthur suddenly doubled up with a deep grunt and collapsed on to the ground, kicked once and died. Looking round, Arthur saw that those enemy soldiers who had managed to find other routes to the quay were firing into the Grenadier Company from the shelter of the nearest alleyways.

‘Fire at will!’ he ordered, then glanced round and saw that two launches were approaching the stone steps below the quay. He strode over to the company sergeant and grasped his arm. ‘Get the wounded into those boats as soon as they are alongside.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The French had halted a short distance away and both sides were firing freely at each other, and Arthur had to steel himself not to react to the whirr of balls flying past, and the thuds as they struck his men. The wounded were carried down to the first boat and then the sergeant began to pluck men out of the line and send them down until the first boat was full and it pulled off, heading back to the nearest warship. As the second boat came up to the steps Arthur bellowed the order to cease fire.

‘Quick as you can, lads! Into the boat!’

Together with the last men of the grenadier company, Arthur clambered down the steps and stepped into the launch, half falling on to one of the thwarts.The company sergeant came last and the seamen thrust the launch away and began to row.With a triumphant shout the French surged forward and Arthur realised that he and the others in the boat would be easy targets from the top of the quay.

‘Row for your lives!’ the midshipman, little more than a boy, in the stern of the launch cried out in a high-pitched voice.

The enemy began to appear along the quay and a shout went up at the sight of the launch. As the first muskets were raised in his direction Arthur felt utterly vulnerable and afraid, yet forced himself to sit quite still and not flinch. There was nothing he could do. Only providence could save him now.

There was a sudden roar from one side, and then the other, and a hail of grapeshot swept the top of the quay clear of enemy soldiers. Startled, Arthur turned and saw that the launches on the flanks had fired their carronades, and were already reloading as the men on the oars began to stroke the vessels away from the quay. One of the seamen in Arthur’s boat let out a cheer.

‘Shut your bloody mouth!’ the midshipman shouted. ‘Keep rowing!’

For a moment there was no further sign of the French soldiers, and then the more stout-hearted of them showed themselves along the quay again and took aim on the retreating boats. Shots slapped into the water close by, sending up narrow spouts of silver into the salty air. But the range was already long and within a minute the lusty strokes of the men at the oars had carried the launch to safety. Arthur felt the tension and fear begin to drain from his body as he turned to stare back towards Copenhagen and the tricolour flag waving over the heads of the French soldiers as they hurled insults after their enemy.

Even though the operation had been a success and the Danish fleet was on its way to Britain, he could not help feeling a sense of failure. Once again a British army had secured a small foothold on the continent, only to have to give it up. As long as that remained the pattern of the conflict, Britain would never defeat Bonaparte. As he stared at the enemy flag, swaying defiantly from side to side, Arthur made a resolution. The instant he returned to London he would do whatever he could to persuade the government to commit itself to a full-blooded campaign on the continent. It was only through such action that Britain could begin to topple the edifice of Bonaparte’s vast empire.