Inferno

Author’s Note

John Lethbridge of Newton Abbot is an almost unknown figure – and a surprising hero. ‘Wrackman’, as he was known locally, was a modest wool merchant who in mature years, and with a large family to support, took it upon himself in that inland Devonshire town to think about wreck-diving in a special contrivance of his own devising, after he had spent half an hour in a barrel at the bottom of his pond. At a time when Blackbeard and Teach were ravaging the Spanish Main, he was quietly at work in places like Cape Town and Madeira, where he brought up three tons of silver in his ‘diving engine’, retiring years later a wealthy man.

When I came across an item in a local paper, reporting that in the 1840s a full working set of his gear had been found on a Dorset farm, my creative juices began to flow. Readers interested in the device can today view a faithful replica in Cherbourg’s Cite de la Mer. Incidentally, the legendary Tobermory Galleon has not yet been found – the latest attempt, by Sir Torquhil Ian Campbell, 13th Duke of Argyll, was begun in 2014.

As for the main thrust of this book, it’s astonishing to me that this episode in Napoleonic history is not more widely known. It was undoubtedly of global significance and at a time of the Emperor’s highest pinnacle of conquest. Given the odds against her, Britain was arguably at greater peril even than on the eve of Trafalgar. She chose to make a bold and desperate stroke that some have termed a war crime – but it worked, at the cost of abhorrence at home and abroad. There was questionable intelligence, true; there was politicking and ambition; but there is proof that Bonaparte intended to invade Denmark and seize its fleet. This was at a time when he was overheard boasting to Fouche, his chief of secret police, ‘Europe is a rotten whore who I will use as I please with my eight hundred thousand men.’

The Royal Navy’s part in this largely army-mounted bombardment was crucial. The Great Belt sailing isolated the island of Sj?lland and sealed the fate of the Danes before even a shot was fired. It was a feat of great seamanship and deserving of recognition, the irony being that today, instead of the direct route through the Sound, modern ships of deep draught prefer this passage, tracking the dybe rende, as Keats and his squadron did.

The future King Louis XVIII did flee from his Mitau exile, leaving his family, but it was actually a Swedish frigate that ferried him to safety in England. He was a distinct embarrassment to the British government who were anything but grateful to those who brought him. Far from a triumphant landing, he was kept cooped up in his ship for a fortnight off Yarmouth while the cabinet debated what to do with him. Customs and Revenue were given the awkward task of coming up with a stream of pretexts to delay his touching English soil. In the event he was granted residency and allowances from the Prince Regent. He set up a court in exile at a modest mansion in Buckinghamshire until, after Waterloo, he became the restored Bourbon King of France.

Bernadotte became increasingly disenchanted with his ever-rapacious master and later turned on him, eventually facing and defeating his compatriot marshals Oudinot and Ney in battle. Such was his charm and appeal that he was beseeched to accept the throne of Sweden, and the House of Bernadotte still reigns in Sweden today.

One can only sympathise with the hapless Danes. Struggling to maintain their strict neutrality, trapped between giants locked in mortal combat, they had no chance. It did not help that the Crown Prince abandoned Copenhagen to the plodding Peymann, who took his orders so literally, among other things failing to evacuate the city of civilians when invited to by the British, and playing it out so hopelessly to the bitter end. On his return to the city, after everything was over a furious Crown Prince Frederik put the old soldier on trial for his life but then relented.

At bay in an impossible situation the Danes grimly fought back – one’s heart can only wring with pity at the thought of country-folk with pitchforks sent against the future victor of Waterloo or men in tiny gunboats going in against a mighty battle-fleet. Of the previous time of Danes against English, Nelson had declared, ‘The French fought bravely, but they could not have stood for one hour the fight which the Danes had supported for four!’

For the British, while they eventually employed four of the captured fleet, the main objective was achieved – the Danish fleet could not close the Sound, and its warships were denied to Bonaparte either as battleships or as invasion troop transports. Above all, the vital Baltic trade was saved. Canning and others, however, endured much vilification in Parliament and the press for a barbarous act, and debate about its morality continues to this day.

In Copenhagen there is little left to show of the devastation wreaked over those four days except some atmospheric displays at several fine museums and the sight of an iron ball still embedded in the wall of the Rosenborg barracks on the Norrevold side. Congreve’s rockets are still talked about; they would go on to achieve immortality with their red glare in Baltimore.

As an aside, the Crown Prince, fleeing with frail King Christian, was stopped by one of Keats’s patrols but in a cunning disguise they made it through, an incident I ascribe to Bowden in Chapter 60. Even more improbably, the ancient Crown Jewels of Denmark could not be evacuated in time and were successfully hidden in a coffin in the crypt of a church, preserved to this day for visitors to admire in the undercroft of Frederiksborg Castle.

One could be forgiven for thinking that the inhabitants of this charming city, which endured twice at the hands of the British, might set their face against an Englishman, but my experiences when researching this book and in quite another role as a naval liaison officer during the Cold War have been nothing but warm and friendly.

I especially think of Kaptajn Poul Grooss, who very kindly undertook a battlefield tour for me, and Jakob Seerup and Soren Norby who pointed me in the right directions academically. There was also Marcus Bjorn, who went out of his way to make my path smooth, and Henrik Hey of the superbly preserved Skibsklarerergarden, with its archives where ships’ masters cleared for the Sound, and Peter Kristiansen at the Rosenborg Castle with his insights into court life at the time. And never forgetting the larger-than-life retired Danish submarine captain Johan Knudsen, whose reflections sailing under the Orlogsflaget were essential to this tale.

As usual, my sincere appreciation of their efforts must go to my editor at Hodder amp; Stoughton Oliver Johnson and his team, my agent Carole Blake, and my wife and literary partner Kathy – never forgetting Chi and Ling, our pair of Siamese author cats who run a very tight ship indeed!