Inferno

Chapter 63

Svanemollen, north of Copenhagen

The brigade major took Ensign Maynard’s report with a grunt. In the cold damp grey of pre-dawn the lines of soldiers waited patiently, but as the young officer made his way back he was filled with a mixture of elation and apprehension. The army was on the march: they were to advance on Copenhagen and invest the capital – to surround it and formally demand its capitulation.

The sudden braying of a bugle-horn nearby startled him, part of the vast confusion of three army divisions manoeuvring in the misty dawn before being assembled into column of march, accoutred and paraded for inspection, firelocks checked, knapsacks completed.

In the distance the bagpipes of some Highland regiment summoning the clan burst into a martial squealing, clashing with their fifes and drums. In the rear a mule-train of ammunition and stores was being assembled, and further off there was activity with horse-drawn guns. But Maynard, on his first deployment in the face of the enemy, had eyes only for his own company.

They were in line, standing loose and staring blankly to their front. He watched Sergeant Heyer go down the ranks once again checking the men’s kit.

He himself was second under Lieutenant Adams, who waited with affected boredom for his return. It was a new experience for him as well.

At last all seemed to settle. There was a sudden flurry of bugle calls and the volleying of drums – the column was forming up. His station was near the head with the light infantry company, and as he went to his place he proudly saluted the lieutenant colonel and the major, trying to assume the correct expression of an officer going to war.

Theirs was the third battalion of the column to march out, with a preparatory rattle of drums, silence, then a roar of command. It was taken up by the captain of the light infantry company and, with a flourish on the drums and screamed orders from the sergeants, they stepped off smartly, hearing the next company behind them brought to readiness and leave, one by one until the whole battalion was afoot.

On the flanks of the column the band rattled and thumped.

With the heady sound of the massed tramp of the host ringing in his ears, Maynard felt the exhilaration of marching to war.

But somewhere not far ahead there had to be a confrontation. He gulped at the realisation that in an hour or less he could be fighting for his life, his men relying on him.

They swung on past unkempt fields and a farmhouse. The inhabitants stared at them but in the pastures the cows grazed without lifting their heads. Immaculate dressing of the ranks was kept and the men chivvied into a soldierly bearing. The next ahead were the Coldstream Guards and it would never do for the 52nd to be found wanting in the article of smartness.

After a mile or so the order to march at ease was given and shouldered muskets were shifted to the support position in the crook of the elbow. The ranks opened, and an easy, economical swing ate up the distance. Maynard had glimpsed the captain’s map and knew they didn’t have far to march. The army was advancing in three columns, one on a broad sweep around the rear of the city to the other side, another to establish a strong centre and theirs was to come up with the left of the line, where the city walls met the sea.

A rise in the ground gave them their first sight of Copenhagen. Less than eight miles ahead, innocent and enchanting in the sunshine, it was all spires and a mass of buildings amid a shimmer of water here and there.

They marched on.

Out to sea on their left were uncountable anchored ships, filling the near horizon from end to end. To the front and rear a column of soldiers a mile or more long was marching irresistibly on and on – surely the Danes must take this seriously. Guiltily Maynard suppressed disappointment: it was likely that even before they’d completed their encirclement they would be treating for terms.

They passed more cottages and other houses, continuing through a pretty village with pale faces at the windows and dogs barking. Every so often they saw Danish outriders following their progress from higher ground on their right, though they gave no indication of hostile intent. Perhaps they were in communication with an army issuing out of the city gates at that very moment, set on taking the field for the clash that would decide the issue.

Maynard felt a lurch of apprehension and cursed his imagination.

A halt was called at a place they were told was Swan Mill, a placid hamlet where the road touched the sea. There, the other two columns struck out inland on their encircling, leaving Maynard’s to establish their position. Here, some two miles from the city and safely out of range of its heavy guns, their part in the investment of the capital was to be made.

It was just like Shorncliffe: picquets out in front to probe the enemy, companies deployed to left and right in line, others in depth behind while the colonel and adjutant made appraisal of the terrain.

‘Nice enough, should the Danskers behave themselves,’ Adams ventured, as they waited for orders. ‘We’ve a chance at a billet, I’d believe and-’ He broke off and looked up sharply.

‘What is it?’

Adams held up his hand for silence. Maynard heard a far-off faint popping, much like a child’s toy. ‘We’ve made contact with ’em at last, I’d say.’

Maynard’s pulse quickened. It was only the picquets, but it might develop into an assault by the enemy before they could throw up defensive works. Either way, it was a turning point in his life: he was now indisputably on a battlefield.

Nobody else seemed much concerned and went about their business. It was up to the lieutenant with the picquets to advise of a breaking attack but when the horse messenger cantered past he was clearly in no hurry.

Orders for encampment had arrived. Pioneers got to work, preparing the defensive lines, while the camp took shape and the familiar features emerged of an army in the field.

Word came through that General Cathcart, general-officer-commanding the army, was establishing his headquarters at Hellerup, the village they’d passed a mile back, and later that elements of the 23rd Regiment of Foot, from Lieutenant General Baird in the centre, had linked up with their right. The King’s German Legion, with its brigades of dragoons, was covering the landing of guns and stores and had the additional task of watching the road from the north in case of a breakout from Kronborg Fortress.

By the afternoon the encirclement was complete. With Major General Wellesley taking up a roving position at the rear to guard against counter-attacks from the countryside, and with scouts on the move inland, it had to be accepted: against all expectations the investment of Copenhagen at a distance of a mile and a half was a fact and it had taken little more than a day.