Brave old Denmark was sincerely neutral during the great French
Revolution; but England, by a very questionable act, seized two Danish
frigates--under search-warrants--and towed them to British ports. This
arbitrary insult appears to have induced both Denmark and Sweden to
join the 'Northern Armed Neutrality,' which they did in the middle of
December 1800. Upon this, England embargoed all Danish and Swedish
ships in our ports, and seized all, or nearly all, their colonies.
Shortly afterwards, Admiral Sir Hyde Parker (commander-in-chief of the
fleet), Admiral Lord Nelson, and Admiral Graves, sailed for the Baltic
with some forty-seven ships of war. They passed without opposition
through the Sound, and the Swedish fleet of seven ships of the line
and three frigates, could not, or did not, leave Carlscrona; as to the
Russian fleet, it was frozen up; besides which, the demise of the
Emperor Paul caused a vacillation in the councils of Russia. The
result was, that little Denmark was left unaided to bear the brunt of
mighty England's vengeance.
Upon the crown-prince of Denmark--afterwards Frederick VI., one of the
best sovereigns that ever swayed a northern sceptre--devolved the
management of the nation's affairs; for he had been regent since 1784,
in consequence of the mental derangement of Christian VII. The
crown-prince was a brave and energetic man, and he made every possible
preparation to defend Copenhagen--himself assuming the very
responsible post of commander-in-chief. The land defences consisted of
the Citadellet Frederikshavn, the Crown Batteries, and if they were as
formidable in 1801 as they were when we saw them in 1850, they indeed
possessed tremendous powers of destruction--also batteries on the
shore of the island of Amak--Amager, as the English call it--which is
separated from Copenhagen by a narrow arm of the sea called
Kallebostrand. The Danish fleet was moored in the inner harbour, which
is a very strong position, as the entrance is defended by booms, and
batteries are along its east or seaward side.
On April 1, 1801, the English fleet loomed ominously in the horizon,
and it became evident that a fearful combat was close at hand. The
crown-prince issued his last orders to Admiral Fisher, the gallant
commander of the Danish fleet, and to the officers in command of the
several batteries. A terrible day and night was that for the Danes!
They knew that with the morrow's sun many of their fathers, husbands,
and brothers, _must_ fall; and in case victory should declare on the
side of the assailant, they knew not what horrors of war might befall
their city. Yet the Danes--as brave and noble a people as any upon
earth--yielded not to despair. They bitterly felt the cruel nature of
their position, and with characteristic fortitude and unflinching
resolution, prepared to meet it. They might be conquered, and their
capital given to the flames--they knew that; but undauntedly did they
rely on their native bravery, and the justice of their cause; for they
believed they were engaged in a struggle of right against might.
At the hour of seven o'clock on this momentous evening of the 1st of
April, a 'mess' of sailors on board a Danish ship of the line, the
outermost of all in the harbour, had just received, in common with
their shipmates, an extra allowance of _brændeviin_--white
corn-brandy, somewhat like whisky. They were filled with feelings of
high professional pride and confidence, and eagerly pledged one
another, with patriotic resolves, to conquer or die in the morrow's
conflict. Some tossed off their allowance with national toasts. One
man among them held his _brændeviin_ untasted until all the others had
swallowed theirs. This man was a sailor who had volunteered to serve
in the man-o'-war only the previous day. He was a native of
Copenhagen, and hitherto had spent his life in the merchant service;
but he had offered himself patriotically on this great emergency to
fight in his country's cause. There was nothing remarkable or striking
in his appearance: he was a sun-burnt, hardy-looking young man of
about five-and-twenty, and slight rather than muscular in appearance.
Like many of his countrymen, his hair was very light flaxen, and his
eyes bright blue. His name was Anton Lundt.
'Come, messmate,' said one of the sailors, 'what is _your_ toast?'
Anton Lundt started a little, his lip quivered, and his eyes grew
lustrous with hidden emotion. Holding his glass on high, he exclaimed
with fervour: 'For Pigen og vort Land--for Rosine og gamie Danmark!'
(For the girls and our country--for Rose and old Denmark!) and
drained his _brændeviin_ to the last drop.
'Ah!' exclaimed his messmates, 'your sweetheart and your country--no
toast can be better than that! Hurrah for Rosine and old Denmark!'
Anton Lundt dashed the cuff of his sleeve over his eyes, and turned
aside with a glowing heart, and a prayer on his lips.