"Let us think of them that sleep
Full many a fathom deep
By thy wild and stormy deep,
Elsinore!"
--CAMPBELL.
"I have been in a hundred and five engagements, but that of to-day is
the most terrible of them all." This was how Nelson himself summed up
the great fight off Copenhagen, or the battle of the Baltic as it is
sometimes called, fought on April 2, 1801. It was a battle betwixt
Britons and Danes. The men who fought under the blood-red flag of
Great Britain, and under the split flag of Denmark with its white
cross, were alike the descendants of the Vikings. The blood of the old
sea-rovers ran hot and fierce in their veins. Nelson, with the glories
of the Nile still ringing about his name, commanded the British fleet,
and the fire of his eager and gallant spirit ran from ship to ship like
so many volts of electricity. But the Danes fought in sight of their
capital, under the eyes of their wives and children. It is not strange
that through the four hours during which the thunder of the great
battle rolled over the roofs of Copenhagen and up the narrow waters of
the Sound, human valour and endurance in both fleets were at their very
highest.
Less than sixty years afterwards "thunders of fort and fleet" along all
the shores of England were welcoming a daughter of the Danish throne as
"Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea."
And Tennyson, speaking for every Briton, assured the Danish girl who
was to be their future Queen--
"We are each all Dane in our welcome of thee."
What was it in 1801 which sent a British fleet on an errand of battle
to Copenhagen?
It was a tiny episode of the long and stern drama of the Napoleonic
wars. Great Britain was supreme on the sea, Napoleon on the land, and,
in his own words, Napoleon conceived the idea of "conquering the sea by
the land." Paul I. of Russia, a semi-lunatic, became Napoleon's ally
and tool. Paul was able to put overwhelming pressure on Sweden,
Denmark, and Prussia, and these Powers were federated as the "League of
Armed Neutrality," with the avowed purpose of challenging the marine
supremacy of Great Britain. Paul seized all British ships in Russian
ports; Prussia marched troops into Hanover; every port from the North
Cape to Gibraltar was shut against the British flag. Britain, stood
alone, practically threatened with a naval combination of all the
Northern Powers, while behind the combination stood Napoleon, the
subtlest brain and most imperious will ever devoted to the service of
war. Napoleon's master passion, it should be remembered, was the
desire to overthrow Great Britain, and he held in the palm of his hand
the whole military strength of the Continent. The fleets of France and
Spain were crushed or blockaded: but the three Northern Powers could
have put into battle-line a fleet of fifty great ships and twenty-five
frigates. With this force they could raise the blockade of the French
ports, sweep triumphant through the narrow seas, and land a French army
in Kent or in Ulster.
Pitt was Prime Minister, and his masterful intellect controlled British
policy. He determined that the fleets of Denmark and of Russia should
not become a weapon in the hand of Napoleon against England; and a
fleet of eighteen ships of the line, with frigates and bomb-vessels,
was despatched to reason, from the iron lips of their guns, with the
misguided Danish Government. Sir Hyde Parker, a decent, unenterprising
veteran, was commander-in-chief by virtue of seniority; but Nelson,
with the nominal rank of second in command, was the brain and soul of
the expedition. "Almost all the safety and certainly all the honour of
England," he said to his chief, "is more entrusted to you than ever yet
fell to the lot of a British officer." And all through the story of
the expedition it is amusing to notice the fashion in which Nelson's
fiery nature strove to kindle poor Sir Hyde Barker's sluggish temper to
its own flame.
The fleet sailed from Yarmouth on March 12, and fought its way through
fierce spring gales to the entrance of the Kattegat. The wind was
fair; Nelson was eager to sweep down on Copenhagen with the whole
fleet, and negotiate with the whole skyline of Copenhagen crowded with
British topsails. "While the negotiation is going on," he said, "the
Dane should see our flag waving every time he lifts up his head." Time
was worth more than gold; it was worth brave men's lives. The Danes
were toiling day and night to prepare the defence of their capital.
But prim Sir Hyde anchored, and sent up a single frigate with his
ultimatum, and it was not until March 30 that the British fleet, a long
line of stately vessels, came sailing up the Sound, passed Elsinore,
and cast anchor fifteen miles from Copenhagen. Nothing could surpass
the gallant energy shown by the Danes in their preparation for defence,
and Nature had done much to make the city impregnable from the sea.
[Illustration: The Battle of the Baltic, April 2nd, 1801. From
Brenton's Naval History.]
The Sound is narrow and shallow, a mere tangle of shoals wrinkled with
twisted channels and scoured by the swift tides. King's Channel runs
straight up towards the city, but a huge sandbank, like the point of a
toe, splits the channel into two just as it reaches the harbour. The
western edge runs up, pocket-shaped, into the city, and forms the
actual port; the main channel contracts, swings round to the
south-east, and forms a narrow passage between the shallows in front of
the city and a huge shoal called the Middle Ground. A cluster of grim
and heavily armed fortifications called the Three-Crown Batteries
guarded the entrance to the harbour, and looked right up King's
Channel; a stretch of floating batteries and line-of-battle ships, a
mile and a half in extent, ran from the Three-Crown Batteries along the
edge of the shoals in front of the city, with some heavy pile batteries
at its termination. The direct approach up King's Channel, together
with the narrow passage between the city and the Middle Ground, were
thus commanded by the fire of over 600 heavy guns. The Danes had
removed the buoys that marked all the channels, the British had no
charts, and only the most daring and skilful seamanship could bring the
great ships of the British fleet through that treacherous tangle of
shoals to the Danish front. As a matter of fact, the heavier ships in
the British fleet never attempted to join in the desperate fight which
was waged, but hung as mere spectators in the offing.
Meanwhile popular enthusiasm in the Danish capital was at fever-point.
Ten thousand disciplined troops manned the batteries; but peasants from
the farms, workmen from the factories, merchants from the city,
hastened to volunteer, and worked day and night at gun-drill. A
thousand students from the university enrolled themselves, and drilled
from morning till night. These student-soldiers had probably the best
military band ever known; it consisted of the entire orchestra of the
Theatre Royal, all volunteers. A Danish officer, sent on some message
under a flag of truce to the British fleet, was required to put his
message in writing, and was offered a somewhat damaged pen for that
purpose. He threw it down with a laugh, saying that "if the British
guns were not better pointed than their pens they wouldn't make much
impression on Copenhagen." That flash of gallant wit marked the temper
of the Danes. They were on flame with confident daring.
Nelson, always keen for a daring policy, had undertaken to attack the
Danish defences with a squadron of twelve seventy-fours, and the
frigates and bomb-vessels of the fleet. He determined to shun the open
way of King's Channel, grope through the uncertain passage called the
Dutch Deep, at the back of the Middle Ground, and forcing his way up
the narrow channel in front of the shallows, repeat on the anchored
batteries and battleships of the Danes the exploit of the Nile. He
spent the nights of March 30 and 31 sounding the channel, being
himself, in spite of fog and ice, in the boat nearly the whole of these
two bitter nights. On April 1 the fleet came slowly up the Dutch Deep,
and dropped anchor at night about two miles from the southern extremity
of the Danish line. At eleven o'clock that night, Hardy--in whose arms
Nelson afterwards died on board the _Victory_--pushed off from the
flagship in a small boat and sounded the channel in front of the Danish
floating batteries. So daring was he that he actually sounded round
the leading ship of the Danish line, using a pole to avoid being
detected.
In the morning the wind blew fair for the channel. Nelson's plans had
been elaborated to their minutest details, and the pilots of the fleet
were summoned at nine o'clock to the flagship to receive their last
instructions. But their nerve failed them. They were simply the mates
or masters of Baltic traders turned for the moment into naval pilots.
They had no charts. They were accustomed to handle ships of 200 or 300
tons burden, and the task of steering the great British seventy-fours
through the labyrinths of shallows, with the tide running like a
mill-race, appalled them. At last Murray, in the _Edgar_, undertook to
lead. The signal was made to weigh in succession, and one great ship
after another, with its topsails on the caps, rounded the shoulder of
the Middle Ground, and in stately procession, the _Edgar_ leading, came
up the channel. Campbell in his fine ballad has pictured the scene:--
"Like leviathans afloat
Lay their bulwarks on the brine,
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line.
It was ten of April morn by the chime;
As they drifted on their path
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.
But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene,
And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between."
The leading Danish ships broke into a tempest of fire as the British
ships came within range. The _Agamemnon_ failed to weather the
shoulder of the Middle Ground, and went ignobly ashore, and the scour
of the tide kept her fast there, in spite of the most desperate
exertions of her crew. The _Bellona_, a pile of white canvas above, a
double line of curving batteries below, hugged the Middle Ground too
closely, and grounded too; and the _Russell_, following close after
her, went ashore in the same manner, with its jib-boom almost touching
the _Bellona's_ taffrail. One-fourth of Nelson's force was thus
practically out of the fight before a British gun was fired. These
were the ships, too, intended to sail past the whole Danish line and
engage the Three-Crown Batteries. As they were _hors de combat_, the
frigates of the squadron, under Riou--"the gallant, good Riou" of
Campbell's noble lines--had to take the place of the seventy-fours.
Meanwhile, Nelson, in the _Elephant_, came following hard on the
ill-fated _Russell_. Nelson's orders were that each ship should pass
her leader on the starboard side, and had he acted on his own orders,
Nelson too would have grounded, with every ship that followed him. The
interval betwixt each ship was so narrow that decision had to be
instant; and Nelson, judging the water to the larboard of the _Russell_
to be deeper, put his helm a-starboard, and so shot past the _Russell_
on its larboard beam into the true channel, the whole line following
his example. That sudden whirl to starboard of the flagship's helm--a
flash of brilliant seamanship--saved the battle.
Ship after ship shot past, and anchored, by a cable astern, in its
assigned position. The sullen thunder of the guns rolled from end to
end of the long line, the flash of the artillery ran in a dance of
flame along the mile and a half of batteries, and some 2000 pieces of
artillery, most of them of the heaviest calibre, filled the long Sound
with the roar of battle. Nelson loved close fighting, and he anchored
within a cable's length of the Danish flagship, the pilots refusing to
carry the ship nearer on account of the shallow depth, and the average
distance of the hostile lines was less than a hundred fathoms. The
cannonade raged, deep-voiced, unbroken, and terrible, for three hours.
"Warm work," said Nelson, as it seemed to deepen in fury and volume,
"but, mark you, I would not be elsewhere for thousands." The carnage
was terrific. Twice the Danish flagship took fire, and out of a crew
of 336 no fewer than 270 were dead or wounded. Two of the Danish prams
drifted from the line, mere wrecks, with cordage in rags, bulwarks
riddled, guns dismounted, and decks veritable shambles.
The battle, it must be remembered, raged within easy sight of the city,
and roofs and church towers were crowded with spectators. They could
see nothing but a low-lying continent of whirling smoke, shaken with
the tumult of battle, and scored perpetually, in crimson bars, with the
flame of the guns. Above the drifting smoke towered the tops of the
British seventy-fours, stately and threatening. The south-east wind
presently drove the smoke over the city, and beneath that inky roof, as
under the gloom of an eclipse, the crowds of Copenhagen, white-faced
with excitement, watched the Homeric fight, in which their sons, and
brothers, and husbands were perishing.
Nothing could surpass the courage of the Danes. Fresh crews marched
fiercely to the floating batteries as these threatened to grow silent
by mere slaughter, and, on decks crimson and slippery with the blood of
their predecessors, took up the fight. Again and again, after a Danish
ship had struck from mere exhaustion, it was manned afresh from the
shore, and the fight renewed. The very youngest officer in the Danish
navy was a lad of seventeen named Villemoes. He commanded a tiny
floating battery of six guns, manned by twenty-four men, and he managed
to bring it under the very counter of Nelson's flagship, and fired his
guns point-blank into its huge wooden sides. He stuck to his work
until the British marines shot down every man of his tiny crew except
four. After the battle Nelson begged that young Villemoes might be
introduced to him, and told the Danish Crown Prince that a boy so
gallant ought to be made an admiral. "If I were to make all my brave
officers admirals," was the reply, "I should have no captains or
lieutenants left."
The terrific nature of the British fire, as well as the stubbornness of
Danish courage, may be judged from the fact that most of the prizes
taken in the fight were so absolutely riddled with shot as to have to
be destroyed. Foley, who led the van at the battle of the Nile, was
Nelson's flag-captain in the _Elephant_, and he declared he burned
fifty more barrels of powder in the four hours' furious cannonade at
Copenhagen than he did during the long night struggle at the Nile! The
fire of the Danes, it may be added, was almost as obstinate and deadly.
The _Monarch_, for example, had no fewer than 210 of its crew lying
dead or wounded on its decks. At one o'clock Sir Hyde Parker, who was
watching the struggle with a squadron of eight of his heaviest ships
from the offing, hoisted a signal to discontinue the engagement. Then
came the incident which every boy remembers.
The signal-lieutenant of the _Elephant_ reported that the admiral had
thrown out No. 39, the signal to discontinue the fight. Nelson was
pacing his quarterdeck fiercely, and took no notice of the report. The
signal-officer met him at the next turn, and asked if he should repeat
the signal. Nelson's reply was to ask if his own signal for close
action was still hoisted. "Yes," said the officer. "Mind you keep it
so," said Nelson. Nelson continued to tramp his quarter-deck, the
thunder of the battle all about him, his ship reeling to the recoil of
its own guns. The stump of his lost arm jerked angrily to and fro, a
sure sign of excitement with him. "Leave off action!" he said to his
lieutenant; "I'm hanged if I do." "You know, Foley," he said, turning
to his captain, "I've only one eye; I've a right to be blind
sometimes." And then putting the glass to his blind eye, he exclaimed,
"I really do not see the signal!" He dismissed the incident by saying,
"D---- the signal! Keep mine for closer action flying!"
As a matter of fact, Parker had hoisted the signal only to give Nelson
the opportunity for withdrawing from the fight if he wished. The
signal had one disastrous result--the little cluster of frigates and
sloops engaged with the Three-Crown Batteries obeyed it and hauled off.
As the Amazon, Riou's ship, ceased to fire, the smoke lifted, and the
Danish battery got her in full sight, and smote her with deadly effect.
Riou himself, heartbroken with having to abandon the fight, had just
exclaimed, "What will Nelson think of us!" when a chain-shot cut him in
two, and with him a sailor with something of Nelson's own genius for
battle perished.
By two o'clock the Danish fire began to slack. One-half the line was a
mere chain of wrecks; some of the floating batteries had sunk; the
flagship was a mass of flames. Nelson at this point sent his boat
ashore with a flag of truce, and a letter to the Prince Regent. The
letter was addressed, "To the Danes, the brothers of Englishmen." If
the fire continued from the Danish side, Nelson said he would be
compelled to set on fire all the floating batteries he had taken,
"without being able to save the brave Danes who had defended them."
Somebody offered Nelson, when he had written the letter, a wafer with
which to close it. "This," said Nelson, "is no time to appear hurried
or informal," and he insisted on the letter being carefully sealed with
wax. The Crown Prince proposed an armistice. Nelson, with great
shrewdness, referred the proposal to his admiral lying four miles off
in the _London_, foreseeing that the long pull out and back would give
him time to get his own crippled ships clear of the shoals, and past
the Three-Crown Batteries into the open channel beyond--the only course
the wind made possible; and this was exactly what happened. Nelson, it
is clear, was a shrewd diplomatist as well as a great sailor.
The night was coming on black with the threat of tempest; the Danish
flagship had just blown up; but the white flag of truce was flying, and
the British toiled, as fiercely as they had fought, to float their
stranded ships and take possession of their shattered prizes. Of
these, only one was found capable of being sufficiently repaired to be
taken to Portsmouth. On the 4th Nelson himself landed and visited the
Crown Prince, and a four months' truce was agreed upon. News came at
that moment of the assassination of Paul I., and the League of Armed
Neutrality--the device by which Napoleon hoped to overthrow the naval
power of Great Britain--vanished into mere space. The fire of Nelson's
guns at Copenhagen wrecked Napoleon's whole naval policy.
It is curious that, familiar as Nelson was with the grim visage of
battle, the carnage of that four hours' cannonade was too much for even
his steady nerves. He could find no words too generous to declare his
admiration of the obstinate courage shown by the Danes. "The French
and Spanish fight well," he said, "but they could not have stood for an
hour such a fire as the Danes sustained for four hours."