There would be a fight. There was no doubt of that. Even though Denmark had little sympathy with France, she would be sure to resist any attempt by Britain to remove her fleet. Equally, it was possible that Bonaparte had already given orders for the invasion of Denmark and the seizure of the fleet at Copenhagen. If that was the case then Lord Cathcart might well be caught between the Danes and the French and his position would be precarious indeed. Everything would depend on the speed of the operation. Copenhagen must be taken, and the Danish fleet captured, before the French could react.
The fleet sailed due north, out of sight of land, to avoid being sighted. A screen of frigates sailed in an arc ahead of the convoy to ward off any merchant ships, privateers or the few enemy navy vessels that dared to venture on to the high sea. On the second day the convoy turned east and the ships’ crews busily wore their vessels round and began the final approach towards the coast of Denmark. Arthur had informed his officers of the final destination, but not the men, and they now crowded the ship’s side to see the low coastline, punctuated by tiny islands and rocky outcrops.
The sails were reefed in as the ships closed on the coast, and as the daylight faded the flagship gave the order to heave to and drop anchor. Several small craft sailed closer to the shore to reconnoitre the approaches to the Danish capital, while on board the Prometheus Arthur passed the word for the men under his command to be ready to begin landing at short notice. The night passed slowly and the dark hulks of the British fleet gently pitched and rolled at their anchors, while the men aboard huddled expectantly against the sides. As he walked down their lines, dimly illuminated by bulkhead lanterns, Arthur could sense that they were in high spirits. The younger men were full of nervous excitement, while the veterans sat and waited with stoic expressions, or simply took advantage of the opportunity to sleep, not knowing when the next chance would come.
Then, as the first glimmer of dawn lit the horizon, the flagship gave the signal to make sail. Across the calm surface of the sea came the steady clanking as the crews strained at their windlasses to haul in the thick anchor cables with the great weight of the iron sea anchors at the ends of them. One by one, the ships edged forward, taking up their stations as best they could in the light breeze and making towards the coast at an angle until at noon the signal came to drop anchor a mile from the shore opposite a long sandy beach fringed with grassy dunes.
When Arthur took out his spyglass and examined the horizon he could just make out some spires and perhaps the faint mass of buildings away to the east.
‘I think that’s Copenhagen,’ he muttered as he handed the glass to General Stewart, his second in command. ‘Over there.’
Stewart was an experienced officer with a steady, though unspectacular, history of promotion. Even though he respected the man, Arthur suspected that someone at Horseguards had appointed him to Arthur’s brigade to nursemaid its young commander.
Stewart squinted through the eyepiece as he steadied the instrument and adjusted for the slight roll of the Prometheus.‘I believe you are right, sir. And there’s the reception committee.’
He lowered the glass and pointed towards the beach. A group of horsemen had emerged from the dunes and ridden to the water’s edge to examine the shipping spread out across the sea.There was a brief flash as a telescope was trained on the fleet, and then the horsemen turned and rode off at a gallop, disappearing back into the dunes.
‘There goes the element of surprise,’ said Arthur. ‘The Danes will be ready enough for us soon.’
‘Aye.’ Stewart nodded. ‘There’ll be plenty of blood shed before this is all over. One way or another.’
‘Deck there!’ a voice called from aloft and Arthur turned and tilted his head back to see one of the sailors high up on the mainmast thrusting his arm out. ‘Boat approaching!’
A launch was advancing from the direction of the flagship and Arthur could see the red coat of an army officer sitting at the stern beside the midshipman in command of the boat.The oars rose and fell rhythmically as the small vessel approached the towering sides of the Prometheus, and as it hooked on to the chains the army officer scrambled awkwardly up the side and on to the deck. Glancing round, he spied Arthur and came striding towards him.
He saluted and held out a folded slip of paper. ‘Orders from Lord Cathcart, sir.’
Arthur nodded. He unfolded the paper and skimmed over the contents before he looked up. ‘Very well. Tell his lordship that I will begin at once.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Arthur turned to Stewart, who was watching him expectantly. ‘Lord Cathcart intends to land the army today. Our brigade is to go in first and establish a beachhead, before advancing towards Copenhagen.’
Stewart grinned wolfishly and rubbed his hands together.‘That’s the ticket! At bloody last. I’ve had enough of this tub and need to get my boots on dry land.’
Arthur nodded. ‘Pass the word to all officers.They are to have their men ready to go ashore at once.We’ll have the first three companies on deck ready to load.The rest can wait below.’
‘Aye, sir.’ Stewart saluted and turned to march away across the quarterdeck. He cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed,‘All officers on me! Sergeants, form your men up. First three companies of the battalion only on deck! We’re ordered to lead the attack, lads!’
One of the soldiers punched his fist into the air, and cheered at the top of his voice. Instantly the cry was taken up by the other men as they hurried to their stations. Arthur could not help smiling at their high spirits.Then he turned towards the shore and his smile faded.Within a matter of hours the gleaming sands of the beach and the dunes beyond might well be covered in blood and bodies.The prospect of action did not scare him in the least, he reflected calmly. Only the consequences of it.
He turned away and made for the gangway to collect his sword and pistols from his cabin before he led the first wave of British troops to land on Danish soil.
Chapter 35
‘Easy oars!’ the midshipman cried out and the sailors ceased rowing, allowing the Prometheus’s launch to continue forward under its own way through the gentle waves breaking on the flat stretch of sand. Overhead the sky was a deep blue and the sun blazed down from its zenith. Fortunately a comfortable breeze cooled the faces of the men in the boat and the air was punctuated with the shrill cries of curious seagulls as they whirled above the boats. There was a sudden lurch under the keel and the launch slid to a halt, rested a moment, then was carried forward another few feet by the next wave. Two seamen in the prow hopped over the side and held the launch steady.Arthur was sitting close to the bows and when the boat was solidly grounded he was the first of his men to rise up. He clambered over the side into the knee-deep surf with a splash, and waded ashore.
‘Over yer go, lads!’ a sergeant bellowed. ‘Don’t want the general to fight ’em all on ’is own now! Move yerselves!’
The redcoats climbed out of the launch, muskets held clear of the water, and made their way ashore, emerging from the sea with drenched boots and trousers from the thigh down. On either side, the other boats from the warship ground softly on to the sand and more men piled over the side and surged ashore, until the first company was complete and the sergeant ordered them to form up ten paces beyond the surf. The moment the last of the soldiers was out of the launches the crews pushed their boats back into the sea until they had cleared enough distance to turn round and return to the ship to collect the next company of redcoats.