The Bomb Vessel

'"A dull and muddy-metalled rascal", eh, Mr Jex?' Even Lettsom himself was scarce able to refrain from laughter and Jex was roused to real anger.

'Do you mind your manners, Mr Lettsom,' he snarled, 'I've given you no cause to abuse me.'

'"Use every man after his desert and who would 'scape whipping?"'

'Why,' laughed Rogers unwilling to let Lettsom have all the fun, 'both you and your eighth man would qualify there, Mr Jex…' Laughter spread along the deck among the seamen who well understood the allusion to Jex's corruption.

'Aye, "be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny."'

'Hold your God damn tongue…' burst out Jex, the colour mounting to his face at this public humiliation.

'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' Drinkwater temporised, 'I beg you to desist… Mr Jex, I assure you the surgeon meant no offence but merely wished to air his knowledge of the Bard. I am by no means persuaded his powers of recall are accurate…'

'Sir!' protested Lettsom but Drinkwater called their attention to the fleet.

'Let us see whether aught is rotten in the state of Denmark shall we?'

'Mr Drinkwater, you o'erwhelm the powers of my muse,' grinned Lettsom, 'I shall betake myself to my cockpit and sulk like Achilles in his tent.'

The surgeon and purser were instantly forgotten as glasses were lifted to watch the fleet weigh from the anchorage and begin the approach to Copenhagen through the sound.

Led by Monarch, the foremost ship of Lord Nelson's division, the ships of the line stood south eastwards in brilliant sunshine. It presented a magnificent spectacle to the men watching from the huddle of bomb ships that waited eagerly to play their part in the drama of the day. The wind had settled to a fine breeze from the north north westward, as Monarch approached Cronbourg. They could see her topmen racing aloft to shake out the topgallants from their stoppings.

'London's signalling, sir, "General bombs, commence the bombardment".'

'Thank you, Mr Easton. Mr Rogers, have the crews in the boats ready to render assistance, and Mr Tumilty, perhaps you will give us the benefit of your opinion in the action.'

'I shall be delighted, Nat'aniel. Mark Zebra well, I hear she took a pounding on the reef t'other day and, though I believe her to be well built, if Bobbie Lawson overloads his mortars I think she may be in trouble.'

'Is Captain Lawson likely to over-charge his mortars, Tom?'

'To win the five guineas I wagered that he couldn't sustain one round a minute for more than half an hour he may become a mite careless, Nat'aniel, so he may…'

Drinkwater laughed just as the first bomb fired. 'That's Explosion,' snapped Tumilty, suddenly concentrating. The concussion rolled over the water towards them as they saw Explosion's waist billow clouds of smoke.

'She certainly lives up to her name.'

'They'll remark the fall of shot before anyone else fires,' said Tumilty informatively. They could see the arc of the shell reach its apogee and then they were distracted as the batteries at Cronbourg opened a rolling fire. For a moment Monarch's hull disappeared behind a seething welter of splashes, then behind the smoke of her own discharge as first she, and then successive ships astern returned the fire of the castle. It was six forty-five in the morning.

For the next hour the air was rent by the explosions of the guns. The deep rolling of British broadsides was answered by the heavy fire from Cronbourg. Nearer, the powerful and thunderous bark of the ten- and thirteen-inch mortars enveloped the lower masts of the bomb vessels in heavy clouds of smoke. No signals came from the bombs and the Viragos were compelled to stand idle, but it afforded them a rare and memorable sight.

'No fire from the Swedes, sir,' said Rogers, 'Monarch's inclining to their side of the channel.'

Parker's centre division was abeam of them now, all the ships setting their topgallants but keeping their main courses in the bunt-lines so as to hamper neither the gunnery nor the conning of the battlefleet through The Sound.

'Tis a fine sight, Nat'aniel,' said Tumilty, 'at moments like this one is almost persuaded that war is a glorious thing.'

'Sadly, Tom, that is indeed true. See the Elephant, the two-decker with the blue flag at her foremasthead, that's Nelson's flagship, see how he holds his fire. That's the contempt of Old England for you, by God!'

'If that's war on the English style, wait until you see that Irish version, by Jesus,' Tumilty grinned happily, ''Tis not your cold contempt, but your hot-tempered fury that puts the enemy to flight…'

They both laughed. 'There goes the old Isis. See Mr Q, that is quite possibly the last time you'll see a fifty in the line of battle… included here for her shallow draught I imagine.'

Beyond the battleships, on the Swedish side of The Sound the smaller vessels were under way. The gun-brigs and the frigates towing the flat-boats, the sloops and the fire-ships Otter and Zephyr, the tenders and cutters all stood southward, sheltered by the rear division of Admiral Graves. Only Blanche and Edgar remained to cover the bomb vessels and at fifteen minutes to eight the rear repeating frigate hoisted a string of bunting.

'Jamaica signalling, sir, "Repeated from flag, bombs to cease fire and approach the admiral".' Mr Quilhampton closed the signal book.

'That's a touch of the naval Irish, Mr Tumilty,' said Rogers nudging the artillery officer. 'It means Parker wants us to play chase.'

'Is that a fact, Mr Rogers,' said Tumilty calling his noncommissioned officer to the break of the poop while Drinkwater and Rogers bawled orders through their trumpets to get Virago under way.

The order was obeyed with alacrity. Topmen raced aloft to shake out the topsails while the fo'c's'le party set to with their spikes at the windlass. At the fiferails there was much heaving as sheets were belayed and halliards manned.

'Now Hite,' asked Tumilty, leaning over the rail and addressing the bombardier who had a watch and tablet in his hands, 'what did you make it?'

'Mr Lawson was engaged for thirty-seven minutes, sir, both mortars in use and by my reckoning he threw forty-one shells…'

Tumilty whistled. 'Phew, he must have been working them poor artillerymen like devils, eh Hite?'

'Yes sir.'

'An' I've lost five guineas, devil take it!'

'You've lost your wager then?' asked Drinkwater as he strode forward to get a better view of the fo'c's'le party.

'To be sure an' I have.'

'You look damned cheerful about it.'

'An' why shouldn't I look cheerful? An' why shouldn't you look cheerful seeing as how you stand to benefit from it.'

'Me? Hoist away there, Mr Q. Lively there with the cat-tackle, Mr Matchett. Steer south east, Mr Easton… how should I be delighted in your misfortune, Tom?'

'Well I'll put up another five that says Zebra will be unfit for the next bombardment and Virago will stand in the line.'

Drinkwater looked curiously at the little Irishman before turning his attention again to getting Virago under way and taking station in the rear of the line of bomb vessels.

Standing across to the Swedish side the squat little ships left the Danish shore as the frustrated guns of Cronbourg fell silent.

By nine o'clock they were clear of The Narrows and at noon anchored with the rest of the fleet off the island of Hven.

'I wonder what damage the mortars did, Tom.'

Tumilty shrugged.

''Tis not what execution they did to Elsinore or Cronbourg that should interest you, Nat'aniel, but what damage they did to Zebra.'