The Bomb Vessel

He looked down into the waist in the gathering dusk. A party of artillerymen under the bombardier, Hite, were scouring the chamber of the after mortar to remove any scale. He wondered how the soldiers had got on between decks for there was little enough room for them all. They had slung their hammocks in the cable tier and he did not think either Tumilty or Rogers had spared much effort on their welfare.

At eight, just as Virago's officers sat down to dinner, shells were reported coming over from howitzer batteries ashore, but the activity soon died away. Mr Quilhampton, shivering on the poop and excluded from the meal, recorded in Virago's log various signals passed from the Elephant by guard boat and rocket. Mostly the signals concerned the direction of boats from the brigs and gun vessels as the admiral made his final dispositions. The bomb vessels were left largely alone.

But it was not for long. While Mr Tumilty was expatiating on the forthcoming employment of his beloved mortars, Mr Quilhampton had his revenge for missing dinner.

'Beg pardon, sir, but a boat's alongside from the flagship. His lordship's compliments and would you be kind enough to attend him at once.'

Drinkwater stood. 'It seems you must excuse me gentlemen. Please do not disturb yourselves on my account, but I would recommend that you rested. There is likely to be warm work for us tomorrow.' A cheer went up at this and only Jex remained silent as Quilhampton added:

'It is exceeding cold, sir…'

'I think I can manage, Mr Q, thank you,' Drinkwater replied drily.

Drinkwater scrambled down into the waiting boat. In his pocket he had stuffed notebook, pencil and bearing compass. As he settled alongside the unknown midshipman he observed the truth of Mr Quilhampton's solicitude. It was bitterly cold and the ice floes were even more numerous than they had been previously. The current, too, was strong, sweeping them northwards towards The Sound. The wind had died away to a dead calm. Above the surface of the sea the low wisps of arctic 'sea-smoke' almost hid the boat itself, though it was clear at eye level.

They crossed Elephant's stern. The windows were a blaze of light with the shadows of movement visible within.

'Admiral's dining with the captains of the fleet, sir,' explained the midshipman, swinging the boat under the two-decker's quarter and alongside her larboard entry.

Drinkwater reported to the officer of the watch who conducted him to the ante-room. A number of officers were gathered there, mostly wearing the plain blue coats of sailing masters. There was a group of pilots who looked more worried than when Drinkwater had last seen them. From beyond the doors leading into the Elephant's great cabin came the noise of conviviality.

A man in lieutenant's uniform detached himself from a small knot of masters and came over to Drinkwater with his hand extended.

'Evening. John Quilliam, third of Amazon.'

'Evenin'. Nathaniel Drinkwater, in command of Virago.' They shook hands.

'Captain Riou spoke highly of you after your visit to Amazon the other day.'

Drinkwater blushed. 'That was exceedingly kind of him.' He changed the subject. 'I trust your frigate was not damaged by the grounding?'

'I imagine she may have lost a little copper, but she'll do for today's work…' Quilliam smiled as a burst of cheering came from the adjacent room.

'Take no notice of that, Drinkwater, his lordship'll not let it interfere with tonight's business.'

'Which is…?'

'There is a little dispute about the water in the King's Deep. The pilots incline to the view that it is deeper on the Middle Ground side. Briarly, master of the Bellona, opposes their view, while Captain Hardy and Captain Riou are undecided. The Admiral has two boats assembled, one for Briarly and myself, the other for Hardy and you…'

'Me?'

Quilliam smiled again but any explanation as to why Drinkwater had been specially selected was lost as the double doors of the cabin were opened by an immaculate, pig-tailed mess-man and a glittering assembly of gold-laced officers emerged. They were all smiling and shaking hands, having dined well and in expectation of lean commons on the morrow. Drinkwater recognised Admiral Graves and Captain Foley, familiar too was 'Bounty' Bligh of the Glutton, Edward Riou and George Murray of the Edgar, but the remainder were largely unknown to him. At the rear of the group the short, one-armed admiral, his breast ablaze with orders and crossed by the red ribbon of the Bath, had his left hand on the elbow of a tall post-captain who ducked instinctively beneath the deckhead beams.

'Ah, Quilliam,' said his lordship, catching sight of the two lieutenants, 'is all made ready?'

'Aye, my lord.'

'And you have briefed Lieutenant Drinkwater?' Quilliam nodded. 'Very good. Captain Hardy, I commend these two officers to you and I rely upon you to find out the truth of the matter.'

'Very well, my lord,' the tall captain growled and turned to the two lieutenants. 'Come gentlemen… Mr Briarly, let us make a start.'

They climbed down into the boats and were about to leave Elephant's side when Nelson's high-pitched voice called down to them.

'Are your oars muffled?'

'Yes my lord.'

'Very well. Should the Danish guard boat discover you, you must pull like devils, and get out of his way as fast as you can.'

There was a murmur of enthusiastic assent from the seamen at the oars.

'Good luck then.'

Hardy, captain of the St George anchored eight miles to the north, had brought his own boat. A bright young midshipman leant against the tiller. He was muffled in an expensive bearskin coat provided by an indulgent parent well acquainted with the fleet's destination weeks earlier.

'I've had a long pole prepared for sounding, Mr Drinkwater, it'll make less noise than a lead.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater wondered how close to the enemy they were to go that they needed to take such a precaution. They pulled in silence for a few minutes and Drinkwater noted their course by the light of the shaded lantern on the bottom boards.

'This north-going current is damned strong…'

'About two knots, sir.'

'Did you lay the mark on the south end of the Middle Ground?'

'Yes, sir. I laid a buoy on it and Lord Nelson ordered the buoy substituted by a boat.'

'Let us hope we can find it in the dark.'

They did find it. After half an hour of pulling east and then west after finding five fathoms, they discovered the set of the current was considerable and had misled them. But, having established the bearing of the moored boat from the admiral's lights hung in Elephant's rigging, they began to move away.

'May I suggest we pull round the mark boat, sir, in order to establish that it has not substantially dragged and still marks the south end of the shoal.'

Hardy grunted approval and Drinkwater directed the midshipman while a man dipped the long pole overboard like a quant and peered at the black and white markings painted on it.

'It seems to be holding sir. I was worried because I only laid moorings for a spar buoy. I think Mr Fothergill must have laid a proper anchor.'

''Tis no matter, Mr Drinkwater. Time in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.'

They pulled west, losing the edge of the bank and swinging across the King's Channel that ran north, parallel to the Amager shore, the waterfront of Copenhagen and the defensive line of the Danish guns. The water deepened rapidly and the call came back that there was 'No bottom' until it gradually began to shoal on the Amager side.