Breaking the Line (23 page)

‘Our man has bitten off more than he can chew, here, Dommet,’ he said. ‘We are in a fair way to risking being beat.’

‘I grant you it is warm work, sir,’ Dommet replied, his telescope fixed to his eye, ‘but the battle has, in my estimation yet to reach a crisis.’

‘I would like an explanation of what you call a crisis. Nelson is outnumbered and I perceive his notion that the mere crash of British cannon would bring the Danes to negotiate has not proved correct. It is four hours since the first shot was heard and if anything the enemy fire has increased rather than diminished.’

Parker failed to add that his own reluctance to shift his anchorage closer to the enemy had contributed to the problem. At a progress of no more than one mile each hour his part of the fleet could not hope to affect the outcome of the battle. The crisis, as Dommet called it, would have come and gone well before then. All the old fears resurfaced in Parker’s mind, and now it was not a case of Nelson’s success raising him, it was the possibility of a Nelson defeat taking him down and several ships with it. He tried to imagine what it would be like to bring a severely damaged vessel out through the northern neck of the King’s Deep. The mere thought made him shudder.

No charts, no buoys, perhaps the best sailing minds on the ships killed or wounded; masts shot away, sails full of holes and a vessel taking in water enough to lower her keel several feet. There was a strong possibility that more than one of the retreating ships would ground on a shoal. Close to the Danes, victorious or at least unbowed enough to continue the fight, those ships would be taken, perhaps refloated, remanned and stuck as hulks in the defences. He might
find himself facing his own ships in any renewed attempt to subdue Copenhagen.

And that was before he considered the difficulties of facing the Russians and the Swedes, with perhaps these very Danes sailing to join them for a grand battle in open water. To fail to take the Danish capital was one thing, but the prospect of a defeat in a sea battle suddenly loomed to terrify him.

Parker had a vision that Nelson would escape censure, not just because he was a junior but because the nation loved him too much to blame him. They would call him brave and enterprising for his attempt to overcome the Danish defence line, and laud his zeal for the manner in which he humbugged them. But if it all came to naught, Parker, as commanding admiral, would have to account for the losses in men and ships, for every action that
HIS
fleet had taken, and he suspected, indeed knew, that the British public would not love him for it.

The solution to him was obvious. Better to live to fight another day than to go down in a blaze of futile glory. If he could extricate Nelson’s squadron now, while they were still capable of manoeuvre, the fleet would be wounded but basically intact. The grounded ships, he knew, would refloat, either naturally on a rising tide or by towing and warping, and they were capable of defending themselves until that time came.

‘I have a mind to ask Nelson to discontinue, Captain Dommet.’

Parker could almost feel every officer stiffen on the deck of HMS
London.
All seemed an inch or two taller, as every ear strained to hear Dommet’s reply. The Captain of the Fleet was furious and working hard to hide it, clenching the muscles of his stomach to force out a calm and considered reply. ‘I doubt we can tell enough from this distance to make that decision, sir.’

‘Captain Otway?’ Parker asked.

‘I find I must agree with Captain Dommet, sir. I strongly advise that to send such a signal now would be premature.’

Dommet was not sure if Nelson was winning or losing. Like Otway, all he knew for certain was that it was too soon to tell. And Nelson surely had boats coming aboard
Elephant
from his other ships reporting progress. He no longer subscribed to the theory he had held before meeting him, that Nelson was a lucky chancer: having seen him at his conferences, having witnessed his clear brain and sound tactical thoughts carried into execution, having read the comprehensive orders he had issued for this attack, Dommet was prepared to acknowledge that Nelson had a superior mind.

He trusted Nelson to know the state of the battle, trusted him not to pursue a course that would lead to death and destruction for the men and ships he commanded. So far not one of the vessels engaged in the attack had pulled out of the line, and although there was a lot of smoke about it was mainly blowing away from the British ships so it was easy to see they were still firing full broadsides. But Dommet knew that what he saw and what Sir Hyde Parker saw were not the same thing. He also knew that until now his advice had been little appreciated. Yet he was at a loss to know how to stop Parker from doing something he considered precipitate.

It was Otway who provided the solution, addressing Parker directly. ‘Might I suggest, sir, that we send a boat to Lord Nelson and ask his opinion?’

‘Excellent idea, Captain Otway,’ cried Dommet, ‘and I, sir, would deem it an honour to be the messenger.’

Parker wanted to say no, to state that as the fleet commander his opinion was what counted: that Nelson, heavily engaged in fighting, could not see the wood for the trees. Dommet did not give him the chance. ‘I will need another coat, sir.’ With that, the Captain of the Fleet was gone, down the companionway to change from his dress uniform coat to an old and less valuable one.

As soon as he disappeared, Parker rediscovered his voice. ‘Am I to see my fleet beaten for the sake of a damned coat?’

Otway stepped forward quickly. ‘My suggestion, sir, so I claim it as my duty.’ The captain of HMS
London
rushed to the side, and blessed the fact that a boat was passing. He guessed that with any delay Parker would act, so he hailed the boat to come alongside and rushed below to the entry port before his open-mouthed commander-in-chief could stop him.

The navy to which Sir Hyde Parker belonged did not have ships’ captains acting as mere messengers, but when he looked over the side, Otway was urging the oarsmen to put their backs into it.

Dommet rushed back on deck in a threadbare blue coat that had seen better days.

‘You are too late, Captain Dommet. Look and you will observe Captain Otway is already pulling towards
Elephant
to do the duty you had assigned to yourself.’

Parker expected Dommet to be angry, but the Captain of the Fleet just nodded, picked up a telescope and trained it along the still fighting battle line, leaving his superior once more feeling isolated in a sea of his own reservations.

‘Prepare to hoist the signal, “Discontinue the action.”’

‘Sir,’ protested Dommet. ‘Captain Otway is not yet with Lord Nelson.’

That was when Sir Hyde Parker lost his temper. ‘I must ask you, sir, who commands here?’

For Dommet to answer such an obvious question would have been foolish, so he covered himself with the nod of one who recognised the reality. Not that he would have had a chance to speak anyway, because Parker, who had gone very red in the face, left him no space.

‘It is damn annoying, sir, to have everything I say disputed. I do not recall you, sir, or Captain Otway, being given the responsibility for the execution of my orders. That falls to me and me alone, and while I am man enough to be advised I am not such a base fool as to require constant repudiation.’

There was a still, small voice in Parker’s head telling him to withdraw, but having put Dommet in his place he could not back down.

‘Now oblige me, sir, by preparing that signal, and when it is prepared, oblige me further by having it hoisted. Then I will have it driven home by two guns.’

A shot from one of the floating batteries engaged by HMS
Elephant
struck the mainmast, sending a shower of deadly splinters flying in several directions, although none, fortunately met flesh. Midshipman Frears had spent his time dashing back and forth with messages from the starboard side of the ship, where Nelson paced the deck attended by Colonel Stewart, Merry Ed and a knot of unemployed officers, mostly captains come to see the action. Frears was just passing the base of the mast at that point and the crash made him throw himself down.

Nelson watched as the boy picked himself up, his hands patting his body and his head looking for a wound, his face full of wonder to find himself intact, before he carried on to rejoin his admiral.

‘Warm work, Mr Frears, and this day may be the last for any one of us.’ Frears looked into Nelson’s face expecting to see a worried expression. Instead what he found was a look of contentment as Nelson added, ‘Mind you, I would not be elsewhere for thousands.’

The signal lieutenant was right in Frears’s wake, to inform Nelson, ‘Flag signalling, sir. Number thirty-nine, with two guns.’

That look of contentment was wiped away in a flash to be replaced by a fleeting expression of anger, that, in turn, was masked by forced indifference as Foley approached. Nelson turned away from everybody, pacing toward a gangway before turning to come back.

‘Should I repeat it, sir?’ asked the lieutenant, as he came close.

That was the correct thing to do, so that every ship in action would know that he, the junior admiral, had received and was preparing to obey the command. But Nelson knew it to be right only in the sense of hierarchy. As far as the battle was concerned he suspected it to be dead wrong. There was a fleeting moment when he thought that perhaps Parker and the officers on
London
could see something he could not.

Had there been a couple of drifting dismasted hulks in mid-channel with blood running out of the scuppers and the decks full of dead and dying the order would have made sense, but if he looked along the line he knew he would observe all his ships in position, all fighting. Captain Olfert Fischer had been obliged to shift his flag from the original position he held, a ship set seriously on fire by Bligh in HMS
Glatton,
to another vessel that was now being reduced to matchwood by Admiral Graves in
Defiance.
That was not the act of a man anticipating victory, and what news he had coming in was positive: Danish fire slackening, through loss of men or cannon, flags hauled down, vessels drifting onshore, boarding parties being formed to take possession of the shattered prizes. On his own deck stood a growing band of enemy officers who had surrendered.

‘No, acknowledge it,’ said Nelson. There was a brief pause while the signal lieutenant digested the import of that before he turned away. Nelson called after him, ‘Is my signal still hoisted?’

‘It is, sir.’

‘Then mind you keep it so.’

Nelson started pacing again, alarmed, wondering how that would be taken elsewhere. It was another moment when he would have to trust his captains. Those to his rear, unable to see
London,
would not know about Parker’s order if he did not repeat it. But the ships ahead of him, closer to the flagship would, and when they looked to
Elephant
they would see his own signal, ‘Engage the enemy more closely’, still flying.

He knew he was being watched by a knot of officers, the number of which had grown as the battle progressed, and it was to them he spoke, his voice querulous. ‘Do you know what’s shown on board the commander-in chief?’ he demanded. ‘Number Thirty-nine.’

The naval officers understood and nodded, but Stewart, a soldier, had no idea what he was talking about and immediately requested an explanation.

‘Why, it is a signal to leave off the action.’ Nelson’s voice rose as he turned to face his old friend Tom Foley. ‘Leave off action. Now damn
me if I do. You know I have only one good eye, and I reckon I have the right to be blind sometimes.’

Nelson snapped open his pocket telescope and put it to the eye that had been damaged all those years ago in Corsica, his voice showing increasing agitation as he spoke. ‘I really do not see the signal. So damn the signal. Keep mine for closer battle flying. That’s the way I answer such signals! Nail mine to the mast.’

Sir Hyde Parker had no idea of the confusion and anger his signal caused in the line of ships. The two guns that accompanied the flags had meant that it was no suggestion, the instruction to discontinue the action was mandatory, disobedience a court-martial offence and every commanding officer knew it. But those who could see it looked to
Elephant
for confirmation and, not perceiving it, had a choice to make.

Rear Admiral Graves, who had originally doubted the notion of the present attack, was now wholly committed to action and suspected Parker’s signal to be nonsense. Yet he was duty bound to repeat it, as well as the one Nelson was flying. He solved his dilemma by hoisting the repeat in a position where Nelson, and most of the ships engaged, could not see it. Having done that he kept on fighting.

Aboard HMS
Amazon,
Captain Riou, already wounded, had done his best to ignore the flagship of the fleet. He and his squadron had been fully engaged against the Trekroner battery, the three sloops and brigs before it, all this while under fire from Steen Bille’s capital ships. But they were doing what was required, occupying the enemy, achieving the kind of success he knew Nelson wanted. But when Graves hoisted the repeat he could see clearly what was hidden from the others, and his two other frigates had already broken off to obey.

Riou was left with no choice but to do likewise, being too junior to flaunt such an order. It was with a heavy heart that he gave the instructions to cease firing, to cut his cable, and to bear away. As
Amazon’s
guns ceased firing, the smoke cleared and, for the first time since action was joined, Riou had a clear view of the target he had been firing at, the fort built on piles driven into the point of the sandbank. ‘What will Nelson think of us,’ he said.

Seconds later a last salvo was fired from the Trekroner fort. The Danish gunners, with a clear view of a ship hardly yet under way, had both time to aim and a good sight of what they were trying to hit. One ball from that salvo hit Riou in the back, and nearly cut him in half. He was dead before they got him below to the surgeon.