The Bomb Vessel (31 page)

‘Mr Easton, let fall the mizzen topsail and keep it backed against the mast. Fire as you will, Mr Tumilty.'

‘Thank 'ee, sir, and will you be kind enough to observe the fall o' shot?'

Drinkwater nodded. Tumilty hopped back to the fo'c's'le where he bent behind the leather dodger then walked aft beside the sergeant to the thirteen-inch mortar. Tapping the prepared fuse into the first shell Tumilty saw the monstrous ball, more than a foot in diameter and which contained ten pounds of white gun powder, safely into the chamber of the mortar. He had already loaded the powder he judged would throw the carcase over the opposing lines of ships into the heart of the Danish capital.

Handing the linstock to his sergeant he leaped up onto the poop and pulled his telescope from his pocket. ‘
Festina lente
, eh Nat'aniel . . . Fire!'

The roar was immense, drowning the sound of the guns of the fleets, and white smoke rolled reeking over them.

‘Mark it! Mark it!' yelled Tumilty, his glass travelling up and then down as a faint white line arced against the blue sky to fall with increasing speed onto the roofs of the city.

At the mortar bed the artillerymen crowded round, swabbing out the chamber of the gun. The elevation remained unchanged, being set at forty-five degrees.

Drinkwater stared at the arsenal of Copenhagen trying to see where the shell burst. He saw nothing.

‘Over, by Jesus,' said Tumilty happily, ‘and at least the fuse was not premature.' Drinkwater watched him fuss round the mortar again as the whipping up gang began to work. The ten inch had been readied but Tumilty held its fire until he was satisfied with
the performance of the after mortar.

Although he felt the deck shudder under the concussion and gasped as the smoke and blast passed over him, Drinkwater was ready for the next shot. The carcase descended on the arsenal and Drinkwater saw it burst as it hit the ground.

‘A little short Mr Tumilty, I believe.' The landing of the third shot was also short but at his next Tumilty justified his claim to be the finest pyroballogist in the Royal Artillery. The explosion was masked by the walls of the arsenal but Tumilty was delighted with the result and left the poop to supervise both mortars from the waist.

Dutifully Easton and Drinkwater reported the fall of the shells as well as they could. From time to time Tumilty would pause to traverse his mortar-beds but he maintained a steady fire. Beneath his feet Drinkwater was aware that
Virago
had suddenly become a hive of activity. All the oddities of her construction had been built for this moment: the curious hatches, the fire-screens, the glazed lantern niches; the huge futtocks and heavy scantlings; the octagonal hatches. Mr Trussel and Bombardier Hite received instructions from Tumilty and made up the flannel cartridges in the filling room. The artillery sergeant cut fuses on the now deserted fo'c's'le. In the waist seamen and soldiers scurried about as they carried shells, fuses, cartridges and buckets of water with which to douse the hot mortars. Orchestrating the whole was Lieutenant Tumilty, his face purple with exertion, his active figure justifying his regiment's motto as he seemed everywhere at once like some hellish fiend.

As they fired over the main action Drinkwater was able to see something of the progress of the battle. Already damage to the British ships was obvious. Several had lost masts and others flew signals of distress. Amongst the splashes of wide cannon shot the flat-boats and boats of the fleet pulled about, coolly carrying out anchors. Through this hail of shot Brisbane sailed the
Cruizer
from her now redundant duty of marking the south end of the Middle Ground, the length of the line to Riou's support. Of the Danish line Drinkwater could see little beyond those hulks and prames on his beam. One appeared to have got out of the line and several seemed to strike their flags, but as they had reappeared the next time he looked he could not be sure what was happening.
Terror, Explosion
and
Discovery
were throwing shells into Copenhagen. Neither
Hecla, Zebra
nor
Sulphur
appeared to have
weathered the Middle Ground and got into the action.

‘Fire! Fire!' Drinkwater swung round. A flicker of flames raced along the larboard rail but Rogers was equal to it. ‘Fire party, hoses to the larboard waist!'

Drinkwater looked in vain for Jex, but his men were there, dragging an already pulsing hose towards the burning spars lying on the rail.

‘Part-burnt wads, Nat'aniel,' shouted Tumilty unconcerned, identifying the cause of the fire.

‘Where the devil's Mr Jex?' Drinkwater called out, frowning.

‘Don't know, sir,' replied Rogers, as he had men cutting the lashings round the spars and levering them overboard. A shot whined over his head and he ducked.

‘Mr Easton!'

‘Sir?'

‘Find Jex!'

‘Aye, aye, sir.'

But Easton had not left the poop when Jex appeared through the smoke that billowed back from the ten-inch mortar forward. He was drunk and in his shirt-sleeves. ‘I hear the cry of fire!' he shouted, holding up his hands above his head and staggering over a ring-bolt. ‘Here I am, you bastards, at my fucking action station, God rot you all . . .'

Men turned to look at the purser as he reached the after mortar and was again engulfed in the smoke of discharge. He emerged to the astonished onlookers like a theatrical wraith, his face flaccid, his cheeks wet with tears. Drinkwater was aware of a sniggering from the men at the shell-hatch.

‘Bastards, you're all bastards . . .' Jex flung his arms wide in a gesture that embraced them all.

‘Mr Jex . . .!' Drinkwater began, his jaw dropping as Jex's right arm flew off, spun round and slapped a topman across the face. The astonished man put up his hands and caught the severed limb.

‘Cor! Pusser's give me back me bleeding eighth . . .'

The grotesque joke ended the brief hiatus on
Virago
's deck. Jex looked stupidly at his distant arm then down at the gouts of his blood as it poured from the socket. He began to scream and run about the deck.

Rogers felled him with one end of a burning royal yard he was heaving overboard. Jex fell to the deck, his legs kicking and his
back arching, the red stain growing on the planking.

‘Jesus Christ,' muttered Easton watching, fascinated.

At last Jex grew still. Jumping down from the rail having tossed overboard all the burning spars Rogers pointed to the body and addressed two seamen standing stock still beside a starboard carronade.

‘Throw that damned
thing
overboard.'

Then Tumilty's after mortar roared again.

‘Mr Drinkwater, sir! The Commander-in-Chief is signalling, sir!'

‘Well Mr Q, what is it?'

‘Number 39, sir: “Discontinue the action,” sir.'

‘ “Discontinue the action”? Are you certain?' Drinkwater raised his Dollond glass and levelled it to the north.
Ramilles, Veteran
and
Defence
were still clawing to windward and he could see
London
still at anchor, with her blue admiral's flag at the main. And there too were the blue and white horizontal stripes of Number 3 flag over the horizontal red, white and blue of Number 9.

‘Mr Easton, what o'clock d'you have?'

‘Twenty minutes after one, sir.'

‘You must log receipt of that signal, Mr Easton . . . Mr Matchett . . . where the devil's the bosun?'

‘Here sir.'

‘Prepare to weigh.'

‘Aye, aye, sir.' Drinkwater looked again at the
London
. There was no mistaking that signal. It was definitely Number 39.

‘Cease fire, Mr Tumilty . . . Mr Rogers, disperse the hands to their stations for getting under way . . .' Drinkwater looked anxiously about him. Disengagement was going to be difficult. The battleships had only to cut their cables, they were already headed north and would soon be carried out of the action but the bombs had to weigh and turn.
Virago
could not turn to larboard, away from the Danish guns, because of the Middle Ground upon whose edge she had been anchored. To turn to starboard would put the ship under a devastating raking fire. Drinkwater swallowed. If he weighed immediately he might obtain a little shelter behind the battleships but he ran two risks in doing so. The first was that with the prevailing current he might run foul of one of the bigger ships; the second was that too precipitate a departure from the line of battle could be construed as cowardice.

‘What the devil d'you want me to cease fire for?' Tumilty's
purple face peered belligerently through the smoke.

‘The Commander-in-Chief instructs us to abandon the action, damn it!'

‘What the bloody hell for?'

‘Do as you're told, Tumilty!' snapped Drinkwater.

‘Beg pardon, sir, Flag's only acknowledged the signal . . .'

‘Eh?' Drinkwater looked where Quilhampton pointed.
Elephant
had not repeated Parker's order. He looked astern and saw
Explosion had
repeated Number 39.

‘What the bloody hell . . .?'

‘Can you see
Defiance
, Mr Q?' Quilhampton stared over the starboard quarter and levelled the big watch-glass.

‘I can't be sure, sir, but I
think
Admiral Graves has a signal hoisted but if he has it ain't from a very conspicuous place . . .'

‘Not very conspicuous . . .?' Drinkwater frowned again and returned his attention to the
Elephant
. Nelson had signalled only an
acknowledgement
of sighting Number 39 to Parker but not repeated it to his ships, and Number 16, the signal for Close Action, hoisted at the beginning of the battle, still flew.

Drinkwater tried to clear his head while the concussion of the guns went on. Nelson was clearly not eager to obey. From Parker's distant observation post it must be obvious that Nelson was in trouble.
Bellona
and
Russell
were aground, both flying conspicuous signals of distress; there was a congestion of ships at the southern end of the line which, combined with the presence of some bombs and the gun brigs still in the southern anchorage, suggested that something had gone dreadfully wrong with Nelson's division.
Agamemnon
, after repeated efforts to kedge round
Cruizer
, had given up and sent her boats to the assistance of the fleet while
Cruizer
, the mark vessel, had abandoned her station to support Riou.

Parker could see the northern end of the line more clearly. Frigates engaged with prepared positions presaged disaster, while his three battleships were clearly going to be unable to relieve Riou as they were still too far off.

‘Pusillanimous Parker's lost his bloody nerve, eh?' said Rogers levelling a glass alongside Drinkwater.

‘I think,' said Drinkwater, ‘he's giving Nelson the chance to get out while he may. But I think he little appreciates what bloody chaos there will be if Nelson tries to disengage at this juncture . . .'

‘Well Nelson ain't moving!' Rogers nodded across at
Elephant
.

‘No.' Drinkwater paused. ‘Tell Matchett to veer that cable again, Sam . . . Mr Tumilty! Re-engage!' A cheer went along
Virago
's deck and the next instant her waist filled with smoke and noise as the mortars roared.

‘ “Flag to
Virago
, Number 214, for a “Lieutenant to report on board the Admiral,” sir,' said Quilhampton diligently.

‘Very well, pass word to Lieutenant Rogers, Mr Q.' Quilhampton went in search of the first lieutenant who had disappeared off the poop. Astern of them
Explosion
hauled down Number 39.

It was twenty minutes before Rogers returned. Rogers was elated.

‘By God, sir, you should see it from over there, Nelson himself claims it's the hottest fire he's ever been under and the Danes are refusing to surrender. They're striking, then firing on the boats sent to take 'em . . .'

‘What did the admiral want?' cut in Drinkwater.

‘Oh, he remarked that
Virago's
shells were well directed and could we drop some into the Trekroner Forts.'

‘Mr Tumilty!' Drinkwater shrieked through the din. He beckoned the Irishman onto the poop. ‘His lordship wants us to direct our fire at the Trekroner Forts.'

Tumilty's eyes lit up. ‘Very good. I'll switch the ten-inch to firing one pound shot, that'll shake the eejits if they haven't got casemates over there.'

Tumilty took ten minutes and four careful shots to get the range. The Trekroner Forts were at extreme range and the increased charge of twice the amount of powder used to reach the arsenal made
Virago
shake to her keel.

The one-pound shot arrived in boxes, and stockingette bags of them were lifted into the forward mortar, one hundred to a shot. Drinkwater found the trajectory of these easier to follow than the carcases as they spread slightly in flight.

For half an hour
Virago
kept up this bombardment until Quilhampton reported a flag of truce flying at
Elephant's
masthead. All along both lines the fire began to slacken and an air of uncertainty spread over the fleet.

Looking northwards Drinkwater saw
Amazon
leading the frigate squadron towards Parker's anchored ships and rightly concluded that Riou, unable to see Nelson's signal for close action, had obeyed Parker's order to withdraw. It was only later that he learnt Riou had been cut in two by a round shot an instant
after giving the order.

Desultory firing still rippled up and down the line as observers saw boats of both nations clustered round
Elephant
flying flags of truce. As the sun westered it appeared some armistice had been concluded, for Nelson made the signal to his ships to make sail. A lieutenant was pulled across to the line of bomb vessels to order them to move nearer the Trekroner Forts and remain until the admiral sent them further orders.