The Bomb Vessel

Mr Drinkwater, your exertions have justified you in my opinion, and Captain Dommett will write you orders to have your bomb vessel in the line when we attack the Danes.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

'And now will you be so kind as to direct Fothergill that when he returns to Cruizer he is to have one of the brig's boats placed in accordance with our decision.'

Drinkwater slept in a chair in Amazon's wardroom as the frigate reached the end of the Holland Deep, sighted his spar buoy and turned north to order Fox anchored south of Lark. Nelson had concluded there was ample room to anchor his division off the southern end of the Middle Ground out of range of the Danish guns. The wind had veered again and Amazon had to beat laboriously back through the Holland Deep to report to Sir Hyde Parker. This delay enabled Drinkwater to sleep off most of his exhaustion.

He was pulled back to Virago with Fothergill who handed him his copy of the chart before leaving for Cruizer and his own trip south to replace Drinkwater's buoy.

'The cartography isn't up to your own standard, Mr Drinkwater, but it'll serve.'

Drinkwater unrolled the corner of the chart. 'A midshipman's penmanship if I ain't mistaken,' he grinned at Fothergill. 'Your servant, Mr Fothergill…' Reaching up for the manropes he hauled himself up Virago's side, the chart rolled in his breast.

'Welcome back, sir,' said Rogers.

'Thank you. Where's Mr Tumilty?'

'Here, sir, here I am Nat'aniel…'

'I owe you five guineas, Tom…'

'You do? By Jesus, what did I tell 'ee, Mr Rogers, that's five from you too…' Tumilty burst into a fit of gleeful laughter. 'An' it's All Fool's Day so it is.'

'All ready, Mr Drinkwater?' Drinkwater leaned over the rail to look down at Nelson in his barge. He was an unimpressive sight, his squared cocked hat at a slouch and an old checked overcoat round his thin shoulders.

'We await only your signal to weigh, my lord.'

'Very good. Instruct that Irish devil to make every shot tell.'

'Aye, aye, my lord.' Nelson nodded to his coxswain and the barge passed to the next ship in his division.

An hour later the greater part of the British force placed under Lord Nelson's orders stood to the southward, leaving the two three deckers, St George and London, four seventy-fours and two sixty-fours with Sir Hyde Parker at their anchorage at the north end of the Middle Ground. Passing slowly south under easy sail between the lines of improvised buoys and the anchored warning vessels Drinkwater was able to steady his glass on the horizon to the westward.

Preoccupation with other matters had not given him leisure to study the object of all their efforts, the city of Copenhagen. Above its low stretch of roofs the bulk of the Amalienbourg Palace was conspicuous. So were several fantastic and exotic spires. That of Our Saviour's church had a tall elongated spire with an exterior staircase mounting its side, while that of the Borsen was equally tall and entwined by four huge serpents.

But in the foreground the fortress of Trekroner, the Three Crowns, and the batteries of the Lynetten that lay before them, guarded the approaches to the city and combined with the line of blockships, cut down battleships, floating batteries, frigates and gun vessels to form a formidable defensive barrier. The enemy was only a little over two miles away, just out of range, though an occasional shot was fired at the British as they boldly crossed the Danish front.

Nelson made few signals to his ships. At half past five he ordered the Ardent and Agamemnon to take the guard duty for the night and shortly after eight in the evening, the wind falling light and finally calm, the last ship came to her anchor in the crowded road. This was Cruizer, withdrawn from her station as a mark vessel.

As Virago came to her own anchor at about six-fifteen, Nelson made the signal for the night's password.

'Spanish jack over a red pendant. What does that signify, Mr Q?'

'Er… 'Winchester', sir.'

'Very well. Pass word I want all the officers to dine with me this evening within the hour. I anticipate further work later in the night.'

'Aye, aye, sir.' It would scarcely be a 'dinner' since the galley stove was now extinguished and Tumilty and Trussel had begun to make their preparations for action, but Jex could hustle up something and Drinkwater wished to speak to them all.

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…?'