The Bomb Vessel

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.

'That will bring the whole city in range,' grinned the smoke-grimed Tumilty.

'I think, gentlemen,' said Drinkwater shutting the Dollond glass with a snap, 'that we are to be the ace of trumps!'

Chapter Nineteen Ace of Trumps

 2-9 April 1801

'Oh, my God!' Drinkwater peered down into the boat alongside Virago. By the lantern light he could see the body of Easton lying inert in the stern sheets.

'Where's the other boat? Mr Quilhampton's boat,' he demanded, suddenly, terribly anxious.

'Here sir,' the familiar voice called as the cutter rounded the stern. There were wounded men in her too.

'What the devil happened?'

'Elephant ordered us to carry out a cable, sir, and then, when we had done that, Captain Foley directed us to secure one of the Danish prizes…'

'Foley?'

'Yes, sir. Lord Nelson returned to St George when Elephant grounded trying to get away to the north…'

'Go on…'

'Well sir, we approached the prize about two o'clock and the bastards opened fire on us…'

Drinkwater turned away from the rail to find Rogers looming out of the darkness.

'Get those men out, Mr Rogers, and then take a fresh crew and get over the Monarch.'

'The Monarch, sir?'

'I sent Lettsom over there earlier tonight, she was in want of a surgeon.'

'Bloody hell.'

Drinkwater did what he could while he waited for the surgeon's arrival. It was little enough but it occupied the night and he emerged aching into the frozen dawn. It was calm and a light mist lay over the King's Deep.

The hours of darkness had been a shambles. After the exertions of the previous nights and the day of the battle, Drinkwater was grey with exhaustion. The British ships had not extricated themselves from the battle without difficulty. In addition to Elephant, Defiance had gone aground. Monarch, which had been badly damaged in the action and suffered fearful loss of life, had become unmanageable and run inshore only to collide with Ganges, run aground and come under the renewed fire of the Danes. Fortuitously the impact of Ganges drove Monarch off the mud and both ships got away in the growing night. One of the Danish ships had exploded with a fearful concussion and the air was still filled with the smell of burning.

Drinkwater had worked his own ship across the King's Deep during the evening, answering Elephant's signal for a boat to attend her cables and Monarch's for a surgeon. Virago was now anchored closer to the city, commanding the Trekroner Forts with her still-warm mortars and in company with Explosion, Terror and Discovery.

A rising sun began to consume the mist revealing that the majority of the British fleet had joined Sir Hyde Parker at the north end of the Middle Ground. Lettsom returned with Rogers, whose boat's crew had worked like demons. To the south Bellona and Russell had gone, the former by picking up Isis's cable and hauling herself off. Désirée, too, seemed to have got off. Nearer them Defiance was still fast, but by the time Drinkwater sent the hands to breakfast she too was under way.

Shutting the magazines and exhorting his officers to use the utmost caution bearing in mind the weary condition of the men, Drinkwater had the galley range fired up and all enjoyed a steaming burgoo. Drinkwater was unable to rest and kept the deck. The excitement and exertions of the last hours had driven him beyond sleep and, though he knew reaction must come, for the moment he paced his poop.

The Danish line presented a spectacle that he would never forget. From his position during the battle Drinkwater's view had been obscured by smoke. He had been able to see only the unengaged sides of the British ships and had formed no very reliable opinion of the effects of the gunfire. But now he was able to see the effect of the cannonade on the Danish vessels.

The sides of many of the blockships and hulks were completely battered in, with huge gaps in their planking. Many were out of position, driven inshore onto the flats off Amager. Some still flew the Danish flag. Looking at the respective appearance of the two protagonists, the shattered Danish line to the west, the British battleships licking their wounds to the north east, Drinkwater concluded there seemed little to choose between them. Possession of the field seemed to be in the hands of the Danes, since no landing of the troops had taken place; no storming of the Trekroner from the flat-boats had occurred.

And then his tired mind remembered his own words of the previous night. Here they were, the line of little bomb vessels, the tubby Cinderellas of the fleet, holding the field for the honour of Great Britain and turning a drawn battle into victory.

'Sir, boat approaching, and I believe his lordship's in it!'