Читать книгу A Boy in the Peninsular War - Robert Blakeney - Страница 6

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For some days the most friendly intercourse was maintained between the inhabitants and the British officers. Parties from the fleet landed daily, were hospitably received, and both liberally and cheerfully provided with all such articles as could contribute to their comfort; no suspicion of our hostile intentions was even conjectured by the deluded Danes. At length, the true object of our designs being suspected, a Danish frigate which lay near us slipped her cable on the night of the 13th and contrived to get away in the dark; but on her escape being discovered at daybreak, the Comus sloop of war was sent in pursuit. Since it was a dead calm, she was towed out by the boats of the fleet.

The scene is still fresh in my memory, and I fancy that I see the long line of boats manfully urged forward, our brave jolly tars, after every two or three strokes of the oars, crying out, “Hurrah! hurrah! for the Danish black frigate!” At length the Comus came up with her in the Cattegat on her way to Norway, and after a short conflict brought her back a prize into her own port, and this hostile act put an end to all further intercourse on friendly terms. Some English boats which approached the shore next morning were fired at, and none were thenceforward allowed to land.

On the 15th we dropped down to Humlebek, a village about seven miles distant from Copenhagen; and on the following day, covered by seventeen ships of the line, a proportionate number of frigates, gunboats, etc., commanded by Admiral Gambier, the military commanded by Lord Cathcart landed with fire and sword upon ground suddenly considered hostile. No previous intimation of intended hostility was given, as is customary amongst all civilised nations, when real injuries have been suffered, or imaginary ones held forth as a pretext for political aggression.

At this village (Humlebek) it was that a hundred and seven years previous to this our attack the Alexander of the north landed from the King Charles, the largest ship then known to the waves and carrying one hundred and twenty guns. Here it was that this extraordinary man heard for the first time the whistling of bullets. Ignorant of the cause, he asked General Stuart by whom he was accompanied; and the general with characteristic frankness answered, “It is the whistling of bullets fired at your Majesty.” “Good,” replied the warlike young monarch; “henceforth it shall be my music.”

But how different were the motives which urged the hostile descent in 1700 from those which inspired our attack in 1807—as different as was the beardless Charles, not yet eighteen, in the bloom of youth, with the fiery martial genius which soon made him the terror of Europe, and burning with anger at national aggression and personal insult, from our leader, who was already descending into the vale of years, and who could have felt no greater stimulus than military discipline in strictly obeying orders which he probably disapproved! Military excitement there was none. On our landing, no whistling bullets greeted the veteran’s ear, nor inspired the young soldier to deeds of deathless glory. Laurels there were none to reap, for the defence of the capital depended principally on undisciplined militia and young students at college. To add still further to the contrast, the Swedes landed as open and declared foes, whereas we, coming with no less hostile intent, professed ourselves bosom friends.

On the night of our landing (August 16th) we advanced through a lofty forest. During our march an alarm was given that the foe were approaching. Orders were instantly issued to load with ball and fix bayonets, when many a sleek-chinned boy lost or gained the flush on his cheek. I now forget in which class I ranked, as, with many others present, it was the first time I expected to come in contact with a national foe, for such the Danes were some few hours before declared. The alarm proved false, and we felt grievously disappointed or happily consoled, according to the feelings of the individual.

A SECOND LESSON IN CHIVALRY.

Next morning we continued our march towards the capital; but ere we reached the immediate vicinity of Copenhagen our march was interrupted by an occurrence not ordinary in warfare. A dense column of dust proclaimed the advance of some large body, which we naturally considered to be hostile. Horsemen were soon discovered, when we immediately formed in battle array; but we soon learned that the approaching foe were no other than a civic cavalcade, who escorted the Royal Princesses of Denmark to a place of safety, having been by special permission allowed to retire from the scene of premeditated slaughter. The royal carriages slowly advanced, accompanied by many of the principal nobility of Denmark, and attended by a small escort of dragoons. The unfortunate Princesses wept bitterly, as did many of the nobles who were with them. In witnessing their grief it was impossible to remain unmoved. The whole appeared a sorrowful funeral procession, although all were living bodies. As the royal mourners passed between our hostile ranks, arms were presented, colours dropped and bands played the National Anthem, “God save the King,” thus adding to the poignancy of their woe by vain pageant and heartless courtesy. This distressing ceremony being ended, we pushed forward, and, having arrived before the destined town, each corps took up their proper position.

Our station was near the village of Frederiksborg, in a wheatfield whose golden ears o’ertopped the tallest grenadier; the stems we trampled down for bedding, giving the grain to our sumpter animals.

This being the first time I ever adventured from the shores of Great Britain, everything was new to me and consequently enjoyed. I saw the first Congreve rockets ever fired against an enemy. They seemed reluctant to add to the conflagration, many of them in the midst of their orbit turning back to whence they were sped. I witnessed the fall of the lofty and majestic steeple, bearing the three crowns, awfully tumbling down among the blazing ruins. The loud and tremendous crash, heard for miles around, was terrific; and it must have been a heartrending spectacle to the proud and patriotic Danes, who witnessed the destruction of such a noble monument of national grandeur. Immediately after the deafening crash, still growling in the distance, suddenly there arose an immense body of fire, which, detaching itself from the ruins, illumined the whole island, blazing in spiral form towards the heavens, as if to demand retribution. I saw well the splendour of the scene, being that night an outlying piquet with Captain (now Sir Frederick) Stovin. In the meantime the inhabitants were most liberally served with shells, shot and rockets.

While the siege was thus actively carried forward, a report was made that some Danish troops, so called, had occupied in hostile array an eminence in our immediate vicinity. A detachment were immediately sent against them, of which one wing of the 28th Regiment formed a part, and in this wing I was a feather. On our arrival at the base of this eminence we did actually discover a confused multitude congregated on the summit; but upon our preparing to charge they instantly took flight.

ABANDONED PONTOONS.

The affair, although of no consequence, was not unattended with trophies. On the ground occupied by the discomfited Danes were found many old rusty sword-blades, and very many pairs of wooden shoes, with which the Danish troops were loosely shod, for, becoming nervous at the threatened charge, they freed themselves from those encumbrances and fled in light marching order, determined, if closely pursued, rather to attempt swimming across the Belt than carry further their cumbrous pontoons. The proud victors returned to the trenches.

For what took place in the interior of the island, since I was not there, I will refer the curious to the despatches written home on the occasion, wherein these skirmishes or manœuvres, if I recollect right, are in glowing language fully detailed. All our batteries—constructed generally in the most beautiful and highly cultivated gardens, belonging to the nobility and wealthy citizens of Copenhagen—opened their fire on September 1st, which with but little intermission continued until the 6th. On the 7th, when about to be stormed, the capital surrendered, after having four hundred houses, several churches, and many other splendid buildings destroyed, and eleven hundred inhabitants of all ages and sexes killed.

As soon as the first paroxysms of furious excitement, wild despair and just indignation of the unfortunate inhabitants had somewhat abated, a certain number of officers from each regiment, with written passports, were permitted to visit the still smoking city. The spectacle was lamentable and well calculated to rouse every feeling of sympathy. Many houses were still smouldering, and in part crumbled to the ground; mothers were bewailing the melancholy fate of their slaughtered children, and there was not one but deplored the loss of some fondly beloved relative or dearly valued friend. Yet they received us with dignified, though cool courtesy, in part suppressing that horror and antipathy which they must have felt at our presence, though some indeed exclaimed that their sufferings were the more aggravated as being inflicted contrary to the laws of all civilised nations. The unfortunate sufferers seemed not to reflect that war was will, not law.

In less than six weeks after the fall of Copenhagen (which time was occupied in rendering the Danish ships seaworthy, and spoiling its well-stored arsenal to the last nail and minutest rope-yarn) we departed, carrying away with us, as prizes, eighteen sail of the line, fifteen frigates, five brigs, and twenty gunboats.

ETHICS FOR STATESMEN.

It would be useless to enter into further detail on this painful subject. The partial conflagration of the Danish capital, and the rape of her fleet by her friends the British, are already too well known throughout Europe, as well as the reasons adduced in vindication, namely “precaution”—surely a most unjustifiable policy. The great Aristides, characteristically called the “just,” would have spurned the proposal of such ignoble policy, as may be seen by his celebrated reply to the treacherous proposition of Themistocles to burn the fleet of their allies. Aristides, being deputed by the assembly to ascertain the proposition of Themistocles, who would deliver it only in secret, on his return declared that nothing could tend more to the advantage of Athens than the proposition of Themistocles, nor could anything be more unjust. The high-spirited people of Athens, indignant that a proposition of such nature should be mooted, rejected it with contempt, not deigning even to listen to its import.

The descent on Copenhagen was a flagrant outrage of that divine precept which inculcates that “that which is morally wrong can never be politically right.”