“Plenty of time for a bombardment,” General Peymann, who had been appointed the commander of Copenhagen’s garrison, noted gloomily.
“No!” The Prince turned on the General. “No, no, no!” The Prince knew well enough that the city feared a bombardment by mortars and howitzers that could loft their shells over the wall to leave the city a smoking ruin. “The British are not barbarians,” the Prince insisted, “and they will not risk an action that will earn the condemnation of all civilized people. There will be no bombing. The British will threaten it, just as they threaten a siege, but it is all bluff.” Instead, he forecast, the British would blockade the capital and hope that hunger would persuade the garrison to yield. “So we shall fill the city with food,” he told General Peymann, “and you must endure their blockade until the late autumn. Then I shall lead the army back from Holstein.” Holstein was where the bulk of Denmark’s army was guarding the southern frontier, which was threatened by a French army.
Peymann, an old man, straightened ponderously. He was white-haired, corpulent and had never led troops into battle, but he had a reassuring presence. There was something about the 72-year-old Ernst Peymann that suggested he could not be broken and the Prince was sure that Peymann, above all the other generals, could give the city confidence, though Peymann’s next words smacked of nervousness. “It would be better, Your Majesty, if you came sooner.”
“It can’t be done. Can’t be done.” The Prince went to a window that overlooked the harbor. Three small ships, all low in the water because of the weight of grain they were bringing to the city, were mooring among the swarm of Danish gunboats being readied for battle. The Prince looked down at a table on which a map had been spread to catch the window’s light. A valet followed him, holding the Prince’s hat, sword and sash, but the Prince ignored him. “The British navy,” he explained, “will surely blockade Zealand and we cannot ferry the army back if British ships are waiting.”
Peymann stared gloomily at the map as if seeking inspiration. He found it in the sheer size of Zealand, the island on which Copenhagen stood. “Three thousand square miles,” he said. “They cannot watch the whole coast!”
“They only need watch the harbors, sir,” Captain, now Major, Lavisser pointed out respectfully.
“And that they can do with ships to spare,” the Prince added, “but they’re not cats, Peymann, they’re not cats.”
“They are most assuredly not, sire,” Peymann said. The General was plainly confused by the Prince’s declaration, but did not like to admit his puzzlement.
“They cannot see in the dark,” the Prince explained anyway, “which means that when the long nights of winter come we can bring the army back to Zealand.” He lowered his head so the valet could drape the sash over his shoulder, then raised his arms for the sword belt to be buckled. “We must wait for the long nights,” he declared, “which means you must defend Copenhagen for two months, General, just two months.”
“We can hold two months,” Peymann said firmly, “unless they bombard.”
“They won’t,” the Prince said firmly. “The British will not want the deaths of innocent civilians on their conscience.”
“I do know that General Lord Cathcart is opposed to bombardment,” Major Lavisser said, “though doubtless some of his subordinates will urge it on him.”
“Lord Cathcart leads the army, does he not?” the Prince asked. “So let us hope he exercises his authority.”
“We could send the women and children away,” Peymann suggested, his face brightening at the thought. “There would be fewer mouths to feed.”
“Do that,” the Prince said, “and you invite the British to bombard the city. No, the women stay and the British, I assure you, will not commit a slaughter of the innocents. Two months, General! Hold the walls for two months and I shall bring the army back and we shall crush them like lice! Like lice!” The Prince pulled on white gloves. His optimism was genuine. Until the British fleet had sailed, the biggest threat facing Denmark had been the French army on the southern frontier, but the arrival of the British would almost certainly deter any French attack. Why should the French assault Denmark when the British were turning Denmark into France’s new ally? So there would be no fight in Holstein and when the longer nights blinded the enemy fleet the army could be brought back to Zealand where it would hugely outnumber the British forces. “We shall win,” the Prince told Peymann, “so long as you hold for two months. And you can hold, General. The walls are thick, the guns are plentiful!”