THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

For years, the British struggled usually alone against the might of Napoleonic France, its Navy being all that kept us safe. Then in 1800 the Scandinavian countries, led by Denmark, formed an Armed Neutrality, which was pro-French in all but name. The British suspected (cynically but perfectly correctly) that the Danes were to prevent vital naval supplies from the Baltic ports from reaching England, and so attacked the Danish Fleet in Copenhagen Harbour (1801). At a crucial point in the battle the British commander ordered his men to withdraw but one leader, putting his telescope to his blind eye, claimed not to have seen it and fought on. As a result the battle was won, a new phrase entered the English language, and the leader, some chap called Nelson, became quite famous.

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Of Nelson and the North

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone;

By each gun the lighted brand

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat

Lay their bulwarks on the brine,

While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line:

It was ten of April morn by the chime:

As they drifted on their path

There was silence deep as death,

And the boldest held his breath

For a time.

But the might of England flush'd

To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between:

'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried, when each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

Again! again! again!

And the havoc did not slack,

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back;—

Their shots along the deep slowly boom:—

Then ceased—and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail,

Or in conflagration pale

Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then

As he hail'd them o'er the wave:

'Ye are brothers! ye are men!

And we conquer but to save:—

So peace instead of death let us bring:

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,

With the crews, at England's feet,

And make submission meet

To our King.'...

Now joy, old England, raise!

For the tidings of thy might,

By the festal cities' blaze,

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light!

And yet amidst that joy and uproar,

Let us think of them that sleep

Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,

Elsinore!

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844)

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