Chapter 2

 

The governor of Kronborg Castle was quick to provide hospitality to envoys from the British government. The night we arrived was the first since I had left England that I was warm, well fed and able to take my ease. As well as having time to rest before we continued our journey, we also had the opportunity to catch up on the latest news. Things were moving quickly in Eastern Europe, which was the reason we were there in the first place.

Back in 1805 a coalition against Napoleon’s France was formed by various allies including Britain, Austria and Russia. Despite various entreaties, the only other significant power in the region, Prussia, chose to remain neutral. The coalition enjoyed mixed fortunes; Britain had beaten the combined French and Spanish navies at Trafalgar, but a few weeks later Napoleon had crushed the Russian and Austrian armies at Austerlitz. After the battle Austria was forced to sue for peace and Russia to retreat to its own territory.

A year later and for reasons that defy understanding, Prussia decided that while it had not wanted to risk joining a coalition, it could now beat Napoleon on its own. It had the mighty Prussian army that, twenty years before, had been commanded by Frederick the Great to a series of impressive victories. Its officers were supremely confident that they could beat the man they dismissed as the ‘Corsican Corporal’. Sadly, their elderly generals had failed to appreciate that military tactics had changed since their heyday. Their famed iron discipline was no match for Napoleon’s flexible system of army corps. Each French marshal had a force of twenty to thirty thousand men including infantry, cavalry and artillery, capable of fighting on their own or in coordination with others. At the twin battles of Jena and Auerstedt the Prussians were roundly thrashed by a French army half its size. Ironically, it was not even the ‘corporal’ who beat them; most of their army was defeated by the tenacious Marshal Davout, a man I was to know well a few years later.

A dominant Napoleon was soon in Berlin, while the Russians hurried men forward to protect their western border and support the routed Prussians. The balance in Europe was shifting in favour of the French, and vital supplies that Britain needed from this region, such as tar and timber for the Navy, were in jeopardy. London decided to send an envoy who could report on this fast-changing situation and help shore up allied resistance against Paris. Their representative needed to be someone with military experience, but who also possessed immense tact and charm to deal with the humiliated Prussian king as well as defeated Prussian and Russian generals. The envoy had to persuade them to continue their resistance, while assessing what support Britain could provide. Quite how they alighted on Lord John Hely-Hutchinson for this role is beyond me, as someone less suitable is hard to imagine.

It is true that Hutchinson had military experience. He had inherited command of the British army in Egypt back in ’01 and forced the French garrisons to surrender in both Cairo and Alexandria, driving them from the country. However, he had been so unpopular amongst his fellow officers due to his unsoldierly appearance and scathing demeanour, that some had tried to block him getting the command. From just a brief association with his lordship, my sympathies were entirely with these mutineers. Hutchinson had all the charm and tact of a bear with its balls caught in a trap. He was the most rude and curmudgeonly individual I had yet come across. It was absolutely no surprise to learn that he was an acquaintance of my father-in-law. The pair both took a delight in making others as despondent as them. From what I could gather, his appointment was solely due to him being a confidant of King George.

Neither his younger brother Kit nor I had any diplomatic experience, and my first impressions of Wilson were not favourable either. He had served with Hutchinson in Egypt, which was why his lordship had invited the major to join us, but I could not imagine how or why the two men would get on. They were complete opposites: Hutchinson was stooped, unkempt and wore a permanent scowl; Wilson was over six foot, usually immaculately turned out in his cavalry uniform and as energetic and cheerful as a puppy chewing on a sugar cone. As I surveyed our party, our mission looked as doomed as the sinking frigate in the harbour.

The following day we set off together in a carriage on the twenty-five-mile journey to Copenhagen. Despite Nelson attacking the Danish fleet there five years before, relations between Denmark and Britain were surprisingly good. Surrounded by more powerful neighbours, the Danes could not afford to make too many enemies. Hutchinson sat in the corner of the vehicle glumly staring out at the snow-covered countryside and spoke only to complain about the cold. To fill the silence, Wilson prattled on about how the houses reminded him of England. He had a huge bearskin to keep him warm, which, as a dutiful toady, he had offered to our chief. Hutchinson had declined, muttering something about fleas, and consequently Wilson had shared it with me. He told me that the bearskin had been recommended to him by someone who knew Russian winters well and suggested that I acquire one myself. I took his advice, which I am sure saved my life.

We reached the city just after dark and found rooms in Bowe’s Hotel. We did well to get them as the city was full of Prussian refugees, often with harrowing tales of ravaging French armies. Their reports confirmed that the Prussian kingdom, which had once stretched in a wide swathe all the way down to Austria, was now reduced to just a small strip of territory to the east and a handful of fortresses, mostly along the coast. The once proud army had almost entirely melted away either in desertion or taken prisoner.

“The French will soon mop up what’s left,” predicted Hutchinson. “We had better not delay too long here or Prussia will cease to exist before we reach her.” I confess that I thought he was right. The inexperienced armies of Russian serfs being rushed east were intended only to support the more professional Prussian soldiers. Now they would find themselves in the front line against Napoleon’s marshals and, based on their performance at Austerlitz, the Russians would not put up much resistance. With luck, I thought, we would be home again in a few weeks and while our mission might have been a failure, no blame would be attached to us. I would be back to annoy my father-in-law with my very existence and warier now of any new ‘opportunities’ he pushed my way.

We had to wait a week for another naval vessel to take us on up the coast. If the time we were delayed was representative of the diplomatic life, then I was all for it. While his lordship only stirred himself to meet ministers and royalty, Wilson, Kit and I were invited to a range of dinners, receptions, theatres and even the palace. Most of the Danish gentry spoke English and we had a fine old time. We met a couple of Danish princesses and even saw the king once at the theatre. He was acting very oddly, pacing up and down inside his box and then peeking out from behind the curtains like a child. When I pointed this out, I was told that the king was stark raving mad. His queen had been sleeping with his doctor, while he had cavorted round every brothel in the city. A crown prince ruled the country now, which was probably just as well as the king had a habit of scrawling lewd drawings on papers presented for his signature.

As we toured the city, I was amused to see Wilson presenting copies of a book he had written as gifts. He must have had at least a dozen of them in his sea chest. The book was his account of the Egyptian campaign. It had caused a stir when first published as he had accused Napoleon of murdering some five hundred of his own wounded to avoid them falling into the hands of the Turks. The French had hotly denied the claim. I thought this unlikely as it meant that they would have murdered all their wounded, rather than just the ones they were unable to move. Wilson was sure that his source was reliable and was disappointed to find that his tome was not available in any Danish bookshops. With the virulent anti-French sentiment, particularly among Prussian refugees, he was sure that he could sell many copies and planned to write to his publisher.

That week in Copenhagen was the most pleasant we were to experience for many a month, for soon we would all have far more pressing matters to worry about. Ahead lay almost unbearable hardships that tested the limits of human endurance. It saw victories that felt like defeats, monumental incompetence, blind courage and ultimately a defeat that led to a victory. But all that was to come. Mercifully back then we were in ignorance of our fate, or I would never have boarded the sloop HMS Sparrow, which was to take us on the next stage of our journey.

Our precise destination was in some doubt. The course was set for the port of Danzig, but we feared it might not be in Prussian hands when we got there. If it had fallen to the French, we planned to proceed further up the coast until we reached the last Prussian port of Memel, assuming that had not capitulated as well.

Wilson was right that he was cursed as a seafarer, for we had barely got out of Copenhagen when this new vessel grounded on a sandbank. We had a local pilot aboard, but clearly these mounds move quickly in the current. Fortunately, there was no damage and we got off without too much difficulty…only to head into another storm. We were blown past Danzig yet somehow managed to tack our way back. Half a dozen telescopes were trained on the flag flying from a building on the shore. While I could not make out what it was with my glass, I could see that it was not the tricolour of France.

The city of Danzig is a short distance up a channel that is linked to the Vistula River, the largest river in the region, which gives good access to the interior of the country. From half a mile out to sea it looks a pretty place with towers and domes of churches appearing behind city walls and large houses visible on the edge of the surrounding forest. From a closer inspection, however, it did not bear up so well. Most of the buildings are wooden medieval affairs that lean over the dark and dirty streets. We were there for a few days as we tried to discover what was happening in the rest of the country. Rumour had it that the French were marching further inland to face an army of Russians and Prussians that were combining forces, but no one knew for sure. Some twelve thousand Prussians had been left to defend the city, but it would be no easy task. Apart from two strong bastions, the rest of the city walls were as ancient as the houses and in need of repair. We paid our respects to the garrison commander, a man near eighty years of age. He assured us that the city walls would be reinforced and stronger when ‘those bastard Austrians arrived’. Lord Hutchinson gave a heavy sigh before pointing out that on this occasion his enemy was, in fact, the French.

We quickly discovered that the Prussian court had no confidence in the defence of Danzig either and had retreated further up the coast to the city of Konigsberg, halfway between Danzig and Memel. We would have to follow them. Yet the stay in Danzig was not entirely wasted, for while walking the streets I found a furrier and bought myself a thick bearskin as Wilson had suggested. None of us relished the prospect of a further sea voyage and so we decided to travel on by carriage. Hutchinson and Kit sat on the forward-facing seats while Wilson and I settled in opposite. It was another freezing morning and our breath had only just started to defrost the carriage windows when his lordship looked up and barked, “Well, gentlemen, what do you make of Danzig?”

“They have over three hundred and fifty cannon on the walls and in other defences,” started Wilson. “I spoke to some of their officers who said they were sure that they would give Bonaparte a bloody nose if he tried to assault the city.” He pulled his bearskin tighter around his shoulders and added, “But I doubt that the French will start a siege now. They will go into winter quarters and wait until the spring.”

Hutchinson nodded to indicate that such a thing was possible and then turned his gaze to me. “And you, Mr Flashman, what is your opinion?”

I had kept quiet as I had reached an entirely different conclusion to these more experienced soldiers, but now I took a deep breath and blurted out, “I think the city will fall.”

“And why is that?” probed Hutchinson, with, I thought, a touch of menace in his voice.

“The garrison commander is a senile old fool, who probably has not seen action in twenty years. Great stretches of the walls are weak, and some have already started to collapse. I saw what siege guns can do in India and I doubt that they will hold out here for long.”

“The Prussians are strengthening them,” interrupted Wilson, but Hutchinson held up a warning finger to allow me to continue.

“Even the Prussian king does not think the city can hold,” I went on, “or he would have stayed here to lead its defence. But to leave twelve thousand men in a doomed city when most of his army has already been destroyed is madness. He needs all the men he can get.”

Hutchinson nodded again. “You surprise me, Mr Flashman. Berkeley told me you were a feckless fool, but I see you have some sense.” Before I could take any dubious pleasure from that remark, he added, “Of course, you are both wrong.” Then he rapped his cane top on the roof of the carriage to signal it to stop. A minute later and we were all standing on the icy road, staring back at the city we had just left. “Well, gentlemen, what do you see?” demanded Hutchinson.

We stared about us, puzzled at what we were missing. The city walls facing us were one of the strongest sections as they protected Danzig from any attack up the river. “The ramparts are much weaker on the other side,” I muttered defensively.

“Never mind the walls,” Hutchinson snapped. “Look there.” He pointed to the several miles of flat land between the city and the sea. “That is where the French will go. They will surround the city and stop it getting supplies by sea, then they have only to wait. Unless they want to starve, the Prussians will have to sally out from behind their walls and clear a passage for ships to reach the city.” He turned to Wilson, “You said you spoke to the officers; did you speak to the common soldiery?”

“I tried but they were hard to understand,” he admitted.

“Many are Poles,” explained Hutchinson. “They have seen Prussia and Russia swallow up their old kingdom and I doubt they have much of a wish to die for their conquerors. More than a few are likely to escape over the walls rather than defend them. Some might even join the French.”

“Surely not,” protested Wilson. “They must have heard the stories of how the French have treated Prussian civilians, not to mention the tyrant’s other crimes.”

“Robert,” started Hutchinson, and I was to learn that his rare use of first names was usually to soften acerbic criticism. “You must not let your hatred of Bonaparte blind your judgement. There will be many Poles who will have heard of the principles of the French Revolution. They will see him as a potential liberator, however misguided that may be.” His lordship’s gaze turned back to me. “Flashman, you are right that the Prussian king needs all the men he can get, but he also needs time. A small garrison would see the city fall quickly to the French, who would then head on north to Konigsberg. Twelve thousand men should ensure that the city holds out at least a month or two, which should allow the Prussians to re-organise themselves and combine forces with the Russian army.”

That appeared to be the end of the conversation and, as we got back into the carriage, I began to realise that I had misjudged Hutchinson. While Wilson and I had explored the city, accepted invitations to the officers’ mess, been to the theatre and bought supplies, he had been making a careful assessment of the fast-changing situation we found ourselves in. I could not fault his judgement either, which meant we might be in this freezing carbuncle of a country for longer than I wished.

We rattled on through the countryside, but the roads got steadily worse and by lunchtime we found ourselves at the end of a fifty-mile-long spit of sand and shingle. It ran between the sea and a huge inland lagoon called the Fischer Gaff. This exposed strip of land with just a few clumps of bent fir trees for shelter was said to be the quickest route to Konigsberg. It may well have been on horseback, but in a carriage the progress was tortuous. The road, made from boulders taken from the sea, jolted us about until we began to feel seasick. When we weren’t experiencing spine-jarring jolts from the stones, the carriage would get bogged down in dunes of sand that had blown across our path. Eventually, we all got down and walked for a while to rest our bodies. The coast there is famous for amber and we strolled along the shoreline, dodging the waves, as it is easiest to spot when the stones are wet. The coachman rushed down to tell us that the gathering of amber was illegal under penalty of transportation, but Hutchinson just laughed. “Let the king come this far south to reprimand me and I will give him his pebbles back.”

It was ten o’clock at night when we finally reached the town of Pillau, which guarded a break made in the spit to allow shipping to use the lagoon. There was no hotel here, just a room we all had to share with two strangers, one of whom snored loudly enough to wake the dead. Wilson and I rose early the next morning and went to explore the fortress on the edge of town. It looked strong, at least, with walls that were star shaped if you could look down from above. It would be formidable to attack as the only approaches were by sea or along the exposed strips of sand and shingle that ran north and south.

I was tired and grumpy. The sooner this miserable mission was over and I was back home the better. Even Wilson was despondent that morning. His back hurt and he was dreading our return to the carriage. A short ferry ride took us over the sea channel and then a whole day of further uncomfortable travel awaited us on the northern strip before we were to reach our destination.