The fleet destined for the north bore away from the Downs with a fine leading breeze. It consisted of forty-two ships of war, twenty-two of which were of the line, several frigates, and a forest of transports, on board of which the forces destined to act on shore were embarked: these amounted to twenty thousand effective men, and were under the command of Lord Cathcart, while Admiral Gambier directed the naval operations. After a rough passage, we came in sight of the Danish coast about the middle of August; and early on the morning of the 16th of that month, the debarkation of the troops, under cover of several gun-brigs, commenced. We landed at Wisbeck, a small place in the island of Zealand, about eight miles from Copenhagen.

Just before leaving the vessel in which I had sailed, I had a narrow escape. The weather being warm and fine, several of the soldiers and sailors took the advantage of bathing, and I made one of the number. One morning, after having enjoyed this luxury, and just as I was half-dressed, a cry of distress was heard, and on looking over the ship’s side, a sailor, evidently unable to swim, was observed, endeavouring to float on the surface of the water by grasping an oar that happened to be within his reach: unfortunately he was unable to retain his hold, and immediately disappeared. The sea was calm, and so remarkably clear, that the spot in which he sank was easily recognised. Not a moment was to be lost; and, being an expert swimmer, I divested myself of the clothing I had put on, and dived after him. On looking about, I saw the poor fellow faintly struggling near the bottom, among some long sedgy weeds: his head being still uppermost, I seized him with one hand by the hair, and with the other was so far able to swim, as to raise both the man and myself to the surface, when on a sudden he fastened on me with a grasp so deadly, that I was incapable of moving hand or foot; and had I not been able to disengage myself, I must inevitably have perished. The struggle between us was terrific, being myself at that time scarcely seventeen years of age, and he a powerful, full-grown man. At length, by a desperate effort, I escaped from his grasp. Deprived of my buoyancy, he sank like a stone. On account of the length of time I had been under water, my preservation was little less than miraculous; indeed, one of the officers, and several of the crew, who witnessed the transaction, had given me up for lost; when to their surprise I again emerged, and was safely taken on board. Thus was I given back to light and life; but was the deliverance wrought by the prowess of my own arm? So I once thought; but the film is taken from my eyes. It was the Lord Who preserved my life, by the agency of His overruling providence. The sea confessed His mighty power, and my days declining like a shadow were graciously renewed. Diligent search was made for the body of the poor man, but without effect: it had, no doubt, drifted with the current far from the place in which the accident occurred, to be found probably no more till the sea shall give up her dead.

After the army had made good its landing, which was effected without opposition, one of the first acts of our commander was to issue a proclamation, in which he announced the object of the expedition, lamented the necessity of the cause of it, and expressed a hope that the Danish fleet, then at anchor in the roads, would be surrendered without bloodshed; at the same time declaring, that if it were not given up, force would be used to secure it; in which event, he argued, the innocent blood unavoidably shed would be chargeable on those who advised resistance to a measure dictated by imperious necessity. To this specimen of military logic, rendered so conclusive by the force of arms, the Danes deigned no reply. The government resolved to defend the capital, and thus convince the world that the country intended to maintain its honour and property against the assailants, whether they came from the Thames or the Seine, and show the fallacy of the reasoning upon which the British ministry founded the expediency of their present extraordinary measure. Paper contentions and the rivalry of manifestoes were therefore relinquished; and as neither party chose to recede, negotiation was succeeded by the rude appeal to arms.

On the side of the invaders, the best understanding subsisted between the army and navy, and suitable arrangements were promptly made by the respective commanders for mutual co-operation. Several frigates and gunboats took advantage of a favourable wind to place themselves in front of the harbour, taking care to secure a position which enabled them to throw shells into the city, while the troops advanced by land: the operations on both elements were conducted with equal vigour and success. The plan of defence adopted by the Danes was similar to that projected some years previously, in the memorable engagement with Nelson. Strong lines of gunboats and praams were securely moored for the defence of the harbour, flanked at each extremity by the crown battery and a blockhouse, in which upwards of a hundred pieces of cannon were mounted; this force, which was judiciously planned, offered formidable resistance to the British squadron. The Danes fired red-hot balls, and soon after the commencement of the action several of our ships in advanced positions were compelled to haul off: they, however, shortly resumed their places, and poured an incessant fire on the rafts and armed craft. As it was deemed imperatively needful to put an end to all resistance on the harbour side of the city, batteries were erected on shore by the English forces, who opened a well-directed fire on every vessel in which Danish colours were visible. Congreve rockets flared through the lurid sky without intermission. One of the Danish vessels blew up with tremendous explosion, the fire of the others gradually abated, and in a few hours all opposition from the flotilla ceased.

Meantime the main body of the besieging army pushed on its advanced posts with great vigour: they carried their approaches to within four hundred yards of the ramparts, and forced one of the strongest redoubts, which was turned against the enemy. Having heard that a considerable body of troops had assembled in order to surprise us, a detachment, consisting of four regiments of British infantry, with a squadron of hussars, under the command of Sir Arthur Wellesley, was ordered to march against it. We found the Danes, fourteen thousand strong, advantageously posted in front of the small town of Kioge. The attack began on our part with the usual spirit. Some little impression having been made on the enemy’s line, the 92nd were ordered to charge. The movement was executed with astonishing celerity; the shock was irresistible, and the Danes, unused perhaps to such personality, fled in all directions: numbers, however, remained lifeless on the battlefield, and many more were taken prisoners, and consigned to the British fleet.

As this was the first action of any importance in which I had been closely engaged, it put my firmness to the test. The regiment in which I served was placed on the right of the British line. The first thing that startled me was the forceful rebound of a cannon-ball that struck the ground within a few paces of the place where I stood; it scattered the earth with violence, but fortunately did no injury, and the impression of danger was soon erased by the heavy and rapid trampling of a cavalry charge made in our favour, and which laid many a brave fellow low. Of those who escaped from the destructive sweep, several sought refuge in a churchyard, where a large body were overtaken and captured. I recollect meeting with an exhausted Dane, concealed in the side of a ditch: the interview seemed particularly disagreeable to him, and was quite unexpected by myself. I soon put an end to all explanations by conducting him to headquarters. But after the battle had ceased, and my spirits became composed, I was subdued beyond all I ever felt before. This emotion was produced by leisurely traversing the scene of action on the following day. There lay the dead, just as they had fallen. They were said to be enemies, but I felt that they and myself were partakers of one common nature. I saw several Danish women moving with terror among the slain, anxious to discover and yet afraid to ascertain who pressed the field. The day before I was among the foremost of those fearless spirits who dealt out wounds and carnage, careless of danger and destitute of fear. But when the soul is allowed quietly to look within; when the hurricane of wrath has spent its fierceness, and nothing remains, save the desolation it has produced,—views and sensations are strangely transposed. My compassionate musings were, however, exceedingly brief. A soldier’s moral meditations seldom take place; and if nature will occasionally assert her right, the hasty tear is brushed away for sterner thoughts and deeds.

There is to be perceived among the Danes an amiable simplicity of manners, coupled with remarkable firmness and bravery in action: this was conspicuous in every conflict. Private emolument or the protection of property was never suffered to compete with the measures necessary for public defence. Life itself seemed of value only so far as it could contribute to national honour. Gardens, smiling with the choicest fruits, all but ripe, were cheerfully resigned as the site for erecting batteries. Masses of soldiery were quartered in the cornfields. The furniture of several mansions belonging to the nobility was hastily removed, and the buildings offered to the service of government, as the exigency of affairs required. The palace of the crown prince resembled a barrack more than the residence of royalty. The entire people, of whatever age or rank, emulous only to be distinguished in the defence of home, came simultaneously forward, with the suffrage of their best services. This unflinching devotedness, estimable whether in friend or foe, was met by corresponding energy on the part of the besiegers, who were persons not to be trifled with.

Before I report further progress, a few brief notices of the city of Copenhagen may not be uninteresting. It is universally acknowledged to be the best-built capital in the north. Petersburg excels it in superb edifices, but is disfigured by multitudinous wooden houses, and exhibits therefore a striking contrast of pomp and penury. Copenhagen presents a more equable and uniform appearance. The town is surrounded toward the land with regular ramparts and bastions, a broad ditch full of water, and several outworks. Its circumference is about five miles. The streets are well paved, with a foot-way on each side, but are inconveniently narrow. The greater part of the buildings are of brick, and a few of freestone brought from Germany. The houses of the nobility are in general splendid, and constructed in the Italian style of architecture: the palace, which was erected by Christian VI., is a large pile of building, the front of which is stone, and the wings of brick stuccoed. Maritime affairs and the facilities of trade have also received proper attention. The haven is commonly crowded with merchant ships, and the streets are intersected with broad canals, by which merchandise is brought close to the warehouses that line the quays. The city owes its principal beauty and healthiness to a cause similar to that to which the renovation and improvement of London are to be ascribed. A dreadful fire broke out in Copenhagen, in 1728. Five churches and sixty-seven streets were destroyed; the whole of which, and many others, have since been rebuilt in modern style. The new part of the town, raised by king Frederick V., (1746–1766) is extremely beautiful, scarcely inferior to Bath. It consists of an octagon, containing four uniform and elegant buildings of hewn stone, and of four broad streets leading to it in opposite directions. Part of Copenhagen, which is called Christianshafen, is built upon the isle of Amak.

The British commander, unwilling to injure the city, had hitherto confined his offensive operations to the adjacent suburbs. It was, however, notified to the Danes in occupation as a garrison, that unless the terms proposed for the surrender of the fleet were immediately accepted, an attack might be expected. On the 31st of August the platform was raised, and the mortar batteries were ready for action. General Pieman, the governor, having refused to listen to the proposals forwarded, a vigorous fire was opened from the batteries and bomb-vessels, and in a few hours it was observed that the city was on fire in several places: the bombardment continued with little intermission till the evening of the 7th of September. By that time extensive injury had ensued, and it became evident that if the bombardment continued much longer, the city would be reduced to ashes. A flag of truce was in this extremity despatched, requesting a suspension of hostilities for twenty-four hours, to afford time for proposing terms of capitulation. The reply of Lord Cathcart was that nothing of the kind could be entertained, unless grounded on the entire and unconditional surrender of the Danish fleet. This was a bitter pill; but necessity, which has often laid the mighty in the dust, compelled the besieged to take it; and in the night of the 7th of September the articles of capitulation were settled, to be ratified the following morning. According to these, the British were put into possession of the citadel and dockyards, all the ships of war and naval stores were to be delivered up, a mutual restoration of prisoners was to take place, private property to be respected, and in the space of six weeks the citadel to be restored to the King of Denmark, and the whole island of Zealand to be evacuated by the British army. In consequence of this capitulation, we were put into possession of sixteen sail of the line, fifteen frigates, six brigs, and twenty-five gunboats, all of which were nearly ready for sea. A vast abundance of stores of all kinds necessary to equip or build a fleet were found in the arsenals. It was therefore necessary to load all the ships of the line and frigates which were delivered up with masts, spars, and timber; so that ninety-two transports were employed to bring the property to England.

Whatever may be the opinion respecting the justice or policy of the expedition to Copenhagen, there can be but one relative to the mode in which Lord Cathcart conducted it. While he did all that his duty as an officer required, he was throughout the whole of the operations attentive to the suffering Danes: he levied no contributions; not the slightest military excess was committed; and had it not been that the British army was engaged in bombarding their capital, the Danes might have taken them for friends and allies, instead of hostile troops. Even after the surrender of Copenhagen, we were not quartered in it for some days, the Danish troops remaining in possession of all the gates but that which was connected with the citadel. No interference took place with respect to the police or any other internal regulation of the city, and everything was done to tranquillise the public mind; but all was in vain to reconcile the Danish government or people to the bombardment of the capital and the seizure of their fleet in time of peace. As might have been foreseen, the outrage was deemed intolerable: it is true they were plundered with comparative politeness,—nobody hurt them when their treasures were given up; still that did not alter the character of the transaction: it conferred honour upon the agencies employed, who might, without any special departure from the laws of war, have added fierceness to bravery, and wasted what they did not want. But the national spirit of the Danes was roused to unquenchable indignation; they considered themselves the victims of lawless freebooters, superior to themselves only in brute force, and infinitely inferior in everything else. Under feelings excited by these galling considerations war was proclaimed between Denmark and Great Britain.

Every one will readily believe, that, notwithstanding the good behaviour of their visitors, the Danes were by no means enamoured with our company, and not a little pleased when preparations were made for departure. We had caused great injury to several of the finest erections in the city, had thrown down the steeple of one of the best churches, had created an entire suspension of commerce for a wearisome season, and having collected as much naval property as we could grasp, and more than we could carry, were getting it on board the captured vessels with as much deliberation and order as if nothing more were in hand than a regular shipment of purchased merchandise. The design of the expedition having been fully executed, the troops were re-embarked towards the end of October. On observing the signal for sailing, the whole of the fleet prepared to weigh and stand out to sea; and when under sail, the almost interminable line of shipping presented an extensive and magnificent spectacle. The first part of the homeward voyage was performed under favourable circumstances; but on nearing the English coast, the weather, which had been fine, became rough and boisterous. Soon after we came in sight of land, the regiment to which I belonged, for reasons with which I am unacquainted, was shifted from the vessel we had occupied to the Sirion, of seventy-four guns, one of the Danish prizes; and though so near our destined port, we were exposed to danger, greater perhaps than any we had hitherto experienced. There were on board, beside the crew, seven companies of the 43rd, amounting to nearly as many hundred men. Just at midnight, during a gale of wind, when all were wrapped in security, and the greater part in slumber, the ship struck on a sand-bank. The shock was excessively violent. Alarmed by the concussion, which was attended by an ominous straining of the timbers, an immediate rush was made by the soldiers below to gain the maindeck. To prevent this dangerous intrusion, the hatches were secured, and a strong guard appointed to keep them from being forced. The confusion and contention that prevailed among such a body of resolute men, cooped up in their berths between decks, and with the consciousness of danger, which they were not even permitted to view, may be conceived, but not easily described. To increase our alarm, the foremast went over with several men in the top, one of whom fell on the shank of an anchor, and was killed. By the mercy of God we were after all preserved. Several of the most active soldiers, among whom I was one, were eventually ordered to assist the crew, whose exertions were beyond all praise. The damaged rigging and running tackle were all repaired; we contrived, under the direction of the ship’s officer, to elevate a jury mast, and exhibit canvas that answered the purpose of a foresail; and though in a shattered condition, we had the happiness, assisted by a favourable breeze, to feel the ship glide over the shoal, and swing into deep water. On the following day, the sailor who lost his life by falling from the foretop was committed to the deep. The body was carefully enclosed in a blanket, and placed on an oblong grating, to each end of which two round shot were lashed. The sea service for the burial of the dead was then performed with great solemnity; immediately after which, the grating was lowered from the ship’s side, and, being heavily weighted, sank with the velocity of a stone. We landed in safety at Yarmouth on the first day of December, and marched without loss of time into the barracks, where all traces of our recent perils and exposure to sudden mortality were soon forgotten, or remembered only for amusement.

Having saved a little money, I was soon able to furnish myself with such extra articles of necessity and convenience as appeared desirable to a young man just returned to his native shore, and aiming to appear respectable. But, alas! I regret to state that my ambition was not limited to things altogether needful. Surrounded by evil examples, I became an easy prey to vicious men and their sinful practices. Prodigal of cash while it lasted, the earnings of many a watchful, hard-fought day were speedily dispersed; and among other considerations which now occur to my mind, I am amazed that at the season of life now described, although just escaped almost miraculously from the jaws of death, not the smallest sense of gratitude to the Almighty seemed to enter the minds either of my comrades or myself. That this acknowledgment is discreditable to myself, I am sensible; but since such was the fact,—and I am determined to represent things as they really were,—it must not be suppressed merely for the purpose of putting a gloss upon conduct essentially wrong. I shall not stoop even to concealment: the advice of old Herbert is homely but sound,—

Subsequent reflection upon the debased condition of my mind at that time has shown me, and my experience has borne out the fact, that man by nature is spiritually insensible, and in a condition that exactly verifies the declaration of holy Writ. His soul is touched with an iceberg. The faculties are chained down by invincible ignorance. There is a moral chaos within; through every power darkness and confusion reign with total absence of form and order. In the more emphatic language of inspiration, he is ‘dead in trespasses and sins,’ nor can an archangel’s voice awaken or revive him. But when the Spirit of truth shall descend, the frozen heart shall melt, and flow down before the Lord in streams of contrition and obedience. Equally sure am I that no power less than Divine can effect the change alluded to. Reason can do many things; it may distinguish right from wrong, and can prove the truths on which the distinction rests. But the knowledge of good and evil is one thing, power to choose the former and reject the latter is another; and without pretending to unusual research, I fearlessly affirm, and challenge refutation, that spiritual influence, and that alone, is sufficient to overcome the spiritual malady of the human race. Man does not want his heart to be merely mended; it must be renewed. To attempt the repair of bad principles is wide of the mark: that would be like decorating the outside of a building, the rottenness of whose timbers betokens the nearness of its fall. All such trash and lumber must be cleared away: they seldom pay even for stowage, and the safer way is to carry them out of sight. A new foundation must be laid, based on firmer ground, and constructed with better materials. Old things must pass away, and all things become new. Principles are to be engrafted which had no previous existence; and this decisive and comprehensive reformation, which is not to be viewed as an accessory or appendage to religion, but as its leading feature, constitutes the chief difference between refinement in morals and actual conversion to God. Some apology is perhaps due for thus breaking out into meditations instead of pursuing my narrative: all I have to offer is, that, reflecting on the goodness of God, I cannot refrain from exulting in the change I have myself experienced, grounded on the sacred verities just described. Feeling myself invigorated by the review, perhaps others may share in the privilege, and rejoice in possession of the same hope. Travelling through the great and terrible wilderness of this world, I gather solace from such recollections, and go forward. The retrospect is like an oasis in the desert; a beautiful green spot, amid the aridity of desolating barrenness, verdant as the garden of the Lord, and refreshing as the dew of Hermon.