Arthur turned towards the voice and saw Stewart striding towards him. He had lost his hat and blood streaked his face from a cut in his scalp, but he was grinning like a madman. ‘We did it, sir!’ Stewart laughed self-consciously. ‘My apologies, General. You did it, sir. The town is yours.’

‘I thank you.’

‘What are your orders, sir?’

‘Orders?’ Arthur forced himself to calm his thoughts. ‘Right. Pass the word to all officers to continue the pursuit only as far as the limits of the town. Have the grenadiers take charge of any prisoners, and weapons collection. Find somewhere for the treatment of the wounded, and let the men know that there is to be no looting. No rape and no drunkenness. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Oh, and one other thing.’

‘Sir?’

‘Send a messenger to Lord Cathcart. Tell him I have the honour to report that the brigade has taken Køge, and that the Danish relief column has been routed. Nothing can save Copenhagen now.’

Chapter 37

Chapter 37

The preparations for the siege were completed shortly after Arthur’s brigade returned to the British lines outside Copenhagen. Several batteries had been constructed within range of the city, and the engineers had ensured that the guns would be well protected by great ramparts of earth, fortified with fascines and stout wooden props. Behind the defences the siege guns were hauled into place and stores of powder and shot brought forward by long lines of redcoats sweating under the late summer sun as they toiled along the trenches that zigzagged towards the Danish positions. All of which activity was scrutinised by the defenders of Copenhagen as they helplessly watched their enemies crafting their doom.

There had been one attempt to disrupt the work when a Danish battalion had crept out from the city on a moonless night. Stealing across the open ground they had soon run into British outposts and after a brief skirmish, illuminated by orange flashes of musket fire, the Danes had been forced back having done little more than smash a score of fascines, and inflict a handful of casualties.

When the last of the siege guns was eased forward, and aimed at the outer works of the city, Lord Cathcart nodded with satisfaction as he inspected the biggest of the batteries in the company of his senior officers. In addition to the siege guns there were several peculiar iron contraptions that looked like cooking tripods except that one leg was longer than the others and was angled inside like a length of guttering. After a moment’s reflection Arthur realised that these must be the launch beds for the modest supply of Congreve rockets the army had brought with them from Britain. Sure enough, a small column of men approached carrying the experimental weapons, which looked to Arthur’s eye like large fireworks.