The streets were eerily silent as the Danish inhabitants hid away, bolting their doors and shuttering their windows before retreating further inside to pray for their deliverance. Arthur stood in the tower of the customs house resting his telescope on the back of a chair as he fixed his attention on a French cavalry patrol that had appeared on a low rise inland that overlooked the capital. Well, let them look, he mused to himself. They were already too late. The Danish fleet had weighed anchor and was already on its way across the North Sea to Britain. Eighteen ships of the line together with twelve frigates. Those ships undergoing repairs in the dry docks had been fired a few days earlier and only the skeletal remains of their great timbers remained.

He turned at the sound of footsteps and saw General Stewart climbing into the tower behind him.

‘How is the loading proceeding?’

‘Almost done with the first battalion, sir.’ Stewart saluted.‘The second should be aboard within an hour or so.Then it’s just the rearguard.’

‘Very well. I shall be glad when we have quit this place.’

Stewart nodded.‘I am sure that some in Britain will say that this was not our finest hour.’

‘That is true. However, we must let them say what they like as long as they leave the soldiering to us.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right then, time to be off.’ Arthur took a last look at the enemy cavalry scouts, and was about to collapse his spyglass when a new movement caught his eye. Just to one side of the enemy horsemen the head of a column of infantry had appeared and was already pouring down the far slope and marching towards Copenhagen as swiftly as they could. Arthur waited a moment longer so that he could ascertain their strength. When the first three battalions had crossed over the rise he snapped his glass shut and stood up stiffly. ‘We have company.’

Stewart scanned the horizon, saw what Arthur had seen and nodded. ‘They’ll reach the city within the hour.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur responded dully. ‘Best prepare for them. Have the rearguard occupy the buildings along the waterfront.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Stewart saluted and disappeared back down the stairs.Arthur stared at the French for a few minutes longer, gauging the pace of their advance.They were making good time and he felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realised they would reach the quay well before the last men of the brigade could quit the city.

‘This is going to take some careful timing,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Very careful timing.’