When the sailors drew near to Hirschholm the wildest rumours spread through the court, and the greatest panic prevailed. It was thought to be an insurrection, and the mutineers were reported to be swarming out from Copenhagen to seize the King and Queen, loot the palace, and murder the Minister. The guard was called out and the gates were barred, and a courier despatched to Copenhagen for a troop of dragoons. At the first sound of alarm the King and Queen, Struensee, Brandt, and the whole court, fled by a back door across the gardens to Sophienburg, about two miles distant. Here they halted for a space, while the Queen and Struensee seriously debated whether they should continue their flight to Elsinore, and seek refuge behind the stout walls of the ancient fortress of Kronborg. Eventually they resolved first to despatch an aide-de-camp back to Hirschholm to reconnoitre, and to parley with the supposed insurgents. The aide-de-camp, who was a naval officer, met the malcontents outside the palace gates, and was surprised to see no mutineers, but only a body of Norwegian sailors, whose sufferings and deprivations were clearly marked upon their countenances. He asked them what they wanted. “We wish to speak with our little father, the King,” was the reply; “he will hear us and help us.” The aide-de-camp galloped back with this message to Sophienburg, but Struensee thought it was a trap, and made the officer return and say that the King was out hunting.

The sailors replied that they did not believe it, and prepared to force their way into the palace that they might see the King face to face; the guard, which had now been reinforced by a troop of dragoons, tried to drive them back. The sailors, whose intentions had been quite peaceful, now laid hands on their knives, and declared that they would defend themselves if the soldiers attacked them. Fortunately the aide-de-camp was a man of resource, and resolved to act on his own initiative and avoid bloodshed; he saw that the men were not insurgents. He made a feint to go back and presently came out of the palace again and announced that he had a message to them from the King. His Majesty commanded him to say that if his loyal sailors would return quietly, he would see justice done to them. With this the sailors professed themselves to be content, and they walked back to Copenhagen as peacefully as they had come. The promise was kept, and more than kept, for the sailors, on their return to Copenhagen, were treated with spirits, temporarily appeased by a payment on account, and all their arrears were settled a few days later. The aide-de-camp had gone again to Sophienburg and told Struensee that this was the only way to pacify them, and a courier had been sent in haste from Hirschholm to the admiralty at Copenhagen to order these things to be done, for Struensee was by this time frightened into promising anything and everything.

When the sailors had gone and quiet was restored, Struensee was persuaded to return to Hirschholm, but only after great difficulty; the guard round the palace was doubled, and the dragoons patrolled all night, for Struensee greatly feared that the sailors would shortly return more furious and better armed. The Queen, who was determined, whatever happened, not to abandon her favourite, ordered that her horses should be kept saddled and in readiness, so that at the first sign of tumult she might fly with him and the King to Kronborg. She went to bed in disorder, had her riding-habit laid in readiness by the side of the bed, and in the middle of the night rose to have her jewellery packed up. Struensee was in abject terror all night, and would not go to bed at all. With the morning light came reflection and renewed courage, and then the court was ashamed of the panic it had shown, and did the best to conceal it; but the news travelled to Copenhagen.

The way in which Struensee had capitulated to the demand of the Norwegian sailors on the first hint of tumult led other bodies of men, whose claims were less just, to have their demands redressed in a similar way. Therefore, a fortnight later a body of some hundred and twenty silk-weavers proceeded on foot from Copenhagen to Hirschholm to complain that they were starving because the royal silk factories had been closed. Again the alarmed minister yielded, and orders were given that work in the factories should be continued, at least until the silk-weavers could obtain other employment. These demonstrations roused the fear that others would follow, and the guard at Hirschholm was increased, and soldiers were now posted round the palace and the gardens day and night. For the first time in the history of the nation the King of Denmark lived in a state of siege for fear of his own people.

Keith wrote home on the subject of the recent disturbances: “The general discontent here seems to gain strength daily, and the impunity which attended the tumultuous appearances of the Norwegian sailors at Hirschholm has encouraged the popular clamours (which are no more restrained by the nature of this Government) to break out in such indecent representations and publications as even threaten rebellion....

“I pray Heaven that all lawless attempts may meet with the punishment they deserve, and I sincerely trust they will. But if, unfortunately, it should happen that the populace is ever stirred up to signalise their resentment against its principal objects, the Counts Struensee and Brandt, your Lordship will not be surprised if the vengeance of a Danish mob should become cruel and sanguinary.”[4]

[4] Keith’s despatch, Copenhagen, September 25, 1771.

The “indecent representations and publications” became so bad that Struensee was provoked into revoking his former edict and issuing a rescript to the effect that, as the press had so grossly abused the liberty granted to it by foul and unjustifiable attacks on the Government, it would again be placed under strict censorship. This edict had the effect of stopping the direct attacks upon Struensee in the papers; but the scribblers soon found a way of evading the censorship by attacking their foe indirectly, and bitter pasquinades were issued, of which, though no names were mentioned, every one understood the drift. For instance, one of the leading publications, The Magazine of Periodical Literature, propounded the following questions for solution: “Is it possible that a woman’s lover can be her husband’s sincere friend and faithful adviser?” and again: “If the husband accepts him as his confidant, what consequences will result for all three, and for the children?” The answers to these questions contained the fiercest and most scurrilous attacks on the Queen and Struensee, under the cover of general and abstract statements.

The alarm which the Norwegian sailors had caused Struensee was followed by the discovery of a plot against his life which increased his terror. There were about five thousand men employed in the Government dockyards at Copenhagen as ship-builders and labourers of every description. These men were also dissatisfied at the changes which had lately been introduced into the naval department, and their attitude for some time had been sullen and mutinous. To punish them for their discontent Struensee had excluded them from the festivities on the King’s last birthday, but now, fearing another outbreak, more formidable than that of the Norwegian sailors, he swung round to the other extreme, and determined to give these dockyard men a feast of conciliation in the grounds of Frederiksberg to compensate them for the loss of their perquisites on the King’s birthday. September 29 was the day chosen for the fête, and it was announced that the King and Queen, the Privy Cabinet Minister and all the court would drive over from Hirschholm to honour the gathering with their presence. The corps diplomatique were invited to meet their Majesties, and a detachment of the new Flying Body Guard was told off to form the royal escort.

The fête was favoured with fine weather, and the day was observed as a day of gala; the dockyard men, with their wives and children, and drums beating and banners flying, went in procession to the gardens of Frederiksberg, where they were lavishly regaled. Oxen were roasted whole, and sheep, pigs, geese, ducks and fowls were also roasted and distributed. Thirty tuns of beer were broached, a quart of rum was given to each man, a pipe of tobacco and a day’s wages. After dinner there were games, dancing and music. All day long the revellers waited for the coming of the King and Queen, but they waited in vain.

In the morning, at Hirschholm, the King and Queen made themselves ready and were about to start, when a rumour reached the palace that a plot had been formed to assassinate Struensee at the festival. Immediately all was confusion. The King and Queen retired to their apartments, and Struensee summoned Brandt and Falckenskjold to a hurried conference. Falckenskjold urged Struensee to treat the rumour as baseless, go to the festival and present an unmoved front to the people. This display of personal courage would do more than anything else to give the lie to the rumours of his cowardice at Hirschholm, and now that he was forewarned he could be safely guarded. Nothing would induce Struensee to go; he shuddered at the slightest hint of assassination. Falckenskjold then advised him cynically, as he was so much afraid, to be more careful in the future how he stirred up his enemies, or he might find himself not only dismissed from office and disgraced, but dragged to the scaffold on a charge of high treason. Struensee said such a charge was impossible, as he had done nothing without the consent of the King. “Well, at any rate see that your papers are in order,” said Falckenskjold significantly. “My papers are arranged,” Struensee replied; “on that account I have nothing to fear, if my enemies will only behave fairly in other respects.” Brandt also joined in urging Struensee to modify some of his more objectionable measures, and attempt to conciliate his enemies. But Struensee, though he trembled at the mere hint of personal violence, was obstinate as to this. “No,” he said emphatically; “I will withdraw nothing which in my belief promotes the welfare of the state.” “The time will come,” said Brandt emphatically, “when you will have to yield.” Struensee went to see the Queen, and shortly after a message came countermanding all orders, as neither the King nor the Queen would attend the festival.