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Updated: May 1, 2025
Immediately on our arrival, a boat was sent ashore to deliver the vessel's papers; for, though the ancient privileges of Cronenborg are not held with such paramount sovereignty as they used to be of yore, some form, and merely form, is, however, observed.
This being the 24th of May and the Queen's birthday; to commemorate the event and keep our loyalty in good trim, we fired, even under the ramparts of Cronenborg Castle, which is not always liked, a royal salute; and, when we had accomplished about one-half of our Lilliputian cannonade, a large French war-steamer passed within thirty yards of us, and, not heeding the approximation of such a terrible and sensitive neighbour, we continued our firing, and sent a broadside right into the Frenchman's larboard ports, much to his astonishment; for anticipating more deference to the French flag, the engines were immediately stopped, and a Lieutenant in gold banded cap, and thick moustache, started into sight, showing his chin just elevated above the bulwarks, and eying us with great ferocity over the lee-quarter; but repeating our salute with all the precision of an hour glass, which R held, and the apparently sublime ignorance of land-lubbers, Monsieur le Lieutenant seemed to feel some consolation for our breach of etiquette, and paddled away again as hard as ever.
Elsineur is the Wapping of Denmark, or comparable to the worst parts of Portsmouth. We walked through the town to the Castle of Cronenborg. After wandering over drawbridges, through archways, and dark tunnels, we found ourselves in the middle of a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by the solitary walls of the seemingly deserted castle.
The Danish traditions say that for many ages the clang of arms, and groans of human beings, as if in torture, were occasionally heard in the dismal vaults beneath the Castle of Cronenborg. No human creature knew the cause of these strange noises, and desirous, as all people were, to learn the mystery, there was not in all the land of Denmark a man bold enough to descend into the vaults.
Queen Caroline-Matilda being taken from this palace to Cronenborg, her son, Frederick the Sixth, would never reside in it afterwards; and, I think, it is more from this mingled feeling of affection and painful regret, and a desire to obliterate from their memories the recollection of her fate, that his descendants have followed the filial example of Frederick, than from any dread of sudden destruction by fire.
The night was most beautiful, and the sea calm as death. The fine old Castle of Cronenborg, casting a dark shadow over the water even to the vessel's side, made me dream of days and legends gone by as I remained silently gazing on its elegant tower.
Every other object, except the high land of Sweden, lost to the eye, Cronenborg was still, for a long way, visible; and, as the sun began to descend, the old Castle, throwing its dark shadows almost across the Sound, seemed to stand forth the gigantic symbol of national protection, and type of times gone by.
She was hurried into one of the King's carriages, and conveyed at once to the Castle of Cronenborg, where she remained until May, when the King of England sent a small squadron of ships to carry her to Germany. The City of Zell was appointed her place of residence, where she died of a malignant fever on the 10th of May, 1775, at the early age of twenty-three.
The serf returned to earth as soon as permission was obtained, and, relating the story exactly as I have repeated it, received his freedom and a pension from the king. The Castle of Cronenborg was commenced by Frederick II. in 1574, and finished by Christian IV.
It became doubtful for some hours, as she drew her anchors slowly home, whether the brig would not come athwart our bows, and, if she had, one of us must have gone to the bottom; and since the brig had so much more bulk, and consequently, weight in her favour, than the Iris could muster, the chances are, that my fleshless skull would have been long ago a resort for cockles under the rocks of Cronenborg; but, a friendly wave, full of feeling as of water, struck the brig to windward, and, heeling under the blow, she took a broad sheer on our starboard bow, and dropped clear of us.
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