“But what they have learnt this morning, that will influence their plan?”
“They know now that a feint attack would be a waste of effort. As all our batteries are manned no threat at one point will weaken any other. Their main effort, sir, will be their first.”
“What will they do next, then?”
“I suspect, sir, that they will repeat this last exercise but after dark, drawing our fire under different conditions. They may not have decided yet on a day or night attack.”
“What if we held our fire, Colonel?”
“They would conclude, sir, that we are short of ammunition. I would rather discourage them with the idea that we are short of nothing.”
Lieutenant-Colonel Fraser’s prediction was borne out by the events which followed. There was a fresh cannonade in the small hours of the following morning, fire being drawn from all the batteries at the same time, the same ships passing and repassing Europa Point. For an hour or two the night was lit with the flash of the guns. Then the firing died away, a few cannon firing in the distance at a lengthening interval until all was quiet again save for the barking of dogs and the tramp of the gunners marching back to camp. Other parties were replenishing the ammunition and removing the wounded.
“Tomorrow, Colonel—or the next day?” asked Curtis.
“Not tomorrow, sir. They have not yet destroyed our palisades.
There can be no general assault until those are breached.”
Fraser and his adjutant went back to his regiment’s lines, immediately to the right of the Naval Brigade. Outside his tent Curtis said good night to his staff. As Richard saluted and turned away there was a further rumble of gunfire in the distance, followed again by an uneasy silence. The day after tomorrow—the day after that? It could not be long now.
Chapter 12
ARMAGEDDON
THE STAGE was set for battle on 12 September. In the morning a fleet was seen approaching from the westward. There were doubts at first whether the men-of-war were French or British but they were soon recognised as the combined fleets of France and Spain; 38 sail of the line including three-decked ships and accompanied by smaller craft. Joined to the nine already there, the fleet numbered 47, added to which were the ten floating batteries and a swarm of landing craft. That afternoon began the destruction of the palisades, the essential preliminary to an infantry assault from the land. That evening Captain Curtis called his officers together in the wardroom tent and told them to expect the main attack that night.
“This afternoon, gentlemen, I was in conference with His Excellency and the other senior officers. Our conclusion was that the enemy will assault soon after midnight. Their first object will be to place their floating batteries in position opposite the King’s Bastion. If we have correctly interpreted their attempts to take soundings we may expect them to choose a range of a thousand yards. They will hope to reach their chosen anchorage under cover of darkness. It will be their intention to assault the Land-port at the same time and perhaps Europa Point as well. From all our intelligence sources we learn that the enemy have put their trust in their floating batteries. It is said that they will commit no other ships during the first phase of the battle. Should that be their plan and should our batteries here be left without a target, I may be able to bring our gunboats into action. In the meanwhile, our batteries will be manned as from the sounding of the last post but with permission for the men to sleep beside the guns. Those acting as infantry can sleep in camp but must be ready to march in five minutes after the alarm is sounded. That is all, gentlemen. Take some rest while you can.”
There was no attack that night and Richard won a small bet on it. The French, he argued, would never assault in darkness, not with the Comte d’Artois and the Duc de Bourbon there to witness the action. Daybreak would be the time and so it proved to be. The whole garrison stood to their posts and the morning light showed the battering ships under way, heading for Gibraltar, leaving the combined fleet at its moorings and out of range. The defending batteries held their fire until the battering ships were in position but as from the moment the first enemy ship dropped anchor all hell broke loose on land and sea. With about four hundred guns in action, the noise was indescribable.
“Damnation!” shouted Captain Curtis, above the uproar. “They are not coming near us. We are mere bystanders, dammit.”
This was the sad truth, for the ten floating batteries were far to the north, the nearest of them engaging the King’s Bastion and the furthest in action against the Old Mole. The staff of the Naval Brigade were gathered at a point from which they could see but that was all they could do. The scene before them, however, was stupendous. It was a sunny day with excellent visibility and they were awestruck by the sheer immensity of the forces collected for the assault. The Spanish tents seemed to cover the mainland, the allied shipping filled the bay with a forest of masts and rigging, troops in thousands were ready to embark in hundreds of landing craft and tens of thousands more were grouped beyond the enemy parallels, formed up to assault when the defending batteries had been silenced. The display of strength seemed incredible and none who gazed had any illusions about the allied leadership. The Duc de Crillon was a distinguished general, the Chevalier D’Arçon a leading engineer, Don Moreau a flag officer of great experience and courage. That the attack would be pressed home was certain. As for the floating batteries, now half hidden in smoke, they might seem clumsy, each with a jury rig poking through its Noah’s Ark roof, but they could yet prove to be as invulnerable as they were meant to be. It was the fact, nevertheless, that they were fighting at a disadvantage. The defending artillerymen had a ship to fire at, its position marked by its top-masts. The gunners in the floating batteries had to fire at embrasures in the solid stonework; embrasures which would be invisible after the first broadside. And, apart from that, how were they to aim? A gun firing through a ten-foot tunnel could hardly traverse. Elevate they could—it looked, indeed, as if they were firing too high—but no embrasure would be hit without the merest fluke. With firing on the present scale the garrison would suffer casualties, no doubt, but not as a result of aimed shots. The British batteries, Richard told himself, could never be silenced by a merely random fire. Was he, however, confusing hope with belief? He would know, and so would everyone else, by the time night fell.
The bombardment continued as the day wore on, neither side seeming to have the advantage. But stalemate, in this instance, meant defeat for the allies. If they could not overpower the defending artillery their infantry dared not attack and Gibraltar would never fall. So the bombardment continued, the defenders presently loading with red-hot shot after observing that cold shot made no impression on the battering ships. It was not until the afternoon that the enemy’s fire began to slacken. In the meanwhile Captain Curtis was all but dying of frustration, his guns silent and his men at ease. Before midday he sent the governor a message offering to relieve the artillerymen who had been most hotly engaged. A rather curt reply told him to watch his own front, which the enemy might still choose to attack. In the early afternoon Curtis had another idea, to attack the floating batteries with gunboats. He was about to put this proposal into writing but changed his mind and told Richard to deliver a verbal message.
“You will find His Excellency at the King’s Bastion. Give him my compliments and my submission that the southernmost battering ships might be raked from the bows. We can still man the Europa batteries after making this detachment. You are familiar with the gunboats and can answer any question he may ask about their capabilities.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Take your servant with you, as orderly, Mr Delancey, and report back to me here.”
Richard collected his orderly, a youngster called Bob Hewitt, and set off to walk a distance of over two miles. He followed the path which led behind the South Barracks, leaving the main infantry camp on his right, passing Rosia Bay and heading for the New Mole. He had decided to make certain that the gun-boats were unh
armed before he delivered his message. Had they been destroyed—which was unlikely but just possible—Curtis would be made to look a fool with his proposal for deploying resources which did not exist. Richard ran up to the rampart and saw that the gunboats were unharmed. The guns here were in action but those further on, opposite the Princess of Wales’s Lines, were mostly silent, unable to bear on the target. Then he hurried on, the noise of the bombardment intensifying as he came near the Ragged Staff. At this point he entered the town of Gibraltar by the South Port. There were storehouses, little damaged, on his right, the governor’s residence on his left, the Spanish Church ahead of him. The area he was entering was very much under fire, with buildings already destroyed and shot passing overhead. Turning left beyond the Spanish Church, he headed for the King’s Bastion, beyond which the whole town lay in ruins. He slowed down at this moment, resolved to avoid being out of breath when he delivered his message. As momentarily representing the Royal Navy he must seem calm and collected. A damaged building on his left was hit by another shot and mostly collapsed in a cloud of brick-dust.
“Strewth, sir,” yelled Hewitt, “it’s like the end of the world!”
Approaching the rear of the King’s Bastion was more like a descent into hell. There were here a row of furnaces kept redhot by the bellows and served by sweating and dirt-caked men, stripped to the waist and gasping for breath. The cannon balls were being shovelled out and placed on iron gratings or wheel-barrows half-filled with sand. Parties of weary men were hurrying the projectiles towards the cannon. Keeping to windward of these, Richard entered the King’s Bastion as the cannon fired. It was not a volley at word of command but a scattered series followed by a pause of a minute or two while the guns were reloaded. At first Richard could see nothing at all for the smoke had blown back through the embrasures. Then the smoke cleared and Richard realised that the south-westerly breeze had stiffened. A glance at the sea told him that the waves were flecked with white. Overhead the union flag was fluttering and straining towards the Rock, a proof that the wind direction was unchanged. In frantic motion round the guns were the artillerymen, their faces and arms blackened with powder, the sweat pouring off them and fatigue already obvious. The subalterns and non-commissioned officers were striving to keep up the rapidity of fire without loss of accuracy and danger of mishap. In rear of the cannon, with their backs to Richard, were grouped some senior officers, with orderlies and buglers still further to the rear. “That is where the governor will be,” Richard told himself. The cannon thundered again and blotted out the entire scene. As the smoke cleared Richard stepped forward and reported to a junior staff officer on the near fringe of the group. “A message for His Excellency from Brigadier-General Curtis.” The junior officer reported in turn to one more senior, who finally spoke to the chief of staff. At a gesture from the latter officer, Richard stepped forward on the governor’s left and removed his hat with a flourish. “Lieutenant Delancey, Your Excellency, aide-de-camp to Brigadier-General Curtis.” At that instant the cannon volleyed again, hiding the whole Bastion in smoke. Richard felt rather foolish, making his best bow towards someone he couldn’t even see, but he stayed in position until the smoke cleared. The central figure then returned his salute casually and said “Well?” Having rehearsed his lines over the last half hour, Richard spoke without hesitation:
“Brigadier-General Curtis sends his compliments and begs to submit that his gunboats might do good service on the enemy’s right flank, enfilading their line at a fairly close range.”
The general, an impressive figure in scarlet, black and gold, did not even look at Delancey. He first looked through his telescope at the enemy men-of-war, to see whether they were still at anchor. Seeing that they were, he glanced at the sea and upwards at the flag, looking finally towards the New Mole. When he spoke it was very deliberately:
“Have the gunboats sustained any damage?”
“No, sir.”
“Has the wind freshened since you left the Europa Lines?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you agree that the sea is now too rough?”
“Yes, sir. But it may moderate before nightfall.”
“Or so you hope. What is your name?—I failed to catch it.”
“Delancey, sir.”
“Delancey … Are you the young officer who reconnoitred these battering ships?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought I remembered … What do you think of them?”
“They can aim a broadside, sir, but they cannot aim a gun.”
“As you reported, and I think correctly. Very well, then. My compliments to Brigadier-General Curtis and he is ordered to bring the gunboats into action if and when the weather moderates. He will be responsible—” The guns fired again, the smoke blowing back over the platform. When it cleared General Eliott continued calmly:
“He will be responsible for preventing his gunboats masking the fire from the batteries. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Richard looked for a moment into the general’s face, austere, sad and desperately tired. The expression changed suddenly. With a brief smile the general ended the interview on a note of curt dismissal.
“Give them hell when you have the chance! Off with you!” Richard stepped back, doffed his hat again, turned and hurried off. So far from giving the enemy hell he seemed at that moment to have entered hell himself. He was to leeward of a hot-shot grating, the heat from which swept over him with deadly effect. He stumbled on, sweating and trembling, and then the guns roared again and he was lost once more in the smoke. He somehow found himself back at the Spanish Church with Hewitt still at his heels. He made for the South Port, feeling vaguely that the situation had changed for the worse. For some unexplained reason the enemy fire was extending further south. A shot passed overhead as he crossed the Red Sands, ploughing into the hillside above him. Remembering that the floating batteries were anchored bow and stern, he guessed that one of them, perhaps the southernmost or leading ship, had lost her forward cable, hit by a chance shot. She would have swung on her stern anchor, head to wind, her guns on a south-easterly bearing. It went to prove his contention that the enemy could aim a broadside but could not traverse a gun. He felt oddly pleased about this, aware as he was of the fire now coming in his direction.
His route back was slightly different from the way he had come; further from the New Mole, which he had no occasion to visit again, and nearer to the Naval Hospital. Shots were still coming his way and he saw some of them crash into the hospital itself. Passing the entrance, he saw an orderly run out, probably to ask for help, and called to him “Anyone hurt?” The orderly paused just long enough to reply “Captain Bradshaw has fallen, sir,” and went on towards the infantry lines. So the old officer had been killed in his bed after all, the victim of an unintentional shot from some smoke-blinded gunner. He had survived just long enough for Richard’s purpose … Putting that thought on one side, Richard hurried on and reached Europa Camp at a quarter past two. Making his report to Captain Curtis, he ended with the governor’s words, “Give them hell when you have the chance!”
Glancing seawards, Curtis decided that his chance had come.
“The wind is more moderate now. All gunboat crews to the New Mole! Collect your men, gunboat commanders, and be ready to sail at half past three. Pass the word for the gunboat officers! At the double—move!”
By a forced march the gunboat crews were on board and ready to cast off at the time laid down. Near where they were stationed Captain Curtis had his telescope to his eye and was examining the enemy ships with close attention. He came to the conclusion that the flagship was on fire, as was also the ship next astern. Others had lost their masts and rigging and nearly all had been considerably damaged. It remained to finish them off, and Curtis promptly decided to lead the gunboats in person, making one of them (not in Richard’s division) the “flagship,” distinguished by an ensign. There were three divisions, each of five boats, Lieute
nant Wallis commanding the first, Lieutenant Tibbenham commanding the second and Delancey commanding the third. Hoisting their lugsails, they sailed in that order, each division in line abreast, Curtis himself being with Tibbenham. The cannonade still continued but the fire from the floating batteries was plainly slackening. Signals were being made, evidently asking for assistance, and boats were seen approaching from the allied fleet, presumably to rescue the crews of ships that were on fire. As the floating batteries had not surrendered, Wallis’s immediate task was to drop his sails and open fire on these boats, which were also under fire from the shore. Tibbenham’s division was directed by Curtis to open fire on the leading enemy ship, keeping directly ahead of her, and Delancey’s division was held in reserve, ready to exploit any opportunity that might offer. The situation was one in which gunboats had an almost unique chance of proving useful.
The gunboats slowly closed the range, bows-on to the enemy ships, Wallis’s guns firing at the rescue boats which were soon forced to withdraw. To have ordered the other boats into action, widening the line abreast, would have brought the flanking boats into the enemy’s arc of fire. Smoke was pouring from the ships in the centre of the enemy line but those nearest were still firing and each had at least two guns which could almost be brought to bear.
“A pity, sir, that we can’t let them do their own rescue work,” said Delancey’s coxswain.
“It is a pity, I must confess,” said Richard, “but we don’t know that their boats wouldn’t bring more men to put the fire out. And those they rescue can fight again tomorrow.”
“If there’s any fight left in ‘em!”
The coxswain assumed that the battle had been won but Richard was not as sure. Having seen the shore batteries in action at the King’s Bastion, he found it almost unbelievable that their fire could be sustained. They were still firing steadily hours after the gunners might have been expected to collapse in utter exhaustion. What they were doing did not seem humanly possible. As for the floating batteries, their fire had slackened but there was nothing (save the gunboats) to prevent the enemy from replacing their gun-crews after dark. Granted that several of them were now doomed to destruction, the others could, in theory, resume the battle at daybreak. If they ever had this intention it broke down over the central fact that the British cannonade went on. The only very minor respite was caused by Wallis’s gunboats exhausting their ammunition. Their place was taken by Tibbenham’s division and Curtis sent Wallis’s gunboats back to the New Mole to replenish their powder and shot. By the time Delancey’s division was signalled into action Richard found to his surprise that it was already half past four. The boats rowed forward in line, passing through Tibbenham’s boats as they withdrew. As they did so, Captain Curtis waved him to come alongside. A minute later Curtis was on board Richard’s gunboat, bringing with him a midshipman and his orderly, the last carrying a flagstaff and ensign. As soon as the ensign was hoisted Curtis said to Richard “You are flag captain now! Order your other boats to close in on us.” When they were collected, Curtis addressed them briefly, shouting to make himself heard above the gunfire:
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