Struggle for Sea Power : A Naval History of American Independence (9781782397403)

by Willis, Sam

  The Spanish began to build siege lines across the narrow isthmus that joined Gibraltar to Spain in the spring of 1779. The actual fighting, however, did not begin until September, when the wife of a British officer fired the first cannon at the Spanish lines, upon which ‘every battery … bellowed with rage, and vomited forth the most tremendous flames’.2 By October 14,000 workmen were constructing defences around the Spanish camp and a Spanish fleet at Algeciras, just five-and-a-half miles across the bay from Gibraltar, was preparing to impose a maritime blockade.

  In terms of ship type, the fleet was well chosen for the job in hand. A handful of powerful ships provided the backbone of the fleet and Vice-Admiral Antonio Barceló’s flagship, a 74-gunner, dominated everything, riding at anchor ‘most magnificently, exulting over a people shut up like poultry in a coup’.3 The real action, however, would be conducted by a force of armed boats and specialist Mediterranean craft – xebecs and galleys – perfect for the challenge of exercising sea power in the Bay of Gibraltar.

  The British naval force was tiny and toothless. Vice-Admiral Robert Duff flew his flag in the 64-gun Panther, which was supported by a single frigate, the Enterprise, and a small sloop, the Childers. A close observer would notice that the largest guns in the Panther’s armament were missing. As so often with British operations ashore in this war, sailors played a major part. Here, they built their very own battery from scratch, using the Panther’s guns.4 Perhaps to hide their weakness, the crew of the Panther undertook regular exercises in both small arms and cannon fire – a show of muscle for Spanish benefit. The exercises also included regular seamanship drills such as raising and lowering topgallant yards, to keep the sailors practised and fit and – like the gunfire – to send a message of strength to the Spanish.5

  In spite of this bluster, the clear imbalance of power in the bay was visible to the Gibraltarians in their eyrie, and it sparked yet another major civilian maritime evacuation.* Gibraltar was home to a British garrison, but it was also a major settlement, with particularly large numbers of Jewish and Genoese traders. Before the blockade began in earnest, refugees crammed into any boat they could find and made their way to the Moroccan or Portuguese coast, usually under the cover of night.6

  * * *

  With more ships to hand the Spanish held the advantage in this balance of naval power, but it certainly was a balance: the Spanish did not dominate absolutely because they could not. The Bay of Gibraltar is vast, far too large to be physically cut off by a boom, and the British had made certain that the defences of the Rock were robust. The Rock, moreover, gave them an added advantage because of its height. British guns mounted high up could throw shot deep into the bay, and as the siege developed, designs were made for a ‘depressing carriage’ which could fire shot almost vertically downwards into the waters close to the British shore – an invention of great value and one of which the British were rightly proud.

  In any contest between shore fortifications and warships, the stable shore fortifications always held the advantage. The crew of a warship had to manoeuvre their ship close to shore, always awkward because of coastal currents, shallow water and fluky winds. This was, and still is, a particular problem in the Bay of Gibraltar because of the dominant size of the Rock.

  Lieutenant George Frederick Koehler’s ‘Depressing Carriage’, drawn by Koehler.

  There was, therefore, something of an exclusion zone around the Rock into which the Spanish could only enter at great risk. Given advantageous wind and tidal conditions, this made it possible for ships of any size to break the Spanish blockade if they could only survive the likely chase on arrival or departure. Attempting it at night had a clear advantage.7 As the siege dragged on, the rewards for such temerity became very high indeed, with huge prices paid for everyday goods, which only encouraged merchantmen to take the risks to get in.

  The ability to run the blockade also allowed the British to launch lightning raids from Gibraltar against the regular merchant convoys that ran through the Straits. Gibraltar, after all, was located on what was then one of the busiest, if not the busiest, shipping lanes in the world. Yes, the British naval squadron was tiny, but it is important to remember that, rather like the ports on the American coast, Gibraltar was full of fishermen with fishing boats who were already well experienced in the dark arts of avoiding revenue cutters: it made little difference to them if they were escaping from a Spanish boat imposing a blockade or from one collecting tax. These vessels could hunt for vulnerable merchantmen as easily as they could go fishing.

  With so many ships passing their door, moreover, they often had to do nothing at all but wait for damaged merchantmen, desperately seeking shelter of any sort, to fall into their lap. Any sailor who has spent more than a few days in or around the Straits will know that they are treacherous. The Atlantic rushes constantly into the Mediterranean, the prevailing winds come from the north and west, but powerful Levanter winds from the east can come and go with little notice. With dangerous shores to both north and south, the Bay of Gibraltar is the only safe haven. In this respect Gibraltar acted as a sort of giant maritime spider’s web, and the British, who knew that their survival depended on such hapless prey, were always ready to pounce.

  All this meant that although Gibraltar was dependent on maritime protection and supply for her survival, she was not as helpless as many suspected. The summer and autumn of 1779 is a perfect example. The last time that Gibraltar had received a major resupply was in April, yet the garrison had done remarkably well for itself since, capturing wine, brandy, wheat, cheese ‘and other necessaries’. On one glorious occasion a windfall ship came in with 6,000 bushels of barley.8 Demonstrations of self-sufficiency like this were good for both the stomach and the mind – a major morale boost to the garrison. It is significant that several first-hand accounts record the loss of one of the British privateers, the Peace and Plenty, which was chased ashore by a Spanish frigate and two galleys.9 One can sense a loss of hope in those accounts; as long as the Gibraltarians had their mini-fleet of privateers, they knew that they could survive for a little longer.

  The role of maritime protection and supply in relation to the garrison’s morale is vividly highlighted by one particularly interesting event. One morning a sail was sighted making for Gibraltar. It was a cutter, rigged fore and aft, and clearly armed. The breeze blew from the north-west, cutting across the bay diagonally and blowing in a similar direction to the strongest of several currents in the Straits. In a large and showy display of sea power, far more than was actually required, the entire Spanish squadron weighed anchor, perhaps lured to sea by the friendly winds that would take them directly down upon their prey. Outgunned, the British waited to see what would happen.

  The cutter, a British privateer, turned and apparently fled for the Barbary shore. The Spanish followed. Then, when the Spanish ships were well clear of their anchorage, when their sails were full of wind and when their giant, bluff hulls were just beginning to taste the pressure of the easterly current, the cutter’s captain tacked, pointing her fine bow directly into the current and trimming her fore and aft sails as close as they could go to the north-westerly wind. She did not even need to be a fine sailing craft to outmanoeuvre the cumbersome Spanish square-riggers, but she was handled with a fine touch. She first hung in the current, holding her own, before gradually edging forwards towards the Rock. Gradually she gained momentum until she finally sprang free of the current and made swift progress to the protection of the British anchorage. Two Spanish ships, including Barceló’s flagship, realized what the British captain was up to, but they failed to counter his move and, for fear of being isolated near British guns, were forced to join the rest of the squadron, which had been caught cold and were now miles to leeward. They were, in fact, so far to leeward that they were unable even to return to Gibraltar until a Levanter blew.

  It was an absolute triumph for the British. A single privateer captain had lured the entire Spanish squadron out of the bay. The bloc
kade was lifted and it remained so for twelve days until the wind changed direction. Word raced through the Straits, up and down the coasts of Spain, North Africa and Portugal. During those twelve days, goods of every kind poured into Gibraltar. The privateer captain became a hero, his story a perfect allegory of what General George Eliott, the British commander of Gibraltar, wanted to inspire – a story of British pluck, courage and skill, a story of the few against the many.

  The incident is also interesting because it raises a number of important questions about Spanish seamanship. It can be read in a number of ways. Perhaps the Spanish were competent seamen who had simply been duped by the privateer’s temerity. Perhaps, however – surprising as this may seem – they were ignorant of the dangers that would befall their large square-rigged ships if they entered the current. Had they even considered the problem of returning to their anchorage against a wind and current that were both running directly offshore? There are many questions here and many possible answers, but none of them shine a positive light on Barceló and his men. It is also interesting that, at around this time, Captain George Montagu of HMS Pearl managed to capture a Spanish frigate off the Azores, even though only ten of Montagu’s crew had ever served before in a man-of-war and the Santa Monica was significantly larger than the Pearl. The Spanish, it seemed, were raw indeed; an unkind historian might suggest that they didn’t know what they were doing.

  * * *

  In the midst of all this Eliott shone like a beacon. A teetotal vegetarian widower, he was the perfect man for a siege. One of his major professional assets was his ability to see the broader strategic problem as well as the minutiae of siege tactics, and that vision saved the day on a number of occasions – once when he prevented Duff from throwing a major spanner in the works.

  Hitherto, Gibraltar’s precarious survival owed a great deal to the support of the sultan of Morocco, Mohammed I. He was a natural ally of the British because he was an enemy of the Spanish, who held the fortress of Ceuta, on the north coast of Africa more or less opposite Gibraltar. The sultan of Morocco wanted to expel the Spanish from Ceuta just as the Spanish wanted to expel the British from Gibraltar. Mohammed provided victuals duty-free to the Royal Navy and at reduced rates for the garrison. He also charged British ships reduced anchorage fees. He was a particularly valuable source of both corn and cattle, and provided safe passage for all of Eliott’s official correspondence. This explains, for unwary historians, why Eliott’s letters are all written in the flowery language of eastern courtesy and are signed from ‘the slaves and servants’ of the Arab leaders: the British could be surprisingly obsequious if it suited them.10 Only a dash of this type of toadying by the British in America between 1773 and 1775 could have averted the entire war.11

  Mohammed’s friendliness did not exist without a price, however, and as tension increased on the Gibraltar peninsula, so did his price rise. Interestingly, the currency he valued most of all was the ability to exercise sea power in the Straits of Gibraltar. The sultan of Morocco therefore agreed to continue to help the British on the condition that they repaired and freshly fitted out four Moroccan frigates from British stores and with the expertise of British shipwrights at Gibraltar.12 Three of these had been completed when Duff waded in, refusing to release any more naval stores for the sultan, but Eliott overruled him. More sensitive to the bigger picture, Eliott knew that, if the sultan took offence, the British would be denied crucial supplies in the future. Eliott described himself as a ‘half-sea officer’ and conducted all his business with one eye to the sea.13 If the British had had more men like him in America in 1776–7, the war could have taken an entirely different course.

  * * *

  In 1779, therefore, the key balance was not between Spanish and British sea power but between Spanish incompetence at sea and British resourcefulness and diplomatic skill. The existing balance allowed Gibraltar to endure but it could not do so forever.

  By November things had become desperate. Bakers sold their bread protected by armed guards and from behind locked doors. Civilians lived off thistles. They also began to burn precious fishing boats for firewood.14 The civilians suffered far worse than the British soldiers or sailors, who were all prioritized with what little food and firewood was left; the price of naval protection was civilian misery.15 By December Gibraltar was on the verge of collapse.

  If Gibraltar was going to survive, core victuals required by the garrison – biscuit, oatmeal, peas and butter – had to come from Britain, and they had to come soon. But how would British politicians prioritize their plight? One thing was certain: by the winter of 1779 there were difficult decisions ahead because the façade of British sea power had already cracked. The situation in Gibraltar was bad, but it was just one more problem to add to a long list; a list that included the Channel and Western Approaches; the North Sea; the Irish Sea; various isolated British naval squadrons or garrisons in New York, the Chesapeake, the Mississippi, Mobile, Pensacola, Savannah, Newfoundland and Canada; and the entire Caribbean from Barbados to Honduras. It was possible that a crisis would hit any of these locations. The question was, where? And could it be predicted and averted?

  * To go with the evacuation of Boston in 1775 and Philadelphia in 1777. There would be many more by the end of the war.

  20

  CARIBBEAN CRISIS

  That crisis hit the Caribbean. In 1778 the British had lost the important wooding and watering island of Dominica but had captured the geographically significant island of St Lucia, from where they could watch the French at Martinique from a safe anchorage. British naval responsibilities, however, included far more than just watching the French at Martinique. The entire Caribbean was now awash with privateers and enemy cruisers: American, French and Spanish. The British economy and war effort, meanwhile, still relied almost entirely on the safe arrival of Caribbean trade. British commanders in the Caribbean were always, therefore, confronted with a difficult choice. Should they watch the enemy fleet and perhaps try and force battle if the opportunity arose? Or should they protect the crucial trade? In 1779 the man faced with this dilemma was John Byron, who had taken over command of the Leeward Islands station from Barrington. Byron’s first challenge was to guarantee the security of a major British convoy gathering near St Kitts. Already postponed twice, its contents were needed desperately in London to boost the economy. Byron therefore abandoned his close observation of the French at Martinique and headed to St Kitts.1

  D’Estaing, meanwhile, was itching to break out of Martinique. In the past few weeks he had received significant reinforcements which the British Channel Fleet had failed to prevent from leaving European waters and which Byron had failed to prevent from arriving in the Caribbean. The new British warships that had been ordered in 1778 were not yet ready and so reinforcements could not be sent. As a result the British numerical superiority, which had been achieved in the Caribbean in late 1778, had been lost.2 The French now maintained in the Caribbean in 1779 the same crucial numerical advantage that they had enjoyed in American waters in 1778. But could they make anything of it this time round?

  Now ready, d’Estaing had been watching Byron as closely as Byron had been watching him: one of the ironies of using St Lucia as a naval base was that British movements were as clear to the French as French movements were to the British. The moment Byron’s sails sank below the horizon, bound for the convoy rendezvous at St Kitts, d’Estaing acted, sending a small force to capture the nearby island of St Vincent, which was unprotected by any naval force and had only the barest defences on land. It fell on 17 June without so much as a whimper. D’Estaing, meanwhile, led a much larger force to Barbados – the windward-most island of the Windward Islands, the first stop for Caribbean-bound convoys and warships, and an island rich in sugar plantations and blessed with naval stores.

  It was, in theory, a very good plan. Byron was nowhere to be seen and the jewel in the crown of the British Windward Islands was there for the taking. In practice, however, it was a te
rrible plan and betrays the same faults that had plagued d’Estaing’s 1778 campaign. The operation failed because d’Estaing’s ships were simply unable to make sufficient ground to windward. All sailing warships were large and cumbersome with bluff hulls that made them particularly susceptible to losing round easily to leeward, and their square rigs were poorly designed for sailing close to the wind. A nimble frigate, acting alone, had a good chance of making limited ground to windward, but a fleet of warships, further restricted by the challenge of keeping together, needed weather conditions to be as favourable as possible and the sailors to be at the top of their game to succeed. In this instance neither one nor the other was the case, and an experienced maritime eye would have immediately seen it. The Barbados operation therefore failed but, never willing to be beaten, d’Estaing set his sights on another British island: Grenada.

  French warships at anchor at Saint George’s Harbour, Grenada, showing the disembarkation of French troops.

  The wealthiest British island in the entire Caribbean after Jamaica, Grenada was nevertheless almost entirely undefended; there were only eighty-four fit troops on the whole island.3 It was also to leeward of Martinique and therefore easy to get to. The few soldiers on the island put up a brief fight, allowing d’Estaing, the bull-headed soldier, another chance to do what he did best – to lead his men in a full-frontal assault shouting, ‘Soldats en avant, suivez-moi!’ – ‘Forward soldiers, follow me!’4 The French secured the island and took thirty richly laden merchantmen lying passively in St George’s harbour.5

  Byron, meanwhile, had seen the St Kitts convoy safely on its way and was heading back to St Lucia when he heard that the French were attacking Grenada. He did not know that the island had already fallen, nor did he know the size of the French fleet. In fact he suspected, quite wrongly, that there were fewer French ships than British.6