by The Rock
The century stumbled on. The War of the Quadruple Alliance was succeeded by the War of the Austrian Succession, that is, over who should succeed our old friend Archduke Charles, later Charles VI, now dead, as Holy Roman Emperor. The Spanish king kept his country out of that one, and the Rock saw no action. Then followed the Seven Years' War, in which France finally persuaded Spain to join, with the usual calamitous results for Spain, which suffered heavily in the Americas and in trade; but again there was no action in Gibraltar.
In 1759 Charles III succeeded to the throne of Spain. Probably the best Bourbon in history, he was an appallingly ugly man (painted with ruthless sympathy by Goya) who spent his reign trying to drag Spain out of the middle ages, to modernize and reform her institutions, financial structure, industry, trade, and outlook. The recovery of Gibraltar was by no means his only aim, but it was very close to his heart. It was he who said the cardinal object of Spanish policy should be "peace with England—though war with the rest of the world, if necessary." But it was he, drawn on by the French, who was to break his own dictum and make the most determined attempt to recapture the Rock.
Before returning to the large stage of world politics and European alliances, let us look more minutely at that Rock, the object of so much intrigue.... When the dust had settled after Sir George Rooke's seizure, a report to London showed that some 15 single individuals and 30 families (most Genoese) had stayed, and some 60 Jews had arrived. Fifteen years later the civilian men capable of bearing arms were reported to number 45 English, 96 Spanish, and 169 Genoese: This would represent a total population of about 1,500. This dropped to 800 at the end of the Thirteenth Siege but then began to climb as England's continuing presence in Gibraltar and all that it meant, creditable and disreputable, came to be accepted. By 1753 the civilian population was some 1,800, as against 4,500 military. Of the civilians about 800 were Roman Catholic (Genoese and Spanish), 600 Jewish, and barely 400 British Protestant. From this time on the governors were continually concerned to attract more British Protestant settlers to Gibraltar; there was always the fear that a religious cause might unite the preponderant Catholic elements, which, combined with a mutiny or riot among the perpetually unruly soldiery, could mean disaster.
At first the civil population lived entirely by serving and providing the garrison. There was very little trade, as Spain kept Gibraltar in fever quarantine (a pretext for closing sea traffic as well as land traffic) almost continuously for half a century. But about 1750, with the advent of the neutralist Ferdinand VI, communications were opened, something like normal relations were established, and trade began. The chief items shipped through Gibraltar were wine from Spain and France and wine, wax, hides, and brass from Morocco—all mainly consigned to Britain and North America.
In 1777 the population was about 3,100, of whom some 1,800 were Catholics, 800 Jews, and 500 British Protestants. The Jews had established their first two synagogues, the Shaar Hashamayim and the Es Hayim. The Catholics kept the use of the churches built in the Spanish period and remained nominally under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Cadiz; but wars were more powerful than ecclesiastical hierarchies, and the bishop and his Gibraltarian communicants saw little of each other. The Protestants could warship in the small chapel attached to the governor's lodging (it had once been the Franciscan convent), but there was no room for them on Sundays, as the available pews were taken up by the military.
This population had watched the reestablishment in 1760, on its ancient site across the bay, of Gibraltar's old rival and one-time overlord—Algeciras. It had suffered —civilians, military families, and military alike—under governors of a venality conspicuous even in that conspicuously venal age. These gentlemen regularly made twice as much as their considerable salaries in graft, known politely as "licensing"—they alone had the right to license porters, butchers, cowherds, goatherds, diarymen, bakers, chandlers, fishermen, barkeepers, wine merchants, and, I am sure, strumpets. The people had seen the state of their defenses wax and wane according to the attitude of Spain and the greed or energy of the governor; and they had come remarkably close, on several occasions, to losing their snug little home in the Gut.
Well-documented offers—secret at the time—to restore Gibraltar to Spain were made in 1715, 1718, 1721, 1728, and 1757. One of them was a personal letter from George I to the Spanish king. In each case a quid pro quo was, of course, required. Sometimes the Spanish thought the price was too high; once they agreed, but by then the British had raised it. The Spanish, driven on by a demonic desire to recover their territory, were always in the worst bargaining position, especially as British power grew relative to their own. British ministers, sometimes with intent to deceive but usually with genuine concern, frequently took shelter behind "Parliament" or "the people," factors which a Bourbon despot could not appreciate; but they were real enough, and anyone who gave away Gibraltar against the wishes of the British people stood in danger of losing his head. It was barely a century since the same people had proved that whether the head wore a crown or not would be quite immaterial to them.
However shakily (even the Elder Pitt at one time wanted to exchange Gibraltar as an inducement for Spain to enter a war against France), the British connection survived these perils.
And the menace of 1720, when a large Spanish force gathering in Gibraltar Bay, supposedly to sail to the relief of Ceuta (besieged by the Moroccans) across the strait, was suddenly suspected of a closer task: a coup de main against Gibraltar. A hurried message brought ships and troops from Minorca (then British-held), and the Spanish moved on.
And in 1761 when two regiments, bored, mutinous, or both, planned to rise, kill their officers, seize the treasure chests, and sell the fortress to Spain.
And on January 31, 1766, when a storm of fantastic intensity struck Gibraltar; 33 inches of rain fell in 26 hours, over 50 lives were lost, and slides of mud, rock, and stone from the upper Rock buried houses, churches, barracks ... and fortifications. The commander of the Spanish forces opposite was the Duc de Crillon, a Frenchman in the Spanish service. He suggested that an immediate attack, before the British had recovered, would regain Gibraltar. He should, of course, have attacked first and asked permission later, for Charles III was an honorable man; he was not at war with England at that moment, and he refused permission; and by the time the messengers had ridden to Madrid and back, the British would have had time to build new fortifications, let alone clean up old ones.
In 1775 the embattled farmers of Lexington and Concord fired the shot heard round the world, but with particular dismay by Charles III. War against England promised an opportunity to even many old scores, in particular to get back Minorca and Gibraltar; but to help the American rebels was almost certainly to establish them in power as a regime, and an example which would soon cause the loss of Spain's own huge American empire.
But reluctantly he was dragged in. In 1778 France agreed to help the Americans and declared war against England. In May of that year Spain offered to act as peacemaker, suggesting as a stipend—Gibraltar. The brilliant French diplomat Vergennes finessed that offer out of court and in the following April succeeded in leading Charles III over the brink. Under the secret Convention of Aranjuez Spain agreed to declare war against England, and France agreed not to sign a separate peace until Gibraltar was again Spanish. The fate of the Rock was thus linked with the outcome of the American war, which was rapidly spreading to every place where France, England, and Spain could attack one another's interests, that is, the whole world.
On June 4, 1779, the governor of Gibraltar, General Augustus Eliott, entertained his Spanish opposite number, General Mendoza, the military governor of San Roque, to dinner in honor of King George III's birthday. There was much bonhomie, friendship, and good cheer: the politicians had not yet told the soldiery of their secret negotiations.
On June 16 the Spanish ambassador in London suddenly presented a list of complaints and accusations amounting to a declaration of war against England.
Simultaneously, orders were sent from Madrid to close all communication between Spain and Gibraltar. Information about the artificially planned break must have reached San Roque by June 19, for when Eliott made a formal call that day to congratulate Mendoza on a recent promotion, he was surprised to find himself and his party treated with marked coldness and an atypical lack of courtesy.
The courier carrying the detailed orders had been delayed on the road from Madrid and did not arrive until two days later, or Eliott might have been seized then and there. When the orders did arrive on June 21, 1779, Mendoza at once closed the land frontier on the isthmus. At sea the few Spanish ships in the bay began to enforce a strict blockade under the command of Admiral Barcello, a man with a particularly virulent hatred of Britain and her usurpation of the holy soil of his fatherland.
The Great Siege began ... with a deafening silence.
Except at sea no one fired a shot. So, while the British peer down from their eyrie and the Spanish look for a general who owns a copy of Vauban's Handbook of Practical Siegecraft, let us examine the military details of the confrontation now set up. At the time no one could have forecast how the light of history would fall. We, looking back, can see that the match was between an ill-harnessed mob of dukes, counts, generals, admirals, mad scientists, and cloaked agents on one side—and on the other, the excessively John-Bull-like shape of the British governor.
There is a famous portrait of him by Reynolds, cannon smoke billowing behind him and the sacred Key of Gibraltar firmly grasped in his right hand, its chain twined twice around the hand. Apart from two factors that were beyond his control—the cession of the Rock bynegotiations or the loss of all sea communication—the fate of Gibraltar came to depend centrally on this man. Seldom do those holding the highest positions at the beginning of a long campaign emerge from it with the most credit—or, indeed, any credit—at the end; but Eliott did, and it is essential to know him well.
George Augustus Eliott was born in the Scottish Lowlands in 1717, so was nearly sixty-two when the siege began and had been governor two years, long enough to show the first of his qualities, sheer military professionalism. He had already counted the stores, inspected the troops, examined the defenses, and put in hand a program to get them back into shape after the neglect, embezzlement, and incompetence normal to peacetime. His military education had included training at a French academy, volunteer service in the Prussian Army, and further study at the British military engineering establishment at Woolwich. In consequence he spoke French and German fluently. He had seen much active service, including Dettingen, Minden, and Havana. In politics he was a King's man, that is, of the Tory party, which supported Lord North, George III, and the American war. He was addicted to formality but not form: he didn't care too much what the soldiers wore as long as they obeyed orders, performed the proper salutes and evolutions efficiently, and even used a little imagination. He was strict but humanitarian when he could be, in terms of the age, the sort of men he commanded, and the general conditions of a beleaguered fortress. He was bigoted in his attitude toward all new ideas except military ones: here he was a profound thinker and a restless innovator and experimenter. He was a superb administrator and a master of logistics: supply, transport, and the administration of justice were alike rapid, effective, and sound. He had the memory of a top-grade inventory clerk and always knew exactly how much of everything there was in Gibraltar and where it was stored. He was not a good delegator of responsibility except—perforce—in naval matters, preferring, like Wellington, to make sure that he himself was always at the decisive spot at the decisive moment.
So far, so good—nothing incongruous with that great red face and beak nose of Reynolds'; but Eliott was also a teetotaler, a vegetarian, and, very probably, a homosexual—in this respect resembling his hero Frederick the Great.
The problem facing Eliott—to hold Gibraltar—was shaped by a number of factors, mostly unfavorable. The general war situation ensured that troops could not easily be found to reinforce or relieve his garrison. For several months, indeed, a huge Franco-Spanish fleet stood ready off Brittany to carry French invasion troops into England, and while that threat lasted, the British government could hardly be expected to worry much about Gibraltar. The same bad political situation could at any moment decide the Emperor of Morocco, Gibraltar's nearest source of supply and intelligence, to give up his nominal neutrality. In the immediate neighborhood of the Rock the Spanish were able to dominate, though not totally control, sea communications. Finally, the garrison was under strength (about 5,300 men against the 7,000 Eliott considered necessary).
On the other side of the ledger, the Spanish army, once the finest in Europe, was, like the country itself, in process of decline. Eliott's British and German troops were no braver, but they were much better led. The same applied with even greater force to the two navies (though Eliott's local naval commander, Admiral Duff, must be excluded from this generalization: he was weak, slow, obstinate, and fearful).
And there was the North Front, towering 1,349 feet above the only land approach; the defenses strengthened since the siege of 1727 and further improved by Eliott; the rest of the fortress out of artillery range except from the isthmus, and some of it out of range for any weapon of the time, even from there; a general air of frowning impregnability, which imposed a sense of hopelessness, of futility, in the minds of soldiers sent against it or remaining long under the gray crown of its levanter cloud.
Eliott faced six specific main dangers. Assuming normal competence, the Rock was unassailable by direct land attack, such as that of January, 1705: but a combined attack from sea and land, prompt use of opportunities that might arise in fog, storm, or night, the turning of small mishaps to practical use through a good and rapid spy service—any of these, amounting to good generalship, was the first danger.
Then there was pestilence. Minorca was soon to be lost, not by the defeat of British forces but through blockade, causing the soldiers to go down with scurvy until it was not an army but a charnel house that surrendered to Crillon. Pestilence had already struck Gibraltar several times, and a severe epidemic would obviously be very dangerous.
The third was starvation—and to this the Spanish originally pinned their hopes.
The fourth was treachery—the surrender of the garrison by its own soldiers. As we have seen, this nearly happened in 1761. Some particular discontent or grievance, aggravated by the conditions of a long siege—boredom, over-close contact, discomfort, fatigue, claustrophobia (endemic in Gibraltar at the best of times)—and by the then-current custom of leaving regiments on the same foreign station for inordinate lengths of time, could easily produce a similar situation.
Fifth, there was what might be classified as "disaster," some piece of ill luck which trumps good management. An enemy hit on one of the two major magazines could have rendered the garrison unable to resist. The magazines were well protected, but there is ultimately no protection against chance, stupidity, or carelessness. Again, a very dry winter might have failed to replenish the Rock's subterranean supplies of water, which must have led to capitulation. The chance of Spain's or Royalist France's turning up a Napoleon for command should also be reckoned under this heading.
Sixth and last, but the most likely of all, was the possibility of Gibraltar's being ceded back to Spain in return for some other piece of territory less dear to Spanish pride or more profitable to the British Exchequer.
Armed then with some 663 pieces of artillery; served and defended by 485 artillerymen, 122 engineers and artificers, and 4,775 infantry (5 British and 3 Hanoverian regiments of the line); facing an army of indeterminate size—but larger, and growing until in October it numbered 14,000 men—Gibraltar entered the siege.
EXTRACTS FROM THE PRIVATE DIARIES OF GAMALIEL HASSAN
A.D. 1779
June 25: We met this afternoon in the big room of the house. All the family were there, and all tried to dissuade me from volunteering. Old Micah Benoliel said th
is quarrel between Christians was none of our business, but I disagreed. If Spain recovers Gibraltar, what would happen to us? My aunt Abigail said my constitution was not strong enough to withstand the rigors of a soldier's life, but I could not agree. The teacher said I would have to eat forbidden foods and disobey the Law. I said it would be for the defense of all Jews here. In the end my cousin Abraham cried, "Gamaliel's right! I also will answer General Eliott's call."
June 27: A quiet day in the house. My uncle stayed in his counting house, my sister and Abraham visiting the Conquys, only Abigail at home. She asked why I wanted to leave them all. I tried to tell her I felt it was my duty, but she would not be comforted and wept in my arms. She said she had done her best to make me happy since she married my uncle, who has really been a father to Miriam and me since our own parents died. What Abigail says is true, but now that I am a man I have found it hard to treat her as I should. She is only 8 years older than I, so barely 30 now. Abraham teases me that I love her. He does not like her. I suppose it makes some difference that she is the wife of his father but not his mother. I think it is best that I should go away for a time. I was planning to go to Lisbon to study to be a teacher, as my mother always wished for me, but now that is impossible. We are at war, but no one has fired a shot yet.
July 2: Here I am, dressed in a blue coat, surrounded by snoring soldiers. It is raining, and the only food for dinner was salt pork, which I could not eat. Two of the soldiers vomited over the gun. The sergeant banged their heads together and made them clean it up with their own shirts. They are a rough lot here, half of them still wearing the red coats of the infantry, which General Eliott transferred them from to make the artillery up to strength. The sergeant says I speak English amazing well for a Jew Rock Scorpion. I have told him that when we were young we had for a time a young Jewish lady from England in the house, who taught us the language.