by Roy Adkins
Since 1772 Evelegh had been one of the engineers in charge of the new ‘Soldier-Artificer Company’, which had been formed by William Green as a body of skilled military workmen to replace the unsatisfactory system of using civilian labourers brought from England. Many soldiers in the various regiments had their own trade, and some had enlisted because their industries were ailing, such as the textile workers in the Manchester area who joined the 72nd. Many had been labourers and agricultural workers like Patrick Farrell of the 58th, while others in his regiment – who came from all over the British Isles – included tailors, bricklayers, shoemakers, barbers, masons and butchers.22 Those with useful trades at times transferred to the Soldier-Artificers.
Mrs Green thought that Evelegh’s son Henry had caught smallpox by mixing with civilian children: ‘We were in hopes that by the great care that was taken in November last ... that it was all over; however it could not be so. Undoubtedly this little boy had taken it by having been at play with the Spanish and Jew children after they had returned home.’23 Smallpox was very common – a frightening and highly contagious viral disease that affected all classes. Epidemics were devastating enough for those in normal health, causing the deaths of up to a tenth of any population, let alone a community under the stress and privations of a siege. It started off like influenza, with aching, vomiting and a rash that developed into blisters that could cause permanent scarring and blindness. Over half of those who contracted the disease tended to die, but the mortality rate for children was significantly higher. From the mid-eighteenth century in Europe, it was a major killer.
It was Surgeon Major Arthur Baynes who had brought Mrs Green the unwelcome news about smallpox. Now fifty-nine years old, he had been in charge of medicine for the army on Gibraltar for many years, while his younger brother Alexander was based at the naval hospital with the rank of surgeon’s mate.24 There was no single medical service, but the civilians were subject to military law and so had to comply with orders such as isolation during a smallpox epidemic. Before anaesthetics and the ability to control infection, hospitals were dangerous places, where much disease could be spread, and they were used largely as a place of last resort. A civilian hospital of San Juan de Dios (St John of God) had been established at Gibraltar in 1591, but was taken over as a military hospital under British rule. By the time of the siege, the site had been converted to use as army barracks. It was not until 1815 that a hospital for the civilian poor would be opened, ‘divided into three branches, for patients of the Catholic, Protestant, and Hebrew persuasions’ – mirroring Gibraltar’s tripartite society. Sick and wounded civilians were more likely to rely for help on religious charities, age-old remedies, folklore and even pilgrimage in the hope of a cure. In the 1777 census, no civilian surgeons or physicians are listed, only one midwife and two apothecaries.25
Soldiers were looked after by the surgeons and surgeons’ mates of their respective regiments, who established their own hospitals. Provision for the navy was more developed, with a substantial, purpose-built hospital over a mile south of the town.26 The two-storey quadrangular building had been constructed some three decades earlier and was not solely for the use of the small squadron at Gibraltar, but for seamen from any Royal Navy vessel that called at the naval base. Colonel James described its appearance before the siege:
The sailors hospital is a noble, capacious, well adapted pile of building; it is square of masonry and tiled, with an area in the center, and piazzas round it, by which the men may either enjoy the sun or shade, and are kept properly, without confinement: there are apartments for a thousand sick, with all conveniences: it is erected to the southward of the new mole, upon a plain, and walled round, in a free, salutary, airy height, greatly to the advantage of the distressed seamen; for the cool breezes off the sea render it a happy residence in summer, and its situation and compactness make it comfortable in winter.27
Baynes also informed Mrs Green that Eliott would not allow inoculation. Introduced to Britain in 1721, inoculation (or variolation) had proved highly effective in giving people immunity with a mild dose of the disease, which was achieved by cutting a person’s arm and introducing pus from someone already ill with smallpox. Unfortunately, nearly 2 per cent of those inoculated died, while others could become unwell. They were also infectious until they recovered from the effects. The safer form of inoculation using cowpox (‘vaccination’) was not yet available, and so deciding whether or not to inoculate was a difficult decision for Eliott to take.
After hearing about the outbreak of smallpox in the morning of 15 January, better news arrived of a British fleet on its way to relieve Gibraltar: ‘This afternoon, an English brig appeared in the offing,’ said Ancell. ‘She was chased by a xebec and several gallies, but fortunately got safe into New Mole. She brings the joyful and happy intelligence of a fleet being within twenty-four hours sail of the garrison.’28 Not only that, but a decisive battle had been won against the Spaniards.
Until the combined French and Spanish fleet gave up their intended invasion of Britain four months earlier, the British had been unable to augment their forces in America or the Mediterranean. Although the French and Spanish ships had retreated to Brest, little was known about what they were doing. Once the danger of invasion had passed, the most pressing priorities were to reinforce the West Indies and take supplies to Gibraltar and Minorca. Despite Admiral Hardy’s widely criticised handling of the invasion threat, he was still in command of the Channel Fleet, but instead of involving him in these new operations it was decided to place someone else in charge.
Admiral Sir George Brydges Rodney was eventually selected to escort a massive convoy of merchant ships, victuallers and transports to Gibraltar and Minorca, before heading off to the Leeward Islands in the Caribbean where he had been appointed commander-in-chief. Born in 1718, Rodney had joined the Royal Navy at the age of fourteen and was a highly successful naval officer. He became so famous that by the end of the eighteenth century his surname ‘Rodney’ would be popular as a boy’s Christian name. He had also served as governor of Newfoundland and was at various times a Member of Parliament for Saltash, Penryn, Northampton and Okehampton. The money he spent on political campaigns during elections and the huge sums he lost through gambling had forced him to flee to France to avoid his creditors, and although he was back in England and solvent again he remained desperate for money.29
Two rear-admirals, Robert Digby and Sir John Lockhart Ross, were put under Rodney’s command. Digby had previously served under Hardy and brought with him a detachment of ships from the Channel Fleet to boost the strength of the convoy’s escort. It was Digby’s role to return to Britain with the empty merchant ships after delivering their supplies and reinforcements to Gibraltar and Minorca. The warships escorting the convoy included Rodney’s own flagship, the Sandwich, and large warships from the Channel Fleet such as the Prince George, which was Digby’s flagship, the Royal George and the Terrible. One midshipman on the Prince George was the third son of George III – the fourteen-year-old Prince William, who was destined to become king when his elder brother died in 1830.
From late October at Portsmouth and Plymouth, preparations had begun on board the warships, while the store vessels were loaded with supplies and troops were embarked in the transports. By 10 December, the two parts of the convoy in both ports were ready to sail, and the Admiralty in London was agitated. Two days earlier Lord Sandwich wrote to Rodney at Portsmouth: ‘For God’s sake go to sea without delay, you cannot conceive of what importance it is to yourself, to me, and to the public that you should not lose this fair wind. If you do, I shall not only hear of it in Parliament, but in places to which I pay more attention.’30 Unfortunately, stormy weather prevailed at Portsmouth, and another fortnight passed without any change. It then improved sufficiently for the ships to sail, and on Christmas Eve, after the fleet had struggled from Portsmouth to Plymouth in adverse conditions, Rodney wrote to his wife Henrietta in London
from Cawsand Bay: ‘I am this moment arrived here, after beating down the Channel against the wind, which proved bad the moment I got on the back of the Isle of Wight. I dare say every person at Portsmouth expected my return.’ At Plymouth, he told Henrietta, the wind was still against them: ‘Nothing but the extreme badness of the weather could have induced me to anchor here ... While the weather continues to blow at south-west, I must remain here, as there is little likelihood of my getting down the Channel at this season with a foul wind.’31
Being Christmas Eve, his family was inevitably in his thoughts, and Rodney ended the letter: ‘Our dear girls’ pictures are hung up in my cabin. I own it is a very great relief to me when I look at them. At the same time I abuse the painter most heartily. The dog shall never draw mine, he has done so much injustice to them. Give my dearest love to them, and the other little ones. Adieu.’32 It would be many months before he saw his wife and children again, and in an era before photography, artists’ portraits were the only images of loved ones that could be carried as mementoes.
Waiting for Rodney’s fleet at Plymouth was the second battalion of the 73rd Highland Regiment. In late November, after the invasion threat had receded, these men had been moved from their camp near Maker church back to barracks at Plymouth. They knew they were going abroad, but their destination remained secret. These Scottish soldiers looked and sounded completely different from the other troops at Gibraltar, since many of them wore a plaid as part of their uniform. This single-piece garment of woollen cloth wrapped around the body to form a skirt that reached to just above the knee and a covering over one shoulder like a large folded shawl. It was the forerunner of the kilt and was woven in a tartan pattern conforming to regulations, apparently a combination of green, blue and black similar to the modern Black Watch tartan.
As well as a plaid, these Highland troops wore a red jacket which was shorter than that worn by other soldiers, as well as a bonnet with a plume, stockings that left the knees bare and shoes. It was not just their appearance that set them apart, because they spoke mainly Gaelic, and many could not speak English. They were also accompanied by regimental pipers with their bagpipes. John Macdonald was a piper who could speak English, and he recorded that the soldiers were put aboard transport ships long before Rodney’s fleet arrived: ‘On the 8th December 1779, we marched from Dock Barracks, and that same day embarked on board the transports that lay then in Catwater [where the River Plym runs into Plymouth Sound] waiting for such troops as were going aboard. It was my chance to go on board the “Dispatch” transport, Captain Munro, who behaved very well to the men in general.’33 The troops, Macdonald said, were kept at sea in the transports off Plymouth for nearly three weeks:
We were detained there at anchor waiting for a convoy till the 27th December, and then sailed from Plymouth Sound under convoy of six sail of the line and two frigates, and joined the grand fleet under the command of Admiral Sir George Bridges Rodney off the Ram-head that same evening. The fleet was really a very pretty sight, consisting of about twenty-four sail of the line, nine frigates, with a considerable number of armed ships, store ships, and a great many merchantmen, to the amount of one hundred and fifty.34
Part of the convoy was intended for the West Indies and Minorca, but the fleet was delayed again by awful weather. On board the Terrible was Francis Vernon, a fourteen-year-old midshipman like Prince William. He was not impressed by this part of Devon: ‘Plymouth is one of the most considerable sea port towns in the kingdom. It is situated in the west of England in Devonshire, and surrounded with a mountainous country, that so frequently attracts the rain, as occasions it being called, “Le Pot de chambre du Diable” [the Devil’s piss pot].’35 On 29 December the fleet finally left Plymouth.
Nine days later, about 350 miles west of Cape Finisterre, the merchant ships for the West Indies broke away with a small naval escort, leaving a considerable naval force to continue with the convoy towards Gibraltar. Less than twenty-four hours later, enemy ships were spotted: ‘About four o’clock in the morning [8 January 1780],’ Macdonald said, ‘we discovered a large fleet bearing down upon us mistaking us for a convoy of their own, but finding their mistake they tacked about immediately. Our admiral hoisted a signal for a general chase, and ordered the transports to lie to with one ship of the line and two frigates.’ While the warships chased the enemy convoy, Macdonald was left behind in one of the transports, but the next day he learned what had taken place: ‘we had the happiness of being informed of the capture of the enemy’s whole fleet, consisting of one sixty-four gun ship, five frigates, and twenty-three sail of merchantmen, called the Carraca fleet, all belonging to Spain, not one of them being able to escape the vigilance of our brave British tars’.36
Rodney immediately wrote a report to inform the Admiralty how he had captured an entire Spanish convoy belonging to the Royal Company of Caracas (which traded with South America) that had set sail a week before from San Sebastian on the north coast of Spain. He had also captured its naval escort of seven warships after they offered only a token resistance. ‘Part of the convoy was loaded with naval stores and provisions for the Spanish ships of war at Cadiz,’ he said, ‘the rest with bale goods [merchandise in bales, such as textiles] belonging to the Royal Company. Those loaded with naval stores and bale goods, I shall immediately despatch for England under convoy of his Majesty’s ships the America and Pearl. Those loaded with provisions I shall carry to Gibraltar.’37 This unexpected capture ensured prize-money for Rodney and his men, while Gibraltar benefited from the extra supplies, but a battleship was needed to escort the captured ships to England. To fill the gap, he commandeered the Spanish Guipuscoana into his fleet: ‘I have commissioned, officered, and manned the Spanish ship-of-war, of the same rate, and named her the Prince William, in respect to his Royal Highness, in whose presence she had the honour to be taken. She has been launched only six months, is in every respect completely fitted for war, and much larger than the Bienfaisant, Captain McBride, to whom she struck.’38
The unfortunate Spanish crews were also taken to England as prisoners-of-war, ending up in a prison at Winchester. In the cramped conditions, many of them caught typhus, also known as gaol fever, which was carried by lice. Although the exact cause of the spread of the disease was unknown, one of the doctors treating them, James Carmichael Smyth, rightly suspected the clothes and bedding that the seamen had insisted on bringing, ‘so much afraid of the cold, and particularly the dampness of our climate’. Smyth also believed that their mental state was a contributory factor: ‘Many of the prisoners belonged to the Caracca company, and had private adventures [goods to trade] on board. These men, when captured, having lost their all, were particularly low spirited, and consequently were more liable to suffer from the distemper. It was remarked that they were the first who were seized with it, and most of them died.’39 The epidemic at Winchester was not brought under control until the lice-infested clothes and bedding were burnt and a higher standard of hygiene maintained. At its peak, the prison housed more than 1500 Spanish sailors, and over the next few months hundreds of them contracted typhus. Many recovered, but 265 men died.40
The day after capturing the Caracas convoy, the men of the 73rd were distributed among the warships to replace the seamen and marines who had taken over the captured Spanish vessels. Some days afterwards, reports reached Rodney that an enemy fleet was ahead: ‘Having received repeated intelligence of a Spanish squadron, said to consist of fourteen sail of the line, cruizing off Cape St. Vincent, I gave notice to all the captains upon my approaching the said Cape to prepare for battle, and having passed it on the 16th [January] in the morning with the whole convoy, at one p.m., the Cape then bearing N. four leagues, the Bedford made the signal for seeing a fleet.’41 Macdonald was now watching events from a warship: ‘About twelve o’clock they were observed, and at four in the afternoon the two headmost ships, viz., the “Edgar” and the “Bedford”, engaged them and resisted their fire for a consi
derable time until some more of our ships came to their assistance, and then the engagement became general.’42
Rodney’s convoy had encountered a squadron of warships commanded by Admiral Don Juan de Langara. Realising he was outnumbered, Langara attempted to flee to Cadiz, which Vernon in the Terrible witnessed: ‘Our fleet forming line of battle a-breast, gave chase. For some time the Spanish fleet, consisting of thirteen ships of the line, lay to ... for having sailed from Cadiz to intercept the ships destined to relieve Gibraltar, had supposed our force to be inferior, but being convinced of their mistake, attempted flight to escape back to their port.’43 Rodney gave the order to pursue the ships. ‘Sir George considering that a chase before the wind is in general a tedious one, and that night approached,’ Vernon said, ‘made the signal to continue chase without observing the line of battle. The emulation shewn by each captain, in crowding sail to reach their antagonists, proved they had not forgotten their warfare.’ Vernon’s ship was out in front, but then suffered a setback: ‘The Terrible was sheathed in copper, and sailing well, gave hopes of being one of the first in action, when in hoisting the main-top sail, the yard sprung, and by the delay occasioned in getting up another, [and] with bending [tying on] the sail, several of our ships were sooner engaged, and a line of battle ship blowing up, assured us the work was begun.’44