by Roy Adkins
French, 4 three-deckers, 8 two-deckers
Spanish, 3 three-deckers, 31 two-deckers.29
He also noted that ‘We lay all next day, 21st, to leeward of them and in sight; but they made no attempt to come near us, although they had the wind.’30
Howe’s fleet then continued to England, but Duncan was sent ahead with dispatches in the Latona frigate, which also had Captain Curtis on board carrying Governor Eliott’s dispatches about the floating batteries. Even before the Latona had left Gibraltar, news of the complete failure of the attack by the floating batteries had made its way overland through Europe, and garbled reports of the encounter between Howe’s and the Franco-Spanish fleets were soon to follow. By a curious coincidence, newspapers in Britain published a letter from Gibraltar on 14 September, the day after the attack by the floating batteries. It described an attack by the floating batteries and a land bombardment, all of which had been supposedly repulsed on 25 August.31 Shortly afterwards, it was exposed as a fictitious account – just one of the multitude of myths that were circulating, this one no doubt deliberately spread to tie in with the date originally planned for the attack – 25 August.
The Latona frigate did not arrive at Plymouth until 6 November, and the next day the dispatches carried by Curtis and Duncan reached the Admiralty. The news spread across the country, with newspapers publishing extracts from these dispatches and from private letters. The saving of Gibraltar was acclaimed as a triumph in Britain, and having travelled there and back with Howe’s fleet, Major Stanhope reported: ‘I landed at Gibraltar for a few hours, but could not stay ... General Elliott has acquired immortal honour by his gallant and very able defence. He speaks very confidently of the security of Gibraltar.’32
Informing Madrid of the latest events, Admiral Cordoba effectively claimed victory over Howe: ‘one should form a fair judgement of the combat, by reckoning 32 of our ships against 34 of the enemy’s, who withdrew, and took flight ... they did not chuse to trust to the event of an obstinate engagement, by which we might have been enabled to display all our forces, and improve the advantage of our superiority.’33 It is doubtful if this satisfied anybody, and reports reached Britain that some Spanish people thought the whole attack on Gibraltar had been betrayed or sabotaged: ‘They write from Madrid of the 25th of Oct. that the revictualling of Gibraltar, the passage of Admiral Howe’s fleet from the ocean into the Mediterranean, and its easy return into the waters of the Streights, excite great murmurs among the people. Four persons are accused of betraying the State, and of keeping a secret correspondence with Lord Grantham, to conspire against Spain.’34
The Comte de Crillon, who was still in the camp at San Roque, summed up the feelings of many: ‘The work of several months by thousands of men which has cost millions lasted scarcely more than fireworks. We are waiting for orders from the Court of Spain before knowing what should be done. I don’t doubt that they will, in the end, decide to give up this place that cannot be taken by land or blockaded by sea.’35
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
PEACE AND PLENTY
On Gibraltar there was a feeling that it was the end of the siege, especially now that Howe’s convoy had brought supplies. Most officers thought it was high time to control prices, and in various locations a message was displayed:
This is to give notice to all whom it may concern, that the officers of every Regiment in the Garrison have signed an agreement upon Honour and have lodged the same, that they will not purchase from any person whatsoever, either at auction or by retail any of the following articles at a higher price than which is here set down, as fixed by a committee, consisting of an officer from each corps when met for that purpose on Wednesday 23rd October 1782.1
There followed a long list, from beef to tobacco, with the prices they hoped to fix, but it was doomed to failure, because, without huge profits at Gibraltar, ships from England took their cargoes to sell in Lisbon. The price fixing lasted barely a fortnight before it was cancelled.
The month of November seemed lacking in purpose, with desultory attacks by gunboats and some bombardment by land, which Drinkwater described:
After the departure of the fleets, little attention was paid by the Enemy to the blockade. Not one cruiser was now to be seen in the Straits ... The idea of gaining Gibraltar either by force or stratagem, seemed, at length, to be relinquished. Their cannonade from the land nevertheless continued, but as it gradually diminished, and scarce exceeded at this time two hundred and fifty rounds in the twenty four hours, we imagined it would in a short time totally cease.2
The Spanish prisoners-of-war from the St Michael were allowed to return to their camp, which was getting smaller, because French and Spanish troops were being withdrawn, while guns and ammunition from the artillery park were also being removed. On the isthmus, the Spaniards were nevertheless pushing on with the advance works, though what they hoped to achieve was not readily apparent. On the Rock, defences were being repaired and strengthened, and Drinkwater was particularly impressed by one project: ‘The rebuilding of the whole flank of the Prince of Orange’s bastion, a hundred and twenty feet in length, with solid masonry ... in the face of such powerful Artillery, can scarcely be paralleled in any siege.’3
Behind the scenes, negotiations for peace were being conducted between Britain and Spain. The British had been prepared to exchange Gibraltar for, preferably, Puerto Rico, but negotiations had stalled until the result of the floating batteries attack was clear, after which Britain’s bargaining position was strengthened. Spain still hoped to exchange some territory for Gibraltar, but peace negotiations dragged on. At the opening of Parliament on 5 December 1782, a heated debate erupted over surrendering Gibraltar, and Charles James Fox blamed the previous ministry for not stationing a naval fleet there. If they had done so, he argued, ‘perhaps all the calamities of this war might have been prevented. If a fleet had been stationed there in time to watch the Mediterranean, comte d’Estaing never could have got to America, to give that assistance to the colonies, which had since secured to them their independence.’4 Not only that, he said, but Britain would lose all influence in Europe:
a sagacious ministry would always employ Gibraltar in dividing France from France, Spain from Spain, and the one nation from the other ... The fortress of Gibraltar was to be ranked among the most important possessions of this country; it was that which gave us respect in the eyes of nations; it manifested our superiority, and gave us the means of obliging them by protection. Give up to Spain the fortress of Gibraltar, and the Mediterranean becomes to them a pool, a pond in which they can navigate at pleasure, and act without control or check. Deprive yourselves of this station, and the states of Europe, who border on the Mediterranean, will no longer look to you for the maintenance of the free navigation of that sea; and having it no longer in your power to be useful, you cannot expect alliances.5
A week later, in another parliamentary debate, it was resolved to give thanks to Eliott for his brave and gallant behaviour in defending Gibraltar, and also to ‘Generals Boyd and Green, to Sir Roger Curtis, and to the officers, seamen, and soldiers of the garrison’.6 General Charles Ross, now the Scottish Member of Parliament for Tain Burghs, was fiercely opposed:
Gen. Ross wished Gen. Boyd’s name to be struck out of the motion, and contended, that voting the thanks of the House to him would disgrace the dignity of the House ... Mr Burke endeavoured to persuade Gen. Ross not to disturb the harmony and good humour of the House, but to let the vote pass unanimously ... Gen. Ross persisted, and moved, that Lt. Gen. Boyd’s name be left out of the motion. No member seconding it, the amendment could not be put. Ross walked out alone, when the Speaker put the original motion, which passed nem. com.7
Ross had left Gibraltar the year before, not long after commanding his successful sortie, but such was his deep loathing of Boyd that he continued to wage war against him.
On Gibraltar, Eliott was preparing for renewe
d aggression. The tunnel through the face of the north front of the Rock progressed steadily and now had five embrasures from which cannons could fire over the isthmus. Within a few more weeks, and after further fatal accidents, the tunnel would be a formidable battery 600 feet long, with ten embrasures.8 New experiments with guns were also conducted, with Spilsbury reporting on 9 December: ‘About noon a 32-pounder gun on a new carriage, elevated at 45°, fired shells, and [went] ⅓ over the bay, or about 5,000 yards’, while ten days later the results were more impressive: ‘This forenoon Lieutenant Colonel Williams’ new constructed gun was fired for experiments 18 times in a minute and half, with canister shot and shells at 45 degrees of elevation.’ Griffith Williams of the Royal Artillery had developed a new gun carriage capable of a 45-degree elevation for maximum range. It was later installed on the Old Mole, ready to retaliate in any renewed bombardment.9
The Spaniards were trying a different tactic: ‘A German deserted to us from the Walloon guards,’ reported Drinkwater. ‘He informed us that the Enemy stationed every evening a guard of three hundred men near the Devil’s tower, where they had miners at work in a cave, hoping to form a mine to blow up the north part of the Rock.’10 At first nobody believed him, though it made sense of some strange activity they had seen. A tunnel was actually being mined into the rock, intended to be filled with a vast amount of gunpowder that would cause a massive explosion. The Spaniards hoped it would bring about a catastrophic collapse of the north front of the Rock, including the gun batteries, creating a breach through which the invaders would pour.
Soon sounds of blasting and other signs of mining were detected, and it was the task of Sergeant Thomas Jackson of the artificers to investigate, who ‘descended the steep and rugged rock by means of ropes and ladders. The attempt was as bold as it was hazardous. Stopped by an opening very near to the base of the cliff he explored the entrance, and hearing the hum of voices and the strokes of hammers and picks he was well assured of their purpose. Climbing the steep again, he reported what he had discovered.’11 In mid-December, Boyd’s journal noted: ‘this morning Sergt. Major Ince, having discovered the enemy’s working parties, under the Rock near the Devils Tower, he took up a party of miners to a declivity above them unobserved.’ They found a suitable place for explosives in the rock and ‘blew it down upon them, supposed to have killed an officer, 3 men and a great many wounded’.12 Another deserter said there were twenty miners with a strong guard, and they had suffered many casualties, so the attacks on them were increased.
Flags of truce, leading to meetings between representatives of the garrison and the Spaniards, were frequent at this time, and it was learned that Spain expected the preliminaries for a peace treaty to be signed very soon. Even so, men still deserted from both sides, and late at night on 12 December there was a mass desertion of seven seamen from the St Michael, when they seized control of a guard boat.13 Hostilities also did not stop, and five days later Boyd’s journal mentioned that ‘Reed, soldier of 58th Regiment, had his leg shot off this morning; his son a drummer had both legs shot off the 13th September, so that father and son only have one leg between them, but are in a fair way of recovery.’14 This incident was obviously worth noting as a curiosity, but it encapsulated the everyday tragedies of families on both sides. John Read was ‘born in the regiment’ and became a drummer after joining the 58th at the age of twelve in November 1778, before the siege began. During the attack by the floating batteries, he lost both his legs. Now his father George had been hit, probably during a gunboat attack in the early hours. One leg was amputated, but it was not enough to save his life, and he died the same day, putting paid to the novelty of the story.15
Only a few days after the sailors deserted, Drinkwater reported a well-planned daytime attack, probably resulting from information that those men had supplied:
twenty-nine gun and mortar-boats commenced a spirited attack upon the St. Michael, and other ships, at anchor off Buena-Vista ... The mortar-boats composed the centre division, and a division of gun-boats was arranged on each flank, their line-of-battle extending about two miles. They got their distance the first round, and retained it with such precision that almost every shell fell within fifty yards of the St. Michael, which was the chief object of their attack. The seventy-fourth shell fell on board, about midship, pierced the first [deck] and broke on the lower deck, killed four, and wounded eleven sailors, three of them mortally.16
The shore batteries fired back, and the garrison gunboats tried to get involved, but the Spanish vessels retreated after running out of ammunition.
This was not the St Michael’s only misfortune, because on 21 December she was driven halfway across the bay by a severe storm, which also ripped up the tents of the 59th Regiment on Windmill Hill, who were ordered to camp instead at Southport Ditch. The next day, under a flag of truce, a boat brought in around a hundred women with their children belonging to the 25th and 59th regiments. They were forced to undergo examination for venereal disease when they landed: ‘the Governor sent a guard to conduct them to a room in the South Barracks, there to be examined by the doctors, in respect to their health or any disorders they might have’. Spilsbury reported that there were ‘17 of the women disordered. Gibraltar has been free of it several months, before these two regiments came.’17
From some of the women it was learned that the Spaniards were going to concentrate on attacking with gunboats and mortar boats and that more crews were being raised and the numbers of vessels increased, which to Drinkwater was a ‘dishonourable and cruel mode of prosecuting the war’, but Eliott pre-empted their attacks by ordering a sustained bombardment against the Spaniards. ‘Although the Enemy’s fire from the isthmus was almost discontinued,’ Drinkwater said, ‘the Governor, towards the conclusion of December, made up for their deficiency by a more animated discharge than usual. Every night the whole north front appeared a continual line of fire. The Devil’s Tower chiefly engaged his attention.’18
By now everyone was heartily sick of the war, and not just the soldiers facing each other across the isthmus at Gibraltar. In America, Abigail Adams yearned for her husband to return home from Europe, writing to him two days before Christmas: ‘It is now, my dear friend, a long, long time, since I had a line from you. The fate of Gibraltar leads me to fear, that a peace is far distant, and that I shall not see you,—God only knows when.’19 In fact, John Adams was in Paris as one of the participants negotiating peace between America, Britain, France, Spain and Holland.
Despite the promised peace, the firing continued, and in the afternoon of 25 December the gunboats and mortar boats came across the bay, hoping to destroy the St Michael, but the garrison gunboats resisted them so well that they bombarded targets in the south instead, including William Green’s house, where ‘they threw a great many shells ashore, one to General Green’s at Mount Pleasant, wounding two of his servants’.20 Walter Gordon recorded the attack: ‘Upon Christmas Day, 1782, our dinner was as good as the place could afford, our supper was bomb-shells mixed with cannon balls, spiced with powder, from the enemy’s gun and mortar boats.’21 The hospital was also hit, as Drinkwater recounted: ‘Seven or eight shells fell within the hospital-wall: one disploded in a ward and killed and wounded several of the sick. One was killed and seven wounded in the camp. Several houses and sheds were also destroyed, and others considerably injured. In short, it was thought to be the warmest attack we had ever experienced from these boats; and our men, being mostly in spirits after their Christmas dinner, were consequently less upon their guard.’22
On the last day of the year, the navy fished up a 26-pounder gun from one of the floating battery wrecks, which Spilsbury described as ‘a very plain iron 26 pounder, 9 feet 6 inches long’, even though eyewitnesses had described all the guns as brass. To celebrate New Year’s Day, it was ‘drawn in procession by the British tars, with a Spanish ensign which had been taken from on board one of the ships, displayed over it, and attended by a b
and of music, playing God save the King.’ Others were raised over the following days: ‘Many more of these guns were afterwards recovered from the wrecks, and most of them, being of brass, were sold, and the sums, with other monies arising from the head-money [for prisoners captured] granted by Parliament for the battering-ships, and the sale of the St. Michael prize, were proportioned in shares to the Garrison and Marine brigade.’23
The prospect of being paid prize-money brought only a temporary improvement in morale, and tensions in the garrison surfaced again. On 6 January 1783, a strange episode occurred. ‘Some officers have been engaged in a riot among some sergeants of 73rd, at a dance,’ Spilsbury recorded, ‘and some others in breaking open a ward in the Hospital, and attacking the women there ill of the venereal disorder.’ Other officers decided to release their tensions by putting on a theatrical play, the type of entertainment that was commonplace before the siege. On 19 January, Spilsbury said, ‘The officers have acted a play, “Cross Purposes,” and “True Blue.”.’24 Two days later, Eliott banned their play-acting, with consternation voiced at Boyd’s headquarters:
This day the Governor has forbid the continuation of the Dramatic Theatre, or plays performed on the stage by a few young officers, for their own, and their brother officers’ amusement, at such intervals of time, as the Garrison duty spared, or admitted of. For which they have been at great expense in fitting up a large room with a stage, seats and scenes for that purpose and had but the pleasure of performing only one night, so austere and strict the governor is in this place, that he will not allow the gentlemen any amusement that he can prevent them of.25
The tedious daily round continued, punctuated by petty and more serious crimes, with the inevitable harsh penalties for those convicted. On 25 January, Owen McDonald of the 97th was hanged. His crime was ‘stealing a bag of money, the property of Bernardo Piedro, inhabitant [a gardener], out of the shop of Laurence Passiano, also inhabitant, in the evening of the 3rd of December’. In Boyd’s journal was written: ‘This day was executed on the gallows for robbery one McDonald, a soldier of the 97th Regiment. At this time is discovered the disagreeable circumstances of the last execution, where the prisoner protested innocence to the last, which the guilty person has since confessed to the crime.’26