Gibraltar

by Roy Adkins

  The previous soldier executed had been Murdoch Sutherland, the servant of Captain John Irving. At a court-martial, Sutherland was found guilty of robbery, and Eliott had signed the warrant for his execution, on the grounds that ‘Murdoch Sutherland soldier in the 73d Regiment was tried for robbing Captain Irving of the said Regiment thirty-six guineas, two shirts, one handkerchief, one silk stocking and a night cap’.27 The sentence was duly carried out on 4 November, and Ancell simply commented: ‘A criminal was executed this day’, though Boyd’s journal showed uneasiness: ‘This day between the hours of 10 and 1 o’clock a soldier of the 73d Regiment was executed on the gallows for robbing his master of 35 guineas &c but he persisted innocent to the last.’28 He had been wrongly executed, though it is unclear if McDonald was the culprit, or if somebody else had escaped prosecution.

  Day after day, exchanges of fire brought fresh casualties on both sides, and still no news came about the peace that everyone was longing for. Generally, the attacks were from a small group of gunboats under the cover of darkness, but on the afternoon of 29 January, another daylight attack occurred: ‘At 3 o’clock P.M. the enemy’s gun and mortar boats to the number of 29 came out in the Bay opposite Algaziers; at the same time the St. Michael fired a signal gun and our 12 gun boats were immediately manned and went out half gun shot [about 500 yards] from the Garrison and the red flag hoisted on the south bastion, when all the batteries were manned ready for the enemy.’29

  Drinkwater described how the battle started: ‘They took their stations off Europa and Rosia, apparently determined to avoid the fire from the King’s Bastion, (which they had found so fatal to their enterprises) and directed their fire principally against the Brilliant frigate, which was then at anchor off Buena-Vista, and the St. Michael in the New mole. Their land-batteries opened at the same time, directing a furious cannonade into the Town, and along our northern front.’ Although the alarm was raised at 3 o’clock, it took the Spanish gunboats two hours to form their battle line and open fire, and then ‘at 5 they began a very heavy cannonade both by sea and land upon the garrison who returned their fire with great spirit upon their boats, and upon their camp from the old mole with shells and red hot shot’.30 The gunboats were beaten off and retreated at six in the evening, after killing one man and injuring many more, including ten who lost limbs.

  The following day, and for several days afterwards, the exchange of fire continued as before, but on 2 February news was delivered from the Spanish side that peace had been signed and so they had ceased firing. Everyone wanted to believe it, but with no certain evidence the garrison maintained its firing. The next day brought more positive signs that the end of the siege was in sight, and Ancell was jubilant:

  This morning we received (by a flag of truce) intelligence of the most joyful and enlivening nature, which for some time, belief appeared doubtful, but after a few hours suspense, we had the happiness of being in possession of the particulars, brought by the Spanish flag boat. The Duc de Crillon has sent his compliments to General Elliott, acquainting him that the different courts had agreed upon a cessation of hostilities, and that the preliminary articles of peace would shortly be signed. The garrison, enraptured with the sound, spread the harmonious tidings, and in the evening all firing ceased on our side, agreeable to an order sent by his Excellency the Governor to the different posts. The enemy’s cannonade became silent in the afternoon.31

  It was not peace yet, but on 5 February everything changed:

  A flag of truce came from the enemy this forenoon which informed us for a certainty that the ratifications of peace were signed and that hostilities were now to cease entirely between Great Britain, France and Spain, and that all ports were open to the British flag; which the Governor confirmed to us by an advertisement and our batteries ceased their fire, so that from this day we may date a peace in Gibraltar, tho’ still we stand on the defensive and act in every respect with great precaution.32

  Nevertheless, Drinkwater observed that ‘About noon, an elevated gun was wantonly fired over their works, which was the last shot fired in this siege.’33

  The news was an enormous relief and, as Gordon of the 73rd noted, was received ‘with inexpressible joy by every man, woman, and child, in the garrison’.34 Ancell was greatly moved:

  I scarce know how to begin ... Our situation is changed from noise and confusion to calm serenity. The atmosphere that was continually disturbed with flames and smoke, is now illumined with variegated brightness. The stars that have been so long eclipsed, now shine with their wonted splendor and the bespangled rays of Aurora [dawn], with resplendent lustre again adorn each hill and height, that for upwards of eighteen months has only been distinguishable by the flashing of pieces of ordnance. Our sudden change from war to peace, the tranquillity that presides over the battered Rock, and Andalusian shore, so powerfully affects all ranks in the garrison.35

  The emotion was universal, he said, with both sides overjoyed:

  Everything wears a different aspect, our very foes jump upon their works and in strong vociferation send forth their congratulations, the thundering cannon that so often has spread death around, are now silent. The rapturous sound of peace re-echoes from shore to shore, and every tongue is filled with the blissful melody. The Spanish officers advance towards the garrison, bowing to the guards, and seem sensibly to share in the happiness. In every corner greeting crowds are seen, and the most inexpressible pleasure is by all ranks displayed.36

  The absence of the noise of artillery was strange, and having kept a constant record, Boyd’s journal calculated that during the siege of 1323 days, from 21 June 1779 to 2 February 1783, the Spaniards had fired at the Rock for 663 days, while for ‘1243 days the garrison fired upon the Spaniards, being 3 years and 148 days ... in a long and tedious contest’.37 It was the sudden calm after the constant roar of the guns that Drinkwater most noticed:

  This return of tranquillity, this prospect of plenty, and relief from the daily vexations of so tedious a siege, could not fail to diffuse a general joy throughout the Garrison. Indeed such feelings are seldom experienced; they baffle all attempts to describe them: far beyond the pleasure resulting from private instances of success or good fortune, ours was a social happiness; and the benevolent sentiments acted upon the heart with additional energy, on the prospect of meeting those as friends, with whom we had been so long engaged in a succession of hostilities.38

  Aware that this might be an elaborate trick to break into the fortress by stealth, Eliott was more cautious and prevented any direct contact with Spain. ‘This intercourse was ... forbidden by the Governor,’ Drinkwater said, ‘who ordered the guards to inform those who approached our works, that all correspondence of this nature was to be suspended till official accounts were received from England of the peace.’ There was the added anxiety that peace might have been achieved by Britain giving Gibraltar to Spain, ignoring the three-and-a-half years of desperate sacrifice that everyone had endured. A message from the Duc de Crillon greatly reduced this worry: ‘The Duke, on the 6th [February], informed the Governor that preliminaries had been signed the 20th of January at Paris, and that Gibraltar was to remain in the possession of Great Britain. From this period, operations on both sides were suspended, each party anxiously waiting official accounts from England of the Peace.’39

  The port of Gibraltar was declared open, and almost immediately provisions reached the Rock unhindered, improving the situation rapidly, so that by 11 February: ‘The best green tea selling for four dollars per lb., and everything fallen to half price except wearing apparel. No more wood to be burnt by the soldiers, coals being in plenty, and, the inhabitants’ houses not to be inhabited but by their permission’, and four days later: ‘Things now very cheap’, though ‘Houses begin to be let very high in town.’40

  What everyone wanted most was confirmation of peace from England, without which the return to normality could not properly begin. Days dragged int
o weeks, with the Spaniards and everyone on Gibraltar becoming increasingly concerned, until at last a British ship appeared. ‘Their patience as well as ours was nearly exhausted,’ Drinkwater recounted,

  when the long-expected frigate arrived on the 10 March, but for some time, even when she had got into the Bay, she kept us in suspense, by steering close along the Spanish shore, and showing no colours. At length, however, the British ensign was displayed, and the anxious Garrison saluted her with a general huzza. She was the Thetis frigate, Captain Blankett, and soon after she anchored, Sir Roger Curtis (who had been knighted for his conduct on the 14th of September) landed with dispatches for the Governor.41

  At long last, confirmation of the peace had arrived, and two days later, on 12 March, the Duc de Crillon with his retinue came right down to the western approach on the isthmus and sent an aide-de-camp to inform Eliott of his arrival there. Drinkwater described their meeting: ‘General Eliott soon afterwards rode out by Lower Forbes’s, and was met by the Duke on the beach, half-way between the works and Bay-side barrier. Both instantly dismounted and embraced. When the salutations were over, they conversed about half an hour, and then returned to their respective commands.’42 Nearly a week later, Crillon sent Eliott a fine Andalusian horse as a gift, and a few days afterwards he showed Eliott and William Green round all their works on the isthmus, including the Devil’s Tower tunnel. Eliott then went to San Roque to dine with him, the first time he had been in Spain for almost four years.

  With grand celebrations planned for April, a great deal of work was done to spruce up the garrison, which also proved useful preparation for a visit by the Duc de Crillon. Some rebuilding began, and Spilsbury said that for sawing wood, ‘The Church Alley, where several of the old inhabitants have been buried, is dug up and made a sawpit of.’ One major task was the cleaning up of streets, including the removal of the traverses, but by the morning of Crillon’s visit much had been completed: ‘The streets and lanes having all been cleaned and put in good order, the water engines are sprinkling them for the reception of the Duke de Crillon’.43 At about ten in the morning on 31 March, the Duc de Crillon arrived, attended by various officers and servants: ‘When the Duke appeared within the walls, the soldiers saluted him with a general huzza; which being unexpected, it was said, greatly confused him. The reason however being explained, he seemed highly pleased with the old English custom; and, as he passed up the main street, where the ruinous and desolate appearance of the town attracted a good deal of his observation, his Grace behaved with great affability.’44

  All the men were dressed as if for Sunday, the 73rd wore their plaids, and the streets were so crowded that he could hardly pass, with the soldiers cheering him as he went. At the Convent, he was introduced to the officers, including Boyd, who, suffering from gout, had been carried in a sedan chair to meet Crillon. The artillery officers were also presented. ‘Gentlemen,’ Crillon said, ‘I would rather see you here as friends, than on your batteries as enemies, where you never spared me.’ Eliott next conducted him round Willis’s batteries and then into Ince’s tunnel, which astonished him. ‘These Works,’ he exclaimed, ‘are worthy of the Romans.’ Turning to Eliott, he declared: ‘General Eliott, I have done all that I could do, but yet, you have done more.’45

  During the conversation over dinner at the Convent, Crillon asked Eliott what he thought of his mine at the foot of the Rock, but seeing him smile, he continued: ‘Is it not true, General, that that mine was a farce? But in war, as in everything else, we must have amusement, and on that account it was I [who] ordered that gallery to be made, merely to amuse my soldiers.’46

  Such were the vagaries of war that Barbary was once again a friend of Britain. At the start of March, a schooner had come from Barbary with a present of bullocks for Eliott, along with a letter. ‘We were ignorant of the contents of the letter,’ Drinkwater said; ‘but it was imagined the subject was to request a renewal of our friendship.’ On board the schooner were several Corsicans, who had been held prisoner there, and from them he heard that ‘upon the commencement of the attack of the battering-ships on the preceding 13th of September, the Moors at Tangier repaired to their mosques, imploring Heaven on behalf of their old allies; and that, on receiving accounts of the defeat of the Enemy, they made public rejoicing, and gave every demonstration of their affection for the English nation.’47 It was therefore fitting that, in mid-April, the first diplomatic move to the emperor of Morocco at Tangier was by Sir Roger Curtis in the Brilliant frigate with a present of four brass 26-pounder guns salvaged from the floating batteries, along with field carriages and ammunition.

  On 23 April 1783, St George’s Day, a lavish ceremony was held at which George Augustus Eliott, the governor, was invested with the Order of the Bath. He himself gave a speech in which he passed on to all the troops the heartfelt gratitude of King George III, after which he said:

  No army has ever been rewarded by higher national honours, and it is well known how great, universal, and spontaneous were the rejoicings throughout the kingdom, upon the news of your success. These must not only give you inexpressible pleasure, but afford matter of triumph to your dearest friends and latest posterity. As a farther proof how just your title is to such flattering distinctions at home, rest assured, from undoubted authority, that the Nations in Europe, and other parts, are struck with admiration of your gallant behaviour: even our late resolute and determined antagonists do not scruple to bestow the commendations due to such valour and perseverance.48

  He then expressed his own gratitude:

  I must now warmly congratulate you on these united and brilliant testimonies of approbation, amidst such numerous, such exalted tokens of applause: and forgive me, faithful companions, if I humbly crave your acceptance of my grateful acknowledgements. I only presume to ask this favour as having been a constant witness of your cheerful submission to the greatest hardships, your matchless spirit and exertions, and on all occasions, your heroic contempt of every danger.49

  After the ceremony, the soldiers were each given a bottle of wine and a pound of fresh beef, while the senior officers dined at the Convent. True to form, Captain John Spilsbury could not help being critical, particularly of anything to do with the artillery. ‘At about dusk the lamps were lighted in the colonnade,’ he said, ‘except those in the center arch, and, there being no musick, all seemed extremely dull ... At 9 p.m. the fireworks were exhibited, but it rained at times very hard ... but they were too much of a sameness to have been good at any rate, except the sun and the rockets that answered very well ... Never was a worse salute performed by the Artillery ... a worse feu de joye fired by troops, worse weather, worse music, worse fireworks, or worse entertainment.’50

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  AFTERMATH

  Remember friends if war should spare,

  My life, I shall expect to share,

  At my return each dainty dish,

  Fowls, beef, mutton, veal or fish,

  A jug of the best home brewed beer,

  To quench my thirst, my spirits clear,

  A pipe provide tobacco good,

  A cheering fire of coal or wood,

  The corner it must be my seat,

  And then my wishes are complete.

  Written by a soldier in Gibraltar during the Great Siege1

  In July 1785, Midshipman Francis Vernon was back at Gibraltar. It was five years since he had returned to England with Admiral Digby’s ships, and two years had passed since the ending of the siege. He was now curious to see what had changed:

  The havoc caused by the siege was discernable from the ruined situation of the town and the innumerable cannon balls and bursted bumb-shells that almost covered the northern surface of the rock. The attention of General Eliott was now directed to restore the works to their former perfection, and to encrease the strength of a fortress that had so brilliantly shewn itself impregnable. To the very summit of the roc
k, an excellent road whereon two could ride a-breast was completed, and towards Europa Point, an extensive place of parade was nearly finished. A vessel with a diving bell was employed in searching for guns, &c. that had been sunk in the Spanish floating batteries, and many were found half melted by the conflagration.2

  At the turn of the century, fifteen years later, Midshipman William Lovell sailed to Gibraltar:

  I was much pleased to see the celebrated rock, so well defended by the gallant Elliot in 1782, and to read, on the spot, Colonel Drinkwater’s most amusing story of that famous siege. As late as the year 1801, the greater part of the garrison was still covered with shot and broken shells, thrown by the Spaniards at that period. They have since been collected, and sold to be melted down for various purposes, some probably to be again converted into missiles of destruction.3

  Although salvage of the guns from the sunken floating batteries had begun almost straightaway, it was now the turn of the debris from the bombardments to be cleared. The salvage work was mirrored in Britain, where the contract for raising the Royal George at Spithead was won by William Tracey, who started work in the spring of 1783. By mid-July the newspapers were reporting that ‘the victualling hoy, which was sunk with the Royal George, was yesterday weighed, and in a few days it is expected they will begin their attempt to raise the Royal George’.4 The victualling hoy was the Lark sloop, but the much larger Royal George presented a more difficult challenge. Portsmouth Naval Dockyard was instructed to assist Tracey, but instead deliberately obstructed his work. The money ran out, and Tracey went bankrupt.