John Masters (24 page)

Simeon Susarte survived to tend his sheep on the mountains of the mainland, and so did Colonel Figueroa, though he was wounded three times more in this attack—twice in the chest and once in the leg; but most of his gallant five hundred were killed. Before another assault could be made, the English had discovered the shepherd's path and scarped it to make it impassable even for mountain goats or Andalusians.

In the following month, November, vile weather, good gunnery, and starvation almost succeeded where Figueroa had failed. Food ran low, and the number of men fit for duty fell to 1,300, which was not enough to man all the guards. Then, as so often in the future, the Royal Navy came to the rescue, bringing in nine ships on December 7. Through December and January the siege continued under incessant cold rain, which was now beginning to hurt the Spanish in their encampments more than the British in their houses and fortifications. Becoming impatient, the Spanish king told Villadarias that he was to be replaced by a Frenchman especially lent by Louis XIV for the task. Since this man, Marshal Tesse, was due to arrive on February 9, 1705, Villadarias staged a massive attack on February 7.

In spite of the inundation and the seemingly impregnable fortifications, the stubborn Spanish infantry nearly forced a success and probably would have but for the long and heroic stand, in an isolated outpost, of sixteen men of the 4th Foot. But fail they did, and Villadarias went, and Tesse came. After he had sat under that North Face for a few weeks, he reported to his royal master that the Spanish were incompetent and improvident. On April 18, under cover of this verbal smoke screen, he raised the siege and marched his armies away, having achieved much less than the despised Spanish, in fact exactly nothing.

Late that year Archduke Charles visited the Rock which his English allies had so obligingly seized for themselves in his name, and they permitted him to appoint a loyal Spaniard, Ramos, to succeed Prince George of Hesse as the governor. But Ramos was soon succeeded by Colonel Roger Elliot, and from then on the governors were British. The war dragged on with, inside Spain, remarkably poor results for the archduke. Queen Anne of England, moved by what whim or logic has never been clear, made Gibraltar a free port, decreeing that no manner of tax or impost was to be levied there on goods whether coming, going, or in transit. This free-port status has been the source of much of Gibraltar's wealth, although from the very beginning it has been eroded, at first by the greed of the governors and later by the local administration's need to raise revenue.

The former inhabitants of the Rock waited in the "Most Noble, Most Loyal City of San Roque, in which resides that of Gibraltar" for a peace treaty which would return them to their homes. But the negotiations moved very slowly—because England was beginning to feel her rising power, because France, though financially weakened by Louis's megalomania, was still militarily strong, and because it was always to France's interest that England and Spain should not become allies; so France always tried to prevent or delay solution of the Gibraltar problem.

Then the war became more complicated. The Emperor died, and Archduke Charles succeeded him on the throne in Vienna as Emperor Charles VI. The powers which had been supporting Charles now cooled off, as success in Spain would make him almost a universal monarch. The war finally ended when Charles renounced all claim to the Spanish throne ... and Britain insisted on keeping Gibraltar.

In the Treaty of Utrecht (1713) Spain unwillingly but formally granted Britain possession of it. Article X of that treaty, which is the basis of all Britain's claims and Spain's counterclaims, deserves to be set out here in full in the English translation from the original official Latin:

X. The Catholic King does hereby for Himself, His heirs and successors, yield to the Crown of Great Britain the full and entire propriety of the Town and Castle of Gibraltar, together with the port, fortifications and forts thereunto belonging; and He gives up the said propriety, to be held and enjoyed absolutely with all manner of right forever, without any exception or impediment whatsoever.

But that abuses and frauds may be avoided by importing any kind of goods, the Catholic King wills, and takes it to be understood, that the above-named propriety be yielded to Great Britain without any territorial jurisdiction, and without any open communication by land with the country round about.

Yet whereas the communication by sea with the coast of Spain may not at all times be safe or open, and thereby it may happen that the garrison, and other inhabitants of Gibraltar may be brought to great straits; and as it is the intention of the Catholic King, only that fraudulent importations of goods should, as is above said, be hindered by an inland communication, it is therefore provided that in such cases it may be lawful to purchase, for ready money, in the neighbouring territories of Spain, provisions, and other things necessary for the use of the garrison, the inhabitants and the ships which lie in the harbour.

But if any goods be found imported by Gibraltar, either by way of barter for purchasing provisions, or under any other pretence, the same shall be confiscated, and complaint being made thereof, those persons who have acted contrary to the faith of this Treaty shall be severely punished.

And Her Britannic Majesty, at the request of the Catholic King, does consent and agree, that no leave shall be given under any pretence whatsoever, either to Jews or Moors, to reside or have their dwellings in the said town of Gibraltar.

Clauses follow permitting trade between Gibraltar and Morocco and ensuring that Roman Catholic residents shall be freely permitted to practice their religion. The last clause of Article X follows:

And in case it shall hereafter seem meet to the Crown of Great Britain to grant, sell, or by any means to alienate therefrom the propriety of the said town of Gibraltar, it is hereby agreed and concluded, that in preference of having the same shall always be given to the Crown of Spain, before any others.

There it is; and it is permissible to wonder what "full propriety without any manner of territorial jurisdiction" might mean. The warding has been used to assert and rebut all sorts of claims and rights, but it seems clear that the fundamental purpose of Spam's reservations was to prevent smuggling by ensuring that there should be no land trade between Spain and Gibraltar and that Spain retained certain territorial sovereignty to prevent this; that is, she wrote her terms into an infinite-year head lease.

Semantics apart, it was a bad treaty. It did not correct an injustice but legalized it. Both parties signed it in bad faith. Neither had any intention of keeping its side of the bargain. The Spanish immediately started harassing tactics which prevented Gibraltar's buying goods in Spain; the British had no alternative but to turn to Morocco, a trade which was specifically allowed in the treaty. But many of the Moroccan traders were Jews, and the rest were Moors; and the Emperor of Morocco refused to allow trading unless his subjects were given full freedom to come and go and reside in Gibraltar. Other Jews and Moors bribed the governors to permit them to live in Gibraltar. Several provisions of Article X were thus being broken before the ink was dry on the treaty... and the treaty itself was never considered by the European powers as proper peace but rather as a pause for regrouping and making fresh plans.

The next spasm of the general war which took up most of the eighteenth century came in 1727, and the Spanish instituted the Thirteenth Siege of Gibraltar. This lasted from February to June of that year; vast quantities of powder and shot were fired and two or three abortive attacks made. The siege failed; the Rock continued in British hands.

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.