by Roy Adkins
From the trial we have had of the Hanoverian Regiments on duty here, I may venture to say we carried our ideas of German troops and their discipline too far. We expected to see them in the highest order and dress, but this [is] by no means the case. They are indeed a fine body of men, and in this respect we must acknowledge their superiority, but when we come to compare their dress, discipline and other requisite qualities as soldiers, we cannot help giving the preference to the British troops. To make amends for their awkwardness, they have hitherto been very sober, orderly, obedient and attentive, and I make no doubt will do their business well if called upon.18
Men of other regiments also deserted, some in desperate circumstances, and in late January Captain Price tersely reported: ‘This morning about 6 o’clock Serjeant John Abercromby of my company [56th] deserted off his post at Lower Forbes’s to the Enemy.’ He was shot at by the sentries and possibly wounded, because his progress was slow and faltering. Another soldier said that he ‘bore an excellent character, was paymaster to the company, and lately kept a mess for officers; but getting into debt, was drove to commit that desperate act. He has left behind him a wife and two children.’ A few days later, information was received that he hanged himself in the Spanish camp the very night he arrived.19
Other soldiers resorted to theft to sort out their problems, though the level of reported criminality in Gibraltar seems remarkably small at this stage considering that there were thousands of soldiers. In mid-March, three men also from the 56th were arrested for robbing a winehouse in Irish Town of about a thousand cobs. A week later one of them turned King’s Evidence, revealing where he had hidden his share of the loot, so that only his two comrades, George Hornsby and John Fullingford, were tried before a General Court Martial. Being found guilty, they were sentenced to be executed. Quite often, Eliott would intervene and pardon the culprits, but both men were hanged the very next day.20
Officers rarely resorted to desertion or crime to solve their problems, though they were not immune from hardship, and many of them banded together to present Eliott with a petition, which they asked him to forward to the king. It stated that their pay would no longer cover their expenses, because of the exorbitant rate of exchange and the high cost of everything. They also put the case that younger officers at home were being promoted, while they were overlooked. No response was ever received, though when Boyd submitted a duplicate of the petition to London on behalf of his own regiment, the 39th, he was told that ‘General Eliott has not transmitted to me any papers on the subject from the other regiments at Gibraltar and unless matters of this kind are recommended by the Commander in Chief of the Garrison, you must be sensible that they cannot be taken into consideration.’21
One strange incident concerning officers had occurred many weeks earlier, when Spilsbury noted that ‘The officers riot a little, and break the Jews’ doors and windows’, though it was overlooked by everyone else. In mid-March, he recorded another affair: ‘Three officers of the 12th Regiment paid smart money, about 30 guineas, for beating and abusing a Jew.’22 On this occasion, Mrs Green gave more information: ‘Much talk of the bad behaviour of these officers of the 12th Regiment relating to a Jew in refusing to pay their debts and ill treatment to the man, &c.’23 So serious was the offence that she had expected them to be court-martialled on the same day as the two men from the 56th, but to her surprise everything was settled beforehand:
Some papers are to be read tomorrow by the commanding officers to their respective corps concerning those three young officers of the 12th and their behaviour to the 2 Jews ... the offence was of a very serious nature, particularly of one of the officers, who had sold his provisions more than a year ago to the Jew, for which he received money down, and the man was to have the provisions, but he has never been able to draw them from the Victualling Office, owing to our present circumstances. He therefore wanted his money back, of course, but instead of that was frequently ill used whenever he made any demand, and it was carried so high as to shut him up and fire – though only with powder – a pistol at him. This disagreeable business ... ended thus quietly, owing to the mildness of the Colonel of the Regiment [Picton] and the Governor. The 2 Jews received the full money and double interest for the time, as he made it appear he could have gained many advantages had he been possessed of the money, and those officers gave ten guineas each to the Jew. It is hoped that this will have a proper effect upon the unthinking young men who make a custom of ill using any tradesman who asks for their money.24
Spilsbury was surprised: ‘It is the first time they have found protection in this place’,25 but Eliott understood that ill-treating merchants would deter them from bringing in much-needed supplies for the besieged garrison.
Provisions were by now very bad, and Ancell said that ‘most of the salt meat is quite rotten, the very smell of it is sufficient for a meal’.26 Mrs Upton said that flour and fuel for baking bread were extremely scarce:
By this time the stock of flour the bakers had in hand was nearly consumed; a small quantity was baked, and sold at seven o’clock in a morning at one particular place; a guard was obliged to be kept at the door, to keep the people from tearing each other to pieces! A handkerchief was thrown in at the window with the money in it, and no person was suffered to purchase two loaves; these weighed about a pound, and cost five-pence. Happy were they who could get one, for the inhabitants who had no flour left, and officers who had children were in a deplorable situation indeed!27
According to Thomas Cranfield, who was now promoted to corporal, ‘On these occasions a scene of indescribable confusion generally occurred, as several persons would claim the same handkerchief, and violently fight and scramble for its possession.’ In a memoir written by his son, Corporal Cranfield was described as a tall, stout and commanding figure, but during the siege ‘was reduced, through scarcity, to a short allowance of provision, and very little could be bought among the inhabitants. Frequently he has been compelled by hunger to eat the flesh of cats and dogs; and even rats have at times afforded him a welcome repast.’28 Mrs Upton could not bear to witness the dreadful suffering:
I cannot now recollect the distress of a poor woman, without feeling a pang at my heart which gives me a sensible uneasiness. She sat weeping at my door with two children, the one about seven years old, the other an infant which she suckled:– after the former had repeatedly asked her for bread, she laid down her youngest child, and gave her breast to her other son, saying, Suck me to death at once! Gracious GOD! how much did I wish, either for the power to relieve her misery, or to be a stranger to the soft pleadings of humanity! However, I desired her to come into my apartment, and gave her part of my own breakfast, though I knew not what to do for bread for the next meal!29
When a brig tried to reach Gibraltar at the end of March, it was captured by the Spaniards, though the nine crew members managed to escape in a boat. Because he lived on army-issued supplies, Ancell took a close interest in the garrison’s stores and the cost of buying food to supplement his rations. He thought that what the crew managed to salvage from their cargo would cover their costs in the short term: ‘They brought some poultry in their boat, which will afford them a present supply. The fowls sold for four dollars each, equal to twelve shillings and nine-pence; pigeons, three dollars per couple, equal to nine shillings and seven-pence; ducks, eight dollars four rials per couple, equal to one pound six-shillings and six-pence.’ The brig’s crew also brought information, but it was bleak – ‘the British fleet had twice put to sea, but was forced to return, owing to bad weather, and contrary winds’.30 Even so, there remained a desperate hope that help would appear soon, and a few days later the longed-for news came, as Ancell witnessed:
The garrison are noisy with tumultuous joy, occasioned by the arrival of a cutter last night from the West. She brings the captivating and enlivening intelligence of the British fleet, for the relief of the garrison, being on their passage. We seem to be an
other people – no depression of spirits, every countenance is adorned with satisfactory smiles, a social greeting of friends and acquaintances, congratulatory of the happiness about to be experienced.31
Two Spanish fireships had just been moved to Cabrita Point from Algeciras, and it was decided to remove this potential hazard so as to prevent them targeting the convoy vessels. Ancell described how a force set out across the bay: ‘This evening four armed boats, composed of a detachment of five men from each regiment, under the command of a naval officer, proceeded from the New Mole on an expedition to cut out the two fire-ships which lay at anchor under Cabritta.’ Success depended on surprise, but after a promising start their luck ran out: ‘It continued rainy and cloudy till they had got within a mile of them, when, on a sudden, the clouds dispersed, and Luna reflected so great a light, that they were under the necessity of returning without accomplishing the business, the enemy having discovered the boats.’32 In the darkness of a late winter night, the sudden moonlight betrayed the position of the boats long before they were near the fireships, but according to Mrs Green, recriminations later flew back and forth: ‘They all came back about three in the morning, not quite so pleasantly, because at their return, everyone concerned seemed to blame each other.’33
Although snippets of information about the convoy continued to arrive, definite news was lacking and hope was fading, when suddenly on 11 April the watchtowers along the Spanish coast, out towards the Atlantic, sprang into life, as one soldier witnessed: ‘This afternoon two Spanish watch-boats appear from the west, sailing and rowing as fast as they can. Everything seems to be in agitation on the Spanish side; numbers of signals repeating at the towers. Surely our fleet is very near the Streights!’34 At around midnight, Ancell said that one ship managed to slip into Gibraltar: ‘arrived off the Mole Head, the Kite cutter. She being challenged by the officer of the Mole guard loudly answered, “From the fleet,” which immediately spread like wild-fire through the garrison ... slumber was forgotten; each found sufficient employ and satisfaction in conversing on the interesting subject.’35
The convoy was under the protection of the Channel Fleet, which was now commanded by Vice-Admiral George Darby. After a long period of unemployment, he had served in the Channel Fleet under Sir Charles Hardy who was in charge during the crisis weeks of the attempted Franco-Spanish invasion. When Hardy died in May 1780, the command passed to Vice-Admiral Sir Francis Geary, but ill health forced him to resign a few months later. The sixty-year-old Darby then took up the post, and through the winter months of 1780 and into January 1781 his ships were blockading the port of Brest in order to prevent a mass of French warships from sailing. On receiving orders to take a relief convoy to Gibraltar, Darby returned to Portsmouth with the Channel Fleet for repairs and supplies. Realising the blockade was lifted, the French commander, Vice-Admiral Comte de Grasse, was able to slip away from Brest unseen and head for the West Indies and America with twenty battleships, other warships and a large convoy of supplies and troop reinforcements. This French fleet would be the deciding factor in forcing the capitulation of the army under Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown later in the year. While Darby’s convoy sailed to save Gibraltar, across the Atlantic Britain lost America.
It took nearly six weeks to prepare the fleet at Portsmouth, and it finally sailed in mid-March. Escorting the large convoy of supply ships were twenty-nine battleships and a collection of smaller warships, led by Darby’s flagship, the 100-gun Britannia. Among the other large battleships were several from Rodney’s relief convoy the previous year, including the Royal George, the flagship of Sir John Lockhart Ross, and the Prince George, the flagship of Robert Digby, with Prince William still serving on board as a midshipman. The fleet did not head straight for Gibraltar, but to Cork in Ireland to collect more victuallers, and they were then delayed for another ten days by adverse winds before finally heading for the Mediterranean.
There was a particularly strong naval escort because it was assumed that the Spaniards would make every effort to take the convoy. On 31 March, off Cape Finisterre on the north-west coast of Spain, Sir John Ross in the Royal George sent a letter ahead to Eliott, predicting a major battle: ‘what is to become of the fleet, [I] cannot at present say ... we are to meet 82 sail of the Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent. Inclosed I send you our line of battle, and hope we shall give a good account of them. We left Spithead on the 13th. The convoy from Cork joined us on the 27th.’36 When George III heard about the likelihood of a battle, he wrote to Lord Sandwich at the Admiralty that he was ‘very sanguine that an engagement will ensue between Vice-Admiral Darby and the Spaniards off St. Vincent. I know the justice of our cause; I know the excellence of our fleet; therefore have reason to expect success. Perhaps no country ever had, except near home, an event on which so much depends.’37 The plan was for the 60-gun battleship HMS Medway to continue to Gibraltar with the convoy, carrying dispatches and letters, while the other warships engaged in battle, but, contrary to expectations, the Spanish ships under Cordoba did not stir from Cadiz, and the British fleet had an uneventful voyage to the Rock.
The siege of Gibraltar had so far lasted nearly two years, and although there had been relatively few injuries, the physical and mental health of the soldiers and civilians was greatly affected. Their main enemies were hunger and disease, along with unremitting fear and all the tensions that came from the constant struggle to survive. With the convoy approaching, their suffering now seemed almost at an end. Few people went to bed that night, and many waited excitedly on the quayside. When daylight came, Drinkwater was among those onlookers:
At day-break, on the 12th of April, the much-expected fleet ... was in sight from our signal-house [top of the Rock], but was not discernible from below, being obscured by a thick mist in the Gut. As the sun, however, became more powerful, the fog gradually rose, like the curtain of a vast theatre, discovering to the anxious Garrison one of the most beautiful and pleasing scenes it is possible to conceive. The Convoy, consisting of near a hundred vessels, were in a compact body, led by several men of war ... whilst the majority of the line-of-battle ships lay-to under the Barbary shore, having orders not to enter the Bay, lest the Enemy should molest them with their fire-ships.38
Suddenly, the convoy was attacked by Spanish gunboats in a well-coordinated plan that was completely unexpected, as Drinkwater described: ‘fifteen gun-boats advanced from Algeziras, and, forming in regular order under the batteries at Cabritta-point, began a smart cannonade on the nearest ships, seconded by the gun and mortar batteries on land. A line-of-battle ship and two frigates, however, soon obliged them to a precipitate retreat, and, continuing to pursue them, the crews of several deserted their boats, and took refuge amongst the rocks.’ Considering that the gunboats would later cause significant damage in the south of Gibraltar, Drinkwater regretted that Darby’s warships did not attempt to destroy them: ‘Had our ships advanced at this critical juncture, and manned their boats, the whole might probably have been destroyed, and the Garrison by that means been rid of those disagreeable neighbours, which afterwards so annoyed us, but the frigates having dispersed them, thought no more of the bum-boats, as some Naval officers contemptuously called them, and left them to be repossessed by the fugitives.’39
By mid-morning the first of the merchant ships anchored off the New Mole and Rosia Bay, beyond the reach of the new Spanish batteries on the isthmus. The cargoes of the long-awaited convoy began to be unloaded, but not everyone was on the quayside to welcome the fleet. As the unloading began, in the Roman Catholic Spanish church Father Messa was conducting a service, but the building rapidly emptied when ‘the Spanish batteries began firing so fiercely that it caused a great panic in all of us, especially the inhabitants of so many nationalities in the city. So that mothers grabbed their younger children in their arms and dragged the others, made their way, crying, away from the imminent danger towards the South Port; the fathers did the same, taking nothing with them apar
t from what they were wearing.’40 At the same time, Ancell was writing to his brother, giving a running commentary about the general rejoicing at the arrival of the convoy, but he was forced to finish his letter in a hurry: ‘One ship has just dropt anchor. A call to arms prevents my further writing. The enemy have opened all their batteries on the town; confusion and consternation are everywhere to be seen! – Adieu, dear brother, I must hasten to the alarm post.’41
CHAPTER TWELVE
BOMBARDMENT
The fateful morning of Thursday 12 April 1781 would be remembered not just for the arrival of Darby’s convoy, but also as the start of the Spanish bombardment that had been expected for months. Cannons and mortars unleashed a barrage of exploding shells and solid cannonballs on Gibraltar’s military and civilian targets, fired from all the Spanish batteries and forts along the Lines and across the isthmus. This lethal attack was coordinated and well planned, and although private letters had recently warned of a likely attack if another relief convoy appeared, Drinkwater admitted that ‘the truth of this intelligence was doubted, it being conceived that no beneficial consequences could arise to them from such a cruel proceeding’.1 Nobody imagined that the Spaniards, in their obsession to regain the Rock, would attempt to obliterate soldier and civilian alike with such a degree of ferocity, death and destruction.
Panic-stricken, most people fled southwards to escape the Spanish guns: ‘The inhabitants exhibit the most impetuous grief and apprehension,’ Ancell said, ‘precipitately retreating to the southward of the rock for shelter, crowding upon each other like flocks of sheep destined for the slaughter-house, with dread and ghastly amazement pictured on their countenance.’2 The only way out of the walled town to the south was through the narrow gate at Southport, but the sheer numbers pushing through made everyone’s escape slow. Father Messa resolutely continued with the service in the Spanish church, even though most of his parishioners had gone: ‘I was celebrating the service of the Last Supper and was singing the High Mass, being left almost on my own in the church; nevertheless, I was able to finish the sacred ceremony of that day with high spirits and remained calm in the company of a few devout parishioners.’3
