by Roy Adkins
Mrs Upton’s house at the north end of the town was one of the most vulnerable, and in terror she seized her two young children and rushed with their servant along the covered way towards Montague’s Bastion, the closest bombproof fortification. Here they took shelter with scores of off-duty soldiers in their barracks, who cheerily declared: ‘Never fear, Madam; if the damned Dons fire to eternity, they will never take the old rock, nor the good souls that are upon it; and if General Eliott would let us sally out at Landport Gate, my life to a farthing we would lay the Spanish camp in ashes.’ Montague’s Bastion was the very fortification whose artillery firing had recently kept Mrs Green awake at night, and now Mrs Upton was directly below the artillery platforms: ‘My head was almost distracted with the noise of so many cannon being fired from the top of the building where I had taken shelter.’ She was very relieved when Lieutenant Upton appeared:
I had the happiness ... of seeing my husband enter the place; luckily for me, he was not on duty that or the day following: he procured a curtain, and hung it round one of the soldiers’ beds for me. I laid down in my clothes, but sleep was out of the question; the bursting of shells, and the terrifying sound of cannon balls, were sufficient to keep me awake; add to this, the disagreeableness of lying amongst near an hundred private soldiers: Yet I was thankful to find admittance even here, for none know what they will submit to in order to save their lives, till they are tried with the near prospect of approaching death.4
According to Captain Horsbrugh, the Spanish guns that day fired cannonballs at the lower military targets at the north end of the Rock, including the Grand Battery and Landport, with some reaching as far as the Convent in the town, while shells were aimed at the upper batteries, which also landed in the town. Some shells even reached Southport, while those fired from the St Carlos battery covered the greatest distance, occasionally as far as the New Mole, close to where the supplies were being unloaded. ‘It was not imagined that the enemy’s shot and shells from their Lines would have reached so far as we find they do,’ Horbrugh admitted, ‘which has obliged us to make some fresh and unexpected alterations in our arrangements.’5
After almost three hours, at around two in the afternoon, the Spaniards ceased their artillery assault for a siesta, but resumed their work two hours later. Captain Price recorded that ‘Dinning of Major Hallow’s [John Hallowes] company had his head taken off by a cannon shot in his barracks – the first man killed in the garrison.’6 Men had been killed through accidents, but this was the first soldier killed by incoming shot, and he belonged to the same regiment as Price, the 56th. Corporal Cranfield of the 39th later wrote of his terror: ‘I shall never forget the day the Spaniards commenced firing ... I was on duty at the southernmost part of the garrison. Never having heard the whistling of a cannon-shot before, I was filled with horror beyond expression. My old sins, and the roaring of the cannon, produced a very hell in my soul. My regiment lay in barracks in the town; I dreaded to go near them, but duty called, and I was compelled to obey. Paleness was in every face.’7 Captain George Mackay, who was Eliott’s steward, summed it up: ‘the Spaniards opened all their batteries on us; they kept up such a shower of shot and shells flying that it appeared impossible for a bird to fly over us unhurt’.8
Even though it was Holy Week, the devout Spaniards were not deterred from attacking the British garrison. After conducting the service, Father Messa left his church and returned for a short while to his house in nearby College Lane:
I returned home in order to have some refreshments and later, together with my household, I went to take refuge in the church together with some others, although in fact there were very few devotees, and we sang Matins. However, gradually, they all departed just leaving me and my sacristan, Juan Moreno, and those of my household on our own and there we remained on this most solemn and terrible day, all through the night with His Divine Majesty exposed until 8 o’clock of the following day, which was Good Friday.9
Some weeks earlier, Messa had stored many of his household items in the church for safekeeping: ‘I was assured by the elders who had experienced the previous siege that the shots and bombs could not reach up to our church. I therefore put all my confidence in the shelter provided by the church, and there I stored some of my more fragile furniture, such as mirrors and pictures, with the hope of being able to transfer the remainder.’10 The church had so far been spared, but Mrs Upton’s house was much closer to the Spanish guns, and when her servant went back in the morning to fetch some clothing, he found a scene of devastation. While there, another shell burst into the kitchen, narrowly missing him but wrecking the house even more. Father Messa, his sister’s family and the sacristan were still sheltering in the church: ‘a shell came in and hit the floor about two yards away from us. We were so shocked that two gentlemen who had come in to check whether we were alive and well, having observed the blow of the shell, run away without even taking their leave. At that point, pitying the tearful pleas of my sister, the sobbing of my nephews and nieces, who were all so young ... I decided to cut short the celebrations of the sacred ceremonies of the Good Friday.’11 Much of the silverware was moved into the sacristy, and Messa left the church in the care of Moreno, his sacristan.
By the next day, Easter Saturday, the shells were setting fire to buildings, but at times they failed to explode, giving the garrison a perilous chance to investigate the mixture of gunpowder and flammable material by withdrawing the fuse. With all the dangers, Father Messa decided to return to the church to protect more of the holy objects:
the sacristan and I quickly removed the ciborium with the consecrated Hosts, the reserved Blessed Sacrament and the Holy Oils for the sick and those for baptisms. And leaving the silver objects locked up in the sacristy and others in boxes and chests and several set up with their respective images, the bombardment became so intolerable that the church had to be left completely unattended, apart from an old sick Genoese who stayed behind in order to look after the building, which decision distressed me terribly.12
Everything was taken to the hut of another inhabitant: ‘There, with tears in my eyes, which I could not stem, I placed the sacred container on a presentable mahogany table, covered with very clean altar cloths. It remained there continuously lit by a lamp, being our best companion day and night until we were able to construct a small shed in a safer location.’13 During that same day’s bombardment, Mrs Upton was ordered to go with the soldiers of the 72nd Regiment as far as the formidable King’s Bastion, which was close to the Spanish church, but she could barely move with fright:
I was, if possible, more terrified than before, for I had a much longer way to go, and the Spaniards were firing from all their batteries. To the latest period of my life shall I remember with anguish that dreadful walk! Sometimes I stopt, and I thought I might as well resign myself to die, and with my quivering lips begged of heaven to admit me into its divine abodes! But when I looked on my children, I started up and dragged them forwards, not knowing what I did. Our servant and two soldiers who were with me said all they could to comfort and encourage me.14
The removal of the stone surfaces of the streets must have made the journey more difficult, but Mrs Upton reached the King’s Bastion safely. She was shown a space to rest, but the room ‘smelt very disagreeably; I enquired the cause, and was told, a man was killed in it, not an hour before, by a ball which entered in at a hole over the door’. That first night, she could barely sleep: ‘This place was so crowded with soldiers, it was impossible to procure either a bed or platform: my servant put me a mattress into a kind of arch or hole by the door, and in here I and my children crept ... Though neither shot nor shell could pierce the roof, yet the enemy kept on so furious a cannonading, that I thought we must lose numbers of men.’15 According to Ancell, the incoming fire was ‘computed at about three thousand shot and shells every twenty-four hours, which probably surpasses the heaviest cannonade in history’. The noise was also unbearable:
‘The showers of shot from the enemy are beyond credibility ... the ear is stunned with the multiplied sounds.’16
The town was now deserted of inhabitants, and more properties were set alight by shells, including ‘a wine-house in the green market, near the Spanish church; and before the fire could be extinguished, four or five houses were burnt to the ground’. Detachments from the regiments were immediately ordered to quench the flames, but it proved impossible with the constant bombardment. The difficulties of fire-fighting were described by the soldier Walter Gordon: ‘water engines were employed to extinguish the fires, but had little effect, for while they were applied to one house, three or four more were also set on fire, while they were engaged in saving that one’.17
When the burning buildings collapsed, the soldiers discovered the awful truth – while everyone was starving and paying outrageous prices, the civilian merchants had been hoarding supplies. Straightaway, Drinkwater related, the men went berserk and started to drink the hidden supplies of spirits, becoming uncontrollably drunk:
The extreme distress, to which the soldiers had been reduced by the mercenary conduct of the hucksters and liquor-dealers in hoarding, or rather concealing their stocks, to enhance the price of what was exposed for sale, raised amongst the troops (when they discovered the great quantities of various articles in the private stores) a spirit of revenge ... their discipline was overpowered by their inebriation; and from that instant, regardless of punishment, or the intreaties of their officers, they were guilty of many and great excesses.18
The soldiers in the King’s Bastion were some of those involved in wholesale looting, and at daylight on Easter Sunday, the fourth day of the bombardment, Mrs Upton was startled by the sight of a corpse: ‘The first object I beheld in the morning was a man lying dead by the door. He died, I was told, from intoxication.’ According to Drinkwater, ‘Some died of immediate intoxication, and several were with difficulty recovered, by oils, and tobacco water, from a dangerous state of ebriety.’19
The barrage continued on a massive scale, and at noon Mrs Upton witnessed a shell explode just outside the door of her casemate (a vaulted bombproof used as barracks): ‘I saw Dr. C—m and Lieutenant B—h fall; they were wounded by the splinters of a shell: the former had his foot shot off, the latter had a dangerous contusion on his head.’20 The victims were Thomas Chisholm, a surgeon of the 56th regiment, and Lieutenant Joseph Budworth of the 72nd, while Captain Price of the 56th had a lucky escape: ‘I had breakfasted with and scarce left poor Chisholm two minutes before the accident. Major Hamilton and Captain Wray were with him. A woman of the Manchester Regiment a little hurt in the leg.’21
A few hours later, Lieutenant-Governor Boyd wrote down his thoughts in his journal about the men’s behaviour: ‘This day the emissaries of wickedness seems to sport with great wantonness, robbery, marauding, housebreaking and shoplifting by the soldiery (a scene never known to be practiced by the besieged, only by the besiegers after a storm, who are generally allowed a small amount of time to plunder).’22 For besieging troops, if a fort or town did not surrender quickly, or if the place was taken by storm, it was customary for a drunken spree of murder, rape and looting to ensue, before the officers attempted to restore law and order with their soldiers.
The surviving journals of Boyd, written from his headquarters, contain detailed official information, mixed with quirky, humorous, patriotic and prejudiced sentiments, possibly reflecting the character of the deputy governor. However, the handwriting does not match letters that were almost certainly written by him, and so the journals may have been penned by one of his staff and the extent of Boyd’s own involvement is uncertain.23 The journal expressed shock that decent soldiers when drunk took such risks:
it appears Death is not regarded, and that plunder and all sorts of debauchery are the chief ensigns of glory and fame by the commonality: watches, plate, money and valuables are trod underfoot by people of virtue and integrity, as, being of no value to purchase their lives or safety from the dangerous engines of war! for how shocking have we daily instances of men blown to atoms by shells and dashed in pieces by cannonballs, when ... loaded with robbery and plunder.24
Horsbrugh likewise noted that ‘Great drunkenness and other irregularities have prevailed among the soldiers since the commencement of the fire ... chiefly owing to the inhabitants having abandoned their houses without taking any precautions for the security of their effects, especially liquors. Patrols were sent out with orders to stave all the spiritous liquors they should find, in every house, particularly the wine houses where there were no proper persons left to take care of it.’ Boyd’s journal described the chaotic scene: ‘The Gentlemen [officers] begin to stave the cellars and stores in order to put a period to drunkenness and recover discipline and good order, so that the streets runs with wines, spirits and other liquors &c. Teas, sugars and all sorts of merchandise are promiscuously mixed together.’25
In spite of the Spanish bombardment, the wholesale looting in the town did not stop and was witnessed by Ancell: ‘Here a shell blows off the roof of a wine house, the troops haste to partake of the consuming spoil, regardless of life or limb, they drink briefly round, “Destruction to the enemy.” Here are parties boiling, baking, roasting, frying, &c. Turkeys, ducks, geese and fowls become the diet of those, who, some days ago, were eagerly soliciting a hard crust of bread. Every pig they meet, receives a ball or bayonet.’ In a letter to his brother, he vividly depicted the awful scenes: ‘One minute a shot batters a house about your ears, and the next a shell drops at your feet; here you lay prostrate, waiting the mercy of the explosion. If you escape unhurt, you are perfectly stunned, and almost suffocated with an intolerable stench of powder and composition ... one loses an arm or leg, another [is] cut through the body, a third has his head smashed, and a fourth is blown to pieces, with the bursting of a shell.’26
He then related a conversation the previous day in Irish Town with an inebriated soldier by the name of Jack Careless, who was
singing with uncommon glee (notwithstanding the enemy were firing with prodigious warmth) part of the old song,
‘A soldier’s life is a merry life,
From care and trouble free.’
He ran to me with eagerness, and presenting his bottle, cried, ‘Damn me, if I don’t like fighting. I’d like to be ever tanning the Dons. Plenty of good liquor for carrying away, never was the price so cheap, fine stuff, enough to make a miser quit his gold.’ Why, Jack, says I, what have you been about? ‘That would puzzle a heathen philosopher, or yearly almanack maker, to unriddle. I scarce know myself. I have been constantly on foot and watch, half starved, and without money, facing a parcel of pitiful Spaniards. I have been fighting, wheeling, marching, and counter-marching; sometimes with a firelock, then a handspike, and now my bottle (brandishing it in the air.) I am so pleased with the melody of great guns that I consider myself as a Roman general, gloriously fighting for my country’s honor and liberty.’27
At that moment, Ancell said, a shell burst and a splinter knocked the bottle from Jack’s hand:
with the greatest composure, he replied (having first graved it with an oath) ‘This is not any loss, I have found a whole cask, by good luck,’ and brought me to view his treasure. But Jack, says I, are you not thankful to God, for your preservation? ‘How do you mean (he answered) fine talking of God with a soldier, whose trade and occupation is cutting throats ... Our King is answerable to God for us, I fight for him; my religion consists in a fire-lock, open touch-hole, good flint, well rammed charge, and seventy rounds of powder and ball. This is military creed. Come, comrade, drink success to the British arms.’28
The ‘military creed’, as stated by Jack, was his musket (or firelock), kept in good order, with a sound flint and the standard issue of seventy rounds of ammunition. Rank-and-file soldiers at this time, particularly new recruits, knew little more than how to march, how to look after their equipment and
how to ‘level’ their muskets at the enemy and fire – only the marksmen were taught to aim. The name Jack Careless may have been the nickname of a genuine serving soldier or a device used by Ancell to give an impression of a likeable but hapless soldier. He was probably acquainted with the character Jack Careless in Poor Richard’s Almanack, published by Benjamin Franklin in the American colonies – a kind-hearted person with a fondness for liquor who was easily led astray, but eventually mended his ways.29 The verse that Jack was singing came from an American ballad, known on both sides of the Atlantic, called ‘The Soldier’s Life’, which seems to have been newly composed around this time.
Gibraltar was first and foremost a military garrison, but private merchants, mainly Genoese and Jewish, played a crucial role in enabling it to function. Many were owners or part-owners of merchant vessels that until recently brought in cargoes from Barbary, but now had to operate much further afield. Other merchants purchased cargoes from vessels that came in from as far away as Ireland and Leghorn, whose owners and crews were willing to risk the dangers of the blockade in return for a reasonable profit. Everyone needed to make a living, or else the cargoes would cease, but nobody ever imagined that the merchants were hoarding immense quantities of goods, particularly alcohol. It was obligatory for civilians and military families to have substantial stores, or else leave the Rock, but by now these stores were severely depleted, and the drunken soldiers targeted every newly discovered cache, unable to distinguish between stores of individual families, fair-minded merchants or unscrupulous traders.
