by Roy Adkins
That evening, thousands of soldiers once again worked on the isthmus, but this time they were fired on by the garrison, as Houdan-Deslandes described:
Around 10 in the evening, the silence [from firing] that was so favourable to our operations was disturbed by the most lively firing that had occurred since the start of the siege. The Rock was spewing out cannonballs at every instant, and their dreadful whistling echoed around the rocks and brought terror to the hearts of everyone who was not in a trench ... That night was less bloody than we had feared. Thirteen men killed or wounded were the only victims of that night-time firing that could have been a lot more deadly.31
In the morning, the 19th, Houdan-Deslandes recorded how they then caused their own misfortune: ‘Daylight brought tranquillity, the workers had returned to camp, the fortress was quiet. Suddenly, we heard, not far from the camp, a dreadful noise; it was the explosion of several barrels of gunpowder ... A spark fallen from a [tobacco] pipe had set fire to some saltpetre and caused 21 shells to explode. Four Spaniards were blown to bits, 12 were burned but had the misfortune to survive. This was all due to the incurable habit that the Spaniards have, of smoking everywhere, without taking any care, which caused this fatal accident.’32 At noon, a boat approached Gibraltar under a flag of truce, carrying a letter from the Duc de Crillon to Eliott that began:
Sir, His Royal Highness Comte d’Artois, who has received permission from the King his brother to assist at the siege, as a volunteer in the Combined Army, of which their Most Christian and Catholic Majesties have honoured me with the command, arrived in this camp the 15th instant. This young Prince has been pleased, in passing through Madrid, to take charge of some letters which had been sent to that capital from this place, and which are addressed to persons belonging to your Garrison.33
Crillon said that he was also using this opportunity ‘to offer a few trifles for your table, of which I am sure you must stand in need, as I know you live entirely upon vegetables. I should be glad to know what kind you like best. I shall add a few partridges for the Gentlemen of your household, and some ice, which I presume will not be disagreeable in the excessive heat of this climate at this season of the year.’34
In fulsome diplomatic language, Eliott sent a reply:
I find myself honoured by your obliging letter of yesterday, in which your Excellency was so kind as to inform me of the arrival in your camp of his Royal Highness the Comte d’Artois, and the Duc de Bourbon, to serve as volunteers in the siege. These Princes have shewn their judgement in making choice of a master in the art of war, whose abilities cannot fail to form great warriors. I am overpowered with the condescension of His Royal Highness, in suffering some letters for persons in this town to be conveyed from Madrid in his carriages. I flatter myself that your Excellency will give my most profound respect to His Royal Highness, and to the Duc de Bourbon, for the expressions of esteem with which they have been pleased to honour so insignificant a person as I am.35
Eliott underlined his ironic response by thanking Crillon for the very kind gifts, though he pointed out that everything coming into the garrison was publicly sold:
the private soldier, if he has money, can become a purchaser, as well as the Governor. I confess, I make it a point of honour to partake both of plenty and scarcity in common with the lowest of my brave soldiers. This furnishes me with an excuse for the liberty I now take, of entreating your Excellency not to heap any more favours on me of this kind, as in future I cannot convert your presents to my own private use. Indeed, to be plain with your Excellency, though vegetables at this season are scarce with us, every man has got a quantity proportioned to the labour which he has bestowed in raising them. The English are naturally fond of gardening and cultivation; and here we find our amusement in it, during the intervals of rest from public duty.36
As a final graceful insult, Eliott responded with a more lavish gift of his own. ‘I am confidently told,’ Ancell said, ‘it consisted of a cask of beef, pork, and butter, a cheese, a puncheon of rum, a sheep and a goat, some poultry, and a quantity of potatoes.’37 Boyd likewise sent a gift to his adversaries, which was recorded as ‘Melons, callabash, parsley, greenbeats [probably green beans], tomatesses, berryhoness’s [aubergines – ‘berenjenas’ in Spanish], onions, pears, apples, 3 sorts of plums, lemons, 2 sorts of figgs, kidney beans, grapes, peaches, 2 rabbets and 3 brace of partridges’. In addition, there were two hampers of ice, which must have been stored in an ice house all summer.38 These lavish gifts were sheer bravado, and everyone in the garrison knew it to be so, with Ancell commenting: ‘This was policy to make the enemy believe that our situation was not so deplorable as they imagined.’39
That night, a great deal more work was done to the new battery and the eastern approach, and although Houdan-Deslandes said that the firing from the garrison was very brisk, no French were killed, only a few Spaniards. ‘The Spanish troops are composed of sturdy men, accustomed from the cradle to a life of poverty,’ he said. ‘... These men, almost savages, taken from their huts in order to become soldiers, have the strength so necessary for a career in arms, the patience that makes them used to suffering, and the spirit of subservience.’40 What they lacked, he felt, was an ability to think for themselves, and so they walked into danger and had many more casualties than the French soldiers.
Late in the afternoon of 21 August, loose fascines in their eastern approach were set alight by a carcass fired from Willis’s, and Drinkwater saw the fire take hold rapidly: ‘On the appearance of the smoke our lower batteries immediately opened, and a most animated cannonade was directed from the Garrison. A party of the Enemy endeavoured to extinguish the fire; but finding their efforts to stop its progress in vain, they gallantly pulled down the line on each side to prevent the flames from spreading; which they at length effected, but not without considerable loss from our artillery.’41 According to Houdan-Deslandes, ‘The enemy had numerous shot raining down on us to prevent us extinguishing this fire that was going to consume a work that was raised with so much strain and good cheer. Several guards ... got up on the blazing line. Without axes, they used sabres to cut the burning fascines to stop the flames. The English fired with rage on the workers they could see from their elevated batteries.’42
Since the arrival of Crillon, Houdan-Deslandes said, the Spanish artillery had kept a respectful silence, but for the first time in two months the Spanish guns bombarded the garrison in retaliation: ‘This was without doubt a beautiful spectacle for those who had never yet been witness to the grand operations of a siege. On the one side, Gibraltar raging against the Spanish Lines, and on the other, these Lines, feeble work of man, firing at this majestic mountain, whose clouds of smoke were enveloping the summit.’43 On Gibraltar, Drinkwater felt that ‘Our fire was so brisk, and so well served, that it exceeded theirs by four to one.’ Around two thousand men were involved in extinguishing the blaze, and their losses must have been severe, because the garrison fired the entire time.44
Everyone on Gibraltar was expecting an attack from the floating batteries at any time now, because a deserter had disclosed that it was planned for 25 August, the feast day of St Louis – Louis IX of France who died in 1270 and was the only French monarch to be declared a saint. When the day dawned, the Spaniards marked the occasion by decorating their ships and firing from them – but the feared attack never came. The following evening, a deserter who swam from Fort St Philip explained that Crillon had intended to attack then, but had suffered too much damage in the blaze. The anxious waiting continued, and the Rock appeared more vulnerable than ever.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WAITING
Admiral Lord Richard Howe had been appointed commander-in-chief of the Royal Navy’s Channel Fleet in April 1782, and almost immediately speculation was rife that he would lead a convoy for the relief of Gibraltar. The Newcastle Courant was wildly optimistic: ‘there will be ready for sea at the end of this month, a fleet of 25 sail of the l
ine under Lord Howe, and Admirals Campbell and Kempenfelt. Their first operation is to throw a body of troops and other supplies into Gibraltar.’1 News subsequently reached Britain that a major attack was being prepared; the Rock was now in danger of being taken by storm, not slowly starved into submission. The government started to act, but it dismissed the idea of a small convoy that could be assembled with relative speed, because only a weak and vulnerable naval escort would be available. Instead, a massive convoy protected by the entire Channel Fleet was planned, though it would not be ready to sail before September.
George III was opposed to a lengthy wait and voiced his concerns to Lord Shelburne, who was now Prime Minister following the unexpected death on 1 July of Rockingham, who had taken over when Lord North resigned after the Yorktown disaster: ‘the relief of Gibraltar ought not to be delayed till September; the way to keep up the spirits of the men is to shew they are not neglected; the Enemy avow that is the time they mean to make their attack, therefore our succours ought to be there before that time.’2 To collect together all the supplies, the transport and merchant ships and the warships was a formidable task, but by early August preparations were well advanced, as the Kentish Gazette learned: ‘A letter from Gosport, dated August 5, says, “A cutter is said to be arrived from Lord Howe, with an account that the fleet under his command was coming up Channel, and would arrive at Spithead in a few days; and that orders are given to prepare beef, beer &c.”.’3
Unseasonably strong winds in August then prevented the small boats from taking supplies to the ships, but by 29 August, after a period of calm, it looked as if they might sail within two or three days. Frantic, last-minute tasks were being carried out on most vessels, which were crowded with many more people than normal, including traders from Portsmouth and Gosport who had rowed out with their wares, hoping to persuade the seamen to part with their wages, especially those recently paid. Many wives, some with their children, were bidding farewell to their husbands, while hordes of prostitutes were vying for business.
The Royal George was no exception and was packed with prostitutes and traders, while a procession of small craft brought more supplies to be hauled aboard. This was the third time the Royal George had been involved in a convoy to relieve Gibraltar, though no longer as the flagship of Sir John Lockhart Ross, but of Rear-Admiral Kempenfelt, with Martin Waghorn as captain, because Ross had resigned his command a few months earlier. On board the warship, several workmen from Portsmouth Dockyard were carrying out repairs, one of which involved heeling the ship in order to expose a damaged pipe just below the waterline. Tilting a vessel sideways for repairs was not uncommon, and the relatively calm weather and sea that day provided good conditions. There were several ways to heel a ship, and the quickest, though most dangerous, method was chosen. Because the damaged pipe was on the starboard side, all the gunports on the port side were opened and the guns run out as far as possible through the side of the ship. The ropes securing the starboard guns were eased, enabling them to be rolled towards the centre of the ship, which moved the weight towards the port side and lifted the starboard side slightly out of the water.
Because the dockyard plumbers were still unable to reach the pipe, cannonballs were next shifted to the port side to tilt the ship further. By now, the sea was almost level with the open gunports, and small waves lapped over the sills into the ship. This might not have proved fatal but for the barrels of rum being hauled up from the Lark lighter on the port side. Normally, each barrel was lowered into the hold, but for speed they were temporarily stacked on the upper deck.
Some crew members were ashore, though Richard Searle, the sailing master, was at that moment being rowed back to his ship: ‘As they neared to the Royal George, the master suddenly exclaimed, She will sink! Give way! The boatman, turning his head, saw that the ship was in a position of extreme peril, and began to back.’ It was immediately obvious that the ship was about to topple over, and his reaction was to flee from danger, but Searle urged him on: ‘Give way, man! Give way! shrieked the master; and a few strokes of the oars enabled him to spring upon the companion ladder. The boatman said that he could just see him rush up and appear to fall into the now almost horizontal entry-port. It was only by the greatest exertion that the waterman pulled his boat beyond the vortex.’4 Searle was just in time to see his ship in peril, but too late to avert the calamity, and he was drowned, along with most of the crew.
As the Royal George tipped over, the lighter was pushed beneath the waves. Entangled together, both filled rapidly with water and sank, giving few people on board any chance to escape. A few hours later, Richard Cumberland wrote hurriedly to his brother about what he had so far learned of the reasons for the tragedy:
The cock which communicates with the pump wanting repair, they had hove all her guns out on the opposite side to careen, when a slight squall of wind taking her, the sea rushed in at her lower tier and she went down instantly. A victualling cutter alongside went with her, the master of which saved himself and the captain [of the Royal George] on a hencoop, the latter leaping out of the stern gallery into the sea. The tide was strong and most of the boats to leeward, or more might have been picked up.5
John Ker, a surgeon on board the Queen, saw the disaster:
I ran to the entry port on hearing the alarm just as the ship was going down ... Hundreds of poor souls were standing on it when she sank from below them and left them struggling with the merciless elements ... For some days afterwards the three towns of Portsmouth, Gosport and [Portsmouth] Common were in a commotion. Almost everyone had lost some relation, friend or acquaintance. Every hour corpses were coming ashore on the beach, every hour the bell was tolling and the long procession winding along the streets. Every tide brought the dead bodies past the ships at Spithead, and it was many days before they could all be interred. Above all, everybody laments the good old Admiral. One of the best and bravest in the service.6
The body of Rear-Admiral Kempenfelt was never found.
It was a terrible blow to wartime morale that such a ship, anchored at the main British naval base, could roll over and sink with such loss of life – around three-quarters of those on board. The loss of any warship automatically triggered a naval court-martial to ascertain whether the captain was responsible. With such an important ship and with the convoy about to sail, it was politically expedient to carry out the court-martial as soon as possible. It took place in Portsmouth Harbour on board HMS Warspite on 7 September – nine days after the disaster. By the standards of the time, when important courts-martial were often swayed by political or financial considerations rather than facts, this one was not particularly rushed or corrupt. Nevertheless, the verdict was a whitewash. Despite clear evidence to the contrary, the court decided that there was no negligence or mismanagement by Captain Waghorn and his officers and that the ship had sunk because decayed timbers in the hull gave way and let in the water. This neatly passed the blame to Plymouth dockyard, which had undertaken the ship’s recent refit. With the conclusive evidence – the wreck itself – safely out of sight, the court-martial was quickly concluded.
Amid increasingly anxious newspaper reports about the impending attack on Gibraltar, the convoy finally set sail from Spithead four days later, on 11 September, led by Howe in his flagship, HMS Victory. Poor weather meant the voyage would be a struggle against the elements, and there was the prospect of a more desperate battle with the enemy’s fleet at the journey’s end.
A few days earlier, at the beginning of September, William Marsden and two friends had sailed from Dover across the Channel to Calais. Although Britain and France were at war, they found themselves welcome visitors, and in their accommodation Marsden said he noticed ‘a large coloured print of “le fameux vaisseau Anglois le Royal George” [the famous English ship, the Royal George]’. He therefore ‘took the occasion of communicating the intelligence of that ship’s melancholy loss, which had taken place at Spithead a few days befo
re ... The event had not been previously known at Calais, and I must do our enemies ... the justice to observe, that they expressed what appeared to be genuine feelings of horror at such a loss of English lives.’7
The tourists next headed towards Paris, where they saw many members of the royal family, including Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette (who would both be guillotined in just over a decade, during the French Revolution). At a few theatre productions, the three men witnessed the excitement of the French people, who were anticipating a victory at Gibraltar:
Great preparations were making at one of them for a magnificent representation of the surrender of Gibraltar by the united French and Spanish forces, and one evening when we were in the coulisses [backstage], a report was spread of the long expected event having actually taken place. It caused an enthusiastic sensation, particularly among mesdames les danseuses, who vociferated, clapping their hands, ‘la bonne nouvelle, Gibraltar est prise’ [great news, Gibraltar is taken].8
On Gibraltar itself, everyone could see the huge forces being massed against them on land and at sea, while in the French and Spanish camps confidence was riding high. The end was in sight, and it appeared as if nothing could stop them. The cream of society was filling the camps of the besieging army, and thousands of spectators were gathering on the surrounding hills to watch the promised spectacle of the magnificent triumph over Gibraltar. The whole of Europe was waiting with interest, expecting an easy victory for France and Spain.
