HOLDING A FORTRESS IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY.
There is one thing in Gibraltar which strikes me unpleasantly, and yet
(such are the contradictions in our likes and dislikes) it is the very
thing which has made it so attractive, viz., the English occupation. For
picturesqueness of situation, the mighty Rock, standing at the entering
in of the seas, is unique in the world, and the outlook along the
shores of Africa and Europe is enough to captivate the eye of the most
sight-worn traveller. And the people who hold this rock-fortress are
worthy to be its masters, for they are not only brave, as soldiers are
by profession, but they have all the manly qualities of the English
race; they are chivalrous and generous. Nowhere does English hospitality
appear more charming. If ever a man had occasion to like Gibraltar
and the English _in_ Gibraltar, I have; and I shall keep them both in
grateful memory.
And yet--and yet--in this general accord of pleased reflection, which
comes to me in the midst of these happy days, there is one thing which
strikes a discordant note. The English are here, not by right of birth,
but of conquest. Gibraltar is not a part of England: it is a part of
Spain, to which it belongs by nature, if nature has anything to do with
the boundaries of States. True, the English have taken it and hold it,
and by the right of war it belongs to them, as a fortress belongs to
the power that is strongest. Yet that does not change the relation
of things, any more than it changes the geographical position of the
captured fortress. And so it remains that England holds Gibraltar,
I will not say in an enemy's country, but certainly in a foreign
country--a fact which, however it be disguised, it is not pleasant to
contemplate.
The stranger does not feel this so much while he is inside the gates
as when he leaves the town and goes out into the country. Perhaps the
reader will share my feeling if he will give me the pleasure of his
company. It was a bright, crisp winter afternoon that a friend from
Boston and I planned an excursion on foot. But stop a moment! When I
travelled in the East I learned the wisdom of the old Oriental custom
of "girding up the loins"; and so, stepping into a shop in Waterport
Street, I bought something like a soldier's belt, my only military
trapping, with which I braced myself so firmly together that I felt "in
prime marching order," and away we went at a swinging gait, as merry as
two New England boys out of school and off for a holiday. It is not a
long walk to the gates, and once through them and outside the walls we
took a long breath as we once more inhaled the free air of the country.
At a little distance we came to a row of sentries--a line of red-coats
that kept guard over the majesty of England. Then a half-mile walk
across a low, sandy plain--the Neutral Ground--and we came to another
line of sentinels in different uniforms and speaking a different tongue,
a little beyond which is Linea (so named from its being just beyond
the lines), a place of twelve thousand inhabitants, which has the three
requisites of a Spanish town--a church, a market, and a bull-ring!
Here was the situation: a double line of soldiers facing each other,
not in a hostile attitude, not training their guns on each other, but
certainly not in a position which was calculated to promote friendly
relations.
Strolling through the town it seemed to us (perhaps it was only
imagination) that there was a sullen look in the faces of the people;
that they did not regard Englishmen, or those speaking the English
tongue, with special affection. Linea has a bad name for being a nest
of smugglers; but whether it is worse than other frontier towns, which
afford special facilities for smuggling, and therefore offer great
temptations, I cannot say. It was not an attractive place, and after an
hour's walk we retraced our steps back to our fortress home.
As we turned toward the Rock we were facing the British Lion just as
the descending sun was putting a crown upon his royal head. Never did he
wear a more kingly look than in that evening sky. If the God of War has
a throne on earth, it must be on that height, more than a thousand feet
in air, looking down on the petty human creatures below, all of whom he
could destroy with one breath of his nostrils.
It was indeed a glorious sight. But how do the Spaniards like it?
How should _we_ like it if we were in their place? This was a very
inconvenient question to be asked just at that moment, as we were
crossing the Neutral Ground. But if I _must_ answer, I cannot but say
that, if I were a Spanish sentinel, pacing back and forth in such a
presence and compelled at every turn to look up at that Lion frowning
over me, it would be with a very bitter feeling. I might even ask my
English friends who are masters of Gibraltar, how they would like to see
the flag of another country floating over a part of _their_ country?
Of course, the retention of Gibraltar is to England a matter of pride.
It is a great thing to see the red cross flying on the top of the Rock
in the sight of two continents, and of all who go sailing up and down
in these waters. But this pride has to be paid for by a good many
entanglements of one kind and another.
For example: It is a constant source of complaint on the part of Spain
that Gibraltar is the headquarters for smuggling across the frontier.
This is not at all surprising, since (like Singapore and perhaps
other distant places in the British Empire) it is a "free port." Its
deliverance from commercial restrictions dates back to the reign of
Queen Anne, in the beginning of the last century--an immunity which
it has enjoyed for nearly two hundred years. A few years since a light
restriction was placed upon wines and spirits, probably for a moral
rather than a commercial purpose, lest their too great abundance might
lead to drunkenness among the soldiers. But with respect to everything
else used by man, trade is absolutely free; whatever is brought here
for sale is not burdened with the added tax of an import duty. Though
Gibraltar is so near Tarifa, there is no _tariff_ levied on merchandise
any more than on voyagers that go up and down the seas. Not only English
goods, but French and Italian goods, all are free; even those which, if
imported into England, would pay duty, here pay none, so that they
are cheaper than in England itself. Thus Gibraltar is the paradise
of free-traders, since in it there is no such "accursed thing" as a
custom-house, and no such hated official as a custom-house officer! This
puts it at an advantage as compared with any port or city or country
which is not free, and they have to suffer from the difference.
Especially does Spain, which is not yet converted to free trade, suffer
from its close contact with its more liberal neighbor. The extraordinary
cheapness on one side of the Neutral Ground, as compared with the
dearness on the other, is a temptation to smuggling which it requires
more virtue than the Spaniards possess to resist.
The temptation takes them on their weakest side when it presents itself
in the form of tobacco, for the Spaniards are a nation of smokers. The
manufacture and sale of tobacco is a monopoly of the Government, and
yields a large revenue, amounting, I believe, to fifteen millions of
dollars. It might amount to twice as much if every smoker in Spain
bought only Spanish tobacco. But who will pay the price for the
Government cigars and cigarettes when they can be obtained without
paying duty? Smuggling is going on every day, and every hour of the day;
and the Spaniards say that it is winked at and encouraged by the English
in Gibraltar; to which the latter reply that whatever smuggling is done,
is done by the Spaniards themselves, for which they are not responsible.
A shopkeeper in Gibraltar has as good a right to sell a pound of tobacco
to a Spanish peasant as to an English sailor. What becomes of it after
it leaves his shop is no concern of his. Of course the Spanish police
are numerous, and are, or are supposed to be, vigilant. The Carabineros
are stationed at the lines, whose duty it is to keep a sharp look-out on
every passing vehicle; whether it be a lordly carriage rolling swiftly
by, or a market wagon; to poke their noses into every little cart; to
lift up the panniers of every donkey; and even to thrust their hands
into every basket, and to give a pinch to every suspicious-looking
parcel. And yet, with this great display of watchfulness, which indeed
is a little overdone, somehow an immense quantity slips through their
fingers. Many amusing stories are told of contrabandists. One
honest Spaniard had a wonderful dog that went through miraculous
transformations: he was sometimes fat and sometimes lean, nature (or
man) having provided him with a double skin, between which was packed
a handsome allowance of tobacco. This dog was a model of docility, and
would play with other dogs, like the poor innocent that he was, and then
dart off to his master to "unload" and be sent back again! It was said
that he would make several trips a day. In another case a poor man tried
to make an honest living by raising turkeys for market; but even then
fate had a spite against him, for after he had brought them into town,
he had no luck in selling them! The same ill-fortune attended him
every day. But one evening, as he came out of the gates looking sad and
sorrowful, the Carabineros took a closer inspection of his cart, and
found that every turkey had been prepared for another market than that
of Gibraltar, by a well-spiced "stuffing" under her motherly wings!
Of course the Spanish officers are indignant at the duplicity which
permits this smuggling to take place, and utter great oaths in sonorous
Castilian against their treacherous neighbors. But even the guardians of
the law may fall from virtue. The Governor, who took office here but
a few weeks since, tells me that when the Governor of Algeciras, the
Spanish town across the bay, came to pay his respects to him, the
officers of his suite, while their horses were standing in the court of
the Convent [the Government House], filled their pockets with tobacco!
Fit agents indeed to collect the revenue of Spain!
But smuggling is not the worst of the complications that arise out
of having a fortress in a foreign country. Another is that Gibraltar
becomes the resort of all the characters that find Spain too hot to hold
them. Men who have committed offences against Spanish law, flee across
the lines and claim protection. Some of them are political refugees, who
have escaped from a Government that would persecute and perhaps imprison
them for their opinions, and find safety under the English flag. The
necessity for this protection is not so great now as in former years,
when the Government of Spain was a despotism as absolute and intolerant
as any in Europe. Even so late as thirty years ago, Castelar would have
been shot if he had not escaped across the frontier into Switzerland; as
his father, twenty years before, had been sentenced to death, and would
have been executed if he had not made haste to get inside of Gibraltar,
and remained here seven years. In his case, as in many others, the old
fortress was a bulwark against tyranny. Within these walls the laws of
national hospitality were sacred. No Spanish patriot could be taken from
under this flag, to be sent to the dungeon or the scaffold. All honor to
England, that she has a City of Refuge for the free and the brave of all
lands, and that she has so often sheltered and saved those who were the
champions, and but for her would have been the martyrs, of liberty!
But the greater number of those who seek a refuge here have no claim
to protection, since they are not political refugees, but ordinary
criminals--thieves, and sometimes murderers--who have fled here to
escape the punishment of their crimes. In such cases it is easy to say
what should be done with them: they should be given up at once to the
Spanish authorities, to be tried by Spanish law and receive the just
reward of their deeds.
If all cases were like these, the disposition of them would be a very
simple matter. But they are not all so clear; some of them, indeed, are
very complex, involving questions of international law, which an army
officer, or even a civil officer, might not understand. A man may be
accused of crime by the Spanish authorities, and yet, in the eye of
impartial judges of another country, be guilty of no greater crime than
loving his country too well. But the Spanish Government demands his
surrender. The case is referred to the Colonial Secretary, as the
highest authority in Gibraltar next to the Governor. It is a grave
responsibility, which requires not only a disposition to do what is
right and just, but a knowledge of law which a military or a civil
officer may not possess. The present Secretary is Lord Gifford, and a
more honorable English gentleman it would be impossible to find. But
though a gallant soldier, brave and accomplished as he is, he may not
be familiar with all the points which he may have to decide. He tells me
that this matter of extradition is the most difficult duty that is laid
upon him. He said, "I have two cases before me to-day," in the decision
of which he seemed a good deal perplexed. With the most earnest desire
to decide right, he might decide wrong. His predecessor had been removed
for extraditing a man without proper authority. He told me the incident
to illustrate the responsibility of his position, and the extreme
difficulty of adjudicating cases which are of a doubtful character.
It was this: The island of Cuba, as Americans know too well, is in a
chronic state of insurrection. In one of the numerous outbreaks, a man
who was implicated made his escape, and took refuge in Tangier, and
while there asked of some visitors from Gibraltar if he would be safe
here, to which they promptly replied, "Certainly; that he could not
be given up," and on the strength of that assurance he came; but the
Spanish agents were watching, and somehow managed to influence the
officers here to surrender him. The English Government promptly
disavowed the act, and claimed that the man was still under their
protection, and should be brought back. This Spanish pride did not
permit them to do. However, he was sent to Port Mahon, in the Balearic
Islands, and there (perhaps by the connivance of the authorities,
who may have thought it the easiest way to get rid of a troublesome
question) he was not so closely guarded but that he was able to make
his escape, and so the matter ended. But the Colonial Secretary who had
permitted his extradition was promptly recalled, in disapprobation of
his conduct. With such a warning before him, as well as from his own
desire to do justice, the present Secretary wished to act with
due prudence and caution, that he might not share the fate of his
predecessor. I could but admire his patience and care, and yet a
stranger can but reflect that all this complication and embarrassment
comes from holding a fortress in a foreign country!
But while this is true, yet what are such petty vexations as smuggling
and extradition; what is the million of dollars a year which it costs to
keep Gibraltar; in a matter which concerns the majesty and the colossal
pride of England--the sense of power to hold her own against the world?
A hundred years ago Burke spoke of Gibraltar with exultation as "a post
of power, a post of superiority, of connection, of commerce--one which
makes us invaluable to our friends and dreadful to our enemies;" and the
feeling has survived to this day. Not an Englishman passes through the
Straits whose heart does not swell within him to see the flag of his
country floating from the top of the Rock, from which, as he believes,
the whole world cannot tear it down. Every true Briton would look upon
the lowering of that flag as the abdication of Imperial power.
But is not this an over-estimate of the value of Gibraltar to England?
Is it worth all it costs? Would it weigh much in the balance in a great
contest of nations for the mastery of the world? The object of this
Rock-fortress is to command the passage into the Mediterranean. The arms
of Gibraltar are a Castle and a Key, to signify that it holds the key of
the Straits, and that no ship flying any other flag than that of England
can enter or depart except by her permission. But that power is already
gone. England may hold the key of the Straits, but the door is too wide
to be bolted. The hundred-ton guns of Gibraltar, even if aimed directly
seaward, could not destroy or stop a passing fleet. I know this is not
the limit of construction in modern ordnance. Guns have been wrought
weighing a hundred and twenty tons, which throw a ball weighing a ton
over ten miles! Such a gun mounted at Tarifa might indeed hurl its
tremendous bolt across the Mediterranean into Africa. But Tarifa is in
Spain, while opposite Gibraltar it is fourteen miles to Ceuta, a point
not to be reached by any ordnance in existence, even if the last product
of modern warfare were mounted on the height of O'Hara's Tower; so that
a fleet of ironclads, hugging the African coast, would be quite safe
from the English fire, which could not prevent the entrance of a French
or German or Russian fleet into the Mediterranean, if it were strong
enough to encounter the English fleet.
The reliance must be therefore on the fleet, not on the fortress. Of
course the latter would be a refuge in case of disaster, where the
English ships could find protection under the guns of the fort. But the
fortress _alone_ could not bar the passage into the Mediterranean.
As to the fleet, England has been mistress of the seas for more than
a century; and yet it does not follow that she will always retain this
supremacy. Her fleet is still the largest and most powerful in the
world, and her seamen as skilful and as brave as in the days of Nelson;
but the conditions of naval warfare are greatly changed. The use of
steam for ships of war as well as for commerce, and the building of
ironclads mounted with enormous guns, tend to equalize the conditions
of war. Battles may be decided by the weight of guns or the thickness of
defensive armor, and in these particulars other nations have advanced as
well as England. France, Germany, and Russia have vied with each other
as to which should build the most tremendous ships of war. Even Italy
has within a few years risen to the rank of a first-class naval power,
as she has some of the largest ships in the world. The Italia, which
I saw lying in the harbor of Naples, could probably have destroyed the
whole fleet with which Nelson won the battle of Trafalgar; and hence the
Italian fleet must be counted as a factor of no second importance in any
future struggle for the control of the Mediterranean.
And yet some military authorities think too much importance is attached
to these modern inventions. Farragut did not believe in iron ships.
He judged from his own experience in naval warfare, and no man had
had greater. He had found wooden ships good enough to win his splendid
victories. In his famous attack upon Mobile he ran his fleet close under
the guns of the fort, himself standing in the round-top of his flag-ship
to overlook the whole scene of battle, and then boldly attacked
ironclads, and sunk them in the open bay. His motto was: "Wooden ships
and iron hearts!" Ships and guns are good, but men are better. And so
I do not give up my faith in English prowess and skill, but hold that,
whatever the improvements in ships or guns, to the last hour that men
meet each other face to face in battle, the issue will depend largely
on a genius in war; on the daring to seize unexpected opportunities; to
take advantage of sudden changes; and thus by some master-stroke to turn
what seemed inevitable defeat into victory.
In the year 1867 I crossed the Atlantic in the Great Eastern, then in
command of Sir James Anderson. Among the passengers was the Austrian
Admiral Tegetthoff, who had the year before gained the battle of Lissa,
with whom I formed a pleasant acquaintance; and as we walked the deck
together, drew from him some particulars of that great victory. He was
as modest as he was brave, and did not like to talk of himself; but in
answer to my inquiries, said that before the battle he knew the immense
superiority of the Italian fleet; and that his only hope of victory was
in disregarding all the ordinary rules of naval warfare: that, instead
of drawing up his ships in the usual line of battle, he must rush into
the centre of the enemy, and confuse them by the suddenness of his
attack where they did not expect him. The manoeuvre was successful
even beyond his own expectation. The _Rè d'Italia_, the flagship of the
Italian Admiral, which had been built in New York as the masterpiece
of naval architecture, was sunk, and the fleet utterly defeated! What
Tegetthoff did at Lissa, the English may do in future battles. Of this
I am sure, that whatever _can_ be done by courage and skill will be done
by the sons of the Vikings to retain their mastery of the sea. But it
would be too much to expect of any power that it could stand against the
combined navies of the world.
If Gibraltar be thus powerless for offence, is it altogether secure for
defence? Is it really impregnable? That is a question often asked, and
on which only military men are competent to give an opinion, and even
they are divided. Englishmen, who are most familiar with its defences,
say, Yes! Those defences have been enormously increased even in our day.
In the Great Siege we saw its powers of resistance a hundred years ago.
Yet Eliott defeated the French and Spanish fleets and armies with less
than a hundred guns. Ninety years later--in 1870--there were _seven
hundred_ guns in position on the Rock, the smallest of which were larger
than the heaviest used in the siege. And yet since 1870 the increase
in the size of guns and their weight of metal, is greater than in the
hundred years before. In the siege it was counted a wonderful shot that
carried a ball two miles and a half. Now the hundred-ton guns carry over
eight miles. Putting these things together, English officers maintain
that Gibraltar cannot be taken by all the powers of Europe combined.
On the other hand, French and German engineers--familiar with the
new inventions in war, and knowing that they can use dynamite and
nitro-glycerine, instead of gunpowder, to give tremendous force to the
new projectiles--would probably say that there is no fortress which
cannot be battered down. To me, who am but a layman in such matters,
as I walk about Gibraltar, it seems that, if all the armies of Europe
should come up against it, they could make no impression on its
rock-ribbed sides; that only some convulsion of nature could shake
its "everlasting foundations." And yet such is the power of modern
explosives to rend the rocks and hills, with a new invention every year
of something still more terrible, that we know not but they may at last
almost tear the solid globe asunder. What wreck and ruin of the works of
man may be wrought by such engines of destruction, it is not given us to
foresee.
Meanwhile to the Spaniards the English possession of Gibraltar is a
constant irritation. It is of no use to remind them that they had it
once, and might have kept it; that is no comfort; it only makes the
matter worse; for they are like spoiled children, who grieve the most
for that which they have thrown away. Again it was offered to them by
England, with only the condition that they should not sell Florida to
Napoleon; but as he was then in the height of his career, they thought
it safer to trust to his protection; albeit a few years later they
found out his treachery, and had to depend on an English army, led by
Wellington, to drive the French out of Spain. And still these spoiled
children of the South will not recognize the English sovereignty. To
this day the King of Spain claims Gibraltar as a part of his dominions,
though he recognizes it as "temporarily in the possession of the
English," and all who are born on the Rock are entitled to the rights of
Spanish subjects!
But whether Gibraltar can be "taken" or not by siege or storm, in the
course of human events there may be a turn of fortune which shall compel
England to surrender it. If there should come a general European war, in
which there should be (what the first Napoleon endeavored to effect) a
combination of all the Continental powers against England, she might,
standing alone, be reduced to such extremity as to be obliged to sue
for peace, and one of the hard conditions forced upon her might be the
surrender of Gibraltar!
But while we may speculate on such a possibility of the future, it is
not a change which I desire to see in my day. The transfer of Gibraltar
to Spain might satisfy Spanish pride, but I fear that it would be no
longer what it is if it had not the treasury of England to supply its
numerous wants. The Spaniards are not good managers, and Gibraltar
would ere long sink into the condition of an old, decayed Spanish town.
Further than this, I confess that, as a matter of sentiment, it would be
no pleasure to me to visit it if the charm of its present society were
gone. I should miss greatly the English faces, so manly and yet so
kindly, and the dear old mother tongue. So while I live I hope Gibraltar
will be held by English soldiers. "After me the deluge!"
No: not the deluge, but universal peace! Let the old Rock remain as it
is. Lover of peace as I am, I should be sorry to see it dismantled. It
would not be the same thing if it were to become another Capri--a mere
resort for artists, who should sit upon Europa Point, and make their
sketches; or if lovers only should saunter in the Alameda gardens,
whispering softly as they look out upon the moonlit sea. The mighty crag
that bears the name of Hercules should bear on its front something which
speaks of power. Let the Great Fortress remain as the grim monument of
War, even when men learn war no more; as the castles on the Rhine are
kept as the monuments of mediæval barbarism. If its guns are all silent,
or unshotted, it will stand for something more than a symbol of brute
force: it will be a monumental proof that the blessed age of peace has
come. Then, if there be any change in the flag that waves over it; if
the Red Cross of England, which has never been lowered in war, should
give place to an emblem of universal peace; it may be a Red Cross
still--red in sign of blood, but only of that blood which was shed alike
for all nations, and which is yet to unite in One Brotherhood the whole
Family of Mankind.