FAREWELL TO GIBRALTAR--LEAVING FOR AFRICA.
All too swiftly the days flew by, and the time of my visit to Gibraltar
was coming to an end. But in travel I have often found that the last
taste was the sweetest. It is only when you have come to know a place
well that you can fully enjoy it; when emancipated from guides, with
no self-appointed cicerone to dog your footsteps and intrude his
stereotyped observations; when, in short, you have obtained "the freedom
of the place" by right of familiar acquaintance, and can wander about
alone, sauntering slowly in favorite walks, or sitting under the shade
of the trees, and looking off upon the purple mountains or the rippling
sea, that you are fully master of the situation. "Days of idleness," as
they are called, are sometimes, of all days, at once the busiest and
the happiest, when, having finished up all regular and routine work,
and thus done his duty as a traveller, one devotes himself to "odds and
ends," and gathers up his varied impressions into one delightful whole.
These are delicious moments, when the pleasure of a foreign clime--
"Blest be the time, the clime, the spot!"--
becomes so intense that we are reluctant to let it go, and linger still,
clinging to that which is nearly exhausted, as if we would drain the cup
to the very last drop.
Such is the feeling that comes in these last days, as I go wandering
about, full of moods and fancies born of the place and the hour. There
is a strange spell and fascination in the Rock itself. If it be proper
ever to speak of respect for inanimate things, next to a great mountain,
I have a profound respect for a great rock. It is the emblem of strength
and power, which by its very height shelters and protects the feebleness
of man. How often on the desert, under the burning sun, have I espied
afar off a huge cliff rising above the plain, and urging on my wearied
camel, thrown myself from it, and found the inexpressible relief of "the
shadow of a great rock in a weary land!" So here this mountain wall that
rises above me, does not awe and overwhelm so much as it shelters and
protects; the higher it lifts its head, the more it carries me upward,
and gives me an outlook over a wider horizon. If I were a dweller in
Gibraltar, I would seek out every sequestered nook upon its side, where
I could be away from the haunts of men, and could "dream dreams and see
visions." Often would I climb to the Signal Station, or O'Hara's Tower,
to see the glory of the sunrisings and sunsettings; and, as the evening
comes on, to see the African mountains casting their shadows over the
broad line of coast and the broader sea.
Next to the Rock itself, the oldest thing in Gibraltar--the very oldest
that man has made--is the Moorish Castle, on which the Moslem invader
planted the standard of the Crescent near twelve centuries ago, making
this his first stronghold in the land which he was to conquer. And now
I must look upon its face again, because of its very age. American as
I am, coming from a country where everything is supposed to be "brand
new," I feel a strange delight in these old castles and towers, and even
in ruins, gray with the moss of centuries. I know it is a "far cry"
to the time of the Moors, but we must not think of it as a time of
barbarism. The period in which the Moors held Gibraltar was that of the
Moorish rule in Spain, when they were the most highly civilized people
in Europe, and the Goths were the barbarians. In that day the old
Moorish town must have been a very picturesque place, with the domes of
its mosques, and the slender minarets rising above them, from which
at the sunset hour voices called the faithful to prayer; and very
picturesque figures were those of the turbaned Moors, as they reverently
turned toward Mecca, and bowed themselves and worshipped.
Nor did the romance die when the Spaniards followed in the procession of
races, for they were only less picturesque than the Moors. They too had
their good times. A life which would seem tame and dull to the modern
Englishman had its charms for the children of the sun, whether they were
children of Europe or of Africa. When the church took the place of the
mosque, mollahs and ulemas were replaced by priests and monks; and
the old Franciscan friars, whose Convent is now the residence of the
Governor, marched in sombre procession through the streets, and instead
of the call from the minaret, the evening was made holy by the sound
of the Ave Maria or the Angelus bell. And these Spaniards had their
gayeties as well as their solemnities. They danced as well as prayed.
When their prayers were ended, the same dark-eyed senoritas who had
knelt in the churches sat on balconies in the moonlight, while gallant
cavaliers sang their songs and tinkled their guitars--diversions which
filled the intervals of stern and savage war. Out of all this strange
old history, with many a heroic episode that still lives in Spanish song
and story, might be wrought, if there were another Irving to tell the
tale, an historical romance as fascinating as that of the Conquest of
Granada. The materials are abundant; all that is wanting is that they be
touched by the wand of the enchanter.
But as I have just now more freshly in mind the English history of
Gibraltar, I leave the Spaniards and the Moors, and betake me to the
King's Bastion, on which "Old Eliott" stood on the greatest day that
Gibraltar ever saw. And here we must not forget the second in command,
his brave companion-in-arms, General Boyd, who built the Bastion in
1773, and who, on laying the first stone, prayed "that he might live to
see it resist the united fleets of France and Spain"--a wish that was
gloriously fulfilled nine years later, when he took part in the immortal
defence; and it is fitting that his body should sleep under his own
work, at once the instrument and the monument of that great victory.
Even the trees have a historic air, as they are old--at least many of
them have a look of age. One would think that the constant firing of
guns, the shock and "sulphurous canopy," would kill vegetation or stunt
it in its growth. But there are many fine old trees in Gibraltar. Near
the Alameda stands a magnificent _bella sombra_ (so named because
its wide-spreading branches are dark and sombre, and yet strangely
beautiful), which must be very old. Perhaps it was standing a century
ago, and heard all the guns fired in the Great Siege, as possibly a few
years later it may have heard, across the bay and away over the Spanish
hills, even the thunder of Nelson at Trafalgar.
[Illustration: WINDMILL HILL AND O'HARA'S TOWER.]
On one of the last days I had engaged to take a midday dinner with the
pastor of the Scotch Church, who lives in the southern part of the town.
It is a pleasant walk beyond the Alameda over the hill, where you can
but stop now and then to look down on the long breakwater of the New
Mole, or into the quiet dock of Rosia Bay; or to hear the bugles waken
the echoes of the hills. After dinner my friend proposed a stroll, in
which I was glad to join him, especially as it took me to new points of
view, from which I could look up at the Rock on its southern side, as
I had already seen it on the north. Taking our way across the level
plateau of Windmill Hill, past barracks and hospitals that are here
somewhat retired from the shore, we descended toward the sea.
This end of Gibraltar is a great resort of the people in the summer
time, and furnishes the only drive, unless they go out of the gates
and crossing the Neutral Ground enter the Spanish lines. Here they are
wholly within the Peninsula, and yet in a space so limited is a drive
such as one might find along the Riviera. The road is beautifully kept,
and winds in and out among the rocks, in one place crossing a deep
gorge, which makes you almost dizzy as you look over the parapet of the
little bridge which spans it. At each turn you get some new glimpse of
the sea, and whenever you raise your eyes to look across the Strait,
there is the long line of the African Coast. This is the favorite drive
of officers and ladies on summer afternoons, since here they can escape
the blistering sun, and get into the cool shadows.
As we come to Europa Point we are at the very foot of the Rock, and must
stop to look upward; for above us rises the highest point of Gibraltar,
O'Hara's Tower, which, as it is also nearest to the sea, is the one
that first catches the eye of the mariner sailing up or down the
Mediterranean. Here the old Phoenicians sacrificed to Hercules, as they
were approaching what was to them the end of the habitable globe; and
here, in later ages, a lamp was always hung before the shrine of the
Virgin, and the devout sailor crossed himself and repeated his Ave Maria
as he floated by.
Winding round Europa Point, we found our progress barred by an iron
gateway; but rattling at the gate brought a sentinel, who, seeing
nothing suspicious in our appearance, allowed us to enter the guarded
enclosure. Here in this quiet spot, on a shelf of rock which hangs above
the road, and is itself overhung by the mighty cliff which rises behind
it and above it, is the cottage which is the Governor's summer retreat.
The Convent answers very well for a winter residence; but in summer
Gibraltar is a very hot place, as it has the reflection of the sun both
from the sea in front and the Rock behind; and the Convent, standing on
the shore of the bay, gets the full force of both. But there are cool
retreats both north and south. On the north the townsfolk pour out of
the gates to get under the giant cliff which casts its mighty shadow
across the Neutral Ground. A little farther to the east, they come to
the sands of a beach, which seems so like a watering-place in dear
Old England that they have christened it Margate. So also, turning the
corner at the south end of the Rock, one is sheltered from the heat
in the long summer afternoon. The cottage is without any pretension to
ornament; but as it has a somewhat elevated perch, like a Swiss chalet,
it is a sort of eyrie, in which one can look down upon the sea and catch
every wind that comes from the Mediterranean.
Just now this little eyrie was turned to another purpose--a place of
confinement for Zebehr Pasha, a name that brings back memories of Egypt.
An Arab sheikh, at the head of one of the most powerful tribes on the
Upper Nile, he was at the same time one of the most famous slave-hunters
of Africa. And yet such was his influence in the Soudan, that he was the
one man to whom Gordon turned in his isolation at Khartoum, when
neither England nor Egypt came to the rescue; and his one message to
the authorities at Cairo was: "Send me Zebehr Pasha!" The request was
refused, and we know the rest. Had it been granted, the result might
have been different. But the British Government seemed to have a great
fear of letting him return to the scene of his old exploits lest he
should turn against them, and after the English occupation of Egypt,
had him remanded for safe-keeping to Gibraltar. His detention is made as
little irksome as possible. He is not confined in a prison. He is even
the occupant of the Governor's cottage, and has his family with him.
Looking up at the windows, I saw dark faces (perhaps those of his
wives), that moved away as soon as they were observed. But to be
comfortably housed is nothing without liberty. To the lion in captivity
it matters little whether he is in a barred cage, or has the most
luxurious quarters in a Royal Zoölogical Garden. Zebehr Pasha is a lion
of the desert that has never been tamed. How he must chafe at the gilded
bars of his prison, and look out wistfully upon the blue waves that
separate him from his beloved Africa! He envies the eagles that he sees
soaring and screaming over the sea. If they would but lend him their
wings, he would "homeward fly," and mounting the swiftest dromedary,
taste once more the wild freedom of the desert.[12]
But all things must have an end, and my stay in Gibraltar, delightful
as it was, must be brought to a close. I was not eager to depart. So
quickly does one become at home in new surroundings, that a place which
I never saw till a few days before, now seemed like an old friend. My
new acquaintances said I "ought to stay a month at least," and I was
sure that it would pass quickly and delightfully. But travellers, like
city tramps, must "move on," and it is certainly better to go regretting
and regretted, than to carry away only disagreeable memories. I
had taken passage for Oran on the Barbary Coast, when the Colonial
Secretary, kind to the last, proposed to send me off to the ship in a
government launch, an offer which my modesty compelled me to decline.
But he insisted (for these Englishmen, when they do a thing, must do
it handsomely) till I had to submit. That evening, while dining at the
Hotel, a servant brought me word that a messenger had a special message
for me, and when I presented myself, he put into my hands the following:
"_Memorandum from the Colonial Secretary
to the Captain of the Port._
"Dr. Field, an American gentleman, introduced here by Sir Clare
Ford, is now staying at the Royal Hotel, and leaving Friday evening
by the steamer for Algiers.
"His Excellency wishes every attention to be shown him: so you will
send a Boarding Officer to-morrow at 6 P.M., and ask him at what
hour he desires to leave from Waterport, and have a launch ready for
him: the Boarding Officer making all arrangements for Dr. Field and
his friends passing through the gates.
Gifford."
On the back of the above order was written in red ink, in very large
letters:
"Boarding Officer: _Comply with His Excellency's wishes_.
"G. B. Bassadone,
"For the Captain of the Port."
This was the first time in my life that I had been waited upon for
orders! Having this greatness thrust upon me, I did not betray my
unfamiliarity with such things by any light and trivial conduct, but
kept my dignity with a sober face, and graciously announced my sovereign
pleasure to depart the following evening at eight o'clock. This was
really a great convenience, as it gave me a few hours more on shore,
whereas otherwise I must leave before sunset, when the gates are shut,
not to be opened till morning. Appreciating not only the courtesy, but
the distinction, I invited an American party at the Hotel to keep me
company. But they had already made their arrangements, and went off
ingloriously before "gun-fire"; while His Republican Highness took his
dinner quietly, and awaited the coming of his escort. One young lady,
however, (a cousin of Mr. Joseph H. Choate, of New York, my friend and
neighbor at our summer homes in the Berkshire Hills,) stood by me,
and at eight o'clock in the evening we walked down Waterport Street,
attended by two stalwart defenders. The street was strangely silent, for
as the outsiders leave at sunset when the gates are closed, the town is
very quiet. It was dark as we approached the first gate, which had been
shut hours before; but the guard, having "received orders," instantly
appeared to unlock it, a form which was repeated at the second line of
fortifications. At the quay we found the launch ready, with steam up,
and as we took our places in the stern of the boat, on the cushioned
seat provided for distinguished guests, I felt as if I were a Lord High
Admiral. It was a beautiful night. The moon was up, though half hidden
by clouds, from which now and then she burst forth, covering the bay
with a flood of light. At that moment--stern Puritan as I am, and
impassible as my friends know me to be--if I had been put upon my
oath, or my honor, I should have been compelled to confess, that to be
floating over a moonlit sea, with a fair countrywoman at my side, was
not altogether the most miserable position in which I have ever been
placed in my wanderings up and down in this world.
Once on the deck, the whole broadside of the Rock was before us, with
the lights glimmering far up and down the heights. At half-past nine the
last gun was fired, and in another half hour the lights in the barracks
were put out, and all was dark and still.
It was midnight when the steamer began to move. The moon had now flung
off her misty veil, and risen to the zenith, where she hung over the
very crest of the Rock, her soft light falling on every projecting crag.
The ship itself seemed to feel the holy stillness of the night, and
glided like a phantom-ship, almost without a sound, over the unruffled
sea. As we crept past the long line of batteries, the great Fortress,
with its hundreds of guns, was silent; the Lion was sleeping, with
all his thunders muffled in his rocky breast. Thus our last glimpse of
Gibraltar was a vision not of War, but of Peace, as we rounded Europa
Point and set our faces toward Africa.
[Illustration: EUROPA POINT.]
[Footnotes]
[1] The exact figures of this Armstrong Gun are: Weight, 101.2 tons.
Length, 32.65 feet. Length of bore, 30.25 feet. Diameter of bore,
17.72 inches. Length of charge of powder, 5 feet. Weight of charge, 450
pounds. Weight of shot, 2,000 pounds. Velocity at the muzzle, 1,548
feet per second. At such velocity, a ball of such weight would have a
"smashing effect" of 33.230 "foot-tons," and would penetrate 24.9 inches
of wrought iron. Range, when fired at the highest elevation, over 8
miles.
[2] A letter received from Sir Charles Wilson, who was in the column
that crossed the desert, and who went up the Nile and arrived in sight
of Khartoum only to learn that the city had fallen and Gordon been
killed, speaks warmly of both these officers, his old companions
in arms. He says: "General Earle, who was killed at Kirbekan, was a
regimental officer in the Guards, and had been on the staff in Canada
and India--in both cases, I think, as military secretary to the Viceroy.
He was much beloved by every one. Colonel Earle, who commanded the South
Staffordshire Regiment, was also killed at Kirbekan. He originally
rose from the ranks, and was looked upon as one of the best regimental
officers up the Nile.
[3] War Services of General Officers, in Hart's Annual Army List for
1882.
[4] The above outline is derived chiefly from Chalmers' Biographical
Dictionary, a work in thirty-two octavo volumes, published in London
more than seventy years ago (in 1814). I have sought for fuller
information from other sources, but without result. The "Encyclopædia
Britannica," in its article on Gibraltar refers to a "Life of Eliott,"
but I have not been able to find it either in the United States or in
England. After a fruitless search in the Astor Library, with the aid of
the Librarian, I cabled twice to London, the second time directing that
search be made in the British Museum, but received reply that the book
could not be found. The American Consul at Gibraltar writes me that he
cannot find it there. Can it be possible that there is not in existence
any full and authentic record of one of the greatest heroes that England
has produced? Has such a man no place in English history except to
furnish the subject of an article in a Biographical Dictionary?
[5] The incidents so briefly told in the following sketch are derived
chiefly from "A History of the Siege of Gibraltar," by John Drinkwater,
a Captain in the 72d Regiment, which formed part of the garrison, and
who was therefore a witness and an actor in the scenes he describes.
His narrative, though written in the plain style of a soldier, yet
being "compiled from observations daily noted down upon the spot," is
invaluable as a minute and faithful record of one of the greatest events
in modern war.
[6] Sayer's History of Gibraltar, pp. 297, 298.
[7] Sayer's History of Gibraltar, pp. 346, 347.
[8] Drinkwater, p. 68.
[9] It is a common saying that the brave are generous, but this is
not always so. Some of the bravest men that ever lived have been
cold-hearted and cruel. But Eliott, though he had an iron frame and iron
will, was as soft-hearted as a woman. Nothing roused his indignation
more than an act of inhumanity on the part of a superior toward an
inferior. Hence he was the protector not only of women and children, but
of prisoners who fell into his hands, and who might otherwise be exposed
to the license of soldiers demoralized by victory. He repressed all
pillage and stood between the victors and the vanquished, as the
defender of the defenceless. So noted was he for his humanity that those
who were in trouble sought his protection, and his response to their
appeals sometimes took them by surprise. An amusing illustration of this
occurred some years before at the capture of Havana: A Frenchman who had
suffered greatly by the depredations of the soldiery, came to him,
and begged in bad English that he would interfere to have his property
restored. But his wife, who was a woman of high spirit, was angry at
her husband that he should ask any favor of an enemy, and turned to him
sharply, saying, "Comment pouvez vous demander de grace à un homme qui
vient vous dépouiller? N'en esperez pas." The husband persisting in his
application, the wife grew more loud in her censure, and said, "Vous
n'étes pas Français!" The General, who was busy writing at the time,
overheard the conversation, and as he spoke French perfectly, turned
to the woman, and said smiling, "Madame, ne vous échauffez pas; ce que
votre mari demande lui sera accordé." At this she broke out again, as if
it were the last degree of indignity, that the Englishman should speak
French: "Oh, faut-il pour surcroit de malheur, que le barbare parle
Français!" The General was so much pleased with the woman's spirit that
he not only procured them their property again, but also took pains to
accommodate them in every respect.--_Chalmers' Biographical Dictionary._
[10] Sayer's History, p. 365.
[11] "The shot were heated either in the grates and furnaces made for
that purpose, or by piling them in a corner of some old house adjoining
the batteries, and surrounding them with faggots, pieces of timber, and
small coal." Afterwards "the engineers erected kilns (similar to those
used in burning lime, but smaller) in various parts of the garrison.
They were large enough to heat upwards of one hundred balls in an hour
and a quarter."--_Drinkwater._
[12] A few months after I left Gibraltar, the old Arab was set at
liberty by the British Government, but on very strict conditions. A
letter from the American Consul, in reply to my questions, says:
"Zebehr Pasha was released August 3, 1887, on signing a certain document
sent from the Home Government relative to his future conduct. This was
an engagement 'to remain in the place which should be chosen by the
Egyptian Government; to place himself under its surveillance; and to
abstain from interference in political or military questions relating to
the Soudan or otherwise.' This he signed in the presence of two British
staff officers. He had arrived in Gibraltar in March, 1885, and from
that time had been a prisoner in the Governor's cottage for about two
years and a half, under charge at different times of several officers of
the garrison. He left Gibraltar August 16th, for Port Said, accompanied
by his household, which included two women and three men, and was
attended by three male and two female servants. He also took back to his
African home an infant born in the Governor's cottage at Europa."
[Transcriber's Notes
The following modifications have been made,
Page vii:
».« changed to »,«
(memories of a country and people, this modern fortress)
Page 3:
».« added
(is free to all the commerce of the world.)
Page 32:
»'« changed to »"«
(Set the wild echoes flying!")]