CHAPTER V.

THE RELIEF.

While the veterans under Elliot were thus nobly maintaining the honour

of the English flag on the beleaguered Rock, it must not be supposed

that England was unmindful of them, or ignorant of the danger in which

they were involved. The British Government hastened their preparations

for the relief of the garrison, and assembled as speedily as possible a

powerful fleet, under Admiral Lord Howe,--afterwards the hero of the 1st

of June,--to escort a large convoy containing fresh troops and

provisions. When off the Portuguese coast, Lord Howe received

information of Elliot’s gallant repulse of the combined French and

Spanish attack, and proceeded at once to enter the Gibraltar Strait. The

enemy, whose only hope of success lay in reducing the place by famine,

endeavoured to prevent this relief from reaching the garrison; and, for

this purpose, assembled a powerful fleet in the Bay. On the night of the

10th of October, however, a violent storm arose, which greatly

distressed the French and Spanish vessels. At daybreak, the garrison

discovered that a Spanish two-decker had been driven close in-shore. She

made every effort to stand out into the Bay, but in vain: grounding

under the guns of the garrison, she was compelled to strike her flag.

The British immediately took possession of her, and she proved to be the

_San Miguel_, of 72 guns, commanded by Don Juan Moreno.

This was not the only disaster experienced by the hostile fleet. Another

ship had gone ashore near the great magazine. A French ship of the line

had lost foremast and bowsprit; and three or four others had driven

nearly within range of the guns of the Rock. While thus disordered, Lord

Howe’s fleet could be seen approaching in order of battle, together with

the convoy under its protection; but this, with the exception of three

or four transports, was swept by the current to the east. The Spanish

admiral, however, offered no opposition to their passage, though he had

still forty-two sail of the line, and Lord Howe had only thirty-four;

but he seemed to pluck up resolution when they began to work their way

back to Gibraltar with an easterly wind, and endeavoured to intercept

them. Lord Howe’s object was not to fight a greatly superior force, but

to get his transports into Gibraltar. By a series of skilful manœuvres,

this he accomplished, while engaging the attention of the combined fleet

for a couple of days; after which he set sail, and stood away to the

westward. Drinkwater remarks that it was no very pleasing prospect for a

British garrison to behold a British fleet retiring before the enemy.

But Lord Howe’s strategy had been perfectly successful; and it would

have been exceedingly imprudent for him in the circumstances to have

risked a decisive action. In every respect the enemy had the advantage;

and though we may feel persuaded that the result would have been

creditable to the British arms, yet the loss of life would have been

disproportionate to any advantage that could be gained.

* * * * *

The blockade, after this event, was virtually at an end. Not one

cruiser, says Drinkwater, was now to be seen in the Strait or to the

eastward, and few vessels of force were stationed at Cabrita Point. The

enemy seemed to have abandoned all idea of recovering the Rock, either

by force or stratagem. It is true that they maintained a desultory

cannonade, but it gradually diminished, and did no execution. On the

23rd a couple of boats arrived from Portugal, bringing intelligence of

an action between the British and combined fleets, which had ended to

the advantage of the former.

“Though every appearance in their camp indicated that they had given up

all hopes of subduing the garrison by force, their parties on the

isthmus continued to be very busy, and some evenings they made additions

of traverses to their works. Heavy timber was also brought forward to

the parallel, but for what purpose we could not then imagine. Their

advance parties had likewise the audacity frequently to approach

half-way upon the causeway from Bay-side; but the artillery having

orders to scour the gardens and the neighbourhood of Bay-side with grape

from the Old Mole, their curiosity in a short time was pretty well

cooled. Toward the close of this month the enemy’s fire became more

faint and ill-directed, whilst ours was more animated and effectual. Our

engineers continued to be constantly engaged. The rebuilding of the

whole flank of the Prince of Orange’s Bastion, one hundred and twenty

feet in length, with solid masonry (which was now nearly finished), in

the face of such powerful artillery, can scarcely be paralleled in any

siege.”

* * * * *

On the 2nd of February 1783, the governor received formal despatches

from the Duke of Crillon that the preliminaries of a general peace had

been signed between Great Britain, France, and Spain. When the boats

bearing the intelligence met the British, the Spaniards rose up with

“transports of joy,” exclaiming, “We are all friends!” The garrison were

scarcely less delighted at the prospect of rest after so long and

arduous a struggle, though they felt some anxiety as to the fate of the

fortress which they had defended with such pertinacity. On the 5th the

port was declared open. Thenceforth provisions every day became more

abundant, and the soldiers were able to regale themselves with their

accustomed fare. Towards the end of the month the governor and the duke

exchanged visits. When the latter appeared within the walls of the

fortress, the British soldiery saluted him with a general cheer, whereat

his grace was exceedingly confused, until it was explained to him that

such was the British method of honouring a gallant opponent.

The garrison officers were duly introduced to the duke, who received

them with characteristic courtesy. To the artillery he said: “Gentlemen,

I would rather see you here as friends than on your batteries as

enemies; where,” he added, “you never spared me.” Proceeding to inspect

the batteries on the heights, he remarked on the formidable nature of

the lower defences, and in reference to the Old Mole Battery observed,

“that had not his judgment been overruled, he should have directed all

his efforts against that part of the garrison.” Entering the Faringdon,

now called the Windsor Battery, he was surprised at its extent, which at

that time was between 500 and 600 feet. “Such works,” he exclaimed, “are

worthy of the Romans!” After dinner, at which the generals and

brigadiers in the garrison, with their suites, were present, he passed

through the camp to Europa, each regiment turning out and giving three

cheers. “The youth and good appearance of the troops,” we are told,

“much engaged his attention.” At his departure in the evening he was

saluted with seventeen cannon. His horse started at the flash, and

almost threw him from his saddle; but he escaped without injury. In the

course of the conversation at dinner, he warmly complimented the

governor and garrison on their brilliant defence; adding that he had

exerted himself to the utmost of his abilities, and though he had not

been successful, yet he was happy in having his sovereign’s approval of

his conduct.

* * * * *

On the 23rd of April, St. George’s Day, the King’s Bastion, of which our

readers have heard so much, became the scene of an unusual and a

striking ceremony. The king having conferred upon General Elliot the

well-deserved Order of the Bath, and having intimated his pleasure that

Lieutenant-General Boyd should act as his representative in investing

him with the insignia, it was resolved that the occasion should be

celebrated with as much pomp as could be commanded. The troops being

previously assembled on the Red Sands, Sir George officially

communicated to them the unanimous approval of their heroic services

expressed by both Houses of Parliament, and then proceeded:--

“No army has ever been rewarded by higher national honours; and it is

well known how great, universal, and spontaneous were the rejoicings

throughout the kingdom upon the news of your success. These must not

only give you inexpressible pleasure, but afford matter of triumph to

your dearest friends and latest posterity. As a further proof how just

your title is to such flattering distinctions at home, rest assured,

from undoubted authority, that the nations in Europe and other parts are

struck with admiration of your gallant behaviour; even our late resolute

and determined antagonists do not scruple to bestow the commendations

due to such valour and perseverance.

“I now most warmly congratulate you on these merited and brilliant

testimonies of approbation, amidst such numerous, such exalted tokens of

applause; and forgive me, faithful companions, if I humbly crave your

acceptance of my grateful acknowledgments. I only presume to ask this

favour, as having been a constant witness of your cheerful submission to

the greatest hardships, your matchless spirit and exertions, and on all

occasions your heroic contempt of every danger.”

The soldiers then fired a grand _feu de joie_, each discharge being

heralded by a volley of twenty-one guns, and the ceremony concluded with

three such cheers as only British troops can give. Afterwards the

governor and his staff and the field-officers withdrew, and the

detachments marched into town, lining the streets from the Convent to

the King’s Bastion.

At about half-past eleven the procession began to move in the following

order:--

Marshal.

Band of the 12th Regiment, playing “See the

Conquering Hero Comes.”

Artillery.

Quarter-Master-General, and Adjutant-General, Town-Major and

Deputy, with other Staff of the Garrison.

First Division of Field-Officers, youngest first.

Band of the 58th Regiment.

The Commissioner’s Secretary, bearing on a crimson velvet cushion

the Commission.

The Commissioner’s Aides-de-Camp.

Lieutenant-General Boyd, the King’s Commissioner.

The Governor’s Secretary, bearing on a crimson velvet cushion the

Insignia of the Order of the Bath.

The Governor’s Aides-de-Camp as Esquires.

General Elliot, the Knight Elect, supported by Generals de la Motte

and Green.

Aides-de-Camp to the Major-Generals.

Major-General Picton.

His Aide-de-Camp.

The Brigadier-Generals, eldest first.

Band--De la Motte’s.

Second Division of Field-Officers, eldest first.

Band of the 56th Regiment.

The Grenadiers of the Garrison.

Such was the procession; and interesting it must have been to see those

bronzed and battle-worn heroes, who had but just been released from the

toils and anxieties of a protracted siege, assembled in recognition of

the honour paid by their sovereign to the commander whose resolution,

devotion, and military capacity had so largely conduced to bring about a

successful result.

The following particulars are borrowed from Drinkwater, whose minute

history of the siege is necessarily the authority to which all later

writers resort:--

No compliment was paid to the knight elect, but as the commissioner

passed, each regiment, with the officers, saluted. When the procession

arrived at the bastion, the general and field-officers placed themselves

on each side of a throne that had been erected for the purpose, the

artillery formed around, and the grenadiers fronting the bastion, along

the line-wall. The proper reverences being made to the vacant throne,

the commissioner desired his secretary to read the commission; which

being done, he addressed the knight elect in a short complimentary

speech, taking the ribbon at the conclusion and placing it over the

governor’s shoulder, who inclined a little for that purpose. Three

reverences were then a second time made, and each took his seat on a

crimson velvet chair on each side of the throne, the commissioner

sitting on the right hand. The governor was no sooner invested than the

band struck up “God save the King.” The grenadiers fired a volley, and a

grand discharge of one hundred and sixty pieces of cannon was fired from

the sea-line. The detachments were afterwards dismissed, and each

non-commissioned officer and private received a pound of fresh beef and

a quart of wine. The generals, with their suites, and the

field-officers, dined at the Convent. In the evening the bastion was

illuminated with coloured lamps and transparencies; and at nine o’clock

a display of fireworks took place from the north and south bastions, in

the presence of Sir George Augustus Elliot and his principal officers.

Thus, in rejoicings and ceremonial display, terminated the labours of

the veterans of Gibraltar.

Calculating from the commencement of the blockade to the cessation of

hostilities, the siege lasted three years, seven months, and twelve

days; and throughout that long period the garrison had been kept

continually on the watch, enjoying no interval of repose, exposed to the

attacks of a powerful enemy, worn with fatigue, and harassed by all the

incidents of a protracted blockade. They had sometimes failed in the

strict requirements of discipline, and acts of plunder and violence had

occasionally tarnished the lustre of their laurels; but in courage and

patience and intrepidity they had never been wanting, and their _morale_

improved as the siege advanced. The stir and tumult of the battle-field,

with its brilliant episodes of valour, its charges of cavalry, its

encounter of bayonets, its individual deeds of heroism, and its

exhibition of strategical genius, necessarily lend themselves more

readily to the description of the chronicler, and exercise a more

powerful influence on the imagination of the reader, than the monotonous

incidents of a siege. It is difficult to invest with any attraction the

daily record of garrison work; and the reader has no means of forming an

idea of its arduous character. He wearies of bastions and batteries; of

rounds of shot and shell expended; of labours the issue of which is not

apparent; of demonstrations which are seemingly all in vain. Yet it is

certain that a campaign in the open field, or a great battle like that

of Waterloo, makes less demand on the best qualities of a soldier than a

protracted siege. The long roll of victories of the British army is

emblazoned with names which will never be forgotten so long as England

retains her imperial spirit or her pride in the past, and among those

names, if loyalty and true bravery and heroic endurance are to receive

their just recompense, conspicuous and thrice-honoured will always shine

that of Gibraltar! And the true Englishman, remembering how steadfastly

Elliot and his veterans maintained their hold upon the Rock, will

sympathize with the generous sentiment of the poet, when he says,--

“Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the north-west died away;

Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay,

Bluish ’mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;

In the dimmest north-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and gray;

‘Here, and here, did England help me; how can I help England?’--say;

Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,

While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.”

Since the Great Siege no attempt has been made to wrest the Rock from

our firm British grasp; nor are we likely to surrender it, holding it as

we do in the interests of Europe. Its military importance may be less

than it was in the days before steam became one of the instruments of

war; but still it is one of the keys of the Mediterranean, which we

cannot afford to see in the hands of any other Power. We do not hold it

selfishly, being concerned, not to shut up the Mediterranean, but to

keep it free for the commerce of every nation. Moreover, it is a symbol

of power which we cannot relinquish without disgrace.

* * * * *

In the later annals of Gibraltar the chief event is the mutiny of the

garrison, under the governorship of the Duke of Kent, the father of the

Queen.

The young prince, when he entered on a military career, was sent to

Hanover to learn the duties of his profession, and there he acquired

that scrupulous regard for the smallest externals and that “pipe-clayed

pedantry” which, before the days of Moltke, were the vice of the German

army. Afterwards he was sent to Geneva, where he soon fell into debt,

owing to the meagre allowance which he received from his royal father.

Returning to England, in the hope that George III. would assist, he was

ordered to start in twenty-four hours for Gibraltar, with the rank and

position of colonel of the 7th Fusiliers. His rigid disciplinarian

habits here made him unpopular with the common soldiers, who, however,

at that time contained a large percentage of desperate and dissolute

characters; but by the officers of the garrison he was as much esteemed

on account of his excellent qualities as he was respected on account of

his rank.

In the course of his professional career the Duke of Kent served in Nova

Scotia, and in 1799 acted as commander-in-chief of the British forces in

North America. Afterwards he was again sent to Gibraltar--this time as

governor. The garrison was in a state of open insubordination, and had

acquired an ill repute for its drunkenness and profligacy. To cleanse

this Augean stable, a kind of military Hercules was required; and the

duke was chosen, partly on account of his rank, partly on account of his

known strictness as a disciplinarian. He went, carrying with him the

most positive instructions, and relying upon promises of hearty support

from the British Cabinet. A more unpleasant task seldom fell to a prince

of the royal blood, for it could not be efficiently discharged without

loss of popularity. The duke, however, set to work most vigorously. He

abolished one half the wine-shops; established a regimental canteen;

ordered out the troops for proper periods of drill and exercise; and

punished laxity and disobedience with an unfaltering hand. In the course

of his reforms he found occasion to deal severely with some of the

officers, and there is reason to fear that they did their utmost to

foster a spirit of revenge among the private soldiers. However this may

be, a mutiny broke out, with the object, it is said, of compelling the

duke to retire on board ship, and leave the garrison; though it may well

be doubted whether the mutineers, in the intoxication of success, would

not have gone further, and perhaps have stained their hands with blood.

Happily, a part of the garrison stood firm; the mutineers disagreed

among themselves; the outbreak proved a failure; and the ringleaders

were arrested and tried by court-martial. Ten were sentenced to death,

but only three were executed.

In less than three months all symptoms of disaffection subsided; the

influence of a steady discipline was felt in the improved condition of

the soldiers, morally and physically; and the duke was entitled to pride

himself on the full success with which he had accomplished the difficult

duty imposed upon him. At this moment, to his utter surprise, he was

suddenly dismissed from his post, and recalled to England, to give an

explanation of his conduct. The prince obeyed these ungracious orders;

and on his return, finding himself unable to obtain a distinct statement

of any charges made against him, demanded a court-martial. This was

curtly refused, and the duke involved in suspicions which he was not

allowed to dissipate. That he was unfairly treated cannot be doubted; he

was made the victim of personal and political intrigues. He had the

satisfaction, however, of receiving from the inhabitants of Gibraltar a

testimonial of attachment and respect, valued at one thousand guineas;

while the British adjutant-general pronounced his “military code of

instruction for the garrison of Gibraltar” an “enlightened and excellent

system.”

Of late years the command at Gibraltar has usually been given to some

officer of rank who has distinguished himself by his services in the

field. It has been held by such men as Sir William Gom and Sir Fenwick

Williams of Kars; and at the present time (1879) it is in the hands of

one of our most distinguished soldiers, Lord Napier of Magdala. As the

first of the line of strongholds which guard our highway to India, it

still possesses and must always possess a value and a significance; and

it is well that such a post should be reserved for a veteran general,

who, in case of need, will know how to utilise its capabilities and

maintain its reputation for impregnability.

PART II.

Gibraltar as it Was and Is.

CHAPTER I.

GENERAL DESCRIPTION.

The Atlantic is connected with the Mediterranean, as everybody knows, by

a narrow channel of irregular configuration, the Strait of Gibraltar,

which flows between the Rock of Gibraltar on the north, and the Rock of

Ceuta, backed by the strange mass of Mons Abyla, or Apes’ Hill, on the

south.

Gibraltar was anciently called Calpe; and Calpe and Abyla were the

legendary _Herculis Columnæ_, or “Pillars of Hercules,” which marked the

limit of the mythical hero’s conquests, and formed the supposed boundary

of the Western world. The fable originated doubtlessly in the fact that

the sun, or Hercules, to the navigators of the Mediterranean,

[Illustration: THE ROCK OF GIBRALTAR.]

[Illustration: THE BAY OF GIBRALTAR.]

sets behind these imposing promontories, dipping below “the rim of

ocean” as if to disappear for ever!

The first Greek author who mentions the famous Pillars is the poet

Pindar. He speaks of them as the point to which the renown of his heroes

extended, beyond which no mortal, whether wise or foolish, could

advance. As thus in his 3rd Olympic:--

“As water’s vital stream all things surpass,

As gold’s all-worshipped ore

Holds amid fortune’s stores the highest class;

So to that distant shore,

To where the pillars of Alcides rise,

Fame’s utmost boundaries,

Theron, pursuing his successful way,

Hath deckt with glory’s brightest ray

His lineal virtues. Farther to attain,

Wise and unwise, with me despair, th’ attempt were vain.”

In the time of Herodotus they formed a perfectly familiar position; and

they did not long remain the _ne plus ultra_ of human enterprise, the

Phœnician mariners sailing far beyond them, and reaching the coast of

Britain. Even in the days of Strabo, however, a good deal of confusion

prevailed in the minds of men respecting these Pillars. He tells us that

some supposed them to be islands, others rocky headlands; both rising

sheer out of the sea like colossal columns. Others expected to find

them indicated by cities, or columns, or statues, erected either by

Hercules himself as the proud memorials of his westward conquest, or by

the Tyrian seamen, dedicated to their tutelary god to commemorate the

farthest limit of their discoveries. Later writers indulged in various

conjectures. Pliny records the myth that Hercules rent asunder the rocks

which had previously divided the Mediterranean from the ocean; while

another legend asserted that he had narrowed the strait in order to

exclude the sea-monsters which had hitherto forced their way from the

ocean into the Mediterranean.

* * * * *

Let us turn from ancient fables to modern facts. The voyager who now

approaches the Strait sees on the one hand the picturesque coast of

Spain, with its green slopes and mountains of purple splendour, and on

the other the low sandy shores of Africa, suddenly broken up by the

heights of Ceuta. Gibraltar towers before him a narrow promontory of

rock, facing the sea with gloomy precipices, and connected with the

mainland by a low sandy isthmus. The Bay is on the western side of the

promontory, which there assumes a striking and

[Illustration: THE SIGNAL-STATION.

_Page 119._

]

romantic appearance. Along the whole face of the lofty cliff, tier after

tier, stretch ranges of formidable batteries, with the town of Gibraltar

lying sheltered at the northern end. From every nook and every coign of

vantage bristle heavy cannon. The midway slope, from the town to the

summit of the great Rock, is occupied by white barracks and pleasant

villas, which rest in the shadow of leafy groves. The eastern side,

however, is one unbroken mass of precipice, relieved by none of those

indications of peaceful civilization.

The three principal points of the rocky ridge to which we have alluded,

are the Rock Mortar, north, 1350 feet; the Signal, in the centre, 1276

feet; the Sugar-loaf Point, south, 1439 feet. The length of this ridge,

which consists of limestone, completely honeycombed with caverns, is

about two miles and three-quarters, with an average breadth of one half

to three-quarters of a mile, and a circumference of about seven miles.

The north face of the Rock overlooks the sandy isthmus of the Neutral

Ground; but at the north-west angle a line of fortifications separates

it from the shore. To the south a rapid slope extends from Sugar-loaf

Point to the oval-shaped platform of Windmill Hill, below which the

steep crags of Europa extend into the sea. At the north-west corner of

the Rock the town is defended by the formidable Lower Lines; and thence

a continuous series of defensive works stretches along the western

front, and round the southern side of the Rock, until terminated by

precipitous and inaccessible heights. This grand range of batteries,

bastions, and ravelins is now armed with upwards of one thousand guns.

To the west lies the Bay, which measures nearly eight miles and a half

in length, and upwards of five in breadth; its circuit being between

thirty and forty miles. On its western curve, facing the town of

Gibraltar, is situated the Spanish town of Algesiras. It boldly indents

the shore on the north of the famous Strait, which extends, we may add,

from Cape Spartel to Ceuta, on the African coast, and Cape Trafalgar to

Europa Point, on the Spanish side. Its length is about thirty-six miles,

its average breadth from fifteen to twenty.

* * * * *

The voyager, as his ship passes under the Rock, comes to regard it as

one immense mass of fortifications, which Nature seems specially to

have

[Illustration: THE MARKET-PLACE.

_Page 121._

]

constructed for the reception of artillery. Batteries frown on its

precipitous sides; batteries crown its rugged summit; batteries line the

water’s edge; and batteries project audaciously even into the very sea.

Such is the Old Mole, or “Devil’s Tongue,” which played so famous a part

in the celebrated siege, and received from the Spaniards its expressive

though certainly too emphatic appellation. Half-way up the slope may be

seen the walls of the old Moorish castle. To the right, the irregular

buildings of the town, “of all imaginable shapes and colours,” are

clustered in picturesque variety at the foot of the precipices. To

complete the picture, the Bay is studded with numerous craft, from the

stately man-of-war and the great India-bound steamer, to the

smart-looking felucca which spreads its lateen-sails to the

Mediterranean breeze.

On landing, the traveller pushes his way through a motley crowd, crosses

the double enceinte, ditches, and drawbridge, and enters the

market-place, an open area surrounded by barracks, four, five, and six

stories high. Here are to be seen a throng of interesting characters:

Algerians and Morocco merchants, with half-naked legs, slippered feet,

their shoulders wrapped in their large white bernouse, and their head

crowned with the turban or tarbouche; Jews, with venerable beards, black

robes, and pointed bonnets; the turbaned Moors, with loose flowing

robes, and vests and trousers of crimson cloth; and Spanish peasants,

with velvet breeches and leggings of embroidered leather, and the

_navaja_, or knife, thrust into their tight crimson sash. Among these

the English soldier winds his way, neat, erect, and clean-shaven, as on

parade in St. James’s Park; or the Spanish lady lightly treads, her face

concealed by her black silk mantilla, and her hand fluttering the

inevitable fan.

Gibraltar has no public buildings of architectural importance; it is

essentially a garrison town, a fortified post, in which art and beauty

are subordinated to the useful. Except, indeed, at one spot, the Garden,

or Alameda--one of the most charming promenades in the world--which

extends from the sea-wall to the base of the precipices, formerly known

as the “Red Sands.” Here blooms a garden which is truly “a miracle.” The

sub-tropical flora is displayed in all its magnificent variety. A forest

of aloe and cactus, of cistus and sweet-scented broom, clothes the

rugged flanks and steep declivities of the mountain, if such it may be

called. The winding

[Illustration: THE ALAMEDA.

_Page 122._

]

alleys creep in and out of masses of rose-trees and flowering geraniums;

while tall pines, huge mimosas, arbutes, and pepper-plants spread a

pleasant shade around. Through these thick screens of verdure a glimpse

is here and there obtained of the mast-studded harbour, and the shining

waters of the Bay, and the azure hills beyond. Is it possible to

conceive of a spot more enchanting? The great defect in landscapes on

the border of the sea is, as a French writer remarks, the want of

greensward and leafy trees. But here these charms are combined; the

richness of a beautiful vegetation blends with the transparency of a

sunny sky, and the sapphire light of a sea like that of Naples, to form

a picture of supreme attraction.

* * * * *

The town of Gibraltar is of limited extent, and the peculiar nature of

its position prevents it from enlarging itself in any direction. Its two

or three long streets run parallel to the sea-lines, and are intersected

at right angles by numerous narrow squalid lanes, which ascend the

precipitous acclivity by flights of rugged steps, called “Ramps.” The

general aspect of the town reminds the visitor of Landport; but these

lanes resemble the wynds in the “Old Town” of Edinburgh. “Toilsomely

clambering to the top of the Ramps, we find,” says Bartlett, “still

narrower lanes parallel to those below, resting on the bare hillside,

but the houses having a fine look-out, and being often half buried in

shrubbery and creepers, and peeping down upon the confused bee-hive

below. Crouching thus, as it does, at the foot of the hot and arid rock,

with its streets and alleys closely jammed together for want of room to

expand, the town of Gibraltar is in summer excessively close and

oppressive, and at no time can it be, we should imagine, an agreeable

place of residence; for not only are its habitations confusedly huddled

together, but for the most part exceedingly ill built and unsuitable to

the climate.” This unfavourable opinion, however, is not confirmed by

every traveller; and, as a matter of fact, for some months in the year

the climate of Gibraltar is anything but unhealthy.

Byron called Valletta, the principal port of Malta, a “military

hothouse;” but the term is much more applicable to Gibraltar, where the

principal ornaments are cannon, and half the population soldiers or

soldiers’ wives, or soldiers’ purveyors. If not the pomp and

circumstance of war, at least its more prosaic side is everywhere

visible. At every corner parties are relieving guard; the patrol pace

the crowded streets to the ear-splitting music of fife and drum; watches

are regulated, morning and evening, by gun-fire; the gates are closed at

a certain hour; peaceable amateurs sketching bits of the Rock are

ferociously challenged by suspicious sentinels; you cannot move a step

without abundant evidence that you are in a fortified town, where reigns

an unrelaxing vigilance. Yet it is not without its semi-humourous,

semi-picturesque aspects, such as Thackeray has drawn with his

accustomed distinctness. Suppose, he says, all the nations of the earth

to send suitable ambassadors to represent them at Wapping or Portsmouth

Point, with each under its own national signboard and language, its

appropriate house of call, and your imagination may figure the Main

Street of Gibraltar. There the Jews predominate, and Moors abound; and

from the “Jolly Sailor,” or the brave “Horse Marine,” where the people

of our nation are drinking British beer and gin, you hear choruses of

“Garryowen” or “The girl I left behind me;” while through the lattices

of the Spanish wine-shops come the clatter of castanets and the jingle

and moan of Spanish guitars and ditties. “It is a curious sight at

evening, this thronged street, with the people, in a hundred different

costumes, bustling to and fro under the coarse glare of the lamps:

swarthy Moors, in white or crimson robes; dark Spanish smugglers in

tufted hats, with gay silk handkerchiefs round their heads; fuddled

seamen from men-of-war or merchantmen; porters, Gallician or Genoese;

and, at every few minutes’ interval, little squads of soldiers tramping

to relieve guard at some one of the innumerable posts in the town.”

Thackeray refers in a similar strain to the Garden, or Alameda, which we

have just described. It is, he owns, and he might well have said more, a

beautiful walk; of which the vegetation has been as laboriously cared

for as the tremendous fortifications which flank it on either side. On

the one hand rises the vast Rock, with its interminable works of

defence; on the other shines Gibraltar Bay, out on which, from the

terraces, immense cannon are perpetually looking, surrounded by

plantations of cannon-balls and beds of bomb-shells, sufficient, one

would think, to blow away the whole peninsula. The horticultural and

military mixture is, he continues, very queer: here and there temples

and rustic summer-seats have been raised in the garden, but from

[Illustration: A MOTLEY GROUP IN THE MAIN STREET.

_Page 125._

]

among the flower-pots you are sure to see a great mortar peeping; and

amidst the aloes and geraniums stalks a Highlander, in green petticoat

and scarlet coat. Fatigue-parties are seen winding up the hill, and busy

about the endless cannon-ball plantations; awkward squads drill in every

open space; and sentries are marching to and fro perpetually. Yet the

scene, says Thackeray, is always beautiful; especially at evening, when

the people are sauntering along the walks, and the moon pours its light

on the waters of the Bay and the hills and the twinkling white houses of

the opposite shore. Then the place becomes quite romantic: it is too

dark to see the dust on the dried leaves; the intrusive cannon-balls

have for a while subsided into the shade; the awkward squads are at

rest; even the loungers have retired,--the fan-flirting Spanish ladies,

the sallow black-eyed children, and the trim white-jacketed dandies.

From some craft nestling on the quiet waters comes the sound of fife or

song; or a faint cheer from yonder black steamer at the Mole, which is

bound on some nocturnal voyage. You forget the squalor and motley

character of the town, and deliver yourself up entirely to romance. The

sentries pacing in the moonlight look like feudal knights of old; and

there is music in the old historic challenge, “Who goes there?”

“‘All’s well,’” says Thackeray with humorous exaggeration, “is very

pleasant when sung decently in tune, and inspires noble ideas of duty,

courage, and danger; but when you have it shouted all the night through,

accompanied by a clapping of muskets in a time of profound peace, the

sentinel’s cry becomes no more romantic to the hearer than it is to the

sandy Connaught-man or the barelegged Highlander who delivers it. It is

best to read about wars comfortably in ‘Harry Lorrequer’ or Scott’s

novels, in which knights shout their war-cries, and jovial Irish

bayoneteers hurrah, without depriving you of any blessed rest. Men of a

different way of thinking, however, can suit themselves perfectly at

Gibraltar; where there is marching and counter-marching, challenging and

relieving guard all the night through. And this all over the huge Rock

in the darkness; all through the mysterious zigzags, and round the dark

cannon-ball pyramids, and along the vast rock-galleries, and up to the

topmast flag-staff, where the sentry can look out over two seas, poor

fellows are marching and clapping muskets, and crying, ‘All’s well,’

dressed in cap and feather, in place of honest nightcaps best befitting

the decent hours of sleep.”

Every visitor to Gibraltar makes a point of ascending to the Signal

Station, though the climb is somewhat arduous, and the higher we ascend

the more rugged and rocky becomes the winding path. It must be owned,

however, that the view from the summit repays one for the fatigue of the

ascent. From this point is clearly seen the ridge-like character of the

Rock, dividing it into two steep declivities, which vary considerably in

their character. On the east, as we have already said, nothing is

visible but an inaccessible precipice; on the west, the slope is more

gradual, is broken into terraces, and descends to a narrow level running

parallel with the shore, where cluster the houses of the town and the

villas on its outskirts, with batteries and other defensive works

stretching right away to Europa Point.

Immediately at the foot of the Rock observe the New Mole and the

Dockyard. The works which protect the sea-front of the town extend to

this point, where they are strengthened by the comparatively new

batteries, Victoria and Albert, and the sunken zigzag, poetically named

the “Snake in the Grass.” Beyond lies the sheltered nook of Rosier Bay,

where ships of the line frequently drop anchor; on the high ground above

are situated the Naval Hospital and Barracks. The terraces of Europa and

Windmill Hill next come in sight, with an apparently endless series of

barracks, forts, magazines, officers’ residences, bastions, curtains,

and batteries. Across the Strait the eye rests upon the Spanish fortress

of Ceuta, and the mountain-chain which extends from Tetuan to Tangier.

The visitor may prolong his excursion to the ruins of O’Hara’s Tower,

above Europa Point. It was built by Governor O’Hara as a belvedere, and

forms a picturesque object. Thence, the descent of the eastern side of

the Rock is accomplished by a staircase known as “the Mediterranean

Steps,” which winds and bends and twists around precipice after

precipice, and from point to point, with the Rock above and the blue

expanse of the Mediterranean below. The silence and solitude of the spot

produce a deep impression on the mind, which seems to enter here into an

intimate communion with Nature. We forget the works of man and the

purpose for which the grim Rock is so stoutly held; when, on turning a

sudden angle, we see, at the

[Illustration: O’HARA’S TOWER ON THE SUGAR-LOAF.

_Page 130._

]

extremity of a small platform, and in a situation inaccessible if not

invisible from below, a solitary but formidable gun, commanding Catalan

Bay and the Neutral Ground. At a short distance is another, but of less

calibre. This singular recess is known as the Mediterranean Battery.

* * * * *

So much for the Rock itself. Let us now invite the reader to accompany

us on an excursion to Carteia. We pass through the Lower Lines, which to

the unmilitary eye appear absolutely impregnable, and enter upon the

sandy isthmus of the Neutral Ground. A survey of the works at this point

of access to the mainland convinces us that the Spaniards are justified

in calling it the _Boca del Fuego_, or “Mouth of Fire.” The narrow

causeway which crosses the artificial morass can be blown away at once

by the fortress guns. But even if an enemy overcame this obstacle, he

would find himself confronted by a line of strong batteries, stretching

from the foot of the Rock to the sea, and at the same time exposed to

the cross-fire of three or four rows of guns, placed in tiers along that

side of the precipice. As we continue our way along the Neutral Ground,

we observe that military science has done its utmost to render it

impassable by a hostile force. Willis’s Batteries are planted on a bold

crag, half-way up the Rock, so as to be able to sweep the isthmus with a

withering fire; and the rugged front of the Rock yawns with

fissures,--_los diantes de la vieja_, or “the old lady’s teeth,”--from

each of which frown the black muzzles of heavy guns; while, in addition,

the Old Mole, or “Devil’s Tongue,” projects its threatening mass into

the sea.

The isthmus is a sandy level, with patches of grass and vegetables, two

parallel lines of British and Spanish sentinels, barracks of a squalid

character for the Spanish soldiery, and still more squalid hovels for

Spanish peasants. Here the ruins of Fort St. Philip remind us of the

former existence of Spanish military works of a formidable character.

Philip V. erected in 1751 two advanced forts, now heaps of shattered

masonry; one called after his tutelar saint, Felipe, the other after

Santa Barbara, the patroness of the Spanish artillery. They were so

strong, says Ford, that when the French advanced, in the Peninsular War,

the modern Spaniards, being unable even to destroy them, called in the

aid of our British engineers, under Colonel Harding, by

[Illustration: CATALAN BAY FROM THE MEDITERRANEAN BATTERY.

_Page 131._

]

whom they were effectually dismantled. This is at least _un fait

accompli_, and they never ought to be allowed to be rebuilt, adds Ford,

since to raise works before a fortress is a declaration of war; and as

Buonaparte’s announced intention was to take Gibraltar, Sir Colin

Campbell (afterwards Lord Clyde) was perfectly justified in clearing

them away, even without leave or license from the Spaniards. It was

fortunate for many Spaniards that Campbell effected this work of

destruction, for thus General Ballasteros was saved from annihilation,

when the French pursued him and his undisciplined mob of troops, by

skulking under our guns. Yet no sooner was Ferdinand VII. replaced on

the throne of Spain by British arms, than this man urged him to

reconstruct the lines as both dangerous and offensive to England.

Thereupon said General Don to the Spanish commander at Algesiras, “If

you begin, I will fire a gun; if that won’t do, I shall fire another;

and if you persevere, you shall have a broadside from the galleries.” So

the lines were never rebuilt.

* * * * *

Carteia was in old days a Phœnician colony, situated at the point where

the river Guadaranque enters Gibraltar Bay, and forms a small but

sheltered port. The Phœnicians called it Melcarthes, in honour of their

tutelary god, the African Hercules; and for centuries it flourished as

the emporium of a very extensive commerce. Having fallen into the hands

of the Romans, it was renamed Carteia; and it is mentioned in the annals

of the Second Punic War as an important naval station, and the scene of

a great sea-fight, in which Lælius defeated the Carthaginian Hadherbal,

B.C. 206. Thirty-five years later, the Roman senate assigned it as a

place of residence to upwards of four thousand men, the offspring of

Roman soldiers and Spanish women, who had been manumitted by the prætor

L. Canubius. They amalgamated with such of the inhabitants as chose to

remain, and their city was declared a _Latina colonia libertinorum_.

Such is Livy’s statement.

During the desperate civil war in Spain, Carteia seems to have been the

naval headquarters of Cneius Pompeius, who fled thither after his severe

defeat at Munda, but was compelled to abandon it through the

disaffection of a large portion of its inhabitants, B.C. 45. Betaking

himself to the forests, he was discovered by his pursuers. Weary and

desperate, he flung himself at the foot of a tree, where he was

speedily overtaken, and killed after a miserable struggle.

At the death of Julius Cæsar, Sextus Pompeius collected his adherents at

Carteia, from which he marched at the head of six legions. This is the

last incident of any importance in its history. It appears gradually to

have sunk into decay; its port was forsaken, its commerce disappeared.

After the Moorish invasion its masses of masonry were used as a quarry

for the erection of the Torre de Carthagena, and the Spaniards

afterwards pillaged them for their town of San Roque. Hence its remains

are now of small extent. Corn grows upon the site of the once populous

and wealthy city; and the ruins of its theatre are the only memorials of

its glory.

The city walls may also be traced; they ran parallel with the river, and

then crossed the high ground to the sea-shore. The ancient harbour was

within the river-mouth, the entrance to which is now obstructed by a

bar. It is very narrow, and easily rendered impracticable for hostile

ships. Livy records that when Varus, Pompey’s admiral, was defeated off

the Rock by Didius, he withdrew to the harbour of Carteia, and fixed a

number of anchors or grapnels across its mouth. Against these the ships

of Didius struck, when they attempted to enter; and by this simple

expedient Varus saved his entire fleet from destruction. Two hundred

years ago the ancient mole, with its solid Roman work, was almost

entire; and the ruins of many splendid buildings still existed. No

statues or art-relics have been found; but as Carteia was allowed the

privilege of a mint, the coins dug up have been numerous and

interesting.

An extensive tunny-fishery formerly existed at Carteia.

* * * * *

Returning to Gibraltar, we find that there are still two or three of its

“lions” to be inspected. We have visited neither St. Martin’s Cave nor

the Galleries.

The former is reached by a path not to be recommended to any but the

firm of foot and clear of brain. It passes the Jews’ Cemetery, and then

climbs the eastern side of the Rock, until it reaches a craggy buttress,

which overhangs a tremendous abyss, and commands a fine view of the

southern precipices. Standing there, the adventurous

[Illustration: MARTIN’S CAVE.

_Page 136._

]

spectator takes in a panorama of the Strait from Europa Point to Ceuta,

with the lighthouse rearing its white tower on the wave-washed

promontory, and the white surf of the Atlantic breaking in ripples on

the Mediterranean current.

Still following up the hazardous path, we find that it skirts the brink

of a steep stony slope, descending from the precipice down to the very

water’s edge,--“a truly perilous spot, where a single slip over the

loose pebbles must send us rolling several hundred feet, into the

Mediterranean.” It is said that a boy of Gibraltar, who had conceived

the idea of revenging himself on a schoolfellow, induced him and two

other boys to visit in his company the famous cave. As they approached

this dangerous spot, he exclaimed, “We are _four_ that go up, but only

_three_ will come down!” and hastened to fulfil his prediction by

hurling his victim into the sea below.

Having passed the slope, we creep on our hands and knees through a gap

in the rock, and, a short distance beyond, come upon a narrow ledge,

which proves to be the threshold of the cavern in question. Along this

ledge we ascend to a small oval platform, and thence enter within the

gray obscurity of the cave.

Here is a description of its principal features by an accurate

observer:--

The roof is encrusted with pendent stalactites, and supported by

stalactitic pillars, some of which are solid and massy, others so

slender and delicate that they might have been the work of fairy hands.

In the deepest recesses, a still pool of water, formed by the constant

percolation through the rocky vault, vividly reflects the fantastic

objects above and around it. “The perilousness of the access, the deep

seclusion of the site, hung half-way up a precipice 1400 feet high, with

the inaccessible rock above and the murmuring sea below, make this

cavern as it were a temple, erected by the hand of Nature herself, for

the lonely enthusiast who delights to worship her in her most hidden

solitudes. We continued to wander about, fascinated by the strange

beauty of the spot; and, loath to leave it, lingered until the declining

beams of the sun warned us that we had to return by a path which it

would be difficult, if not dangerous, to retrace in the obscurity of

twilight. Almost dazzled as we emerged into open day, we stood a moment

beneath the dark arched entry, to look out upon the expanse of sea,

glowing in the sun, with a few white feluccas catching its declining

beams; and then creeping cautiously down the narrow ledge by which we

had ascended, began to wend our way towards home.”

* * * * *

To the Galleries the best route is by Willis’s Batteries, which were

finished in 1732, and, from their commanding position, proved

exceedingly annoying to the Spaniards in the Great Siege. The execution

done was so serious, that it led them to form a plan for mining and

blowing them up. They began their operations at the top of a slope,

above the Moorish ruins of the Devil’s Tower, on the north side of the

Rock; but while burrowing through the solid mass were overheard by a

watchful sentinel. He gave the alarm, and the works were quickly

destroyed by the besieged. Having reached a narrow terrace about

half-way up the northern angle, the visitor, as he surveys its face,

discerns a long series of cave-like openings, from which protrude the

black muzzles of cannon, so pointed as to command the Neutral Ground

below. Through an iron gate he now enters into the upper galleries,

which were excavated during the Great Siege, and lead to the Windsor

Galleries, likewise provided with port-holes, as it were, and thence

proceeds by an irregular path to St. George’s Hall. This is excavated

in a mass of rock, which externally resembles a projecting dome, and

here at the eastern angle corresponds with the craggy platform of

Willis’s Batteries at the western. Its dimensions are considerable, and

on more than one occasion it has been used as a banqueting-chamber. Lord

Nelson was entertained here prior to the battle of Trafalgar.

We now take leave of Gibraltar, its town, its fortifications, its

Alameda, its rock-hewn batteries, repeating the fine sonnet of

Archbishop Trench:--

GIBRALTAR.

“England! we love thee better than we know;

And this I learned when, after wanderings long

’Mid people of another stock and tongue,

I heard again thy martial music blow,

And saw thy gallant children to and fro

Pace, keeping ward at one of these huge gates

Which like twin giants watch the Herculean straits.

When first I came in sight of that brave shore,

It made my very heart within me dance

To think that thou thy proud foot shouldst advance

Forward so far into the mighty sea.

Joy was it and exultation to behold

Thine ancient standard’s rich emblazonry,

A glorious picture by the wind unrolled.”

It is, doubtless, with such feelings as these described by the poet that

most Englishmen will gaze upon the famous Rock; though there are not

[Illustration: ST. GEORGE’S HALL.

_Page 139._

]

wanting philanthropists to remind us that it rightfully belongs to

Spain, and that our possession of it is an insult to a friendly power.

Had we surrendered it, however, it would probably have been seized by

France; and it is not so much for our own interests we hold it as for

those of Europe. While the British flag waves from its summit, it is a

sign and symbol that the Mediterranean will be the free highway of all

nations.

CHAPTER II.

EARLY HISTORY OF THE ROCK.

To the earliest navigators who penetrated westward the Rock must have

been a conspicuous landmark, and we have seen what fables were gradually

associated with it. Suddenly rising, erect and defiant, from the

mainland, with the waters whitening in surf at its very base, and

apparently defining the boundary of the inhabitable world, it is no

wonder that men learned to invest it with a certain mystery and awe. Its

records, however, at the outset, are vague and conjectural. We are told

that the Phœnicians called it “Alabe,” which the Greeks corrupted into

“Calpe;” but the true meaning of the name is quite uncertain. According

to an ancient writer, it signifies “a lofty mountain;” and some modern

authorities connect it with the well-known root Alp. Others identify it

with a word which in the south of Spain occurred in the various forms of

Carp-e, Cart-eia, and Tartessus.

Strabo speaks of a city of Calpe, situated about four and a quarter

miles from the Rock, which was formerly an important naval station of

the Iberians. Some say, he adds, that it was founded by Heracles, and

anciently named Heracleia; and that the great circuit of its walls and

its docks could be seen in his time. It is a moot point with antiquaries

whether Calpe and Carteia were one and the same city.

The present name of the Rock is derived from Jebel-Tarik, or “hill of

Tarik,”--so called from the Moorish conqueror who landed here, April 30,

711.

Every reader of Southey will be familiar with his tragic poem of

“Roderick, the Last of the Goths,” and will remember the story on which

it is founded,--how that Roderick, the Gothic king of Spain, betrayed

the daughter of Count Julian, the governor of Ceuta; and how that the

latter, to revenge his dishonoured house, allied himself with Muza, the

Moorish ruler of West Africa, to accomplish the conquest of his native

land:--

“Mad to wreak

His vengeance for his violated child

On Roderick’s head, in evil hour for Spain,

For that unhappy daughter and himself,

Desperate apostate, on the Moors he called;

And like a cloud of locusts, which the South

Wafts from the plains of wasted Africa,

The Mussulmen upon Iberia’s shore

Descend.

Muza, having obtained the sanction of the Caliph Al Walid Ebn

Abdalmslik, sent over a small force of 100 horse and 400 foot to examine

the country, and the best line of operations for an army. This advanced

guard was commanded by Tarik Ebn Zarca, a veteran warrior of high

repute, who crossed the Strait, accompanied by Count Julian, and landed

on the Spanish shore near the present Spanish town of Algesiras. Meeting

with no opposition, he ravaged the neighbouring towns, and, loaded with

plunder, returned to Africa.

Incited by the prospect of absolute success, Muza collected in the

following year a well-equipped army of 12,000 men, to the command of

which Tarik was appointed. Embarking on board a large flotilla, he once

more crossed the Strait, and, this time, landed on the sandy isthmus

which connects the Rock with the Spanish mainland. Before entering on

the conquest of the country, he deemed it advisable to secure his

communication with Africa, by establishing a strong military position

on the coast; and his keen eye having at once detected the value of the

Rock, he ordered a castle to be raised upon it. Some portions of this

ancient structure still remain; and an inscription discovered over the

principal gate, before it was demolished, recorded the completion of the

work in 725.

“Thou, Calpe, saw’st their coming; ancient rock

Renowned, no longer now shalt thou be called

From gods and heroes of the years of yore,

Kronos, or hundred-handed Briareus,

Bacchus or Hercules; but doomed to bear

The name of thy new conqueror, and thenceforth

To stand his everlasting monument.

Thou saw’st the dark-blue waters flash before

Their ominous way, and whiten round their keels;

Their swarthy myriads darkening o’er thy sands.

There on the beach the Misbelievers spread

Their banners, flaunting to the sun and breeze;

Fair shone the sun upon their proud array,

White turbans, glittering armour, shields engrailed

With gold, and scymitars of Syrian steel;

And gently did the breezes, as in sport,

Curl their long flags outrolling, and display

The blazoned scrolls of blasphemy. Too soon

The gales of Spain from that unhappy land

Wafted, as from an open charnel-house,

The taint of death; and that bright sun, from fields

Of slaughter, with the morning dew drew up

Corruption through the infected atmosphere.”

Leaving a small force at the foot of Jebel-Tarik, as the Saracens named

the Rock, in honour of their leader, Tarik pushed forward to the

westward, captured Carteia, and encountered the Goths, under King

Roderick, near Xeres in Andalusia. The battle was fiercely contested.

The Goths fought with all their old valour, and victory might have

rested with King Roderick, had not some of his nobles, with their

followers, deserted him at the crisis of the fight, and joined the

invaders. The Goths then gave way, and the Moors pressing them closely,

their retreat soon became a headlong flight.

“Eight summer days, from morn till latest eve,

The fatal fight endured, till perfidy

Prevailing to their overthrow, they sank

Defeated, not dishonoured. On the banks

Of Chrysus, Roderick’s royal car[4] was found,

His battle-horse Orelio, and that helm

Whose horns, amid the thickest of the fray,

Eminent, had marked his presence. Did the stream

Receive him with the undistinguished dead,

Christian and Moor, who clogged its course that day?

So thought the conqueror, and from that day forth,

Memorial of his perfect victory,

He bade the river bear the name of Joy.”[5]

Flushed with victory, Tarik advanced into the country, and meeting with

no organized attempt at opposition, rapidly made himself master of the

provinces of Asturias, Biscay, and of the interior of Spain. The Goths,

driven into the mountains, gradually settled down into little

communities, which after a while were attracted towards one another by

the common sentiment of patriotism and hostility towards the infidels.

Then they descended from their mountain-recesses, and after a protracted

series of contests succeeded in expelling the Moors from the northern

provinces. Encouraged by this success, the chiefs allied themselves

together for the purpose of driving them wholly out of Spain; and this

being accomplished, they founded the several independent kingdoms of

Leon, Galicia, Asturias, Navarre, and Castile.

Meantime, Gibraltar had increased in importance, though at that time it

was surpassed by the neighbouring town of Algesiras. Early in the

fourteenth century, however, Ferdinand, King of Castile, wrested it

from its Moorish garrison, and it remained in the hands of the Spaniards

until 1333. Then Abomelique, son of the Sultan of Fez, having landed on

the coast with a force to assist the Moorish king of Granada,

immediately attacked the fortress of the Rock, and captured it after a

brave resistance. The Spanish troops fought with determined resolution,

and surrendered at the approach of famine rather than to the summons of

the enemy.

Alonzo XI., King of Castile, was hastening to the relief of the

beleaguered stronghold, when news of its capitulation reached him. He

resolved to attempt its recapture before the Moors could throw in

provisions or repair and strengthen its defences. Pressing forward with

great rapidity, he arrived before Gibraltar on the fifth day after its

surrender. Dividing his army into three sections, he posted the main

body on the isthmus, a second on the Red Sands, while the third occupied

the north side of the Rock above the town. He made several desperate

efforts to storm the castle, but each time was repulsed with severe

loss; and eventually found himself in the position of the besieger

besieged--the king of Granada uniting his forces with those of

Abomelique, and encamping in the rear of the Spaniards so as to raise a

formidable barrier across the isthmus from the Bay to the Mediterranean,

and cut off their supplies of provisions. For a few days longer Alonzo

desperately pressed his attacks; but at length was compelled by famine

to open up negotiations with the Moorish chiefs, which resulted in his

being allowed to retire with his troops, unmolested. Soon afterwards the

Christians surprised the Moorish camp, and Abomelique was slain. His

father avenged his death by falling upon the Spanish fleet, which he

completely destroyed; but Alonzo was still bent on the recovery of

Gibraltar, and in 1349 collected a powerful army for this purpose. His

task was more difficult than on the previous occasion, the Moors having

greatly added to the strength of the fortifications, and garrisoned it

with their best troops.

It was in the spring of the year that Alonzo sat down before Gibraltar,

and he conducted the siege with great vigour, harassing the garrison

with constant attacks and incessant storms of missiles, and intercepting

their communications by land and sea. He was on the point of success

when the plague broke out in his camp, sweeping away thousands of his

soldiers, and carrying off himself on the 26th of March 1350. The siege

was immediately raised, and the Crescent still shone luridly from the

battlements of the fortress-crowned Rock. But dissensions breaking out

among the Moors themselves, the castle was seized, in 1410, by Jusef

III., King of Granada. His rule, however, proved so distasteful to the

inhabitants that they rose against him, compelled his garrison to

retire, and then implored the Emperor of Morocco to take them under his

protection. The emperor despatched his brother Said to their assistance

with 1000 horse and 2000 foot; but the King of Granada was unwilling to

surrender his prize, and assembled a fleet and army which speedily

compelled the unfortunate Said to capitulate.

* * * * *

After an interval of a quarter of a century, the hopes of the Spaniards

once more turned towards the famous Rock, which had been the object of

so many vicissitudes. In 1435 Henry de Guzman, Count de Niebla, resolved

to invest it by land and sea; but having disembarked from his galleys,

and attacked the Moors, before his son John had brought up the

land-forces, he was driven back pell-mell into the sea, and with many of

his followers perished. In 1462, John de Guzman had the satisfaction of

avenging his father’s death. A civil war had broken out in Moorish

Granada, and a considerable portion of the Gibraltar garrison had been

withdrawn to strengthen the army of one of the aspirants to the crown.

The governor of Tarifa, apprised of the opportunity thus offered,

rapidly collected a body of Spanish troops and appeared before

Gibraltar. The inhabitants defended it bravely; but John de Guzman

arriving with reinforcements for the besieging army, they surrendered,

and the Cross supplanted the Crescent after a period of seven hundred

and forty-eight years. This event was so grateful to Henry IV., King of

Castile and Leon, that he added Gibraltar to his royal titles, and

bestowed upon the fortress the armorial bearings of a castle, _gules_,

proper, with a key pendent to the gate, _or_,--thereby indicating that

Gibraltar was the key to the Mediterranean. Don Pedro de Perras was

appointed governor; but the post was afterwards given to Don John de

Guzman, who seems to have held it as a semi-independent fief until 1502,

when, in the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, it was reclaimed by the

Crown.

In 1589 its fortifications were extended and modernized by the imperial

engineer, Daniel Speckel: from which date it was regarded as

impregnable, until Sir George Rooke dispelled the long-cherished

delusion.

* * * * *

In concluding our brief description of Gibraltar, and our summary of its

history, we may allude to its intimate connection with the naval annals

of Great Britain. How often have our fleets sailed forth from under its

guns to encounter the armaments of hostile Powers; how often have they

returned victorious, carrying with them the trophies of their prowess!

Let us glance for a moment at the most brilliant of these triumphs; that

last crowning victory of Nelson’s, off Trafalgar, which was won almost

within sight of the celebrated Strait. A memorable victory, for it swept

the French and Spanish flags from the sea, while it defeated Napoleon’s

masterly combination by which he had hoped to have effected the invasion

of England.

The French and Spanish fleets, under Admiral Villeneuve, were lying in

Cadiz, closely watched by Nelson, with an inferior force, when Napoleon

sent them an imperative order to put to sea. Against his better

judgment, Villeneuve weighed anchor on the 19th and 20th of October

1805, and forming in five divisions,--in all 33 sail of the line and 3

frigates, mounting 2626 guns,--stood for the mouth of the Strait. This

was the opportunity Nelson long had wished for; and with his 27 ships of

the line and 6 frigates, carrying 2148 guns, he sailed in immediate

pursuit. When, on the 21st, the French admiral became aware of the

approach of the British, and discovered that it was impossible to avoid

an engagement, he drew up his ships in array of battle,--forming a

double and even a treble line, nearly five miles in length, and

resembling a curve, or half-moon.

Meanwhile, Nelson advanced with his ships arrayed in two columns, and

pressing forward under a cloud of canvas; Collingwood leading the

leeward division in the _Royal Sovereign_, and Nelson himself the

weather line in the _Victory_. The wind was blowing freshly from the

west, and a heavy swell rolled along the sea. At this moment the great

English Sea-King withdrew to his cabin, where he drew up a memorandum of

a domestic character, and wrote the following prayer, evidently under

the influence of a presentiment of coming death:--

“May the great God, whom I worship, grant to my country, and for the

benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory, and may no

misconduct in any one tarnish it; and may humanity after victory be the

predominant feature in the British fleet! For myself, individually, I

commit my life to Him that made me; and may His blessing alight on my

endeavours for serving my country faithfully! To Him I resign myself,

and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend. Amen. Amen.

Amen.”

Dressed in his customary well-worn uniform, with the four time-tarnished

stars of the orders he generally wore, Nelson went upon deck. Aware that

in the ensuing battle his life would be specially aimed at, his captain,

Hardy, implored him not to lead his division into the storm, and he

reluctantly consented that the _Leviathan_ and _Timéraire_ should pass

ahead. But while he issued the necessary order, he took good care it

should prove fruitless. The _Victory_ was a swift sailer, and could not

fail to keep the lead, unless she shortened sail. But it was evident

that Nelson delighted in crowding on all the canvas his spars could

carry. Confident of victory, he turned with a smile to Captain

Blackwood, and asked how many ships of the enemy’s he should consider a

fair triumph? Blackwood, knowing how well they fought, answered that he

thought fourteen would be a glorious result. “I shall not be satisfied,”

said Nelson, “with less than twenty.”

The British fleet was rapidly closing up with the enemy, when, at about

twenty minutes to twelve, Nelson again turned to Captain Blackwood,

observing that it appeared to him some other signal was wanting. He

paused a few moments, and then directed the signal-lieutenant to

proclaim to the fleet that fine historic thought,--

“England expects every man will do his duty!”

As soon as its purport was understood by the fleet, a strong and earnest

cheer arose, which showed with how heroic an enthusiasm the British were

going into the storm and stress of battle. Shortly afterwards Captain

Blackwood, having to return to his frigate, the _Euryalus_, shook his

commander by the hand, and expressed a hope he should return to

congratulate him on the capture of twenty prizes. “God bless you,

Blackwood,” said the admiral; “I shall never see you again.”

The division under Nelson had to bear away to the north, in order to get

between Cadiz and the enemy. Thus it came to pass that Collingwood’s

division first joined battle,--his flag-ship, the _Royal Sovereign_,

breaking the enemy’s line at ten minutes past twelve, luffing under the

stern of the _Santa Anna_, and pouring into her a tremendous broadside.

Three others of the enemy then gathered round the British man-of-war,

hurling at her such a hurricane of shot that they were seen to strike

each other in the air. “Rotherham,” said Collingwood to his captain,

“what would not Nelson give to be here now?” Almost at the same time,

Nelson, on board the _Victory_, exclaimed, “See how that noble fellow

Collingwood takes his ship into action!”

Ten minutes later, the _Victory_ broke the enemy’s line to the

northward, and was soon receiving the fire of no fewer than six ships.

The incessant discharges were murderous, and men fell quickly. With

upwards of fifty killed and wounded, and her sails torn into ribbons,

the _Victory_ still drove through the enemy, completely breaking up

their trim array; her example being followed by each man-of-war as it

came up. The battle was at its fiercest when the _Victory_ came into

collision with the _Redoubtable_, which she engaged with her starboard

guns, while she directed her larboard on the _Bucentaure_ and

_Trinidad_. A constant rattle of musketry was maintained from the tops

of the _Redoubtable_, which were filled with soldiers. In a few minutes

the dead encumbered the gangways and quarter-deck of the _Victory_,

while her cockpit was filled with wounded. Meantime, Nelson and Hardy

continued to pace to and fro along a space of deck not more than seven

yards in length; and at about twenty-five minutes past one, just as they

had reached within a pace of the regular turning-point, Nelson, who was

on the larboard side, faced about, and, before Hardy could support him,

fell. “They have done for me at last, Hardy!” he exclaimed. “I hope

not,” answered the captain. “Yes; my backbone is shot through.” A

musket-ball from the mizzen-top of the _Redoubtable_ had entered his

left shoulder through the fore part of the epaulet, and descending,

lodged in the spine. He was removed to the cockpit, and examined by the

surgeons. The wound was mortal. All was done that could be done to

alleviate his sufferings; and he lingered until half-past four, when,

murmuring, “Thank God, I have done my duty!” the greatest seaman of this

or any age passed away.

And passed away in the arms of victory. His daring manœuvre had been

completely successful; and out of the formidable fleet which

represented the united power of France and Spain, nineteen men-of-war

were captured. Trafalgar gave the supremacy of the sea to Great Britain.

* * * * *

Gibraltar--Trafalgar! These are names which will stir the heart of every

Englishman, so long as patriotism is recognized as a virtue,--so long as

England’s sons continue to cherish England’s honour.

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FOOTNOTES:

[1] A range of granite mountains in Argyllshire is similarly named the

“Duke of Argyll’s Bowling-Green.”

[2] These are reprinted in “Tales from Blackwood.”

[3] An Italian officer, who served on board the combined fleet, may

here be quoted in reference to the failure of these experiments:--“Our

hopes of ultimate success became less sanguine,” he says, “when, at two

o’clock, the floating battery commanded by the Prince of Nassau (on

board of which was also the engineer who had invented the machinery)

began to smoke on the side exposed to the garrison, and it was

apprehended she had taken fire. The firing, however, continued till

we could perceive the fortifications had sustained some damage; but

at seven o’clock all our hopes vanished. The fire from our floating

batteries entirely ceased, and rickets were thrown up as signals of

distress. In short, the red-hot balls from the garrison had by this

time taken such good effect, that nothing now was thought of but saving

the crews, and the boats of the combined fleet were immediately sent

on that service. A little after midnight, the floating battery which

had been the first to show symptoms of conflagration burst out into

flames, upon which the fire from the Rock was increased with terrific

vengeance; the light produced from the flames was equal to noonday,

and greatly exposed the boats of the fleet in removing the crews.

During the night one or other of these batteries was discovered to be

on fire; they were so close to the walls that the balls pierced into

them full three feet, but being made of solid beds of green timber,

the holes closed up after the shot, and for want of air they did not

immediately produce the effect. At five A.M. one of them blew up with

a very great explosion, and soon after the whole of them, having been

abandoned by their crews, were on fire fore and aft, and many of their

gallant fellows were indebted to the exertions of the English for their

lives.”--BARROW, “Life of Admiral Earl Howe.”

[4] The following quaint description of the royal car may interest

the reader:--“The wheels were made of the bones of elephants, and the

axle-tree was of fine silver, and the perch was of fine gold. It was

drawn by two horses, who were of great size, and gentle; and upon the

car was pitched a tent, so large that it covered the whole car, and it

was of fine cloth of gold, upon which were wrought all the great feats

in arms which had been achieved until that time; and the pillar of the

tent was of gold, and many stones of great value were set in it, which

sent forth such splendour, that by night there was no need of any other

light therein. And the car and the horses bore the same adornments

as the king, and these were full of jewels the largest that could be

found. And in the middle of the car there was a seat placed against the

pillar of the tent; and this seat was of great price, insomuch that the

value of it cannot be summed up, so many and so great were the stones

which were set in it; and it was wrought so subtly, and of such rare

workmanship, that they who saw it marvelled thereat. And upon this seat

the king was seated, being lifted up so high that all in the host,

little or great, might behold him. And in this manner it was appointed

that the king should go to war.”

[5] The river Guadelete.