THE ROCK OF GIBRALTAR
"This is better than lying on one's back in hospital, sir, and better
than dodging about in a close-packed transport."
The words came from George Fairburn, as with his officer, Lieutenant
Fieldsend, he stood surveying, from its northern vicinity, the
far-famed Rock of Gibraltar. It was the summer of 1704. His doings
since the day of his injuries in the dingle are soon recorded. After
months of sickness and a winter of inaction, his service under Lord
Galway had come to an end, much to his disgust at first. With others,
he had been sent on board a vessel and carried round the coast of
Spain to the neighbourhood of Barcelona, where Sir George Rooke was
operating. The new troops had arrived too late. The Admiral,
despairing of making any impression on the strongly-fortified
Barcelona, was about to sail for home. On the way the idea had come to
Sir George that the commanding fortress of Gibraltar would be worth
trying for. He had accordingly landed a number of troops on the narrow
isthmus of flat land that joins the rock and town of Gibraltar to the
mainland.
"Yes, Fairburn," the lieutenant replied, with a laugh, "my Lord Galway
foretold that you had work cut out for you. Here it is, I fancy, and
plenty of it."
It was a striking sight on which the two friends looked--for though
the one was but a private and the other a commissioned officer, yet by
this time Fieldsend and Fairburn had begun their life-long friendship.
Away in front of them towered the huge irregular mass called the Rock
of Gibraltar, or, more commonly, simply "the Rock," with the little
town clustered at its base and on its gentler slopes. To their right
was the indentation in the coast known as the Bay of Gibraltar, which
was protected by a long stone-built jetty, the Old Mole. From this
protection ran a stout sea defence called the Line Wall, with two or
three strong bastions. This wall ended at another projection, the New
Mole. But neither the Line Wall nor the New Mole was visible from the
spot where George and his superior stood. Filling all the narrow neck
of connecting ground were the allied forces just landed, five thousand
of them. Immediately in front stood the only outlet from the city on
its north side, the Land Point gate.
"I wish they would settle the thing, and either let us get to work or
else re-embark for home," George said, as he sat in what shade he
could find to defend himself against the fierce blaze of the sun.
"I am with you there, Fairburn," the lieutenant agreed, with a yawn.
The speakers were alluding to the answer that was expected at any
moment from the garrison within. A formal demand had been made to the
Governor for the surrender of the fortress to the Archduke Charles,
"the rightful King of Spain." This was on the twenty-first of July,
1704. The demand had been made on the part of the Allies by the Prince
of Hesse-Darmstadt, who was present with three Dutch admirals and
several Dutch ships. The English admirals concerned in the siege were,
besides Sir George Rooke, the chief of them, Byng, Sir Cloudesley
Shovel, and Leake. Many famous ships were in the Bay or rode off the
Rock, including Rooke's own vessel, the _Royal Catherine_, and
Shovel's still more famous _Barfleur_.
The day wore to its close, the guards were posted, and the men
prepared for rest. Then there came the long-expected answer from the
Marquis de Salinas, the Governor of the fortress. It was a stout and
dignified refusal. He and his men had sworn allegiance to King Philip,
the old fellow said, and in Philip's name he held the town and Rock of
Gibraltar, and would continue to hold them as long as he could.
"That looks like business," cried George, gleefully, to a little group
of his comrades around, and the men smiled at the eager enthusiasm of
the lad. The orders were passed round that the attack should begin
with daybreak on the following morning, and the soldiers went to roost
at once, with easy minds. It was believed that the attack would be but
a harmless bit of child's-play, as it was more than suspected that the
defending force within the town was very small, though how
ridiculously small it really was none of the besiegers at the time
even guessed.
"Turn out, mate," cried one of the soldiers, shaking George vigorously
by the shoulder, and the boy sprang up to find everybody astir.
"How I do sleep in this hot country!" he yawned, to which the sergeant
replied with a laugh, "It'll be hotter still before long, my lad,
never fear."
It was a long time before the first shot was fired, however, the
disposition of the troops and the guns not being complete. At length a
movement was made. The _Dorsetshire_, with Captain Whitaker in
command, was sent to capture a French privateer with twelve guns,
which lay at the Old Mole, and the boom of cannon rose in the air.
Presently, from near the spot where Lieutenant Fieldsend and his
little company were posted, a shot was fired into the fortifications;
then another, and afterwards a third. Work had begun at last.
A puff, a boom in the distance, and there came screaming through the
air a big round shot, striking the ground, ploughing it up, and
covering those near with dust and dirt.
"Quite near enough, eh, sir?" George observed to his lieutenant, as
they shook the earth from their clothing. "And, by Jove, there's
another of them!" A second shot flew just overhead, to do its deadly
work on the unfortunate men who stood immediately behind. George
Fairburn's first task in the siege was to help to carry to the rear
two or three badly wounded men. On the ground lay a couple who needed
no surgeon.
As yet only a few preliminary shots had been fired into the fortress,
but the defenders were evidently quite ready with their reply, and the
order for a general attack rang out. Within a few minutes the fight
was raging in terrible fashion. From land and sea alike the shot
poured into the town; sailor and soldier joining, and often standing
side by side. As George afterwards expressed it, "any man set his hand
to any job there was to do." Sailors were to be seen on land in many
places, while not a few soldiers helped with the firing on board the
ships.
All that long morning, however, George Fairburn worked at the gun to
which he had been assigned. Black with smoke, powder, dust,
perspiration, the lad toiled among his companions. For an hour or two
none of the enemy's shots fell very near the spot. But at length, and
almost suddenly, the balls began to fly in too close proximity to be
pleasant. Shot after shot fell within a yard or two of the gun, and
not a few gallant fellows dropped to earth dead or wounded.
"By Jupiter!" cried the lieutenant, who was assisting, "they have got
our measure at last! I wonder what it is that makes us so
conspicuous."
Then, looking round, he beheld behind them, and not five yards
distant, a small clump of elder on which some man had tossed the
flaming red shirt he had thrown off in the broiling heat.
"Ah!" Fieldsend ejaculated, "there's the offender."
He sprang away and whipped the tell-tale garment from its bush. Just
as he seized it another shot came, striking the gun in front, entirely
disabling the weapon, and then bounding off. When the men, hastily
scattered by the mishap, looked for the lieutenant, he was observed
lying in front of the bush.
"Dead!" one of the fellows cried.
"No," answered George, whose keen eyes detected a movement of the
officer's arm, "but he soon will be, if he is left lying there!"
Another shot struck the bush, only just missing the body of the
prostrate man. In a moment George darted forward towards the place, in
spite of the loud warning shouts of his mates.
He reached the spot, seized Fieldsend by the shoulders, and by main
force dragged him quickly a dozen yards to the right. It was a heavy
task, but the lad was as sturdy a fellow of his years as one might
have found in a week's march, and his efforts were rewarded with a
cheer from his comrades.
While the shouts were still ringing, yet one more shot came, this time
striking the exact spot where the lieutenant had a moment before been
lying, and ploughing up the little elder bush by its roots.
"As plucky a job as ever I see!" cried the sergeant, running up with
three or four others, and he slapped George on the back with a
heartiness that made the lad wince.
The wounded man was hastily carried off the field.
"More stunned than hurt," reported the surgeon, "a nasty tap on the
left shoulder; but he'll be all right in a day or so."
Within half an hour George Fairburn found himself on board the
_Dorsetshire_, to assist in the operations against the New Mole. The
signal had come to Captain Whitaker to proceed against that place, and
the ship was headed for the spot. To the surprise of those on board,
they perceived two other ships in advance of them; they were the
_Yarmouth_, Captain Hicks, and the _Lennox_, Captain Jumper, a gallant
pair. Boats from the two vessels were perceived hastening to the
shore. The crews landed, and almost immediately their feet touched
ground a dense cloud was seen to fly up into the air, followed by a
deafening explosion.
"A mine!" rose from a hundred throats, as the _Dorsetshire_ men
watched with straining eyes. It was true; two score gallant fellows
were afterwards found lying on the fatal ground.
With a determined rush the _Dorsetshire_ men fell upon the defenders,
and George found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand encounter. It was
all over in a few minutes; the handful of Spaniards could not stand
against so powerful a force, and the New Mole was taken. Hot and
exited, the men were carried against Jumper's Bastion, a strong work a
little to the north of the New Mole, and that place, too, was rushed
in an incredibly short space of time, and with scarcely any loss worth
the naming. From this time George Fairburn kept no count of the long
series of exciting incidents that followed each other, the assault
having been carried to the Line Wall that stretched away northwards to
the Old Mole.
The attack when at its height was a terrible affair. Sixteen English
ships under the immediate command of Byng, and six Dutch men-of-war
under Admiral Vanderdusen, faced the Line Wall, while three more
English vessels were off the New Mole.
[Illustration: George found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand
encounter.]
No place so meagrely manned with defenders as was Gibraltar could long
stand such an attack, and at length the two Moles, and the long Line
Wall between them, were in the hands of the Allies. Of all the
attacking party none showed more vigorous and fearless dash than a
certain lad of sturdy build, and Hicks himself perceived the fact.
"Who is that boy in your company?" he enquired of the sergeant.
"Name Fairburn, sir," was the reply; "all along he's been a hot
member," to which the captain said with a smile, as he turned away,
"He most certainly is."
The next day was a saints' day, and it was strongly suspected, and at
length clearly perceived, that the Spanish sentinels had left their
posts and gone off to mass. It would have been easy to carry the place
at once, but the necessary storming had been done, and the allied
commanders were only waiting for the besieged to give the signal of
capitulation. The besiegers, soldiers and sailors, had nothing to do
but chat.
Presently some of the sailors declared that it would be a prime joke
to climb the heights and plant their flag there. The notion was taken
up, and presently the temptation grew irresistible to certain of them,
and with merry chuckles the fellows prepared for the task, an
enterprise that was risky in the extreme.
"I'm one of you!" cried George Fairburn, as he followed the handful of
sailors to the foot of the steep rock.
"And I!" chimed in yet another voice, and, to George's astonishment,
Lieutenant Fieldsend ran up, his arm in a sling.
"Better go back, sir," exclaimed the lad, gazing up at the towering
cliff in front of them.
"Better both on ye go back, I reckon," growled one of the sailors;
"this ain't no job for a landsman."
Nothing heeding this rebuff, the two soldiers followed up the steep
rock, George giving a hand at the worst spots to his friend and
superior. Up, up, the scaling party mounted, the business becoming
every moment more difficult and more full of danger. More than once
the gallant fellows-in front paused and declared that further progress
was impossible.
"Oh, go on!" called out George, impatiently, on one of these
occasions, from below, where he was helping up the lieutenant, "or
else let me come," he added, grumblingly.
The sailor lads needed no spur, however, and amid growing excitement
the summit of their bit of cliff was perceived not far away. In the
dash for the top the active lad passed his fellows in the race,
catching up the foremost man, who held the flag. Seizing the staff,
George Fairburn assisted in the actual planting of the colours. There,
fluttering at the very summit of the Rock, was the English flag, its
unfolding hailed with bursts of cheering, again and again repeated,
from the throngs far below.
The deed was done, and from that day, the twenty-third of July, 1704,
according to the old reckoning, the third of August by the new style,
the British flag has floated from the Rock of Gibraltar.
Desperate efforts were made by the garrison to haul down the flag, but
they all failed, and the Governor capitulated. The Prince of
Hesse-Darmstadt was for claiming the fortress, but this Rooke would
not have, and he promptly declared the Rock to be the possession of
his august mistress, Queen Anne. Those of the defenders who were
prepared to take the oath of allegiance to Charles III were permitted
to remain, the rest for the most part retired to St. Roque.
The handful of harum-scarum fellows who had scaled the heights and
planted the flag before long found themselves facing the great Admiral
Sir George Rooke himself, on his quarter-deck, Lieutenant Fieldsend
and George Fairburn being of the party. The admiral said a few words
of commendation; few as they were, they were a full reward for all the
efforts the little band had made. Rooke kept the lieutenant behind for
a moment.
"What do you propose to do now, Mr. Lieutenant?" he inquired, with
much kindly condescension; "our work is about finished, and we are
proceeding home."
"By you leave, Sir George," the young man replied, with flushed face,
"I should like to join his Grace the Duke in the Netherlands, and so
would the lad Fairburn."
"Good," said the Admiral, approvingly, "we will see what can be done
when we reach Portsmouth. I have heard something of the boy's doings.
He will go far, if he is fortunate."
Accordingly, when, after a great fight with the French fleet under the
formidable Count of Toulouse, off Malaga, a doubtful affair, the
English ships reached home, the lieutenant and George at once offered
for service under the Duke, and were accepted. They sailed away again,
for the Netherlands, Fieldsend carrying in his pocket a few words of
recommendation from Sir George to the commander-in-chief himself.
The year 1703 had been a sorry year for Marlborough. In the winter he
had lost his son, the Marquis of Blandford, a promising youth, a
Cambridge student. When the spring operations began, he had found
himself hampered at every turn by the jealousies and oppositions of
the Dutch rulers and their commanders. In despair, Marlborough had
marched up the Rhine and taken Bonn. Meanwhile the French were
striving to reach Vienna, there to attack the Emperor. Returning, the
Duke was all eager to attack the great port and stronghold of Antwerp,
the capture of which would be a heavy blow to Louis. He had, however,
to content himself with seizing Huy, Limburg, and Guilders, a success
more than counterbalanced by the defeat of the Emperor at Hochstädt,
by the French and Bavarians. Disheartened and disgusted, Marlborough
went home at the end of the summer, and it was only by the strong
persuasion of Lord Godolphin, now at the helm of state, that he
retained his command at all. As a set-off against all these
disappointments, there were two matters for rejoicing. The alliance
with Portugal has already been mentioned; now there came the accession
to the Allies of Savoy, for the Duke of Savoy had quarrelled with
Louis.
With intense interest, Lieutenant Fieldsend and George Fairburn heard,
on landing in the Netherlands, of the great victory of Blenheim that
had just been gained by the Allies under Marlborough, against the
combined French and Bavarian forces, commanded by the famous generals
Tallard and Marsin, and the two young soldiers hoped to learn more of
the great fight when they reached the front.
"What a bit of ill-luck not to have been there in time, sir!" George
exclaimed.
The boy had, during his stay in hospital at Lisbon, communicated with
his parents at home, and, to his delight, had received their consent
to his following the profession of a soldier. "It is useless to stand
in the boy's way," the elder Fairburn had said, "though I could have
wished he had taken up almost any other trade." So the lad had no
hesitation in thus taking service in the army once more.
When the two, in company with others, reached head quarters,
Lieutenant Fieldsend presented the letter he held from Sir George
Rooke, and was received with the utmost pleasantness by the great
Duke.
"Humph, Mr. Fieldsend," Marlborough began, when he had glanced over
the contents of the short epistle. "You are a lucky young fellow to
have got Sir George's good word. But where is the lad he speaks
of--Fairburn, I see?"
"Just outside, your Grace," was the reply, and at a nod the lieutenant
fetched George in.
The Duke scanned the boy's ruddy face and took note of his sturdy
figure.
"My lad," he began, "you have begun early. Do you know what request
Sir George makes in this note?"
"No, sir--my Lord Duke," George stammered in reply, his knees almost
shaking under him.
"He recommends you for a commission as ensign," the Duke said quietly,
the boy standing almost open-mouthed. "We will give you a short trial
first, for as yet we don't know you. No doubt we soon shall." And the
great man smiled.
He rapped smartly on the table and an aide-de-camp entered the tent,
saluting.
"Here, Mr. Blackett," Marlborough gave the order, "take this lad to
your captain, who will see that he is enrolled in your company."
The next moment George Fairburn was shaking the other hard by the
hand, the astonishment on both sides too great to admit of a word
between them.