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              GIBRALTAR

  [Illustration: THE ALAMEDA PARADE.]

              GIBRALTAR

                  BY
            Henry M. Field

             _ILLUSTRATED_

    LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, Limited.
                 1889.
        [_All rights reserved._]

                TROW'S
    PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
               NEW YORK.

         To My Friend and Neighbor
          IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS,
             JOSEPH H. CHOATE,
     WHO FINDS IT A RELIEF NOW AND THEN
   TO TURN FROM THE HARD LABORS OF THE LAW
         TO THE ROMANCE OF TRAVEL:
       I SEND AS A CHRISTMAS PRESENT
       A STORY OF FORTRESS AND SIEGE
       THAT MAY BEGUILE A VACANT HOUR
  AS HE SITS BEFORE HIS WINTER EVENING FIRE.

PREFACE.

The common tour in Spain does not include Gibraltar. Indeed it is not
a part of Spain, for, though connected with the Spanish Peninsula, it
belongs to England; and to one who likes to preserve a unity in his
memories of a country and people, this modern fortress, with its English
garrison, is not "in color" with the old picturesque kingdom of the
Goths and Moors. Nor is it on the great lines of travel. It is not
touched by any railroad, and by steamers only at intervals of days, so
that it has come to be known as a place which it is at once difficult
to get to and to get away from. Hence easy-going travellers, who are
content to take circular tickets and follow fixed routes, give Gibraltar
the go-by, though by so doing they miss a place that is unique in the
world--unique in position, in picturesqueness, and in history. That
mighty Rock, "standing out of the water and in the water," (as on the
day when the old world perished;) is one of the Pillars of Hercules,
that once marked the very end of the world; and around its base ancient
and modern history flow together, as the waters of the Atlantic mingle
with those of the Mediterranean. Like Constantinople, it is throned on
two seas and two continents. As Europe at its southeastern corner stands
face to face with Asia; at its southwestern it is face to face with
Africa: and these were the two points of the Moslem invasion. But here
the natural course of history was reversed, as that invasion began in
the West. Hundreds of years before the Turk crossed the Bosphorus, the
Moor crossed the Straits of Gibraltar. His coming was the signal of an
endless war of races and religions, whose lurid flames lighted up
the dark background of the stormy coast. The Rock, which was the
"storm-centre" of all those clouds of war, is surely worth the attention
of the passing traveller. That it has been so long neglected, is the
sufficient reason for an attempt to make it better known.

CONTENTS.

                                                         PAGE
  I.    Entering the Straits,                               1

  II.   Climbing the Rock,                                 12

  III.  The Fortifications,                                18

  IV.   Round the Town,                                    29

  V.    Parade on the Alameda, and Presentation of Colors
          to the South Staffordshire Regiment,             35

  VI.   The Society of Gibraltar,                          48

  VII.  A Chapter of History--The Great Siege,             63

  VIII. Holding a Fortress in a Foreign Country,          110

  IX.   Farewell to Gibraltar--Leaving for Africa,        128

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

  The Alameda Parade,                         _Frontispiece_.

                                                  FACING PAGE
  The Lion Couchant,                                        4

  General View of the Rock,                                12

  The Signal Station,                                      14

  The New Mole and Rosia Bay,                              19

  The Saluting Battery,                                    27

  Walk in the Alameda Gardens,                             62

  Catalan Bay, on the East Side of Gibraltar,              65

  Plan of Gibraltar,                                       71

  "Old Eliott," the Defender of Gibraltar,                108

  Windmill Hill and O'Hara's Tower,                       132

  Europa Point,                                           143

CHAPTER I.

ENTERING THE STRAITS.

I heard the last gun of the Old Year fired from the top of the Rock,
and the first gun of the New. It was the very last day of 1886 that we
entered the Straits of Gibraltar. The sea was smooth, the sky was clear,
and the atmosphere so warm and bright that it seemed as if winter had
changed places with summer, and that in December we were breathing the
air of June.

On a day like this, when the sea is calm and still, groups of travellers
sit about on the deck, watching the shores on either hand. How near they
come to each other, only nine miles dividing the most southern point of
Europe from the most northern point of Africa! Perhaps they once came
together, forming a mountain chain which separated the sea from the
ocean. But since the barrier was burst, the waters have rushed through
with resistless power. Looking over the side of the ship, we observe
that the current is setting eastward, which would not excite surprise
were it not that it never turns back. The Mediterranean is a tideless
sea: it does not ebb and flow, but pours its mighty volume ceaselessly
in the same direction. This, the geographers tell us, is a provision
of nature to supply the waste caused by the greater evaporation at the
eastern end of the Great Sea. But this satisfies us only in part,
since while this current flows on the surface, there is another, though
perhaps a feebler, current flowing in the opposite direction. Down
hundreds or fathoms deep, a hidden Gulf Stream is pouring back into
the bosom of the ocean. This system of the ocean currents is one of the
mysteries which we do not fully understand. It seems as if there were
a spirit moving not only upon the waters, but in the waters; as if the
great deep were a living organism, of which the ebb and flow were like
the circulation of the blood in the human frame. Or shall we say that
this upper current represents the Stream of Life, which might seem to be
over-full were it not that far down in the depths the excess of Life is
relieved by the black waters of Death that are flowing darkly beneath?

Turning from the sea to the shore, on our left is Tarifa, the most
southern point of Spain and of Europe--a point far more picturesque than
the low, wooded spit of land that forms the most southern point of
Asia, which the "globe-trotter" rounds as he comes into the harbor of
Singapore, for here the headland that juts into the sea is crowned by a
Moorish castle, on the ramparts of which, in the good old times of the
Barbary pirates, sentinels kept watch of ships that should attempt to
pass the Straits from either direction: for incomers and outgoers
alike had to lower their flags, and pay tribute to those who counted
themselves the rightful lords of this whole watery realm. I wonder that
the Free-Traders do not ring the changes on the fact that the very word
_tariff_ is derived from this ancient stronghold, at which the mariners
of the Middle Ages paid "duties" to the robbers of the sea. If both
sides of the Straits of Gibraltar were to-day, as they once were, under
the control of the same Moslem power, we might have two castles--one in
Europe and one in Africa--like the "Castles of Europe and Asia," that
still guard the Dardanelles, at which all ships of commerce are required
to stop and report before they can pass; while ships-of-war carrying
too many guns, cannot pass at all without special permission from
Constantinople.

But the days of the sea-robbers are ended, and the Mediterranean is free
to all the commerce of the world. The Castle of Tarifa is still kept
up, and makes a picturesque object on the Spanish coast, but no corsair
watches the approach of the distant sail, and no gun checks her speed;
every ship--English, French, or Spanish--passes unmolested on her way
between these peaceful shores. Instead of the mutual hatred which once
existed between the two sides of the Straits, they are in friendly
intercourse, and to-day, under these smiling skies, Spain looks love to
Barbary, and Barbary to Spain.

While thus turning our eyes landward and seaward, we have been rounding
into a bay, and coming in sight of a mighty rock that looms up grandly
before us. Although it was but the middle of the afternoon, the winter
sun hung low, and striking across the bay outlined against the sky the
figure of a lion couchant--a true British lion, not unlike those in
Trafalgar Square in London, only that the bronze is changed to stone,
and the figure carved out of a mountain! But the lion is there, with his
kingly head turned toward Spain, as if in defiance of his former master,
every feature bearing the character of leonine majesty and power. That
is Gibraltar!

It is a common saying that "some men achieve greatness, and some have
greatness thrust upon them." The same may be said of places; but here
is one to which both descriptions may be applied--that has had greatness
thrust upon it by nature, and has achieved it in history. There is not
a more picturesque spot in Europe. The Rock is fourteen hundred feet
high--more than three times as high as Edinburgh Castle, and not, like
that, firm-set upon the solid ground, but rising out of the seas--and
girdled with the strongest fortifications in the world. Such greatness
has nature thrust upon Gibraltar. And few places have seen more history,
as few have been fought over more times than this in the long wars of
the Spaniard and the Moor; for here the Moor first set foot in Europe,
and gave name to the place (Gibraltar being merely Gebel-el-Tarik, the
mountain of Tarik, the Moorish invader), and here departed from it,
after a conflict of nearly eight hundred years.

  [Illustration: THE LION COUCHANT.]

The steamer anchors in the bay, half a mile from shore, and a boat takes
us off to the quay, where after being duly registered by the police, we
are permitted to pass under the massive arches, and through the heavy
gates of the double line of fortifications, and enter Waterport Street,
the one and almost only street of Gibraltar, where we find quarters in
that most comfortable refuge of the traveller, the Royal Hotel, which,
for the period of our stay, is to be our home.

When I stepped on shore I was among strangers: even the friend who had
been my companion through Spain had remained in Cadiz, since in coming
under the English flag I had no longer need of a Spanish interpreter,
and I felt a little lonely; for inside these walls there was not a human
being, man or woman, whom I had ever seen before. Yet one who has been
knocked about the world as I have been, soon makes himself at home,
and in an hour I had found, if not a familiar face, at least a familiar
name, which gave me a right to claim acquaintance. Readers whose
memories run back thirty years to the laying of the first Atlantic Cable
in 1858, may recall the fact that the messages from Newfoundland were
signed by an operator who bore the singular name of De Sauty, and when
the pulse of the old sea-cord grew faint and fluttering, as if it were
muttering incoherent phrases before it drew its last breath, we were
accustomed to receive daily messages signed "All right: De Sauty!" which
kept up our courage for a time, until we found that "All right" was "All
wrong." The circumstance afforded much amusement at the time, and Dr.
Holmes wrote one of his wittiest poems about it, in which the refrain
of every verse was "All right: De Sauty!" Well, the message was true,
at least in one sense, for De Sauty was all right, if the cable was not.
The cable died, but the stout-hearted operator lived, and is at this
moment the manager of the Eastern Telegraph Company in Gibraltar. This
is one of those great English companies, which have their centre in
London, and whose "lines have" literally "gone out through all the
earth." Its "home field" is the Mediterranean, from which it reaches out
long arms down the Red Sea to India and Australia, and indeed to all the
Eastern world. Its General Manager is Sir James Anderson, who commanded
the Great Eastern when she laid the cable successfully in 1866. I had
crossed the ocean with him in '67, and now, wishing to do me a good
turn, he had insisted on my taking a letter to all their offices on both
sides of the Mediterranean, to transmit my messages free! This was a
pretty big license; his letter was almost like one of Paul's epistles
"to the twelve tribes scattered abroad, greeting." It contained a sort
of general direction to make myself at home in all creation!

With such an introduction I felt at home in the telegraph office in
Gibraltar, and especially when I could take by the hand our old friend
De Sauty. He has a hearty grip, which speaks for the true Englishman
that he is. If any of my countrymen had supposed that he died with the
cable, I am happy to say that he not only "still lives," but is very
much alive. He at once sent off to London a message to my friends in
America--a good-bye for the old year, which brought me the next morning
a greeting for the new.

From the telegraph office I took my way to that of the American
Consul, who gave me a welcome such as I could find in no other house in
Gibraltar, since his is the only American family! When I asked after my
countrymen (who, as they are going up and down in the earth, and show
themselves everywhere, I took for granted must be here), he answered
that there was "not one!" He is not only the official representative of
our country, but he and his children the only Americans. This being
so, it is a happy circumstance that the Great Republic is so well
represented; for a better man than Horatio J. Sprague could not be found
in the two hemispheres. He is the oldest Consul in the service, having
been forty years at this post, where his father, who was appointed by
General Jackson, was Consul before him. He received _his_ appointment
from President Polk. Through all these years he has maintained the
honor of the American name, and to-day there is not within the walls of
Gibraltar a man--soldier or civilian--who is more respected than this
solitary representative of our country.

Some may think there is not much need of a Consul where there are no
Americans, and yet nearly five hundred ships sailed from this port last
year for America: pity that he should have to confess that very few
bore the American flag! Thus the post is a responsible one, and at times
involves duties the most delicate and difficult, as in the late war,
when the Sumter was lying here, with three or four American ships
off the harbor (for they were not permitted to remain in port but
twenty-four hours) to prevent her escape. At that time the Consul was
constantly on the watch, only to see the privateer get off at last by
the transparent device of taking out her guns, and being sold to an
English owner, who immediately hoisted the English flag, and put to
sea in broad daylight in the face of our ships, and made her way to
Liverpool, where she was fitted out as a blockade-runner!

Those were trying days for expatriated Americans. However, it was all
made up when Peace came, and Peace with Victory--with the Union restored
and the country saved. Since then it has been the privilege of the
Consul at Gibraltar to welcome many who took part in the great struggle,
among them Generals Grant and Sherman and Admiral Farragut. Of course a
soldier is always interested in a fortress, for it is in the line of
his profession; and the greatest fortification in the world could but be
regarded with a curious eye by old soldiers like those who had led our
armies for four years; who had conducted great campaigns, with long
marches and battles and sieges--battles among the bloodiest of modern
times, and one siege (that of Richmond) which lasted as long as the
famous siege of Gibraltar.

But perhaps no one felt a keener interest in what he saw here than the
old sea-dog, who had bombarded the forts at the mouth of the Mississippi
six days and nights; had broken the heavy iron boom stretched across the
river; and run his ships past the forts under a tremendous fire; only
to find still before him a fleet greater than his own, of twenty armed
steamers, four ironclad rams, and a multitude of fire-rafts, all
of which he attacked and destroyed, and captured New Orleans, an
achievement in naval warfare as great as any ever wrought by Nelson. To
Farragut Gibraltar was nothing more than a big ship, whose decks were
ramparts. Pretty long decks they were, to be sure, but only furnishing
so many more port-holes, and carrying so many more guns, and enabling
its commander to fire a more tremendous broadside.

Talking over these things fired my patriotic breast till I began to feel
as if I were in "mine ain countrie," and among my American kinsmen. And
as I walked from the Consul's back to the Royal Hotel, I did not feel
quite so lonely in Gibraltar as I felt an hour before.

As the afternoon wore away, the Spaniards who had come in from the
country to market, to buy or sell, began to disappear, and soon went
hurrying out, while the belated townsmen came hurrying in. At half-past
five the evening gun from the top of the Rock boomed over land and sea,
and with a few minutes' grace for the last straggler, the gates of the
double line of fortifications were closed for the night, and there
was no more going out or coming in till morning. It gave me a little
uncomfortable feeling to be thus imprisoned in a fortress, with
no possibility of escape. The bustling streets soon subsided into
quietness. At half-past nine another gun was the signal for the soldiers
to return to their barracks; and soon the town was as tranquil as a New
England village. As I stepped out upon the balcony, the stillness seemed
almost unnatural. I heard no cry of "All's well" from the sentinel
pacing the ramparts, as from sailors on the deck, nor the "Ave Maria
santissima" of the Spanish watchman. Not even the howling of a dog broke
the stillness of the night. The moon, but in her second quarter, did
not shut out the light of stars, which were shining brightly on Rock and
Bay. Even the heavy black guns looked peaceful in the soft and tender
light. It was the last night of the year--and therefore a holy night, as
it was to be marked by a Holy Nativity--the birth of a New Year, a
"holy child," as it would come from the hands of God unstained by sin.
A little before midnight I fell asleep, from which I started up at the
sound of the morning gun. The Old Year was dead! He had been a long time
dying, but there is always a shock when the end comes. And yet in that
same midnight a new star appeared in the East, bringing fresh hope to
the poor old world. Life and death are not divided. The very instant
that the old year died, the new year was born; and soon the dawn came
"blushing o'er the world," as if such a thing as death were unknown.
The bugles sounded the morning call, as they had sounded for the night's
repose. Scarcely had we caught the last echoes, that, growing fainter
and fainter, seemed to be wailing for the dying year, before a piercing
blast announced his successor. The King is dead! Long live the King!

  [Illustration: Moorish Castle.]

CHAPTER II.

CLIMBING THE ROCK.

It was a bright New-Year's morning, that first day of 1887, and how
could we begin the year better than by climbing to the top of the Rock
to get the outlook over land and sea? The ascent is not difficult, for
though the Rock is steep as well as high, a zigzag path winds up its
side, which to a good pedestrian is only a bracing walk, while a lady
can mount a little donkey and be carried to the very top. If you have
to go slowly, so much the better, for you will be glad to linger by
the way. As you mount higher and higher, the view spreads out wider and
wider. Below, the bay is placid as an inland lake, on which ships of
war are riding at anchor, "resting on their shadows," while vessels that
have brought supplies for the garrison are unlading at the New Mole.
Nor is the side of the Rock itself wanting in beauty. Gibraltar is not
a barren cliff; its very crags are mantled with vegetation, and wild
flowers spring up almost as in Palestine. Those who have made a study
of its flora tell us that it has no less than five hundred species of
flowering plants and ferns, of which but one-tenth have been brought
from abroad; all the rest are native. The sunshine of Africa rests in
the clefts of the rocks; in every sheltered spot the vine and fig-tree
flourish, and the almond-tree and the myrtle; you inhale the fragrance
of the locust and the orange blossoms; while the clematis hangs out its
white tassels, and the red geranium lights up the cold gray stone with
rich masses of color.

  [Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF THE ROCK.]

Thus loitering by the way, you come at last to the top of the Rock,
where a scene bursts upon you hardly to be found elsewhere in the world,
since you are literally pinnacled in air, with a horizon that takes in
two seas and two continents. You are standing on the very top of one
of the Pillars of Hercules, the ancient Calpe, and in full view of the
other, on the African coast, where, above the present town of Ceuta,
whose white walls glisten in the sun, rises the ancient Abyla, the Mount
of God. These are the two Pillars which to the ancient navigators set
bounds to the habitable world.

On this point is the Signal Station, from which a constant watch is kept
for ships entering the Straits. There was a tradition that it had been
an ancient watch-tower of the Carthaginians, from which (as from Monte
Pellegrino, that overlooks the harbor of Palermo) they had watched
the Roman ships. But later historians think it played no great part in
history or in war until the Rock served as a stepping-stone to the Moors
in their invasion and conquest of Spain. When the Spaniards retook it,
they gave this peak the name of "El Hacho," The Torch, because here
beacon-fires were lighted to give warning in time of danger. A little
house furnishes a shelter for the officer on duty, who from its flat
roof, with his field-glass, sweeps the whole horizon, north and
south, from the Sierra Nevada in Spain, to the long chain of the Atlas
Mountains in Africa. Looking down, the Mediterranean is at your feet.
There go the ships, with boats from either shore which dip their long
lateen-sails as sea-gulls dip their wings, and sometimes fly over the
waves as a bird flies through the air, even while large ships labor
against the wind. As the current from the Atlantic flows steadily into
the Mediterranean, if perchance the wind should blow from the same
quarter, it is not an easy matter to get out of the Straits. Ships that
have made the whole course of the Mediterranean are baffled here in the
throat of the sea. Before the days of steam, mariners were subject to
delays of weeks, an experience which was more picturesque than pleasant.
Thirty years ago a friend of mine made a voyage from Boston to Smyrna
in the Henry Hill, a ship which often took out missionaries to the East,
and now had on board a mixed cargo of missionaries and rum! Whether it
was a punishment for the latter, on her return she had head winds
all the way; but in spite of them was able to make a slow progress by
tacking from shore to shore, for which, however, she had less room as
she came into the Straits, through which, as through a funnel, both wind
and current set at times with such force as in this case detained the
Bostonian _five weeks_! "The captain," says my informant, "was a pretty
good-natured man, but as he was a joint-owner of the ship, this long
detention was very trying. But to me"--it is a lady who writes--"it was
quite the reverse. I found it delightful to tack over to the side of
Gibraltar every morning, and drift back every evening to the shores of
Africa, with the little excitement from the risk of being boarded
by pirates in the night! I never tired of the brilliant sunsets,
the gorgeous clouds, with the snow-capped mountains of Granada for a
background. But for the captain (even with missionaries on board, who
were returning to America) the head winds were too much for his temper,
and after vainly striving day after day to get through the Straits, he
would take off his cap, scratch his head, and shake his fists at the
clouds!

  [Illustration: THE SIGNAL STATION.]

"After tacking for three weeks off Gibraltar, wearing out our cordage
and exhausting our larder, we put into the bay and anchored. Here we
were surrounded by vessels from all parts of the world, and were so near
the town that we could almost exchange greetings with those on shore.
One Sunday the Spaniards had a bull-fight just across the Neutral
Ground; but I preferred a quiet New England Sabbath on shipboard.

"After lying at anchor in the bay for two weeks I went on shore one day
to lunch with an American lady. Returning to the ship in the evening, I
betook myself to my berth. At midnight I heard unusual sounds, clanking
of chains, and sailors singing 'Heave ho!' From my port-hole I could
see an unusual stir, and dressing in haste went on deck. Sure enough
the wind had changed, and all the vessels in the bay were alive with
excitement. The captain was radiant. I could see his beaming face, for
it was clear and beautiful as moonlight could make it. He invited me to
stay on deck, sent for a cup of coffee, and made himself very agreeable.
We were soon under way. I was in a kind of ecstasy with the novelty and
the beauty of it all. The full moon, the grand scenery, the Pillars of
Hercules, solemn in the moonlight, and the added charm of six hundred
vessels, from large to small craft, all in full sail, made a rare
picture. I sat on deck till morning, and certainly never saw a more
beautiful sight than that fleet spreading its wings like a flock of
mighty sea-birds, and moving off together from the Mediterranean into
the Atlantic."

Such picturesque scenes are not so likely to be witnessed now; for since
the introduction of steam the plain and prosaic, but very useful, "tug"
tows off the wind-bound bark through the dreaded Straits into the open
sea, where she can spread her wings and fly across the wide expanse of
the ocean.

To-day, as we look down from the signal station, we see no gathered
ships below waiting for a favoring breeze; the wind scarcely ripples the
sea, and the boats glide gently whither they will, while here and there
a great steamer from England, bound for Naples, or Malta, or India,
appears on the horizon, marking its course by the long line of smoke
trailing behind it.

To this wonderful combination of land and sea nothing can be added
except by the changing light which falls upon it. For the fullest effect
you must wait till sunset, when the evening gun has been fired, to
signal the departing day, and its heavy boom is dying away in the
distance,

  "Swinging low with sullen roar."

Then the sky is aflame where the sun has gone down in the Atlantic; and
as the last light from the west streams through the Straits, they shine
as if they were the very gates of gold that open into a fairer world
than ours.

CHAPTER III.

THE FORTIFICATIONS.

If Gibraltar were merely a rock in the ocean, like the Peak of
Teneriffe, its solitary grandeur would excite a feeling of awe, and
voyagers up and down the Mediterranean would turn to this Pillar of
Hercules as the great feature of the Spanish coast, a "Pillar" poised
between sea and sky, with its head in the clouds and its base deep
in the mighty waters. But Gibraltar is at the same time the strongest
fortress in the world, and the interest of every visitor is to see
its defences, in which the natural strength of the position has been
multiplied by all the resources of modern warfare.

A glance at the map will show what is to be defended. The Rock is nearly
three miles long, with a breadth of half to three quarters of a mile, so
that the whole circuit is about seven miles. But not all this requires
to be defended, for on the eastern side the cliff is so tremendous that
there is no possibility of scaling it. It is fearful to stand on the
brow and look down to where the waves are dashing more than a thousand
feet below. The only approach must be by land from the north, or from
the sea on the western side. As the latter lies along the bay, and is at
the lowest level, it is the most exposed to attack. Here lies the town,
which could easily be approached by an enemy if it were not for
its artificial defences. These consist mainly of what is called the
Line-Wall, a tremendous mass of masonry two miles long, relieved here
and there by projecting bastions, with guns turned right and left, so as
to sweep the face of the wall, if an enemy were to attempt to carry it
by storm. Indeed the line defended is more than two miles long, if we
follow it in its ins and outs; where the New Mole reaches out its long
arm into the bay, with a line of guns on either side; followed by a
re-entering curve round Rosia Bay, the little basin whose waters are so
deep and still, that it is a quiet haven for unlading ships, but where
an enemy would find himself in the centre of a circle of fire under
which nothing could live; and if we include the batteries still farther
southward, that are carried beyond Europa Point, until the last gun is
planted under the eastern cliff, which is itself a defence of nature
that needs no help from man.

  [Illustration: THE NEW MOLE AND ROSIA BAY.]

Within the Line-Wall, immediately fronting the bay, are the casemates
and barracks for the artillery regiments that are to serve the guns. The
casemates are designed to be absolutely bomb-proof, the walls being
of such thickness as to resist the impact of shot weighing hundreds of
pounds, while the enormous arches overhead are made to withstand the
weight and the explosion of the heaviest shells. Such at least was the
design of the military engineers who constructed them: though, with the
new inventions in war, the monster guns and the new explosives, it is
hard to put any limit to man's power of destruction. This Line-Wall is
armed with guns of the largest calibre, some of which are mounted on
the parapet above, but the greater part are in the casemates below, and
therefore nearer the level of the sea, so that they can be fired but a
few feet above the water, and thus strike ships in the most vital part.

The latest pets of Gibraltar are a pair of twins--two guns, each of
which weighs a hundred tons! These are guarded with great care from
the too close inspection of strangers. No description can give a clear
impression of their enormous size. In the early history of artillery,
the Turks cast some of the largest pieces in the world. Those who have
visited the East, may remember the huge cannon-balls of stone, that
may still be seen lying under the walls of the Round Towers on the
Bosphorus. But those were pebbles compared with shot that can only be
lifted to the mouth of the guns by machinery. The bore of these monsters
would delight the soul of the Grand Turk, for, (as a man could easily
crawl into one of them,) if the barbarous punishment of the old days
were still reserved for great offenders, a Pasha who had displeased the
Sultan might easily be put in along with the cartridge, and be rammed
down and fired off!

The guns had recently been tried, and found to be perfect, though the
explosion was not so terrible as had at first been feared. There had
been some apprehension that a weapon which was to be so destructive to
enemies, might not be an innocent toy to those who fired it; that it
might split the ear-drums of the gunners themselves. Some years ago
I was at Syra, in the Greek Archipelago, when the English ironclad
Devastation was lying in port, which had four thirty-five-ton guns, (the
monsters of that day,) and one of her officers said that they "never
fired them except at sea, for that the discharge in the harbor would
break every window in the town." But here the effect seems not to
have been so great. One who was present at the firing of one of the
hundred-ton guns, told me that all who stood round expected to be
deafened by the concussion. Yet when it came, they turned and looked at
each other with a mixture of surprise and disappointment. The sound was
not in proportion to the size. Indeed our Consul tells me that some of
the sixty-eight pounders are as ear-splitting as the hundred-ton guns.
But an English gentleman whom I met at Naples gave me a different
report of his experience. He had just come from Malta, where they have a
hundred-ton gun mounted on the ramparts. One day, while at dinner in the
hotel, they heard a crash, at which all started from their seats, and
rushed to the windows to throw them open, lest a second discharge should
leave not a pane of glass unbroken. But this came only as they left the
harbor. When about three miles at sea, they saw the flash, which was
followed by a boom such as they never heard before. It was the most
awful thunder rolling over the deep in billows, like waves of the sea,
filling the whole horizon with the vast, tremendous sound. It was as
"the voice of God upon the waters."

But, of course, with the hundred-ton guns, as with any other, the main
question is, not how much noise they make, but what is their power of
destruction. Here the experiment was entirely satisfactory. It proved
that a hundred-ton gun would throw a ball weighing 2,000 pounds over
eight miles![1] With such a range it would reach every part of the
bay, and a brace of them, with the hundreds of heavy guns along the
Line-Wall, might be relied upon to clear the bay of a hostile fleet, so
that Gibraltar could hardly be approached by sea.

But these are not the whole of its defences; they are only the
beginning. There are batteries in the rear of the town, as well as in
front, that can be fired over the tops of the houses, so that, if an
enemy were to effect a landing he would have to fight his way at every
step. As you climb the Rock, it fairly bristles with guns. You cannot
turn to the right or the left without seeing these open-mouthed
monsters, and looking into their murderous throats. Everywhere it is
nothing but guns, guns, guns! There are guns over your head and under
your feet--

  "Cannon to the right of you,
   Cannon to the left of you;"

and what is still more, cannon pointed directly at you, till you almost
feel as if they were aimed with a purpose, and as if they might suddenly
open their mouths, and belch you forth, as the whale did Jonah, though
not upon the land, but into the midst of the sea!

But my story is not ended. It is a good rule in description to keep
the best to the last. The unique feature of Gibraltar--that in which it
surpasses all the other fortresses of Europe, or of the world--is the
Rock Galleries, to which I will now lead the way. These were begun more
than a hundred years ago, during the Great Siege, which lasted nearly
four years, when the inhabitants had no rest day nor night. For, though
the French and Spanish besiegers had not rifled guns, nor any of the
improved artillery of modern times, yet even with their smooth-bore
cannon and mortars they managed to reach every part of the Rock. Bombs
and shells were always flying over the town, now bursting in the air,
and now falling with terrible destruction. So high did these missiles
reach, that even the Rock Gun, on the very pinnacle of Gibraltar,
was twice dismounted. Thus pursued to the very eagle's nest of their
citadel, and finding no rest above ground, the besieged felt that their
only shelter must be in the bowels of the earth, and gangs of convicts
were set to work to blast out these long galleries, which we are now to
visit.

As it is a two miles' walk through them, we may save our steps by riding
as far as the entrance. It is an easy drive up to the Moorish Castle,
built by the African invader who crossed the Straits in 711, and finding
the south of Spain an easy conquest, resolved to establish himself in
the country, and a few years later built this castle on a shoulder of
the hill, where it has stood, frowning over land and sea for nearly
twelve centuries.

Here we present an order from the Military Secretary, and the officer in
charge details a gunner to conduct us through the galleries. The gate
is opened, and we plunge in at once, beginning on the lower level. The
excavation is just like that of a railway tunnel, except that no arches
are required, as it is for the whole distance hewn through the solid
rock, which is self-supporting.

But it is not a gloomy cavern that we are to explore, through which we
can make our way only by the light of torches, for at every dozen yards
there is a large port-hole, by which light is admitted from without, at
all of which heavy guns are mounted on carriages, by which they can be
swung round to any quarter.

After we have passed through one tier, perhaps a mile in length, we
mount to a second, which rises above the other like the upper deck of
an enormous line-of-battle ship. Enormous indeed it must be, if we can
imagine a double-decker a mile long!

Following the galleries to the very end, we find them enlarged to an
open space, called the Hall of St. George, in which Nelson was once
fêted by the officers of the garrison. It must have been a proud moment
when the defenders of the Great Fortress paid homage to the Conqueror
of the sea. As they drank to the health of the hero of the Battle of the
Nile, they could hardly have dreamed that a greater victory was yet to
come; and still less, that it would be a victory followed by mourning,
when all the flags in Gibraltar would be hung at half-mast, as the
flagship of Nelson anchored in the bay, with only his body on board, one
week after the battle of Trafalgar.

As we tramped past these endless rows of cannon, it occurred to me that
their simultaneous discharge must be very trying to the nerves of the
artilleryman (if he has any nerves), as the concussion against the walls
of rock is much greater than if they were fired in the open air, and
I asked my guide if he did not dread it? He confessed that he did; but
added, like the plucky soldier that he was: "We've got to stand up to
it!"

These galleries are all on the northern side of the Rock, which, as it
is very precipitous, hardly needs such a defence. But it is the side
which looks toward Spain, and is intended to command any advance against
the fortress from the land. Keeping in mind the general shape of the
Rock as that of a lion, this is the Lion's head, and as I looked up at
it afterward from the Neutral Ground, I could but imagine these open
port-holes, with the savage-looking guns peering out of them, to be the
lion's teeth, and thought what terror would be thrown into a camp of
besiegers if the monster should once open those ponderous jaws and shake
the hills with his tremendous roar.

It is not often that this roar is heard; but there is one day in the
year when it culminates, when the British Lion roars the loudest. It is
the Queen's birthday, when the Rock Gun, mounted on the highest point
of the Rock, 1,400 feet in air, gives the signal; which is immediately
caught up by the galleries below, one after the other; and the batteries
along the sea answer to those from the mountain side, until the
mighty reverberations not only sweep round the bay, but across the
Mediterranean, and far along the African shores. Nothing like this is
seen or heard in any other part of the world. The only parallel to it is
in the magnificent phenomena of nature, as in a storm in the Alps, when

                "Not from one lone cloud,
  But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
  And Jura answers from her misty shroud
  Back to the joyous Alps that call to her aloud."

This is magnificent: and yet I trust my military friends will not
despise my sober tastes if I confess that this "roar," if kept up for
any length of time, would greatly disturb the meditations of a quiet
traveller like myself. Indeed it would be a serious objection to living
in Gibraltar that I should be compelled to endure the cannonading,
which, at certain times of the year, makes the rocks echo with a
deafening sound. I hate noise, and especially the noise of sharp
explosions. I have always been of Falstaff's opinion, that

  "But for those vile guns I would be a soldier."

But here the "vile guns" are everywhere, and though they may be quiet
for a time, it is only to break out afterward and make themselves heard
in a way that cannot but be understood.

  [Illustration: THE SALUTING BATTERY.]

As I have happened on an interval of rest, I have been surprised at the
quietness of Gibraltar. In all the time of my stay I have not heard a
single gun, except at sunrise and sunset, and at half-past nine o'clock
for the soldiers to return to their barracks. There has not been even
a salute, for, although there is on the Alameda a saluting battery,
composed of Russian guns taken in the Crimean War, yet it is less often
used than might be supposed, for the ships of war that come here are for
the most part English (the French and Spaniards would hardly find the
associations agreeable), and these are not saluted since they are _at
home_, as much as if they were entering Portsmouth.

For these reasons I have found Gibraltar so quiet that I was beginning
to think it a dull old Spanish town, fit for a retreat, if not for
monks, at least for travellers and scholars, when the Colonial Secretary
dispelled the illusion by saying, "Yes, it is very quiet just now; but
wait a few weeks and you will have enough of it." As the spring comes
on, the artillerymen begin their practice. The guns in the galleries are
not used, but all the batteries along the sea, and at different points
on the side of the Rock, some of which are mounted with the heaviest
modern artillery, are let loose upon the town.

But this is not done without due notice. The order is published in the
_Chronicle_, a little sheet which appears every morning, and lest it
might not reach the eyes of all, messengers are sent to every house to
give due warning, so that nervous people can get out of the way; but the
inhabitants generally, being used to it, take no other precaution than
to open their windows, which might otherwise be broken by the violence
of the concussion. Lord Gifford, soldier as he is, said, "It is awful,"
pointing to the ceiling over his head, which had been cracked in many
places so as to be in danger of falling, by the tremendous jar. He told
me how one house had been so knocked to pieces that a piece of timber
had fallen, nearly killing an officer. This is an enlivening experience,
of which I should be sorry to deprive those who like it. But as some of
us prefer to live in "the still air of delightful studies," I must say
that I enjoy these explosions best at a distance, as even in an Alpine
storm I would not have the lightning flashing in my very eyes, but
rather lighting up the whole blackened sky, and the mighty thunder
rolling afar off in the mountains.

CHAPTER IV.

ROUND THE TOWN.

Accustomed as we are to think of Gibraltar as a Fortress, we may forget
that it is anything else. But it is an old Spanish town, quaint and
picturesque as Spanish towns are apt to be, with twenty thousand
inhabitants, in which the Spanish element, though subject to another and
more powerful element, gives a distinct flavor to the place. Indeed, the
mingling of the Spanish with the English, or the appearance of the two
side by side, without mingling, furnishes a lively contrast, which
is one of the most piquant features of this very miscellaneous and
picturesque population.

Of course, in a garrison town the military element is first and
foremost. As there are always five or six thousand troops in Gibraltar,
it is perhaps the largest garrison in the British dominions, unless
the troops in and around London be reckoned as a garrison. But that is
rather an army, of which only a small part is in London itself, where
a few picked regiments are kept as Household Troops, not only to insure
the personal safety of the sovereign, but to keep up the state and
dignity of the court; while other regiments are distributed in barracks
within easy call in case of need, not for defence against foreign
enemies so much as to preserve internal order; to put down riot and
insurrection; and thus guard what is not only the capital of Great
Britain, but the commercial centre of the world.

Very different from this is a garrison town, where a large body of
troops is shut up within the walls of a fortress. Here the military
element is so absorbing and controlling, that it dominates the whole
life of the place. Everything goes by military rule; even the hours of
the day are announced by "gun-fire;" the morning gun gives the exact
minute at which the soldiers are to turn out of their beds, and the last
evening gun the minute at which they are to "turn in," signals which,
though for the soldiers only, the working population of the town find it
convenient to adopt; and which outsiders _must_ regard, since at
these hours the gates are opened and shut; so that a large part of the
non-military part of the population have to "keep step," almost as much
as if they were marching in the ranks, since their rising up and their
lying down, their goings out and their comings in, are all regulated by
the fire of the gun or the blast of the bugle.

The presence of so large a body of troops in Gibraltar gives a constant
animation to its streets, which are alive with red-coats and blue-coats,
the latter being the uniform of the artillery. This is a great
entertainment to an American, to whom such sights in his own country are
rare and strange. A few years ago we had enough of them when we had a
million of men in arms, and the land was filled with the sound of war.
But since the blessed days of peace have come we seldom see a soldier,
so that the parades in foreign capitals have all the charm of novelty.
In fondness for these I am as much "a boy" as the youngest of my
countrymen. Almost every hour a company passes up the street, and never
do I hear the "tramp, tramp," keeping time to the fife and drum, that I
do not rush to the balcony to see the sight, and hear the sounds which
stir even my peaceful breast.

There is nothing that stirs me quite so much as the bugle. Twice a day
it startles us with its piercing blast, as it follows instantly the
gun-fire at sunrise and sunset. But this does not thrill me as when I
hear it blown on some far-off height, and dying away in a valley below,
or answered back from a yet more distant point, like a mountain echo.
One morning I was taking a walk to Europa Point, and as the path leads
upward I came upon several squads of buglers (I counted a dozen men in
one of them) practising their "calls." They were stationed at different
points on the side of the Rock, so that when one company had given the
signal, it was repeated by another from a distance, bugle answering to
bugle, precisely like the echoes in the Alps, to which every traveller
stops to listen. So here I stopped to listen till the last note had died
away in the murmuring sea; and then, as I went on over the hill, kept
repeating, as if it were a spell to call them back again:

  "Blow, bugles, blow,
   Set the wild echoes flying!"

As the English are masters of Gibraltar, I am glad to see that they
bring their English ideas and English customs with them. Nothing shows
the thoroughly English character of the place more than the perfect
quiet of the day of rest. Religious worship seems to be a part of the
military discipline. On Sunday morning I heard the familiar sound of
music, followed by the soldiers' tramp, and stepping to the balcony
again, found a regiment on the march, not to parade but _to church_.
Gibraltar has the honor of being the seat of an English bishop, because
of which its modest church bears the stately name of a Cathedral; and
here may be seen on a Sunday morning nearly all the officials of the
place, from the Governor down; with the officers of the garrison: and
probably the soldiers generally follow the example of their officers
in attending the service of the Church of England. But they are not
compelled to this against their own preferences. The Irish can go to
mass, and the Scotch to their simpler worship. In all the churches there
is a large display of uniforms, nor could the preachers address more
orderly or more attentive listeners. The pastor of the Scotch church
tells me that he is made happy when a Scotch regiment is ordered to
Gibraltar, for then he is sure of a large array of stalwart Cameronians,
among whom are always some who have the "gift of prayer," and know how
to sing the "Psaumes of Dawvid." These brave Scots go through with their
religious exercises almost with the stride of grenadiers, for they are
in dead earnest in whatever they undertake, whether it be praying or
fighting; and these are the men on whom a great commander would rely to
lead a forlorn hope into the deadly breach; or, as an English writer has
said, "to march first and foremost if a city is to be taken by storm!"

Besides the garrison, and the English or Spanish residents of Gibraltar,
the town has a floating population as motley in race and color as can
be found in any city on the Mediterranean. Indeed it is one of the most
cosmopolitan places in the world. It is a great resort of political
refugees, who seek protection under the English flag. As it is so close
to Spain, it is the first refuge of Spanish conspirators, who, failing
in their attempts at revolution, flee across the lines. Misery makes
strange bedfellows. It must be strange indeed for those to meet here who
in their own land have conspired with, or it may be against, each other.

Apart from these, there is a singular mixture of characters and
countries, of races and religions. Here Spaniards and Moors, who fought
for Gibraltar a thousand years ago, are at peace and good friends, at
least so far as to be willing to cheat each other as readily as if
they were of the same religion. Here are long-bearded Jews in their
gabardines; and Turks with their baggy trousers, taking up more space
than is allowed to Christian legs; with a mongrel race from the Eastern
part of the Mediterranean, known as Levantines; and another like unto
them, the Maltese; and a choice variety of natives of Gibraltar, called
"Rock scorpions," with Africans blacker than Moors, who have perhaps
crossed the desert, and hail from Timbuctoo. All these make a Babel
of races and languages, as they jostle each other in these narrow
and crowded streets, and bargain with each other, and, I am afraid,
sometimes swear at each other, in all the languages of the East.

Here is a field for the young American artists, who after making their
sketches in Florence and Rome and Naples, sometimes come to Spain, but
seldom take the trouble to come as far as the Pillars of Hercules. As
an old traveller, let me assure them that an artist in search of the
picturesque, or of what is curious in the study of strange peoples, may
find in Gibraltar, with its neighbor Tangier, (but three hours' sail
across the Straits) subjects for his pencil as rich in feature, in
color, and in costume, as he can find in the bazaars of Cairo or
Constantinople.

CHAPTER V.

PARADE ON THE ALAMEDA. PRESENTATION OF COLORS TO THE SOUTH STAFFORDSHIRE
REGIMENT.

The garrison of Gibraltar, in time of peace, numbers five or six
thousand men, made up chiefly of regiments brought home from foreign
service, that are stationed here for a few months, or it may be a year
or two, not merely to perform garrison duty, but as a place of rest to
recover strength for fresh campaigns, from which they can be ordered
to any part of the Mediterranean or to India. While here they are kept
under constant drill, yet not in such bodies as to make a grand military
display, for there is no parade ground large enough for the purpose.
Gibraltar has no Champ de Mars on which all the regiments can be brought
into the field, and go through with the evolutions of an army. If the
whole garrison is to be put under arms, it must be marched out of the
gates to the North Front, adjoining the Neutral Ground, that it may have
room for its military manoeuvres. When our countryman General Crawford,
who commanded the Pennsylvania Reserves at the Battle of Gettysburg, was
here a few years since, the Governor, Sir Fenwick Williams, gave him
a review of four thousand men. But that was a mark of respect to a
distinguished military visitor, and presented a sight rarely witnessed
by the ordinary traveller. It was therefore a piece of good fortune
to have an opportunity to see, though on a smaller scale, the splendid
bearing of the trained soldiers of the British Army. One morning our
Consul (always thoughtful of what might contribute to my pleasure) sent
me word that there was to be a parade of one of the regiments of the
garrison for the purpose of receiving new colors from the hands of the
Governor. Hastening to the Alameda, (which is the only open space
within the walls at once large enough and level enough even for a
single regiment,) I found it already in position, the long scarlet lines
forming three sides of a hollow square. Joining a group of spectators
on the side that was open, we waited the arrival of the Governor, an
interval well employed in some inquiries as to the corps that was to
receive the honors of the day.

"What did you tell me was the name of this Regiment?" "The South
Staffordshire!" But that is merely the name of a county in England,
which conveys no meaning to an American. And yet the name caught my ear
as one that I had heard before. "Was not this one of the Regiments that
served lately in the Soudan?" It was indeed the same, and I at once
knew more of it than I had supposed. As I had been twice in Egypt, I
was greatly interested in the expedition up the Nile for the relief of
Khartoum and the rescue of General Gordon, and had followed its progress
in the English papers, where, along with the Black Watch and other
famous troops, I had seen frequent mention of the South Staffordshire
Regiment. As the expedition was for months the leading feature of the
London illustrated papers, they were filled with pictures of the troops,
engaged in every kind of service, sometimes looking more like sailors
than soldiers, from which, however, they were ready, at the first alarm,
to fall into ranks and march to battle. Many of the comrades who sailed
from England with them left their bones on the banks of the Nile.

With this recent history in mind, I could not look in the faces of the
brave men who had made all these marches, and endured these fatigues,
and fought these battles, without my heart beating fast. It beat faster
still when I learned that the campaign in Egypt was only the last of a
long series of campaigns, reaching over not only many years, but almost
two centuries! The history of this regiment is worth the telling, if it
were only to show of what stuff the British Army is made, and how the
traditions of a particular corps, passing down from sire to son, remain
its perpetual glory and inspiration.

The South Staffordshire Regiment is one of the oldest in the English
Army, having been organized in the reign of Queen Anne, when the great
Marlborough led her troops to foreign wars. But it does not appear to
have fought under Marlborough, having been early transferred to the
Western Hemisphere. After four years' service at home it was sent to the
West Indies, where it remained nearly _sixty years_, its losses by death
being made good by fresh recruits from England, so that its organization
was kept intact. Returning home in 1765, it was stationed in Ireland
till the cloud began to darken over the American Colonies, when it was
one of the first corps despatched across the Atlantic. As an American,
I could not but feel the respect due to a brave enemy on learning that
this very regiment that I saw before me _had fought at Bunker Hill_!
From Boston it was ordered to New York, where it remained till the
close of the war. No doubt it often paraded on the Battery, as to-day it
parades on the Alameda. After the war it was stationed several years in
Nova Scotia.

From that time it has had a full century of glory, serving now in the
West Indies, and now at the Cape of Good Hope, and then coming back
across the Atlantic to the River Plate in South America, where it
distinguished itself at the storming and capture of Monte Video, and
afterward fought at Buenos Ayres. But the "storm centre" in the opening
nineteenth century was to be, not in America, North or South, nor in
Africa, but in Europe, in the wars of Napoleon. This regiment was with
Sir John Moore when he fell at Corunna, and afterward followed the Iron
Duke through Spain, fighting in the great battle of Salamanca, and later
with Sir Thomas Graham at Vittoria, and in the siege and storming of San
Sebastian. It was part of the army that crossed the Bidassoa, and
made the campaign of 1813-14 in the South of France. After the fall of
Napoleon it returned home, but on his return from Elba was immediately
ordered back to the Continent, and arrived at Ostend, too late to take
part in the Battle of Waterloo, but joined the army and marched with it
to Paris.

When the great disturber of the peace of the Continent was sent to
St. Helena, Europe had a long rest from war; but there was trouble in
other parts of the world, and in 1819 the regiment was again at the Cape
of Good Hope, fighting the Kaffirs; from which it went to India, and
thence to Burmah, where it served in the war of 1824-26. This is the
war which has been made familiar to American readers in the Life of the
Missionary Judson, who was thrown into prison at Ava, (as the King made
no distinction between Englishmen and Americans), confined in a dungeon,
and chained to the vilest malefactors, in constant danger of death, till
the advance of the British army up the Irrawaddi threw the tyrant into a
panic of terror, when he sent for his prisoner to go to the British camp
and make terms with the conquerors. England made peace, but the regiment
was half destroyed, having lost in Burmah eleven officers and five
hundred men.

The ten years of peace that followed were spent in Bengal. When at last
the regiment was called home, it was stationed for a few years in the
Ionian Islands, in Jamaica, Honduras, and Nova Scotia. Then came the
Russian War, when it was sent to Turkey, and fought at the Alma and
Inkerman, and through the long siege of Sebastopol. Only a single year
of peace followed, and it was again ordered to India, where the outbreak
of the mutiny threatened the loss of the Indian Empire, and by forced
marches reached Cawnpore in time to defeat the Sepoy army; from which it
marched to Lucknow, where it was part of the fiery host that stormed the
Kaiser-Bagh, where it suffered fearful loss, but the siege was raised
and Lucknow delivered; after which, in a campaign in Oude, it helped to
stamp out the mutiny.

Its last campaign was in Egypt, where it went up the Nile as a part
of the River Column, hauling its boats over the cataracts, and was the
first regiment that reached Korti. From this point it kept along the
course of the river toward Berber (while another column, mounted on
camels, made the march across the desert), and with the Black Watch
bore the brunt of the fighting in the battle of Kirbekan, in which the
commander of the column and the colonel of the regiment both fell.[2]

Such is the story of a hundred and fifty years. Of the hundred and
eighty-four years that the Regiment has been in existence, it has spent
a hundred and thirty-four--all but fifty--in foreign service, in which
it has fought in thirty-eight battles, and has left the bones of its
dead in every quarter of the globe. Was there ever a Roman legion that
could show a longer record of war and of glory?

And now this British legion, with a history antedating the possession
of Gibraltar itself, (for it was organized in 1702, two years before the
Rock was captured from Spain,) had been brought back to this historic
ground, bringing with it its old battle-flags, that had floated on so
many fields, which, worn by time and torn by shot and shell, it was now
to surrender, to be taken back to England and hung in the oldest church
in Staffordshire as the proud memorials of its glory, while it was to
receive new colors, to be borne in future wars. The rents in its ranks
had been filled by new recruits, so that it stood full a thousand
strong, its burnished arms glistening as if those who bore them had
never been in the heat of battle. In the hollow square in which it was
drawn up were its mounted officers, waiting the arrival of the Governor,
who presently rode upon the ground, with Major-General Walker, the
Commander of the Infantry Brigade, at his side; followed by other
officers, who took position in the rear, according to their rank. The
band struck up "God save the Queen," and the troops, wheeling into
column, began the "march past," moving with such firm and even tread
that it seemed as if the regiment had but one body and one soul. After
a series of evolutions it was again formed in a square, for a ceremony
that was half military and half religious, for in such pageants the
Church of England always lends its presence to the scene. I had read of
military mass in the Russian army, when the troops drawn up in battle
array, fall upon their knees, while the Czar, prostrating himself, prays
apparently with the utmost devotion for the blessing of Almighty God
upon the Russian arms! Something of the same effect was produced
here, when the Bishop of Gibraltar in his robes came forward with his
assistant clergy. At once the band ceased; the troops stood silent and
reverent. The silence was first broken by the singing of a Hymn, whose
rugged verse had a strange effect, as given by the Regimental Choir. I
leave to my readers to imagine the power of these martial lines sung by
those stentorian voices:

  When Israel's Chief in days of yore,
    Thy banner, Lord, flung out,
  Old Kishon's tide ran red with gore,
    Dire was the Pagan rout.

  And later, when the Roman's eye
    Turned upward in despair,
  The Cross, that flickered in the sky,
    Made answer to his prayer.

  So, Lord, to us Thy suppliants now,
    Bend Thou a gracious ear,
  And mark, and register the vow
    We make before Thee here.

  Through fire and steel, 'mid weal or woe,
    Unwavering and in faith,
  Where'er these sacred banners go,
    We'll follow, to the death.

  We'll follow, strengthened by the might
    That comes of trust in Thee,
  And if we conquer in the fight,
    Thine shall the glory be:

  Or if Thy wisdom wing the ball,
    And life or limb be riven,
  The Cross we gaze on as we fall
    Shall point the way to Heaven.

When this song of battle died away, the voice of the Bishop was heard
in a prayer prepared for the occasion. Some may criticise it as implying
that the God of Battles must always be on the side of England. But such
is the character of all prayers offered in time of war. Making this
allowance, it seems as if the feeling of the hour could not be more
devoutly expressed than in the following:

  Almighty and most merciful Father, without whom nothing is strong,
  nothing is holy, we come before Thee with a deep sense of Thine
  exceeding Majesty and our own unworthiness, praying Thee to shed
  upon us the light of Thy countenance, and to hallow and sanctify the
  work in which we are this day engaged.

  We beseech Thee to forward with Thy blessing, the presentation to
  this Regiment of the Colors which are henceforth to be carried in
  its ranks; and with all lowliness and humility of spirit, we presume
  to consecrate the same in Thy great name, to the cause of peace and
  happiness, truth and justice, religion and piety. We humbly pray
  that the time may come when the sound of War shall cease to be heard
  in the world; but forasmuch as to our mortal vision that blessed
  consummation seems still far distant, we beseech Thee so to order
  the course of events that these colors shall be unfurled in the face
  of an enemy only for a righteous cause. And in that dark hour may
  stain and disgrace fall upon them never; but being borne aloft as
  emblems of loyalty and truth, may the brave who gather round them go
  forward conquering for the right, and maintaining, as becomes them,
  the honor of the British Crown, the purity of our most holy faith,
  the majesty of our laws, and the influence of our free and happy
  constitution. Finally, we pray that Thy servants here present, not
  forgetful of Thine exceeding mercies vouchsafed to their regiment
  in times gone by, and that all the forces of our Sovereign Lady the
  Queen, wherever stationed and however employed, may labor through
  Thy grace to maintain a conscience void of offence towards Thee and
  towards man, always remembering that of soldier and of civilian the
  same account shall be taken, and that he is best prepared to do his
  duty, and to meet death, let it come in what form it may, who in
  the integrity of a pure heart is able to look to Thee as a God
  reconciled to him through the blood of the Atonement. Grant this, O
  Lord, for Thine only Son Jesus Christ's sake! Amen.

Then followed the usual prayer for the Queen:

  O Lord, our Heavenly Father, high and mighty, King of kings, Lord
  of lords, the only Ruler of princes, who dost from Thy throne behold
  all the dwellers upon earth, most heartily we beseech Thee with Thy
  favor to behold our most gracious Sovereign Lady Queen Victoria,
  and so replenish her with the grace of Thy Holy Spirit that she
  may always incline to Thy will and walk in Thy way; endue her
  plenteously with heavenly gifts; grant her in health and wealth long
  to live; strengthen her that she may vanquish and overcome all her
  enemies; and finally, after this life, she may attain everlasting
  joy and felicity, through Jesus Christ our Lord! Amen.

  The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the
  fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore! Amen.

The service ended, the Governor, dismounting from his horse, took the
place of the Bishop in a service which had a sacred as well as patriotic
character. Two officers, the youngest of the Regiment, advancing,
surrendered the old flags, which had been carried for so many years and
through so many wars, and then each bending on one knee, received from
his hands the new colors which were to have a like glorious history. As
they rose from their knees, the Governor remounted his horse, and from
the saddle delivered an address as full of patriotic sentiment, of
loyalty to the Queen and country, and as spirit-stirring to the brave
men before him, as if they were to be summoned to immediate battle. With
that he turned and galloped off the ground, while the Regiment unfurling
its new standards, with drums beating and band playing, marched proudly
away.

As it wound up the height, the long scarlet line had a most picturesque
effect. It has been objected to these brilliant uniforms that they make
the soldiers too conspicuous a mark for the sharpshooters of the enemy.
But, however it may be in war, nothing can be finer on parade. Our
modern architects and decorators, who attach so much importance to
color, and insist that everything, from cottage to castle, should be
"picked out in red," would have been in ecstasies at the colors which
that day gleamed among the rocks and trees of Gibraltar.

Indeed, if you should happen to be sauntering on the Alameda just at
evening, as the sunset-gun is fired, and should look upward to see
the smoke curling away, you might see above it a gathering of black
clouds--the sure sign of the coming of the terrible East wind known as
the "Levanter"; and if at the same moment the afterglow of the dying day
should touch a group of soldiers standing on the mountain's crest (where
colors could be clearly distinguished even if figures were confused),
it might seem as if that last gleam under the shadow of the clouds were
itself the red cross of England soaring against a dark and stormy sky.

This was the brilliant side of war: pity that there should be another
side! But the next day, walking near the barracks, I met a company with
reversed arms bearing the body of a comrade to the grave. There was no
funeral pomp, no waving plumes nor roll of muffled drums: for it was
only a common soldier, who might have fallen on any field, and be buried
where he fell, with not a stone to mark his resting-place. But for all
that, he may have been a true hero; for it is such as he, the unknown
brave, who have fought all the battles and gained all the victories of
the world.

Turning from this scene, I thought how hard was the fate of the English
soldier: to be an exile from the land of his birth, "a man without a
country"; who may be ordered to any part of the world (for such is the
stern necessity, if men are to defend "an Empire on which the sun never
sets"); serving in many lands, yet with a home in none; to sleep at
last in a nameless grave! Such has been the fate of many of that gallant
regiment which I saw marching so proudly yesterday. Their next campaign
may be in Central Asia, fighting the Russians in Afghanistan, amid the
snows of the Himalayas. If so, I fear it may be said of them with sad,
prophetic truth, as they go into battle:

  "Ah! few shall part where many meet;
   The snow shall be their winding-sheet;
   And every turf beneath their feet
   Shall be a soldier's sepulchre."

CHAPTER VI.

SOCIETY IN GIBRALTAR.

The best thing that I find in any place is the men that are in it.
Strong walls and high towers are grand, but after a while they oppress
me by their very massiveness, unless animated by a living presence. Even
the great guns, those huge monsters that frown over the ramparts, would
lose their majesty and terror, if there were not brave men behind them.
And so, after I had surveyed Gibraltar from every point of land and
sea; after I had been round about it, and marked well its towers and its
bulwarks; to complete the enjoyment I had but one wish--to sit down in
some quiet nook and talk it all over.

There is no man in the world whom I respect more than an old soldier.
He is the embodiment of courage and of all manly qualities, and he has
given his life to his country. And if he bears in his person the scars
of honorable wounds, I look up to him with a feeling of veneration. Of
such characters no place has more than Gibraltar, which perhaps may
be considered the centre of the military life of England. True, the
movements of the Army are directed by orders from the Horse Guards in
London. But here the military feature is the predominant, if not the
exclusive, one; while in London a few thousand troops would be lost in a
city of five millions of inhabitants. Here the outward and visible sign
is ever before you: regiments whose names are historical, are always
coming and going; and if you are interested in the history of modern
wars, (as who can fail to be, since it is a part of the history of our
times?) you may not only read about them in the Garrison Library, but
see the very men that have fought in them. Here is a column coming
up the street! I look at its colors, and read the name of a regiment
already familiar through the English papers; that has shown the national
pluck and endurance in penetrating an African forest or an Indian
jungle, or in climbing the Khyber Pass in the Himalayas to settle
accounts with the Emir of Cabul. There must be strange meetings of old
comrades here, as well as new companionships formed between those who
have fought under the same royal standard, though in different parts of
the world. A regiment recalled from Halifax is quartered near another
just returned from Natal or the Cape of Good Hope; while troops from
Hong Kong, or that have been up the Irrawaddi to take part in the
late war in Upper Burmah, can exchange experiences with their brother
soldiers from the other side of the globe. Almost all the regiments
collected here have figured in distant campaigns, and the officers that
ride at their head are the very ones that led them to victory. To a
heart that is not so dead but that it can still be stirred by deeds of
daring, there is nothing more thrilling than to sit under the guns of
the greatest fortress in the world, and listen to the story as it comes
from the lips of those who were actors in the scenes.

But it would be a mistake to suppose that the society of Gibraltar is
confined to men. The home instincts are strong in English breasts;
and wherever they go they carry their household gods with them. In my
wanderings about the world, it has been my fortune to visit portions of
the British Empire ten thousand miles away from the mother country; yet
in every community there was an English stamp, a family likeness to the
old island home. Hence it is that in the most remote colony there are
the elements of a good society. Whatever country the English may enter,
even if it be in the Antipodes, as soon as they have taken root and
become established they send back to England for their wives and
daughters, that they may renew the happy life that they have lived
before, so that the traveller who penetrates the interior of Australia,
of New Zealand, or Van Dieman's Land, is surprised to find, even "in the
bush," the refinement of an English home.

This instinct is not lost, even when they are in camps or barracks. If
you visit a "cantonment" in Upper India, you will find the officers with
their families about them. The brave-hearted English women "follow the
drum" to the ends of the earth; and I have sometimes thought that their
husbands and brothers owed part of their indomitable resolution to the
inspiration of their wives and sisters.

It is this feature of garrison life, this union of "fair women and brave
men," which gives such a charm to the society of Gibraltar--a union
which is more complete here than in most garrison towns, because the
troops stay longer, and there is more opportunity for that home-life
which strangers would hardly believe to exist. Most travellers see
nothing of it. Indeed it is probable that they hardly think of Gibraltar
as having any home-life, since its population is always on the come and
go; living here only as in a camp, and to-morrow

  "Folding its tents like the Arabs,
   And silently stealing away."

This is partly true. Soldiers of course are subject to orders, and the
necessities of war may cause them to be embarked at an hour's notice.
But in time of peace they may remain longer undisturbed. Regiments which
have done hard service in India are sometimes left here to recruit
even for years, which gives their officers opportunity to bring their
families, whose presence makes Gibraltar seem like a part of England
itself, as if it were no farther away than the Isle of Wight. This it is
which makes life here quite other than being imprisoned in a fortress. I
may perhaps give some glimpses of these interiors (without publicity to
what is private and sacred), which I depict simply that I may do justice
to a place to which I came as a stranger, and from which I depart as a
friend.

Just before I left America, I was present at a breakfast given to M.
de Lesseps on his visit to America to attend the inauguration of
Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty. As I sat opposite the "grand Français," I
turned the conversation to Spain, to which I was going, and where I
knew that he had spent many years. He took up the subject with all his
natural fire, and spoke of the country and the people in a way to add
to my enthusiasm. Next to him sat Chief Justice Daly, who kindled at the
mention of Spain, and almost "raved" (if a learned Judge ever "raves")
about Spanish cathedrals. He had continued his journey to the Pillars of
Hercules, and said that "in all his travels he had never spent a month
with more pleasure than in Gibraltar." He had come with letters to the
Governor, Lord Napier of Magdala, which at once opened all doors to
him. Wishing to smooth my path in the same way, the English Minister at
Madrid, who had shown me so much courtesy there, gave me a letter to
the Colonial Secretary, Lord Gilford, who received me with the greatest
kindness, and took me in at once to the Governor, who was equally
cordial in his welcome.

The position of Governor of Gibraltar is one of such distinction as
to be greatly coveted by officers in the English army. It is always
bestowed on one of high rank, and generally on some old soldier who has
distinguished himself in the field. Among the late Governors was Sir
Fenwick Williams, who, with only a garrison of Turks, under the command
of four or five English officers, defended Kars, the capital of Armenia,
in 1855, repelling an assault by the Russians when they endeavored to
take it by storm, and yielding at last only to famine; and Lord Napier
of Magdala, who, born in Ceylon, spent the earlier part of his military
life in India, where he fought in the Great Mutiny, and distinguished
himself at Lucknow. Ten years later he led an English army (though
composed largely of Indian troops, with the Oriental accompaniment of
guns and baggage-trains carried on the backs of camels and elephants)
into Abyssinia, and took the capital in an assault in which King John
was slain, and the missionaries and others, whom he had long held
as prisoners and captives, were rescued. He was afterward
commander-in-chief of the forces in India, and, when he retired from
that, no position was thought more worthy of his rank and services than
that of Governor of Gibraltar, a fit termination to his long and honored
career.

The present Governor is a worthy successor to this line of distinguished
men. Sir Arthur Hardinge is the son of Lord Hardinge, who commanded the
army in India a generation ago. Brought up as it were in a camp, he
was bred as a soldier, and when little more than a boy accompanied his
father to the wars, serving as aide-de-camp through the Sutlej campaign
in 1845-46, and was in the thick of the fight in some hard-fought
battles, in one of which, at Ferozeshah, he had a horse shot under him.
When the Crimean War broke out he was ordered to the field, and served
in the campaign of 1854-55, being at the Alma and at Inkerman, and
remaining to the close of the siege of Sebastopol. Here he had rapid
promotion, besides receiving numerous decorations from the Turkish
Government, and being made Knight of the Legion of Honor. Returning
to England, he seems to have been a favorite at court and at the Horse
Guards, being made Knight Commander of the Bath, honorary Colonel of
the King's Royal Rifle Corps, and Extra Equerry to the Queen, his
honors culminating in his present high position of Governor and
Commander-in-chief of Gibraltar.

The politeness of the Governor did not end with his first welcome: it
was followed by an invitation to his New Year's Reception. It was but
a few weeks since he had taken office; and, wishing to do a courtesy to
the citizens of Gibraltar as well as to the officers of the garrison,
both were included in the invitation. The Government House was the one
place where all--soldiers and civilians--could meet on common ground,
and form the acquaintance, and cultivate the friendly feeling, so
important to the happiness of a community shut up within the limits of a
fortress. Although I was a stranger, the Consul desired me to attend,
as it would give me the opportunity to see in a familiar way the leading
men of Gibraltar, civil and military, and further, as, owing to the
recent death of his son, he could not be present nor any of his family,
so that I should be the only representative of our country.

It was indeed a notable occasion. The Government House is an old
Convent, which still retains its ancient and venerable look, though the
flag floating over it, and the sentry marching up and down before the
door, tell that it is now the seat of English power. To-night it took
on its most festive appearance, entrance and stairway being hung
with flags, embowered in palms, and wreathed with vines and ferns and
flowers; and when the officers appeared in their uniforms, and the
military band filled the place with stirring music, it was a brilliant
scene.

The gathering was in a large hall, part of which was turned to a purpose
which to some must have seemed strangely incongruous with the sacred
associations of the place: for in the old Spanish days this was a
Convent of the Franciscan Friars, who, if they ever revisit the place
of their former habitation, must have been shocked to find their chapel
turned into a place for music and dancing, and to hear the "sound of
revelry by night," where they were wont to say midnight mass, and to
offer prayers for the quick and dead!

While this was going on in one part of the hall, at the other end the
Governor sat on a dais, quietly enjoying the meeting of old friends and
the making of new ones. It was my good fortune to be one of the group,
which gave me the best possible opportunity to see the society of
Gibraltar: for here it was all gathered under one roof. Of course it
was chiefly military. There was a brilliant array of officers--generals,
colonels, and majors; while in still larger number were captains and
lieutenants, in their gay uniforms, who, if they did not exactly realize
my idea of

  "Whiskered Pandours and fierce Hussars,"

looked like the brave and gallant Englishmen they were. Nor were they
alone: for there were civilians also--magistrates and lawyers and
judges; and, better still, the lovely English women, who are the
ornament of every English colony. All received me with a manner so
cordial as assured me that I was not to be treated with cold formality
as a stranger. If I had come into a camp of American officers, I could
not have had a more hearty welcome.

At length the clock struck the hour of midnight, and I rose to take
leave of the Governor; but he answered, "No, that will never do; you
must take a lady out to supper." Being under military orders, I could
but obey, and, essaying for the first time the part of a Spanish
cavalier, conducted a Spanish lady into the dining-hall. This is a
historical apartment, in which have been fêted all the royalties that
have visited Gibraltar. On the walls are hung the portraits of the
Governors from the beginning of the English occupation in 1704, among
which every visitor looks for that of "Old Eliott," the defender of the
place in the great siege. He was followed by a long succession of brave
men, who, in keeping Gibraltar, felt they were guarding the honor of
England.

After this pleasant duty had been performed, I returned to the Governor
to "report" that "I had obeyed his orders," and that "in taking leave,
I could only express the wish that Gibraltar might never be attacked in
any other way than it had been that evening," adding that "if he should
treat all my countrymen as he had treated me, I could promise him on
their part, as on mine, an unconditional surrender!"

Thus introduced, I found myself at home in a circle which included men
who had seen service in all parts of the world. Next to the Governor I
was attracted by a grand old officer whom I had observed on the parade,
his breast being covered with decorations won in many wars. This was
Major-General Walker, who has been in the army for a large part of the
reign of Queen Victoria. As long ago as the Anglo-Russian war, he was an
adjutant in one of the regiments sent to the Crimea, where he fought at
the Alma and at Inkerman, and took part in the long siege of Sebastopol.
Eager to be in the post of danger, he volunteered for a night attack, in
which he led a party that took and destroyed a Russian rifle-pit. Soon
after he was dangerously wounded in the trenches, and his right
arm amputated, for which he was promoted and received a number of
decorations. He afterward served throughout the campaign of 1860, in
China.[3]

Lord Gifford, though too young for service dating so far back, and of
such slender figure that he looks more like a university student than
like a soldier, was the hero of the Ashantee War, who led his men
through forest and jungle, in the face of the savage foe, to the capture
of Coomassie, for which he received the Victoria Cross, the proud
distinction of a British soldier.

A little volume published in England, entitled "The Victoria Cross
in the Colonies," by Lieutenant-Colonel Knollys, F.R.G.S., gives the
following sketch of this gallant officer.

  "The hero of the Ashantee War, 1873-74, was undoubtedly Ederic,
  third Baron Gifford. Born in 1849, he entered the Eighty-third
  Regiment as ensign in 1869, became lieutenant the following year,
  and in 1873 was transferred to the Twenty-fourth Regiment. He was
  one of the body of volunteers who accompanied Sir Garnet Wolseley to
  the Gold Coast. Appointed to train and command the Winnebeh company
  of Russell's native regiment, he took part in the defence of
  Absacampa and the defeat of the Ashantee army. He subsequently,
  for several weeks, performed the duties of adjutant to Russell's
  regiment. When the Ashantee territory was invaded, to Lord Gifford
  was assigned the command of a scouting party. This party was fifty
  strong, and composed of men from the West India Regiment of Houssas,
  Kossos, and Bonny natives.

  "Early on the morning of January 6th, 1874, Gifford, with his
  scouts, crossed the Prah in canoes, and explored the country on both
  sides of the road to Coomassie. The rest of the army crossed by the
  bridge the same day. Marching some five miles ahead of the advance
  guard, he reached a village called Essiaman, and found that it was
  occupied by an Ashantee detachment, which, on advancing, he at once
  attacked and put to flight, losing only one man severely wounded.
  Advancing to a village called Akrofumin, he discovered that it
  was held by the Ashantees; but not being able to ascertain their
  strength, which he believed to be superior to his own, he prudently
  contented himself with observing them.

  "After remaining in this critical position for several days, he
  had the satisfaction of seeing the enemy retire. He then pushed
  on--indeed never left off pushing on in the most daring yet skilful
  manner till Coomassie was reached--always keeping well ahead. His
  scouts were devoted to Lord Gifford, 'whose docile savages,' writes
  an historian of the campaign, 'worshipped the English gentleman for
  his superior skill and spirit in climbing that steep barrier range,
  the Adansi Hills, dividing the Assin from the Ashantee country. The
  night previous to the action at Amoaful, he carefully reconnoitred
  the enemy's position, and during the fight he was, with his gallant
  little band, as usual, well in advance.

  "The next day he was sent to reconnoitre the village of Becqua. He
  had got close up when some twenty Ashantees sprang up in the bush
  and fired, but providentially without effect. On receipt of his
  report Sir Garnet Wolseley despatched a strong force to capture
  the place. Gifford's scouts led, followed by a body of Houssas,
  Russell's Regiment, and the Naval Brigade, the Forty-second
  Highlanders, and a company of the Twenty-third Royal Welsh Fusileers
  acting as supports. As soon as the firing began, Gifford, followed
  by his handful of scouts, rushed on, and dashed into the town,
  though it was occupied by a thousand Ashantees. The Houssas, for
  once, could not be induced to charge; they persisted in lying down
  and firing unaimed shots into the bush.

  "In the meantime Lord Gifford and his party were exposed to the
  concentrated fire of the defenders. His best scout was killed,
  and he and all his men were wounded. In fact, he was in an almost
  desperate situation. On this he shouted to the Naval Brigade to come
  to his assistance. With a cheer the gallant fellows replied to the
  appeal, and at their charge the enemy fled.

  "Three days later the action of Ordahsu took place, Coomassie was
  entered, and the campaign was virtually at an end.

  "From that time Lord Gifford, there being no further need for his
  services as a scout, acted as aide-de-camp to Sir Garnet Wolseley.
  During the whole war this young, slight, modest-looking lad had
  displayed the greatest enterprise and intrepidity, and rendered the
  most valuable services. Fortune had in this case certainly favored
  the brave; for notwithstanding unremitting exertions and constant
  exposure both to climate and the bullets of the enemy, he escaped
  disease, and was only once wounded. Modest as he was brave, he never
  sought to make capital out of his exploits. They were, however, too
  conspicuous to escape notice, and he was repeatedly mentioned in
  despatches.

  "On his return to England, he paid a visit to his regiment, the
  Twenty-fourth, then stationed at Aldershot. He was received with the
  greatest enthusiasm by both men and officers. The former carried him
  shoulder-high into camp, and the latter entertained him at dinner;
  yet he was as unaffected and simple as if he had only returned from
  an ordinary duty. For his daring conduct on the Gold Coast he was
  granted the Victoria Cross."

It was a privilege to spend an hour with General Walker at his own
table, and to draw him into conversation on the wars in which he had
taken part, and the great soldiers who had been his companions in arms.
Of his own part in these events he spoke very modestly, like the true
soldier that he is; though no modesty could hide the story told by that
empty sleeve of the arm that he had left in the trenches at Sebastopol.
From the Southeastern corner of Europe to the eastern coast of Asia,
is a long stretch round the globe, but here, when the scene of war was
transferred from Russia to China, we find the same gallant officer among
the foremost in the storming of the Taku forts, and with the combined
French and English army that fought its way to Peking.

As the house of the Major General stands on the Line-Wall, it is close
to the enormous batteries in the casemates below, (while one of the
hundred-ton guns is mounted near the Alameda, quite "within speaking
distance,") and must be rudely rocked by the thunder which shakes even
the solid ground like an earthquake. "What do you do at such a time?" I
asked of the ladies of the family, to which they answered gayly, "Oh,
we don't mind it." They took good care, however, to take down their
mirrors, and to lay away their glass and china, lest they should be
shattered in pieces. Then they threw open their windows, and let the
explosion come. For me this would be a trifle too near, and with all my
love for Gibraltar, I do not think I should choose a hundred-ton gun as
a next-door neighbor.

As I rose to leave, I found horses saddled and bridled at the door, on
which the General and his niece were about to take their afternoon ride,
for the officers in Gibraltar are not so shut up within its walls, that
they cannot take their pleasure as if they were in the field. True,
the Rock does not offer a very wide space for excursions, but the gay
troopers of both sexes have but to ride out of the Northern gate, and
cross the Spanish lines, and the whole country is before them. One day I
met the Governor coming in at full speed, with his staff behind him; and
almost daily there are riding parties or hunting parties, which go off
for hours, and come back with the ruddy English glow of health upon
their faces.

Indeed if one had to go about on foot, he need not feel as if he were
shut up in a fortress-prison, for there are pleasant walks over the
Rock, leading to many a nook, from which one may look off upon the sea,
where, if he has an agreeable companion, the hours will not seem long.
If for a few months the climate has a little too much of the warmth of
Africa, there is a delightful promenade along the Alameda, where friends
may saunter on summer evenings, inhaling the fresh breezes; or sit under
the trees, and (as they listen to the bands playing the familiar airs of
England) talk of their dear native island.

  [Illustration: WALK IN THE ALAMEDA GARDENS.]

CHAPTER VII.

THE GREAT SIEGE.

Although Gibraltar is the greatest fortress in the world, if it were
only that, it would not have half the interest which it now has. The
supreme interest of the Rock is in the record of centuries that is
graven on its rugged front. For nearly eight hundred years it was the
prize of war between the Spaniard and the Moor, and its legends are all
of battle and of blood. Ten times it was besieged and passed back and
forth from conqueror to conqueror, the Cross replacing the Crescent, and
the Crescent the Cross. Ten times was the battle lost and won. When, at
last, in 1598 the Spaniards drove the Moors out of Spain, they remained
masters of Gibraltar, and held it with undisputed sway for a little more
than a hundred years. They might have held it still but for a surprise,
hardly worthy to be called a siege; for the place was taken by a _coup
de main_, that is one of the strangest incidents of history. It was the
War of the Spanish Succession, waged by half Europe to determine which
of two incompetents should occupy the throne of Spain. The English sent
a squadron into the Mediterranean, under Sir George Rooke, who, after
cruising about and accomplishing little, bethought himself, in order not
to return in complete failure, to try his hand on Gibraltar. The place
was well fortified, with a hundred guns, but inside the walls only a
hundred and fifty men (a man and a half to a gun!), so that it could
offer but a brief resistance to a bombardment, and thus the Spaniards
lost in three days what they spent more than three years to recover, and
spent in vain.

Though the place was taken by an English fleet, it was not taken
for England, but in the name of an Archduke of Austria, whom England
supported as a pretender to the Spanish throne; and had he succeeded in
gaining it the place would doubtless have been turned over to him (as on
a visit to Gibraltar he was received by the garrison as lawful sovereign
of Spain, and proclaimed King by the title of Charles III.), but as he
was finally defeated, England thought it not a bad thing to keep the
place for herself.

  [Illustration: CATALAN BAY, ON THE EAST SIDE OF GIBRALTAR.
  Cliff Scaled by the Spaniards in an Attempt to Take the Rock by
  Surprise.]

Hardly had it slipped from their hands before the Spaniards realized the
tremendous blow which had been given to their power and their pride, and
made desperate endeavors to recover it. The very same year they attacked
it with a large army and fleet. At the beginning an attempt was made
which would seem to have been conceived in the heroism of despair.
The eastern side of Gibraltar terminates in a tremendous cliff, rising
fourteen hundred feet above the sea, which thunders against the rocks
below. This side has never been fortified, for the reason that it is
so defended by nature that it needs no other defence. One would as
soon think of storming El Capitan in the valley of the Yosemite as the
eastern side of the Rock of Gibraltar. Yet he who has followed a Swiss
guide in the Alps knows that with his cool head and agile step he will
climb heights which seemed inaccessible. And so a Spanish shepherd, or
goatherd, had found a path from Catalan Bay, up which he offered to lead
a party to the top, and five hundred men were daring enough to follow
him. They knew that the attempt was desperate, but braced up their
courage by religious enthusiasm, devoting themselves to the sacrifice
by taking the sacrament, and binding themselves to capture Gibraltar
or perish in the attempt. In the darkness and silence of the night
they crept slowly upward till a part had reached the top, and concealed
themselves in St. Michael's Cave until the break of day; when with the
earliest dawn they attacked the Signal Station, killing the guard, and
then by ropes and ladders brought up the rest of the party. Following
up the momentary success, they stormed the wall of Charles V., so called
because constructed by him. But by this time the garrison had been
awakened to the fact that there was an enemy within the walls. The roll
of drums from below summoned the troops to arms, and soon the grenadiers
came rushing up the hill. Exposed to the fire from above, many fell,
but nothing could check their advance, and reaching the top they charged
with such fury that half of the party that had scaled the heights soon
fell, some of whom were driven over the cliff into the sea. An officer
who was present during the whole of the siege tells how they made short
work of it. "Five hundred Spaniards attacked the Middle Hill but were
soon repulsed, and two hundred men with their commanding officer taken.
The rest were killed by our shot, or in making their escape broke their
necks over the rocks and precipices, which in that place are many and
prodigiously high."

So ended the first and last attempt to take Gibraltar in the rear. But
still the Spanish army lay encamped before the town, and the siege was
kept up for six months with a loss of ten thousand men. No other attack
was made during that war, though the war itself raged elsewhere for
seven years more, till it was closed by the treaty of Utrecht, in which
Gibraltar was finally ceded to Great Britain.

But the Spaniards did not give it up yet. In 1727 they renewed the
struggle, and besieged the place for five months with nearly twenty
thousand men, but with the same result as before, after which it had
rest and quiet for half a century, till the time of the Great Siege,
which I am now to describe.

It seems beginning a long way off to find any connection between the
siege of Gibraltar and the battle of Saratoga; but one followed from the
other. The surrender of General Burgoyne (who had marched from Canada
with a large army to crush the Rebellion in the Colonies) was the first
great event that gave hope, in the eyes of Europe, to the cause of
American independence, and led France to join it openly, as she had
before favored it secretly. Spain followed France, having a common
hatred of England, with the special grievance of the loss of Gibraltar,
which she hoped, with the help of her powerful ally, to recover.

In such a contest the chances were more evenly balanced than might be
at first supposed. True, England had the advantage of possession, and
if possession is nine points of the law, it is more than nine points
in war, especially when the possessor is intrenched in the strongest
fortress in the world. But as an offset to this, she had to hold it in
an enemy's country. Gibraltar was a part of the territory of Spain, in
which the English had not a foot of ground but the Rock on which they
stood; while it was much nearer to France than to England. Thus the
allied powers had facilities for attacking it both by land and sea, and
brought against it such tremendous forces that it could not have held
out for nearly four years, had it not been for the British power of
resistance, animated by one of the bravest of soldiers.

To begin with, England did not commit the folly by which Spain had lost
Gibraltar--in leaving it with an insufficient garrison. It had over
five thousand troops in the fortress--a force by which it was thoroughly
manned.

But its power for defence was doubled by having a commander, who was
fitted by nature and by training for the responsibilities that were
to be laid upon him. George Augustus Eliott was the son of Sir Gilbert
Eliott, of Roxburghshire, where he was born in 1718. Scotch families in
those days, like those of our New England fathers, were apt to be large,
and the future defender of Gibraltar was one of eleven children, of whom
but two were daughters, and of the nine sons George was the youngest.
After such education as he could receive at home, he was sent to the
continent, and entered the University of Leyden, where, with his other
studies, he acquired a knowledge of German, which was to be of practical
use to him afterward, as he was to serve for a year in a German army.
But France was the country that then took the lead in the art of war;
and from Holland he was sent to a famous military school in Picardy,
founded by Vauban, the constructor of the French fortresses, where he
learned the principles which he was to apply to the defence of a greater
fortress than any in France. He gave particular attention also to the
practice of gunnery. As Napoleon learned the art of war in the artillery
school of Brienne, so did Eliott in the school of La Fère. An incidental
advantage of this French education was that he acquired the language so
that he could speak it fluently, a knowledge which was of service to him
afterward when he had so much to do with the French, even though it were
as enemies.

From France Eliott travelled into other countries on a tour of military
observation, and then enlisted for a year in the Prussian army, which
was considered the model in the way of discipline. Thus equipped for the
life of a soldier, he returned to Scotland, where (as his father wished
that he should be further inured to the practice of arms), he entered a
Welsh regiment then in Edinburgh as a volunteer, and served with it for
a year, from which he went into the engineer corps at Woolwich, and then
into a troop of "horse grenadiers," that, under his vigorous training,
became famous as a corps of heavy cavalry. When it was ordered to the
Continent, he went with it, and served in Germany and the Netherlands,
where he took part in several engagements and was wounded at the battle
of Dettingen.

In this varied service Eliott had gained the reputation of being a
brave and capable officer, but had as yet no opportunity to show
the extraordinary ability which he was afterward to display. He had,
however, acquired such a mastery of the art of war, that he was fitted
for any position. In those days, however, promotion was slow, and he
had served in the army (which he entered at the age of seventeen,) forty
years, and was fifty-seven years old, and had yet reached only the grade
of a Lieutenant-General, when, in 1775, he was placed in command of the
fortress of Gibraltar. This was four years before the siege began, by
which time he was a little turned of sixty, so that he was familiarly
called "Old Eliott." But his good Scotch frame did him service now, for
he was hale and strong, with a heart of oak and a frame of iron; asking
no indulgence on account of his years, but ready to endure every fatigue
and share every danger. Such was the man who was to conduct the defence
of Gibraltar, and to be, from the beginning to the end, its very heart
and soul.[4]

  [Illustration: PLAN OF GIBRALTAR.]

It was in the year 1779, and on the very longest day of the year,
the 21st of June, that Spain, by order of the King, severed all
communication with Gibraltar. But this was not war; it was simply
non-intercourse, and not a hostile gun was fired for months. It is
an awkward thing to strike the first blow where relations have been
friendly. It had long been the custom of the Spaniards to keep a
regiment of cavalry at San Roque, and one of infantry at Algeciras,
across the bay, between which and the garrison there was a frequent
exchange of military courtesies. Two days before this abrupt termination
of intercourse, the Governor had been to pay his respects to General
Mendoza, and found him very much embarrassed by the visit, so that he
suspected something was wrong, and was not surprised when the order came
down from Madrid to cut off all friendly communication. The Spaniards
had resolved to make a fresh attempt to recapture Gibraltar, thinking at
first that it might be done by a blockade, without a bombardment. There
are two ways to take a fortress--by shot and shell, or _by starvation_.
The latter may be slower and not so striking to the imagination as
carrying a walled city by storm, but it is even more certain of success
if only the operation can be completely done. But to this end the place
must be sealed up so tightly that there shall be no going out nor coming
in. This seems a very simple process, but in execution is not so easy,
especially if the fortress be of large extent, and has approaches by
land and sea. The Spaniards began with a vigor that seemed to promise
success, by constructing a parallel across the isthmus which connects
the Rock with the mainland. This was itself a formidable undertaking,
but they seemed not to care for cost or labor. Putting ten thousand men
at work, they had in a few weeks drawn a line across the Neutral Ground,
which rendered access to the garrison impossible _by land_. Any supplies
must come _by sea_.

To prevent this, the Spaniards had a large fleet in the Bay and cruising
in the Straits. But with all their vigilance, they found it hard to keep
a blockade of a Rock, with a circuit of seven miles, when there were
hundreds of eyes looking out from the land, answered by hundreds of
watchers from the sea. In dark nights boats with muffled oars glided
between the blockading ships, and stole up to some sheltered nook,
bringing news from the outside world. And there were always daring
cruisers ready to attempt to run the blockade, taking any risk for the
sake of the large reward in case of success. Sometimes the weather would
favor them. A fierce "Levanter" blowing from the east, would drive off
the fleet, and fill the Straits with fog and mist, under cover of which
they could run in undiscovered. At another time a bold privateer would
come in, in face of the fleet, and if sighted and pursued, would set all
sail, and rush to destruction or to victory. Once under the guns of the
fortress she was safe. Thus for a time the garrison received irregular
supplies.[5]

But in spite of all it was often in sore and pressing need. The soldiers
required to be well fed to be fit for duty, and yet not infrequently
they were half starved. Six thousand capacious mouths made havoc of
provisions, and a brig-load was quickly consumed. As if this was not
enough, the hucksters of the town, who had got hold of the necessaries
of life, secreted them to create an appearance of greater scarcity,
that they might extort still larger prices from the famine-stricken
inhabitants. Drinkwater, in his "History of the Siege," gives a list of
prices actually paid.

  "The hind-quarter of an Algerian sheep, with the head and tail, was
  sold for seven pounds and ten shillings; a large sow for upwards
  of twenty-nine pounds; a goat, with a young kid, the latter about
  twelve months old, for near twelve pounds. An English milch cow was
  sold for fifty guineas, reserving to the seller a pint of milk each
  day whilst she gave milk; and another cow was purchased by a Jew for
  sixty guineas, but the beast was in such a feeble condition that she
  dropped down dead before she had been removed many hundred yards."

But it was not only meat that was wanted: bread was so scarce that even
biscuit-crumbs sold for a shilling a pound! The economy of flour was
carried to the most minute details. It was an old custom that the
soldiers who were to mount guard should powder their hair, like the
servants in the royal household; but even this had to be denied them.
The Governor would not waste a thimbleful of the precious article, which
he had rather see going into the stomachs of his brave soldiers than
plastered on their hair.

A brief entry in a soldier's diary, tells how the pinch came closer and
closer: "Another bakery shut up to-day. No more flour. Even salt meat
scarce, and no vegetables."

Shortly after this an examination of supplies revealed the fact that
no fresh meat remained, with the exception of an old cow, which was
reserved for the sick. A goose was sold for two pounds, and a turkey for
four.

In such a condition--so near to the starvation point--there was but one
thing to do. It was a hard necessity, but there was no help for it,
and an order was issued for the immediate reduction of the soldiers'
rations, already barely sufficient to sustain life.

The effect of this continued privation upon the _morale_ of the garrison
was very depressing. Hunger, like disease, weakens the vital forces, and
when both come together they weigh upon the spirit until the manliest
give way to discouragement. That this feeling did not become general was
owing chiefly to the personal influence of the Governor, whose presence
was medicine to the sick, and a new force to the well, making the brave
braver and the strong stronger. When famine stared them in the face he
made light of it, and taught others to make light of it by sharing their
privations. At the beginning of the siege he had formed a resolution to
share all the hardships of his men, even to limiting himself to the fare
of a common soldier. His food was of the plainest and coarsest. As a
Scotch boy he had perhaps been brought up on oatmeal porridge, and it
was good enough for him still. If a blockade-runner came in with a cargo
of fresh provisions, he did not reserve the best for himself, but all
was sold in the open market. If it be said that he had the means to buy
which others had not, yet his tastes were so simple that he preferred
to share the soldier's mess rather than to partake of the richest food.
Besides, he had a principle about it. To such extent did he carry this,
that, on one occasion, when the enemy's commander, as a courtesy not
unusual in war, sent him a present of fruit, vegetables, and game, the
Governor, while returning a polite acknowledgment, begged that the act
might not be repeated, for that he had a fixed resolution "never to
receive or procure, by any means whatever, any provisions or other
commodity for his own private use;" adding, "I make it a point of honor
to partake both of plenty and scarcity in common with the lowest of my
brave fellow-soldiers." Once indeed when the stress was the sharpest, he
showed his men how close they could come to starvation and not die, by
living eight days on four ounces of rice a day! The old hero had been
preparing for just such a crisis as this by his previous life, for he
had trained himself from boyhood to bear every sort of hardship and
privation. The argument for total abstinence needs no stronger fact to
support it than that the defence of Gibraltar was conducted by a man who
needed no artificial stimulus to keep up his courage or brace his nerves
against the shock of battle. "Old Eliott," the brave Scotchman and
magnificent soldier, was able to stand to his guns with nothing stronger
to fire his blood than cold water. Chalmers' Biographical Dictionary
says:

  "He was perhaps the most abstemious man of the age. His food was
  vegetables, and his drink water. He neither indulged himself in
  animal food nor wine. He never slept more than four hours at a time,
  so that he was up later and earlier than most other men. He had
  so inured himself to habits of hardness, that the things which are
  difficult and painful to other men were to him his daily practice,
  and rendered pleasant by use. It could not be easy to starve such
  a man into a surrender, nor to surprise him. His wants were easily
  supplied, and his watchfulness was beyond precedent. The example of
  the commander-in-chief in a besieged garrison, has a most persuasive
  efficacy in forming the manners of the soldiery. Like him, his brave
  followers came to regulate their lives by the most strict rules of
  discipline before there arose a necessity for so doing; and severe
  exercise, with short diet, became habitual to them by their own
  choice."

Thus the old Governor, by starving himself, taught his men how to bear
starvation. After that a soldier, however pinched, would hardly dare to
complain.

He might not indeed care for himself, but he could not help caring for
those dependent on him. The cruel hardship of it was that the suffering
fell not on the soldiers alone, but on women and children. The Governor
had tried, as far as possible, to send away all non-combatants. But it
was not always easy to separate families. There were soldiers' wives,
who clung to their husbands all the more because of their danger. If a
Scotch grenadier were to have his legs carried off by a cannon-ball, or
frightfully torn by a shell, who could nurse him so well as his faithful
wife, who had followed him in the camp and in the field? And so,
for better, for worse, many a wife, with the courage of womanhood,
determined to share her husband's fate. It was a brave resolution, but
it only involved them in the common distress. There were so many more
mouths to feed, when the supply even for the soldiers was all too
little. The captain who has recorded so faithfully the heroisms and the
privations of the siege, says:

  "Many officers and soldiers had families to support out of the
  pittance received from the victualling office. A soldier and his
  wife and three children would inevitably have been starved to death
  had not the generous contribution of his corps relieved his family.
  One woman actually died through want, and many were so enfeebled
  that it was not without great attention they recovered. Thistles,
  dandelions, and wild leeks were for some time the daily nourishment
  of numbers."

Another account tells the same pitiful tale, with additional horrors:

  "The ordinary means of sustenance were now almost exhausted, and
  _roots and weeds_, with thistles and wild onions, were greedily
  sought after and devoured by the famished inhabitants.

  "Bread was becoming so scarce that the daily rations were served out
  under protection of a guard, and the weak, the aged, and the infirm,
  who could not struggle against the hungry, impetuous crowd that
  thronged the doors of the bakeries, often returned to their homes
  robbed of their share."[6]

"Ancell's Journal," kept during the siege, thus records the impressions
of the day:

  "It is a terribly painful sight to see the fighting among the people
  for a morsel of bread at an exorbitant price; men wrestling,
  women entreating, and children crying, a jargon of all languages,
  piteously pouring forth their complaints. You would think
  sensibility would shed a tear, and yet when we are in equal distress
  ourselves our feelings for others rather subside."

While this slow and wasting process of starvation was going on, the
garrison were in a fearful state of suspense. Sometimes it seemed as if
England had forgotten them, but again came tidings that the nation was
watching their defence with the utmost anxiety, and would speedily send
relief. The time of waiting seemed long as the months passed--summer and
autumn and part of winter, and no help appeared. The blockade began
in June, 1779, and it was January, 1780, before the fleet of Admiral
Rodney, after gaining a battle over the Spanish fleet off the coast of
Portugal, bore away to the south. To those who were watching from the
top of the Rock, probably no event of their lives ever moved them so
much as when they first caught sight of the English ships entering the
Straits of Gibraltar. Men, women, and children, wept aloud for joy, for
the coming fleet brought them life from the dead. And when it anchored
in the bay, and the ships began to unload, they brought forth not only
guns and ammunition, but more priceless treasures--beef, pork, butter,
flour, peas, oatmeal, raisins, and biscuits, as well as coals, iron
hoops, and candles! Revelling in such abundance, could they ever want
again? It was indeed a timely relief, and if the fleet could have
remained, it might have put an end to the siege. But England was then
carrying on wars in two hemispheres; and while the French fleet was
crossing the Atlantic to aid the American colonies in gaining their
independence, she could not afford that her largest fleet should lie
idle in the Bay of Gibraltar. As soon, therefore, as the stores could
be landed, Admiral Rodney returned to England. The Governor seized the
opportunity to send home great numbers of invalids and women. It was
necessary that the garrison should "strip for the fight," as there were
darker days to come.

Gibraltar had been saved from the jaws of famine by the arrival of
the English fleet. But as soon as it left, the Spanish ships remained
masters of the bay, and the blockade was closer than ever. The garrison
had had a narrow escape. That it might not be caught so again, the
Governor, with his Scotch thrift, put his men upon a new kind of
service, quite apart from military duty. The Rock is not wholly barren.
There are many nooks and corners that are bright with flowers, and
anything that the earth can yield will ripen under that warm southern
sky. Accordingly the soldiers, in the intervals of firing the big guns,
were put to do a little gardening; and turned patches of ground here and
there to cultivation; and where the hillside was too steep, the earth
was raised into terraces and banked up with walls, on which they raised
small quantities of lettuce or cabbages; so that afterward, although
they still suffered for many of the comforts, if not the necessaries, of
life, they never came quite so near absolute starvation.

This "home produce" was the more important as the garrison was now to be
cut off from its principal resource outside. For a time it had been able
to obtain supplies from the Barbary Coast. At first the Moors were all
on the side of England, for the Spaniards were their hereditary enemies,
who had fought them for hundreds of years, and finally driven them out
of Spain, for which the Moors took a pious revenge by thronging the
mosques of Tangier to pray that Allah would give the victory to the arms
of England! But after a time they saw things in a new light. It could
not be Christian charity that softened their hearts toward their old
enemies, for they hated the very name of Christian, but some secret
influence (was it Spanish gold?) so worked on the mind of the Sultan
of Morocco that he became convinced that Allah was on the side of the
besiegers--a discovery which he announced in a manner that was not quite
in the usual style of diplomatic intercourse. Thus, without any warning,

  "A party of black troops that were quartered in the vicinity
  of Tangier, came to the house of the British Consul, and being
  introduced, informed him that they had orders from their master to
  abuse and insult him in the grossest manner, which they immediately
  put in execution by spitting in his face, seizing him by the collar,
  and threatening to stab him with their daggers!"

Fortunately he escaped with nothing worse than this gross outrage; but
the serious part of the business was that it cut off all communication
of Gibraltar with the Barbary Coast; for the Sultan prohibited the
export of provisions, and as the supplies brought by the convoy were
exhausted in a few months, the garrison was again, not indeed at the
starvation point, but in sore need of what was for its health and vigor.
The meagre diet threatened to produce a pestilence. At one time there
were seven hundred men in the hospitals; at another the small-pox broke
out; and at another the garrison was so reduced by the scurvy, caused
by the use of salt meats, that strong men became weak as children, and
hobbled about on crutches. This threatened a great disaster, which was
averted only by lemons! In the moment of extremity a Dutch "dogger"
coming from Malaga was captured, and found to be laden with oranges and
lemons, "a freight which, at such a crisis, was of more value to the
garrison than tons of powder or magazines of ammunition." The lemons
were instantly distributed in the hospitals. The men seized them and
devoured them ravenously, and the restoration was so speedy as to seem
almost miraculous.

And yet this relief was only temporary. Soon we have this picture of the
condition of the garrison:

  "As the spring of 1781 advanced, the situation assumed the most
  distressing aspect. The few provisions which remained were bad
  in quality, and having been kept too long were decomposed and
  uneatable. The most common necessaries of life were exorbitantly
  dear; bad ship biscuit, full of worms, was sold at a shilling a
  pound; flour, in not much better condition, at the same price; old
  dried peas, a shilling and fourpence; salt, half dirt, the sweepings
  of ships' bottoms and storehouses, at eight pence; old salt butter,
  at two shillings and sixpence; and English farthing candles cost
  sixpence apiece. Fresh provisions commanded a still higher price:
  turkeys sold at three pounds twelve shillings, sucking pigs at two
  guineas, and a guinea was refused for a calf's pluck.

  "The English government, aware of this condition of things, had for
  months turned their attention to the relief of the fortress; but the
  many exigencies of the war, and the extensive arena over which
  it was spread, caused so many demands upon the navy that it had
  hitherto been impossible to provide a fleet for the succor of
  Gibraltar. But the relief of the garrison was indispensable, and the
  honor of England required that it should be executed. Accordingly
  the government made extraordinary efforts to equip a squadron to
  convoy a flotilla of merchantmen to the Rock."[7]

But with all their efforts, it was more than a year before the second
fleet arrived. When it came, it was loaded with all conceivable
supplies, which took ten days to unload. The joy of the beleaguered
garrison knew no bounds. And yet this new relief only precipitated a
calamity which had been long impending. The scene of the arrival is thus
described by an eye-witness:

  "At daybreak, April 12th, the much-expected fleet, under the command
  of Admiral Darby, was in sight from our Signal-house, but was not
  discernible from below, being obscured by a thick mist. As the sun,
  however, became more powerful, the fog gradually rose, like the
  curtain of a vast theatre, discovering to the anxious garrison
  one of the most beautiful and pleasing scenes it is possible to
  conceive. The convoy, consisting of near a hundred vessels, led by
  several men-of-war, their sails just enough filled for steerage;
  whilst the majority of the line-of-battle ships lay-to under the
  Barbary shore, having orders not to enter the bay lest the enemy
  should molest them with their fire-ships. The ecstasies of the
  inhabitants at this grand and exhilarating sight are not to be
  described. Their expressions of joy far exceeded their former
  exultations [at the arrival of the fleet under Admiral Rodney].
  Alas! they little dreamed of the tremendous blow that impended,
  which was to annihilate their property, and reduce many of them to
  indigence and beggary."[8]

What this blow was, at once appeared. The arrival of the second fleet
from England convinced the Spaniards that it would be impossible to
reduce Gibraltar by blockade, and determined them to try the other
alternative of bombardment. Enormous batteries, mounting 170 guns and
80 mortars, had been planted along the shore; and now (before even the
English ships could be unladen of their stores) was opened all round the
bay a _feu d'enfer_, which was kept up for six weeks! Only two hours
out of the twenty-four was there any cessation, and that for a singular
reason. National customs must rule in war as in peace. The Spaniards
began their fire at daybreak, and continued it without intermission till
noon. Then suddenly it ceased, and the camp of the besiegers relapsed
into silence: for that the officers, if not the men, _were asleep_!
What Spanish gentleman could be deprived of his _siesta_? At two o'clock
precisely they woke up and went to fighting again. At nightfall the
cannon ceased, but only that the mortars (which did not need to be aimed
with precision, and therefore could be fired in darkness as well as
in daylight) opened their larger throats, and kept up the roar till
daybreak. Thus, with only the time of the _siesta_, there was not
an hour of day or night that the Rock did not echo with tremendous
reverberations. The town was soon set on fire, and completely destroyed.
There was no safety anywhere, not even in the casemates. If a bomb-proof
withstood a falling shell, it would sometimes explode at the open door,
wounding those within. Men were killed sleeping in their beds. The scene
at night was more terrible than by day, as the shells were more clearly
seen in their deadly track. Sometimes a dozen would be wheeling in the
air at the same moment, keeping every eye strained to see where the
bolts would fall, and the bravest held their breath when (as was several
times the case) they fell near the powder magazines!

Again, the soldiers were not the only ones to suffer: their wives and
children were their partners in misery. When the town was on fire, the
people fled from it, and at a distance watched the flames that rose
from their burning dwellings, in which all their little property was
consumed--the roofs that sheltered them, and even the food that fed
them. For six weeks they had not a moment's rest, day nor night.
Although they had fled to the southern end of the Rock, destruction
pursued them there. The Spanish ships had a custom of sailing round
Europa Point, and firing indiscriminately on shore. This was generally
at night, so that the poor creatures who had lain down to snatch a
moment of forgetfulness, were roused at midnight and fled almost naked
to seek for shelter behind rocks and in holes in the ground, in which
they cowered like hunted beasts, till the storm of fire had passed over
them.

The troops were not quite so badly off, for though they were shelled
out of their old quarters, and had not a roof to cover them, yet English
soldiers and sailors are ingenious, and getting hold of some old ship
canvas they rigged up a few forlorn tents, which they pitched on the
hillside. But again they were discomfited. Gibraltar is subject at
certain seasons to terrific storms of thunder and lightning, and now the
rains poured down the side of the Rock in such floods as to sweep away
the tents, and leave the men exposed to the fury of the elements. It
seemed as if the stars in their courses fought against them. But they
were to find that the stars in their courses fight for those who fight
for themselves.

Sometimes the storms, so terrible in one way, brought relief in another.
There had been a scarcity of fuel as well as of food. A soldier could
hardly pick up sticks to make his pot boil, and cook his scanty meal;
so that when a furious gale wrecked a ship in the bay, and cast its
fragments on the shore, which furnished fuel for their camp-fires for
some weeks, they counted it a providential interposition for their
deliverance; and as the firelight cast its ruddy glow in their faces,
they thanked God and took courage.

But with all their courage, kept up by such occasional good fortune, it
was a life-and-death struggle, as they fought not only with the enemy,
but with hunger and cold, and every form of privation.

During all this dreadful time the old Governor was magnificent. Going
among the families that were houseless and homeless, for whom he felt
the utmost sympathy (for with all his rugged strength he had a very