Читать книгу The Sea Road to the East, Gibraltar to Wei-hai-wei - A. J. Sargent - Страница 3

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In the great land mass which is formed by Europe and Asia is included upwards of a third of the land surface of the Globe and about two-thirds of the total population. Grouped at the western end are the three hundred and fifty millions of Europe, while the majority of the seven hundred millions of Asia are crowded into the southeastern corner. Between the two, from the Red Sea coast of Arabia to the western boundary of China, lies a broad band of desert and steppe, mountain and plateau, thinly peopled and difficult to cross. On the north, the sea passage is barred by the ice of the Arctic; while the only land link between west and east is the thin line of the Siberian railway. But on the south, from 1 the Baltic to the Sea of Japan, is a broad highway, free to all and within easy reach of the great trading nations of Europe and Asia. From end to end we see it running along the coasts and through inland seas; so that ships are rarely out of sight of land for many days together. At frequent intervals are straits to be passed and corners to be turned by every ship; and here, where the sea road must touch the land, are the key points for trade in time of peace or strategy in time of war.

Britain is responsible for the government of over three hundred million Asiatics and carries on a great trade with the remainder; in fact, about two-thirds of the merchant shipping passing through the Suez Canal is under the British flag. We have important interests, too, on the eastern side of Africa, while a new Britain, British in race and political organization, is growing up in Australasia. We are the chief users of the main road to this region of the world, and are thus most interested in its condition and control.

For ships sailing from the western coasts of Europe, otherwise than round the Cape of Good Hope, the only gateway to the long passage to the East is the Strait of Gibraltar, at its narrowest a little less than half as broad as the Strait of Dover. Let us look for a 2 moment at the map. We have passed Capes St. Vincent and Trafalgar, and as we turn in from the Atlantic, far away on our right is Cape Spartel, the corner of Africa, and beside it the Moroccan port of Tangier. We had interests on this coast in times past, since Tangier was a British Possession more than two centuries ago. It came to the English Crown not by conquest but as part of the dowry of Catherine of Braganza, wife of Charles II; but after twenty years it was abandoned to the Moors as useless. Bombay also was included in the dowry: but how different is its later history!

We are now inside the Strait; on our left, just at the point where the shores of Europe approach most nearly to Africa, stands the Spanish fortress of Tarifa. Here, where it is narrowest, we might expect to find the controlling point of the gateway; but we must look beyond. Further east the Strait begins to broaden out until it loses itself suddenly in the open waters of the Mediterranean, where the coasts of Spain and Africa trend away sharply to north and south. Here, on a narrow spur running southwards, with the open sea to the east and the bay and town of Algeciras to the west, lies the Rock of Gibraltar. Fourteen miles away to the south, on another jutting point, is the town of Ceuta, which belongs to Spain. Five towns keep guard over the gateway to the Mediterranean, but only one holds the key; we may understand this better when we have learnt something of Gibraltar and its history.

We think and speak of the Rock rather than the town or bay; with good reason, since Gibraltar without the Rock would be of small value to us. As we steam in 3 from the west we see it rising from the water like an island block broken off from the mountains of Spain. 4 Now we are drawing nearer and the block begins to take shape. A long ridge, carved out into detached peaks, drops sharply to the north where the low flat isthmus, scarcely visible, links it with the mainland. On our right hand, towards the south, it descends in steps to the narrow point on which we can just see the lighthouse. With a little use of the imagination we may liken the ridge to a crouching beast keeping guard over the waters of the Strait below. Now the houses of the 5 town begin to show against the dark background of hill, and soon we pass a cruiser at anchor and enter the new harbour, with its docks and coaling wharves enclosed in protecting moles.

We have seen Gibraltar on the west from the level of the sea; let us 6 turn to the map for a moment and take a bird’s-eye glance at the whole peninsula with its surroundings.

Gibraltar.

The Rock is small: its length three miles from north to south, its greatest breadth not more than three-quarters of a mile. Its area is a little less than two square miles, so that it is quite the smallest in the list of our foreign possessions. A high and narrow ridge, rising over a thousand feet, falls steeply to the land on the north and to the sea on the east; towards the south, where the ridge is lower, it ends in cliffs against which the sea beats always and prevents all access. On part of the west side the lower slopes are more gentle, and on these lies the town with the harbour at the foot.

Let us look now at the approach to Gibraltar from 7 the mainland of Spain. Here we see a corner of the northwest face of the rock, where it overlooks the isthmus. Notice how sheer it rises from the plain, with the flooded moat at its foot. The narrow road, on which we are standing, between the Rock and the sea margin, is the sole entry to the fortress, and we may understand how, in a spot such as this, a small force could easily defy an 8 army. Here is another view of the Causeway, from the hill above, which shows us how narrow is the link connecting the Rock with the mainland. Gibraltar is, in effect, an island; the only real approach is on the west, from the sea.

We will now explore further. All round us are guns and fortifications old and new; soldiers are everywhere; we can see little without special permission, and the authorities are very inquisitive as to our business. The main gates are locked and guarded at night, and we take the time and set our watches by gunfire. We soon learn that we are in no ordinary town, but in a fortress prepared for war. Here we see one of the hot 9 and narrow streets. In the foreground is one of the olive-skinned natives of the Mediterranean. We shall find them everywhere about the harbour; in fact they seem far too many for a small confined town. But in the evening we may meet them streaming away by the north gate, bound for the Spanish town of Linea, which is visible in the distance beyond the neutral ground of the isthmus. There is much work to be done in the harbour, but there is no room for the town to expand, so it is not possible to house the workmen on the spot. It is necessary to limit the number of civilians living in the town, for past experience has proved that they are a danger to health in time of peace, through overcrowding, and a source of weakness to the fighting garrison in time of war. Gibraltar must be governed purely as a fortress; its history is a history of war; in time of peace it has little interest.

Thirteen sieges in five centuries are recorded by historians since its capture from the Moors by Ferdinand of Castile in 1309; a relic of the Moorish occupation 10 still survives in the old castle which we see here; of the sieges the last three alone concern us. In the autumn of 1704, only a few months after a British admiral had hoisted the flag and claimed the Rock in the name of Queen Anne, France and Spain with a great fleet and army attempted its recovery. In the spring of the next year the garrison, without food or powder, reduced by disease and fighting to less than 1,500 effective men, and facing the constant attack of a vastly superior force, could scarcely hope to hold out much longer. But relief at last came from the sea. A British squadron broke through the blockading fleets and brought supplies and reinforcements; and though it sailed away again the real siege was over. On the land side the Rock was impregnable; the guns of that day were useless against its defences; Gibraltar was ours to hold so long as we could command the sea.

At the peace of Utrecht, which ended the war of the Spanish Succession, we retained Gibraltar, and the people of England, impressed by the siege and the splendid defence of the Rock, resolved to keep it. It was only natural that Spain should wish to recover a fortress which was geographically part of her territory and of little value to us at the time. For years her diplomatists tried to persuade us to restore it; and when diplomacy failed, force was attempted once more. In 1728, great preparations were made for another siege; even Cadiz was stripped of its guns to provide a siege train, and an army of 20,000 men fronted the little garrison of 1,500. The Government in England set small value on the place, so that the defences had been utterly neglected. The guns were worn out and the fortifications in decay, but the garrison worked day and night in parties of 500 to repair the damage. A heavy bombardment undid much of their work, but it also ruined the large brass guns of the enemy, while month by month we poured in men and supplies from the sea, until the garrison was raised to over 5,000. The siege proved that Gibraltar, properly manned, had nothing to fear from an assault by land, and the people of England were more than ever convinced that it was quite impregnable. The real danger was to come fifty years later, when we lost for a time the command of the sea.

The last and greatest siege began in 1779, when the fortunes of England were at a low ebb in the war of American Independence, and a French and Spanish fleet had sailed with impunity up the English Channel. In spite of despatches from Governors and discussions in Parliament, the defences of Gibraltar were again in a thoroughly neglected state. It is not to the English Ministers or Parliament that we owe our present possession of it, but to the energy and foresight of General Eliott, the Governor at the time. It is true that at the last moment we hurried out more troops and supplies; but when the attack began in June, 1779, the garrison, with no hope of further relief from the sea, was ill fitted to withstand a long siege by the joint forces of France and Spain.

Let us climb up to one of the great galleries begun 11 during the siege and hewn out of the solid limestone rock, with their rows of gun-ports like windows in the face of the precipice. Let us look out through one of 12 these windows and try to imagine the scene in the days of the siege. Here we have a fine view of the country 13 below. The blank space, without houses, which we see is the neutral ground, and beyond it the besiegers’ lines were drawn right across the isthmus. Across this narrow space the guns fired round shot, the enemy attacked and the garrison made sorties. Further away is the town of Linea, and right under our feet is the goal of the attack, the narrow entrance to the fortress itself. But the scenes on the isthmus can never be repeated; long-range artillery has changed the conditions of warfare; the heavy guns on the landward side of the Rock now keep watch and ward over the distant hills.

This was the view of the besieged on the land side; the sea also was closed to them. Our fleets were engaged elsewhere and supplies were cut off by a swarm of hostile cruisers in the Strait. The troops were on half rations from the first, while at the end of a twelvemonth the people were glad to search the Rock for wild roots and weeds. Gibraltar was never nearer to surrender. At the last moment, Rodney, on his way to the West Indies, defeated the Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent and brought in a convoy. But he could not stay, and the siege closed in for a second year. Morocco joined Spain, so that the small supplies which had reached the garrison in spite of the blockade were now cut off. To crown all, the food brought from England was mostly salted, and scurvy broke out. To add to the trials of the defence, the enemy now attacked from the sea with small gunboats rowed in close to the shore under cover of darkness. The town was a fair target which they could hardly miss, while they were small and offered no chance in the darkness to the gunners of the garrison. So for the rest of the siege this nightly bombardment went on unchecked, as to reply was mere waste of powder which could ill be spared.

In the spring of 1781, a powerful English fleet again brought relief, and later in the year a brilliant sortie by the garrison ended in the destruction of the besiegers’ lines and delayed the final attack. But early in 1782 Minorca surrendered to the French, who were thus set free to prepare for a great joint effort. For a time there was a lull in the storm, while ships were collected in the bay and men and stores on the mainland. Rewards were offered for the best plan for capturing the fortress, and people came from all over Europe to watch the final act in the great drama. The preparations ended in a grand assault by land and sea in September, 1782. For four days without ceasing thirty thousand men with nearly three hundred guns attacked from the isthmus. In the Bay were fifty warships with the gunboats and the famous floating batteries. To oppose this huge armament with its five hundred guns or more, the defenders had some eight thousand men and less than a hundred guns. It was enough. How the attack failed is told in every history. It is worth remark that the losses of the garrison in the bombardment were very small, not more than might have been expected in a mere skirmish. The guns of those days were of little use against the natural defences of the Rock. Soon after, Lord Howe, in the teeth of the combined fleets, broke the blockade and brought the third relief; and although the fighting continued for a time, the real siege was over as soon as the English fleet had forced the passage of the Strait.

When we think of these sieges, we can perhaps understand better why Gibraltar, rather than any of the other four towns, holds the key to the Strait. When our fleet was away the fortress was powerless and the enemy could close the passage. A fleet alone could keep it open, but a fleet, now as then, must have a harbour close at hand as a base. In the case of Gibraltar only of the five towns do we find both fortress and fleet together.

The history of Gibraltar in the nineteenth century has been mainly concerned with the difficulties of governing its miscellaneous population and the problem of improving the defences and adapting them to the ever-changing conditions of modern warfare. Towards the end of the century the need of further dock accommodation for the fleet became pressing. The new harbour was begun in 1893, but while it was in course of construction the science of artillery was also making great progress, and it has been pointed out that the docks could be assailed by the fire from long-range guns hidden behind the hills on the mainland. So from the purely military point of view the fortress is perhaps less impregnable than in former times.

In the matter of internal administration there has been much improvement. Gibraltar has gained a bad reputation in the past for climate and health. The bare rock adds to the burning heat of the summer sun; the town is shut off from fresh breezes by the hill, and when the Levanter blows from the east, and heavy clouds hang over the summit of the ridge, the clammy air makes the heat still more oppressive. There have been severe epidemics on the Rock, due largely to the bad drainage of the old town and the want of sufficient water. Most of the rain falls in the winter months, and a heavy downpour is soaked up at once by the porous rock. There are no springs, so the water is collected in tanks from the roofs of the houses, while the authorities have built reservoirs and artificial catches on the lower hill slopes and have set up condensing engines as a reserve in time 14 of need. Here is one of these catches on the north peak above Catalan Bay; it is made of sheets of corrugated iron, coated with cement, and lies like a roof over the porous sand beneath. There are wells, too, on the low ground to the north; but the water is brackish and not good for drinking. Better drainage and more water have greatly changed the condition of the town; so that the water famines and epidemics of the past are not likely to recur; but food must always be imported, as there is no room to grow it on the Rock, with its small area and poor soil.

Yet all is not bare and dry, as we shall see if we continue 15 our tour of the peninsula. We drive through the old south gate to the Alameda gardens, the beauty spot of 16 Gibraltar. Here are shaded walks and open spaces as in an English park, though many of the plants are strange to us. But we are even here reminded of the fortress, 17 since on the level parade ground we see the troops of the garrison at drill in the cool of the early morning. Our 18 road runs through a grove of trees; there is the southern suburb in front of us, and below as we turn round is spread 19 out the harbour and dockyard, with the calm bay of Algeciras beyond. We pass more old fortifications spanning 20 the road, and come out above Europa point, the southern outlook of the Rock. Here is the lighthouse, which we 21 saw from the steamer, standing on the low cliffs. We have left the trees behind us and all is bare and windswept; but the fresh breeze brings relief after the stifling heat of the town, and so in this corner the Governor 22 has his summer cottage. Here is a view taken from it. We continue our walk round the eastern side of the point, 23 past the old batteries, only to find that the path ends suddenly, where the hill comes sheer down into the sea. As we have a special permit, let us climb the heights and see what is beyond the corner. The narrow ridge 24 with its sharp peaks stretches away to the north; we are looking along its steep eastern slope. Down below, in a little hollow, hemmed in by the sea and the hill, is 25 the village of Catalan Bay, with its colony of Genoese fishermen, descendants of those who settled on the Rock when the Spanish inhabitants left it two centuries ago. 26 Here are the fishermen and their boats at close quarters. Beyond the bay is a long line of surf beating on the low eastern shore of the isthmus, and in the distance, hidden by the mists, the range of the Sierra Nevada. On the 27 middle peak is the signal station, with the old wall of Charles V. running down the hillside; and behind it the aërial line joining the station to the town. Here ends our journey. The signal station is the eye of Gibraltar, ever watching the sea and the Strait, and ready to give instant warning of an enemy’s coming to the guns and ships below.

We think of Gibraltar to-day as one of the most valuable and necessary links in the chain of communication with the East; yet in the eighteenth century, some of the most patriotic and far-seeing among English statesmen were ready and even eager to restore it to Spain. Over and over again it was offered in exchange for some other place, or as a bribe for the Spanish alliance. In 1728, the Cabinet was prepared to surrender it without any return; Lord Townshend, writing to our ambassador, explains why they hesitated. “I am afraid that the bare mention of a proposal which carried the most distant appearance of laying England under an obligation of ever parting with that place would be sufficient to put the whole nation in a flame.” Even in 1783, after the great siege, we proposed to exchange Gibraltar for Porto Rico. The policy of our ministers was not so unreasonable as it seems at first sight. Our trade with the Near East was not increasing, and we had no special interests in the Mediterranean, so that it seemed a waste of strength to maintain a costly fortress there, when all that we could spare was needed for the defence of our distant dominions. In fact, France seemed to be the Power marked out by her history and geographical position as the natural ruler of the inland sea; and it was the sentiment of the English people rather than any practical justification in the conditions of the time which made us cling obstinately to our conquest.

We may realize more clearly the place of Gibraltar in British policy if we turn for a moment to another outpost in this region, which we held for most of the eighteenth century. Minorca was captured soon after Gibraltar, and the two were commonly associated since they both served a like purpose. Gibraltar divided Carthagena 28 from Cadiz, and Toulon from Brest; it was a bar to the union of the Mediterranean and Atlantic fleets of France or Spain. But in the eighteenth century France was the more dangerous enemy, and from the point of view of our relations with France, Minorca was more valuable than Gibraltar. Minorca had no land attack to fear and was better placed than Gibraltar for keeping guard over Toulon, the great arsenal of the French navy in the Mediterranean. The value of both stations lay in their influence on our fights in the Atlantic and the English Channel, since our road to India was round the Cape and we had no thought of the Mediterranean as an alternative. At the end of the century the eyes of British ministers were opened, when Gibraltar became associated not with Minorca but with Malta. It was Napoleon Bonaparte who first directed our policy towards Egypt and drove us to the occupation of Malta.

In 1797, Minorca was no longer ours; we had retired from Corsica and Elba after a short occupation, and not a single British warship was to be seen east of Gibraltar; the Mediterranean became for a time a French lake. Napoleon had been waiting and planning for this, and at once started on his great expedition to Egypt and the East. The expedition was part of a far-reaching design: Egypt was to be colonized by France, a canal cut through the Isthmus of Suez, and England to be attacked by way of India, while the Dutch and Spanish fleets kept us busy in the North Sea and the Atlantic. The defeat of the Dutch off Camperdown and of the Spanish off Cape St Vincent upset this elaborate plan, and in the spring of 1798 Nelson was in the Mediterranean. The French had a week’s start; their destination was uncertain. They were expected in Ireland, Sicily, Portugal; anywhere but in Egypt. Napoleon had been in Egypt for a month when Nelson’s long search ended in the battle of the Nile and the consequent cutting off of the French from their supports at home.

Malta had been occupied by the French without trouble, as there was treachery within the walls; it needed two years of blockade by the Maltese people, aided by our fleet, to compel the garrison to surrender. Still we did not realize its value. At the peace of Amiens we agreed to give it back under guarantees to the Knights of St. John, in spite of the strong protests of the Maltese. We prepared to withdraw our troops, but changed our plans at the last moment, through suspicion of Napoleon’s design; and the island remained in our possession with the full concurrence and goodwill of its inhabitants. When the war broke out again, the French occupied Italy; but Sicily was guarded by the British fleet and was used by us as a base from which to harry the French on the mainland and cut off their supplies by sea. It was a fine object-lesson in the value of a secure island base in these waters as an aid to the command of the sea.

A glance at the map will make clear the importance 29 of the position of Malta. It lies midway between Gibraltar and Port Said, the entrance and exit of the Mediterranean, where Sicily stretching out towards the projecting corner of Africa divides the long narrow sea into two distinct basins. The entry to the eastern half is either by the broad passage between Cape Bon and Sicily, or by the narrow strait of Messina. Malta blocks the one passage and is within easy reach of the other.

Valetta Harbour.

Gibraltar has been made by the Rock; its harbour is modern and artificial; but the harbour of Valetta is as old as the island and was used long before the town 30 existed. Here is a plan of the harbour: we see that it consists of two deep inlets with a spur between on which stands the main town. The entrance is narrow, and thus easily defended, while the inlets run far into the land and offer safe anchorage for the largest vessels. The southern inlet, partly closed by a long breakwater, forms 31 the Grand Harbour, into which we are steaming. On our right, at the corner above the breakwater, is the castle 32 of St. Elmo: on our left is fort Ricasoli, guarding the entrance. Higher up are fort St. Angelo, on a jutting 33 peninsula, and other forts and bastions on every point of vantage; while the main town and suburbs are encircled on the land side with ramparts and deep 34 trenches. Here is a view towards the harbour mouth which gives a good picture of the old town. The view is from the upper Baracca, where the old knights of 35 Malta used to walk to take the air. Here is another view from the lower Baracca, but looking up the harbour. In the harbour a long line of warships lies at anchor, and from the water’s edge the town rises up in steep streets and terraces. Let us climb up one of the main 36 streets leading from the water front. It is not an ordinary roadway, but a staircase with shallow steps of stone, owing to the steepness of the hill. The tall houses, with their weathered yellow stone, their carved fronts and overhanging balconies, and their heavily barred windows looking out on the street, might well belong to some old Italian city. The whole city has an air of dignity and age which we should hardly expect to find in a small and isolated island. Even the great forts suggest mediæval history and romance, armour and swords, rather than bayonets and quick-firing guns. They are very different from the batteries of Gibraltar. In fact, Valetta is far more than a mere fortress; it has a history, a people and a language all its own. The upper classes have been affected by contact with the Latin races of Southern Europe, while there is a strong Arab strain in the mass of the people; but all alike are Maltese, proud of their country and clinging tenaciously to their old customs and language. Here we see a portrait of a 37 gentleman of pure Maltese descent, and here again a Maltese lady, wearing the faldetta, or hooded cloak, a 38 remnant of national costume. The hood is still worn very generally by ladies in the street, and we may perhaps connect it with the Eastern custom of concealing the face, though it is not always used for this purpose by the Maltese, and their own tradition traces its origin to the insults of the French soldiers at the time of the occupation.

Malta is the meeting-place of East and West, and its position in the Mediterranean has determined its destiny. From the beginning of history every dominant race in the Mediterranean has held it at one time or another. Romans and Carthaginians fought for it: the Arabs occupied it for two centuries and left their mark on the language and the people: then came the Normans in the eleventh century and brought it into close contact with Europe; and finally, in 1530, it was handed over by the Emperor Charles V. to the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, better known as the Hospitallers, who had been driven from Rhodes, their earlier home, after a great siege by the Turks. Thus Malta became an outpost of Christendom, barring Mohammedan progress westward, and a safe base for the knights in the perpetual war which they waged against the infidel in the eastern Mediterranean. It is no matter for surprise that three times in the course of twenty years the Turks besieged the knights with powerful armies; though each time they were beaten back with great slaughter. At the date of the third attack, in 1565, La Valette was Grand Master of the Order. On the retreat of the Turks he founded the new town of Valetta, round the harbour and forts which he had so well defended. The Order was wealthy, with vast possessions in Europe; princes and prelates contributed money as a thank-offering for victory over the Turk, and crowds of skilled workmen were brought over from the mainland. So the new city grew, with its fortifications and palaces, a fit home for a knightly aristocracy which was distinguished alike for its prowess in war and for its luxury in time of peace.

The city remains much as it was. The Grand Master’s 39 palace is now the residence of the Governor; here in the armoury we can still see the armour and weapons of its 40 former owners. At Citta Vecchia, the former capital, we find the old Court of Justice converted into a hospital. 41 Here again is the house of one of the knights made useful as a government school, and here the Auberge, 42 or club house, of the knights of Castile in the occupation of the Royal Artillery; while the beautiful cathedral of 43 St. John, built by the knights, still stands to remind us of the combination of religion and fighting which was so characteristic of the mediæval world. We can still 44 see, also, the great aqueduct, built to bring water to the city from the distant springs. Everywhere we have preserved and adapted the work of the knights, so that Malta is a picture of the past for the most part unspoiled.

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[See page 3.

Gibraltar from the West.