Failure of the Century: The Spanish Armada, Part Two - The Cogs of War

In Episode 1, we studied the background behind King Philip II of Spain, and, more importantly, Philips's ambition. As we discussed, Philip was a guy who, as far as he was concerned, had serious titles stripped from him. Sure he still had a major empire in his name, but he had at one point been King of England, and aspiring Holy Roman Emperor, before events conspired against both of those ambitions.

So, we were left, by 1558, with a man who yearned to improve his stock, despite the fact that he was one of the most powerful men in the world. There is one more important factor here, though: Philip considered himself the protector of the Catholic faith.

"Philip II generally believed that what was good for Spain was good for the Catholic Church. Philip himself was a devout Catholic and used up vast sums of money in defence of Catholicism. He looked on the pope as the spiritual head of the Catholic Church but he did not commit himself to the decisions of Rome when they conflicted with his own beliefs." (History Learning Site)

Philip battled the Ottoman Turks, he helped the infamous Inquisition grow and flourish, and he gave no quarter to the upstart Protestants, be they in his provincial Netherlands, or elsewhere. Papal Bulls (orders from the Pope) had to go through him, and Philip basically squashed Protestantism in Spain before it ever got started. His influence on Catholicism was not the most important fact, however. The important bit is that he considered himself more important than the goddamned Pope. David Howard asserts that Philip (as many monarchs did) saw himself as appointed by God, and Roger Lockyer surmises his hold on the church: "Philip, convinced of his own spiritual integrity and his innate superiority of all things Spanish, kept a firm hold on 'his' church."

Philip's Empire in 1598 (above) and his European holdings in 1580 (below)

 

So let's get this story on the road. By the 1580s, Philip was feeling slighted by the world, felt empowered as the sword of God, and, as you can see above, was incredibly powerful. He spent the 1570s and early '80s squashing Dutch Protestants and revolutionaries and annexing Portugal after a succession crisis.

So what do you do when you're an embittered, powerful man? You pick fights. And who do you pick a fight with? Let's play a game. How does this person sound for a perfect nemesis?

- This person supported the Dutch revolutionaries you have been warring with for most of your life.
- This person is a member of the faith you hate and have sworn to destroy.
- This person denied your marriage proposal.

That's right. By the mid-1580s, Philip had made up his mind -- he was going to go after Queen Elizabeth of England.

There were other prompts behind this: as early as 1583, Alvaro de Bazan, the great admiral and war hero of Spain, saw England's growing naval power as a threat to Spain's empire, and wrote to Philip, urging him to war. In the 1570s and '80s, the English dogged the Spanish with privateers (state-subsidized pirates) - in fact, one of the greatest English sailors of all-time, Sir Francis Drake, was one such hired gun. His attacks on Spanish America sparked a new war in 1585.

In 1587 Elizabeth executed Mary, Queen of Scots, a Catholic whose claim to the throne of England Catholic Europe had long supported. If that wasn't the final straw, it was certainly one of them. It was no longer a grudge, it wasn't just a war, it was a crusade.

As in, an actual crusade. Following Mary's execution, the Pope allowed Philip to conduct a crusade against the heretical English queen. This meant collecting crusade taxes, being allowed to grant indulgences to his men, and even a promise from the Pope that should the Spanish make land in England, the venture would be subsidized by the Church. This was not a stretch - Catholics hated Elizabeth. She had been excommunicated in 1570 and anybody who served her was considered treasonous to the faith, punishable by death.

And so, by the middle of 1587, the cogs of war started to turn. Every available ship was pressed into service; every available man was absolved of his sins and had a musket, sword, pike or oar shoved into his hands. Taking charge of this venture was the venerable Marquis of Santa Cruz, Alvaro de Bazan, the aforementioned seafaring legend of Spain. The plan he concocted with Philip was simple: the Spanish armada would sweep the English Channel, reach the Netherlands, and escort the 30 000 Spanish veterans stationed there across the Strait of Dover and invade the island. Simple enough.

But, as Philip was about to find out, launching a massive invasion wasn't as easy as that last sentence made it sound. Sports fans will know, what a team should do on paper and what happens on the field are entirely different things. Collecting All-Stars and winning games are not synonymous, and like a GM whose underachieving team is falling flat on its face, Philip is about to learn this lesson the hard way.

Failure of the Century: The Spanish Armada, Part One - Motive

I really enjoyed doing the Don Blas stuff (and I hope you did, too) for a couple of reasons.  One was that Don Blas fucking ruled and makes for an insane story, but the other was that he's not a guy that gets a lot of attention, at least not where I'm from or at my university, even though he probably deserves more.  What I'm going to do here is a little bit different. It has its similarties with the Mediohombre series: It's about age-of-sail Europe, and it's in large part about the Spanish navy. However, this differs from the last series in that most people have heard of this topic. Perhaps not in depth, but to some degree. This is the Layman's History of the Spanish Armada.

The history of the armada begins many years before 1588. In history, the roots of any issue go back essentially as far as humanity - but we like to keep the stories shorter than that. The story of the proposed invasion of England has to do with the great dynasties of renaissance Europe. England (later Britain) has a magnificent past of battling with the great houses of mainland Europe, especially two of the most powerful: the Bourbons and the Hapsburgs. Again, this tale could go deep into the annals of lineage and shield...ery. But I'm not that smart and you have better things to do. We're going to start this tale with an introduction of a man named Philip.

Philip was born in Valladolid, Spain, in May, 1527, the son of the mighty Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain and a Bunch of Other Stuff, Charles V, then-patriarch of the powerful Hapsburg dynasty. A number of factors helped shape Philip's development, and this is really the genesis of the story.

One thing that the Hapsburgs were good at was getting to be king of stuff. I joked earlier about Charles' holdings, but the joke is based on fact -- at various times Charles ruled massive chunks of Europe: Spain, Burgundy, Flanders, Austria, Germany, Italy, Naples, Sicily, you name it. Charles made the power play of a lifetime when in 1554 he wed his eldest son, Philip, to the 37-year-old Queen of England, Mary I, "Bloody Mary."

This would have been a huge opportunity for Philip. He would not really get to be king of England, just play at it. He would co-rule with Mary for the duration of the marriage, which was not necessarily 'til death, thanks to Mary's father, Henry VIII. Additionally, Philip would, presumably, get to father a child by the Queen of England, entrenching a Hapsburg on the throne of England and making the Hapsburgs the most powerful dynasty this side of the Ming China Zhus.

I mentioned multiple factors, though, and the fact that Philip got one butt cheek on the throne of England was but one of them. Another was that, from his birth, he was promised the world. It was Charles' intent to have Philip inherit his throne as Holy Roman Emperor and King of Everything when he retired, but very early on, Charles' meddling brother, Ferdinand, had other ideas. Ferdinand was very popular with the princes of Germany and Eastern Europe, the same men who got to vote for the Holy Roman Emperor. He was the son-in-law of King Vladislaus of Bohemia and Hungary and was elected king of the Croats. His influence came in handy when, in 1531, he was elected King of the Romans, which was basically the title of the Emperor-Elect or Crown Prince of the Holy Roman Empire, despite the fact that Charles had already named an heir. Charles would remain in power until his abdication in 1556, meaning that for about 25 years, dinners were very tense in the Hapsburg household.

The two Empires of Charles V, not including Spain's holdings in the New World. His possessions as Charles I of Spain are in purple, orange and red, his titles as Charles V of the HRE are in yellow and beige.

On one hand, Charles (and presumably Philip) wanted the majority of the power to pass lineally, to Philip. Ferdinand, however, was the elected protector of much of Eastern Europe, and had been elected the successor to the Empire by the German princes. Charles brokered another deal for Philip. Upon Charles' retirement, the Empire would pass to Ferdinand. The next successor to the Empire, however, was to be Philip, not Ferdinand's son, Maximilian. Upon Ferdinand's death, Philip was to take the empire, allowing Maximilian to become King of the Romans and heir apparent to the empire.

It shook down quite differently, however. As expected, in 1555, Charles left his Spanish Empire to his son, Philip, and the Holy Roman Empire passed, as agreed upon, to Ferdinand. While much more went into this discussion, the German princes worked hard to debase Philip as an Imperial claimant, and in the same year he ascended to the throne of Spain, Philip sensed the tides of change, and relinquished his claim on the Holy Roman Empire. Feeling thoroughly cheated, Philip never would get to be King of the Romans, and never tasted the throne of his father's Holy Roman Empire.

But, hey, you win some, you lose some. Losing out on the chance to be the most powerful man in the world probably didn't thrill Philip, but he was in charge of the budding Spanish Empire, and he still had that thing in England going for him.

Except he really didn't. We mentioned earlier that Philip's English kingship was dependent on Mary being around - he was king only as long as he was married to the queen. In 1558, just as everyone was sorting out their roles after the great Charles' retirement, Mary died, leaving no heirs.

Philip was so heartbroken by his wife's death that he immediately proposed to her younger sister, Elizabeth I, his only real chance to stay in London. It didn't work, and he was rebuked. On a side note, the relationship between Philip and Elizabeth is pretty fascinating. The rebuke likely hurt Philip's pride, but he continued to be amicable with Elizabeth, standing up for her to the Pope himself when the holy man wanted her excommunicated as a Protestant. However, their relationship was to prove rocky, and for largely religious reasons (the failed proposal probably didn't help), they would find themselves embittered enemies.

And so, by the mid-1550s, we have a man, Philip, who was supposed to be the most powerful man, perhaps who ever lived. The King of the World. And yet, one way or another, he had had his various titles stripped from him - or as he might very well have believed, stolen from him. His uncle and cousin conspired to snatch away the Empire, and the Protestant whore queen of England wouldn't let him rule her people, either. What we are left with is a slighted man with a very personal enemy, and the power of a world-leading nation at his disposal.

As is often the case in history, we can here ask ourselves, 'What would I do? What would you do?' The problem with asking these questions is that the issue becomes subjective, which is something we don't want. We are inclined to give ourselves the benefit of the doubt. Of course, we would take the benevolent route, the logical route. But, people are vain. People are selfish. And Philip did what many people would do - he set out to get what he believed already belonged to him.

Mediohombre: Part 3 - Cartagena

Part 1
Part 2
 
Alright, let's bring this home. At this juncture, I assume we've all done our required reading. Part 1 of this mini-series details the building of the legacy that is Don Blas de Lezo, the outstanding naval man of 18th century Spain. Part 2 is kind of a condensed course on the War of Jenkins' Ear - deteriorating international relations between Britain and Spain, culminating with a series of raids on Spanish colonies by Vice Admiral Edward Vernon, leading us to his eventual assault on Cartagena.

Finally, our tales converge -- those of Admiral Blas de Lezo and aggressive British imperialist ambition in the Caribbean. On 4 March, 1741, an intimidating fleet sailed into the waters off of Cartagena under the command of Vernon and troop commander Thomas Wentworth. This fleet consisted of 29 ships of the line, 22 frigates, 135 troop transports, 15 400 sailors, and 12 000 marines and militiamen.

I haven't spoken with the man, but Vernon was surely confident of his mission. With six ships he had captured one of Spain's key cities, and he now stood on a flagship in command of over 27 000 men. Given his royal treatment in the preceding winter, he may have fancied himself a conqueror, or envisioned a place among the Pantheon of British admiralty. Howard - Blake - Vernon. In the study of history we often observe moments and wonder what people may have felt. I can only imagine the supreme self-assurance that must have been flitting across his mind as he floated in those Colombian waters that spring day.

He was not wrong to be content. Ready to repel him was Blas de Lezo, supposed to be on a relaxed retirement detail, and some 4000 military personnel, only 3000 of them actual marines and regulars. He also boasted a whopping naval component of 6 ships, and assorted gun batteries.

De Lezo was severely outgunned and outmanned, but he was as prepared as a retired middle-aged man could hope to be. Even so, Don Blas knew he could not defeat such a force with muscle or tactic, so he turned to his greatest ally. More than flesh or steel, de Lezo would use the Colombian environment. His plan was to delay the advance of the British as long as possible, until the onset of the Colombian rainy season, when further military action would be impossible. His plan, as they often did, worked brilliantly.

The only way for the British fleet to get to the Cartagenan harbor, and near to the town, or the nearby Fort San Lazaro, was through the Boca Chica Channel. Therefore, the British naval attack worked its way up this channel, facing fire from the various forts around the town, as well as de Lezo's six ships. Considering the odds, the six Spanish ships held their own quite well. De Lezo, at one point, captured two British ships and scuttled them in the channel in order to further delay Vernon's progress. At the same time, the British had to try and take each fort they came across, taking the time to soften or breach the fort with ships' guns, or, even moretime-consuming, constructing gun batteries on land. These forts were defended fiercely, and de Lezo's ships made excellent account of themselves, and not unlike the Persians at Thermopylae, the British had to fight tooth and nail for every inch of the channel.

Even so, the odds were insurmountable for the Spanish defenders, and on 16 April, more than a month after arriving at Cartagena, Vernon cleared the harbor beaches with gunshot and the British troop commander, Thomas Wentworth, put boots on the sand, a ready target already in mind. The taking of San Lazaro was crucial, as it looked down upon the city. When in Spanish hands it made assault on Cartagena nearly impossible; and if the British took it, they could bombard the city and force a prompt surrender, which at this point, fighting relentless Spaniards and every disease imaginable for the past month, must have sounded fantastic to the British attackers. Knowing this, de Lezo dug in around San Lazaro, constructing a trench and clearing firing lines around the fort.

At this point I would like to address a key difference between de Lezo and Vernon - the relationship each man had with his partner in battle. De Lezo had to work with Sebastian de Eslava, Viceroy of New Granada (modern-day Colombia). In the previous year, de Lezo had worked hard to upgrade Cartagena's defenses, and his work ethic purportedly ruined his relationship with the Viceroy, who was, technically, in charge.Don Blas, however, did not let this stop him from making the necessary improvements to the defenses and preparing for just such an attack as the pair were now facing.

Conversely, Vernon was in business with Wentworth, and their sour relationship was one of the key factors in Britain's failure. The assault on San Lazaro in April was Vernon's idea, and according to historians, Wentworth, in charge of land operations, wholly opposed him and did not cooperate or communicate as well as he should have.

Before dawn on 20 April, 1741, approximately 2000 men assaulted fort San Lazaro from various directions, the fort's guns useless in the dark. Defending the fort were 650 men stationed in the aforementioned trenches, de Lezo among them. The image of musket smoke in the softening night, and a one-legged man pacing back and forth, ducking under fire and attempting to rally what should have been a futile defense, is fantastic.

The attack was slow in starting, hampered from the beginning by poor communication, and shortly after the battle begun, the sun came up and the fort began bombarding the British troops, forcing the ladder-carriers to run for cover. At 8:00, Spanish troops charged from the city and threatened to attack the British force from the rear, forcing Wentworth to sound the retreat.

The battle was quick and dirty, and may only have proved a minor setback in a larger campaign, but Don Blas had achieved his objective. It was the end of April, and the town still stood. The rainy season had come. On 25 April, Wentworth fell back to Jamaica, and was gone by the end of May. Interestingly, on 17 May, Britain was prepared to celebrate another grand victory from Vernon, 'Scourge of Spain.' Special medals were minted but never circulated. Like a Roman general hunting a triumph, Vernon could see his legend dimming by the hour. After the fiasco at Cartagena, Britain's pride was wounded and Vernon was left scrambling to recollect his reputation.

After a brief stay in Jamaica, Vernon steered his attack now toward Cuba, but this venture would prove quite futile. Landing at Guantanamo Bay in early August, Wentworth and his 3000 troops had stalled due to disease and fatigue. They would camp for four months, attempting to regain their footing, but after more than two-thirds of his force was stricken with fever, and having suffered hundreds of casualties to Cuban guerrillas, the fleet departed for England.

Vernon's failure in Cuba can be largely attributed to de Lezo's success at Cartagena. After two months in Colombia, the assault force was nearly decimated, either by fighting or disease. Vernon arrived at Cartagena in March with 12 000 soldiers and 51 ships. He sailed into Guantanamo Bay five months later with 3000 British troops and 21 ships.

Not only was the force a fraction of its original size, but those that remained were hardly in fighting condition. Within days of landing in Cuba, they were too sick or spent to continue the 45-mile march to Havana, and their confidence was undoubtedly shaken from the awful conditions, hard fighting, and sound defeat at the hands of Blas de Lezo.

The Spanish admiral would not get the opportunity to revel in his success, however. While fighting at San Lazaro, he was shot in his one good arm and died of infection the following September, his ability to trade body parts for military victories culminating in an epic achievement at Cartagena. He managed to use his surroundings as effectively as any field general, and displayed the steadfast mindset necessary to hold out in a near-hopeless situation, checking the British assault at its beginning and potentially saving large portions of Hispanic America for Spain. The impact of Don Blas' victory is larger than a Colombian city, and extends beyond a nine-year war of vanity.



"If I had been in Puerto Belo you would not have assaulted the fortresses of my master the King with impunity, because I would have supplied the valour the defenders of the Puerto Belo lacked, and checked their cowardice."

     - Blas de Lezo in a letter to Vice Admiral Vernon, on hearing  of the assault on Portobello

Mediohombre: Part 2 - The War of Jenkins' Ear

Okay, quiz time. After reading Part 1 of the series, what two things have we learned? That's right:

a) Don Blas de Lezo is hard as fuck
b) In the early 18th century, the British and Spanish did not play well together

The latter makes sense: as two of the three main nations still trying to craft empires at this time, it was natural that the two superpowers would butt heads on occasion. But in the early 1700s, Britain (and we can call them Britain as of 1707) and Spain were like two young brothers - they simply refused to get along.

During Blas de Lezo's lifetime, the two countries went to war three times: in the war of the Spanish Succession from 1701-1714, in the minor war of 1727-1729, and the awesomely-named War of Jenkins' Ear 1739-1748. The final one is notable for a few reasons, however.

The first is that it will be the ultimate proving ground for the longtime scourge of the Royal Navy, our hero, Don Blas. Second, the Anglo-Spanish War of 1739 would mark a new low (perhaps an all-time low) in the relationship of the two great nations. In previous wars, the fighting had been over tangible things: in 1701 it was thrones. In 1727 is was Gibraltar. The War of Jenkins' Ear was fought essentially because relations had degenerated to that point. The rivalry - and the hatred  - between Britain and Spain, and between Britain and the Bourbons, was simply beginning to boil over.

Following the War of the Spanish Succession, Spain had granted England an asiento, or, the right to sell slaves to Spanish colonies. After the Anglo-Spanish War of 1727-1729, however, Spain won the right to stop and search British vessels in order to ensure that their business in Spanish waters was asiento-related. In the early 1730s, however, relations between the two navies hit rock bottom. Being stopped and boarded at random was an extreme inconvenience for British slavers, and at the same time, the Spanish navy began to grow more and more suspicious of British traders for abusing their trade agreement. Imagine that any time you drove, you were liable to be pulled over by a policeman who is certain that you are hiding narcotics in your car, which he can search without a warrant. Rising tensions seem understandable. Stories like the one of shipmaster Robert Jenkins became more and more common:

In 1731, Jenkins' Rebecca was stopped by the Spanish La Isabella, accused of piracy, and boarded. Jenkins showed the Spanish sailors his slaves, and, for good measure, insulted the Spanish commander, one Julio Leon Fandino. In return, Fandino drew his cutlass and cut off Jenkins' ear, picked it up and handed it back to him. A merchant, Jenkins couldn't do anything about it at the time, but what he could do was talk. He returned to Britain and told his story to anyone who would listen, including the King of England. In March 1738, Jenkins brought his story, and his ear, to the House of Commons.

Jenkins' story, and ones like it, led to significant pressure from the British public, and in 1739 a British squadron was sent to Gibraltar (which was by then recently under British control), as well as reinforcements to the Caribbean. Britain was preparing for war with Spain for the third time in 40 years. When Spain demanded financial compensation for threatening the Spanish population of Gibraltar, Britain asked the Spanish to renounce their 'visitation clause' to Gibraltar (it is important to remember the importance Gibraltar played in the previous two wars of the 18th century). Spanish King Phillip V said no thanks, but we will annul the asiento and seize all British ships in Spanish harbors. Britain declared war on October 23, 1739.

At this point, more than any practical offense, the boundless pride of the budding British Empire had been wounded. Future revered prime minister William Pitt couldn't resist an opportunity to insult the Spanish: "It is vain to negotiate and make treaties if there is not the Dignity and Valour to enforce the observance of them." The British, hubris stinging, decided, in the words of Lawrence James, "...that Spain had failed to uphold her obligations to Britain and therefore needed to be reminded of them in a way that would deter any future backsliding. The navy was the obvious means of bringing home to Spain the folly of meddling with British trade. The doctrine of the corrective use of seapower which later, and after many applications, would be known as gunboat diplomacy was born."

James also notes that little thought went into how the Spanish would be punished - the Commons had visions of "...the campaigns of Drake and Morgan with warships returning to British ports crammed with the silver and gold of the Spanish Indies." This is important, and it reminds me of an instance of the shoe being on the other foot: the 1588 Spanish Armada.

The Armada was launched hastily, with questionable intentions and incredibly poor planning and leadership. The result was one of the most embarrassing military failures in recorded history. The adventure on which the British were about to embark was not quite of that magnitude, but it was launched rapidly, for reasons that can be at best described as silly, and the results would reflect that. Like a slighted sibling, Britain wanted only to lash out in anger, and the War of Jankins' Ear was the result. James continues: "... a war, begun in anger, resolved itself into a series of blows delivered randomly against Spain's empire and trade."

James brings up another key point here. This was not a war fought in Barcelona, or Gibraltar. This war was fought primarily in the colonies. And, unlike the Caribbean fighting in the War of the Spanish Succession, these were not minor skirmishes or failed raids: Britain was playing for keeps. What came of the war would have a lasting impact on the Caribbean.

Shortly after Jenkins' testimony in the Commons in March, 1738, the House requested that King George II solve the issue with the Spanish. When treaty talks, the Convention of Pardo, dissolved in early 1739, George gave permission to the navy to explore means of maritime revenge on Spain on 10 July, and Vice Admiral Edward Vernon (I love old-timey navy names) and a squadron were dispatched to the West Indies ten days later, though the war was not official until mid-October.

On 22 November, Vernon and six ships of the line took the silver export town of Portobello, Panama in a 24-hour period. They remained there for three weeks until the vital structures of the town were destroyed (fortifications, docks, warehouses), then departed. As they had hoped, this assault severely damaged the town's financial and maritime capabilities.

The attack on Portobello had the English in high spirits. Vernon returned to England for the winter of 1739-40 as the toast of the empire. He spent much of 1740 as the guest of honor at elaborate parties and ceremonies. Several roads and areas in Great Britain were named for the victory, towers were erected, and Thomas Arne composed Rule Britannia ("Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves!"). The fact that Portobello was a scarcely-defended shipping town was apparently of little concern (Vernon and his Caribbean ventures would continue to be remembered differently in Britain than in the rest of the world -- interestingly, the Royal Naval Museum website describes his attack on Portobello: "Against the odds, Vernon was able to not only capture the town's fort, but also the town itself."). In 1740, British imperialism was hardly 30 years old, and its citizenry, admiralty, and government were all excited at the prospect of expanding their empire in the West Indies, which at that point consisted largely of Jamaica and some other small holdings (Barbados, Bermuda, Virgin Islands, etc).

As a result, in 1741, Vernon was dispatched to the Caribbean again, this time not to attempt to maim Spain's colonial economy, but to challenge the very presence of Spain in the Caribbean. At the time, Spain had four main bastions of power in the West Indies: Santiago de Cuba, Vera Cruz in modern Mexico, Portobello, and Cartagena in Colombia. Santiago de Cuba was important as it was a stepping stone to the port city of Havana, which was an important port for all of Spanish America. Portobello was rendered useless for years to come, so the main targets for Vernon's second expedition were Cuba, Vera Cruz, and Cartagena. He chose the latter, and the effects would be long-lasting. A legend was born, a legend was tarnished, and the fate of the Caribbean sea was decided.

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This is Part 2 of a three-part series on Don Blas de Lezo and his impact on the colonial world. Part 3 is written and should be up shortly, so be sure to check it out. Thanks for reading.