The consequences of Jenkin’s ear – the story of a naval battle

Hands up those of you who’ve heard of the Battle of Cartagena de las Indias. Hmm, very few, apparently. Now, I had heard of this battle before, because as a child I grew up in Colombia, and on several occasions I had the pleasure of visiting Cartagena de las Indias. And once there, it was hard NOT to hear about this famous battle.

But since then, years have passed (more than I am entirely comfortable of admitting to) and even if I do have an excellent memory, this particular battle disappeared into one of the darker corners of my brain, overlaid by all the medieval stuff I generally find much more interesting. Until some weeks ago, when I found myself face to face with a statue of the hero of the Battle of Cartagena.

So, peeps, I give you Blas de Lezo, as much a hero to the Spanish as Nelson is to the British. But before we dig into Blas (who, BTW, would like to point out he is actually Basque) how about some context?

In 1700, Carlos II, last of the Spanish Hapsburgs, died without issue. (And thank God for that: poor Carlos was so inbred he could scarcely talk, walked with difficulty and had probs eating due to his very protruding Hapsburg jaw. That’s what happens when your daddy is your mother’s uncle—and cousin—even more so when your paternal grandparents also were  cousins, your paternal great-grandparents were yet another uncle-niece marriage and your paternal great-great-grandparents were  first cousins on both sides… )

No Hapsburg heir meant the Spanish crown, and, more importantly, the Spanish Empire, was up for grabs. Well, sort of. Carlos had appointed an heir—Philippe de Bourbon, grandson to Louis XIV (and thereby also somewhat inbred as Louis XIV married his double first cousin, Maria Teresa of Spain) The rest of Europe was anything but delighted: France and Spain so closely united? No, no, not at all a good idea. And so began the War of the Spanish Succession in which France and Spain on one side—not that the Spanish were all aglow at the thought of  French king—strengthened by smaller states like Bavaria and Cologne, went to war against the Holy Roman Empire (Austrian Hapsburgs: they claimed the Spanish throne based on kinship) and its allies, Britain, Prussia and the Dutch Republic.

After years of strife, the war was finalised by the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713. Philippe of Bourbon could settle down firmly on the Spanish throne (the present king, Felipe VI is also a Bourbon, or as the Spanish spell it, Borbon). Britain came away with Gibraltar and Menorca, plus the right to trade within Spanish America.

The British rubbed their hands in glee. The Spanish, not so much. Gibraltar was a sore point, and according to the Spanish, one could not trust the British further than you could throw them, which was why the treaty included the right for the Spanish to board and inspect all British ships trading within their waters, so as to ensure there was no contraband aboard.

Not exactly popular with the British captains, this inspection stuff. Things tended to get heated, and I presume this is what happened when Spanish officers boarded the ship of one Roger Jenkins. Why else would the Welsh captain accuse the Spanish of having cut off his ear???

And so, dear peeps, started the War of Jenkins’ Ear, although these days quite a few suspect Jenkins exaggerated his injury, giving the British the pretext they’d been looking for to launch a major attack on the Spanish American port cities of Veracruz, Havana, Porto Bello, and Cartagena de las Indias. War on Spain was declared in 1739, and vice-admiral Edward Vernon was given command of a sizeable fleet. In November of 1739, the British captured Porto Bello, situated on the Atlantic side of the Panama isthmus. They razed its defences and abandoned it, and for a while the British sat on their hands as Parliament and the British Public, heavily influenced by eager merchant lobbyists, decided on the next course of action.

While the Prime minister at the time, Sir Robert Walpole, actively opposed war. Admiral Vernon did not—nor did a majority of Parliament. After the brilliant success at Porto Bello (Vernon likely squirmed at that, knowing full well that Porto Bello was a relatively easy target) Parliament sent out a huge combined host—army and navy—under the command of one Lord Cuthcart with the primary goal of taking Havana, as this port came with extensive dockyards, a must-have for any fleet. Long term, the strategy was to take all four port cities, thereby making it impossible for the Spanish to bring in supplies from Europe—or send gold and silver to Spain.

Lord Cuthcart died on his way out, and there seems to have been a period of some confusion as the various commanders attempted to agree on the best target. Vernon believed Havana was much too well defended. He actually had doubts about the whole proposed strategy—attacking well-defended and fortified cities is generally difficult—but if he had to choose (and he did, seeing as he had about twenty-five percent of the Royal Navy under his command), he’d go for Cartagena de las Indias.

Cartagena was founded in the 16^th century and named for Cartagena in Spain which had been founded just after the Second Punic War by Hamilcar Barca, father of Hannibal. As Vernon knew from an earlier failed raid, it was a heavily fortified city. No wonder, given the exploits of Drake back in the good old Elizabethan days. In 1585, an English fleet led by Drake attacked Cartagena, spending an entire month there as they looted and negotiated a ransom for the city. “Never again,” said the humiliated Spanish, and accordingly, by 1740 it was surrounded by miles and miles of walls, various batteries and forts. The two entrances to the harbour, Boca Chica and Boca Grande, were protected by guns on all sides. And then, of course, Cartagena de las Indias had Blas de Lezo as Governor General.

Time to shine some light on our protagonist: Blas de Lezo was born just outside of San Sebastian. As a young man, he joined the Spanish navy and saw years and years of action during the War of the Spanish Succession. By the age of twenty-five, he’d been promoted to captain, and along the way he’d lost an eye, a leg—and full mobility in one of his arms. Not that he let these disabilities hamper him: Over the coming years de Lezo was posted to the Pacific fleet (out of Callao in the viceroyalty of Peru), became commander of the Mediterranean fleet and successfully helped Spain retake Oran and other places from the Ottoman Empire before being sent out to yet again serve in Spanish America, this time in the most important port city of the Viceroyalty of New Granada: Cartagena.

Blas de Lezo did not sit around twiddling his thumbs while the British vacillated regarding what city to target. No, he began preparing for a siege, inspected forts and cannon, increased drills and ensured adequate stores of ammunition. Together with the new viceroy, Sebastian de Eslava, he made sure Cartagena was as battle-ready as it could be, even if he didn’t always see eye-to-eye with the viceroy. At their disposal, the two defending commanders had approximately 3 000 men and 6 ships of the line. They had around 300 cannon, dispersed over various batteries, they had stout walls and a geography that worked in their favour: the coast outside Cartagena was too shallow for ships to sail in too close, and the deepwater entrance through Boca Chica was very narrow, obliging ships to enter one by one.

Still: I suspect both Blas de Lezo and Sebastian de Eslava swallowed repeatedly on that March day in 1741 when the English ships appeared at the horizon. Vernon came with an entire armada: 29 ships of the line, 22 frigates, 71 sloops-of-war, 80 (!) troop transport ships, 50 merchant ships and two hospital ships. In total, the British numbered close to 30 000 men, commanded by Vernon (if Navy) and General Thomas Wentworth (if army).  The odds were evidently in British favour—or maybe not.

The British had not had an easy ride over to Cartagena. It had taken too long, disease was rife, and stores were low. Add to this that Vernon was fully aware that Cartagena had yet another ally: the weather. Come April, the rains would come, and unless they’d taken the city by then, they’d have to regroup, as with rains came terrible conditions and disease.

Initially, the British saw some success. They managed to overrun some of the outer forts, thereby allowing them to land their troops, but it came at a high cost. The Spaniards fought with everything they had, and Blas de Lezo even scuttled two of his (only) six ships to block English ships from entering the inner harbour. British ships bombarded the outlying forts for days, weeks, and only when several of the batteries had been silenced did the British land their men.

The target was the fort of San Lazaro, which effectively controlled the entire inner harbour and the city itself. Blas de Lezo knew that if San Lazaro fell, Cartagena fell, so he threw everything he had into defending it. San Lazaro was also protected by the guns in Cartagena itself—at least on the northern side—which was why the British decided they’d attack under the cover of darkness. For some reason, they did not launch the attack until somewhere around 4 am. It was hard going in the dark, roughly three miles in difficult terrain before the fort loomed before them, The attacking British had to struggle uphill, somehow get across the moat de Lezo’s men had hastily dug as an extra line of defence, and then finally, scale the walls. Unfortunately, the ladders were too short, the access too steep, and the defenders too determined. Even more unfortunately, by now the sun had risen, and the guns of Cartagena began bombarding the British and their auxiliary American troops.

San Lazaro held. The British retreated with dead and wounded. Of a force of approximately 6 000 men, a mere 3 000 remained, the rest either dead, injured or sick. Very sick. . . And then came the rains, and the British had to board their ships to find shelter. Blas de Lazo likely did a high five . . . Crowded quarters, rampaging disease, low supplies and a total breakdown in communications between Vernon and Wentworth left the British in a precarious situation, and by late April, the fleet departed. Well, what was left of it. The British had lost 37 ships with a further 17 badly damaged. They had also lost close to 12 000 men, a further 8 000 or so were wounded or sick.  Not exactly a triumphant exit. Rather, Goliath had hit the dust, defeated by a boy with a slingshot.

To make things worse, Vernon had sent off messages to London after the first successful attacks on outlying forts and batteries. So in England, people were already celebrating the victory, with commemorative medals being struck, medals in which Blas de Lezo knelt at Vernon’s feet. When news of the defeat reached London, the reaction was massive. So many men dead, so many ships lost!

Walpole’s government collapsed. George II felt obliged to retire from his role as mediator in the ongoing conflict between Prussia and Austria, and as a consequence, France and Spain joined forces with Prussia, thereby starting yet another War of Succession—this time the Austrian succession. It is said George II was so incensed by this loss, by the sight of his Caribbean fleet limping back in 1342 with less than half the men it set out with, that he forbade any mention of this battle—on pain of death. A royal approach to sweeping things under the carpet…

Meanwhile, in Cartagena the people celebrated. Blas de Lezo had yet again shown the world what a magnificent commander he was. Not that he was to live to enjoy the sweet taste of victory: four months later, Blas de Lezo died of typhus. The weather in Cartagena made no distinction between the British or the Spanish.

Blas de Lezo has statues all over the place—like in Cádiz. There he stands, rapier at the ready (if rather short) and gazes out across the water to very distant Cartagena, the city he so successfully defended from the grasping British.