James Worthington’s part in The Grand Sortie.

   

 Shortly before midnight, on the 26th November 1781, James Worthington, a native of Ormskirk, Lancashire, slipped on his long-tailed red grenadier coat, stepping out into the rain he made his way to the Red Sands, where troops were assembling for the grand sortie. It was to be an extraordinary night. But James wasn’t supposed to be there; he had been wounded twice during the siege and was excused any regimental duties. Besides, General Eliott had determined that he would accept no volunteer, since desertions from both sides were an almost daily occurrence.

 James arrived amongst his colleagues, the Royal Manchester Volunteers, who formed up into the left of three columns along with the 12^th and 58^th of Foot, 100 seamen and artillerymen, under command of Lieut. Colonel Trigge. The centre column was largely grenadiers and the right column contained three regiments of Hanoverian troops. The Hanoverians were an insurance policy, since British troops could not be fully trusted. Many  British troops were actually Scots and Irish; the Jacobite Rebellion was a recent memory and the treatment of the Irish, in their homeland, amounted to what we now call ethnic cleansing. So Hanoverians were considered a reliable fallback in case of insurrection. Altogether with the three columns, the force totalled over 2000 men.

 Each man was to have “36 rounds of ammunition, with a good flint in his piece and another in his pocket.” Engineers and seamen were equipped with tomahawks for spiking guns and Devils; small packets of combustible compound which could be packed into gun carriages, or any wooden structures, to promote conflagration. Led by Brig. General Ross, shortly before 3 a.m. they made their way, as stealthily as they could, out through the sally port beneath Landport Gate, to destroy the enemy’s advance works.

                                                     pic courtesy of John Patrick Pitaluga                                                                                     

               Sally port entrance from Landport Tunnel and exit below Landport Gate.

 

The sally port was carefully constructed so as not to present easy access for an enemy whilst allowing rapid deployment from within. Over its length there is a steepish drop of perhaps 8 feet and it was formed as a slow S shape, rendering rifle shots unusable. A hole in the ceiling allows light in by day as well as performing as a murder hole through which grenades, boiling oil, etc. might be dropped. Although full height for most of its length, the drop to a half-height exit meant troops ducked to get out. Thus an enemy trying to enter would inevitably end up bunching outside, forming a queue to be slaughtered.

After exiting the sally port, the three columns of demolition troops formed up in Landport Ditch, then prepared to assault the enemy works. 

So how did a man from the market gardens of Ormskirk find himself creeping through what had been the Governor’s garden, at night, musket in hand, to attack enemy works?

 It all started with the capitulation of ‘Gentleman Johnny’ Burgoyne’s army at Saratoga on 17 October 1777. The revolutionary war in America was heading downhill for the British, which spurred the populace to patriotic action. To quote the Manchester Mercury “The people of Manchester distinguished themselves by their loyal zeal in a foolish and unavailing attempt to coerce the American colonies. There was a subscription which amounted to £8,075, for the purpose of raising the celebrated ‘Seventy-Second Regiment’ (Royal Manchester Volunteers) to serve in America during the war. They were sent to Gibraltar instead, where they fought with great bravery in the siege of that place. The regiment consisted of 1,082 men. The people of Manchester were much elated at this display of military ardour.”

 

 

 The deployment to Gibraltar was decided upon because the British government, in their wisdom, considered the reverses in America to be only temporary, soon to be overcome. However, with Spain joining the fray, the possibility of losing Gibraltar - and hence control of the Mediterranean - would be catastrophic and The Rock must be defended at all costs.

But it was not patriotic fervour that encouraged Mancunians to join up. It was the early days of the industrial revolution; men from the countryside like James Worthington were flocking to cities in search of work. They needed money, since the Corn Laws kept prices so high that their daily bread was out of reach. In recent years there had been food riots in Manchester and whilst the well-to-do could afford to be patriotic, lower down the social spectrum people needed to eat. So joining a regiment provided both clothing and accommodation, food every day - a novelty for many - and the chance of gaining some booty whilst risking your life for King George.  James Worthington had received a solid education and so shortly after enlisting in the volunteers he was made an NCO and soon appointed clerk to the paymaster and to the adjutant. It is perhaps ironic that escaping hunger in Manchester lead him to be hungry in Gibraltar instead, nevertheless he was here and had to make the best of it.

 

As the column made its way out of Landport, stealthy as they were, they were almost immediately detected by Spanish sentries who fired their muskets to warn their colleagues. The impossibility of moving 2000 men into enemy territory in silence and gaining total surprise became evident.

After initial navigational errors the Hanoverians took San Carlos battery, the Royal Manchester Volunteers and company stormed the Western gun batteries of St Martin and St Paschal and the enemy were driven back into their Lines of Contravallation; the defensive structures between the forts of San Felipe and Santa Barbara. What followed was an orgy of destruction which saw every gun and mortar spiked everything breakable or burnable destroyed and the powder magazines exploded. In less than an hour, the troops were on their way back to Landport having caused an estimated £2M worth of damage. The Sortie’s real value, of course, was the damage to enemy morale and the corresponding boost to that of the besieged.

 

 The enemy works were reduced to rubble and the object of the exercise had been achieved. General Eliott, so enthused that he had accompanied the sortie, proclaimed afterwards: ‘that the bravery and conduct of the whole detachment, officers, sailors and soldiers, on the glorious occasion, surpassed his utmost acknowledgements’.

 What is often not reported is that having accomplished their task, the men set about scavenging for every item of food that they could find as they were, quite literally, starving. The Redcoats returned with armfuls of cabbages and cauliflowers from the long neglected gardens between the inundation and the Spanish lines. Swept by gunfire from both sides, the gardens were unreachable except during the sortie. 

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 Our James Worthington went on to live a useful life before dying in 1801. The Gentleman’s Magazine provided this commentary on his funeral:

“The death occurred at Bristol of Mr James Worthington, native of Ormskirk, sergeant and clerk to the 1^st Royal Lancashire Militia; he was buried with military honours, many officers attending. Under the auspices of Lt. Colonel Plumbe and his Lady, a handsome subscription has been raised for the benefit of a wife and four children. He was twice wounded at the Siege of Gibraltar and though excused all regimental duties, when the sortie was made, in which “no volunteers” were allowed, was present at the storming of the 14 gun battery. Unassuming as brave, he did not sufficiently exert himself towards pushing forward his own interest and was too useful to be parted with, a fatality (too often) that checks the progress of meritorious men. Had his scholarship been less, he might have been more fortunate.”  

 

 

                                  

  First published at Gibraltar History Society Chronicle.    Paul Hodkinson.