Galveston, Texas, has always been associated in my mind with catastrophic tropical storms. It’s just the way it is. After all, this coastal city of some 50,000 inhabitants was the victim of the worst natural disaster in terms of loss of life that the United States has ever seen. The hurricane that plowed through on September 10, 1900, left behind between 8,000-12,000 deaths. No cyclone has come close to inflicting such a lethal blow on a populace. In fact, it is said that the combined number of victims of all the other tropical storms to affect America (some 300 in all) doesn’t even match it. It was that devastating.
One clear factor was the absence of adequate forecasting back then. The residents were not aware of what was to befall them. Foolhardiness played a part too. The weather bureau director of the town, a man by the name of Isaac Clines, just nine years before announced that, what many considered to be an obviously recommendable seawall for the emerging summertime resort town, was entirely unnecessary mainly because strong storms would never make landfall there. So no barrier was erected. Galveston was built on a sandy island whose peak elevation is only nine feet high, yes, that’s a whole foot below a basketball hoop, and it’s located on the western banks of one of the world’s most active tropical storm breeding grounds. So it is safe to say the town was heading for disaster. You could also claim with equal confidence that Clines was in no way suited for the position he held.
I hadn’t given much more thought to Galveston until recently when I learned that it was named after a Spanish military commander, Bernardo de Gálvez y Madrid, who led a brilliant campaign for his country and the American colonies during the Revolutionary War. The soldier really has nothing to do with the town, having died 51 years before it was officially incorporated. But a Spanish explorer in the 1780s decided to honor an early settlement in his name because, it should be noted, around that time, Gálvez was an outright hero in that corner of the world, considered by some to be the savior of the American cause.
Few people have ever given Spain the credit it was due for its contribution to the American Revolution, or the Guerra de Independencia, as the Spanish call it. American history teachers and textbooks key in on Lafayette and the French role, but it can be argued, and quite convincingly too, that Spain’s appearance and support was just as vital and, in many ways, more successful than France’s, since the latter went bankrupt when the conflict was over on 1783.
The Spanish worked masterfully by entering the war late, sweeping the British in the South when they were already nearly crippled, and emerging from the Treaty of Paris with a handful of recovered territories and renewed prestige. It wouldn’t last long, but I guess it good while it lasted.
While at the time a waning world power which had recently taken a licking during the Seven Years’ War (The French and Indian War in America), Spain still had the means and the experience to pose a threat to its rivals, and welcomed any opportunity to inflict damage on them. The fact that the same family ruled in both Madrid and neighboring France only served to cement the alliance.
The motive was mainly geopolitical, there is no doubt about that. If not, why else would two monarchies, one especially autocratic, support a revolution bent on ousting a king and forming a republic? Those would have been dangerous ideas to support. But I guess screwing over the British and grabbing some land was far more tempting (as well as shortsighted) than realizing they were putting themselves into danger down the road.
Once war broke out in the colonies, the other European powers made a point of it to supply the insurrectionists with the material and arms necessary to combat their English foes. Eventually the French were persuaded to join the conflict and not long afterwards the Spanish, in June 1779, declared war and got in on the act. Gálvez, who was already actively, though covertly, aiding the American side, was then commissioned with the difficult task of breaking the British control of southern waters and borders. Success would mean a major setback for the British and they knew it.
Gálvez headed an almost motley force of Spanish professionals, American revolutionaries, native American Indians, slaves and other individuals of unknown origins and aims. With an army of fewer than 2,000 troops, he managed to take Baton Rouge, Natchez, Mobile and finally, with the help of much needed reinforcements, laid siege to Pensacola, the most important British stronghold in the region. The English finally capitulated and the south was now free of their presence.
Gálvez carried out one of the most tactically sound campaigns of the war, achieving his objections not so much by brute force, as he lacked the numbers to overwhelm the enemy, but rather by ingeniousness. Students of military operations have nothing but praise for his performance. On top of that, he wasn’t one of those sissy members of the Spanish nobility who were granted a high rank based on his family name rather career performance. He earned his place because he fought bravely in a number of wars and was wounded on now fewer than three occasions: once quite seriously while fighting the Apaches, again while in battle in Algiers, and a third time at Pensacola. He was a stud. A real Spanish macho.
The claim that he saved the war for the Americans is an exaggeration because the British were already showing signs of fatigue from their own personal Vietnam. And Parliament had all but lost its patience with the inconclusive results. Win a battle, lose a battle. It didn’t matter. The war was going no where. Save for some unforeseen miracle, like Washington and the entire continental army being struck by a meteorite, British defeat was all but a sure thing.
But there is no doubt that Spain played a key role in expediting the outcome. And yet, so little is discussed about the role of the Spanish in liberating of the colonies from the English crown that even students on the subject come upon its story with a degree of surprise. Is it possible that Spain’s self-promoting problems go back that far?