It was a striking sight on which the two friends looked—­for though the one was but a private and the other a commissioned officer, yet by this time Fieldsend and Fairburn had begun their life-long friendship.  Away in front of them towered the huge irregular mass called the Rock of Gibraltar, or, more commonly, simply “the Rock,” with the little town clustered at its base and on its gentler slopes.  To their right was the indentation in the coast known as the Bay of Gibraltar, which was protected by a long stone-built jetty, the Old Mole.  From this protection ran a stout sea defence called the Line Wall, with two or three strong bastions.  This wall ended at another projection, the New Mole.  But neither the Line Wall nor the New Mole was visible from the spot where George and his superior stood.  Filling all the narrow neck of connecting ground were the allied forces just landed, five thousand of them.  Immediately in front stood the only outlet from the city on its north side, the Land Point gate.

“I wish they would settle the thing, and either let us get to work or else re-embark for home,” George said, as he sat in what shade he could find to defend himself against the fierce blaze of the sun.

“I am with you there, Fairburn,” the lieutenant agreed, with a yawn.

The speakers were alluding to the answer that was expected at any moment from the garrison within.  A formal demand had been made to the Governor for the surrender of the fortress to the Archduke Charles, “the rightful King of Spain.”  This was on the twenty-first of July, 1704.  The demand had been made on the part of the Allies by the Prince of Hesse-Darmstadt, who was present with three Dutch admirals and several Dutch ships.  The English admirals concerned in the siege were, besides Sir George Rooke, the chief of them, Byng, Sir Cloudesley Shovel, and Leake.  Many famous ships were in the Bay or rode off the Rock, including Rooke’s own vessel, the Royal Catherine, and Shovel’s still more famous Barfleur.

The day wore to its close, the guards were posted, and the men prepared for rest.  Then there came the long-expected answer from the Marquis de Salinas, the Governor of the fortress.  It was a stout and dignified refusal.  He and his men had sworn allegiance to King Philip, the old fellow said, and in Philip’s name he held the town and Rock of Gibraltar, and would continue to hold them as long as he could.

“That looks like business,” cried George, gleefully, to a little group of his comrades around, and the men smiled at the eager enthusiasm of the lad.  The orders were passed round that the attack should begin with daybreak on the following morning, and the soldiers went to roost at once, with easy minds.  It was believed that the attack would be but a harmless bit of child’s-play, as it was more than suspected that the defending force within the town was very small, though how ridiculously small it really was none of the besiegers at the time even guessed.