Stories from the Military History Museum of Menorca: The Decision

“Fear guards the vineyard” would be the Spanish equivalent of Voltaire’s “It’s good to kill someone now and then to encourage the others.” In his work Candide, Voltaire criticizes the execution of Admiral Bing in 1757.

The decisions made in certain circumstances will be right or wrong depending on their consequences. Often, consequences that initially seem adverse prove positive over time, and vice versa. Whether a decision—and its consequences—that seems inconsequential at the time becomes crucial later depends largely on the number of elements that accumulate during that period—opinions, studies, assessments—adding elements to the equations of a system that, unlike a mathematical one, does not have a single answer. The work is based on a written pamphlet, to which history, as if directed by a stage director, adds or removes actors to enact it with the ending—and its moral—that it needs or that is demanded at each moment.

“…when valor and loyalty were not sufficient guarantees for the life and honor of a naval officer,” reads part of the epitaph carved on a tombstone in the crypt of the church in Berfordshire, England, zealously maintained by his descendants who, to this day, continue to demand a retraction of the sentence. Admiral Bing was the son of Admiral Bing, who was so decisive in the history of the port of Mahón, as the driving force behind its construction. Bing the younger was a mariner of proven worth and reputation. While in the English Channel in 1756, he received hasty orders to proceed to Menorca with a squadron short-staffed, lacking ships, and with virtually no resources, in order to block the access of the French fleet that intended—and succeeded—to land troops on the island to seize it. The French fleet, under Galisonnier, had already arrived, and when Bing reached the island, he found it already conquered—except for San Felipe Castle—its anchorages and potential landing points taken, and access to Mahón and the castle itself blocked by the French fleet.

I won’t go into detail about the exciting battle—there isn’t enough space—but the experts’ conclusion is that the actions of both commanders were correct considering the circumstances. The French did what he wanted—he arrived first and chose the location—and the English did what he could; in any case, both did what they had to do, resulting in a draw. Bing’s decision to head to Gibraltar, repair the ships, and reinforce their defenses was the right one.

The government in London was aware of France’s intention to seize Menorca, but its interests and concerns lay elsewhere. The mission entrusted to Bing was doomed from the start. When Bing arrived in Gibraltar after the battle, he found, in addition to notification of his promotion to admiral, another summoning him to appear before the Admiralty under arrest.

All the hallmarks of what are now so prevalent were present: hidden witnesses, false statements, leaks to the press, and above all, internal animosity that made it possible for someone with his experience and service record, and who was also a member of the House of Lords, to be condemned by the Admiralty. At the court-martial, he was not accused of cowardice, but rather of “not having done everything possible against the enemy,” an ambiguous and unfounded argument. The line between courage and recklessness is thin; the toy is borrowed, let alone the lives of those inside it. As part of the game, the sentence itself called for clemency for the condemned man; but to everyone’s surprise, Parliament sent the sentence to the King, advising him to deny the pardon. The government was trying to cover up and silence the public sentiment—the case received significant media attention—which accused it of dispatching a mission without adequate resources, thus allowing the loss of Menorca.

Under a leaden sky, the port of Portsmouth was filled with small boats from which the captains of the various ships were obliged to witness the execution. Dressed in full dress uniform and wearing all his decorations, he walked erect, slowly and with dignity along the aisle formed by two rows of his former soldiers presenting arms. Upon reaching the quarterdeck, with a slight bow, he greeted those present and, approaching the spot where a cushion lay on a bed of scattered sawdust, knelt before the firing squad. He blindfolded himself.

P.S.: The English admiral who lost Menorca, according to the search engine, is not mentioned at all

Former director of the Military History Museum of Menorca