The Spanish Civil War (26 page)

The rising began at Melilla, the easternmost city of Spanish Morocco. In the night of 16–17 July, General Romerales, the local commander, looked for suspicious activity. At the
casa del pueblo
he joked with socialist leaders: ‘The masses at vigil, I see’.
¹
He returned home, convinced that all was well. He was the fattest of Spain’s four hundred generals, and one of the easiest fooled. The next morning, the officers who were in the plot at Melilla held a meeting in the map department of the headquarters. Colonel Juan Seguí told his confederates the exact hour of the rising—five o’clock in the morning of the next day. Arrangements were made for the seizure of public buildings. These plans were revealed to the local leaders of the Falange, one of whom, Alvaro González, was a traitor. He informed the local leader of the Republican Union party, who told the head of the
casa del pueblo,
who told Romerales. When the conspirators returned to the map department after lunch, and when arms had already been distributed, Lieutenant Juan Zaro surrounded the building with troops and police. The lieutenant then confronted his insurrectionary superior officers. ‘What brings you here, Lieutenant?’ demanded Colonel Dario Gazapo jovially. ‘I have to search the building for arms,’ answered Zaro. Gazapo telephoned Romerales: ‘It is true, my General, that you have
given orders to search the map department? There are only maps here.’ ‘Yes, yes, Gazapo,’ replied Romerales, ‘it must be done.’
¹
The hour of decision had arrived, prematurely but none the less certainly. Gazapo, an officer who was a member of the Falange,
²
telephoned to a unit of the Foreign Legion to relieve him. Faced with their presence, Zaro vacillated, agreed that his men could not fire on the legionaries, and surrendered. Then Colonel Seguí left for Romerales’s office, which he entered with his revolver drawn. Inside, an altercation was going on between those of Romerales’s officers who were insisting that the general should resign, and others who wanted to resist. Casares Quiroga, from Madrid, informed by telephone of the sinister meeting in the map department, had ordered Romerales to arrest Seguí and Gazapo. But who would carry out such an order? Romerales was undecided. Then Seguí entered his office and forced the general to surrender at the point of his revolver. The revolutionary officers declared a state of war, occupied all the public buildings of Melilla (including the aerodrome), in the name of General Franco as commander-in-chief in Morocco, closed the
casa del pueblo
and left-wing centres, and arrested the leaders of republican or left-wing groups. There was some fighting around the
casa del pueblo
and in the lower-class districts, but the workers were taken by surprise and they had no arms. All those captured who resisted the rebellion were shot, Romerales, the government delegate and the mayor included. By the evening, lists had been obtained of members of trade unions, left-wing parties, and masonic lodges. All such persons were also arrested.
³
Anyone known merely to have voted for the Popular Front in the elections of February was in danger. Melilla was henceforth ruled by martial law. The manner of its insurrection was the model followed throughout the rest of Morocco and Spain.

Colonel Seguí telephoned Colonels Eduardo Sáenz de Buruaga and Yagüe, entrusted with the organization of the risings at Tetuán
and Ceuta, the other two leading cities of Spanish Morocco. He also telegraphed to Franco (now at Las Palmas for General Balmes’s funeral) explaining why the rising at Melilla had had to take place earlier than the hour agreed. Sáenz de Buruaga and Yagüe took action, improvising twelve hours early what had been planned for the 18th.
¹
In Madrid, Casares Quiroga sought out General Gómez Morato, the over-all commander in Africa, by telephone.
²
He found the latter at the Casino in Larache: ‘General, what is going on at Melilla?’ ‘In Melilla? Nothing. Why?’ ‘Because a garrison has risen.’ Gómez Morato left the Casino and flew to Melilla, where he was arrested.
³
At Tetuán, Colonels Asensio, Beigbeder (the ex-military attaché at Berlin, whom the republic had transferred), and Sáenz de Buruaga had by this time also risen. The last-named telephoned the acting high commissioner, Álvarez Buylla, in the Residency there, and, arrogantly referring to him as captain of artillery—in the uniform of which rank he had proudly appeared at the parade at the end of the manoeuvres—demanded his resignation. Álvarez Buylla telephoned Casares Quiroga, who ordered him to hold out at all costs, telling him that the fleet and the air force would relieve him the following day. But the high commissioner was barricaded into his own house, surrounded by a few officers who remained loyal. Outside, Major Antonio Castejón and the 5th
Bandera
of the Foreign Legion
⁴
were digging trenches in the square. A little later Major de la Puente Bahamonde, a cousin of General Franco, telephoned the high commissioner from Sania Ramel airfield to say that he and his air force squadron would stay loyal to the government. ‘Resist, resist’, Álvarez Buylla encouraged, as Casares had encouraged him. But, by this time, with night falling, the residency and the airport were the only points in Tetuán not in the hands of the rebel colonels who, like their colleagues at Melilla, had crushed all resistance from the trade unionists and left-wing or republican groups. Colonel Beigbeder went to inform the Caliph, Mulay Hassan, and Grand Vizier of Tetuán of what was afoot, and gained their support.
Mulay Hassan had been a Spanish puppet since 1925. Soon he would give physical help, in the form of Moroccan volunteers. Beigbeder also took command of the department of native affairs in the city, the civil servants accepting the change from the administration of Álvarez Buylla without a murmur.
¹
Beigbeder, an Arabist of distinction, had a great reputation in Morocco, and it was probably due to his skilful use of the telephone and radio, as well as his fluent Arabic, that the rebellion there was consolidated.

In Ceuta, at eleven at night, Yagüe, with the second
Bandera
of the Legion, took command of the city more easily, no shots being fired to resist him at all.
²
At Larache, the only other town of importance in Spanish Morocco, on the Atlantic coast, the rising came at two o’clock in the morning on 18 July. Fighting was bitter. Two rebel officers were killed, along with five assault guards, on the other side. But by dawn the town was in the hands of the rebels, and all their enemies arrested, fled or shot.
³
At the same time, Franco, with General Orgaz, who had been dispatched to the Canaries after the failure of the rising in April, made themselves masters of Las Palmas. Franco declared martial law throughout the archipelago. While he was dictating a manifesto, the expected telephone call came from Casares Quiroga. The Prime Minister was told that Franco was visiting garrisons. At a quarter past five in the morning of 18 July, Franco issued his manifesto, making special reference to the exceptional relationship that Spanish officers were supposed to feel towards the country itself, rather than to any particular government, denouncing foreign influences, and promising, in emotive terms, a new order after the victory. No mention was made of the attacks by the republic on the church: the rebellion as yet had not formally become a crusade.
⁴
The manifesto ended with a
viva
for the ‘honourable Spanish people’, after an unexpected reference to fraternity, liberty and equality, ‘to be restored in that order of importance’.
This manifesto was broadcast on all Canary and Spanish Moroccan radio stations.
¹
Then, in the hot dawn, the rising began on the mainland.

Casares Quiroga and the government of Spain first attempted to crush the revolt against them by constitutional means. While instructing Álvarez Buylla and others loyal in Morocco to resist, the Prime Minister ordered several more warships to leave their bases at El Ferrol and Cartagena for Moroccan waters. He remained optimistic, sitting through three hours of a cabinet meeting, without telling his colleagues till the end what he had known before it began.
²
This infuriated both loyal officers and left-wing leaders, who anticipated a rising on the mainland, and who thought that whatever arms the government possessed should be handed over to the unions. But that revolutionary action was refused by Casares, who announced that anyone who gave arms to the workers without his orders would be shot.
³
In consequence, the streets and cafés of Madrid were choked with voluble people, none of them knowing what was happening. The demand ‘Arms for the People’ was lifted high on banners by all the left-wing organizations. In the war ministry, a group of left-wing officers were in control. General Pozas, head of the civil guard, and General Miaja, in command of the 1st Infantry Brigade, based in Madrid, seemed to be loyal, while the commander of the air force, General Núñez de Prado, a strong republican, telephoned to the aerodromes to ensure that the airmen were on the alert. Only Melilla, where the aerodrome commander, Captain Bermúdez Reina, had already been shot, failed to answer, though the commander at León was a rebel. Many changes of command were made in Madrid, while senior officers were dispatched to potentially difficult regions.

There were some 7,000 men in the Madrid garrisons, and some 6,000 civil guards, assault guards and carabineers. It was essential to try and assure their loyalty.
⁴
The conspirators in Madrid, meanwhile, held
anxious meetings in their own houses. Their system of communications with Mola was bad and their morale was low.

The first news of the rising given by the government was when Madrid Radio announced that ‘No one, absolutely no one, on the Spanish mainland, has taken part in this absurd plot’,
¹
which would, it was promised, be quickly crushed even in Morocco. While these words were being heard without belief, risings were taking place throughout Andalusia, where there were eight cities which had garrisons of battalion strength or above. There were risings in other towns too, led by either local falangists or the civil guard. Nearly everywhere, the civil governors followed the example of the government in Madrid, and refused to cooperate with the working-class organizations who were clamouring for arms. In many cases, this signed the death warrants of the civil governors themselves, along with local working-class leaders. Had the rebels risen in all the provinces in Spain on 18 July, they might have been everywhere triumphant by 22 July. But had the government distributed arms, and ordered the civil governors to do so too, thus using the working class to defend the republic at the earliest opportunity, the rising might have been crushed.
²

For the republic, the events of 18 July seemed bad enough. From dawn onwards and at various times until mid-afternoon, the garrison in the town would rise, and would be supported by the Falange and, in most cases, by the civil guard. In places where there was no garrison, the civil guard, Falange, and local right-wing persons might act by themselves. The appointed leader of the rebels would declare a state of war, announcing military law, and this proclamation would be read from the balcony of the town hall in the main square. This seizure of power would be resisted by the socialist, communist, and anarchist militias, as best they could, while the civil governor would vacillate in his office and attempt to telephone Madrid. The officers loyal to the republic, and, in most cases, the assault guards, would resist the rising and seek to rally both the civil government and the working-class or
ganizations. A local general strike would be called by both UGT and CNT, and barricades, of paving stones, wood, stone, or sandbags, or of whatever was at hand, would be erected. Fighting would follow, with both sides showing disregard of personal safety.
¹

In Seville, General Queipo de Llano, commander of the carabineers, carried out an extraordinary
coup de main.
He had come late to the conspiracy, though he was an
africanista,
having been a republican plotter in 1926 and in 1930. Though violent, unpredictable and even wild, he had been promoted by the republic to begin with. But he had expected higher rewards than he had received, and he had been angry at the removal from the presidency of Alcalá Zamora, whose daughter his own son had married. Queipo had no connection with Seville previous to the rising, and, indeed, had only arrived there on 17 July, in his Hispano-Suiza (his official motor-car), in which he later boasted that he had earlier carried out ‘20,000 miles of conspiracy’, under pretence of inspecting customs posts. Accompanied by his ADC and three other officers only, he established himself, during the morning of 18 July, in an office in the divisional headquarters that had been abandoned because of the heat. Then he went along the passage to see General Fernández Villa-Abrille, commander of the 2nd Division, that is, of Andalusia. ‘I have to tell you,’ said Queipo, ‘that the time has come to take a decision: either you are with me and my other comrades, or you are with this government which is leading Spain to ruin.’ Villa-Abrille was a republican who had conspired with Queipo in 1930; now he and his staff were unable to make up their minds, probably because they were afraid that, as in 1932, the rising would fail, and they would be sent off to a hot colonial gaol. Queipo, therefore, arrested them, and ordered them all to go into the next room. Since there was no key, he ordered a corporal to stand in front of the door and shoot anyone who came out. Next he went, this time accompanied only by his ADC, to the infantry barracks. On arrival, he was surprised to see the troops drawn up under arms on the square. Queipo nevertheless went up to the colonel, whom he had never seen before, and said: ‘I shake your hand, my dear Colonel, and congratulate you on your decision to put yourself on the side of your
brothers-in-arms in these hours when the fate of our country is being decided’. ‘I have decided to support the government’, said the colonel. Queipo expressed astonishment, and said, ‘Shall we pursue the interview in your office?’ Inside, the colonel held to his position, and Queipo withdrew from him the command of the regiment. But no other officer would take his place. Queipo then sent away his ADC to fetch one of the three officers who had been with him from the beginning. He was himself left alone in front of these officers who opposed him. He began to joke with them, and they said that they were afraid of what had happened after Sanjurjo’s rising in 1932. Eventually, Queipo found a captain to take over the regiment. He thereupon went to the back of the room and shouted to the other officers at the top of his lungs: ‘You are my prisoners’. With docility, they allowed themselves to be shut up. Next, Queipo discovered that there were only 130 men in the regiment. Fifteen falangists, however, appeared, to put themselves at his disposal. This was a small force to capture a great city with a population of a quarter of a million. Fortunately for Queipo, the commander of the artillery barracks and his officers agreed to support the rising. Heavy guns were brought into the Plaza San Fernando in front of the renaissance town hall, and the civil government brought into the line of fire behind the Hotel Inglaterra. The shelling of the hotel, in which some assault guards had gathered, began. One shell hit the civil government and the civil governor telephoned Queipo and surrendered, on condition that his life was spared. (It was, though the civil governor, Varela, spent many years in prison.) The civil guard of Seville then rallied to the rising. By the end of the morning, the centre of the city was in Queipo’s hands. Meantime, the working-class organizations had tumbled to what was afoot. Radio Seville called for a general strike, and for the peasants of nearby villages to come into the city for arms. But of these there were only a small supply. During the afternoon, the workers built barricades throughout the suburbs. Eleven churches were set ablaze, together with the silk factory belonging to the Marqués Luca de Tena, a leader in the conspiracy. Then Queipo captured the radio station. At eight in the evening, he broadcast the first of what were to become a notorious series of harangues. In a voice seasoned by many years’ consumption of manzanilla, he declared that Spain was saved and
that the rabble who resisted the rising would be shot like dogs.
¹
But night came with Seville divided in two. Queipo’s rousing speech did much to rally Andalusia to the rising. The possibility of denying on the radio that the rising had been crushed played an essential part in the rebels’ success, even though most of the large transmission stations—except for Radio Seville—remained in the hands of the government.