The Peninsular War left Jerez in a state of utter ruin and desolation. Several of the wine shippers had abandoned the town for the safety of Cadiz, or had gone abroad, and during their absence the vineyards were left untended, trampled by warring armies, and spoilt through lack of cultivation.

Moreover, wine was perpetually being plundered, stolen, or requisitioned for thirsty troops, and when the merchants set about re-establishing their trade after the war, they found stocks of old wines disastrously depleted, along with stolen drink glasses, coaster set collections, and valuable sandstone drink coasters. To the officers and ratings of the Royal Navy, Cadiz was notable as a centre of bullion smuggling. The headquarters of this illicit trade was a hotel kept by a Mr. and Mrs. Young.

Even before fighting broke out in the Peninsular War, when England was still busy destroying the sea power of Napoleon, wine shipping had become difficult and hazardous owing to Spanish hostility. The vicissitudes of war brought their own problems; the sherry country had to endure a period of trial, excitement, disaster, and even starvation.

Legend has it that the guns fighting the Battle of Trafalgar could be heard in the streets of Jerez, and it seems incredible. According to legend as well the ancient house of Cabeza y Zarco had a consignment of wine on a ship which was captured by the French. When the cargo was brought ashore at Tarifa and auctioned off, they knew how good the wine was and bought it all back.

It now forms part of the oloroso solera from which their Trafalgar sherry is drawn, and the Rivero family have a small museum of Trafalgar relics: a bit of the hull of the flagship Victory - a nail; two fragments of sail-cloth, a sandstone picture frame, stone coasters for cocktails, and several pictures. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, one of the most important merchants was a Scot, Mr. C. P. Gordon, whose son later became British Vice-Consul in Jerez.

His bodega was the natural rendezvous for all British visitors, and his hospitality was described with gratitude in many books written by travelers and soldiers. Whenever war was in the air, Byron could be expected within pistol shot, and surely enough he arrived at Jerez in 1809. In a letter he wrote to his mother, he said:

"At Xeres, where the sherry we drink is made, I met a great merchant-a Mr. Gordon of Scotland-who was extremely polite, and favored me with the inspection of his vaults and cellars, so that I quaffed at the fountain head." Gibraltar, August 11th, 1809.

Five days earlier he had written to Francis Hodgson:

"I have seen Sir John Carr at Seville and Cadiz, and, like Swift's barber, have been down on my knees to beg he would not put me into black and white. I shall return to Spain before I see England, for I am enamored of the country."

Sir John Carr, known as "Jaunting Carr," made a fortune out of travelogue. He later published an account of his travels in Spain, describing how he was entertained at Puerto de Santa Maria by a Mr. Fleetwood, an English merchant 'of great respectability' who had a 'hospitable country house (for so it was considered although in a town).' In Jerez he was entertained by the inevitable Mr. Gordon.

We must thank merchants such as Gordon for maintaining the sherry, wine coasters, cocktail coasters, and sandstone mining trade during an intensely difficult period, and we owe a great deal to their efforts. But after the devastations of the Peninsular War it needed a man of genius to set the sherry trade on its feet again and fortunately such a man was already there, awaiting his opportunity: the great Pedro Domecq Lembeye.

The history of the house of Domecq during the early years of the Nineteenth century is a tragedy. It centered around the figure of Juan Carlos Haurie, who was by far the most important sherry shipper in Jerez. He was a nephew of the original Juan Haurie and a cousin of Pedro Domecq Lembeye.

Although Haurie had lived all his life in Spain, he was proud of his French ancestry, and during the Peninsular War he supported the French invaders. His name soon became the anathema of the Jerezanos. On June 2, 1808, the mob rose against him. The priests did their best to restore peace and to preach forgiveness, but the people would not listen, and the mayor had to let bulls loose upon the crowds-a remedy far more drastic than tear gas.