Your monument shall be my gentle verse
That eyes not yet created shall o'er read
And tongues to be, your being, shall rehearse
When all the breathers of your world are dead
You still shall live, such virtue hath my pen
Where breath most breathes - in mouths of men

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Saturday 26 January 2013

Sam Ginn, Rifleman of the 95th Foot d. 1813


Sam Ginn here was born in Thorley in Hertfordshire in 1791.  His ancestry will be dealt with in further posts, but he was a descendant of William Ginn the Miller in my post of 4th September 2012 and had a good number of siblings and half-siblings.

If there are such things as military heroes, then Sam probably counts more than any of those to be mentioned in the blog, because he carried on fighting when it must have been obvious to him what the result was likely to be, which is pretty much what bravery is all about.

In 1835, Napoleonic Wars’ veteran, Benjamin Harris, spoke of his recollections to a retired officer.  These were eventually published in the 1840s and have been reprinted a number of times, not least in 1995 (with additional material) edited by Eileen Hathaway.

Harris was a shoemaker in London by the 1830s, fiercely proud of his time in the army, with just cause.  For Ben was not just any veteran, but a survivor from the Rifle battalions of the Light Division, as the writer Bernard Cornwell has called them “the best regiment, of the best division, of the best army [man for man] in the world” at this time.

Always fascinated by the wars with France, I purchased Mrs Hathaway’s book in early 1998 and the “Recollections of Benjamin Harris” have already added a great deal to my knowledge of the men who fought the Napoleonic Wars, and those members of the Ginn family of Hertfordshire who served alongside them.  To discover in my research that one such was Ben’s sometime comrade though, well, that is a case of truth being stranger than fiction.

Samuel Ginn entered the Hertfordshire Militia in January 1808: he was a substitute for another man who had been drawn, Sam taking the bounty in his place.  He could not have been forced to go and it seems likely that it was a combination of the money and adventure that influenced his decision.

As he was not then 17 (let alone 18) Sam was not actually old enough to enrol, but this was during the Napoleonic Wars and “blind eyes” were turned, as they have been in other wars.

Members of the county militia regiments were not able to volunteer for the regular army until they had served at least a year, and only then on certain prescribed occasions when volunteering was allowed.  Sam thus now spent some twelve months training and learning the basic skills of the infantryman.

The 95th Foot (Rifles) were a crack regiment.  Established as the Rifle Corps in 1800, both officers and men were selected for this regiment and standards were high.  They had lost a good number of men at the close of 1808 (having served as the rearguard in the Retreat to Corunna) and orders were received in early 1809 to go on a recruiting drive to bring each of the two battalions of the Regiment up to a strength of 1000 men.

Because of their high standards and the advanced nature of their training this regiment generally only recruited volunteers from the line regiments and county militias, men who already had some experience of the military.  What’s more, they only took the best of those, as Rifleman Ned Costello of the 1st Battalion was later to say “the men who joined our battalion were in general a fine set of young fellows, and chiefly the elite of the light companies of the provincial corps [county militia regiments].”

So recruiting parties were sent out by both battalions, chiefly to those garrison towns where the sundry county militia regiments were to be found.  Quartermaster William Surtees (2nd Battalion) was formerly of the Northumberland Militia, and in late March 1809 he was one of a party who went to Ipswich, where his old regiment and several other county militia corps were stationed.

The Hertfordshire Militia were at Ipswich at this time, and after the recruiters of the 95th had extolled the unit’s virtues, several Hertfordshire lads volunteered, Sam Ginn amongst them.  Indeed, in his history of the Regiment Cope says that the reputation of the 95th was such that nearly fifteen hundred first class volunteers were recruited in April, so many that the Regiment had to create a third battalion.  All of these recruits came from the English counties, Cope’s statement being amply borne out by the returns of “Bounty Militia Volunteers” attached to the muster records at the PRO.

Sam was originally recruited into this 3rd Battalion, enlisting for 7 years, before being marched to Hythe barracks in Kent where on 25th May he was transferred into the 2nd Battalion, that of Benjamin Harris.

All new recruits to The Rifles were given intensive training at both Hythe and nearby Shorncliffe where they were encouraged in individual initiative, in speed of movement, and were taught how to seize the advantage of the ground as well as all the skills required for skirmishing and light infantry work: marksmanship, scouring tracts of country, reconnoitring woods and villages, advance and rear-guards and out post duty.  They used rifles rather than the standard musket and were top class skirmishers in green uniforms rather than the usual red.  It was a unique training regime and it created a regiment which, if it has a modern day equivalent, was something of a cross between the SAS and the Parachute Regiment.

It was by reason of this training that Sam missed the expedition to Walcheren in July, all but two companies of the 2nd Battalion embarking at Dover for the Low Countries in an ill-fated attempt to capture Antwerp.  Forty thousand soldiers were committed, men that Wellington desperately needed in Portugal and had requested.  Fever (malaria) broke out once the men landed and soon the majority of the British army was ill: typhoid, typhus, dysentery and other fevers all being commonplace.  Hardly a shot had been fired when in September the order came to evacuate.

On 14th September Benjamin Harris and what Cope calls the “fever stricken band” arrived back at Hythe.  Only three quarters of the men returned, and of the remainder many were also destined to die or be chronic invalids for months and years.

Unfortunately many of the diseases present in the “Walcheren men” were infectious and on 16th September Sam Ginn became ill, as did virtually every recruit.  Sam and Ben Harris were in the regimental hospital, but many hundreds of men were sick and so the barracks was also overflowing.  So many died that Harris remarks that firing over graves was dispensed with.

Sam was ill for three months, until early 1810.  Wellington’s army was fighting in Spain and he was desperate for reinforcements, particularly of his elite troops.  The 1st Battalion had gone out to Portugal in May 1809, the 3rd were barely trained.  Here was the 2nd out of action, many of them veterans: it was decided that something had to be done and so in January 1810 great efforts were made to send some men out to our army in the Peninsula; I will let Harris tell the tale:

As soon as the prospect began to brighten, and the men to recover a little, some three hundred of us managed to muster outside the hospital, parading there morning and evening to benefit from fresh air.  Medicine was served out to us as we stood enranked, the hospital orderlies passing along the files giving each man his dose from the large jugs they carried.

As we got better, an order arrived to furnish two companies of the second battalion and two companies of the third battalion of Rifles for Spain, where they were much wanted.  Accordingly, an inspection took place and two hundred men were picked out. All were most anxious to go.  I myself was rejected as unfit, which I much regretted. However, after a few days and on making application, I was accepted in consequence I once more started for foreign service.

Rifleman Samuel Ginn was one of the two hundred men selected on that parade, there is a note against his name in the muster for that quarter that he was “on active service”.  The selected men were put into two companies commanded by Captains Cadoux and Jenkins respectively: Cadoux being the senior, the whole thus being known in the muster as “Captain Cadoux’s Detachment”.

In early February 1810 the two companies of the 2nd Battalion thus set out for Portsmouth.  It was eight days’ march and Harris says that the men had not gone far when he and a number of those who had been at Walcheren grew sick, wagons being requisitioned on the third day to help the invalids along the road.  Some of the men died along the way and were buried at various places along the coast, another 39 (including Harris) were too ill to sail and were sent back to Hilsea barracks (where The Rifles had a hospital) for treatment.  Harris says that he was the only one of those to live.

So having for a few short days marched alongside Harris, Sam and his comrades were now at Portsmouth, taking ship for Tarifa on February 10th.

Tarifa is a town on the very southern tip of Spain, the detachment landing on February 25th and forming part of the garrison under Lt. Colonel Graham: Sam dividing his time over the next few months between Tarifa and the garrison at Cadiz.  Some of the men who had come out with him became ill and were invalided home, Wellington reportedly saying that he did not want any man who had been at Walcheren to be sent out in the future.

Sam Ginn was actually in Cadoux’s Company, Harris knowing Cadoux well thinking him “a great beau, and although rather effeminate and ladylike in manners [he wore a lot of jewellery] .  ..he was a most gallant officer when we were engaged with the enemy in the field”.  Brave Cadoux certainly was, as he was to prove many times in the Peninsula and especially in the manner in which he died.

Wellington’s main army was in Portugal in 1810, and at isolated Cadiz and Tarifa the Detachment were pleased to be joined by five companies of the 3rd Battalion , the 3rd being under the command of Colonel Barnard.  These men were thus cut off from Wellington by land, being used in garrisons along the Spanish coast, “gnat-bites” that at any time the superior French armies in Spain might seek to swat.

 Sam and his mates were withdrawn to Cadiz, where Marshal Victor and his many thousands of men had the town under siege.  The garrison of Cadiz comprised no less than 26,000 men, but the vast majority of these were very unreliable Spanish conscripts and it was only constant supply by the British navy that kept the city going.  In January 1811 Victor was ordered to despatch a third of his force north, and an opportunity finally arose to lift the siege.

In February 1811 it was decided to attempt to relieve Cadiz by a sea-borne assault behind the French lines.  The force was to comprise some 13,000 men, five thousand of which were British.  One company of the 3rd battalion had now gone to join Wellington, so the four companies remaining and Cadoux’s companies (these last now under the command of a Major Norcott) were the only Rifles sent to accompany the relieving force, arriving at Algeciras where they joined the other British troops and a Spanish force under the command of a General La Pena.  After much argument the Spaniard was placed in overall command of the army.


The British force was commanded by (the now) General Graham and divided into two brigades.  Norcott’s detachment (and thus Sam) were attached to the Brigade of Guards (Scots, Grenadiers and Coldstreams), which must have been a comforting sight to the non-veterans among his men.  This Brigade was commanded by a General Dilkes, the whole henceforth being known here as “Dilkes’ Brigade”.  The 3rd Battalion were attached to a brigade comprising an amalgam of battalions of various line regiments, most notably the 28th, 67th and 87th Foot.

The Allied force marched north for some days.  It was chilly and the men had to ford a number of rivers and were always marching at night: they were cold and depressed.  Along the way La Pena decided to abandon the plan and tamely march across country to Cadiz.  Marshal Victor had other ideas.

On the 5th of March the small allied army arrived on the plain of Chiclana, halting on the knoll of Barossa, a long ridge running in from the sea.  The men had marched all night and were very tired.  Unknown to La Pena the French were camped on the next ridge: the Battle of Barossa was about to begin.

The British and Spanish forces had command of the Barossa heights.  Facing them on the plain below was a pine forest, beyond that a ridge.  Both were between the Allies and Cadiz.  La Pena ordered Graham to take virtually the whole of his men down into the forest, to advance through it and then secure the ridge.  Should a French army lay on the other side then it would (of course) have been the British who were slaughtered.  Graham suspected that Marshal Victor’s army was very close and doubted the wisdom of the order, he also had doubts about the Spanish, whose regular troops (as opposed to guerrillas) proved themselves poor allies throughout the Peninsular War.  It was with some reluctance that Graham obeyed.

Leaving one battalion of British troops on the ridge with the Spanish, Graham took the rest down the slope and into the woods.  Marshal Victor was no fool, observing all he split his army into two and despatched one whole Division (commanded by General Ruffin) around the wood and up the slope to take the Barossa heights from the Spanish, who almost without firing a musket promptly fled.  A solitary British battalion of about 500 now faced some 5000 Frenchmen.


The bulk of the British force was now liable to be surrounded, Victor despatching the other half of his force into the woods with the intention of catching Graham’s men out of formation.  Graham observed these events and quickly ordered the men in the woods to about-face and reform some distance back in the open.

Up on the heights the British battalion was threatened with cavalry and formed square, despatching a messenger to Graham for orders.  This battalion was almost instantly enveloped by the attack of General Ruffin and at the first volley from the French lost 200 men.  Graham gambled on a reflex decision, in truth he had little option: the French outnumbered the British 2:1.  Graham attacked.

Having left the wood, Dilkes’ Brigade hurriedly reformed and (led by Graham himself) charged Ruffin’s Division; less than 2,000 men were attacking 5,000.  The action was bloody.

The French always attacked in column, foot soldiers massed together to bring the greatest force to bear on a small section of the defending line of infantry.  As the column advanced steadily the drums would beat, a slow “rub a dub dub, rub a dub dub” was how the veterans described it.  As the French got nearer they began to shout and the pace of the drums would quicken into the Pas de charge.  It was designed to intimidate and throughout the Napoleonic Wars it worked for the Emperor countless times, but a fellow called Wellington was to work it out.

Six columns of French infantry, some 3,000 men, now marched down the slope towards Graham.  Surtees was watching mesmerised from the lower slope believing that: “never did a finer sight present itself” as Ruffin’s men manoeuvring on the high ground, the French in their “Sunday best uniforms” their arms “as bright as silver, glistening in the sun as they moved along”.  Norcott’s two companies of Rifles were strung out in a skirmish line in front of the Guards, and as the French grenadiers advanced Sam and his mates picked them off, all that target practice at Hythe beginning to make sense.  The men at the head of the columns began to fall, the columns seeming to shudder as the men behind stepped over the bodies.  Still the French came on, actually coming up to the Rifles and pressing through their position.  Column attack had broken continental armies at Austerlitz and Jena, the grenadiers were confident and quickened their pace.  As they did so the Guards Brigade and the other men supporting them opened up, volley after volley pouring into the French columns, only the front ranks of which could reply in kind.

The columns were quite broken up now, so many of the French had fallen, but they were still advancing, though not as steadily as before.  For a second the men at the front hesitated, those behind, not seeing what was in front, wondered what was up and the men were in some confusion.  Graham took his moment and ordered the Guards to fix bayonets and charge.

The French broke, the Guards got amongst them and in the fight General Ruffin and many other prisoners were taken, together with some artillery pieces.  The rest of the Division fled down the hill and the British had command of the heights once more.

In the meantime the other British troops (including the four companies of the 3rd Btn of the 95th) had also distinguished themselves, breaking the other French Division and capturing an Eagle standard, the first taken in the Peninsular War.

The loss to the French was about 3000 men in killed, wounded and prisoners; out of a total force of some 10,000.  The loss to the British was also high.  Graham had less than 5000 men, of these no less than one quarter were casualties, 36 of Norcott’s detachment of 160 or so having been killed or wounded I am told, the muster for Sam’s company certainly showing a good number.

The 95th now returned to Cadiz, and as all of the companies had suffered casualties Sam Ginn was transferred to the 3rd Battalion on 25th March, this battalion preparing to go north and join Wellington’s main army.  Sam was no doubt sorry to leave his friends, men he had fought and faced death with, and it is a good thing that he was not aware of the disaster that was to befall Cadoux and his men in years to come* .

On 30th June 1811 the 3rd Battalion of the Regiment embarked at Cadiz, landing in Lisbon from where they commenced a tough march up country to join Wellington.

On 21st August the 3rd Battalion marched into a series of villages along the banks of the Agueda River in and around which the 1st Battalion of the Regiment was camped, some distance away from the rest of the Light Division of which the 95th formed part.  They brought with them reinforcements, and Costello says how pleased the men were to see them.

The Light Division were already famous in 1811.  Containing three Light regiments (the 43rd, 52nd and 95th) they had been conceived and established by Sir John Moore at Shorncliffe, forming the rearguard for the army on the retreat to Corunna in which Moore had died.  They were now commanded by General “Black Bob” Crauford, an extremely tough soldier who was by turns loved and hated by his men.



Costello remarks that the 95th were very much in advance of the rest of the main army - virtually beyond supply.  Wellington had them acting as a “screen”, an early warning of any French movements.  As a consequence the men suffered pretty badly.  They were also on the Agueda to blockade the fortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, but as the summer advanced the French commander in Spain, Marshal Marmont, began an advance that was to force the Regiment to fall back to the main army at El Bodon.  There had been rumours there that one battalion of the Rifles had been surrounded and captured, so the Regiment were cheered as they marched into camp.

The Rifles now spent some months at El Bodon, some of the 2nd Battalion (including Cadoux’s Company) arriving with the Autumn.  On 20th November Wellington came and inspected the men.

Before he could contemplate any major strike against the French, Wellington had to seize two great fortresses on his line of advance, Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, these being known as “the key to Spain”.  Thus in late December the army was moved forward towards “Rodrigo” and in early January 1812 siege operations began in earnest.

To enable the army to get close to the ramparts while still under cover, working parties of the army would work in shifts to dig trenches and earthworks.  Closer and closer to the town they went, the Rifles’ best marksmen occupying rifle pits and keeping up a fire on the walls, as throughout the work the men were obviously subjected to an artillery barrage.  The work was rendered worse by the fact that on every approach and withdrawal the men had to ford the river, arriving wet and cold (it was January) on the other side.

On January 18th it was decided that the artillery had created two practicable breaches in the walls and on the 19th the men were assembled for the assault.

Wellington had a tendency to overwork his best troops, nearly always using the Light and Third Divisions for the most dangerous work.  So it was again here, those two divisions being selected for the first attack.

The Light Division formed up that evening in front of their designated breach in the walls, the “storming party” of a hundred men from each of the three regiments to go in first.  The rest of the Division would follow.  “Black Bob” gave his last ever speech to the men:

Soldiers; the eyes of your country are upon you.  Be steady; be cool, be firm in the assault.  The town must be yours tonight.

Crauford led the men forward.  They raced up the slope and Costello, in the storming party, says that as they neared the breach “canister, grape, round-shot and shell, with fire balls to show our ground came pouring in and around us, with a regular hail-storm of bullets”.

Crauford fell almost immediately, hit several times.  Costello says that the men did not pause but dashed on up the breach (bayonets fixed) which was taken after very heavy fighting.

The army’s blood was up and they were out of control for a time, the town being sacked and the population abused, but order was soon restored.  Barnard was now in command of the whole brigade containing the 95th and Cope say that as night fell he had assembled the Rifles, “forcing them on the ramparts, where, kindling fires, they lay down and slept soundly after the din of arms, many [of their comrades] slept to wake no more”.

Most of the regiments that had taken the town were ordered to return to their bases.  Wellington was to garrison the fortress, but his army was too small to yet take on the whole French army in Spain.  So, next morning, the 95th marched out of Rodrigo clad in all the “souvenirs” that they had taken from the French: jackboots; great and frock-coats; shakos and epaulettes.  A few men even had monkeys on their shoulders.  They were cheered by other regiments as they went along, and with the “vivas” of the villagers on their route, Costello tells us that they were welcomed back to El Bodon.

The men rested briefly, in February 1812 marching to Elvas, near the great fortress of Badajoz.  At Elvas a month, the siege of Badajoz commenced on March 17th, with the Rifles marching out of camp to the tune of “St Patrick’s Day in the morning”.

The weather was foul, chilly and very overcast and wet, Cope recalling that the siege was one of “unusual hardship” to both officers and men.

The men were in trenches six hours by day and six by night, both in rifle pits and siege positions where they were required to develop the earthworks.  Wellington was badly let down by his engineers in that scarcely any damage was done to the incredible defences of this fortress by mining etc.; he would shortly be sending flesh and blood to make up the deficiency.

For three days in early March Sam was in the regimental hospital, presumably with a chill or fever, but he was present in camp on March 19th when the French sent out a large infantry and cavalry force (1500 men) which attacked the Light Division when the working parties were changing shifts, the French penetrating the camp and inflicting some casualties before they were repulsed.

On 6th April it was decided that two assailable breaches had been made in the walls, yet Wellington was aware that in truth the defences were hardly touched and he was sending many men to certain death.  The reality was that he couldn’t wait.

So Wellington gave orders that the Light and 4th Divisions would each assault one breach; the excellent 3rd Division (commanded by Picton) being chosen to storm the Castle (initially as a diversion) at one end of the wall, this being deemed impregnable by the French and thus (as it turned out) lightly guarded.

That night (6th April) the men formed up for the attack.  The Light Division were to storm the Santa Maria breach in two waves.  The volunteers of the aptly named “Forlorn Hope” and “Storming Party” would go in first, followed up closely by the rest of the Division.

These men were attacking a small breach in an incredible series of defences.  The French had a maze of defensive works from which they could keep up a cross-fire, every possible place of concealment for an attacker had been mined with explosive charges and artillery poured down every conceivable missile.  Just below the breach there was a deep ditch, a grave for many attackers, but any man lucky enough to get this far and get out would find himself up against “chevaux-de-frise”, tree trunks studded with bayonets and sword blades which were mounted on a swivel so that they would rotate.  Whilst he tried to get under this the defender threw powder barrels, or shot him with one of the twelve loaded muskets (with a person to reload) that each had been given.


The attackers were blessedly not fully aware of this before they charged up the slope, though they knew that the walls were three times the size of that at Rodrigo.  At 10 o’clock they went forward.

The “Forlorn Hope” and “Storming Party” went first.  They were carrying storming ladders and bags of grass to throw in the ditch.  Costello was with them, as was a Major O’Hare of Ned’s battalion and a great favourite among the men.  It was very dark, all was quiet and the first wave approached the ditch.  A few men began to throw their sacks of grass into the ditch and place storming ladders on the other side.  It seemed too easy: it was.  Suddenly a dozen fire­balls were catapulted into the sky as primitive flares and as Napier calls it “the terrors of the scene” were exposed.  For a second the Light Division were all still alive, then many weren’t.  Hundreds of carefully placed, mines, charges and shells exploded and many of the men were blown to pieces.  At this moment the 4th Division arrived and in a confused mass the men began leaping into the ditch.

There was then chaos, deadly chaos.  Men tried to go forward but in the dark grew confused with the shadows and charged the wrong way.  Others fell into carefully contrived traps and were shot, yet others drowned in the water and blood at the bottom of the ditch.

There were many incredibly brave attempts to take the breach, officers leading groups of men on, only to be shot down.  The ditch became so full of bodies that they trapped some of the living, suffocating them.

Yet all pressed on; even the firing party in the covered way, carried away by frenzy seeing their comrades fall, and their aim baffled by the smoke, leaped into the ditch, and, passing, how they could, the drain cut in it and filled with water, in which not a few were drowned, they surged like the wave of a raging sea up the breach.  But as the wave is repelled from the rock, so were they checked by the insuperable obstacles: the chevaux-de-frise of sword blades fixed in beams; the murderous fire from behind the wall of sand-bags; the planks studded with nails; the shells, powder barrels, grenades and even cart wheels which were hurled down upon them.  Again and again, as one wave fell or melted away under that slaughtering shower, another took its place.  [Major] O’Hare fell in the breach, shot through the breast with two or three musket balls.  His Sergeant, Fleming, who had stood by him in many a bloody field fell by his side.  Many officers of the Regiment and many valiant Riflemen lay dead or pressed down by those who were, in that heap which extended from the breach to the top of the counterscarp.  (Cope: p.105)

This went on for two hours.  Eventually the men of the Light and 4th Divisions were simply hanging on, a few rushing forward every now and again to be taunted by the French “why not come in to Badajoz!”

At about midnight Wellington was brought news that the French had been taken completely by surprise by the 3rd Division at the castle and it had fallen.  It was thus only a matter of time before the town went as well.

Orders were sent to those attacking the breaches to draw off, but in the confusion and noise they did not get through.  Still Riflemen charged and fell, still they pressed forward.  Then “at last” says Cope “almost all that lived and could live came away, and the remnant of the Regiment was formed a little distance from the place [the assault point] between midnight and one o’clock”.

There news was brought to them of the 3rd Division’s success, the men being very bitter; partly because of their inter-division rivalry, partly due to shock and nervous and physical exhaustion.  The town had in fact been purchased with the blood of the Light and 4th Divisions, more than one man in four being a casualty. The muster of the 3rd battalion of the Rifles is studded with a simple epitaph against so many men’s names: “killed at the Storm of Badajoz, 6th April”, including men of Sam’s (5th) Company.

The sack of Badajoz is a story as well known as the attack.  It is infamous.  The British army lost all discipline and went mad in a frenzy of murder, rape and drunken pillage that lasted two days.  Some soldiers stood aside, but most succumbed to some degree, and although there is some excuse for the numbed attackers who were just relieved to be alive, it is agreed that there was none for the majority of Wellington’s men (perhaps 30,000) who had taken no part in the storming of the fortress.  Wellington famously said that “some” (only some) of his soldiers were “the scum of the earth”: at Badajoz they proved it.

Eventually, Wellington gained control of his men; though he needed to have gallows erected around the town.  On April 11th the 95th broke camp and slowly made their way back to the Agueda, to rest and prepare for a summer campaign.  The army was in a bad way, the Rifles’ supplies non existent and uniforms badly patched.  The army could still not be supplied in the time available, but Wellington reviewed the Regiment on May 27th and declared them “in good fighting order”.

Having secured Rodrigo and Badajoz, Wellington now planned a more general campaign with the eventual aim of driving the French out of Spain.  The French outnumbered him three to one, and so it was only on news that diversionary actions were occupying most of them elsewhere, that in June he launched a lightning strike north and seized Salamanca, leaving a small garrison as a lure to the enemy.  The weather was scorching hot and on 2nd July the 95th were very pleased to arrive at Rueda, a wine producing town with many cooling wine vaults, where the men thought it sensible to refresh themselves.  Suitably refreshed, albeit a fortnight later, the men broke camp when news arrived that a great French army under Marshal Marmont was advancing to meet them.

Marmont’s army was virtually identical in size to Wellington’s.  The French Marshal hoped for reinforcements but knew (as did Wellington) that none would be forthcoming because the French thought that the diversions in the north of Spain were far more serious than they were.  The British army, however, was caught on a plain and Wellington sought better ground on which to fight, the Light Division marching for miles in quarter-column, ready to form square at the first sight of French cavalry.

The two armies manoeuvred for some days, then on the night of 21st July 1812, as the Light Division forded the river at Salamanca, there was a terrible thunderstorm: the, men taking this as an omen of battle and their victory.

As dawn broke on 22nd July the two armies faced each other, the French still marching this way and that, each trying for an advantage.  As late as 4 o’clock in the afternoon Wellington perceived one and launched the 3rd Division and cavalry at a weakness in the French line upon which attack it broke.  The French army began to flee the field, rapidly pursued by the British, the Light Division (who though present had for once taken no real part in this battle) at their head.  The Light Division came up on the French rear-guard on the 23rd, the 95th being involved in heavy fighting.

Salamanca has been called Wellington’s great tactical victory, possibly his only attacking one.  He marched on Madrid, the army entering it to a tumultuous reception on August 12th.  All seemed to be going very well.  Unfortunately events elsewhere did not go in the Allies’ favour.  Although the French evacuated southern Spain, this enabled them to merge their various armies, thus greatly outnumbering Wellington whose army was at the end of lengthy supply lines.  Thus several months later, to the great contempt of the Spaniards, we left Madrid to the French and retreated west, back to the Agueda.

The British soldiers could not understand why they were retreating, having beaten the French in three major engagements during the year.  They were depressed, poor weather and a lack of supplies making them more so.  The roads became very muddy, men’s boots got stuck and left in the mud and soon many (including Costello) were on bare and bloody feet.  Constantly harried by French cavalry, discipline began to break down in several of the lesser regiments and is no surprise to find that the good old Light Division were used as the rear-guard.

Costello remarks that the sufferings of the Regiment were “pitiable” on the retreat, the 3rd Battalion’s muster bearing this out with the notes of men sick and falling behind, never to be seen again: some dying by the road, others prisoners.  Eventually the men staggered into Ciudad Rodrigo, soon taking up their old winter-quarters on the Agueda.

The state of the 3rd Battalion is amply shown by the memoirs of Lieutenant Fernyhough, an officer of the battalion and the only one of four brothers in the army to die out of uniform.  Fernyhough had joined the army with some recruits for the battalion a year or two before.  He had been ill for much of 1812, eventually being abandoned on the retreat and captured by the French.  Near death, he had been saved by another prisoner, a Rifleman of his own company, who had got them both away and half carried his officer for some weeks to Rodrigo.  In despair the Lieutenant wrote home, telling of his miseries and that of the reinforcements who had come

During the winter reinforcements arrived from home.  With them came new uniforms for the 95th and tents, the Rifles having spent four years in the Peninsula sleeping under the stars (or clouds).  Both Costello and Surtees remark that the men swiftly cheered up, showing off their new uniforms before the local ladies.

By the spring of 1813 Wellington’s army had grown to nearly 80,000 men, two thirds of them British, most of the rest Portuguese.  Elsewhere in Spain, poorly led Spanish regulars harried some of the French, as did guerrillas.  The British army were aware of Napoleon’s disastrous campaign in Russia and the fact that the French army in northern Spain (about 200,000 men) could not be reinforced.  Wellington was confident that with Spanish co-operation he could stop the French army concentrating and attack them piece-meal, an early victory allowing him to take control of what was known as “The Great Road,” the large north-south highway that bisected Spain and the route for French advance and retreat.

At the beginning of May 1813, Wellington’s army left Portugal and began the now famous “March to the Pyrenees”.  Wellington swore that on leaving Portugal this time he would never return, and so it proved.

The army marched steadily northward, as they did so the French fell back. Onward across the plains of Castille, rich in cornfields and vineyards and then over more rugged terrain, a wilderness of rock-strewn hills and dusty roads and paths.

The French had continued to retreat.  The Emperor’s defeats of the previous year had unsettled them, and they were partly hoping that by moving nearer to France he might be persuaded to assist.  They were stripping Spain of its loot and retreating up the Great Road, the intention being to make a stand at a site of their own choosing.  Napoleon had recently had some success in stopping an invasion of France from the east and the French veterans believed that any day now their Emperor would arrive and finish this Wellington for good.

During the winter the Light Division had been organised into two brigades, the 1st Brigade (under Kempt) containing the 1st and 3rd Battalions of the 95th, the 43rd Foot and some Portuguese Light Infantry units.  On 18th June this brigade was the advance guard for the army when it came upon the French rear-guard at San Millan.  A regiment of German hussars were with the 1st Brigade and attacked some large French formations, cutting right and left.  Both battalions of the Rifles went forward and were in very heavy fighting for a time.  Some of the French deserted their baggage (including loot) and ran, Surtees remarking that to the great disgust of the 95th they did not get their share, the 2nd Brigade of the Light Division looting the French wagons as their comrades fought on.

Wellington was actually advancing far faster than the French could retreat, the French army being encumbered with all the vast array of loot that they had taken from Spain.  Not prepared to leave one iota of it, the Great Road became clogged, and they finally decided that they had to make a stand on the Road at Vittoria (sometimes spelt Vitoria) in northern Spain.

The rest of the army hurried on while 70,000 Frenchmen and the largest force of artillery ever gathered in the Peninsula awaited the British and Portuguese.

The French army divided itself into three defensive lines, drawn up behind the Zadorra river and roughly covering an eight mile front between two ranges of mountains.  The valley was not flat and on many high knolls and hillocks the French had arrayed a vast amount of artillery which thus overlooked any of their centre.  They were very confident, certain that they could not be outflanked and that Wellington would have to attack their front, at which point they would pound the British army to oblivion.

Wellington had very good information as to the French plan, and on 20th June he brought his army to rest in front of the Zadorra.  The army was divided into three, one segment camping directly in front of the French positions, the others to their west and east.  Wellington intended to use the dispersed columns to attack the French flanks the following day, daringly moving these men through narrow mountain passes and across almost impassable paths.  Timing was crucial, as no attack on the centre could be made until the flanking attacks went in.  Men marched through the night.

Dawn on Monday, June 21st, 1813, brought a dazzling, blinding sun that lanced down over the Pamplona valley.  The air was amazingly clear, so much so that events at a great distance could be seen clearly by the naked eye, let alone through a staff telescope.

Dawn came at 4 o’clock, and already three quarters of Wellington’s army were marching, trying to get into position for the planned attack at 8 am.  Two attacks were planned on the western flank, one to get right behind the French, these men thus having a long way to march through tough terrain and they were already very late.

In front of the French, camped by a loop in the Zadorra and part of the Duke’s centre column, sat the Light Division.  Right at their head were the 3rd Battalion of the 95th Rifles, camped in a woody area right under the French positions on a hill to their front.  They were so close (say witnesses) that Sam Ginn could have shot the French gunners with his rifle.

Surtees says the men of the 3rd sat and waited, rifles piled in the centre of the camp.  From here he surveyed an incredible scene, the bright sun reflecting off tens of thousands of pieces of metal.  To their direct front was the river, behind, on the left, a low “conical hill” (the Knoll of Arinez).  On the right of that was a plain, sloping away to the right, this bisected by the winding snake of the Great Road.  Surtees gasped in awe, for the hill was:

as thickly set with troops as if they had been bees clustering together [while] .. on the plain [between the bill and the mountains] the troops appeared to stand so thick that you might imagine that you could walk on their heads

The flanking attacks being late, the centre column waited, and waited.  The delay played on the men’s nerves, Surtees remarking that one very nervous Lieutenant made out his will.  Sam’s battalion wondered what was going on, then, suddenly, into their midst rode Wellington and his staff, going forward to the river to observe the French positions.

                                        Wellington as Sam Ginn would have seen him
                                                             (below, as an old man)


Not far in front of the Rifles was a bridge, the bridge at the village of Villodas.  Somehow, nobody describes how, a “cloud” (as it is called) of “voltiguers” (French light infantry sharpshooters) appeared as if from nowhere, charged across this bridge and occupied a small copse on some higher ground on the British side. From there they they opened fire on the Duke

For a second there was consternation in the Rifles’ camp, then the whole of the 3rd Battalion and two companies of the 1st (including Costello) charged forward.  There was some serious skirmishing, as all these men were marksmen, then Costello tells us that the voltiguers slowly fell back.  The Rifles’ heard a cheer says Ned, as one of the British attacks finally went in downriver.  The 95th’s blood was up and they charged the bridge at Villodas.  The French ran, through the village and over the bridge.  Some of the 95th pursued them to the French side of the river, taking cover behind rocks and boulders, some originally placed there to block the bridge.  The French artillery opened up, some shot hitting the boulders and splintering them men of the 95th caught in a shower of shrapnel and shards of rock.  Men died here, those that could retreated over the bridge, the Riflemen and voltiguers then spreading along the opposing sides of the river; keeping up a deadly fire for the river was no more than 30 yards wide.  Many men fell, the officer of the 3rd Battalion that Surtees had earlier seen to be so nervous shot through the head.  The artillery fire continued, shot falling amongst the men and one explosion decimating a group of Riflemen atop a village wall.  The intensity of this could not be sustained, and gradually the fire slackened: the French drawing off.

                                  Roman bridge at Villodas

Sam Ginn fell at Villodas; he was wounded, whether by voltiguer or cannon I do not know.  It is logical to assume that he lay wounded for some hours, for Kempt’s 1st Brigade moved off shortly after, leaving only a half-company of the 3rd Battalion in the village.  These men would surely not have braved French artillery to get him, but, then again, perhaps such men would?  No, it must have been later, when Vandeleur’s 2nd Brigade of the Light Division took the bridge, that Sam was found and finally looked after.  For the Division the battle was beginning, for Sam Ginn it was already over.

Wellington won of course.  The plan did not work brilliantly, but it worked.  When night fell Costello says that the men met round the camp fires to discuss the events of the day, their loot, comrades that had fallen.  Who enquired after Sam Ginn of the 5th Company of the 3rd Battalion?

Next day, much of the army moved off in pursuit of the French.  Many regiments left a detachment in Vittoria, the streets of the city were choked with the debris of war: wagon upon wagon of the dead, the dying and the wounded.

A general hospital was set up, this for all wounded men: Allied and French.  Partly staffed by surgeons and orderlies, partly by ordinary soldiers: they were hellish places; Sam being admitted to Vittoria’s on 24th June.    On 20th July 1813, Rifleman Samuel Ginn slipped away: he was 22 years of age - the entry simply reads "died of wounds".  Sam's luck had finally run out.

Vittoria was not Wellington’s greatest victory, but (after Waterloo) it was the most significant, for it drove the French from Spain and gave heart to Britain’s allies, at a time when Napoleon was beginning to recover from the disaster of the Russian campaign.  Within weeks of the victory the 95th were camped on the French border.

There were other battles to win, and Sam’s Rifles were at them all, including that last great fight at Waterloo, though in truth there were few veterans of Costello’s ilk to see out the end of the Napoleonic Wars in one piece; for too many of these Riflemen died. Even the few survivors were not properly recognised by their country until 1847, when (on application) those that still lived could claim a medal.  I looked in vain at the Medal Roll for Sam’s close comrades of the 5th Company: gone, all gone.  Perhaps they are some of the 40,000 British soldiers lying in unmarked graves in the Peninsula, perhaps killed at Waterloo or dying prematurely thereafter.  It is only through the memoirs of men like Harris that their names are now remembered at all.

The stone bridge at Villodas is still there, and in Vittoria there is a large monument to Wellington and his men: a favourite of the city’s pigeons and a landmark for its citizens I am told.  What remains of Sam Ginn lies nearby.

                                      Vitoria Monument

The Rifles have marched into history, books have been written about them, fiction and non fiction, and the interested reader is referred to Mark Urban's "Rifles" and the "Sharpe" series of books and  TV series of Bernard Cornwell and for a taste please go here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Fy3tSim3to and here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YaJXMHWN4bI

This story began with Benjamin Harris, who like Costello, Surtees and countless others long dead, once marched with Samuel Ginn.  Without Harris the detail of some of the research would never have been possible, so it is to Ben, working in his shop and reflecting once again on the light of other days, that I leave the last word:

I remember a great many of the leaders and heroes of the wars of my time. Alas, of late they have been cleared off pretty handsomely!  A few years more and the world will be without another living remembrancer of them or their deeds.  The ranks are getting pretty thin, too, amongst those who, like myself, were the tools with which the great men of former days won their renown.  I don’t know a single living man now who was a comrade during the time I served.

Let me here bear testimony to the courage and endurance of that army under trials and hardships which few armies, in any age, can have endured.  Youths not long removed from their parents’ homes and care, officers and men, bore hardships and privations which, in our own more peaceful days, we have little conception of.  The field of death and slaughter, the march, the bivouac, and the retreat, are not bad places in which to judge men.  Having had the opportunity of doing so, I would say that the British are amongst the most splendid soldiers in the world.  Give them fair play and they are unconquerable.

I enjoyed life more whilst on active service than I have ever done since, and I look back upon my time spent in the fields of the Peninsula as the only part worthy of remembrance.  As I sit at work in my shop at Richmond Street, Soho, scenes long passed come back upon my mind as if they had taken place but yesterday.  I remember the appearance of some of the regiments engaged.  And I remember too my comrades, long mouldered to dust, once again performing the acts of heroes.




* Like Sam, Daniel Cadoux and many of his men died incredibly bravely in a famous incident at a bridge (Vera) in 1813.  This is their memorial

Sources

The books consulted are legion, but for manuscript sources at the National Archives see


Musters & pay lists for the Hertfordshire Militia 1808-9 (WO 13)

Musters & pay lists 2nd/ 3rd Battalions of the 95th  1809-1813 (WO 12)

Muster- Master General and Casualty Returns for the 95th Rifles (WO 25)

 

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for the entry. Being a napoleonic reenactor from Vitoria, I enjoy learning the events that happened here. Thanks for letting me know the history of Samuel Ginn.

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