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.
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)
(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.
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
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
* 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)
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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