The Elite

by Ranulph Fiennes

  In the rearguard, things were thankfully a little better. With the 1/52nd and 1/95th battalions, commanded by Edward Paget, and the 1st Flank Brigade, now comprising the 1/43rd, 2/52nd and 2/95th commanded by Robert Craufurd, the light divisions displayed all of the discipline and skill that Moore had taught them at Shorncliffe. Skirmishing in pairs, one would fire their musket while the other would load. Darting in and out of rocks on the mountains they deployed themselves in high positions and were a constant pest to French cavalry trying to advance.

  From their position guarding the crossing at the Esla River, two privates of the 43rd, John Walton and Richard Jackson, suddenly saw the French advance guard approaching. As Jackson raced to inform Craufurd of this, the French cavalry slashed at him, inflicting up to fourteen sabre cuts. Refusing to go down, he managed to stagger away and raise the alarm. Meanwhile, Walton was left to defend the bridge by himself. Shooting and diving for cover to reload, his clothing was shredded by sabres and his bayonet bent double. Despite this, he somehow managed to keep the French at bay long enough for Craufurd to arrive.

  Soon the Light Brigade positioned themselves in formation on the banks of the river. Benjamin Harris of the 95th recalled that the rain was so heavy that it actually flowed out of the muzzles of their rifles. Upon seeing the light infantry in position, and having been forced back by Walton alone, the French declined to engage, instead waiting for their main army to join them. Craufurd could not wait for this to happen. Engineer Captain J. F. Burgoyne was subsequently deployed to place explosives on the bridge and detonate it. As he did so, Napoleon and his army arrived but it was too late. Burgoyne set off the explosives and the bridge was blown sky-high. Napoleon could only look on as the British rearguard escaped, having bought their army more time to reach Corunna.

  While the Light Brigade covered itself in glory, the main British forces did anything but. Forced by heavy snow to stop at the town of Astorga, British and Spanish soldiers, supposedly allies, fought for the best billets, while hordes of redcoats prowled the streets in search of liquor, looting shops and houses with inebriated abandon. The British Army was fast disintegrating and discipline was washed away in a sea of wine and rum. When he saw this, Moore doubted they would make it to Corunna. His men were clearly in no fit state to fight Napoleon should they be caught. As such, he ordered that ammunition and other stores be blown up. Not only were such items weighing them down, but Moore would rather put the wagons to the torch than have them fall into the hands of the enemy. Later, Moore would also be forced to throw casks containing $25,000 over the mountains for the very same reason. Yet, while the British Army was floundering, the rearguard of the Light Brigade dealt another significant blow.

  With French forces pouring forward, the Light Brigade was forced to fall back to Benavente. In doing so, they were hotly pursued by 600 of Napoleon’s infamous chasseurs of the imperial guard. Believed to be the finest horsemen in Europe, and led by one of Napoleon’s favourite generals, Lefebvre-Desnouettes, they looked to impress their master by wiping out the British rearguard.

  However, Paget was aware of this, and had set a trap. With their blood racing, the chasseurs became less cautious, piling towards Benavente, where Paget’s 10th Hussars were hiding, lying in wait. Before the chasseurs knew what was happening, the trap was sprung. Paget’s men crashed into the surprised Frenchmen at the gallop; steel clashed with steel, with the British swords so sharp that French heads and limbs were severed at a single stroke, while the light infantry let off a flurry of shots.

  The chasseurs broke, starting a 2-mile running fight back to the river. Forced to retreat, French troopers plunged into the icy water, hoping to swim to safety. In their heavy uniforms, many drowned. The light infantry also claimed a notable scalp, wounding Lefebvre-Desnouettes and taking him prisoner. Some seventy-five chasseurs joined him in captivity, while another fifty-five lay dead or wounded on the field. In contrast, British casualties numbered around fifty.

  Napoleon was rocked. His favourite general had been taken prisoner while somehow the British rearguard had managed to keep his troops from progressing. All the while, the bulk of Britain’s armed forces was slowly but surely reaching Corunna. But now the time had come to focus on preserving one of Britain’s elite units. Virtually all of its light infantry was fighting on the flanks and rearguard. While they had achieved exceptional results, sooner or later, Napoleon’s men would surely overwhelm them and wipe them out. Moore therefore ordered Craufurd’s 1st Flank Brigade to break off and head to the port of Vigo. They would not only help to guard the main body’s southern flank as they did so, and hopefully encourage some of the French forces to splinter, but would also ensure the survival of the light infantry.

  Although it was only the road and the elements against which they had to battle, their subsequent march over rugged and frozen terrain became a trial of the greatest intensity. That they reached Vigo in some order, and not as a mob of stragglers, was due partly to the quality of the troops and partly to the efforts of Craufurd. Driving them on, he kept them together by enforcing the strictest discipline. When a rifleman named Howans had grumbled within earshot, Craufurd sentenced him to 300 lashes. Craufurd’s leadership skills, including the meting out of such punishment, were celebrated by Benjamin Harris of the 95th in his memoirs, The Recollections of Rifleman Harris:

  No man but one formed of stuff like General Craufurd could have saved the brigade from perishing altogether; and, if he flogged two, he saved hundreds from death by his management . . . He seemed an iron man: nothing daunted him – nothing turned him from his purpose. War was his very element, and toil and danger seemed to call forth only an increasing determination to surmount them . . . I shall never forget Craufurd if I live to a hundred years I think. He was everything a soldier.

  They staggered on until they reached Vigo on 12 January 1809, when the sight of the sea revived their spirits, as William Surtees recalled in his Twenty-Five Years in the Rifle Brigade: ‘Fellows without a shoe or a stocking, and who before were shuffling along with sore and lacerated feet like so many lame ducks, now made an attempt to dance for joy.’ Craufurd and his men finally reached England on 27 January, ensuring the light infantry would at least survive, if nothing else.

  With Craufurd and his men heading to Vigo, and home, Moore placed the responsibility of maintaining the rearguard on Edward Paget’s division, plus the 15th Hussars. Meanwhile, the British forces continued to degenerate as cold, hunger and insanity took hold. As they marched through towns, Spanish civilians often fled from the British, who now resembled a barbarian horde more than a modern army. Those villagers who did stay were often robbed, mistreated and at times even murdered, as mobs of drunken soldiers sacked towns such as Villafranca. Moore desperately tried to restore some order by giving a heartfelt speech to his ragged redcoats, and appealed to their sense of duty, honour and allegiance to their country. To reinforce his words, a looter was hanged in front of the assembled troops. But it was no use – the marauding continued. Dismayed, Moore said to his troops, ‘Soldiers, if you do not behave better I would rather be a shoeblack than your general.’

  Those who refused to obey orders, and hid in the wine cellars, lying sprawled about in a wine-induced stupor, soon paid the ultimate price. Being left behind, over 1,000 of them were caught by the French cavalry and ruthlessly cut down.

  Back at the rearguard, fighting had broken out over the bridge crossing the River Cua at Cacabelos. Leading the French advance guard, General Colbert charged forward, before coming under heavy fire from the light infantry divisions concealed behind stone walls across the bridge. Shot after shot was fired in the pouring rain, suddenly halting the advancing French, causing one British participant to remark, ‘I never saw men ride more handsomely to destruction, until we poured it into them right and left, and they went down like clockwork.’

  Such was the light infantry onslaught against the French that according to ensign Robert Blakeney of the 28th the road was ‘abso
lutely choked with their dead’. Among them was General Colbert. As the general rode across the bridge, waving his sabre, Paget looked to Rifleman Thomas Plunkett, his most deadly marksman. Offering him a reward if he were to shoot Colbert dead, Plunkett emerged from behind a wall, lifted his Baker rifle and, from a distance of 400 metres, shot the French general in the head. As a trumpet major rushed to Colbert’s aid, Plunkett reloaded, raced forward and shot him dead too, proving the first shot to be no fluke. At this, any Frenchmen who had thought of crossing the bridge fell into retreat.

  Thanks to the monumental effort of the rearguard, the British Army finally reached Corunna on 11 January 1809. Despite their shocking appearance, they were overjoyed to have made it. In all, Moore had lost around 5,000 men during the retreat, and another 3,500 had taken ship at Vigo. The sight of the sea caused some of the men to shout as though they had ‘beheld a deity’. The weather had also improved and was now almost springlike. But there was a problem. The ships Moore had been counting on to take them home had still not arrived. Until they did so they faced an agonising wait, with Napoleon’s forces getting ever closer, despite the best efforts of the rearguard, who blew up the bridge at El Burgo, just 4 miles from Corunna, before retreating to the town itself.

  With the ships three days away, Moore had no choice but to prepare his men, and the town, for war. Re-equipping his soldiers with new muskets from stores, he also proceeded to destroy anything that could be of use to the French, including 12,000 barrels of gunpowder and 300,000 musket cartridges. The resulting explosion was so enormous that it caused some structural damage to the city.

  Finally, the 100 transports and twelve warships arrived on 14 January to much cheering, with the French forces still having not reached the town. Frantic loading of the ships commenced, with any horses not fit enough for the journey having to be shot. But, just before they were ready to get away, Moore received word that the French were just 2 miles away and advancing fast. They needed to be stopped.

  Moore quickly placed a third of his army, predominantly infantry with a few guns and cavalry in support, to defend the Monte Mero, a low ridge 2 miles south of Corunna. While the British troops had looked close to death moments before, the sound of French gunshots saw them suddenly find reserves of energy, now that the ships had arrived and home was so close. Representative of the general spirit of the army was an officer of the 32nd. He was so exhausted by the retreat that he was scarcely able to stand, so his men found him an armchair in which he sat during the battle, so as not to miss the fighting.

  Yet, despite their best efforts, the British soon looked to be overwhelmed. As the 42nd were pushed back, Moore exhorted: ‘My brave Highlanders! Remember Egypt!’ This brought renewed vigour. In response, the battalion leapt up, cheered and charged forward. Watching proudly from his saddle, Moore was suddenly wrenched from his horse. He had been shot, his left arm blown away at the shoulder. Quickly placed in a blanket, he was carried towards Corunna by men of the 42nd.

  While Moore clung to life, the light infantry, whom he had raised and trained at Shorncliffe, did him proud. The 1/95th and 1/52nd fell into skirmish order, raking their way across the mountains, displaying lethal marksmanship, until they ran out of ammunition. Their efforts saw them take seven officers, and 156 other ranks, prisoner. More importantly, they had managed to hold off the French until darkness fell so the British could now board their ships. But Moore was not to join them, having passed away shortly before. However, he had lived long enough to know that the French had been defeated and his army was safe. Just before he passed, he said, ‘I hope the people of England will be satisfied. I hope my country will do me justice.’

  The fleet carried home 26,000 men of Moore’s army, many of whom would fight again and in time return to the continent to play a key role in helping Britain win the Peninsular War in 1814. This proved a major disaster for the French, with France and her allies losing at least 91,000 men and 237,000 wounded. But the real decisive blow would land a year later at the Battle of Waterloo, where the Duke of Wellington was joined by Moore’s 1/52nd. Far from an insignificant force, as in the past, this light infantry division was now the largest battalion at Waterloo, numbering 1,130 men.

  On 18 June 1815, as Napoleon looked to be on the verge of a famous victory, with his Middle Guard launching an assault on the British line, the 52nd charged forward and fired volley after volley against their left flank. William Hay, a Light Dragoon watching from the right, later recalled that ‘so well-directed a fire was poured in, that down the bank the Frenchmen fell and, I may say, the battle of Waterloo was gained’. With the 52nd rapidly advancing, they forced Napoleon’s guard into full retreat. According to Wellington, the battle was ‘the nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life’. With the Battle of Waterloo won, thanks to the efforts of the 52nd, and of course the Royal Scots Greys, Napoleon was finally vanquished. Exiled to the remote island of Saint Helena in the South Atlantic, he died six years later at the age of fifty-one.

  On the fifty-third anniversary of Waterloo, Colonel George Gawler of the 52nd Light Infantry, wrote to his son, claiming that victory was down to Moore’s training at Shorncliffe:

  This really wonderful, thoroughly fought-out battle was won under God (by British sturdiness no doubt), but under the drill system of Pliable Solidarity. Stiff Solidarity characterised the European Armies up to the French Revolution of 1792. Then the wild sans-culottes, the French, were obliged to assemble, and adopted the system of elan with as little of the solidarity as they could do with. Then good common-sense heads in England devised, first under Sir John Moore at Shorncliffe, Pliable Solidarity. With this system, the old Duke outmanoeuvred every army opposed to him, and never lost a battle. To the very end of the day (Waterloo), we manoeuvred by well-formed battalions, as smoothly and as rapidly as we should have done on Southsea Common. While, from the beginning of the day, French elan, like soda-water, had to be corked up in masses. The moment the density was rudely broken, all went off in smoke and confusion.

  While some had severely criticised Moore for his retreat at Corunna, it had allowed the bulk of the British Army, and its light infantry divisions, to survive, regroup and claim victory for another day. The historian Sir John Fortescue has said of Moore: ‘If not a stone had been raised nor a line written, his work would still remain with us; for no man, not Cromwell, nor Marlborough, nor Wellington, has set so strong a mark for good upon the British Army as John Moore.’

  Light infantry divisions had now more than proved their worth on the battlefield, and would continue to do so, particularly in the American Civil War. Yet, while weapons and tactics would continue to revolutionise the battlefield, there is sometimes no substitute for courage beyond all reason. And one elite division in America would go down in legend for their ferocious bravery against all odds . . .

  17

  THE IRON BRIGADE

  AD 1862

  In the wake of President Abraham Lincoln’s attempt to ban slavery in 1860, war had erupted between the pro-slavery Confederate states and anti-slavery Union states. Despite an initial string of victories for the Union, in 1862, General Lee’s Confederate forces swept into Kentucky, crossed the Potomac into Maryland and made for Frederick. Suddenly, the end of the Union seemed to be a distinct possibility.

  If the Union was to sustain the war in the east, it had to halt Lee’s progress by any means necessary. This grave responsibility fell to General George B. McClellan. Despite the odds being stacked against him, he had something vital in his favour. McClellan’s men had seized an order that detailed Confederate plans and locations. With this, McClellan now believed he had the upper hand and looked to target Lee’s forces in the area of Boonsboro-Hagerstown. But this wouldn’t be easy. His Union forces would first need access to the Potomac through three gaps in the South Mountain: Fox’s Gap, Turner’s Gap and Crampton’s Gap. If they could succeed in taking them, then they would have the Confederates on the run.

  One of the men to whom McCl
ellan turned to undertake this vital operation was John Gibbon and his all-western unit. Just a year previously, this ragtag group had answered the call by Governor Alexander Williams Randall of Wisconsin to form an all-Wisconsin unit to help the Union war effort. Soon after, the 2nd, 6th and 7th Wisconsin units, as well as the 19th Indiana Volunteer Infantry Regiment, arrived in Washington to report for their three-year term of duty.

  Under their initial commander, Brigadier General Rufus King, the men were at first assigned to defend the Capitol. However, upon Captain John Gibbon taking command in May 1862, and the unit being joined by his Battery B of the 4th US Artillery, the men from Wisconsin were soon thrust into some of the major battles of the civil war.

  Having graduated from West Point Military Academy in 1847, Gibbon had seen duty in the war with Mexico as well as against the Seminole Indians in Florida. Following this, he returned to the US Military Academy to serve as an artillery instructor. However, at the commencement of the civil war, despite his North Carolina, Confederate, roots, he was promoted to captain and joined the Union’s Battery B, while his three brothers joined the Confederates.

  When he took command of the Wisconsin unit, Gibbon was not impressed. They were surly, unruly and their uniforms a ragged mismatch. In short, they appeared to be unfit for battle. Much like Sir John Moore before him, Gibbon’s first objective was to tighten discipline. This was not greeted with any great enthusiasm and his initial efforts did not win favour in the ranks. One Wisconsin private reported: ‘We are reduced to strict military subordination, and Gen. Gibbon is bound to make regulars of us.’ While another said of Gibbon, ‘Probably no brigade commander was more cordially hated by his men.’ And yet it seems that Gibbon’s attempts to instil discipline were not that exacting.