Legends of the Black Watch; or, Forty-second HighlandersGrant, James
History
Legends of the Black Watch; or, Forty-second Highlanders
Grant, James
Great Britain. Army. Regiment of Foot, 42nd -- History -- Anecdotes
Through streets of old and decaying houses the regiment defiled to
the Plaza Mayor, while the bells of San Benito, St. Paul, and the
Scottish College were tolled mournfully. All the balconies there
were covered with tapestry; and amid a profusion of crimson velvet, a
portrait of Ferdinand VII. was hung in the great Plaza. There the
battalion dispersed in search of billets; the officers to inquire if
the baggage had come up; to sigh for camp-beds and portmanteaux, that
might be stuck in the mud twenty miles off; or to swear at stupid
servants or drunken bat-men, who had let them fall into the hands of
pillagers and paisanos.
Wellington and his aides-de-camp had taken up their quarters in the
Scottish College, the rector of which, an old Highlander, though sick
and dying, welcomed them warmly.
Dick Duff, Garriehorne, the captain of Grenadiers, and Colquhoun
Grant, the famous scouting officer, whose adventures are already, we
hope, familiar to the reader, made their way straight to a posada,
previous to entering which an "examination of ammunition" took place,
and among four purses two duros could only be mustered. At this
time, many officers actually sold their silver epaulettes to the Jews
of El Campo _for bread_.
"Ugh!" said Dick; "this comes of one's paymaster being nine months in
arrear! and yet, though we have scarcely a tester among us, we are
fighting for an island which, according to the learned Bochart, was
named by the Phoenicians emphatically--_the land of tin_!"
An arched door gave admittance from the street to the lower story of
the posada, where the horses and mules were generally stabled; from
this, an open ladder gave access to the common hall; a second ladder
led to the sleeping apartments, which were minus carpets, bells,
plaster, and almost without windows or furniture; but, as Dick said
to the grumbling captain of Grenadiers, no one looks for such things
in a Spanish inn.
Several Spanish officers were already in the public room, all
travel-stained and splashed with mud, but wrapped in their cloaks,
and all with their feet planted on the only brassero, round which
they sat in a circle, smoking and making themselves as comfortable as
circumstances would admit; while the host, an old and sour-visaged
Asturian, with clumsy hands and enormous shoulders, superintended the
cooking of various edibles, which simmered and sputtered in stone
jars on the flat hearth, the fuel piled upon which cast a lurid glow
from under the broad impending mantel-piece on his swarthy visage,
his stealthy eyes, and black grisly beard. This fellow was repulsive
in aspect; but his wife, _la patrona_, was a pretty paisana, not much
above eighteen years of age, dressed in the picturesque costume of
the country, and having her handsome legs encased in the tightest and
brightest of scarlet stockings. She welcomed us with smiles of the
utmost good humour that two brilliant eyes and a mouth filled with
the finest teeth could express.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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