The Romance of War; or, The Highlanders in Spain, Volume 2 (of 3)Grant, James
General
The Romance of War; or, The Highlanders in Spain, Volume 2 (of 3)
Grant, James
Great Britain. Army. Gordon Highlanders -- Fiction; Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Fiction
dressed, blackened with smoke and dust, and besmeared with blood,
presenting a frightful troop of hideous faces, distorted by the worst
and wildest of human passions.
"You may imagine the surprise of Pierre Raoul and his worthies, when, at
the gate of the château, we were met by Monsieur Maurice and his gay
companions, bowing and smiling, gracefully waving their hats, while they
greeted us with cries of ’Long live the nation! Long live the sovereign
people! _Vive le diable!_’ We were astonished, and greeted them with
the most tremendous yells, while a hundred black and dirty hands wrung
theirs in burlesque friendship. The whole band were formally invited to
a repast, served up in the hall of the château, from which De Mesmai had
hurriedly torn down all the banners and armorial bearings of his house,
substituting in their place an immense tri-coloured cockade, that was
fastened to the back of the chair of state, in which the insolent Pierre
Raoul installed his ungainly figure. Many now strode about, daring and
unrestrained intruders into the very hall where they had often stood as
humble dependants, trembling and abashed in the presence of De Mesmai,
who had been, in the neighbourhood of Besançon, a much greater man than
Louis XVI. was at Paris or Versailles. At the hastily prepared feast
with which he entertained us, we ate and drank of every thing, gorging
ourselves like savages as we were. The richest and most expensive wines
in the cellars of the château were flowing at our orders like water.
Pipes and puncheons were brought up by dozens and madly staved, until
the floor swam with crimson, purple, and yellow liquor, to the imminent
danger of those who lay upon it in a state of exhaustion or
intoxication. ’Wine! wine!’ was the cry, and the contents of well-sealed
flasks of Lachrymae Christi and Côtéroti were poured down our plebeian
throats like the commonest beverage. We ordered all sorts of things,
beating and insulting the unoffending servants of the château until they
fled from us; and the noise and uproar in the hall, crowded as it was to
suffocation with armed and intoxicated madmen, became stunning and
appalling.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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