The Romance of War; or, The Highlanders in France and Belgium, A Sequel to the Highlanders in Spain — Key Ideas to Explore

From Toulouse to Waterloo: The Sequel's Narrative Bridge

The table of contents shows that the story moves from Toulouse through Spanish episodes ('The Lady of Elizondo,' 'Cifuentes Home') to Flanders and the climactic days of June 1815. Grant does not begin with Waterloo; he first lingers on the aftermath of the Peninsular War, then shifts to new settings. The chapter 'The 17th June, 1815' and 'The 18th of June' are placed late in the volume, suggesting that the earlier chapters build context—perhaps through personal adventures or regimental lore—before the battle. Readers should note that the excerpts provide only the Waterloo chapters, so the nature of the Spanish and French interludes (such as 'The Torre de Los Frayles' or 'The Château de Marielle') must be inferred from their titles and the catalog's Napoleonic Wars subject headings.

The Bivouac of 17th June: Sensory Details of Discomfort

Grant devotes considerable space to the night before Waterloo, emphasizing physical misery over strategic overview. Soldiers lose their shoes in the mud and march in 'red-striped hose'; officers' French kid boots disintegrate 'like brown paper.' Without tents, the troops endure a storm lasting until eight the next morning. The author notes that 'not a murmur of discontent was heard,' attributing this stoicism to the British army's unique endurance. These details serve a dual purpose: they ground the narrative in tangible, bodily experience, and they foreshadow the coming battle by contrasting the soldiers' patience with the violence ahead. The description of the storm's abatement on the 18th—the sun breaking forth, mist rising from the Bois de Soignies—is rendered in almost pastoral language, immediately undercut by the observation that thousands 'were doomed never to behold setting at eve.'

Morning of the 18th: Routine, Song, and Sudden Alarm

The chapter 'The 18th of June' opens with the storm clearing and soldiers lighting fires to dry clothes and cook beef 'broiled on bayonets and ramrods.' An allowance of grog revives their cheerfulness. Grant then pivots abruptly: the pipers of the Royal Highlanders blow the regimental gathering, and the cry 'Stand to your arms! The enemy are coming on!' spreads. The narrative moves from mundane survival—drying shirts 'sticking to their backs'—to the urgent chaos of aides-de-camp galloping and trumpets sounding. This juxtaposition mirrors the preface's anecdote of Highlanders singing 'Bruce's Address' during battle, suggesting that Grant uses music and regimental ritual as a thread connecting the soldiers' humanity to their martial role. The excerpt breaks off before the fighting begins, leaving the reader with the tension of that sudden transition.

Epigraphs and Allusions: The Literary Framework

Each chapter heading carries an epigraph, often from Romantic poets or military verse. The preface quotes Lieutenant-General Erskine's lines about 'the garb of old Gaul' and 'the true martial strain,' while Chapter XII uses Byron's description of the Cameron gathering—'wild and high'—with its 'pibroch thrills, savage and shrill.' These quotations do more than decorate; they align Grant's prose with a tradition of heroic Highland poetry. The author also references 'the old Black Watch' and names specific officers (Sir Dennis Pack, Cameron of Fassifern) to anchor the fiction in regimental history. Readers should watch for how these allusions interact with the narrative: the epigraphs often promise a romanticized view of war that the gritty bivouac details complicate. Grant's own note that 'few—few indeed of the old corps are now alive' adds a elegiac layer to the adventure story.

Because the excerpts cover only the Waterloo chapters, the first-time reader should approach the earlier sections—set in Toulouse, Spain, and France—as a gradual approach to the battle. Grant's method is cumulative: he builds regimental character through small incidents, songs, and hardships before the climax. Pay attention to how the soldiers' voices (their songs, their murmured patience) carry through the narrative, and how the author balances the romance of war with its physical costs. The sequel rewards those who read the whole volume, not just the battle scenes.

Reading of the Gordons’ sudden shift from ballroom to battlefield, I found myself thinking of a quieter journey—a train ride, shares tickling at a fortune, all very civilised. There is something in both about movement and the strange, breathless gamble of it; the mud and the rail both carry you somewhere irreversible. My Adventure in the Flying Scotsman; A Romance of London and North-Western Railway Shares — Themes and Context reminds me that even comfort has its own peculiar excitement.