Summary

The Romance of War; or, The Highlanders in Spain…

Truly, thicker than leaves in autumn, the bodies of men were strewed along the whole length of the hostile armies. The warm light of the setting sun was beaming on the mountain tops, but its lustre had long since faded on the sylvan vale of the Zadorra, where the shadows of evening were setting on the pale faces of the dead and the dying. The plains of Vittoria, too, were growing dark, but at the first view Ronald was enabled to perceive, and his heart beat proudly while he did so, that the allies had conquered, and the boastful story of the Gaul was false.
Source: Gutenberg

The Romance of War; or, The Highlanders in Spain…

Accustomed from infancy to climb like squirrels, the Scotsmen clambered up the rocks, grasping weeds and tufts of grass,—finding assistance and support where other men would have found none; and in less space of time than I take to record it, they were all at the base of the bastion.
"Up and on! Forward, my brave Highland hearts!" cried Ronald Stuart, springing recklessly up the perilous ladder, waving his sword and feeling in his mind the wild—almost mad, sensations of chivalry and desperation, which no man can imagine save one who has led a forlorn hope. "Death or glory!
Source: Gutenberg

The Romance of War; or, The Highlanders in Spain…

But the agony of dying men, and the tears of women, are alike forgotten and unheeded when forts fire, cities illuminate, balls are given, and mails sweep along, decorated with flags and laurels, in honour of a victory......
Eager to leave the field behind him, Stuart hurried forward as well as he was able, until, stumbling over a dead cavalry horse, he fell violently to the earth, and his wound bursting out afresh, the light faded from his eyes, and he lay in a sort of stupor across the corse of a French soldier, in whose breast a twelve-pound shot was buried.
Source: Gutenberg

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