The Phantom Regiment; or, Stories of "Ours" — Context and Discussion

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In Category - Adventure Picaresque Fiction

Authors: Grant, James, 1822-1887 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2021 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Soldiers -- Fiction; Adventure stories; British -- Foreign countries -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 118,333

Reading time 515 min

Text sections 10

This digital edition of The Phantom Regiment; or, Stories of "Ours" — Context and Discussion is described by source-level measurements including 118,333 words, 8 hr 35 min estimated reading time, and 10 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 29.8 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Soldiers -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #65393

An episodic novel following British soldiers abroad, structured as a series of embedded tales. The narrative moves from Gibraltar to Russia, using recurring images of carriages, parades, and brutal punishments to frame a story about vengeance and regimental identity.

Editorial Edition Score 4.8/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg65393

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THE ROMANCE OF A MONTH.

"Adios, Señora Paulina--adios, mi Señora Dominga."

"Adios, Señor Don Ricardo," replied a sweet voice from the depths of the old Spanish coach.

"Vaya usted con Dios, y que no haya novedad Señoras," said I, making a vigorous effort with my best Castilian; and with these words, and one bright parting glance from two black Andalusian eyes, so ended my little romance of a month, as the old-fashioned coach, which was doubtless the production of some cunning workman of Seville or Jaen, rolled slowly, pompously, and heavily away towards the Spanish lines, from the north gate of Gibraltar.

And this farewell took place exactly this day twelve months ago.

The coach which bore away the old lady who rejoiced in the euphonious cognomen of Donna Dominga de Lucena y Colmenar de Orieja, and her daughter the pretty Paulina, was a genuine old Castilian contrivance of the true caravan species; and, though still in use, in this our age of luxury and invention, had been constructed, perhaps, before folding steps were conceived; for a three-legged stool, to facilitate ingress and egress, hung near the door. The roof was shaped like the crust of an apple-pie, and the lower carriage, like that portion of a triumphal car. It was drawn by a pair of fat sleek mules, which seemed to have grown old with the vehicle, and with Pedrillo, the little postilion, who floundered away on a demi-pique saddle, with a gigantic cocked hat surmounting his dark visage; and his lean spindle legs lost in two gigantic jack-boots, which belonged to the beforesaid saddle rather than to his own person.

Such was the antediluvian vehicle which bore away the pompous old Donna and her daughter the charming Paulina, who, for the past month (during which she had resided in Gibraltar), had turned all the heads of "Ours;" and was boasted by the Spaniards as the fairest belle in las Cuatros Reinos--yes in the three mighty little kingdoms of Seville, Cordova, Jaen, and Granada, which are now conglomerated into the beautiful province of Andalusia.

And so, without other escort than the redoubtable Pedrillo, who wore a trabujo or blunderbuss slung across his back, and strong in their belief in the virtues of the Santa Faz of Jaen, a picture of which was hung in the back of their coach, these two Spanish ladies, on the conclusion of their visit, departed on their return to Seville, their native city; and from the British fortifications, which frown in solid tiers towards the Spanish lines, I watched the venerable carrozzo as it rolled across the low sandy Isthmus, which is known as the neutral ground; and it disappeared just as the sun began to fade upon the beautiful masses of the Serrania de Rondo, which rose in piles against the golden clouds, and as the evening gun pealed like thunder among the Moorish peaks of Jebel Tarik; and then I turned away with a sigh as I thought of the winning smile I should never see again.

"It's all over now, Ramble," said my friend Jack Slingsby, who was the subaltern of my company, and who had been my chum at Sandhurst; "it is all over, Dick," he continued, with a laugh and one of those rough slaps on the shoulder, which no one ventures to give but an Englishman; "and so, instead of airing your sorrows here, 'sighing to the evening breeze' and all that sort of thing, you may as well come with me and knock the balls about a little--or join Shafton, the colonel, and some of "Ours" who have proposed a pool to-night--and meanwhile solace yourself with another of my 'very superior' cabanas."

"Perhaps it is as well she is gone, Jack," said I, endeavouring to imitate his light-hearted indifference; "had she remained among us another week, I would certainly have booked for her, and so have bedevilled myself, as you said yesterday."

"Of course--had you any doubts as to which?"

"Why--no. I certainly did not think that you were in love with the mother."

"Well," said I, impatiently.

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The novel opens with a farewell scene at Gibraltar, where the narrator, Don Ricardo, watches an old Spanish coach carry away Donna Dominga and her daughter Paulina. The coach is described as a "genuine old Castilian contrivance of the true caravan species," a detail that signals the work's attention to material culture and movement. This departure frames the entire narrative as a recollection—"my little romance of a month"—and establishes a pattern of scenes structured around departures, parades, and halts.

The book's structure is episodic, with chapter titles like "The Halt in a Cork Wood" and "The Romance of a Month" emphasizing discrete moments. The narrative shifts abruptly from Spain to Russia, where the narrator serves in the Hussars of Tenginski. Recurring images—carriages, military formations, and brutal punishments—anchor the story in a world of constant motion and violence.

Movement and Setting as Structural Devices

The narrative is built around a series of journeys and halts, each marked by a specific location or vehicle. The opening coach ride from Gibraltar is followed by chapters set in a cork wood, a posada, and a river called "La Rio de Muerte." These settings are not merely backdrops but structural markers that divide the story into distinct episodes. The coach itself—described as "pompous" and "heavy"—becomes a recurring image of departure and loss.

Later, in Russia, the narrator's movements are dictated by military marches: "We were now with that portion of the Russian army which had fallen back from the Circassian Mountains." The parade ground at Poltava becomes a stage for confrontation. The text emphasizes the physical details of these transitions—saddle girths, bridles, and the weight of a horse—grounding abstract themes of vengeance in tangible objects.

Recurring Images of Punishment and Spectacle

A brutal flogging scene in the Russian camp is described with clinical precision: the victim Selim is "bound by the wrists, the neck, and ancles, to a large gun-carriage," and the executioner dips the whip in brimstone between strokes. The narrator's reaction is notably cold: "I did not shed a tear for him; a fiend seemed to possess me." This image of bound bodies and ritualized violence recurs throughout the excerpts, linking personal vengeance to military discipline.

The parade at Poltava is another spectacle, with regiments listed in detail: the Imperial Guard, the Grenadiers, the Cuirassiers of the Grand Duchess Olga. Yet the narrator sees it as a dream, his mind fixed on Selim's corpse. The contrast between glittering formations and inner turmoil creates a tension between public display and private obsession.

Voice and Cultural Markers

The narrator's voice shifts between Spanish and English, peppered with phrases like "Adios, Señora Paulina" and references to the Koran. He identifies as a Muslim among Russian "idolaters," calling them "eaters of hogs'-flesh and drinkers of brandy." This cultural hybridity is central to his identity: he is a British soldier who adopts the language and religion of his enemies.

The text uses specific cultural artifacts—a Spanish coach, a Kalmuck executioner, a Circassian campaign—to anchor the narrator's perspective. His scorn for the Russians is expressed through religious epithets: "they shall perish like the people of Irem, of Thamud." These details create a layered voice that is both insider and outsider, moving between worlds without fully belonging to any.

The Phantom Regiment as a Framing Device

The title "The Phantom Regiment" appears in three consecutive chapters near the end, suggesting a shift from individual stories to a collective legend. The subtitle "Stories of 'Ours'" implies that the regiment itself is a narrative entity, with tales passed among its members. The excerpts do not reveal what the phantom regiment is, but the structure—a series of embedded narratives—hints at a supernatural or folkloric element.

The final chapter listed, "The Last of Don Fabrique," suggests a return to the Spanish thread. The book's movement from Gibraltar to Russia and back creates a circular structure, with the phantom regiment as a unifying mystery. The reader is left to piece together how these disparate episodes connect, guided by recurring motifs of travel, punishment, and regimental pride.

Readers should pay attention to the way each chapter title functions as a miniature setting or event—"The Venta," "The Halt in a Cork Wood," "The Tertulia"—rather than as a plot summary. The book rewards attention to physical objects: coaches, whips, saddles, and uniforms carry symbolic weight. The narrator's voice is deliberately unreliable, filtered through memory and cultural bias. Approach the phantom regiment chapters as a culmination of the book's structural and thematic patterns, not as a standalone revelation.

Reading The Phantom Regiment, I kept returning to the image of a carriage rattling through Gibraltar, its wheels grinding against stones that had witnessed countless parades. That same persistent forward motion, tangled with regret rather than vengeance, surfaced again in Tomorrow's tangle — Inside the Classic. Both books share that quiet ache of belonging to a uniform, wondering if order can ever truly contain what we carry.