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violetcancerian · 2 years

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@dejlige-dage Of course!

This is gonna be a bit long, but here goes, I’m writing a paper based on a book of my choice, and since I happen to be really interested in the Mexican-American war of 1846-1848, with a specific interest in the Saint Patrick’s Battalion that fought for the Mexican army, here are some highlights:

Since this is about a war, I will put some warnings

Trigger Warning:

War brutality

Body mutilation

I mention the Potato Famine (1845), and how many Irish people migrated to the U.S.

Further migration to the west and the south of the country, this also happens to take place during Manifest Destiny, there was also an event of the Bible Riots in 1844 where they burned down a catholic convent in Boston.

1846, after Texas is annexed into the U.S. in 1845, Mexico denies such annexation due to the conflicts in such territory in the 1830s, and thus war starts.

Many of the Irish immigrants immediately upon arrival to the U.S. enlist in the army with the promise of a good pay and land. Tensions arise amongst the soldiers between Catholics and Protestants.

According to the Smithsonian article I’m using, about 40% of the U.S. army consisted of immigrants when they entered the war.

Upon serious mistreatment from the U.S. army due to xenophobia and anti-Catholic sentiments, many of the soldiers of immigrant backgrounds (this consisted of Irish, Polish, Germans, Italians, etc.) fled or deserted, among them John Riley.

These men joined the Mexican Army, which, by the words of Santa Anna “The Mexican nation only looks upon you as some deceived foreigners, and hereby stretch out to you a friendly hand, offer you the felicity and fertility of their territory.”

Thus those who had left the U.S. army formed the Saint Patrick’s Battalion, made up of Infantry and Artillery soldiers, complete with their own banner (it’ll be at the bottom of the post), In the article by Jaime Fogarty, he mentions the banner: The group’s banner displayed an Irish harp surrounded by the Mexican coat-of-armswith a scroll reading, “Freedom for the Mexican Republic,” and underneath the harp was the motto in Gaelic “Erin go Brágh” (Ireland for Ever). On the other side of the banner Saint Patrick was depicted holding a pastoral staff resting on a serpent. A U.S. soldier described it as “a beautiful green silk banner [that] waved over their heads; on it glittered a silver cross and a golden harp, embroidered by the hands of the fair nuns of San Luis Potosí.

John Riley, mentioned before, was given the rank of Brevet Major in the Saint Patrick’s.

They fought in a series of battles important in the Mexican-American War:

Battle of Monterrey (September 21–24, 1846) such battle happened within the city walls, with Texas rangers sent by William J. Worth, according to Mexican chroniclers, the rangers upon Worth’s orders would open fire on civilians, ransack homes, and took part in looting. The battle ended with the Mexican army to leave the city after negotiations, thus allowing for the U.S. army to take a hold of it. This battle earned the Saint Patrick’s a reputation of holding their ground. Many soldiers of the U.S. Army deserted and joined the Mexican ranks after this battle.

Battle of Buena Vista or La Angostura (February 22–23, 1847), this was a battle with an ambiguous ending, both sides claiming victory, notably one of the fiercest known fights of the Saint Patrick’s, “Two six-pounder cannon of the U.S. Fourth Artillery were captured by the enemy due to intense fire from the San Patricio cannoneers, aided by support troops.” Several Irishmen were granted the War Cross from the Mexican Army and promoted in rank.

A small break here noting that after La Angostura, Winfield Scott’s troops reach Mexico through sea, landing in Veracruz in order to advance to Mexico City.

Battle of Cerro Gordo (April 1847), after being sent from San Luis Potosi to Xalapa (Jalapa), the Saint Patrick’s had re-organized and were now officially called The Foreign Legion of Saint Patrick. John Riley and Santiago O’Leary were made captains of the First and Second Companies, and Francisco Moreno was made colonel and commander of the legion. Despite the efforts, this battle also resulted in an American victory.

Battle of Churubusco (August 20, 1847), final battle of the battalion, the Saint Patrick’s and another battalion, Los Bravos were on the parapets of the convent of Churubusco. They were outnumbered, resulting in total defeat, and an estimate of 75 -85 of the men in the battalion captured and others escaped. In Fogarty’s article, according to Dr. Michael Hogan in his own book The Irish Soldiers of Mexico, “Captain Patrick Dalton of the San Patricios tore the white flag down, and General Pedro Anaya ordered his men to fight on with their bare hands if necessary”. To continue in the aftermath, “ 35 San Patricios were killed in action, O’Leary and O’Reilly were wounded and Francis O’Connor lost both legs as a result of his heroic stand against the invaders”

What happened to the others was that they were put on trial for desertion, those before the war was declared were whipped and branded, and those who deserted after were sentenced to the gallows. Those that were only whipped and branded were forced to dig their comrade's graves. Even Francis O’Connor, who as mentioned, had lost his legs, was dragged from the hospital and was put to the gallows, Patrick Dalton, who had ripped off the flag of surrender, estimated to be 20-22 years of age, did not have a quick death.

These actions, had of course, outraged and angered the Mexican population, condemning the Americans and the U.S. army, stating these were acts of barbarity. Oddly enough, despite the horrendous acts of the executions, more deserted the U.S. army.

While this battalion isn’t exactly commemorated outside of Mexico, there is a ceremony that celebrates their participation in the Mexican-American War each September 12th and every March 17th.

This is a much lesser known part of history that I never thought I’d be absolutely interested in, and here I am wanting to make an undergrad thesis out of it.

#hobbit talks #andy rambles #andy does undergrad #mexican history #saint patrick's battalion #history #patrick dalton #st patrick's battalion

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years

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After 17 months of travel, Brigham Young lead 148 Mormon pioneers into Salt Lake Valley, resulting in the establishment of Salt Lake City on July 24, 1847.

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art-of-wackylurker · 3 months

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SO! @codyday2224 am I right

Marshall Commander Cody of the 212th battalion, patron saint of sunrise and lost lightsabers

Markers on paper, halo done with a metallic marker

#artists on tumblr #traditional art #cody day 2224 #cody day #coday #star wars the clone wars #commander cody #I'm proud of this pic ngl #might've messed up his armor a bit but well if it's done it's done #and :3 shiny :3

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mmgwritings · 7 months

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UNKNOWN / NTH

Characters: Kaz Brekker / Sun Summoner ! Reader

Prompt: when alina starkov fails to destroy the fold, kaz brekker discovers the true power of the saints.

Warnings: angst, canon divergence, shadow and bone season 2, main character death, definitely didn't proof read, kaz suffering, fjerda sun summoner.

The nichevo'ya bore down upon us and Sankta Alina was struggling to wield her power while shielding the group from the volcras. Waves of terror swept over us when the screeches of the volcras echoed around in the dark. Beside me, Jesper whispered curses as he loaded more bullets into his pistols and Wylan knelt down to search for more gunpowder in the bag.

"Got everything we need, Wylan? We're not going to a picnic, you know" Jesper quipped, a nervous grim in his face. "We're definitely going to die"

Then, the nichevo'ya breached Alina's protection with the Darkling behind them. Inej, quick as lightning, drew her sword "neshyenyer" and sprang into action. With the blade gleaming in the dim light she enganged the shadow monsters in a fight which each swing of her sword was precise.

Y/N didn't wait and started shooting at the shadows. Jesper's pistols were also aimed and ready. He stood at the forefront of the remains of the First Army, with King Nikolai at his side, shooting and desperately trying to get a clear shot amidst the chaos of battle.

Nothing was working. It seems that don't matter how hard we fight the darkness didn't falter, and then, as if and overwhelming force had descedend upon us, Alina's light protection crumbled completely. We were now exposed to all the horrors of the Fold.

"Come on, run!" screamed Nina. She grabbed my hand and pushed me through a door in the fortress as the battalion scattered, desperately seeking refuge in other rooms. Jesper, Wylan, and Kaz ran close behind us, with Zoya supporting Nikolai's injured side and Mal dragging Alina.

We entered a training courtyard, with the remnants of the battle between the Darkling's Grisha and the First Army still visible. Volcra dragged the bodies of the fallen and descended from the skies in droves. The place was engulfed in chaos, and the sounds of combat reverberated all around. A volcra swooped over our group, seizing one of Nikolai's soldiers. His screams faded into the darkness.

"We're too exposed here!" Kaz shouted as he began striking his cane against the old door lock, which gave way without much effort. "Let's go, get inside!"

Kaz led us through a series of corridors, candles still burned and provided a faint glow to guide our way. The air was heavy with tension, and the sounds of death echoed from outside.

In a small, dimly lit room, we finally regrouped. Mal and Alina were gasping for breath, their faces pale, while Nikolai's wound was tended to by Zoya and Nina. Kaz was busy devising a plan, the gears of his mind turning even in the midst of chaos. Jesper and Wylan stood ready, pistols and bombs in hand, guarding the entrance.

Alina, even though visibly shaken, looked at each of us with fierce determination. "We may be cornered, but we're not done yet," she declared. "We fight, and we survive. This is not how our story ends."

"Well, whatever your plan is, Sanka, you'd better make it quick," Kaz said coldly. He had never believe in saints; this wouldn't be the moment. "You have amplifiers, don't you? Why aren't they working?"

Alina paled. "Mal... Mal is the third amplifier. Baghra told me that only with his death will I have enough power to destroy the Fold." A heavy silence settled in the room.

Alina would have to kill Mal, the man she loved. Y/N had always known that a Grisha's powers were cursed. She was born in a village in Fjerda, raised under the belief of Djel, but saw her world shattered when she discovered her powers. For her sins, for her curse, her family was murdered by the villagers. In a last desperate attempt, her sister handed her over to a Kaelish slave trader, which is how she ended up in the pleasure houses of Ketterdam.

Y/N had suppressed her powers since then, rarely using, and no one knew about them... no one except Kaz Brekker, the man who set her free. Kaz needed a spy, and she was perfect for the mission. Years later, Y/N was still working for Kaz — murdering for Kaz.

Kaz discovered Y/N's sun summoner powers by chance when a mission went awry, and they needed to escape. SHe had to blind two of their pursuers from the stadwatch and for the first time, she feared Kaz. She thought he might sell her, turn her over to Ravka, or auction her off to the Drüskelle.

But that day never came. He never spoke a word about Y/N being Grisha, never asked her to use her powers... and that was how she began to fall in love with Kaz.

Alina's eyes welled with tears as she looked at Mal, her voice trembling. "I know, but I can't bear the thought of losing you."

Mal reached out, gently wiping away her tears. "We've faced so much together, Alina. This is just one more sacrifice we must make for the greater good."

Kaz, still resolute, added, "We don't have much time. We have to make a plan"

Tears streamed down Alina's face as she nodded, knowing the weight of the decision they had to make.

That's not fair, i thought. And, as she was capable of reading my mind, Inej, who had been quietly listening, spoke softly, "Life isn't always fair, but the choices we make define us. We'll support you, Sankta Alina, no matter what you decide."

Zoya, her expression soft, added, "It's a hard choice, but it's one that could save countless lives. Or, maybe we can find a way... Nina, how fast can you cure him?"

Nina, her face filled with concern, replied, "I'll do my best, Zoya, but it might take time. We can't afford to wait too long."

The room was filled with a shared sense of determination as they began to explore every possibility, but we didn't have time. Outside a cry pierced the air. It was the Darkling, leading the charge of the dark forces.

It won't work. I realized this just by looking at the determined way Alina gazed at Mal – she would never sacrifice him to save the world. She's not capable, just like Nina isn't capable of healing him in time. Mal would have to die, and Alina couldn't be the one to kill him.

"Maybe there's another way" I whispered.

Inej, her eyes filled with hope, asked, "What do you have in mind?" at the same time that Kaz a loudly "No"

My voice gained a touch of determination as I responded, "We can't let Mal die, but we also can't let the Darkling win. We need to find a different source of amplification, something that doesn't involve taking a life."

Confusion hung heavy in the room as Kaz stepped forward, his face masked by controlled fury. "You're not going to," he said "I'll not allow it"

"It's not your decision to make, Kaz," I replied, my tone resolute.

Kaz's eyes bore into mine, a battle of wills silently raging between us. "You can't expect me to stand by while you kill yourself."

"Believe me, that's not my intention," I said with a sly smile. But smiles never fooled Kaz. He know me, perhaps the only person in the world who truly know me.

We're complicated people, each with our own traumas, but over the years, we've learned to share some of our past. Kaz told me about Jordie, the farm, the con and I told him about fjerda, the blood, the slavery.

Once, at the slat, on a rainy night, Kaz's expression softened slightly as he said "We've both carried our burdens, but it's made us who we are. It's what's kept us alive in this unforgiving world."

We became friends, confidants, and slowly, we tried to be something more. He can't stand being touched, and I can't stand being seen — two of the most broken people in the Barrel, trying to shed their armor.

In the quiet of that rainy night in the Slat's office, we dared to be vulnerable. Kaz's gloved hand hesitated, almost touching mine, as if testing the boundaries of his aversion to contact.

I whispered, "Kaz, it's okay. You can trust me."

He looked into my eyes, a storm of emotions flickering in his gaze, but he didn't pull away. His gloved hand met mine, the moment felt like a breakthrough, a chink in the armor we had built around ourselves.

In that fragile connection, we found solace in each other's company, knowing that we didn't have to be alone in the darkness of the world.

I let the memories fade away. Kaz was standing in front of me, shielding me from the eyes of the others.

"I have to do this, Kaz. You know that," I whispered, moving closer to him, my hand softly touching his fingers.

Kaz, his gaze unwavering, finally nodded in reluctant agreement. "I know, but it doesn't mean I have to let you go alone"

Dread coursed through my body when I realized that Kaz was going with me. If I couldn't make it, he would end up dying with me.

"No, you're staying here," I said, but Kaz simply turned his back and began giving orders to Jesper and Wylan to prepare reinforcements. "KAZ!" I shouted, panic-stricken. I ran over and stood in his way, and I did something I had never dared before – I held his face.

"You're not going alone, Y/N" he said, his eyes locked onto mine, "If you go, I'm going with you."

I removed my hands from Kaz's face when I noticed he was turning pale. Jesper, like everyone else, was confused, so he said "I'm not sure what's happening."

I couldn't explain further because, at that moment, a terrible noise descended upon us. Something was tearing the door apart. We all rushed towards the other exit leading to the hill. The Darkling's nichevo'ya circled the grass like vultures, destroying any form of life. Nikolai, Mal, and Jesper began firing their pistols.

Then, he appeared. The Darkling was still handsome, even with his face partially marred by the corruption of merzost. His eyes blazed with fury as he spoke to Alina.

"You can't escape me, Alina. Your powers belong to me, and you will give them willingly or by force."

Sankta Alina, her voice filled with defiance said "I'll never willingly give you anything, and you'll never control me again."

She then attempted to strike him with a beam of light, but it was strangely weak. When it hit the Darkling, he absorbed the light as if it were nothing.

A twisted smile appeared on the herege face. "You see, my little saint, you can't fight destiny. Your powers are mine to command."

Sankta Alina couldn't do anything to stop him. Y/N had to intervene while the Darkling believed he had everything in his grasp.

She looked at Kaz and whispered a "I'm sorry" with a small smile o her face, one that Kaz knew it was filled with sorrow.

Kaz expression hardened, he simply nodded and said, "Just make it count."

Y/N, being more experienced in sun summons than Alina, definitely didn't need an amplifier to perform the cut.

With confidence born of her expertise, Y/N channeled her power, a blinding ray of red sunlight cutting through the room and striking the Darkling. He let out a searing scream as the light consumed him, writhing in pain. It was a scream of pain and surprise. As the rest of the world, he believe that existed only one sun summoner.

The room was filled with a blinding radiance, and for a moment, it seemed like the Darkling's corruption might be purged. But as the light dimmed, his sinister form slowly re-emerged, and it became apparent that the battle was far from over.

"Alright, let's see how strong you are," Y/N said as she unleashed waves of light upon the nichevo'ya.

The nichevo'ya screeched in agony as they were engulfed by the brilliant light, their dark forms dissipating in its radiance. In the midst of the battle, the Grisha and first army all rallied behind her, recognizing that Y/N's power might just be the key to turning the tide against the Darkling's forces.

The sky crackled with energy as she fought the darkness. Y/N unleashed all her power, releasing every ounce of her strength, and gradually, with bursts of radiant lightning, the Fold dissipated. Volcras burned and plummeted from the skies.

Volcras and nichevo'ya fell one after the other, their malevolent forms vanquished by the searing light.

Y/N's power illuminated the battlefield, then, as a final blow, Y/N performed the cut, unlike the initial one which was merely to test the strength of the heretic. This one was hot, sharp, and incredibly potent.

But it wasn't enough. Remnants of the Darkling's cut hit her chest. She fell to the ground, struggling to breathe, her chest burning.

In her most haunting nightmares, Y/N is always alone when she die. Typically, it begins with a startling realization that her demise is finally upon her. She feel her heart struggling to keep beating, even under the weight of a perfectly aimed dagger. The cries of my family have faded into silence, and Y/N, like any other ordinary person, is capable of facing death.

But this time, everything feels too vivid, too different, as if a new nightmare is taking shape. She taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, choking and bringing tears to her eyes. Strangely, she don't experience any pain; in fact, she doesn't feel much of anything except an intense cold, even though the sun shines brightly above.

What makes this new nightmare the worst is his presence.

Kaz looms above Y/N, his brown eyes hidden behind unshed tears. His voice sounds muffled, as if speaking from beneath murky waters. He speaks in desperation, making threats and offering impossible promises... promises about love.

Y/N, gasping for breath, managed a weak smile. "Not... on your... watch."

Kaz, his usual mask of indifference cracking, held her hand tightly, his gloved fingers trembling. "You better not."

But Y/N wasn't feeling the warmth of his hands and breathing was becoming a difficult task. Blood coated her mouth, and her vision blurred as Kaz's face slowly faded from focus, Nina was by his side, trying to tend to the gaping wound in Y/N's chest.

Nothing seemed to work; there was some kind of dark poison, a residue of the Darkling's merzost, in her body preventing the wound from closing.

Y/N loved Kaz's eyes; often, they couldn't lie as convincingly as his words. It was through Kaz's eyes that she knew. Kaz couldn't hide the worry and helplessness in his gaze. For the first time, he wasn't able to find a solution to the problem at hand, and it weighed heavily on him.

It didn't hurt, it wasn't tumultuous at all.

Yet, it was bittersweet to know that someone who had never believed in saints, who had never begged, and who had never touched another person for fear of the dead, had done all of that for her.

For the first time that year, the sun shone in Ravka, but when Y/N opened her eyes, winter was closing in around her.

In the distance, an ash tree stood tall, beckoning like an invitation.

#mmgwbrekker #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #shadow and bone #six of crows #kaz brekker #ineje ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #alina starkov #mal oretsev #malina #the darkling #darklina #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky

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gotankgo · 11 months

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1985 - Chicago

#1985 #chicago #battalion of saints #out of order

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ricardian-werewolf · 15 days

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Grishaverse rant: First Army.

(Dominik the Bold in a field dress uniform and Sobachka in... an enlistment's uniform? Bubby, you're a major, what's up, Lapushka?) Sometimes, now that I'm part of the Grishaverse fandom, I wish I was old enough to have been around when It first started. it's all great, but it's So big, sometimes I feel like I'm screaming into a void. Plus, since Leigh Bardugo is so big as an author, I can't just send her an ask anymore about the size of Ravka's armies, which has been a particularly meddlesome problem with regards to my fanfic I've been writing. With history being my major backbone to any work, I always love to situate my works in a period, and annoyingly, Ravka would work for Napoleonic Era Russia, which means I can haul out my giant Oxford History of Russia (on pdf), and go to work. But, the line of reality and fiction blurs, and as someone who's a very linear and realistic thinker... it's difficult. Especially with the Nikolai duology and the sudden leap from 1800 to... 1940ish with the usage of rockets which should more closely resemble V1/V2s then what I assumed - IBCMs.

“In the distance, I saw Os Alta, the Dream City, its spires white and jagged against the cloudless sky. But between us and the capital, arrayed in perfect military formation, stood row after row of armed men. Hundreds of soldiers of the First Army, maybe a thousand—infantry, cavalry, officers, and grunts. Sunlight glittered off the hilts of their swords, and their backs bristled with rifles.”

(hmmm). LB, where's the artillery?! Also why does no one in this book series wear helmets when going into combat?? Basically, I feel like LB should have put more energy into the makeup of First and Second Army. As a historian in training, where are the calvary beyond this one mention, where's the heavy and light artillery? She says regiments? Give me corps, give me battalions! where are the battle-honors, the Colors of regiments? I know First Army is stretched thin and they fight for the king, but I want regimental colors! I want Nikolai pouring over the regimental histories! Give me more than two Generals, Grishaverse wiki! Give me battle stories. Give me a history of regiments who're disbanded in times of peace and risen in times of war. We know Ravka has a draft and they're constantly in active border skirmishes with Fjerda/Shu Han, but I want to see the machinery and guts of a Ravka constantly in a state of ever-active militarism. Give me proper technological advancement by non-grisha, and for saint's sake, give me a reason why LB hasn't thought of this before Nikolai's Nolniki. It can't be Just Nikolai thinking of these things. Nor just Grisha hoarding all their tech!

#wyn rambles #military history #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov #grishaverse worldbuilding #grishaverse meta #SIGH #as a history nerd this is a crime #she's trying her best #shadow and bone

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josefavomjaaga · 4 months

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😥 I was working long hours and took even longer to get to work (due to train strike), so I missed Marshal Ney’s birthday. I’m so sorry! I had planned to translate something special, and I hope it’s still a bit of a present even if it’s a day late.

In summer of 1809, while Soult was still licking his wounds after the disaster in Oporto, anxiously waiting for Napoleon’s judgement and trying to defend himself against all the rumours that accused him of high treason, all the while doing his best to bring Joseph and Jourdan to some action against Wellington - guess who at the same time came to Galicia to pay Michel Ney a visit? Right, Ney’s most devoted Dutch fan girl, Ida Saint-Elme! And it’s a particularly romantic part of her recollections, which were published as "Mémoires d’une Contemporaine":

Ney, who was hardly resting either, had just subdued Galicia.

Okay, Soult already wants to protest against this claim, but let’s ignore him. Please, Ida, go on:

I joined his corps at Banos, forty-eight hours before he came face to face with the English army, which the Marshal completely defeated. Already the spectacle of war, meeting the French battalions, the scent of glory, sweeter to breathe in this country than that of the orange trees that embalm it; this active life, animated entirely by emotion and spectacle, revived my imagination weary of the empty pleasures of the courts and of voluptuous Italy. I felt I was in my element: I was close to Ney, close to the heart that alone could make mine beat. I was happy just to know that he was so close to me and to tell him that we were barely a league apart. Here is the note I received in reply to mine: "Since it's your taste to have an arm or a leg less, hop on a horse and come here." As I read this short, military invitation, I jumped in the saddle and rode off. I had hardly gone a quarter of a league when I met him, and I read in his beaming face all that his note had not told me, the joy of seeing me again, which was the reward for my journey and happiness itself. I have forgotten the names of the places we passed through, but it seems to me that I have never seen a more enchanting place, a more beautiful sky, a sweeter dawn. There was something wild and proud about this rich and picturesque nature.

The road was lined with rocks like a crown. "Here is a magnificent shelter of ravines," Ney said to me, "the tree-lined slopes of which ensure their coolness; let us stop here; you must be in need of rest; we both need to open up and talk;" and here we were, with our horses' bridles slung over our arms, pushing aside the fragrant undergrowth with a vigorous hand, and looking for a retreat that could hear our confidences: it was easy to find in the ravines of Galicia; and, a few hundred paces from the road, we could believe ourselves to be entirely alone in the world. Our horses were quickly tied up, and the secluded spot a little farther on completed the safety of this meeting, so sudden and so little expected. We had been sitting for a few minutes when Ney struck the trunk of an old cedar with his foot, and said to me: "Here, Ida, here is a support for our feet, which will at least save us from a fall;" and, confident in this support so well met, we no longer feared to tread the embalmed moss which served us as a wild divan. I looked at him like one of those figures from a long dream, which the day suddenly shows and illuminates, and which we recognise with all the anxiety and all the troubles of the dream. It's him, though; it's definitely him, I said to myself; I can tell by the glory shining on his forehead, by the pressure of his powerful hand, which is as recognisable as his glory.

Thinking more of the hero than of my love, of the captain needed for his army than of the man needed for my heart, I shuddered fearfully at the thought of this isolation in a country so full of dangers, where a warrior's halt might unexpectedly be surprised by the dagger or bullet of partisans; in a country where hatred of the French name reverberates and watches from mountain to mountain. I felt guilty exposing to these perils, beneath such a great man, a life so dear and so beautiful, that informed assassins could cut it short. It was only a quick thought, but a vivid and gripping one, which, disturbing my thoughts, made me cling tightly to Ney, and as I let out this stifled whisper: "Ney, my friend, let's not stay here; let's go away." - "No, no," he replied, holding me back; "where else would we be, without witnesses to a happiness that I have rediscovered, and which needs solitude and mysterious effusion?" I looked at him with surprise at these words, but with delight, for I was as happy as I was astonished to have remained so dear to him. Never had Ney's face seemed more expressive, never had his looks been more eloquent, never had his words been more intoxicating.

If this was a modern-day AU, this would be the perfect moment for Ney’s phone to ring and for one infuriated Soult to ask why the F he was not receiving any news from Ney’s troops in Galicia. As it was, Ida’s little tête-à-tête with her one-and-only Ney could continue.

At the sight of the security imprinted on the warrior's features, I regained a similar security; there are those moments when everything you feel gives way to everything you inspire. Oh, what inexpressible delights this happiness given by a great man was! Our hearts, separated by such a long time and such long distances, seemed never to have parted, and tasted the pleasure of a similar conviction and an equal sharing of emotions. A new fear came to suspend the enchantment and give it, as it were, all the price of a victory. The reverse side of the ravine which had received us sloped down very rapidly; the trunk of the tree which supported the effort of our feet, a solid yet powerless support, suddenly gave way and broke at the very moment when, immersed as we both were in the rapture of an intimate conversation […]

Listen, it was a conversation, okay? They were only chatting! Intimately chatting!

[…], we had forgotten even the possibility of such a peril, from which Ney's presence of mind and prodigious strength alone saved us: With one hand he seized the branches of the bush that had sheltered us; with the other he pressed and held me violently against him; and, thanks to this struggle, we were able to regain our breath, escape the precipice, and manage to get back to our horses.

I really do not want to know how his aides would have tried to explain the fact that their marshal had fallen into the abyss and to his death while having an intimate conversation. Or why his pants were still up on the cliff...

But if any of the artists out there are looking for inspiration...

Speaking of Ney’s aides, one of them, Levavasseur, in his memoirs has this to say about Ida’s apperance in Spain:

It was at Banos that I saw a French woman arrive on horseback and ask for Marshal Ney. It was the woman who has since called herself la Contemporaine. This woman soon disappeared; what she says about the Marshal in her memoirs is pure invention.

Levavasseur: Don’t you believe what that woman wrote about Ney, she’s a total liar! Besides, she was only with us for a very short time…

But the funniest thing is his casual report on why Ida probably had to leave again so quickly: Ney was already occupied otherwise.

During this trip, the marshal took a tender interest in the duchess; one of my comrades had declared himself the knight of the eldest daughter, and I myself protected the youngest […]

I can’t help but think that the interest the general staff of this army corps was showing to all things female was overly excessive even by French standards… - Wait, what’s that? Oh, another missed phone call for Marshal Ney. Marshal Soult wants to discuss priorities in war times...

#napoleon's marshals #michel ney #ida saint-elme #peninsular war #galicia 1809 #happy belated birthday

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joachimnapoleon · 7 months

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It’s been a while since I’ve done some Gourgaudposting. Here is his entry from 18 September 1817, featuring Napoleon’s commentary on Junot, which shares some noticeable parallels to Napoleon’s St Helena rants about Murat—he committed nothing but sottises (follies/stupidities), he was a womanizer, he never should’ve been promoted so high etc.

***

Thursday, 18 (September 1817) – At 5 o’clock, the Emperor pays a visit to Mme de Montholon. The colonel of the 12th Regiment, arriving to the island from France, goes to Bertrand’s, asks to be received, but His Majesty responds that he is indisposed.

After my dinner, His Majesty summons me, treats me well, and speaks to me of the Russian campaign. “At Ostrowo and Witebsk, I managed to cut the Russian army off from the road to Petersburg. At Smolensk, Junot committed nothing but follies, as well as at Valoutina; I sent you there. It was you who came to tell me he could cut off the Russian rearguard, but that he couldn’t decide to go ahead with it. You asked him: Monsieur le Duc, if the Emperor inquires why you have not marched, how should I answer him? He replied in an embarrassed tone: ‘You say that night has come and that I’ve taken position.’ So, I dismissed him at night.” – “In the morning, Your Majesty, on horseback, sent General Denorval to prevent me from waking up, because I was tired. This surprised everyone, and they thought my fortune had been made.”

The Emperor, after a moment of silence, resumed the conversation: “I met Junot at the siege of Toulon. He was quartermaster in a battalion of the Côte-d’Or; I needed writers, I had requested one from Gavais, commandant at Fontainebleau in 1814, who was then at the head of this battalion. He sent me two of them. Junot arrived first, I took him, he pleased me. Being, the same day, in my battery, I had him write a letter; a cannonball covered us with earth, and he exclaimed: Good, there’s the ash for the letter! He had a superb hand, and he remained with me. The other quartermaster was, a long time afterwards, still a noncommissioned officer, while Junot had a great advancement. Such is fate. Junot has never been anything but a swashbuckler, a ferocious philanderer. He loved to surround himself with nobles. I never should have given him command; in the last days, he wanted to be marshal. At Valoutina, he was already insane.”

His Majesty critiques the book attributed to him.

***

Source: General Gourgaud, Sainte-Hélène - journal inedit de 1815 à 1818.

#Jean-Andoche Junot #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #Gourgaud #St Helena #1817

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savage-kult-of-gorthaur · 1 year

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"....HE WAS THE JIMI HENDRIX OF THE [HARDCORE] PUNK SCENE..."

PIC INFO: Spotlight on the late, great Chris Smith of San Diego, CA hardcore punk band BATTALION OF SAINTS, performing live at The Vex, Boyle Heights, CA, on July 30, 1983. 📸: Alison Braun.

"Chris Smith's right hand was bloodied as he reached out to shake mine. Before we connected, he wiped off on his jeans and the post-gig greeting was finalized.

Just a few minutes earlier, the lanky, spiky haired guitarist for San Diego's Battalion of Saints had finished absolutely shredding his instrument on stage at the Vex in Los Angeles. This was 1983, and I'd seen the band play several times over the last year --- each time, I'd find myself glued against the stage on Smith's side, just stoked with the way he manhandled his six-string.

He was the Jimi Hendrix of the punk scene. He even riffed some "Foxey Lady" prior to launching into the BATS' own raging tune, "No More Lies."

Whenever Smith strapped on his guitar, his left hand ferociously slid along the fretboard, hitting every note along the way -- emanating punk riffs but matched with a squealing metal style to puncture one's eardrums in just the right way. Bliss.

"I'll admit I have a h.m. (heavy metal) feel, but I don't think I dwell on it. I just use it as a little flavoring mixed in with the music. A lot of things get monotonous, it's nice to have some ear-piercing notes that make your ears bleed stuck in there," Smith said in a 1982 Flipside fanzine interview."

-- THERE'S SOMETHING HARD IN THERE (written by Andy, blogspot)

Sources: https://www.mopop.org/about-mopop/the-mopop-blog/posts/2020/august/poBattalions-photographer-alison-braun-shares-her-experience-on-the-music-scene-there-was-no-room-to-be-anything-other-than-bold & http://theressomethinghardinthere.blogspot.com/2014/03/chris-smith-rip-battalion-of-saints.html.

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stairnaheireann · 2 years

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#OTD in Irish History | 12 September:

In the Liturgical calendar, it is the Feast day of St. Ailbe, Bishop of Emly, Tipperary. Mexico – Commemoration of the mass hanging of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion. 1653 – Ireland and Scotland are represented by six and five members respectively in the ‘Barebones’ parliament which is in effect from 4 July to this date. 1798 – United Irishmen Rebellion: Rebels attack Castlebar and are…

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pansear-doodles · 9 months

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I've wanted to spearhead the Arti x Spear x Saint ship I refer to as DangoCats but I don't have any sort of influence near enough to combat the cherrybomb/fishsticks battalion lol

you do not necessarily need to have a following to spearhead something or declare yourself a ceo of (in fact, the title of ceo is very loose and nonserious- its like a playhouse game name used by people who really enjoy a particular ship and keeps talking/drawing about it. people who are ceos of certain ships do not control nor represent the ship themselves. I know I cant represent for artihunter as whole even though i really really like it. lol; i suppose an alternative name for ceo is a superfan but ceo sounds more fun to me idk)

artihunter and spearvulet are popular ships yes, but that really shouldn't stop you from being into a ship aside from that. that didn't stop the pufferfish. that didn't stop the cherrybush. that didn't stop the bathbomb. that didn't stop the barbecue. that didn't stop the kebab. so on and so forth...

ship what you like!

#ask

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la-merlaison · 3 months

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Louis XIII and his cooking adventures 🍴🥞

When it comes to our Louis XIII cult, I often refer to the king's iconic omelettes, but what about his other stuff? For example, he really loved sweets (like beignets or jams), but could he also cook them? The answer is YES, and that's not even all yet!

Louis was a curious child who's head was already filled with various interests and cooking became one of them when he was only ten years old at the time (which is quite unusual for a king). First ever case of the king cooking was recorded on february 11th of 1611, when he was preparing milk soups for the Duchess of Guise / Catherine of Cleves. So milk soup, most likely, could be Louis' very first dish made by himself!

Of course many kids have a sweet tooth and our precious omelette king was not an exception which I guess is why he started to learn how to cook mostly from recipes of sweets. Also, take a shot every time I say "sweets" or "cooking" (don't..) 🕊️

So, among 17th century royal sw- *ahem* DESSERTS we had in our menu – a jam, quince jelly, beignets (basically french donuts) and marzipans. In a well-known, among many of y'all Louis stalkers, journal of his doctor Jean Héroard I found some clear evidence of Louis XIII cooking some of these himself, so here it is feat. me periodically panicking over my own translation because my half-french friend is too busy atm and I don’t wanna bother them:

June 6th, 1611 — «He walks through the corridor from the study to the paneled gallery where he had an oven for making jams, he is amused to see how it's done.» I know it's not exactly him cooking, but I just wanted to leave it here :")

October 15th, 1612 — «Madame comes to see him; he has fun making jam with Mademoiselle de Vendôme»

January 29th, 1613 — «He often has fun making almond milk and marzipans at Madame's house.»

March 6th, 1615 — «It was very cold; he goes to the kitchen, makes omelettes, beignets, fried eggs; it was he who made them and ate a little of that he tasted.» Pretty sure the last few words could be translated better because it's always rather my terrible french or a little confusing way of Héroard's writing, so feel free to correct me.

February 3rd, 1616 — «He is preparing a small snack of dry jam for the queen, who must come to him at two o'clock. After going back to bed, he happily forms various battalions of his little silver men.»

February 5th, 1622 — «He leaves Saint-Germain, goes to Pontoise, where he enjoys making and eating beignets; while dining at Cormeille, he suddenly goes to the goblet in which he makes little cream puffs.» The original text says «petits choux au lait» and I have no idea what could that exactly be, but it seems like some sort of little éclair-like buns made of milk? Little cream puffs?? Maybe by «choux au lait» Jean meant «choux à la crème» which were invented back in 1540 in France.

I know you've been waiting for the quince jelly too, but unfortunately I couldn't find anything about the jelly :c Though, judging by what we've got here It's still quite possible Louis could cook quince jelly as well, hmm... Anyways, if you know something I don't know of the jelly mystery, hit me up!

In the future, this great love for desserts will be inherited by his son Philippe I, Duke of Orléans (brother of Louis XIV), who is also a very interesting character in history!!

In conclusion I must say that Louis not only had a sweet tooth, but also a big love for trying out different things, all this curiosity and pure excitement, even when it comes to something so simple and familiar like food, will never ever stop to fascinate me :"D

Btw speaking about Louis 'trying out different things', I of course still have a lot to share on this as well! Stay tuned and have a good day/night 💘💘💘

#I can't believe I wasted more time on the picture than the post itself #But at least now I can go make more Louis content :“”D #In my next post I will most likely cover something that is not food because he had A LOT of other talents obviously hahahaah #Honestly I could talk about him 24/7.... I just can't always be online to flood you with all this :“(#17th century #louis xiii #history of food #louis xiii le juste #king louis xiii

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