Even that much encouragement was not without its value. I spurred into a canter with fresh spirits. The host of the little inn had not exaggerated—the road was execrable. Heavy rocks and mounds of earth had slipped down with the rains of winter, and remained in the middle of the way. The fallen masonry of the bridges had driven the streams into new channels with deep pools among them; broken waggons and ruined carts marked the misfortunes of some who had ventured on the track; and except for a well-mounted and resolute horseman the way was impracticable. I was well-nigh overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, as, clambering up a steep hill, with the bridle on my arm, I gained the crest of the ridge, and suddenly saw Landshut—for it could be no other—before me. I have looked at many new pictures and scenes, but I own I never beheld one that gave me half the pleasure. The ancient town, with its gaunt old belfries, and still more ancient castle, stood on a bend of the Inn, which was here crossed by a long wooden bridge, supported on boats, a wide track of shingle and gravel on either side showing the course into which the melting snows often swelled the stream. From the point where I stood I could see into the town. The Platz, the old gardens of the nunnery, the terrace of the castle, all were spread out before me; and to my utter surprise there seemed little or no movement going forward. There were two guns in position at the bridge; some masons were at work on the houses, beside the river, piercing the walls for the use of musketry, and an infantry battalion was under arms in the market-place. These were all the preparations I could discover against the advance of a great army. But so it was; the Austrian spies had totally misled them, and while they believed that the great bulk of the French lay around Ratisbon, the centre of the army, sixty-five thousand strong, and led by Napoleon himself, was in march to the southward.
That the attack on Moosburg was still unknown at Landshut seemed certain; and I now perceived that, notwithstanding all the delays I had met with, I had really come by the most direct line; whereas, on account of the bend of the river, no Austrian courier could have brought tidings of the engagement up to that time. My attention was next turned towards the direction whence our advance might be expected; but although I could see nearly four miles of the road, not a man was to be descried along it.
I slowly descended the ridge, and, passing through a meadow, was approaching the highroad, when suddenly I heard the clattering of a horse at full gallop coming along the causeway. I mounted at once, and pushed forward to an angle of the road, by which I was concealed from all view. The next instant, a Hungarian hussar turned the corner at top speed.
‘What news?’ cried I, in German; ‘are they coming?’
‘Ay, in force,’ shouted he, without stopping.
I at once drew my pistol, and levelled at him. The man’s back was towards me, and my bullet would have pierced his skull. It was my duty, too, to have shot him, for moments were then worth days, or even weeks. I couldn’t pull the trigger, however, and I replaced my weapon in the holster. Another horseman now swept past without perceiving me, and quickly behind him came a half squadron of hussars, all riding in mad haste and confusion. The horses, though ‘blown,’ were not sweated, so that I conjectured they had ridden fast though not far. Such was the eagerness to press on, and so intent were they on the thought of their own tidings, that none saw me, and the whole body swept by and disappeared. I waited a few minutes to listen, and as the clattering towards Landshut died away, all was silent. Trusting to my knowledge of German to save me, even if I fell in with the enemy, I now rode forward at speed in the direction of our advance. The road was straight as an arrow for miles, and a single object coming towards me was all I could detect. This proved to be a hussar of the squadron, whose horse, being dead lame, could not keep up with the rest, and now the poor fellow was making the best of his way back as well as he was able. Of what use, thought I, to make him my prisoner—one more or less at such a time can be of slight avail; so I merely halted him to ask how near the French were. The man could only speak Hungarian, but made signs that the lancers were close upon us, and counselled me to make my escape into the town with all speed. I intimated by a gesture that I could trust to my horse, and we parted. He was scarcely out of sight when the bright gleam of brass helmets came into view towards the west, and then I could make out the shining cuirasses of the Corps de Guides, as, mounted on their powerful horses, they came galloping along.
‘I thought I was foremost,’ said a young officer to me as he rode up. ‘How came you in advance?’
‘Where’s the état-major?’ cried I, in haste, and not heeding his question. ‘I have a despatch for the Emperor.’
‘Follow the road,’ said he, ‘and you’ll come up with them in half an hour.’
And with these hurried words we passed each other. A sharp pistol report a moment after told me what had befallen the poor Hungarian; but I had little time to think of his fate. Our squadrons were coming on at a sharp pace, while in their rear the jingling clash of horse artillery resounded. From a gentle rise of the road I could see a vast distance of country, and perceive that the French columns extended for miles away—the great chaussée being reserved for the heavy artillery, while every byroad and lane were filled with troops of all arms hurrying onward. It was one of those precipitous movements by which Napoleon so often paralysed an enemy at once, and finished a campaign by one daring exploit.