The lively adventures of Gavin Hamilton

by Molly Elliot Seawell

There was no time to be lost in returning, and fresh horses being already provided, within half an hour Gavin was on his way back to General Loudon. As he rode along in the darkness, and then in the gray dawn, he could not help laughing at Frederick’s grim humour. Clearly, he had taken some trouble to get his reply conveyed to Marshal Daun, and Gavin had no doubt that the troopers who had delivered it to him were really Prussians, disguised. By daylight he had got to General Loudon’s headquarters, and after delivering his dispatches went to the hut of boughs in which St. Arnaud and himself spread their blankets. He was very tired, but before lying down to sleep he told St. Arnaud about the King of Prussia’s letter.

“How like the elfish nature of the man!” was St. Arnaud’s comment.

The utmost activity prevailed in the Austrian ranks after Frederick’s escape, and it became known through that telepathy which anticipates great events that a general engagement was impending; and when on the night of the 5th of October, in the midst of a drenching rain, wild wind, and pitch darkness, the whole Austrian army abandoned Stolpen, and took up its march for Kittlitz, a strong position east of Bautzen and of Hochkirch, around which was collected the whole of the King of Prussia’s army, all knew that the hour was at hand.

So secretly was this done, that, although it was known that the Austrian army was on the move, it was with the greatest surprise that, on the evening of the 10th of October, Frederick, reaching Hochkirch, found Marshal Daun securely established with ninety thousand men in lines many miles long on the woody heights that surround the hill upon which the village of Hochkirch—of immortal memory—stands. Frederick had but his forty thousand, and the amazement of the Austrians was as great as their delight when they saw this mighty captain, usually so wise in the disposition of his armies, walk into a ring encircled by his enemies, and then quietly sit down before them.

A part of Loudon’s corps was encamped on a wooded crest, the Czarnabog, or Devil’s Mountain, as the village people called it, and among them was the regiment of St. Arnaud and Gavin. It was a lovely, still, autumn afternoon when the two, standing together at the highest point of the mountain, saw the mass of Prussians coming into sight on the opposing heights, divided only by the Lobau water, and the many streams and brooks that go to make up the Spree. As it became plain that the dark masses of approaching men were Prussians, St. Arnaud and Gavin, standing in a group of other officers, could not conceal their surprise.

“This king must be mad,” said St. Arnaud. Gavin nodded, and continued to watch the Prussians, as a post for several thousand of them was being marked out not half a mile distant from the heights, dense with trees, where thousands of Austrians, with several batteries of heavy guns, were placed.

Numbers of Prussian officers were seen moving about as the various regiments marched in, and at last a group on horseback appeared, in which was a figure that St. Arnaud and Gavin instantly recognized without glasses. Worn, thin, and wizened as he was, Frederick of Prussia was ever an imposing figure. All who saw that slight, pale man, shabbily dressed, but splendidly mounted, riding nonchalantly into the view of tens of thousands of men, were thrilled at the sight of him. Here was one of the world’s masters and dictators. Beaten he might be, he was never conquered; less in force than his enemy, he was always dangerous; with but a thousand men behind him, he could yet keep his enemies awake at night. He rode to the edge of the plateau on which the village is built, and surveyed the long lines of his enemies drawn up for many miles in the woods, and hills, and hollows close by. The sun was sinking in a blaze of glory, and its mellow light fell upon a landscape singularly beautiful. In a long, deep valley ran a rapid and musical stream, with many branches. White villages nestled among the hills, and the blue air was pierced by slender church steeples. A thin haze, from many thousands of camp-fires, enveloped the valleys in mysterious beauty, and the white tents, in tens of thousands, lay like snowflakes on the still green earth. No eye noted this, though, as long as Frederick of Prussia remained in sight, his slight, compact figure on his horse silhouetted against the evening sky. Suddenly from the wooded heights, directly in front of him, a flash and a roar burst forth, and twenty Austrian cannon-balls ploughed up the ground. The King’s horse stood motionless—the charger that carried Frederick the Great must needs be used to cannon and musketry fire—and Frederick himself, without changing his position, put his field-glass to his eyes, and coolly surveyed the scene. A dozen officers galloped toward him, but Frederick with a gesture motioned them away. Five minutes of perfect silence followed. Of the thousands who beheld him, every man held his breath; and when a second round roared out, a kind of universal groan and shudder ran like electricity through the watching multitudes. This time it threw some earth upon the King, and then, calmly dusting it off, he turned and rode toward the village church. Ten minutes after, Gavin and St. Arnaud eagerly watching, he appeared upon the little belfry. Twilight was falling, though, and it was no longer possible to see clearly. Lights were twinkling, and the blaze of the camp-fires became lurid in the falling darkness. In a little while silence but for the sentry’s tread, and darkness but for the camp-fires burning through the chill autumn night, had settled down upon the scene.

The next morning rose clear and beautiful, and daylight only showed more plainly the extreme danger of Frederick’s position. It was known, however, through spies, that it would be impossible for him to leave for several days, owing to a lack of provisions and ammunition upon any road that he might take. The Austrians wished to lull him into security, and three days were spent in what seemed to the Prussians preparations to defend themselves on the part of the Austrians. The air resounded with thousands of axes hewing trees, to form abatis; slight earthworks were thrown up, and Marshal Daun gave every sign of preparing to defend himself rather than to attack. He even continued to have false information sent Frederick, that the Austrians were preparing to fall back on Zittau. But at nightfall, on Friday, the 13th of October, thirty thousand Austrians stole away, leaving their camp-fires brightly burning, and enclosing Frederick on the only side he had been free, rendered his escape impossible, except by cutting his way through.

St. Arnaud’s and Gavin’s regiment were kept concealed in the Devil’s Mountains. Wild beyond expression were these hills, with vast boulders, black hollows, trees standing so close that daylight scarcely penetrated, and tangled thickets. In these dark hills three thousand men were easily hidden. Through these thick wildernesses were cut roads for the ammunition wagons.

The night of the 13th of October was moonless and starless. The fair days preceding had been followed by a day of dun clouds and brown fog. During the dark and rainy night, when the silent movement of thirty thousand Austrians, under Marshal Daun himself, had taken place, the three thousand grenadiers and light troops of Loudon’s corps, encamped in the Devil’s Mountains, had peacefully spent the night. At four o’clock they were to be called by their officers, without blare of the trumpet; and when the clock in the belfry of the village church of Hochkirch struck five they were to fall upon the Prussians. Gavin and St. Arnaud, having to be awake early, did not sit up late, but wrapped in their cloaks, with their saddles for pillows, lay down before a roaring fire, which was to be kept up all night, and were soon asleep.