“I make no apology for my words to you to-day, Lieutenant Hamilton, because, on cool reflection, I still think that you deserve them. I found out, however, later, that you performed an act of great gallantry in rescuing your wounded sergeant, and I have already recommended you for promotion to Marshal Daun.”
General Loudon extended his hand. Gavin, quite overcome, took it silently, and after a cordial grasp and a word or two between St. Arnaud and General Loudon he passed on.
“You told him,” was all Gavin could say to St. Arnaud.
“What if I did? I was bound to tell him all that happened before his report was sent to Marshal Daun.”
The day had been a nightmare, but the night was so happy that Gavin could not sleep.
From the 22d until the 28th Loudon’s corps was travelling toward the convoy by a long and circuitous hill route, quite out of sight and knowledge of the Prussians. Marshal Daun had remained behind with the main body, having crossed the Moldawa River, while General Ziskowitz, with several thousand men, remained on the other side, ready to reinforce General Loudon, should he be needed.
Those six June days were cloudless, and what with easy marching and mild nights and good fare, never was campaigning pleasanter. Their march lay among the hills and mountains, clothed in their freshest green. Pure and sparkling streams abounded in the wooded heights and cool, green solitudes. The oldest soldiers declared it to be the pleasantest march they had ever made.
On the sixth day they began to listen attentively for the noise of the approaching convoy, which, with its escort, was stretched out full twenty miles. Soon after daybreak, as the Austrians were pushing toward the woody defiles near Guntersdorf, a low reverberation was heard, like the far-distant echo of breakers on the shore. It was the rolling of twelve thousand iron-bound wheels, while the iron-shod hoofs of twelve thousand horses smote the earth. General Loudon immediately made his preparations to attack at Guntersdorf, but it was understood that if a determined resistance was made the Austrians should fall back to Domstadtl, through whose dark defiles and gloomy passes it would be impossible for the Prussians to fight their way.
St. Arnaud’s regiment led the van, and he and Gavin rode side by side through the dewy freshness of the morning. The road was steep and winding, but always picturesque, and the trees were in their first fresh livery of green. They rode briskly, men and horses inspired by the freshness and vitality of the delicious mountain air. Ever as they drew nearer the road by which the convoy was making its creaking, rolling, thundering way, the sullen roar grew nearer and louder. On reaching Guntersdorf, General Loudon quickly posted a part of his force in the defiles, with several pieces of artillery concealed among the wooded heights. The general rode hither and thither, and presently came up to where St. Arnaud’s and Gavin’s regiment was posted, on the brow of a spur of the mountains, thick with trees and rocks.
“We shall meet the advance guard and escort here; it is probably three thousand men, with seven or eight thousand to follow; but if we throw them into confusion and overwhelm them, it will be enough. It is impossible to stop at once a wagon train twenty miles long, and the wagons will help us to win the battle, by those behind pressing those in front upon our guns. Then we shall fall back to Domstadtl, where we can destroy the convoy at our leisure.”