The war burst out afresh in October. General Peyri, at the head of six thousand men, advanced upon Trent, summoning the Tyrolese to lay down arms. Twelve hundred Tyrolese and Austrians met his advanced guard at Ampezzo, and were repulsed with great loss. A sharp action took place at Lavis, in which the French were victors, and many Tyrolese fell; but they rallied under Eisenstecken, who drove the enemy back to Trent, and re-occupied Lavis for some time. A dismal reverse awaited Speckbacher in the pass of Strub, where he was completely defeated, with the loss of three hundred brave men. His dear little boy, now just eleven, was hanging over him as he lay terribly wounded on the field, and trying to suppress the large tears that blinded him, while he made a kind of _turniquet_ for his father with his twisted handkerchief, when a French soldier came up, and laid his hand on the little fellow's shoulder. "Ah, cruel!" cried Speckbacher, half starting up on his elbow, and sinking back again as the blood welled from his wounds. "Spare my child!" "_Il faut étrangler les petits louveteaux_," replied the captor hoarsely; and unaware of the value of the wolf he was leaving behind him, while he dragged away its young. Speckbacher groaned, and closed his eyes. "Maria!" faintly murmured he--that name, so sacred to a Catholic, made him feel for his crucifix. He pressed it to his lips, but could not utter even "ora"--hollow sounds, like the humming of innumerable bees, rang in his ears; he became insensible. When consciousness was restored, he found himself in his own dear home, with Maria ministering to him. Directly she saw him recognise her, she began to shed tears; but, like a brave woman as she was, dashed them away. "Where's Anderl?" asked Speckbacher faintly. "I don't know, dear--hanging about somewhere, looking after you--he will soon find where you are, rely upon it." Speckbacher _could_ not; he knew more of his fate than she did, but said nothing. What a heavy day it was to him! He mourned for himself, he mourned for the men he had lost, he mourned for his country, and he mourned for his dear little boy, marching to a French prison. He could talk to his wife of all but the last, but she would not let him--he was weak from loss of blood, and she insisted on his silence, and on his hearing her talk to him. She told him that the Tyrolese, as soon as they saw him cut down, without being able to rescue him, retreated in disorder to the heights of Melek, from whence they afterwards fell back to Innsbruck, fighting as they went; that Rudolf had found him lying insensible, and borne him off the field, and that Father Joachim had bound up his wounds, and sent him home in a bändl (or low cart on two fore-wheels), well cushioned with trusses of straw, and in charge of two men. When Speckbacher saw her performing her various little domestic duties thoughtfully, yet cheerfully, and then remembered Anderl, his heart sank within him.