The Thirty Years War — Complete by Friedrich Schiller

Author:Friedrich Schiller [Schiller, Friedrich]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History, General, Nonfiction
ISBN: 4057664646996
Google: HSbDDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Good Press
Published: 2019-11-21T05:00:00+00:00

1p260 (146K)

In the mean time, the king’s right wing, led by himself, had fallen upon the enemy’s left. The first impetuous shock of the heavy Finland cuirassiers dispersed the lightly-mounted Poles and Croats, who were posted here, and their disorderly flight spread terror and confusion among the rest of the cavalry. At this moment notice was brought the king, that his infantry were retreating over the trenches, and also that his left wing, exposed to a severe fire from the enemy’s cannon posted at the windmills was beginning to give way. With rapid decision he committed to General Horn the pursuit of the enemy’s left, while he flew, at the head of the regiment of Steinbock, to repair the disorder of his right wing. His noble charger bore him with the velocity of lightning across the trenches, but the squadrons that followed could not come on with the same speed, and only a few horsemen, among whom was Francis Albert, Duke of Saxe Lauenburg, were able to keep up with the king. He rode directly to the place where his infantry were most closely pressed, and while he was reconnoitring the enemy’s line for an exposed point of attack, the shortness of his sight unfortunately led him too close to their ranks. An imperial Gefreyter,—[A person exempt from watching duty, nearly corresponding to the corporal.]—remarking that every one respectfully made way for him as he rode along, immediately ordered a musketeer to take aim at him. “Fire at him yonder,” said he, “that must be a man of consequence.” The soldier fired, and the king’s left arm was shattered. At that moment his squadron came hurrying up, and a confused cry of “the king bleeds! the king is shot!” spread terror and consternation through all the ranks. “It is nothing—follow me,” cried the king, collecting his whole strength; but overcome by pain, and nearly fainting, he requested the Duke of Lauenburg, in French, to lead him unobserved out of the tumult. While the duke proceeded towards the right wing with the king, making a long circuit to keep this discouraging sight from the disordered infantry, his majesty received a second shot through the back, which deprived him of his remaining strength. “Brother,” said he, with a dying voice, “I have enough! look only to your own life.” At the same moment he fell from his horse pierced by several more shots; and abandoned by all his attendants, he breathed his last amidst the plundering hands of the Croats. His charger, flying without its rider, and covered with blood, soon made known to the Swedish cavalry the fall of their king. They rushed madly forward to rescue his sacred remains from the hands of the enemy. A murderous conflict ensued over the body, till his mangled remains were buried beneath a heap of slain.

The mournful tidings soon ran through the Swedish army; but instead of destroying the courage of these brave troops, it but excited it into a new, a wild, and consuming flame.

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