They waylaid the Swedes
by night on their foraging trips and maimed and murdered those they
caught with fiendish tortures. The bitterest anger filled Gustav
Adolf's soul when upon his entry into Landshut the burgomaster knelt
at his stirrup asking mercy for his city.
"Pray not to me," he said harshly, "but to God for yourself and for
your people, for in truth you have need."
For once thoughts of vengeance seemed to fill his soul. "No, no!" he
thundered when the frightened burgomaster pleaded that his townsmen
should not be held accountable for the cruelty of the country-folk,
"you are beasts, not men, and deserve to be wiped from the earth
with fire and sword." From out the multitude there came a warning
voice: "Will the King now abandon the path of mercy for the way of
vengeance and visit his wrath upon these innocent people?" No one
saw the speaker. The day was oppressively hot and the King came near
fainting in the saddle. As he rode out of the city toward the camp,
a bolt of lightning struck the ground beside him and a mighty crash
of thunder rolled overhead. Pale and thoughtful, he rode on. But
Landshut was spared. That evening General Horn brought the anxious
citizens the King's promise of pardon.
A few weeks later tidings reached Gustav Adolf that Wallenstein and
the Elector of Bavaria were marching to effect a junction at
Nuernberg.
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