Slowly the Swedish infantry gave back. The battle
seemed lost.
But the tide turned once more. In the hottest fight Pappenheim
fell, pierced by three bullets. The "man of a hundred scars" died,
exulting that the King whom he hated had gone before. With his death
the Emperor's men lost heart. The Swedes charged again and again
with unabated fury. Night closed in with Wallenstein's centre still
unbroken; but he had lost all his guns. Under cover of the darkness
he made his escape. The King's army camped upon the battle-field.
The carnage had been fearful; nine thousand were slain. It was
Wallenstein's last fight. With the remnants of his army he retreated
to Bohemia, sick and sore, and spent his last days there plotting
against his master. He died by an assassin's hand.
The cathedrals of Vienna, Brussels, and Madrid rang with joyful Te
Deums at the news of the King's death. The Spanish capital
celebrated the "triumph" with twelve days of bull-fighting. Emperor
Ferdinand was better than his day; he wept at the sight of the
King's blood-stained jacket. The Protestant world trembled; its hope
and strength were gone. But the Swedish people, wiping away their
tears, resolved stoutly to carry on Gustav Adolf's work. The men he
had trained led his armies to victory on yet many a stricken field.
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