ead, broke
over the trenches and into the battery, retook the guns, and drove the
imperial troops back in confusion, regaining all the successes of the
first assault.

The day seemed won. It would have been but for the fresh forces of
Pappenheim, who had some time before reached the field, only to fall
before the bullets of the foe. His men took an active part in the fray,
and swept backward the tide of war. The Swedes were again driven from
the battery and across the ditch, with heavy loss, and the imperialists
regained the pivotal point of the obstinate struggle.

But now the reserve corps of the Swedes, led by Kniphausen, came into
action, and once more the state of the battle was reversed. They charged
across the ditch with such irresistible force that the position was for
the third time taken, and the imperialists again driven back. This ended
the desperate contest. Wallenstein ordered the retreat to be sounded.
The dead Gustavus had won the victory.

A thick fog came on as night fell and prevented pursuit, even if the
weariness of the Swedes would have allowed it. They held the field,
while Wallenstein hastened away, his direction of retreat being towards
Bohemia. The Swedes had won and lost, for the death of Gustavus was
equivalent to a defeat, and the emperor, with unseemly rejoicing,
ordered a Te Deum to be sung in all his cities.

On the following day the Swedes sought for the body of their king. They
found it by a great stone, which is still known as the Swedish stone. It
had been so trampled by the hoofs of charging horses, and was so covered
with blood from its many wounds, that it was difficult to recognize. The
collar, saturated with blood, which had fallen into the hands of the
cuirassiers, was taken to Vienna and presented to the emperor, who is
said to have shed tears on seeing it. The corpse was laid in state
before the Swedish army, and was finally removed to Stockholm, where it
was interred.

Thus perished one of the great souls of Europe, a man stirred deeply by
ambition, full of hopes greater than he himself acknowledged, a military
hero of the first rank, and one disposed to prosecute war with a
humanity far in advance of his age. He severely repressed all excesses
of his soldiery, was solicitous for the security of citizens and
peasantry, and strictly forbade any revengeful reprisals on Catholic
cities for the frightful work done by his opponents upon the
Protestants. Seldom has a conquero