of Wallenstein opposed itself to their progress.  With the rapidity of lightning he was on the spot to rally his discomfited troops; and his powerful word was itself sufficient to stop the flight of the fugitives.  Supported by three regiments of cavalry, the vanquished brigades, forming anew, faced the enemy and pressed vigorously into the broken ranks of the Swedes.  A murderous conflict ensued.  The nearness of the enemy left no room for fire-arms, the fury of the attack no time for loading; man was matched to man, the useless musket exchanged for the sword and pike, and science gave way to desperation.  Overpowered by numbers, the wearied Swedes at last retire beyond the trenches; and the captured battery is again lost by the retreat.  A thousand mangled bodies already strewed the plain, and as yet not a single step of ground had been won.  In the meantime 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 Steinboek, 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 reconnoitering 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,[62] 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 toward 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,