Gustavus Horn was driving from the field, and to be at first involved in their rout.  But with rapid presence of mind he rallied the flying troops, and led them once more against the enemy.  Carried away by his wild bravery, and impatient to encounter the king who he supposed was at the head of this wing, he burst furiously upon the Swedish ranks, which, exhausted by victory, and inferior in numbers, were, after a noble resistance, overpowered by this fresh body of enemies.  Pappenheim’s unexpected appearance revived the drooping courage of the Imperialists, and the Duke of Friedland quickly availed himself of the favorable moment to re-form his line.  The closely serried battalions of the Swedes were, after a tremendous conflict, again driven across the trenches; and the battery, which had been twice lost, was again rescued from their hands.  The whole yellow regiment, the finest of all that distinguished themselves in this dreadful day, lay dead on the field, covering the ground almost in the same excellent order which, when alive, they maintained with such unyielding courage.  The same fate befell another regiment of Blues, which Count Piccolomini attacked with the imperial cavalry and cut down after a desperate contest.  Seven times did this intrepid general renew the attack; seven horses were shot under him, and he himself was pierced with six musket balls; yet he would not leave the field, until he was carried along in the general rout of the whole army.  Wallenstein himself was seen riding through his ranks with cool intrepidity, amidst a shower of balls, assisting the distressed, encouraging the valiant with praise, and the wavering by his fearful glance.  Around and close by him his men were falling thick, and his own mantle was perforated by several shots.  But avenging destiny this day protected that breast for which another weapon was reserved; on the same field where the noble Gustavus expired, Wallenstein was not allowed to terminate his guilty career.

Less fortunate was Pappenheim, the Telamon of the army, the bravest soldier of Austria and the church.  An ardent desire to encounter the king in person carried this daring leader into the thickest of the fight, where he thought his noble opponent was most surely to be met.  Gustavus had also expressed a wish to meet his brave antagonist, but these hostile wishes remained ungratified; death first brought together these two great heroes.  Two musket-balls pierced the breast of Pappenheim; and his men forcibly carried him from the field.  While they were conveying him to the rear, a murmur reached him that he whom he had sought lay dead upon the plain.  When the truth of the report was confirmed to him, his look became brighter, his dying eye sparkled with a last gleam of joy.  “I Tell the Duke of Friedland,” said he, “that I lie without hope of life, but that I die happy, since I know that the implacable enemy of my religion has fallen on the same day.”