A hasty and ineffective effort was made to close the breach.  It only added to the confusion which the sudden assault had caused.  The line of hurrying knights became crowded and disordered.  The furious Swiss broke through in increasing numbers.  Overcome with the heat, many of the knights fell from exhaustion, and died without a wound, suffocated in their armor.  Others fell below the blows of the Swiss.  The line of spears, so recently intact, was now broken and pierced at a dozen points, and the revengeful mountaineers were dealing death upon their terrified and feebly-resisting foes.

The chief banner of the host had twice sunk and been raised again, and was drooping a third time, when Ulric, a knight of Aarburg, seized and lifted it, defending it desperately till a mortal blow laid him low.

“Save Austria! rescue!” he faltered with his dying breath.

Duke Leopold, who was pushing through the confused throng, heard him and caught the banner from his dying hand.  Again it waved aloft, but now crimsoned with the blood of its defender.

The Swiss, determined to capture it, pressed upon its princely bearer, surrounded him, cut down on every side the warriors who sought to defend him and the standard.

“Since so many nobles and knights have ended their days in my cause, let me honorably follow them,” cried the despairing duke, and in a moment he rushed into the midst of the hostile ranks, vanishing from the eyes of his attendants.  Blows rained on his iron mail.  In the pressure of the crowd he fell to the earth.  While seeking to raise himself again in his heavy armor, he cried, in his helpless plight, to a Swiss soldier, who had approached him with raised weapon,—­

“I am the Prince of Austria.”

The man either heard not his words, or took no heed of princes.  The weapon descended with a mortal blow.  Duke Leopold of Austria was dead.

The body of the slain duke was found by a knight, Martin Malterer, who bore the banner of Freiburg.  On recognizing him, he stood like one petrified, let the banner fall from his hand, and then threw himself on the body of the prince, that it might not be trampled under foot by the contending forces.  In this position he soon received his own death-wound.

By this time the state of the Austrians was pitiable.  The signal for retreat was given, and in utter terror and dismay they fled for their horses.  Alas, too late!  The attendants, seeing the condition of their masters, and filled with equal terror, had mounted the horses, and were already in full flight.

Nothing remained for the knights, oppressed with their heavy armor, exhausted with thirst and fatigue, half suffocated with the scorching heat, assailed on every side by the light-armed and nimble Swiss, but to sell their lives as dearly as possible.  In a short time more all was at an end.  The last of the Austrians fell.  On that fatal field there had met their death, at the hands of the small body of Swiss, no less than six hundred and fifty-six knights, barons, and counts, together with thousands of their men-at-arms.