Kings-at-Arms

by Marjorie Bowen

“Sire,” said Poniatowski, “the day is lost—Wurtemberg, Rehnsköld, Hamilton, and Stackelberg are prisoners.”

It was doubtful if the King heard; he lay like one insensible, though his blue eyes were open wide and staring through the battle-smoke.

They were now being hotly pursued by a charge with bayonets, pikes, and swords; the intrepid Pole, though he held no rank in the Swedish army, rallied some of the Swedish horse round the person of the King.

Some of those supporting him had fallen, and he lay on the ground.

Poniatowski dismounted and shouted to the King’s valet whom he saw pressing close; the little band of horsemen, guards, officers, and troopers, who did not number in all 500, but who were all that were left to Karl of his hitherto invincible army, kept off the fierce attacks of the Muscovites, while Poniatowski and the valet, with the help of a horse soldier, got the King up and on to Poniatowski’s horse, a noble dark Arab.

Karl did not speak a word; he had tried to mount a horse at the beginning of the engagement, but had been unable to do so, and now the agony of his wound, the shock of his fall, the passion of rage and grief he was in, had so weakened him that he fainted twice while they were getting him on to the charger.

At last it was accomplished, and the valet, mounting behind his master, clasped him round his waist.

The anguish caused to his shattered foot by the movement of the horse brought Karl to his senses; but he was incapable of anything; he had dropped both his sword and pistol, and his head sank on to the breast of the young man behind him.

In this manner did the Swedish cavaliers, fighting off the fierce Muscovite attack every inch of the way, escort their unhappy master.

They had not reached their objective, the baggage camp (the other Swedish camps being already in the hands of the Muscovites), when Karl’s horse was killed under him; one of the officers with him, Colonel Gierta, though sorely wounded himself, gave the King his mount, and again with infinite difficulty Karl was helped into the saddle.