“Sire, could we not gain M. Müllern’s house that is not fifty paces away, and that has a stone roof that is fireproof?”
The King’s straight gaze was turned for an instant on the speaker; then his blue eyes flashed with joy.
He flung away his smoking musket and seized the soldier by the arm; he remembered the fellow’s name, for he was among his personal guard.
“You are a true Swede, Colonel Posen!” he said.
The man crimsoned, even in this moment, with delight at this promotion, but Karl left him no time for thanks.
The flames were now enveloping them, and there was no time to be lost in forcing a way out of the burning house.
Putting himself at the head of his men, Karl issued from the door least damaged by the fire and emptied his pistol into the crowd of expectant and waiting Turks.
This example was followed by the officers and soldiers immediately behind, and so terrible was this onslaught of the desperate Swedes that the Turks recoiled, calling on “Allah! Allah!” to defend them from this dreadful hero.
But the little band had not gone far before they were overpowered; Karl, forced forward ahead of the others, was separated from them and entirely surrounded.
He threw away his pistol, and passing his sword from his left hand to his right, defended himself with that against the janissaries who pressed upon him with shouts of triumph.