'With the third national regiment, on the left wing of the army, there is one Captain Krusé in command of a company. I particularly wish that his life may be saved, if possible. Will you, therefore, kindly place him accordingly?'
'Colonel Eifeler,' cried Reventlow, beckoning to one of the nearest officers, 'be so good as to order a portion of the third national regiment, under Captain Krusé, to serve as cover for the height, on which his majesty has determined to take the command.'
The colonel touched his cap, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off. Gregers Daa thanked Reventlow with a long and warm pressure of the hand, and then went on to join his own men.
The Danish army was drawn up on a hill, behind a morass; its left wing was protected by a river, its right by a large and thick forest of firs. Two hours before the commencement of the action the Saxon cavalry had arrived, and had united with the Danish.
The Swedes commenced the battle with a brisk cannonade, and stormed the hill under their watchword, 'Mit Gott and Jesu Hülfe!' Shortly after all was enveloped in smoke, which the wind drove over against the enemy. The fire of musketry mingled with the louder booming of the cannon; the signal trumpets sounded; the drums rolled, and men were falling in the agonies of death.
An old chronicle says that the battle, 'with great effusion of blood, lasted until five o'clock. As no one on either side would give any quarter, there were fewer prisoners made; officers fought each other as in a duel, and such were the individual combats, that the Danish and Swedish officers were generally found dead, lying close to each other on the field of slaughter.'
The same chronicle tells us that the Swedes stormed the hill three times. The last time they were so fortunate as to be able to take up their position at the foot of the hill, without the Danes having the power to hinder them. Two attempts had been made in vain. The Danes were beaten back, the Saxon cavalry gave way, and fled in disorder; Steenbock followed up his good fortune, and sent troops to pursue them. The Danes, too, were beginning to give way, for the enemy's cannon, loaded with grape, and discharged from a short distance, was making terrible havoc among them.
At that moment a squadron of Danish horse, led by a tall, thin officer, came dashing down the hill, and for the third time made an attempt to drive back the enemy. The spirited horsemen dropped on all sides, but others, who had escaped unharmed, continued their onset, and fell upon their foes, their brave leader charging at their head. The cannons were silent, while musket and pistol shots flew hotly around. Shouts of triumph--groans from the wounded horses--prayers--the moans of the dying--and wild cries of encouragement, issued from that confused multitude, immersed in dust and smoke, amidst which were to be seen sabres flashing and sinking, and in the hottest of the fight the tall officer, who seemed invulnerable himself though he dealt destruction around.
From a height at a little distance King Frederick had witnessed the whole. He had seen the two unsuccessful attempts to drive the enemy back, and the dragoons who had galloped down the hill to make the third effort. Gregers Daa's name was in the mouth of everyone around. It was he who was speeding on to fulfil his promise.
This furious attack took the Swedes by surprise, and they began at length to draw back. It was in vain that Steenbock sent them reinforcements; before these reached the battlefield he beheld his troops, as if panic-struck, take wildly to flight, and heard the noise made by the dragoons as they spiked the Swedish cannon.