"But," continued the king, "there was one among you who sprang from his horse, and first of all scaled the heights to seize the Imperial guns. Where is he?"
A young horseman rode from the ranks.
"Pardon, your Majesty!" he stammered. "I did it without orders, and therefore merit death."
The king smiled. "Your name?"
"Bertila."
"From East Bothnia?"
"Yes, your Majesty."
"Good. To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, you may present yourself, to hear your doom."
The king rode on, and the horseman returned to the ranks.
Night broke over the awful field, covered with 9,000 dead. The Finnish cavalry encamped on the heights, where Tilly's guns were captured. The dead were taken away, and fires of broken gun-carriages and musket-stocks spread their light in the September night; through a clear sky the eternal stars looked down upon the battlefield.