The cavalry gave their horses fodder, and watered them at the muddy Loder. Then they bivouacked, each in his division, around the fires, armed and ready to jump at the first call The ground was damp with dew, and slippery with blood, but many were so fatigued that they fell asleep as they sat around the fires. Others kept themselves in good spirits by passing round cups of ale, of which they had a good stock. They drank in jesting fashion to the health of the Imperialists.
"And that they to-night may die of thirst
Or drink to their own funeral
Eläköön kuningas!"
At this moment a woeful voice was heard quite near, earnestly calling for help. The soldiers, accustomed to such things, knew by the accent that the man was a foreigner, and did not trouble. But the cries continued without ceasing.
"Pekka, go and give the Austrian dog a final thrust," cried some of the men, who were irritated by these wailing sounds.
Pekka, one of Bertila's four dragoons, short, but strong as a lion, went unwillingly to silence the offender's voice. Superstitious, like all these soldiers, he was not at home amidst the dead on a dark night. Bertila, absorbed in thinking of the next morning, did not hear it.
In a few minutes Pekka returned, dragging after him a dark body, which, to everyone's surprise, was found to be a monk, easily recognised by his tonsure. Around his common gown he wore a hempen rope, and to this hung the scabbard of a sword.
"A monk! A Jesuit!" exclaimed the soldiers.
"Yes, but what could I do," said Pekka, "he parried my thrust with a crucifix."
"Kill him! It is one of the devil's allies who prowl around to murder kings and burn faithful Christians at the stake.
"Away with him! When we carried the heights, this same man stood with his crucifix among the Imperialists and fired off a cannon."