In the midst of the conflict Gotz's cuirassiers rushed forward, and at the head of them was Moritz von Falkenberg, who recognised the king and fired point-blank at him, crying out:
"I have long sought for you!"
Soon afterwards Falkenberg himself fell from a bullet. The king was shot underneath the heart, and reeled in his saddle; he told the duke to save his own life; the latter had placed his arm around the king's waist to support him, but the next moment the rush of the enemy had separated them. The duke's hair was singed by the close discharge of a pistol, and the king's horse was wounded in the throat and staggered. The king sunk from the saddle, and was dragged a short distance along the ground; his foot caught in the stirrup. The young page, Leubelfingen, from Nürnberg, offered him his horse, but could not raise him up. Some of the Imperialists now came to the spot, and inquired who the wounded man was, and when Leubelfingen would not reply, one of them ran him through with a sword-thrust, while another shot the king through the head; others then shot at them, and both remained on the field. But Leubelfingen lived for a few days afterwards, to relate for the benefit of future generations the never-to-be-forgotten sad death of the great hero, Gustaf Adolf.
In the meantime the Swedish centre was driven back, the battlefield was covered with thousands of mutilated corpses, and they had not yet gained a foot of ground. Both the armies occupied nearly the same positions as before the battle. The king's wounded horse was then seen galloping between the lines, with an empty saddle, covered with blood.
"The king has fallen!"
As Schiller has so beautifully put it, "Life was not worth anything, when the most holy of all lives had ceased to exist; death no longer had any terror for the lowliest, since it had not spared this royal head."
Duke Bernhard flew from line to line, saying, "Swedes, Finns, and Germans, yours, ours, and Freedom's protector has fallen. Well then, those who love the king will rush forward to avenge his death."
The first to obey this order was Stälhandske, with the Finns; with great difficulty they crossed the ditches and drove the enemy in front of them; before their terrific onslaught all fell or fled. Isolani turned back and attacked the baggage train, but was again routed. The centre of the Swedish army advanced under Brahe, and Duke Bernhard, disregarding his wounded arm, took one of the enemy's batteries. The whole of the Imperial army was broken by this terrible attack; its ammunition wagons exploded; Wallenstein's orders, and brave Piccolomini's efforts, could not stay the rout. Just then a joyful cry arose from the battlefield: "Pappenheim is here!" and this leader, the bravest of the brave, appeared with his horsemen; his first question was, "Where is the King of Sweden?" Someone pointed to the Finns, and Pappenheim rushed to the spot. Here began a terrible battle. The Imperialists, filled with new courage, turned back and attacked on three sides at once. Not a man of the Swedes gave ground. Brahe died with the yellow brigade, who fell nearly to the last man; Winckel with the blue, died in the same order, man for man, as they stood in the ranks. The rest of the Swedish infantry slowly retreated, and victory seemed to smile on the destructive Pappenheim.
But he, the Ajax of his time, the man of a hundred scars, did not live to see success. In the first attack on the Finns, a falconet bullet smashed his hip; and two musket balls pierced his chest; it was also said that Stälhandske wounded him with his own hand. He fell, but still in death rejoiced over Gustaf Adolf's fall, and the news of his loss spread consternation amongst the Imperialists.
"Pappenheim is dead; everything is lost!"