do. Here, for some time, was the fiercest tug of all,--till a
bullet having killed Fouquet's horse, and carried the General
himself to the ground, the spasm ended. The Lichnowski Dragoons, a
famed Austrian regiment, who had charged and again charged with
nothing but repulse on repulse, now broke in, all in a foam of
rage; cut furiously upon Fouquet himself; wounded Fouquet thrice;
would have killed him, had it not been for the heroism of poor
Trautschke, his Groom [let us name the gallant fellow, even if
unpronounceable], who flung himself on the body of his Master, and
took the bloody strokes instead of him; shrieking his loudest,
'Will you murder the Commanding General, then!' Which brought up
the Colonel of Lichnowski; a Gentleman and Ritter, abhorrent of
such practices. To him Fouquet gave his sword;--kept his vow never
to draw it again.

"The wrecks of Fouquet's Infantry were, many of them, massacred, no
quarter given; such the unchivalrous fury that had risen.
His Cavalry, with the loss of about 500, cut their way through.
They and some stragglers of Foot, in whole about 1,500 of both
kinds, were what remained of those 10,680 after this bloody
morning's work. There had been about six hours of it; 'all over by
8 o'clock.'" [ Hofbericht von der am 23 Junius, 1760, bey
Landshuth vorgefallenen Action (in Seyfarth,
Beylagen, ii. 669-671); Helden-Geschichte,
vi. 258-284; Tempelhof, iv. 26-41; Stenzel, v. 241
(who, by oversight,--this Volume being posthumous to poor Stenzel,
--protracts the Action to "half-past 7 in the evening").]

Fouquet has obeyed to the letter: "Did not my King wrong me?"
Fouquet may say to himself. Truly, Herr General, your King's Order