burned and the country turned into
a desert. The cold was so intense that on one particular march two
thousand men dropped down dead in their ranks. The wintry storms soon
became so severe that both parties were compelled to remain for some
time in inaction. Every poor peasant, within fifty miles, was robbed
by detachments of starving soldiers.

The moment the weather permitted, both armies were again in action.
Charles XII. had taken a circuitous route towards Moscow, through the
Ukraine, hoping to rouse the people of this region to join his
standards. This plan, however, proved an utter failure. About the
middle of June the two armies, led by their respective sovereigns, met
at Pultowa, upon the Worskla, near its point of junction with the
Dnieper, about four hundred miles south of Moscow. Several days were
passed in maneuvering and skirmishing in preparation for a decisive
struggle. It was evident to all Europe that the great battle to ensue
would decide the fate of Russia, Poland and Sweden. Thirty thousand
war-worn veterans were marshaled under the banners of Charles XII. The
tzar led sixty thousand troops into the conflict. Fully aware of the
superiority of the Swedish troops, he awaited the attack of his
formidable foe behind his redoubts. In one of the skirmishes, two days
before the great battle, a bullet struck Charles XII., shattering the
bone of his heel. It was an exceedingly painful wound, which was
followed by an equally painful operation. Though the indomitable
warrior was suffering severely, he caused himself to be borne in a
litter to the head of his troops, and led the charge. The attack upon
the intrenchments was made with all the characteristic impetuosity of
these demoniac fighters. Notwithstanding the storm of grape shot
which was hurled into their faces, covering the ground with the
mangled and the dead, two of the redoubts were taken, and shouts of
victory ran along the lines of the Swedes.

The action continued with fiend-like ferocity for two hours. Charles
XII., with a pistol in his hand, was borne on his litter from rank to
rank, animating his troops, until a cannon ball, striking down one of
his bearers, also shattered the litter into fragments, and dashed the
bandaged monarch to the ground. With as much calmness as though this
were an ordinary, everyday occurrence, Charles ordered his guards
immediately to make another litter with their pikes. He was placed
upon it, and continued to dir