whose we are living and dead." "And I along with you, though it cost me
my life," added the former. He too fell a victim. Lavater, seizing a
lance, marched to the thickest of the fight. "Remember" cried he, "the
honor of God and Zurich; quit yourselves like men." The banneret
Schweizer did the same, and Zwingli, requested by Bernhart Spruengleir
to encourage the soldiers, spoke with a loud voice: "Fear not; if we
suffer, it is for God's sake. Call on Him. He will strengthen us and
ours." In fact he inspired in the bosoms of the noblest among them
courage to remain true to their convictions unto death, and leave
behind for future generations an example of duty fulfilled and honor
saved.[1] After a short and furious struggle, the half of the Zurichers
present lay stretched upon the field of battle; the fourth part of whom
either expired immediately, or afterward died of their wounds. Zwingli
whilst in the act of speaking to a soldier falling at his side, was
struck with such violence by a stone (as appeared from the deep dinge
in his helmet, which was brought to Luzern as a trophy of war) that he
also sunk down. In this prostrate condition he was stabbed a number of
times in his legs. "The body they can kill; the soul not." These are
said to have been his last words. Around him lay eighteen others of the
most distinguished of the clergy--among them, Diebold von Geroldseck,
who had formerly called him to Einsiedeln, Wolfgang Joner, abbot at
Cappel, and the commander Conrad Schmid in the midst of 39 men of
Kuessnacht. Seven members of the Small and nineteen of the Great
Council had fallen. Besides these, there were sixty-five burghers of
the capital, eleven of Winterthur, and 410 men of the canton. The
banner, defended by Schweizer till he fell, was saved by the heroic
exertions of Hans Kambli, Adam Raef and Ulric Denzler. By nightfall the
Catholics had achieved a decided victory. They refrained from pursuit,
and, collecting on the meadows near the houses, knelt down to offer up
a prayer of thanksgiving. Many of them then sallied forth, torch in
hand, to visit the scene of carnage, but with different ends in view;
some to secure the clothing and the weapons of the slain; others,
inspired by revenge or fanaticism, to deal a finishing stroke on those
of the wounded, against whom they bore a grudge; but many also,
prompted by the nobler motive of comforting and bringing help where it
was yet possible. Salat of Luzern thus glorie