"It was at the battle before Prague, and while my father, John Warriston of that ilk, then a very young man, commanded the senior battalion of the Prussian Foot Guards, that Marshal Daun forced Frederick to raise the siege and retire. As the Prussians fell back, their left wing became confused by the fury of the Austrian advance. Frederick's aides-de-camp were all killed, and he was compelled to gallop about, giving his own orders, accompanied by a single orderly, Strutzki, the old Putkammer Hussar, in whose arms he died thirty years after. The ground was rough and his horse was weary, so it stumbled suddenly and threw him at a place where the field was covered by the killed and wounded of my father's battalion, which was then retreating, but in good order. As Frederick gathered himself up, a soldier who lay near him wounded, exclaimed,—
"'Sire, sire, get a brigade of guns into position on yonder eminence, or it is all up with your left wing!'
"'How so, fellow?' asked the king, whose temper was no way improved by his tumble.
"'Because there is an ambuscade in the valley beyond it.'
"'I have twice tried to make a stand, comrade.'
"'Try a third time, Father Frederick.'
"'Why?'
"'A third chance is ever the lucky one.'
"'Good; I'll throw forward the Putkammer Hussars, and let the brigade of Seydlitz support them.'
"'But try the effect of a few round shot in the defile,' persisted the wounded man. 'A devil of a day this for us, Father Frederick! Macchiavelli, in his 'Art of War,' declares the invention of gun-powder a mere matter of smoke, not to be deemed of the smallest importance. Ach, Gott! I wish he was here before Prague with this Austrian bullet in the calf of his leg.'