"Who is the tallest of our grenadiers?" he asked.
"Otto Vogelwiede," replied the sergeant, with a profound salute.
"How tall is he?"
"Six feet, eight inches and a quarter."
"Is he on parade with his company?"
"No, Herr Colonel—on duty."
"Where?"
"With the guard at the Zeug-haus." (This was the arsenal on the narrow bridge over the Spree.)
"Have him relieved by the next file for duty, and brought here immediately."
Private Vogelwiede, a sturdy Silesian campaigner, who had been wounded at Cunnersdorf, and had served under my father in all the great battles of the Seven Years' War, soon appeared at the palace, with a mingled expression of surprise and alarm on his large visage, supposing that some misdemeanour was to be alleged against him; but this soon changed into downright horror, when my father, with a manner oddly indicative of half comicality and entire commiseration, read the king's peremptory order, and pointed to the blooming bride.