There was not much sleep for poor Baum that night, although he was relieved from guard half an hour later. He tried to keep up his courage by telling himself over and over again that the general could hardly punish him for obeying orders; but even this did not comfort him much, for in those days there were very few things which a general could not do to a private soldier.
The next morning, sure enough, a corporal and four men came to conduct Private William Baum to headquarters; and when he got there, he found all the generals standing around a little, lean, bright-eyed man, in a very shabby dress, whom Baum knew at once to be the king himself—Frederick the Great of Prussia.
“Gentlemen,” said Frederick, and with a sharp glance at the unlucky sentry, “what does a Prussian soldier deserve, who strikes his king?”
“Death,” answered the generals with one voice.
“Good!” said Frederick. “Here is the man.” And he held out a tobacco-pouch marked with the name of “William Baum.”
“Mercy, sire, mercy!” cried Baum, falling on his knees. “I never thought it was Your Majesty with whom I was speaking.”
“No, I don’t suppose you did,” said the king, clapping him on the shoulder; “and I hope all my soldiers will obey orders as well as you do. I said you should get what you deserve, and so you shall; for I’ll make you a sergeant this very day.”
And the king kept his word.—Selected.
He has enough who is content.