While Duke Ferdinand was thus disposing of the French in the west, the King decided to attack the strong fortress at Schweidnitz, the only one remaining in the hands of the Austrians. On the march thither, while riding through a narrow defile, he found the artillery badly tangled up. While rushing about to hasten movements, he ran against a wheel and split one of his boots so badly that he could hardly keep it on. Impatient at the accident, he ordered an aide to find a shoemaker who could stitch up the boot. After considerable search a dragoon was found, who came, bringing his tools with him. The King, dismounting, and seating himself upon a hillock, said: “Can you mend my boot?” “I will see, Your Majesty. I have mended a good many.” “Well, hurry up, so that I can go on.” The dragoon began work, at the same time growling to himself: “Hm! These boots have done service enough to warrant a new pair.” “What is that you are saying?” “Nothing.” “But I want to know.” “Well, I think your boots have honestly done all the service they can. It is no wonder they rip. They are worn out.” “So? How long think you boots must last?”[15] “_Must_ last—that is a different thing; but I can easily tell you how long they _can_ last—three years.” “Old fool, they are not as old as that yet. But tell me how a shoemaker can be a good dragoon.” “You might have seen how, at Hohenfriedsberg.” “Were you there?” “To be sure I was, and I have soled Austrians so that many of them will remember me for a long time. When I make shoes, I am a shoemaker; and when I ride a horse, I am a dragoon—and Heaven help those who get into my hands!” “Gently, gently, Mr. Shoemaker, I am in your hands. Be merciful with me.” When the dragoon had finished, the King swiftly rode forward, placed himself at the head of his troops, and the march was resumed.