CHAPTER XXIX.

"He who thinks In strifeTo earn a deathless fame,Mustdo, nor ever care for life."

"He who thinks In strife

To earn a deathless fame,

Mustdo, nor ever care for life."

The little band of heroes fell into line, while their brother hero addressed them.

"Men of the 49th," said Brock, "and my brave volunteers, I have heard of your work this morning, and the trying circumstances under which you have been fighting. Now, my lads, as you know, a large body of the enemy has stolen a march on us. They have taken our gun, it is true, but they will find it spiked! It is our duty to re-take it. Be prepared for slippery footing. Use every bit of shelter, but when we make the final rush give the enemy no time to think. Pour in a volley; fire low, and when it comes to in-fighting, use the bayonet resolutely and you have them beaten. I know I can depend upon you.... There is a foreign flag flying over a British gun. It must not stay there.... Don't cheer now, men, but save your breath and follow me."

There was a cheer, notwithstanding.

While these fateful and stirring scenes were being enacted at Queenston, a despatch rider arrived from Evans of Fort George. Without waiting for further instructions, he had, after Brock's departure, with the first glimpse of daylight, cannonaded Fort Niagara. This he did with typical thoroughness. His fire was returned with interest. With a license in direct opposition to the laws of battle, the enemy, under Captain Leonard, turned his guns on the village of Newark, bombarding public buildings and private residences with hot-shot, laying part of the town in ashes. This infuriated Evans, and he renewed the siege with so much vigour that he compelled the American garrison to evacuate. A shot from one of his twelve-pounders burst within the centre of Fort Niagara and decided Leonard to abandon his position in haste, after suffering many casualties.

Under a nasty crackle of musketry, galling and accurate, which harried the men, already chilled and strung up with suspense, the small detachment following the courageous Brock from the lower village soon reached the stone walls that surrounded a residence at the base of the hill. Here our hero dismounted, handed his horse to an orderly, and directed the men to find shelter. A moment later, taking advantage of a lull in the firing, he vaulted over the wall, and waving his sword above his head, shouted to the grenadiers a word of encouragement. They answered with a cheer, still following him as he led the way up the steep ascent towards the captured battery.

Wool, within the enclosure of the redan, was closely watching the steady advance of the small body of resolute men breasting the Height.

The purpose of these men was unmistakable. As they drew closer, scarlet uniform and polished bayonet blazed and flashed in the sunshine. Having been heavily reinforced, he detached a party of 150 picked regulars, and with these moved out to meet the small band of British led by Brock. A brief exchange of shots took place, and the Americans fell back, firing.

Though the rain had ceased the trees were gemmed with drops that still dripped. The ground was strewn with wet leaves, slippery, and affording treacherous foothold. Progress was slow and laborious. As the hillside grew steeper, a man here and there slid, lurched and fell. To maintain any semblance of formation was impossible. The fire grew hotter. Ball and buckshot and half-ounce bullets down-poured on them from above. "Death crouched behind every rock and lurked in every hollow."

Had Brock's handful of loyalists been able to rush headlong, spurred by lust of conflict, and lock bayonets with the enemy, another tale might have been told. But the effect of the futile struggle for foothold on the hillside, seamed with slippery depressions, in the teeth of a blizzard of lead, soon showed. The bullet-swept ascent was a cruel test for men already fagged and faint. As for our hero, though storm-beaten, stained with mud, and hungry as a wolf, he was still the same indomitable youth who had scaled the cut cliffs of Cobo in search of seagulls' eggs. His vigour and disregard of danger were magnificent. His example, splendid.

Brock may not have been judicially precautious. Had he waited for reinforcements—there were none nearer than Fort George—his own life might possibly have been preserved. As an alternative he could perhaps have withdrawn and sought shelter in the village. But—apart from the peril to his own prestige—who would care to estimate the ulterior effect upon his men if such an example had been set them? These rough Canadian irregulars consisted, as they do to-day, of the finest fighting material in the world. The law of self-preservation had no place in the litany of Isaac Brock. He was a daily dealer in self-sacrifice. Besides, this was not the time or place to calculate involved issues. He was not a cold-blooded politician, nor was he an opportunist; he was merely a patriot and a soldier fighting for hearth and home, for flag and country. It was not an issue that could be left to arbitration in the hereafter, or threshed out by judge and jury. The situation called for instant action. Todohis obvious duty rather than toknowit, seemed to our hero the only honorable exit from the dilemma, even though it resulted in his own undoing.

Not until the dead are mustered by the God of hosts—at the last roll-call—will this noble soldier's conception of duty and his sacrifice be truly appraised.

God and the right was carved deep in the heart of Isaac Brock. Though he felt for his men, it was in a compassionate, not a weak way. War without bloodshed was inconceivable. He had been trained in an age and in a school that regarded blood-shedding in the protection of the right as wholly justifiable, as it was inevitable. Is there any change in respect to the application of thisdoctrine to-day? For himself he had no compassion whatever. His faith in the cause compelled him to fight to a finish. He was not of the potter's common clay of which fatalists are made. How many of these faithful fellows, he wondered, as his alert mind rapidly reviewed the present and recalled the past—Canadian and Celt, Irish and Anglo-Saxon, Protestant and Catholic, whom "neither politics, sect or creed could, in such a crisis, keep apart"—would leave their bodies to bleach on that hill-side? How many of them were destined to yield their lives for honour's sake, to die with their valour unrecorded in the defence—in the case of numbers of them—not of their own, but of their brother's rights?

The next second he was wondering what was doing at St. Peter's Port or London. It would be noon there. Were the good brothers and sister thinking of "Master Isaac" at that moment? Then, swifter than light, he was at Niagara, and the bowed figure of a woman at a porch, with pale, upturned face, who that morning had bade him a silent farewell, rose before him—surely it was years ago—the woman to whom he was betrothed. Then, in a flash, he turned to see some wavering figures around him, some of his own men—not a few wounded—who faltered and shrank from the screaming buckshot, and dropped to the rear.

The soldier awoke.

"This is the first time," he shouted, "I have ever seen the 49th turn their backs! Surely the heroes of Egmont will never tarnish their record!"

The rebuke stung. The panting ranks closed up.

Death of Isaac Brock

At this moment Colonel Macdonell, excited and eager to participate, reached the foot of the mountain at the head of the supports for which the General had despatched him. These consisted of about thirty of Heward's flank company of militia and thirty of the 49th—almost breathless and much exhausted, having run most of the way. Brock's small force—those actually at his side—were Chisholm's and Cameron's companies of the Toronto and York volunteers—a mere handful of perhaps eighty all told. These, together with Macdonell's men, who were at the foot of the hill on the right, now numbered less than 190 of all ranks.

For an instant there was a pause. Brock spoke hurriedly to his aide.

"If Williams and Macdonell can but outflank the Americans on the summit and scale the mountain in rear of the redan on the right, nothing can prevent our driving them out. Our place is here."

"But, General," interposed his aide, who worshipped his commanding officer, "I pray you, let me lead, or at least do take proper precautions. If you are wounded, think what may befall us."

"Master Glegg," hurriedly replied Brock, "I must remain at the head of these men. Duty and desire compel me. Should I fall, there are others not less competent."

A half smile, a touch of the arm, and the two men separated. A long separation.

Deceived by the scarlet uniforms of the militia flank companies, Wool believed that the attacking party was composed exclusively of regulars, so steady was their advance. His own force now consisted of 500 men, over 300 of whom were regulars. Notwithstanding his much greater strength and vastly superior position, being protected by artificial brush-shelters and logs, and the withering fire with which he met the dogged progress of the British, his flanks, pressed by Williams and Macdonell, began to shrink. The moment was a critical one for our hero.

The supreme effort must be made.

Glancing below, Brock, even at that instant, for a fleeting moment was conscious of the beauty of the country spread beneath him. Almost as far as eye could reach extended an immense, partly pastoral plain, studded with villages, groves, winding streams, cultivated farms, orchards, vineyards and meadows. In places a dense forest, decorated with autumn's mellow tints, and furrowed by the black gorge of the Niagara, stretched to the horizon. Across all, shadows of racing clouds gave emphasis to the brilliant flood of sunshine. No fairer scene ever greeted the eye of man. The entire landscape breathed peace. Above it, however, in detached masses, hung lurid billows—the smoke of battle.... The serene vision faded, and in its place, in brutal contrast, came cruel, imperious bugle calls, the metallic rattle of fire-arms, the deep thunder of artillery, the curdling cry of wounded men.

Isaac's senses were insulted by the carnage of war.

He now noticed that the supports, led by his plucky aide at the foot of the hill, were flagging. He shouted back, "Push on, York Volunteers!"

Our hero's robust figure was a conspicuous object for the American riflemen. While telling his men to take advantage of every bit of shelter, he paid little attention to himself. His uniform, his position at the head of his men, his loud words of command, stamped him a man of mark, a soldier of distinction, a special target for Wool's sharpshooters.

So far he had escaped the hail of shot by a miracle. Picking his footsteps—it was treadmill work—he sprang forward, urging on his men by word and gesture.

A deflected bullet struck the wrist of his sword arm. The wound was slight. He again waved his sword, smiling his indifference and still speaking words of encouragement.

They were getting at close quarters now. The redan was less than fifty yards above.

He was calling to those nearest him to hold their fire a moment, to prepare to rush the enemy and use their bayonets, when, from a thorn thicket, an Ohio scout, Wilklow by name, one of Moseley's riflemen, stepped forward, and, singling out his victim, deliberately aimed at the General. Several of the 49th, noticing the man's movement, fired—but too late. The rifleman's bullet entered our hero's right breast, tore through his body on the left side, close to his heart, leaving a gaping wound.

Brock's Coat, worn at Queenston Heights

Brock sank slowly to the ground, quite sensible of his grievous fate. A grenadier, horribly mutilated, fell across him. To those who ran to aid our hero, anxious to know the nature of his injury, he murmured a few broken sentences and—turned to die.

He tried to frame messages to loved ones, and then, more audibly, as he gallantly strove to raise his head to give emphasis to his last faltering words—the same Isaac Brock, unmindful of self and still mindful of duty—he said, "My fall must not be noticed, nor impede my brave companions from advancing to victory."

And with a sigh—expired.

Thus died General Sir Isaac Brock, defender and saviour of Upper Canada. Died the death he would have selected, the most splendid death of all—that of the hero in the hour of victory, fighting for King and country, for you and me, and with his face to the foe.

Our hero had passed hislastmilestone.

For a brief space the body of Isaac Brock rested where it had fallen, about one hundred yards west of the road that leads through Queenston, and a little eastward of an aged thorn bush.

Above the dead soldier's head, clouds, sunshine and rustling foliage; beneath it, fallen forest leaves, moist and fragrant. About the motionless body swayed tussocksof tall grass and the trampled heads of wild-flowers. The shouts of the regulars, the clamor of the militia, the shrill war-cry of the Mohawks, and the organ notes of battle, were his requiem. Then the corpse was hurriedly borne by a few grief-stricken men of the 49th to a house in the village, occupied by Laura Secord—the future heroine of Lundy's Lane—where, concealed by blankets—owing to the presence of the enemy—it was allowed to remain for some hours, unvisited.

Later in the day Major Glegg, Brock's faithful aide—the brave Macdonell, in extreme agony, lay dying of his wounds—hastened to the spot, and finding the body of his lamented friend undisturbed, conveyed it to Niagara, "where it was bedewed by weeping friends whose hearts were agonized with bitterest sorrow."

Battle of Queenston. From an old Sketch

Battle of Queenston.From an old Sketch

The "Story of Isaac Brock" would be incomplete without an epitome of the events that terminated the Battle of Queenston Heights and resulted in an overwhelming victory for the British.

General Brock was killed in action at about half-past seven on the morning of October 13th, 1812. His body was removed from Government House, Niagara, to a cavalier bastion at Fort George, for final sepulture. This bastion was selected by Major Glegg, it being the one which Brock's own genius had lately suggested—the one from which the range of an observer's vision covered the principal points of approach—and had just been finished under his daily superintendence.

After he fell, the handful of men who were with him, overcome by his tragic end, overwhelmed by superior numbers and a hurricane of buckshot and bullets, wavered, and though Dennis attempted to rally them, fell back and retreated to the far end of Queenston village. Here, about two hours later, Colonel Macdonell, Brock's aide, collected and reformed the scattered units, and made another bold dash to rescale the heights and retake the redan. A detailed account of the incidents that followed in dramatic succession would fill a book.

With the cry of "Revenge the General!" from the men of the 49th, Macdonell, on Brock's charger, led the forlorn attack, supported by Dennis. At the same moment, Williams, with his detachment, emerged from the thicket, shouting to his men, "Feel firmly to the right, my lads; advance steadily, charge them home, and they cannot stand you." The two detachments then combined, and Macdonell ordering a general advance, they once more breasted the ascent.

The enemy, over four hundred strong, but without proper formation, fired an independent volley at the British as they approached to within thirty yards of the redoubt. This wasresponded to with vigour, and grenadiers and volunteers, in response to brave Macdonell's repeated calls, charged fiercely on Wool's men, now huddled in disorder around the eighteen-pounder. Some of them started to run towards the river bank. One American officer, Ogilvie, of the 13th regulars, thinking the situation hopeless, raised his handkerchief on his sword-point in token of surrender. Wool, a soldier of different calibre, tore it down, and a company of United States infantry coming at that moment to his assistance, he rallied his men.

The momentary advantage gained by Macdonell's small band of heroes was lost, and in the exchange of shots that followed, Macdonell's horse—Brock's charger—was killed under him while he—his uniform torn with bullets—was thrown from the saddle as the animal plunged in its death struggle—receiving several ghastly bullet wounds, from which he died the following day, after enduring much agony. Williams, a moment later, fell desperately wounded; Dennis, suffering from a severe head wound, at first refused to quit the field, but Cameron having removed the sorely-stricken Macdonell, and Williams having recovered consciousness and escaped, the dispirited men fell back, retreated down the mountain at Parrott's Tavern, retiring upon Vrooman's battery. Here they awaited, unmolested, until two in the afternoon, the arrival of reinforcements from Fort George. The fight, though short, had been furious and deadly. Americans and British alike were glad to take breath.

Meanwhile, unobserved, young Brant, with 120 Mohawk Indians, had scaled the mountain, east of St. David's, outflanking the Americans, and hemmed them in until Captains Derenzy, of the 41st, and Holcroft, of the Artillery, arrived with the car-brigade from Fort George and trained two field-guns and a howitzer upon the landing. Merritt, with a troop of mounted infantry, at the same time reached the village by the Queenston road. This movement, which was a ruse, deceived the enemy, who at once redisposed his troops in readiness for an attack from this new quarter.

Plan of Battle of Queenston

The American commander was ignorant of the fact that General Sheaffe—with four companies of the 41st, 308 strong, the same number of militia, and a company of negro troops from Niagara, refugee slaves from the United States—was at that moment approaching his rear in the rear of the Indians. The Britishadvanced in crescent-shaped formation, hidden by mountain and bush, and were shortly joined by a few more regulars and by two flank companies of the 2nd regiment of militia from Chippewa. Indeed, many persons of all ranks of life, even veterans exempt by age, seized their muskets and joined the column to repel the invaders, "unappalled" by Dearborn's threats of conquest or by the death of their "beloved hero, Isaac Brock." By this movement the British escaped the enfilading fire of the Lewiston batteries, the steep ascent of the heights in the teeth of the enemy's field-works, and compelled him to change front. The British of all ranks numbered less than one thousand.

The United States troops, which had been heavily reinforced, consisted at this time of about one thousand fighting men, on and about the mountain. This number was slowly supplemented by fresh arrivals from Lewiston, encouraged when they saw the American flag planted on the redan. The wounded were sent across the river. Nearly all of the new arrivals were regulars. Colonel Winfield Scott, of Mexican fame, a tried soldier, six feet four in his stockings, was now in command, supported by a second field-piece and many sharp-shooters. Van Rensselaer, narrowly escaping capture, had retreated by boat to Lewiston, ostensibly to bring over more troops. Finding the conditions unfavourable, he did not do so, but sent over General Wadsworth, as a vicarious sacrifice, to take command. The gun in the redan had been unspiked, and the summit strongly entrenched, but as Scott's men betrayed strange lukewarmness, orders were given "to shoot any man leaving his post."

Sheaffe's men having rested after their forced tramp, a few spherical case-shot by Holcroft drove out the American riflemen. His gunners had at last silenced the Lewiston batteries, and finding the river range, sunk almost every boat that attempted to cross. The Indians were now ordered to drive in the enemy's pickets slowly. Scouting the woods, they routed his outposts.

About four p.m. Captain Bullock, with two flank companies of militia and 150 men of the 41st, advanced, and after firing a volley in the face of a dense smoke, charged the enemy's right, which broke in great confusion. A general advance was ordered, and, with wild warwhoops by the Indians and white men, theheights were rushed, Wadsworth's veterans were stampeded, the redan retaken at the point of the bayonet, and Scott's command forced to the scarp of the cliff overhanging the river.

The American soldiers, to quote United States historians, now "fled like sheep," and scuttled off in all directions. Some raced headlong down the main road, seeking shelter under the muzzles of Holcroft's guns; some sought refuge in the houses; others raced to the landing only to find the boats no longer there. Not a few, hot pressed by Brant's avenging Mohawks, threw themselves over the precipice, preferring suicide to the redman's tomahawk. Others plunged into the Niagara, essaying to swim its irresistible eddies, only to be blown out of the green water by Holcroft's grapeshot or sucked down by the river's silent whirlpools.

One boat, with fifty struggling refugees, sank with its entire crew. Two others similarly laden were beached below the village, with only one dozen out of one hundred souls still living. The river presented a shocking scene. On the face of the water men, many maimed and wounded, fought and struggled for survival. This pitiful spectacle was actually taking place under the eyes of several thousands of American soldiers on the Lewiston bank, who, almost impossible to believe, and to their lasting disgrace, refused to join, or attempt even to succour, their comrades—deaf to all entreaty—allowing them to perish. Every room and shack at Queenston was an improvised hospital or morgue, filled with the mangled bodies of the quick and dead.

Cruikshank says 120 wounded United States officers and men were taken, of whom thirty died at hospital in Queenston and Niagara, while 140 more were ferried across to Lewiston. Lossing, the American historian, solemnly records the "fact" that "less than 600 American troops of all ranks ever landed at Queenston," and that "of these only 300 were overpowered"—some of the United States histories of the colonial wars need drastic revision—yet 958 American soldiers were taken prisoners by the British; "captured by a force," so officially wrote Colonel Van Rensselaer, after the battle, "amounting to only aboutone-thirdof the united number of the American troops." Captain Gist, of the U.S. army, placed their own killed at 400.

Among those who, when defeat was certain, fled to the water's edge, after fighting valiantly, was Colonel Winfield Scott, GeneralWadsworth, and other United States officers. Pursued by the Indians, they lowered themselves from shrub to shrub. When escape was hopeless, Scott tied the white cravat of his comrade, Totten, on his sword point, and with another officer, Gibson, was hurrying to present this flag of truce, when two Indians confronted them on the narrow trail. Jacobs, Brant's powerful follower, wrenched Scott's sword away, hatchets were drawn, and had not a British grenadier sergeant rushed forward, Winfield Scott would have fared badly.

General Van Rensselaer's defeat was complete and disastrous. His chagrin at his failure "to appal the minds of the Canadians" was so great that ten days later he resigned his command.

The account between Canada and the United States at sundown on that day stood as follows: Total American force engaged, 1,600. Killed and wounded, or sent back across the river, during the fight, 500. Prisoners, 73 officers, including two generals and five colonels, together with 852 rank and file. Total loss, 1,425 men, besides the colours of the New York regiment, one six-pounder, 815 carbines and bayonets, and 5,950 rounds of ball and buckshot.

The total British force engaged was 1,000. Of these 800 were regulars and militia, and 200 Indians. Killed, 14, including one major-general and one aide. Wounded and missing, 96. Total American loss, 1,425. Total British loss, 110.The next day the British General, Sheaffe, Isaac Brock's successor, signed another armistice. The second armistice within a period of nine weeks!

Such is the story of the Battle of Queenston Heights.

After Van Rensselaer resigned his command in favour of Brigadier-General Smyth, the effect of the British victory upon the United States troops at Lewiston was beyond belief. While the British soldiers were, with characteristic indifference, hard at work at Fort George cutting wood and threshing straw, the American soldiers across the river, according to their own historians, were deserting by the hundreds. Of General Tannehill's brigade of 1,414 of all ranks, 1,147 deserted within a few days. Twenty of these were officers.

Had the British been allowed to profit by this demoralizationof the enemy and followed up their brilliant successes, they could, as Brock predicted, have swept the frontier from Chippewa to Sackett's Harbour, and probably prevented a continuance of the two years' war. The Sheaffe-Prevost inexcusable thirty days' truce was the very respite the enemy had prayed for. More men and more munitions were hurriedly despatched to all the United States frontier forts, and renewed courage imparted to some of the commanders and their hesitating brigades. The first to waken up after the expiration of this, to the Americans, merciful truce, was General Dearborn, who, with 2,000 men, attacked Odelltown, only to be driven back to Lake Champlain by de Salaberry. This reverse was followed in the last days of November by an attack by General Smyth, with 400 of his 4,300 men, upon a four-gun battery, defended by sixty-five men, above Garden Island, on the Niagara River. Elated with his success, he took for his rallying cry, "The cannon lost at Detroit—or death!" and again crossed the river with thirty-two boats and 900 men, and descended upon Fort Erie. Meanwhile, Colonel Bisshopp had retaken the fort, with its American captors, and with a handful of regulars and militia awaited "annihilation." As Smyth's flotilla advanced, Bisshopp poured in a hot fire, sinking two boats. This reception did not accord with Smyth's views of the ethics of war, and forgetting all about the "lost guns," and disliking, upon reflection, the idea of "death," he at once turned tail. At Buffalo he was publicly pelted by the populace, and for his cowardice was dismissed the service by the United States Senate without the formality of a trial. Dearborn—strange to say—having for the time lost his taste for fighting, went into winter quarters, and Canada, in universal mourning for Brock, but still confident and undaunted, rested on her arms. The year 1812 closed without further incident.

The period thus ended had been a momentous one. Brilliant reputations had been made and lost. The blood of many patriots had flowed freely, but, as regarded Canada, not in vain, for, in the words of the American historian, Schouler, "the war had impressed upon the people of the Republic the fact that Canada could not be carried by dash, nor pierced by an army officered by political generals and the invincibles of peace."

Though it would be quite natural to suppose that the story of Isaac Brock would end with his death and the victory of Queenston Heights, it is well to remember that theinfluence of his triumphs only ceased with the close of the warand the Treaty of Ghent, in December, 1814. Hence arésuméof the events that occurred during 1813 and 1814 is necessary, if a just valuation of our hero's achievements is desired.

Between July, 1812 and November 5th, 1814, "twelve distinct invasions of Canada by superior forces of the enemy were defeated." Out of fifty-six military and naval engagements between the British and U.S. forces, thirty-six were won by the British. Though the victories of 1812 were the direct factors that brought about a change in the national destiny of Canada, "Queenston Heights was not the culminating feat of arms." As a result of brooding over these disasters that had befallen the "Grand Army of the West," and the "national disgrace" of overwhelming defeat, the people of the United States, as a whole, independent of politics, "were now"—so write American chroniclers—"compelled to become belligerents."

In consequence of this national thirst for revenge, Generals Harrison and Winchester started to look for trouble in January, 1813, and—were rewarded. Strongly stockaded at Frenchtown, on the Raisin River, with a seasoned army, they invited attack. Colonel Procter, with 500 soldiers and 800 Indians under Roundhead, accepted the challenge, and making a furious attack upon Winchester before daybreak, took the General and 405 of his "Grand Army" prisoners. Brockville was then raided, and fifty-two citizens kidnapped by the U.S. soldiers. During the next two years raids of this nature were of frequent occurrence, first by one belligerent, then by the other, and with varying success. Major Macdonald's capture of Ogdensburg, when he took eleven guns and 500 U.S. soldiers, was the next big win for Canada.

In April, to balance the account, General Pike descended upon York. The capital of Upper Canada at that time had a population of only 1,000, and was weakly garrisoned. While the enemy was advancing upon the small fort to the west of the village, a powder magazine exploded, killing many onboth sides. General Sheaffe, thoroughly alarmed at the prospect, destroyed his stores, and, after 300 of his force had been captured, retreated with the remainder to Kingston—for which he was severely censured—and York surrendered. Then Procter, inflated by his victory at Frenchtown, and overrating his military skill, attacked Fort Meigs, on the Maumee River, was badly repulsed, and hopelessly lost all prestige.

This defeat of the British was followed by Dearborn's assault upon Fort George. With 7,000 men behind him, aided by the guns of Chauncey's fleet at the river mouth, he captured the time-worn fortification, and the Niagara frontier—despite the dogged resistance of General Vincent, who had to retreat with the crippled remnant of his 1,400 men—was at last in the possession of the enemy. This win was made more complete by General Prevost's belated and, of course, futile attack upon Sackett's Harbour. When assured success stared him in the face, his flaccid nature suggested retreat, and what might have been a signal victory became a disgraceful failure. The position of affairs at this time was admirably summed up in a letter written by Quartermaster Nichol. "Alas! we are no longer commanded by Isaac Brock.... Confidence seems to have vanished from the land, and gloomy despondency in those who are at our head has taken its place." Brock's courage, judgment, military skill and personal magnetism were never so much needed.

To offset these reverses, the brilliant victory of the British shipShannonover the American war vesselChesapeake, in a naval duel fought outside Boston harbour, somewhat restored British complacence. This was the prelude to another victory on land. Vincent, after being bombarded out of Fort George, slowly retreated with his broken command towards Burlington, cleverly flirting with the enemy, and drawing him farther and farther inland, finally reforming his wearied men near Stony Creek, sixteen miles from the lake's head. Here the enemy, 3,000 strong, went into camp. It was here that FitzGibbon—General Brock's old-time sergeant-major and faithfulprotégé—now in command of a company of the 49th, disguised as a settler, penetrated the enemy's camp, and was convinced a night attack would be successful. While the advance guard of the enemy was driving in the British decoy pickets, 800 of Vincent's force,under Harvey, surprised and charged them in the darkness, capturing two American generals, 120 prisoners, and four cannon, without the loss of a man.

Sheaffe was now transferred to Montreal, and De Rottenberg assumed military command in Upper Canada. Three weeks later an American, Colonel Boerstler, was ordered to surprise a small party of British at Beaver Dams (now Thorold). Lieutenant FitzGibbon, in command, was informed of the proposed attack. An heroic woman—Laura Secord—the wife of a wounded militiaman at Queenston, and to whose house Brock's body was borne after he fell, learned of the pending surprise by overhearing a conversation between some American officers. Her resolution was soon formed. Despite the fact that twenty miles through gloomy forest, filled with hostile Indians, lay between her home and the British camp, she tramped the distance unattended, though not unmolested, and reached the Stone House in time to warn the plucky grenadier. The wily Irishman at once despatched a party of Caughnawaga Indians to divert the enemy's attention. Advancing with a few soldiers, and finding Boerstler and his force drawn up in an opening of the woods, uncertain what to do, he boldly ordered that officer to surrender with his entire command of 540 soldiers, though he had but forty-seven men to enforce the conditions. His demand was instantly complied with.

To equalize in part this game of international see-saw, Chauncey again visited York with fourteen ships, mounting 114 guns, and plundered the defenceless capital.

On Lake Erie, Perry, with nine ships and a total broadside of 936 pounds of metal, defeated Barclay's six Canadian ships, with a total broadside of 459 pounds. These facts must be taken into impartial consideration in weighing the issue. In the west, Procter, still suffering from the shock received at Fort Meigs, with 407 troops and 800 Indians, retreated up the Thames valley, neglecting to burn his bridges in his retreat, with General Harrison and an army of 3,500 men in hot pursuit. The American general brought him to bay at Moraviantown, and in the frozen swamps the dispirited British, having lost all confidence in their fleeing commander, surrendered or escaped. It was here that the gallant and high-minded Tecumseh met his death, under distressing circumstances. The story was circulated that, mortified at Procter's proposed flight, the Shawanese chief wasonly restrained from shooting that officer by the interference of Colonel Elliott. For his conduct and the unexplained disaster at Moraviantown, Procter was court-martialed, severely condemned, and suspended from his command for six months.

Taking of Niagara, May 27th, 1813. From an old Print

Taking of Niagara, May 27th, 1813.From an old Print

The defeat of Procter was counterbalanced, however, by Colonel de Salaberry's dramatic victory over General Hampton. With 350 French Canadian Voltigeurs he hypnotized 3,500 United States troops at Chateauguay. When the fight was hottest the gallant Frenchman ordered his buglers to sound the advance, an alarming fanfare, accompanied by discharges of musketry from various points of the surrounding forest, and the enemy, thinking he was about to be attacked and flanked by superior numbers, was seized with panic, stampeded, and never halted in his retreat until he had placed twenty-five miles of country between him and the "French devils." After this, occurred the historic battle of Chrysler's Farm, on the St. Lawrence, when 2,000 U.S. regulars under General Boyd, with six field-guns, were routed, with a loss of 102 killed and 237 wounded, by a force composed of 380 regulars, militia and Indians, under Colonel Morrison, and driven back into American territory.

In the second week of December, General McClure evacuated Fort George, but before doing so burned 149 of the public buildings and private houses in Newark and Queenston, by order of John Armstrong, U.S. Secretary of War, compelling 400 women and children to seek shelter in the woods, with the thermometer ranging around zero. Even Lossing, the American historian, condemned this as "a wanton act, contrary to the usages of war, and leaving a stain upon the American character." The outrage brought its own punishment within the week. Colonel Murray, with 550 soldiers, captured the United States Fort Niagara, killing sixty-five men and taking 344 prisoners, and before the close of the year, with his heart on fire, the British general, Riall, crossed the river with 500 Indians and sacked Lewiston, Youngstown, Tuscarora and Manchester, only desisting from his excusable incendiarism when he had burned Buffalo and laid Black Rock in ashes. January 1st, 1814, was ushered in with the Cross of St. George floating over the battered ramparts of the American Fort Niagara.

Thus ended the year of our Lord 1813, for ever memorable in North American history as a twelve months of almost incessant warfare, famous for its records of conspicuous courage, much military incompetence, and great and lamentable carnage. A year, notwithstanding its sheaf of blunders, that should be canonized by all true Canadians, for it was a year that emphasized in an astounding manner the pluck and bull-dog tenacity of the Canadian militiaman, disclosing his deep love for country that resisted unto death the lawless attacks of a wanton invader.

In March, 1814, General Wilkinson again undertook the forlorn hope of capturing Canada, leading 5,000 men against 350 British, under Hancock, at Lacolle, on Lake Champlain. After five hours of red-hot fighting, he was compelled to fall back on Plattsburg. A month later Admiral Sir James Yeo and General Drummond, with 750 men, landed under the batteries at Oswego, and in the teeth of a sustained fire of cannon and musketry, "gathered in" that historic town and sixty prisoners.

To and fro, like a pendulum, swayed the scene of action—to-day east, to-morrow west. Colonel Campbell and 500 American soldiers, with nothing better to do, made a bonfire of Port Dover, the incident being officially described by the U.S. War Department as "an error of judgment." Then General Brown, backed by an army of 6,000 U.S. veterans, swooped down like "a wolf on the fold" on Fort George, and annexed it and the garrison of 170 men. The British general, Riall, still possessing the fighting mania, and some 1,800 men, locked horns with General Brown and 3,000 of his veterans, and the Battle of Chippewa added another victory to the American record. The enemy then pillaged St. David's, while Riall—both sides having suffered heavily—retreated to the head of Lundy's Lane, a narrow roadway close to the Falls of Niagara, and stood at bay.

Cenotaph, Queenston Heights

Three weeks elapsed, when General Drummond, realizing Riall's danger, hastened from York to his assistance, reaching Lundy's Lane with 800 men at the moment that General Brown, with his reinforced army of over 4,000 men, was within 600 yards of the British outposts. A moment later the contest was on, the bloodiest and probably the most brilliant battle of the whole campaign. It was a bitterly contested fight for seven hours—a death struggle for the survival of the fittest. During the firstthree hours the British force numbered only 1,640, until reinforced by 1,200 additional combatants. All through the long hours of the black night the battle waged furiously. Charge succeeded charge, followed by the screams of the mutilated and the dead silence of the stricken. Over all boomed the muffled thunders of Niagara. The big guns, almost mouth to mouth, roared crimson destruction. Though bayonets were crossed, and the fighting was hand to hand and desperate, and sand and grass grew ghastly and slippery with the sheen of blood in the fitful moonlight, the British, notwithstanding the advantage in weight and numbers of the enemy, held their ground. When day was breaking, and the American general found his casualties exceeded one thousand, he withdrew his shattered army of invaders to Fort Erie. The British loss was 84 killed and 557 wounded. Lundy's Lane has been likened to the storming of St. Sebastian or the deathly duel at Quatre Bras. Both invaders and defenders exhibited heroism—worthy, in the case of the enemy, of a higher cause. General Drummond was wounded, and a son of General Hull, of Detroit notoriety, was among the killed.

Though the battle of Lundy's Lane, fought on July 25th, was the last great engagement in 1814, and practically ended the war, the campaign was not destined to close without an exhibition of constitutional timidity on the part of Prevost, the man with the liquid backbone. With 11,000 seasoned veterans who had campaigned under Wellington, he advanced, September 14th, on Plattsburg, garrisoned by only 4,000 Americans, and when victory smiled in his face, he actually ordered the retreat. Overcome with humiliation, his officers broke their swords, declaring they "could never serve again," and sullenly retraced their steps to the frontier. This was the crowning episode that destroyed Prevost's reputation. Death rescued him from the disgrace of court-martial.

How clear-cut and free from blemish, in contrast with that of many of his contemporaries, stands out the brilliant record of Isaac Brock.

The Treaty of Ghent—while satisfactory to the people of Canada, bringing as it did a cessation of hostilities, permanent peace, and recognition of their rights—was received with mixed satisfaction by both political parties in the United States, after the first flush of excitement had passed away. "What," thecitizens asked each other, "have we gained by a war into which the country was dragged by President Madison in defence of free-trade and sailors' rights, and in opposition to paper blockades?"

In the articles of peace, these vexed questions (as related in Chapters VIII. and XIV.)—questions which, as we have seen, were advanced by the United States Government as thereal cause for war, werenot even mentioned. Some worthy Americans, having suffered from the fighting qualities of the Canadian loyalists, publicly stated that the "declaration of peace had delivered them from great peril." In some of the States "the universal joy was so great," writes Gay, in his Life of Madison, "that Republicans and Democrats forgot their differences and hates and wept and laughed by turns in each others' arms, and kissed each other like women."

Another United States historian (Johnston) writes that "peace secured notoneof the objects for which war had been declared, for, though Britain put a stop to the irritating ... practice of searching American vessels flying an American flag, she was not bound by the terms of the treaty to do so." In the words of another recorder (Taylor), "Britain ceased the practice of search, not on account of war, nor of the treaty, but because the necessity of doing so had passed away—the European war being over."

Brock's Monument

Canada, young as she was in the arts of peace and cruel practices of war, while honouring the memory of her heroes who had fallen in the splendid struggle against invasion, wasted no time in idle tears. The very atmosphere of her high northern latitude, the breath of life that rose from lake and forest, prairie and mountain, was fast developing a race of men with bodies enduring as iron and minds as highly tempered as steel. She drew another and a deeper breath, and, forecasting her destiny, with shoulders squared and fixed resolve, made ready to create an empire of industrial greatness which, under Providence, was to rank second to none.

The influence of Brock's life, achievements and death upon the Canadian people was more far-reaching than boy, or even man, would suppose. It aroused in the people not only thequestionable human desire to avenge his death, but an unexpressed resolve to emulate his high manliness, his fixity of purpose, and his well-ordered courage in defence of the right.

It remains for the youth of Canada to proudly cherish the memory of Isaac Brock, and to never lose an opportunity to follow the example he set for them by his splendid deeds.

Reproduction of a copy of the original water-color and chalk drawing in the possession of Sir Isaac Brock's great-niece, Miss Tupper, of Candee, Guernsey. Copied for Miss Agnes FitzGibbon, of Toronto, by Alyn Williams, President of the Miniature Painters' Association of Great Britain, 1897, and not hitherto published. Adjudged by relatives to be an exact facsimile of Williams' portrait. Miss FitzGibbon writes that "the original painting is on similar paper to that on which Major-General Brock's last general orders are written, the size corresponding to the space between the watermarks. Dated 1811." Artist unknown.

By an unknown artist. (An × was frequently used for a "0" at that time.) The original drawing was found among a number of unframed prints in a collection obtained by John Naegely, Esq., who presented it to the Grange Club, Guernsey, in 1870. It now hangs over the mantelpiece in the club reception room. The original is drawn in very fine pencil and water-color—a style of art fashionable at that period. Photographed for Miss Agnes FitzGibbon in 1902. Brock's father's house, where our hero was born—now converted into a wholesale merchant's warehouse—stands at the point where two lines, drawn from the spots indicated by a cross (+) on the margin, would intersect. On the frame above the picture are the words, "Guernsey in 18×6"; below, "Presented to the Grange Club by John Naegely, Esq., 9th March, 1870."

Navy Hall consisted of four buildings erected about 1787. One was altered in 1792 for Governor Simcoe. Another was fitted up for Parliament when it met at Newark (Niagara), 1792-1797. The building here shown was afterwards used for troops and called the "Red Barracks." From a photograph in possession of Miss Carnochan, Niagara.

From a photograph in possession of Miss Agnes FitzGibbon, of Toronto, his granddaughter. Taken by his nephew, Gerald FitzGibbon, 10 Merrion Square, Dublin. Col. FitzGibbon was aprotégéof Brock's. First private, then the "faithful sergeant-major," then ensign, then adjutant of the 49th, the "hero of Beaver Dams" in the war of 1812, Adjutant-General of Canada, 1837, and Military Knight of Windsor, 1851.

Original water-color painting by Charles W. Jefferys, O.S.A., Toronto, from a photograph in possession of Miss Carnochan, showing the ruins of William Lyon Mackenzie's printing office, theColonial Advocate, as it appeared twelve years after the battle of Queenston Heights.

Photograph in possession of Miss Carnochan.

Water-color sketch by Harry Carter, Toronto, from photograph in possession of Miss Carnochan. (See foot-note on page 64.)Persons interested in military matters will observe that the white ostrich plumes, which show very slightly, are placed under the flaps, only the white edges appearing. This new style of feather display was, it is stated, in compliance with an order from the War Office, issued shortly before Brock's death. Previously the plumes were worn more conspicuously.

View of officers' quarters. From photograph loaned by Miss Carnochan.

Original black and white drawing by Fergus Kyle, Toronto. See page 97.

Reproduced, by permission, from A.C. Casselman's "Richardson's War of 1812." From a silhouette in possession of John Alexander Macdonell, K.C., Alexandria, Ontario. Colonel Macdonell, who was provincial aide-de-camp to Brock, was member of Parliament for Glengarry and Attorney-General of Upper Canada. Died, October 14th, 1812, from wounds received at battle of Queenston Heights, aged 27.

As it appeared about 1830, excepting that the present monument has been substituted for the old one. Original water-color painting by C.M. Manly, A.R.C.A., Toronto, from a photograph in possession of Miss Carnochan.

From a vignette photograph loaned by Miss FitzGibbon, Toronto, and now published for the first time in any Life of Brock. As doubt has been expressed by some admirers of Brock as to the authenticity of this portrait, Miss FitzGibbon's written endorsation is here quoted:

"The photograph is from an original miniature portrait of Major-General (afterwards Sir) Isaac Brock, painted by J. Hudson, 18x6—1806—the date of General Brock's last visit to England. The miniature is now in possession of Miss S. Mickle, Toronto."

This full-face vignette is of exceptional interest, all other portraits of Brock being in profile, and is likely to challenge preconceived notions.

This powder magazine was first built in 1796. Reproduced from a photograph in possession of Miss Carnochan, Niagara.

Original water-color painting by Charles W. Jefferys, O.S.A., Toronto. As a matter of fact, the hour of Brock's gallop from Fort George to Queenston, as described in Chapter XXV., was not "midnight," but shortly before daybreak. It is this time, "between the lights," with sky and atmosphere aglow from the fire of the batteries, that the artist cleverly depicts.

Photographed in Guernsey, 1902, from a curious old print, from a sketch by a brother officer of Brock's—presumably Dennis. (See Explanatory Note to No. 18.) Loaned by Miss FitzGibbon. Original in possession of Miss Helen Tupper, Guernsey.

Original water-color sketch by Charles W. Jefferys, O.S.A., Toronto. Shows our hero falling after being hit by the fatal bullet fired by an Ohio rifleman, while courageously heading the charge in the attempt to recapture the redan.

From photograph, loaned by Miss FitzGibbon, of the coat worn by Brock at Queenston Heights, showing the hole made by the entry of the fatal bullet. Photographed, 1902, from the original in the possession of Miss Tupper, of Guernsey.

Facsimile drawing by Harry Carter, Toronto, of an old sketch credited to Major Dennis (page 161), which appears on an early map of Upper Canada, published by O.G. Steele—presumably of Buffalo—in 1840. Underneath the original print are the following words, reproducedverbatim:

Battle of Queenston.After a Sketch by Major Dennis,13th Oct., 1813,

Which ended in a complete victory on the part of the British, having captured 927 men, killed or wounded about 500, taken 1,400 stand of arms, a six-pounder, and a stand of colors."

(See, also, Explanatory Note to No. 15.)

Reproduced from an historical pamphlet loaned by Mrs. Currie, of Niagara, showing the plan of battleground, disposition of troops, and topography of adjacent country.

From a sketch which appeared in the PhiladelphiaPortfolio, 1817. Interesting from the fact that it is the only picture known which shows the churches of St. Mark's and St. Andrew's, Niagara (Newark), Canadian side, and the lighthouse which, built in 1803, stood on the spot where Fort Mississauga now stands.

Erected near the spot where Brock fell. It bears the following inscription:

"Near this SpotMajor-GeneralSir Isaac Brock, K.C.B.,Provisional Lieutenant-Governor ofUpper Canada,Fell on 13th October, 1812,While advancing to repel theinvading Enemy."

On October 13th, 1824, the remains of Brock and his gallant aide, Macdonell, were removed from the bastion at Fort George and placed in a vault beneath the monument which had been erected on Queenston Heights by the Legislature to commemorate our hero's death. On Good Friday, April 17th, 1840, this monument was shattered by an explosion of gunpowder placed within the basement by a rebel of 1837 named Lett. In 1853 the cornerstone of a new monument, as shown at page 174, the cost of which was borne by the people of Canada, was erected on the same spot, and on October 13th, forty-one years after the British victory at Queenston, and the anniversary of Brock's splendid death, the remains of the two heroes were re-interred and deposited in two massive stone sarcophagi in the vault of thenew monument. On the two oval silver plates on Brock's coffin was inscribed the following epitaph:

"Here lie the earthly remains of a braveand virtuous hero,Major-General Sir Isaac Brock,Commander of the British Forces,and President Administeringthe Government of Upper Canada,Who fell when gloriously engaging the Enemiesof his Country,at the head of the Flank Companiesof the 49th Regiment,in the Town of Queenston,on the morning of the 13th October, 1812,aged 42 Years.

J.B. Glegg, A.D.C."

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