1812: BROCK AT DETROIT AND QUEENSTON HEIGHTS
The prorogation which released Brock from his parliamentary
duties on August 5 had been followed by eight days of
the most strenuous military work, especially on the part
of the little reinforcement which he was taking west to
Amherstburg. The Upper Canada militiamen, drawn from the
United Empire Loyalists and from the British-born, had
responded with hearty goodwill, all the way from Glengarry
to Niagara. But the population was so scattered and
equipment so scarce that no attempt had been made to have
whole battalions of 'Select Embodied Militia' ready for
the beginning of the war, as in the more thickly peopled
province of Lower Canada. The best that could be done
was to embody the two flank companies--the Light and
Grenadier companies--of the most urgently needed battalions.
But as these companies contained all the picked men who
were readiest for immediate service, and as the Americans
were very slow in mobilizing their own still more unready
army, Brock found that, for the time being, York could
be left and Detroit attacked with nothing more than his
handful of regulars, backed by the flank-company militiamen
and the Provincial Marine.
Leaving York the very day he closed the House there,
Brock sailed over to Burlington Bay, marched across the
neck of the Niagara peninsula, and embarked at Long Point
with every man the boats could carry--three hundred, all
told, forty regulars of the 41st and two hundred and
sixty flank-company militiamen. Then, for the next five
days, he fought his way, inch by inch, along the north
shore of Lake Erie against a persistent westerly storm.
The news by the way was discouraging. Hull's invasion
had unsettled the Indians as far east as the Niagara
peninsula, which the local militia were consequently
afraid to leave defenceless. But once Brock reached the
scene of action, his insight showed him what bold skill
could do to turn the tide of feeling all along the western
frontier.
It was getting on for one o'clock in the morning of August
14 when Lieutenant Rolette challenged Brock's leading
boat from aboard the Provincial Marine schooner _General
Hunter_. As Brock stepped ashore he ordered all commanding
officers to meet him within an hour. He then read Hull's
dispatches, which had been taken by Rolette with the
captured schooner and by Tecumseh at Brownstown. By two
o'clock all the principal officers and Indian chiefs had
assembled, not as a council of war, but simply to tell
Brock everything they knew. Only Tecumseh and Colonel
Nichol, the quartermaster of the little army, thought
that Detroit itself could be attacked with any prospect
of success. Brock listened attentively; made up his mind;
told his officers to get ready for immediate attack;
asked Tecumseh to assemble all the Indians at noon; and
dismissed the meeting at four. Brock and Tecumseh read
each other at a glance; and Tecumseh, turning to the
tribal chiefs, said simply, 'This is a man,' a commendation
approved by them all with laconic, deep 'Ho-ho's!'
Tecumseh was the last great leader of the Indian race
and perhaps the finest embodiment of all its better
qualities. Like Pontiac, fifty years before, but in a
nobler way, he tried to unite the Indians against the
exterminating American advance. He was apparently on the
eve of forming his Indian alliance when he returned home
to find that his brother the Prophet had just been defeated
at Tippecanoe. The defeat itself was no great thing. But
it came precisely at a time when it could exert most
influence on the unstable Indian character and be most
effective in breaking up the alliance of the tribes.
Tecumseh, divining this at once, lost no time in vain
regrets, but joined the British next year at Amherstburg.
He came with only thirty followers. But stray warriors
kept on arriving; and many of the bolder spirits joined
him when war became imminent. At the time of Brock's
arrival there were a thousand effective Indians under
arms. Their arming was only authorized at the last minute;
for Brock's dispatch to Prevost shows how strictly neutral
the Canadian government had been throughout the recent
troubles between the Indians and Americans. He mentions
that the chiefs at Amherstburg had long been trying to
obtain the muskets and ammunition 'which for years had
been withheld, agreeably to the instructions received
from Sir James Craig, and since repeated by Your
Excellency.'
Precisely at noon Brock took his stand beneath a giant
oak at Amherstburg surrounded by his officers. Before
him sat Tecumseh. Behind Tecumseh sat the chiefs; and
behind the chiefs a thousand Indians in their war-paint.
Brock then stepped forward to address them. Erect, alert,
broad-shouldered, and magnificently tall; blue-eyed,
fair-haired, with frank and handsome countenance; he
looked every inch the champion of a great and righteous
cause. He said the Long Knives had come to take away the
land from both the Indians and the British whites, and
that now he would not be content merely to repulse them,
but would follow and beat them on their own side of the
Detroit. After the pause that was usual on grave occasions,
Tecumseh rose and answered for all his followers. He
stood there the ideal of an Indian chief: tall, stately,
and commanding; yet tense, lithe, observant, and always
ready for his spring. He the tiger, Brock the lion; and
both unflinchingly at bay.
Next morning, August 15, an early start was made for
Sandwich, some twelve miles north, where a five-gun
battery was waiting to be unmasked against Detroit across
the river. Arrived at Sandwich, Brock immediately sent
across his aide-de-camp, Colonel Macdonell, with a letter
summoning Hull to surrender. Hull wrote back to say he
was prepared to stand his ground. Brock at once unmasked
his battery and made ready to attack next day. With the
men on detachment Hull still had a total of twenty-five
hundred. Brock had only fifteen hundred, including the
Provincial Marine. But Hull's men were losing what
discipline they had and were becoming distrustful both
of their leaders and of themselves; while Brock's men
were gaining discipline, zeal, and inspiring confidence
with every hour. Besides, the British were all effectives;
while Hull had over five hundred absent from Detroit and
as many more ineffective on the spot; which left him only
fifteen hundred actual combatants. He also had a thousand
non-combatants--men, women, and children--all cowering
for shelter from the dangers of battle, and half dead
with the far more terrifying apprehension of an Indian
massacre.
Brock's five-gun battery made excellent practice during
the afternoon without suffering any material damage in
return. One chance shell produced a most dismaying effect
in Detroit by killing Hanks, the late commandant of
Mackinaw, and three other officers with him. At twilight
the firing ceased on both sides.
Immediately after dark Tecumseh led six hundred eager
followers down to their canoes a little way below Sandwich.
These Indians were told off by tribes, as battalions are
by companies. There, in silent, dusky groups, moving
soft-foot on their moccasins through the gloom, were
Shawnees and Miamis from Tecumseh's own lost home beside
the Wabash, Foxes and Sacs from the Iowan valley, Ottawas
and Wyandots, Chippewas and Potawatomis, some braves from
the middle prairies between the Illinois and the
Mississippi, and even Winnebagoes and Dakotahs from the
far North-West. The flotilla of crowded canoes moved
stealthily across the river, with no louder noise than
the rippling current made. As secretly, the Indians crept
ashore, stole inland through the quiet night, and, circling
north, cut off Hull's army from the woods. Little did
Hull's anxious sentries think that some of the familiar
cries of night-birds round the fort were signals being
passed along from scout to scout.
As the beautiful summer dawn began to break at four
o'clock that fateful Sunday morning, the British force
fell in, only seven hundred strong, and more than half
militia. The thirty gunners who had served the Sandwich
battery so well the day before also fell in, with five
little field-pieces, in case Brock could force a battle
in the open. Their places in the battery were ably filled
by every man of the Provincial Marine whom Captain Hall
could spare from the _Queen Charlotte_, the flagship of
the tiny Canadian flotilla. Brock's men and his light
artillery were soon afloat and making for Spring Wells,
more than three miles below Detroit. Then, as the _Queen
Charlotte_ ran up her sunrise flag, she and the Sandwich
battery roared out a challenge to which the Americans
replied with random aim. Brock leaped ashore, formed
front towards Hull, got into touch with Tecumseh's Indians
on his left, and saw that the British land and water
batteries were protecting his right, as prearranged with
Captain Hall.
He had intended to wait in this position, hoping that
Hull would march out to the attack. But, even before his
men had finished taking post, the whole problem was
suddenly changed by the arrival of an Indian to say that
McArthur's four hundred picked men, whom Hull had sent
south to bring in the convoy, were returning to Detroit
at once. There was now only a moment to decide whether
to retreat across the river, form front against McArthur,
or rush Detroit immediately. But, within that fleeting
moment, Brock divined the true solution and decided to
march straight on. With Tecumseh riding a grey mustang
by his side, he led the way in person. He wore his
full-dress gold-and-scarlet uniform and rode his charger
Alfred, the splendid grey which Governor Craig had given
him the year before, with the recommendation that 'the
whole continent of America could not furnish you with so
safe and excellent a horse,' and for the good reason that
'I wish to secure for my old favourite a kind and careful
master.'
The seven hundred redcoats made a gallant show, all the
more imposing because the militia were wearing some spare
uniforms borrowed from the regulars and because the
confident appearance of the whole body led the discouraged
Americans to think that these few could only be the
vanguard of much greater numbers. So strong was this
belief that Hull, in sudden panic, sent over to Sandwich
to treat for terms, and was astounded to learn that Brock
and Tecumseh were the two men on the big grey horses
straight in front of him. While Hull's envoys were crossing
the river and returning, the Indians were beginning to
raise their war-whoops in the woods and Brock was
reconnoitring within a mile of the fort. This looked
formidable enough, if properly defended, as the ditch
was six feet deep and twelve feet wide, the parapet rose
twenty feet, the palisades were of twenty-inch cedar,
and thirty-three guns were pointed through the embrasures.
But Brock correctly estimated the human element inside,
and was just on the point of advancing to the assault
when Hull's white flag went up.
The terms were soon agreed upon. Hull's whole army,
including all detachments, surrendered as prisoners of
war, while the territory of Michigan passed into the
military possession of King George. Abundance of food
and military stores fell into British hands, together
with the _Adams_, a fine new brig that had just been
completed. She was soon rechristened the _Detroit_. The
Americans sullenly trooped out. The British elatedly
marched in. The Stars and Stripes came down defeated.
The Union Jack went up victorious and was received with
a royal salute from all the British ordnance, afloat and
ashore. The Indians came out of the woods, yelling with
delight and firing their muskets in the air. But, grouped
by tribes, they remained outside the fort and settlement,
and not a single outrage was committed. Tecumseh himself
rode in with Brock; and the two great leaders stood out
in front of the British line while the colours were being
changed. Then Brock, in view of all his soldiers, presented
his sash and pistols to Tecumseh. Tecumseh, in turn, gave
his many-coloured Indian sash to Brock, who wore it till
the day he died.
The effect of the British success at Detroit far exceeded
that which had followed the capture of Mackinaw and the
evacuation of Fort Dearborn. Those, however important to
the West, were regarded as mainly Indian affairs. This
was a white man's victory and a white man's defeat. Hull's
proclamation thenceforth became a laughing-stock. The
American invasion had proved a fiasco. The first American
army to take the field had failed at every point. More
significant still, the Americans were shown to be feeble
in organization and egregiously mistaken in their
expectations. Canada, on the other hand, had already
found her champion and men quite fit to follow him.
Brock left Procter in charge of the West and hurried back
to the Niagara frontier. Arrived at Fort Erie on August
23 he was dismayed to hear of a dangerously one-sided
armistice that had been arranged with the enemy. This
had been first proposed, on even terms, by Prevost, and
then eagerly accepted by Dearborn, after being modified
in favour of the Americans. In proposing an armistice
Prevost had rightly interpreted the wishes of the Imperial
government. It was wise to see whether further hostilities
could not be averted altogether; for the obnoxious
Orders-in-Council had been repealed. But Prevost was
criminally weak in assenting to the condition that all
movements of men and material should continue on the
American side, when he knew that corresponding movements
were impossible on the British side for lack of transport.
Dearborn, the American commander-in-chief, was only a
second-rate general. But he was more than a match for
Prevost at making bargains.
Prevost was one of those men who succeed half-way up and
fail at the top. Pure Swiss by blood, he had, like his
father, spent his life in the British Army, and had risen
to the rank of lieutenant-general. He had served with
some distinction in the West Indies, and had been made
a baronet for defending Dominica in 1805. In 1808 he
became governor of Nova Scotia, and in 1811, at the age
of forty-four, governor-general and commander-in-chief
of Canada. He and his wife were popular both in the West
Indies and in Canada; and he undoubtedly deserved well
of the Empire for having conciliated the French Canadians,
who had been irritated by his predecessor, the abrupt
and masterful Craig. The very important Army Bill Act
was greatly due to his diplomatic handling of the French
Canadians, who found him so congenial that they stood by
him to the end. His native tongue was French. He understood
French ways and manners to perfection; and he consequently
had far more than the usual sympathy with a people whose
nature and circumstances made them particularly sensitive
to real or fancied slights. All this is more to his credit
than his enemies were willing to admit, either then or
afterwards. But, in spite of all these good qualities,
Prevost was not the man to safeguard British honour during
the supreme ordeal of a war; and if he had lived in
earlier times, when nicknames were more apt to become
historic, he might well have gone down to posterity as
Prevost the Pusillanimous.
Day after day Prevost's armistice kept the British
helpless, while supplies and reinforcements for the
Americans poured in at every advantageous point. Brock
was held back from taking either Sackett's Harbour, which
was meanwhile being strongly reinforced from Ogdensburg,
or Fort Niagara, which was being reinforced from Oswego,
Procter was held back from taking Fort Wayne, at the
point of the salient angle south of Lake Michigan and
west of Lake Erie--a quite irretrievable loss. For the
moment the British had the command of all the Lakes. But
their golden opportunity passed, never to return. By
land their chances were also quickly disappearing. On
September 1, a week before the armistice ended, there
were less than seven hundred Americans directly opposed
to Brock, who commanded in person at Queenston and Fort
George. On the day of the battle in October there were
nearly ten times as many along the Niagara frontier.
The very day Brock heard that the disastrous armistice
was over he proposed an immediate attack on Sackett's
Harbour. But Prevost refused to sanction it. Brock then
turned his whole attention to the Niagara frontier, where
the Americans were assembling in such numbers that to
attack them was out of the question. The British began
to receive a few supplies and reinforcements. But the
Americans had now got such a long start that, on the
fateful 13th of October, they outnumbered Brock's men
four to one--4,000 to 1,000 along the critical fifteen
miles between the Falls and Lake Ontario; and 6,800 to
1,700 along the whole Niagara river, from lake to lake,
a distance of thirty-three miles. The factors which helped
to redress the adverse balance of these odds were Brock
himself, his disciplined regulars, the intense loyalty
of the militia, and the 'telegraph.' This 'telegraph'
was a system of visual signalling by semaphore, much the
same as that which Wellington had used along the lines
of Torres Vedras.
The immediate moral effects, however, were even more
favourable to the Americans than the mere physical odds;
for Prevost's armistice both galled and chilled the
British, who were eager to strike a blow. American
confidence had been much shaken in September by the sight
of the prisoners from Detroit, who had been marched along
the river road in full view of the other side. But it
increased rapidly in October as reinforcements poured
in. On the 8th a council of war decided to attack Fort
George and Queenston Heights simultaneously with every
available man. But Smyth, the American general commanding
above the Falls, refused to co-operate. This compelled
the adoption of a new plan in which only a feint was to
be made against Fort George, while Queenston Heights were
to be carried by storm. The change entailed a good deal
of extra preparation. But when Lieutenant Elliott, of
the American Navy, cut out two British vessels at Fort
Erie on the 9th, the news made the American troops so
clamorous for an immediate invasion that their general,
Van Rensselaer, was afraid either to resist them or to
let their ardour cool.
In the American camp opposite Queenston all was bustle
on the 10th of October; and at three the next morning
the whole army was again astir, waiting till the vanguard
had seized the landing on the British side. But a wrong
leader had been chosen; mistakes were plentiful; and
confusion followed. Nearly all the oars had been put into
the first boat, which, having overshot the mark, was made
fast on the British side; whereupon its commander
disappeared. The troops on the American shore shivered
in the drenching autumn rain till after daylight. Then
they went back to their sodden camp, wet, angry, and
disgusted.
While the rain came down in torrents the principal officers
were busy revising their plans. Smyth was evidently not
to be depended on; but it was thought that, with all the
advantages of the initiative, the four thousand other
Americans could overpower the one thousand British and
secure a permanent hold on the Queenston Heights just
above the village. These heights ran back from the Niagara
river along Lake Ontario for sixty miles west, curving
north-eastwards round Burlington Bay to Dundas Street,
which was the one regular land line of communication
running west from York. Therefore, if the Americans could
hold both the Niagara and the Heights, they would cut
Upper Canada in two. This was, of course, quite evident
to both sides. The only doubtful questions were, How
should the first American attack be made and how should
it be met?
The American general, Stephen Van Rensselaer, was a
civilian who had been placed at the head of the New York
State militia by Governor Tompkins, both to emphasize
the fact that expert regulars were only wanted as
subordinates and to win a cunning move in the game of
party politics. Van Rensselaer was not only one of the
greatest of the old 'patroons' who formed the landed
aristocracy of Dutch New York, but he was also a Federalist.
Tompkins, who was a Democrat, therefore hoped to gain
his party ends whatever the result might be. Victory
would mean that Van Rensselaer had been compelled to
advance the cause of a war to which he objected; while
defeat would discredit both him and his party, besides
providing Tompkins with the excuse that it would all have
happened very differently if a Democrat had been in charge.
Van Rensselaer, a man of sense and honour, took the expert
advice of his cousin, Colonel Solomon Van Rensselaer,
who was a regular and the chief of the staff. It was
Solomon Van Rensselaer who had made both plans, the one
of the 8th, for attacking Fort George and the Heights
together, and the one of the 10th, for feinting against
Fort George while attacking the Heights. Brock was puzzled
about what was going to happen next. He knew that the
enemy were four to one and that they could certainly
attack both places if Smyth would co-operate. He also
knew that they had boats and men ready to circle round
Fort George from the American 'Four Mile Creek' on the
lake shore behind Fort Niagara. Moreover, he was naturally
inclined to think that when the boats prepared for the
11th were left opposite Queenston all day long, and all
the next day too, they were probably intended to distract
his attention from Fort George, where he had fixed his
own headquarters.
On the 12th the American plan was matured and concentration
begun at Lewiston, opposite Queenston. Large detachments
came in, under perfect cover, from Four Mile Creek behind
Fort Niagara. A smaller number marched down from the
Falls and from Smyth's command still higher up. The camps
at Lewiston and the neighbouring Tuscarora Village were
partly concealed from every point on the opposite bank,
so that the British could form no safe idea of what the
Americans were about. Solomon Van Rensselaer was determined
that the advance-guard should do its duty this time; so
he took charge of it himself and picked out 40 gunners,
300 regular infantry, and 300 of the best militia to make
the first attack. These were to be supported by seven
hundred regulars. The rest of the four thousand men
available were to cross over afterwards. The current was
strong; but the river was little more than two hundred
yards wide at Queenston and it could be crossed in less
than ten minutes. The Queenston Heights themselves were
a more formidable obstacle, even if defended by only a
few men, as they rose 345 feet above the landing-place.
There were only three hundred British in Queenston to
meet the first attack of over thirteen hundred Americans;
but they consisted of the two flank companies of Brock's
old regiment, the 49th, supported by some excellent
militia. A single gun stood on the Heights. Another was
at Vrooman's Point a mile below. Two miles farther, at
Brown's Point, stood another gun with another detachment
of militia. Four miles farther still was Fort George,
with Brock and his second-in-command, Colonel Sheaffe of
the 49th. About nine miles above the Heights was the
little camp at Chippawa, which, as we shall see, managed
to spare 150 men for the second phase of the battle. The
few hundred British above this had to stand by their own
posts, in case Smyth should try an attack on his own
account, somewhere between the Falls and Lake Erie.
At half-past three in the dark morning of the 13th of
October, Solomon Van Rensselaer with 225 regulars sprang
ashore at the Queenston ferry landing and began to climb
the bank. But hardly had they shown their heads above
the edge before the grenadier company of the 49th, under
Captain Dennis, poured in a stinging volley which sent
them back to cover. Van Rensselaer was badly wounded and
was immediately ferried back. The American supports,
under Colonel Christie, had trouble in getting across;
and the immediate command of the invaders devolved upon
another regular, Captain Wool.
As soon as the rest of the first detachment had landed,
Wool took some three hundred infantry and a few gunners,
half of all who were then present, and led them up-stream,
in single file, by a fisherman's path which curved round
and came out on top of the Heights behind the single
British gun there. Progress was very slow in this direction,
though the distance was less than a mile, as it was still
pitch-dark and the path was narrow and dangerous. The
three hundred left at the landing were soon reinforced,
and the crossing went on successfully, though some of
the American boats were carried down-stream to the British
post at Vrooman's, where all the men in them were made
prisoners and marched off to Fort George.
Meanwhile, down at Fort George, Brock had been roused by
the cannonade only three hours after he had finished his
dispatches. Twenty-four American guns were firing hard
at Queenston from the opposite shore and two British guns
were replying. Fort Niagara, across the river from Fort
George, then began to speak; whereupon Fort George answered
back. Thus the sound of musketry, five to seven miles
away, was drowned; and Brock waited anxiously to learn
whether the real attack was being driven home at Queenston,
or whether the Americans were circling round from their
Four Mile Creek against his own position at Fort George.
Four o'clock passed. The roar of battle still came down
from Queenston. But this might be a feint. Not even Dennis
at Queenston could tell as yet whether the main American
army was coming against him or not. But he knew they must
be crossing in considerable force, so he sent a dragoon
galloping down to Brock, who was already in the saddle
giving orders to Sheaffe and to the next senior officer,
Evans, when this messenger arrived. Sheaffe was to follow
towards Queenston the very instant the Americans had
shown their hand decisively in that direction; while
Evans was to stay at Fort George and keep down the fire
from Fort Niagara.
Then Brock set spurs to Alfred and raced for Queenston
Heights. It was a race for more than his life, for more,
even, than his own and his army's honour: it was a race
for the honour, integrity, and very life of Canada. Miles
ahead he could see the spurting flashes of the guns, the
British two against the American twenty-four. Presently
his quick eye caught the fitful running flicker of the
opposing lines of musketry above the landing-place at
Queenston. As he dashed on he met a second messenger,
Lieutenant Jarvis, who was riding down full-speed to
confirm the news first brought by the dragoon. Brock did
not dare draw rein; so he beckoned Jarvis to gallop back
beside him. A couple of minutes sufficed for Brock to
understand the whole situation and make his plan
accordingly. Then Jarvis wheeled back with orders for
Sheaffe to bring up every available man, circle round
inland, and get into touch with the Indians. A few strides
more, and Brock was ordering the men on from Brown's
Point. He paused another moment at Vrooman's, to note
the practice made by the single gun there. Then, urging
his gallant grey to one last turn of speed, he burst into
Queenston through the misty dawn just where the grenadiers
of his own old regiment stood at bay.
In his full-dress red and gold, with the arrow-patterned
sash Tecumseh had given him as a badge of honour at
Detroit, he looked, from plume to spur, a hero who could
turn the tide of battle against any odds. A ringing cheer
broke out in greeting. But he paused no longer than just
enough to wave a greeting back and take a quick look
round before scaling the Heights to where eight gunners
with their single eighteen-pounder were making a desperate
effort to check the Americans at the landing-place. Here
he dismounted to survey the whole scene of action. The
Americans attacking Queenston seemed to be at least twice
as strong as the British. The artillery odds were twelve
to one. And over two thousand Americans were drawn up on
the farther side of the narrow Niagara waiting their turn
for the boats. Nevertheless, the British seemed to be
holding their own. The crucial question was: could they
hold it till Sheaffe came up from Fort George, till
Bullock came down from Chippawa, till both had formed
front on the Heights, with Indians on their flanks and
artillery support from below?
Suddenly a loud, exultant cheer sounded straight behind
him, a crackling fire broke out, and he saw Wool's
Americans coming over the crest and making straight for
the gun. He was astounded; and well he might be, since
the fisherman's path had been reported impassable by
troops. But he instantly changed the order he happened
to be giving from 'Try a longer fuse!' to 'Spike the gun
and follow me!' With a sharp clang the spike went home,
and the gunners followed Brock downhill towards Queenston.
There was no time to mount, and Alfred trotted down beside
his swiftly running master. The elated Americans fired
hard; but their bullets all flew high. Wool's three
hundred then got into position on the Heights; while
Brock in the village below was collecting the nearest
hundred men that could be spared for an assault on the
invaders.
Brock rapidly formed his men and led them out of the
village at a fast run to a low stone wall, where he halted
and said, 'Take breath, boys; you'll need it presently!'
on which they cheered. He then dismounted and patted
Alfred, whose flanks still heaved from his exertions.
The men felt the sockets of their bayonets; took breath;
and then followed Brock, who presently climbed the wall
and drew his sword. He first led them a short distance
inland, with the intention of gaining the Heights at the
enemy's own level before turning riverwards for the final
charge. Wool immediately formed front with his back to
the river; and Brock led the one hundred British straight
at the American centre, which gave way before him. Still
he pressed on, waving his sword as an encouragement for
the rush that was to drive the enemy down the cliff. The
spiked eighteen-pounder was recaptured and success seemed
certain. But, just as his men were closing in, an American
stepped out of the trees, only thirty yards away, took
deliberate aim, and shot him dead. The nearest men at
once clustered round to help him, and one of the 49th
fell dead across his body. The Americans made the most
of this target and hit several more. Then the remaining
British broke their ranks and retired, carrying Brock's
body into a house at Queenston, where it remained throughout
the day, while the battle raged all round.
Wool now re-formed his three hundred and ordered his
gunners to drill out the eighteen-pounder and turn it
against Queenston, where the British were themselves
re-forming for a second attack. This was made by two
hundred men of the 49th and York militia, led by Colonel
John Macdonell, the attorney-general of Upper Canada,
who was acting as aide-de-camp to Brock. Again the
Americans were driven back. Again the gun was recaptured.
Again the British leader was shot at the critical moment.
Again the attack failed. And again the British retreated
into Queenston.
Wool then hoisted the Stars and Stripes over the fiercely
disputed gun; and several more boatloads of soldiers at
once crossed over to the Canadian side, raising the
American total there to sixteen hundred men. With this
force on the Heights, with a still larger force waiting
impatiently to cross, with twenty-four guns in action,
and with the heart of the whole defence known to be lying
dead in Queenston, an American victory seemed to be so
well assured that a courier was sent post-haste to announce
the good news both at Albany and at Dearborn's headquarters
just across the Hudson. This done, Stephen Van Rensselaer
decided to confirm his success by going over to the
Canadian side of the river himself. Arrived there, he
consulted the senior regulars and ordered the troops to
entrench the Heights, fronting Queenston, while the rest
of his army was crossing.
But, just when the action had reached such an apparently
victorious stage, there was, first, a pause, and then a
slightly adverse change, which soon became decidedly
ominous. It was as if the flood tide of invasion had
already passed the full and the ebb was setting in. Far
off, down-stream, at Fort Niagara, the American fire
began to falter and gradually grow dumb. But at the
British Fort George opposite the guns were served as well
as ever, till they had silenced the enemy completely.
While this was happening, the main garrison, now free to
act elsewhere, were marching out with swinging step and
taking the road for Queenston Heights. Near by, at
Lewiston, the American twenty-four-gun battery was
slackening its noisy cannonade, which had been comparatively
ineffective from the first; while the single British gun
at Vrooman's, vigorous and effective as before, was
reinforced by two most accurate field-pieces under Holcroft
in Queenston village, where the wounded but undaunted
Dennis was rallying his disciplined regulars and Loyalist
militiamen for another fight. On the Heights themselves
the American musketry had slackened while most of the
men were entrenching; but the Indian fire kept growing
closer and more dangerous. Up-stream, on the American
side of the Falls, a half-hearted American detachment
had been reluctantly sent down by the egregious Smyth;
while, on the other side, a hundred and fifty eager
British were pressing forward to join Sheaffe's men from
Fort George.
As the converging British drew near them, the Americans
on the Heights began to feel the ebbing of their victory.
The least disciplined soon lost confidence and began to
slink down to the boats; and very few boats returned when
once they had reached their own side safely. These slinkers
naturally made the most of the dangers they had been
expecting--a ruthless Indian massacre included. The
boatmen, nearly all civilians, began to desert. Alarming
doubts and rumours quickly spread confusion through the
massed militia, who now perceived that instead of crossing
to celebrate a triumph they would have to fight a battle.
John Lovett, who served with credit in the big American
battery, gave a graphic description of the scene: 'The
name of Indian, or the sight of the wounded, or the Devil,
or something else, petrified them. Not a regiment, not
a company, scarcely a man, would go.' Van Rensselaer went
through the disintegrating ranks and did his utmost to
revive the ardour which had been so impetuous only an
hour before. But he ordered, swore, and begged in vain.
Meanwhile the tide of resolution, hope, and coming triumph
was rising fast among the British. They were the attackers
now; they had one distinct objective; and their leaders
were men whose lives had been devoted to the art of war.
Sheaffe took his time. Arrived near Queenston, he saw
that his three guns and two hundred muskets there could
easily prevent the two thousand disorganized American
militia from crossing the river; so he wheeled to his
right, marched to St David's, and then, wheeling to his
left, gained the Heights two miles beyond the enemy. The
men from Chippawa marched in and joined him. The line of
attack was formed, with the Indians spread out on the
flanks and curving forward. The British in Queenston,
seeing the utter impotence of the Americans who refused
to cross over, turned their fire against the Heights;
and the invaders at once realized that their position
had now become desperate.
When Sheaffe struck inland an immediate change of the
American front was required to meet him. Hitherto the
Americans on the Heights had faced down-stream, towards
Queenston, at right angles to the river. Now they were
obliged to face inland, with their backs to the river.
Wadsworth, the American militia brigadier, a very gallant
member of a very gallant family, immediately waived his
rank in favour of Colonel Winfield Scott, a well-trained
regular. Scott and Wadsworth then did all that men could
do in such a dire predicament. But most of the militia
became unmanageable, some of the regulars were comparatively
raw; there was confusion in front, desertion in the rear,
and no coherent whole to meet the rapidly approaching shock.
On came the steady British line, with the exultant Indians
thrown well forward on the flanks; while the indomitable
single gun at Vrooman's Point backed up Holcroft's two
guns in Queenston, and the two hundred muskets under
Dennis joined in this distracting fire against the American
right till the very last moment. The American left was
in almost as bad a case, because it had got entangled in
the woods beyond the summit and become enveloped by the
Indians there. The rear was even worse, as men slank off
from it at every opportunity. The front stood fast under
Winfield Scott and Wadsworth. But not for long. The
British brought their bayonets down and charged. The
Indians raised the war-whoop and bounded forward. The
Americans fired a hurried, nervous, straggling fusillade;
then broke and fled in wild confusion. A very few climbed
down the cliff and swam across. Not a single boat came
over from the 'petrified' militia. Some more Americans,
attempting flight, were killed by falling headlong or by
drowning. Most of them clustered among the trees near
the edge and surrendered at discretion when Winfield
Scott, seeing all was lost, waved his handkerchief on
the point of his sword.
The American loss was about a hundred killed, two hundred
wounded, and nearly a thousand prisoners. The British
loss was trifling by comparison, only a hundred and fifty
altogether. But it included Brock; and his irreparable
death alone was thought, by friend and foe alike, to have
more than redressed the balance. This, indeed, was true
in a much more pregnant sense than those who measure by
mere numbers could ever have supposed. For genius is a
thing apart from mere addition and subtraction. It is
the incarnate spirit of great leaders, whose influence
raises to its utmost height the worth of every follower.
So when Brock's few stood fast against the invader's
many, they had his soaring spirit to uphold them as well
as the soul and body of their own disciplined strength.
Brock's proper fame may seem to be no more than that
which can be won by any conspicuously gallant death at
some far outpost of a mighty empire. He ruled no rich
and populous dominions. He commanded no well-marshalled
host. He fell, apparently defeated, just as his first
real battle had begun. And yet, despite of this, he was
the undoubted saviour of a British Canada. Living, he
was the heart of her preparation during ten long years
of peace. Dead, he became the inspiration of her defence
for two momentous years of war.