THE ATTACK ON DETROIT.
Morning came all too slowly for Brock's impatient soldiers. At last the
_reveille_ warned the expectant camp. The sun rose, a red-hot shell out
of the faint August haze, huge and threatening. With its advent the
British batteries resumed their fire, aided by the guns on the _Queen
Charlotte_ and _Hunter_, which lay in the river, above the village known
to-day as Windsor, to cover the embarkation of the troops in batteaux
and canoes.
Brock's entire force consisted of only 330 regulars and 400 militia,
some of whom, acting on a happy thought, were disguised in discarded
uniforms of the 41st. This army was supported by five pieces of
artillery. All crossed the river in safety, landing at Spring Wells,
four miles below. The Indians, 600 strong, under Tecumseh, in addition
to the men of his own nation, consisted of many Sioux, Wyandottes and
Dacotahs. The majority of these crossed under cover of the night.
History records no instance of a determined force being stopped by a
river. The Detroit River presented an animated picture. Edging their way
through a maze of boats and batteaux, and in marked contrast to the
scarlet-coated soldiers and blue-shirted sailors, bark canoes on which
were drawn in flaring colours a variety of barbaric designs, flitted
here and there, their crews of half-naked savages fearsome in fresh
war-paint and gaudy feathers. Coo-ees, shrieks and shrill
war-whoops--"Ah-oh! Ah-oo!" like the dismal yells of a pack of
coyotes--rent the air, the discordant din ever and anon drowned by the
thunder of the guns from the Sandwich batteries.
Upon landing Brock mustered his men. The reports showed 750 of all
ranks, including the voyageurs left in charge of the river squadron. The
600 Indians deployed in the shelter of the woods, skirmishing to effect
a flank movement. The column, having formed, was moved forward in
sections, and at double distance, to lend a fictitious air of strength;
the light artillery, of three, six, and two three-pounders, being
immediately in rear of the advance guards, the whole preceded by
fluttering standards and rolling drums. Three generations ago! Yet you
can see it all to-day as plainly as Brock saw it, if you but close your
eyes and conjure up the past.
The enemy, over 2,000 strong, drawn up in line upon an overlooking rise,
had planted in the roadway, commanding the approach to the town, two
twenty-four pounders, each loaded with six dozen grapeshot, around which
the gunners stood with burning fuses, challenging our hero's advance.
Up and down, in front of the line, rode Isaac Brock on his gray charger,
his brilliant uniform--khaki was unknown in those days--flashing in the
morning sun, a shining mark. A command here, a kindly rebuke there, a
word of encouragement to all ranks; the eyes of Britain and Canada were
upon them; they might have to take the fort by storm,--even so, honour
and glory awaited them.... Forward then, for King and country!
The rat-a-tat-tat of the kettle-drums, the clear-cut whistle of the
fifes, the resonant roll of the big drums, the steady tramp, tramp of
armed men--and the human machine was in motion.
* * * * *
The long grim guns on Fort Detroit and Hull's field-pieces pointed their
black muzzles at the column. Up and down, in front of his men, rode
Isaac Brock.
* * * * *
Now this was more than some flesh and blood could stand. Spurring his
horse, acting Quartermaster-General Nichol reined up alongside his
beloved commander. "General," he said, saluting his leader, while the
soldiers' faces expressed dumb approval, "forgive me, but I cannot
forbear entreating you not to expose yourself. If we lose you, we lose
all. I pray you, allow the troops to advance, led by their own
officers."
"Master Nichol," said Brock, turning in his saddle and returning the
salute of the gallant Quartermaster, "I fully appreciate your kindly
advice, but I feel that, in addition to their sense of loyalty and duty,
there are many here following me from a feeling of personal regard, and
I will never ask them to go where I do not lead."
Before him spread the plain, broken here and there with _coulees_ and
clumps of bush. A partly fenced roadway, with some scattered houses on
the river bank, but no barbed-wire entanglements, impeded his movements.
The introduction of such pleasant devices was left for a higher
civilization!
* * * * *
The column was in motion. The steady onward tramp, tramp of this thin
red line, raw recruit and grizzly veteran shoulder to shoulder, struck
fear into the heart of the unfortunate Hull. The prospect, though his
troops outnumbered the British three to one, was clearly war to the
knife. Brock's meaning was apparent. Should he or should he not accept
the Englishman's challenge? He could extract no comfort out of that
solid scarlet front, bristling with naked steel, now fast approaching in
battle array with even, ominous tread.
* * * * *
The siege-proof walls of the fort lay behind him. His irresolute heart
grew faint, and in the flash of a flintlock in its pan, honour was
sacrificed and fame cast to the winds. A brave army of martyrs, over
2,000 strong, was rightabout faced, and drinking the cup of humiliation,
that only men of courage can drain to the bitter dregs, this army, eager
to lock bayonets with the British, was actually ordered to retreat into
the shelter of Fort Detroit!
[Illustration: LIEUT.-COLONEL JOHN MACDONELL]