"HERO, DEFENDER, SAVIOUR."
General Sheaffe, the only field officer available, and junior colonel of
the 49th, of whom the reader has already heard, had been brought from
the East to take command at Niagara in Brock's absence. Like Prevost, he
was born in Boston, Massachusetts, in 1763, a son of the deputy
collector of that port. There the two had been school-fellows, and both
found it difficult to engage in vigorous diplomatic or military conflict
with the Americans. To Sheaffe's credit, it should be said that he
applied for another station.
It was Sheaffe, however, who acceded to General Dearborn's specious
demand that the _freedom of the lakes and rivers_ be extended to the
United States Government during the armistice. This was done while Brock
was in the West. Sheaffe it also was who, with hat in hand and strange
alacrity, later agreed, despite his first terrible blunder, to repeat
the offence. On the very afternoon that the British defeated the
Americans at Queenston, and when the moral effect of that victory,
followed up by vigorous attack, would have saved Canada from a
continuance of the war, and deplorable loss of life and trade, Sheaffe
actually agreed to another armistice. For this _second_ truce, like his
first, "no valid reason, military or civil, has ever been assigned." As
far as the British were concerned, neither of these two was necessary,
but, on the contrary, directly to their disadvantage. Isaac Brock,
alas! was not made in duplicate.
Our hero remained but a few hours in Kingston. He was needed in Niagara.
The enemy was burning to avenge Detroit. The sight of Hull's ragged
legions passing as prisoners of war along the Canadian bank of the
river, bound for Montreal, did not tend to soften the hearts of the
Americans. Stores and ordnance continued to pour into Lewiston. Brock
needed 1,000 additional regulars. He might as well have asked for the
moon. Early in September he stated that if he could maintain his
position six weeks longer "the campaign would end in a manner little
expected in the States." Scores of American marines and seamen were
marking time, waiting for the launching of the vessels which Captain
Chauncey had been given free license to build to ensure United States
supremacy of the lakes. Prevost's eyes were still bandaged. Brock warned
his grenadiers of the 49th to be ready for trouble. He foresaw that the
Niagara river would be crossed, but at what point was uncertain. Stray
musket-balls whistled across at night as thick as whip-poor-wills in
summer. This firing was "the unauthorized warfare between sentinels."
The peaceful citizens of Newark, returning from dance or
card-party--even the imminence of war did not wholly stifle their desire
for innocent revelry--found it embarrassing.
Though Van Rensselaer's force now numbered 6,300 men, he was still
afraid to attack Brock. Invited by the United States Government to take
up arms, 400 Seneca Indians "went upon the war-path," and performed
ghost-dances on the streets of Lewiston. Prevost, with no proper
conception of the doctrine of "what we have we hold," ordered Brock to
"evacuate Detroit and the territory of Michigan." To "the man behind the
gun," who had but just donated this 60,000 square miles of realty to the
Empire, such instructions were hardly to his taste. Armed with powers of
discretion, our hero declined. Meanwhile Isaac's heart was sore. The
situation was galling. If there was to be no more fighting, why should
he not get his release, join Wellington in Portugal, and renounce
Canada? Unrest and vigilance best describe the order of his days, while
waiting attack. The death of the ever-attentive Dobson, who had passed
away before Brock's departure for Detroit, and the absence of the
faithful sergeant-major--now Adjutant FitzGibbon--distressed him. In an
attempt by General Brown to capture some British batteaux at Tousaint
Island, on the St. Lawrence, the Americans had been repulsed by Brock's
gallant protégé.
Everything now pointed to an early attack by the enemy in force. General
Van Rensselaer, with an ascertained army of at least 6,300, of which
2,600 were militia, wrote that he "would cross the river in the rear of
Fort George, take it by storm, carry the Heights of Queenston, destroy
the British ships--the _Prince Regent_ and _Earl Moira_--at the mouth of
the river, leave Brock no rallying point, appal the minds of the
Canadians, and wipe away the past disgrace."
On one of his visits to Fort George he had remarked to Brock, who had
laughingly pointed out two beautiful brass howitzers taken from General
Wayne, "Oh, yes, they are old friends of mine; I must take them back."
They were not taken back in Brock's time. Even with his grand army of
6,300, his 400 Seneca braves, and his written admission that Niagara was
weakly garrisoned, it is certain Van Rensselaer would have still delayed
attack, unless he had been told by his spies that Brock had returned to
Detroit. Then, with valour oozing from his finger tips, he plucked up
courage to attack the lair in the lion's absence.
At this juncture an untoward event occurred, in the re-taking by the
Americans of the brig _Detroit_, formerly the United States brig
_Adams_--captured, as we know, by Roulette--and the trading brig
_Caledonia_. They were at anchor at the head of the Niagara River, off
Black Rock. The irregular regiments of Hull's command, under the terms
of surrender, were on board on their way to their Ohio homes, via Lake
Erie and Buffalo. The two vessels reached Fort Erie harbour safely, and
being rightly regarded by the British as immune from attack, were left
undefended, in charge of an officer and nine men only, most of whom were
voyageurs. In addition to the prisoners, the two brigs carried great
quantities of fur and 600 packs of deer skins. During darkness
Lieutenant Ellis, with three armed boats and 150 United States troops
and sailors, dropped alongside. Roulette and his nine men fought
desperately, one being killed and four wounded, but both vessels, of
course, fell into the enemy's hands. This attack was contrary to the
rules of war, and a violation of the sanctity of the flag which
"continued to float as long as there were American prisoners on board,
awaiting to be landed on United States soil."
Brock regarded this loss as a calamity. It was, he wrote to Prevost,
"likely to reduce him to great distress." His constant fears that the
enemy would secure control of both Lakes Erie and Ontario were well
founded. He begged Prevost to let him destroy the vessels Chauncey, the
American, was building on Squaw Island. Prevost, of course, besought him
to forbear. Isaac Brock, exasperated and with tied hands, was "doomed to
the bitterest of all griefs, to see clearly and yet be able to do
nothing." Yet while he worked in chains his preparedness was a source of
wonder to those behind the scenes.
Even no less a critic than John Lovett, General Van Rensselaer's
military secretary, was impressed with what he saw through his
field-glasses from Lewiston heights. "Every three or four miles, on
every eminence," he wrote a friend, "Brock has erected a snug battery,
the last saucy argument of kings, poking their white noses and round
black nostrils right upon your face, ready to spit fire and brimstone in
your very teeth, if you were to offer to turn squatter on John Bull's
land." Influenced by these signs of "business," the United States
officers were ordered to "dress as much like their men as possible, so
that at 150 yards they might not be recognized." This was probably due
to one of the last orders issued by our hero, who warned his men that,
when the enemy crossed the river, to withhold their musketry fire until
he was well within range, and then, "if he lands, attack him at the
point of the bayonet with determined resolution."
With clairvoyance that would have done credit to a mind-reader, Brock
knew that attack was imminent. To him the wind that blew across the
river October 12th was laden with omens of war. The air seemed charged
with the acrid smell of burnt powder. The muffled beat of drums, the
smothered boom of artillery, the subdued clash of steel meeting steel,
the stealthy tramp of armed men, seemed to encompass him.
* * * * *
Brock was at his headquarters. He gazed from the window. The storm
outside was hurling great splashes of rain against the narrow casement.
To and fro, over the carpeted floor, he paced that evening for an hour
or more, uninterrupted and alone. It was thus he marshalled facts and
weighed conclusions. Powerful brain and vigorous frame acted in concert.
He was enjoying the fulfilment of the promise of his youth. God had been
good. The world had been tolerant; his fellow-men--at least those who
knew the real Isaac--loyally appreciative. The knowledge of his honours
and fame stirred him to his soul. Not that he was any better, or abler,
he meditated, than other men, but that when "opportunity" offered he was
permitted to grasp it.
"For every day I stand outside your door,
And bid you wake and rise to fight and win."
The influence of the great truth as pronounced in the now familiar
couplet inspired him. He recognized the source whence he derived
whatever of success had followed his efforts, and prayed for greater
sagacity, more vigour of body and tenacity of purpose, a complete
surrender of self to the task before him; that if his life was to be
the price of duty, he might place it on the altar of his country without
one shred of compunction.
* * * * *
He rang the bell for Porter--his body-servant since Dobson's
death--directed him to see that the council room was lighted, that pens,
ink, paper and cigars were in place, as a meeting of his staff was
slated for nine, and sought his sanctum.
[Illustration: POWDER MAGAZINE, FORT GEORGE, NIAGARA]