Though Brock awoke after Detroit to find himself famous, and a hero
whose prowess far exceeded that of his ancestor, the Jurat of the Royal
Court of Guernsey, over whose exploits he used to ponder seated on the
Lion's Rock at Cobo, he was still the same "Master Isaac," still the
"beloved brother." Separation from his kinsmen only served to draw him
closer.

Crossing Lake Ontario gave him the opportunity he longed for. He wrote
to his brothers collectively, telling them the sundry details of his
success, "which was beyond his expectation." He hoped the affair would
meet with recognition at the War Office. Though admitting it was a
desperate measure, he told them "it proceeded from a cool calculation of
the _pros_ and _cons_," and as Colonel Procter had opposed it, he was
not surprised that envy now induced that officer "to attribute to good
fortune what in reality was the result of my own knowledge and
discernment." But praise and honours, though sweet to our hero, who
after all was only mortal, were secondary to the fact that he would be
in a position to contribute something to the comfort and happiness of
his brothers. The value of the "treasure" captured at Detroit was placed
at L40,000. Brock's share of this was a substantial sum.

"When I returned heaven thanks," he wrote, "for my amazing success, I
thought of you all, your late sorrows forgotten, and I felt that the
many benefits which for a series of years I received from you were not
unworthily bestowed." But the hope that they were reunited was always
the dominant note. "Let me know, my dearest brothers," he pleaded, "that
you are all again united." Then, out of his own knowledge, wrought of
deep experience in the world's wide field, he proceeded: "The want of
union was nearly losing this province, without even a struggle; rest
assured, it operates in the same degree in regard to families."

Brock's despatches, with the story of the capture of Detroit and the
colours of the 4th Regiment, United States Army, the oriflamme of the
"heroes of Tippecanoe," reached London the morning of October 6th, the
anniversary of his birth. His brother William resided close to the city.
A tumultuous clangour of bells and booming of guns from St. James' Park
and the Tower of London rent the air. When asked by his wife the reason
for the jubilation he jokingly replied, "Why, for Isaac, of course. You
surely have not forgotten this is his birthday." But William, on
reaching the