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
seagu