ueenston 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