speed, "Master
Isaac," eager to reach the scene of trouble, struck across the village,
his horse's hoof-beats bringing many a citizen to the door to "God speed
him." Some came out to follow him, and many a good wife's face was
pressed to the window to watch "The General! God bless and spare him,"
as he headed his charger for the Queenston Road and Brown's Point. Among
the more zealous hastening after Brock were Judge Ralph Clench and a few
old half-pay officers of His Majesty's service, who hurried to Queenston
to range themselves in the ranks of the volunteers. Others joined as the
signal guns and the bells of the church of St. Mark's and the
court-house spread the alarm.

His road lay up hill. Seven miles back from the shore of Lake Ontario
stretched the height of land, extending west from the river to the head
of the lake--a gigantic natural dam, over 300 feet high and twenty miles
through; a retaining wall of rock, the greatest original fresh-water
_barrage_ in the world.

He paused a moment at Frields to order the militia company there to
follow. Close to Brown's Point he met another galloper, S.P. Jarvis, of
the York volunteers, who was riding so furiously that he could not check
his horse, but shouted as he flew by, "The Americans are crossing the
river in force, sir." Jarvis wheeled and overtook the General, who,
without reining up, slackened his speed sufficiently to tell the rider
not to spare his horse, but to hurry on to Fort George and order General
Sheaffe to bring up his entire reserve and let loose Brant's Indian
scouts. A mile or so farther on, Jarvis met Colonel Macdonell, in hot
pursuit of their beloved commander. The aide, in his haste, had left his
sword behind him, and borrowed a less modern sabre from Jarvis, who
continued his mad gallop towards Fort George, little thinking he had
seen the last of his gallant General and the dashing aide, meeting, a
few minutes later, Major Glegg, also riding post haste to overtake the
General.

Meanwhile our hero had halted for a moment at Brown's Point, only to
learn that Cameron's Toronto company of volunteers had already started,
on their own initiative, up the river. Riding hard, he overtook the
excited militiamen. Speaking a word to the officer in charge, he wheeled
his horse in the direction of the Heights, calling upon the detachment
in his well-known voice, and in a way that never failed to exact
obedience:

"Now, my men, follow me."

*