ard of a column of 10,000 men. The enemy
was in front in superior numbers, but their weakness lay in underrating
the courage of the British. They had been taught to consider English
soldiers the most undisciplined rabble in the world!

This was a factor unknown and unheeded by Brock. All that he knew was
that an obstacle barred the way.

* * * * *

"Steady, the 49th!"

* * * * *

The loud, clear notes of the leader rang above rasping of scabbards and
suggestive clank of steel. The men straightened. A suppressed
exclamation ran along the line and died to a whisper. Whispers faded
into silence. A fraction of a second, perhaps, and then, high above the
stillness, when British and French alike were silently appealing to the
God of battles, over steaming dyke and yellow sand-dunes rose once more
in trumpet tones the well-known voice, "Charge, men, and use your
bayonets with resolution!" No rules were followed as to the order of
going--the ground, to use Brock's words, was too rough, "like a sea in a
heavy storm"--but the dogs of war were let loose. The quarry was at bay.
Another instant and the air was split with yells, the clash of naked
steel and screams of agony. Then cheer upon cheer, as the British swept
irresistibly on, and the enemy, declining to face the glittering
bayonets and unable to resist the impact of the English, wavered, broke
and retreated.

The shedding of men's blood by man is never an edifying spectacle. The
motive that prompts the attack or repels it, the blind obedience that
entails the sacrifice, the retribution that follows, are more or less
understandable. What of the compensation? There may be times when a pure
principle is at stake and must be upheld despite all hazards, but there
are times when there is no principle at stake whatever. These
considerations, however, have no place in the soldier's manual. They are
questions for the court, not the camp, and cannot be argued on the
battlefield. The soldier is not invited to reason why, though many an
unanswerable question by a dying hero has been whispered in the
trenches.

There was much carnage at Egmont-op-Zee, and many a 49th grenadier "lost
the number of his mess." Isaac directly after the fight wrote to his
brothers that "Nothing could exceed the gallantry of his men in the
charge." To his own wound he referred in his usual breezy and impersonal
way. "I got knocked down," he