* *

"Manfully tell me the truth."

* * * * *

Carr, an educated soldier of the 49th, was hesitating. Desertions had
been frequent at Quebec, and discipline _must_ be restored. Stepping up,
with hand clenched, the officer continued, "Don't lie! Tell the truth
like a man. You know I have ever treated you kindly." The confession of
intended desertion followed. "Go, then," said Colonel Brock,--"go and
tell your deluded comrades everything that has passed here, and also
that I will still treat every man of you with kindness, and then you may
desert me if you please."

During the three years of his command at Montreal, York, Fort George and
Quebec, though mutiny was epidemic in both Europe and America, Brock had
lost but one man by desertion. He had won the loyalty of the rank and
file. FitzGibbon said of him that "he created by his judicious praise
the never-failing interest of the men in the ranks." His accurate
knowledge of human nature served him in the graver experiences of life
which followed. His stay in Quebec was short. A study of the ancient
citadel and its incomplete fortifications occupied his time. In the
summer of 1803 he was stationed at York, a hamlet carved out of the
backwoods, sustaining a handful of people, but famous as the
gathering-place of many wise men. He found that desertions in Upper
Canada had become too frequent. The temptations offered by a long line
of frontier easy of access, and the desperate discipline in the army,
had led to much brutality in the way of punishments.

Such were the conditions in Upper Canada when Brock reached York.
Shortly after his arrival six men, influenced by an artificer, stole a
military batteau and started across the lake to Niagara. By midnight
Brock, with his trusty sergeant-major and the ever-watchful Dobson, in
another batteau with twelve men, passed out of the western gap in hot
pursuit of the defaulters. Though the night was calm the trip was
perilous. Before them stretched a waste of water, but our hero was in
his element. He was living over again his daring visits to the Casquets
through the furious seas that raced between St. Sampson and the Isle of
Herm.

The crew was divided into "watches," six taking an hour's "breather"
while the other six rowed, hour and hour about, alternately rowing and
resting. When the wind served they hoisted their big square sail, our
hero at the tiller. On this occasion there was