the middle prairies between the Illinois and the
Mississippi, and even Winnebagoes and Dakotahs from the
far North-West. The flotilla of crowded canoes moved
stealthily across the river, with no louder noise than
the rippling current made. As secretly, the Indians crept
ashore, stole inland through the quiet night, and, circling
north, cut off Hull's army from the woods. Little did
Hull's anxious sentries think that some of the familiar
cries of night-birds round the fort were signals being
passed along from scout to scout.

As the beautiful summer dawn began to break at four
o'clock that fateful Sunday morning, the British force
fell in, only seven hundred strong, and more than half
militia. The thirty gunners who had served the Sandwich
battery so well the day before also fell in, with five
little field-pieces, in case Brock could force a battle
in the open. Their places in the battery were ably filled
by every man of the Provincial Marine whom Captain Hall
could spare from the _Queen Charlotte_, the flagship of
the tiny Canadian flotilla. Brock's men and his light
artillery were soon afloat and making for Spring Wells,
more than three miles below Detroit. Then, as the _Queen
Charlotte_ ran up her sunrise flag, she and the Sandwich
battery roared out a challenge to which the Americans
replied with random aim. Brock leaped ashore, formed
front towards Hull, got into touch with Tecumseh's Indians
on his left, and saw that the British land and water
batteries were protecting his right, as prearranged with
Captain Hall.