There was no time to mount, and Alfred trotted down beside
his swiftly running master. The elated Americans fired
hard; but their bullets all flew high. Wool's three
hundred then got into position on the Heights; while
Brock in the village below was collecting the nearest
hundred men that could be spared for an assault on the
invaders.

Brock rapidly formed his men and led them out of the
village at a fast run to a low stone wall, where he halted
and said, 'Take breath, boys; you'll need it presently!'
on which they cheered. He then dismounted and patted
Alfred, whose flanks still heaved from his exertions.
The men felt the sockets of their bayonets; took breath;
and then followed Brock, who presently climbed the wall
and drew his sword. He first led them a short distance
inland, with the intention of gaining the Heights at the
enemy's own level before turning riverwards for the final
charge. Wool immediately formed front with his back to
the river; and Brock led the one hundred British straight
at the American centre, which gave way before him. Still
he pressed on, waving his sword as an encouragement for
the rush that was to drive the enemy down the cliff. The
spiked eighteen-pounder was recaptured and success seemed
certain. But, just as his men were closing in, an American
stepped out of the trees, only thirty yards away, took
deliberate aim, and shot him dead. The nearest men at
once clustered round to help him, and one of the 49th
fell dead across his body. The Americans made the most
of this target and hit several more. Then the remaining