soldier, not a policeman, and coast-guard duties palled upon him. His
great diversion was in calculating the probabilities of invasion by the
French. In expectation of this, the refortifying of the island was in
progress. The memory of Admiral d'Estaing's visit with his fleet from
Toulon, and the capture of St. Vincent, sent a chill through the island.
The great victory by the British Admiral Rodney, when he whipped a
superior French fleet to a standstill, was yet to come. Bastions and
earthworks grew during the night like mushrooms. While Brock chafed
under restraint, he knew how to improve the opportunity.

Fishing, shooting sea-fowl, and exploring the interior on horseback,
were Brock's chief pastimes. He became a fearless horseman. Mount
Hillaby rose 1,200 feet above the Caribbean Sea. The very crest of its
almost impossible pinnacle Brock is said to have ascended on horseback.
Between Bridgetown, in Barbadoes, and Kingston, Jamaica, he divided his
time, and though monotonous, his life in the Windward Islands was not
wholly void of adventure.

Shortly after joining his regiment at Bridgetown our hero had his first
affair of honour, an opportunity to display his courage under most
trying conditions. A certain captain in the 49th was a confirmed
duellist, with a reputation of being a dead shot at short range. Resting
upon his evil record, this braggart had succeeded in terrorizing the
garrison, and it was soon Brock's turn to be selected for insult. But
Isaac could not be bullied or intimidated. He promptly challenged and
was as promptly accepted.

The fateful morning arrived. In a lonely spot, palm-sheltered, and
within sight of the sea breaking upon the coral reefs, principals and
seconds met. There was no question in Brock's mind as to his duty--the