duello at that time was the recognized court of appeal. If its purpose
as originally designed had at times been infamously abused, it was still
the one and only arbiter through which insults had to be purged and from
which, for the "officer and gentleman," there was no escape.

Now Isaac, who was several inches taller and much bulkier than the
scoundrel who had insulted him, declined to become a shining mark at the
regulation twelve paces. He demanded from his fire-eating antagonist
that the duel proceed on equal terms. Whipping out his kerchief, cool as
a cucumber, his blue eyes steady and resolute, he insisted that _they
both fire across it_. The fairness of the proposal staggered the bully.
The chances were not sufficiently one-sided. If this plan was acted upon
he might himself be killed. He refused to comply. The code of honour and
garrison approval sustained Brock in his contention, and the refusal of
the professional killer to fight under even chances was registered in
the mess-room as the act of a coward, and he left the regiment by
compulsion.

In Jamaica the continued strain of inactivity under which our hero
fretted told upon him, and he was struck down with fever, his cousin,
Henry Brock, lieutenant in the 13th Foot, dying in Kingston of the same
pestilence. At this time Isaac had as servant a soldier named Dobson,
one of those faithful souls who, true as steel, once installed in their
master's affection, remain loyal to the end. To the untiring attentions
of this man Brock owed his life. Deep and mutual respect followed, and
the two became inseparable. Where Brock went, there was Dobson, sharing
his fortune and all the hard knocks of his military campaigns, a
fellowship ending only with Dobson's death, shortly before his "beloved
master" gave up his life on Queenston Heights.