two batteries doing good service as their hissing shots fell in
disagreeably close proximity to the boats, sometimes splashing
them with spray, and once ricocheting right over one of them.

The first detachment of invaders were driven with some loss behind
a steep bank close to the water's edge, but they were soon
reinforced by fresh arrivals, and, being now in overwhelming
strength, steadily fought their way up the bank.

Meanwhile, where was Brock? Such, we venture to think, was the
most eager thought of every mind on either side. He was speeding
as fast as his good steed could carry him to his glorious fate.
The previous night, at head-quarters at Fort George, he had called
his staff together and, in anticipation of the invasion, had given
to each officer his instructions. In the morning, agreeably to his
custom, he rose before day. While dressing, the sound of the
distant cannonade caught his attentive ear. He speedily roused his
aides-de-camp, Major Glegg and Colonel Macdonel, and called for
his favourite horse, Alfred, the gift of his friend, Sir James
Craig. His first impression was that the distant firing was but a
feint to draw the garrison from Fort George. The real point of
attack he anticipated would be Niagara, and he suspected an
American force to be concealed in boats around the point on which
Fort Niagara stood, ready to cross over as soon as the coast was
clear. He determined, therefore, to ascertain personally the
nature of the attack before withdrawing the garrison.

With his two aides, he galloped eagerly to the scene of the
action. As he approached Queenston Heights, the whole slope of the
hill was swept by a heavy artillery and musketry fire from the