By four in the afternoon the Hilder Peninsula and its batteries had been taken, but with a loss to the British of a thousand men.  Brock could scarcely believe that the enemy had retreated.  This, however, was merely a taste of war.  The second division having arrived, the whole force of nearly 20,000 men, under the Duke of York, started to make history.  In the last days of a stormy September 16,000 Russian allies reached the scene.  The fourth brigade, which included the 49th, was under the command of General Moore—­Sir John Moore, of Corunna fame.  For several weeks the waiting troops were encamped in the sand-hills without canvas and exposed to biting storms.  The capture of the city of Horn without resistance hardly prepared our hero and his men for the stout opposition at the battle of Egmont-op-Zee that followed.

Brock’s brother, Savery, a paymaster to the brigade, though by virtue of his calling exempt from field service, insisted on joining the fighting line, acting as aide to Sir Ralph Abercrombie.

Every record, every line written or in print concerning Brock, from first to last, all prove that the keynote of his success, the ruling impulse of his life, was promptness and action.  So, at Egmont, no sooner did the bugle sound the advance than he was off with his men like a sprinter at the crack of the pistol.  Others might follow; he would lead.  They were part of the advance guard of a column of 10,000 men.  The enemy was in front in superior numbers, but their weakness lay in underrating the courage of the British.  They had been taught to consider English soldiers the most undisciplined rabble in the world!

This was a factor unknown and unheeded by Brock.  All that he knew was that an obstacle barred the way.

* * * * *

“Steady, the 49th!”

* * * * *

The loud, clear notes of the leader rang above rasping of scabbards and suggestive clank of steel.  The men straightened.  A suppressed exclamation ran along the line and died to a whisper.  Whispers faded into silence.  A fraction of a second, perhaps, and then, high above the stillness, when British and French alike were silently appealing to the God of battles, over steaming dyke and yellow sand-dunes rose once more in trumpet tones the well-known voice, “Charge, men, and use your bayonets with resolution!” No rules were followed as to the order of going—­the ground, to use Brock’s words, was too rough, “like a sea in a heavy storm”—­but the dogs of war were let loose.  The quarry was at bay.  Another instant and the air was split with yells, the clash of naked steel and screams of agony.  Then cheer upon cheer, as the British swept irresistibly on, and the enemy, declining to face the glittering bayonets and unable to resist the impact of the English, wavered, broke and retreated.