* * * * *

Having surveyed the position rapidly, ignorant of the concealed movements of the American troops, Brock at a first glance pronounced the situation favorable.

The crest of the Heights was wooded densely.  The leaves still clung to the trees in all the spangled glory of autumn, and the thickets afforded far too safe cover for the American sharpshooters.  In answer to his inquiry, Williams, in charge of the light company of the 49th, told him that at least 350 United States regulars and 250 militia must already have been ferried over.  In the chilling gray of dawn, four boats, filled with armed men, had been seen crossing the river, which here had a four-mile current.  The head of a column had also been seen above the river bank at the Queenston landing.  The soldiers from the three batteaux, previously landed below Hamilton’s garden, had already been met by Dennis’s men, who had killed several and captured others.  Later, more boats had come ashore, knocked out of commission by Vrooman’s big gun and the six-pounders.  Their crews had surrendered.  Some of these Brock had met.  Many more, however, had landed safely, hidden by the shadows, and were doubtless then awaiting a chance to emerge from ambush.

In answer to Brock’s question as to whether there was a chance of the Height being scaled direct from the river, Williams repeated what he had already reported at the council meeting, that the scouts insisted that the Heights could not be climbed from the landing.  The cliffs, over three hundred feet high, rose almost vertically from the water, and the denseness of the shrubs, tangle and overhanging trees, anchored in the clefts, rendered it impossible for any but exceptionally active and resolute men, and then only as a forlorn hope, to reach the summit.  Projecting ledges of rock also blocked the way.  A large body of men had been seen before daybreak stealing across the foot-hills, but had evaded pursuit.  He believed they had fled to the Black Swamp, four miles distant.

Seeing that Dennis needed every possible support at the landing, Brock ordered Williams and his men to proceed to his assistance, and on the latter’s departure our hero and his aides were left alone with the eight gunners.

* * * * *

The rain was gradually ceasing.  Shafts of light from an unseen sun tinged the edges of the smoke-coloured clouds with amber and rose.  A few spent musket-balls falling about the enclosure aroused Brock’s suspicions.  He was watching, from behind the earthen parapet, the flight of the shells discharged by the eighteen-pounder, and, seeing that they burst too soon, turned to the gunner.

“Sergeant, you are misjudging your time and distance; we must not waste powder and shot.  Your shells are bursting too soon.  Try a longer fuse.”

The words were barely out of our hero’s mouth when there was a rolling crash of musketry, accompanied by wild shouts, and a shower of bullets flew zipping over their heads.  Shooting high is the invariable shortcoming of excited marksmen.  A moment later the heads of a large force of American riflemen rose from the rocky ambuscade above and behind them.  The next instant the enemy was in full charge, evidently bent on capturing both the General and the redan.