The Story of Isaac Brock | Page 4

of the child being "father to the man" in his case held
good.
CHAPTER II.
SCHOOL AND PASTIMES.
Guernsey abounded in the natural attractions that are dear to the youth
of robust body and adventurous nature. Isaac, though he excelled in
field sports and was the admiration of his school-fellows, was
sufficiently strong within himself to find profit in his own society. In
the thickets that overlooked Houmet Bay he found solace apart from
his companions. There he would recall the stories told him of the
prowess of his ancestor, William de Beauvoir, that man of great
courage, a Jurat of the royal court. Even here he did not always escape
intruders. Outside the harbour of St. Peter's Port, separated by an arm
of the sea, rose the Ortach Rock, between the Casquets and "Aurigny's
Isle," a haunted spot, once the abode of a sorcerer named Jochmus. To
secure quiet he would frequently visit this isolated place, in spite of the
resident devil, the devil-fish, or the devil-strip of treacherous water
which ran between.
He was not ten when, to the amazement of his friends in imitation of
Leander but without the same inducements, he swam the half mile to

the reefs of Castle Cornet and back again, through a boiling sea and
rip-tides that ran like mill-races. This performance he repeated again
and again. For milder amusement he would tramp to the water-lane that
stole through the Moulin Huet, a bower of red roses and perfume, or
walk by moonlight to the mystic cromlechs, where the early pagans and
the warlocks and witches of later days flitted round the ruined altars.
Though Isaac was self-contained and resolute he had a restless spirit.
Fearless, without a touch of the braggart, his courage was of the valiant
order, the quality that accompanies a lofty soul in a strong body. For
his constant courtesy and habit of making sacrifices for his friends, he
was in danger of being canonized by his school-fellows.
About this time, shortly after his father's death, it was suggested he
should leave the Queen Elizabeth School on the Island and study at
Southampton. Here he tried his best, boy though he was, to live up to
the standard of what he had been told were his obligations as a
gentleman, acquiring, too, a little book-learning and much every-day
knowledge.
Isaac's holidays, always spent in his beloved Guernsey, increased the
thirst for adventure. The spirit of conquest, the controlling influence of
his after life, grew upon him. Something accomplished, something
done, was the daily rule. To scale an impossible cliff with the wings of
circling sea-fowl beating in his face, to land a big conger eel without
receiving a shock, to rescue a partridge from a falcon, to shoot a rabbit
at fifty paces, to break a wild pony, or even to scan a complicated line
in his syntax--these were achievements, small perhaps, but typical of
his desire. His young soul was stirred; the blood coursed in his veins as
the sap courses in the trees of the forest in spring; his mind, susceptible
to the influences of nature, was strengthened and purified by these
pursuits.
In the shelter of silent trossach, on wind-swept height, or on wildest,
ever-restless sea, he would, as the mood seized him, take his solitary
outings. These jaunts, he told his mother, gave him time to reflect and
resolve. It was not strange that he selected a profession that presented
the opportunities he craved.

* * * * *
England with folded arms was at peace. The Treaty of Versailles had
terminated the disastrous war with America. The independence of the
"Thirteen States" had been recognized. The world was drawing a long
breath, filling its fighting lungs, awaiting the death struggle with
Napoleon for the supremacy of Europe. Yet the spirit of war lingered in
the air. It even drifted on the breeze across the Channel to Guernsey,
and filtered through the trees that crowned the Lion's Rock at Cobo. It
invaded the valleys of the Petit Bot and stirred the bulrushes in the
marshes of Havelet. The pulse of our hero throbbed with the subtle
infection. Not with the brute lust for other men's blood, but with the
instinct of the true patriot to shed, if need be, his own blood to maintain
the right. He would follow the example of his ancestors and fight and
die, if duty called him, in defence of king and country.
The sweet arrogance of youth uplifted him. Earth, air and water
conspired to encourage him. To satisfy this unspoken craving for action
he would, from his outlook on the Jerbourg crags--where bold Sir Hugh
had sat for just such purpose years before--watch the Weymouth
luggers making bad weather of it beyond the Casquets; or challenge in
his own