The Story of Isaac Brock | Page 5

boat the rip-tides between Sark and Brechou, and the combers
that romped between St. Sampson and the Isle of Herm.
There was no limit to this boy's hardihood and daring. The more
furious the gale the more congenial the task. Returning from these
frequent baptisms of salt water, his Saxon fairness and Norman
freshness aglow with spray, he would loiter on the beach to talk to the
kelp gatherers raking amid the breakers, and to watch the mackerel
boats, reefed down, flying to the harbour for shelter. The crayfish in the
pools would tempt him, he would try his hand at sand-eeling, or watch
the surf men feed a devil-fish to the crabs. Then up the gray benches of
the furrowed cliffs, starred with silver lichens and stone-crop, to where
ploughmen were leaving glistening furrows in the big parsnip fields.
Then on through the tangle of sweet-briar, honeysuckle and wild roses,
where birds nested in the perfumed foliage, until, the summit reached,
surrounded by purple heather and golden gorse, he would look on the

sea below, with Sark, like a "basking whale, burning in the sunset."
Then he would hurry to tell his mother of the day's exploits, retiring to
dream of strange lands and turbulent scenes, in which the roll of drums
and roar of cannon seemed never absent.
With his youthful mind possessed with the exploits of the King's
soldiers in Europe and America, and influenced by his brother John's
example--then captain in the 8th Regiment of the line--Isaac pleaded
successfully to enter the army. To better prepare for this all-important
step, and to become proficient in French, a necessary accomplishment,
it was arranged, though he was only fifteen, to place him with a
Protestant clergyman in Rotterdam for one year, to complete his
education.
His vacations now were few; his visits to the Island flying ones. But the
old life still fascinated him. His physique developed as the weeks flew
by, and he became more and more a striking personality. This was
doubly true, for while he remained the champion swimmer, he was also
the best boxer of his class, besides excelling in every other manly sport.
In tugs-of-war and "uprooting the gorse" he had no equals, but a sense
of his educational deficiencies kept him at his books.
He had only passed his sixteenth birthday when, one wild March
morning in 1785, he was handed an important-looking document. It
was a parchment with the King's seal attached, his commission of
ensign in the 8th Regiment. Isaac at once joined the regimental depot in
England. It was evident that his lack of learning would prove a barrier
to promotion. He found that much of the leisure hitherto devoted to
athletic sports must be given to study. Behind "sported oak," while dust
accumulated on boxing-glove and foil--neither the banter of his brother
officers nor his love for athletics inducing him to break the
resolution--he bent to his work with a fixity of purpose that augured
well for his future.
In every man's life there are milestones. Isaac Brock's life may fairly be
divided into five periods. When he crossed the threshold of his
Guernsey home and donned the uniform of the King he passed his first
milestone.

CHAPTER III.
FROM ENSIGN TO COLONEL.
In every young man's career comes a time of probation. During this
critical period that youth is wise who enters into a truce with his
feelings. This is the period when influences for good or bad assert
themselves--the parting of the ways. The sign-posts are painted in
capitals.
When Brock buttoned his scarlet tunic and strapped his sword on his
hip, as fine a specimen of a clean-bodied, clean-minded youth as ever
trod the turnpike of life, he knew that he was at the cross-roads. The
trail before him was well blazed, but straight or crooked, rough or
smooth, valley or height, it mattered little so long as he kept nourished
the bright light of purpose that burned steadily within him.
Five years of uneventful service, chiefly in England, passed by, and our
hero was celebrating his coming of age. His only inheritance was health,
hope and courage. While neither monk nor hermit, he had so far been
as steadfast as the Pole Star in respect to his resolutions. He had
allowed nothing to induce him to break the rules engraved on brass that
he had himself imposed. His mind had broadened, his spirits ran high,
his conscience told him that he was graduating in the world's university
with honour. His love for athletics still continued. He had the thews of
a gladiator, and in his Guernsey stockings stood six feet two inches.
Add to this an honest countenance, with much gentleness of manner
and great determination, and you have a faithful picture of Isaac Brock.
Upon