The Story of Isaac Brock | Page 8

together, thought
of home, begged God's mercy, and awaited the command to advance
with an impatience that was physical pain.
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.
The shedding of men's blood by man is never an edifying spectacle.
The motive that prompts the attack or repels it, the blind obedience that
entails the sacrifice, the retribution that follows, are more or less
understandable. What of the compensation? There may be times when a
pure principle is at stake and must be upheld despite all hazards, but
there are times when there is no principle at stake whatever. These
considerations, however, have no place in the soldier's manual. They
are questions for the court, not the camp, and cannot be argued on the
battlefield. The soldier is not invited to reason why, though many an
unanswerable question by a dying hero has been whispered in the

trenches.
There was much carnage at Egmont-op-Zee, and many a 49th grenadier
"lost the number of his mess." Isaac directly after the fight wrote to his
brothers that "Nothing could exceed the gallantry of his men in the
charge." To his own wound he referred in his usual breezy and
impersonal way. "I got knocked down," he said, "soon after the enemy
began to retreat, but never quitted the field, and returned to my duty in
less than half an hour."
We must appeal to his brother Savery for the actual facts. "Isaac was
wounded," said Savery, in reply to a request for particulars, "and his
life was in all probability preserved by the stout cotton handkerchief
which, as the air was very cold, he wore over a thick black silk cravat,
both of which were perforated by a bullet, and which prevented it
entering his neck. The violence of the blow, however, was so great as
to stun and dismount him, and his holsters were also shot through."
That the action had been a