Meanwhile the war cloud in Europe was growing apace. Holland had been forced into an alliance with France. War, no longer a spectre, but a grim monster, stalked the Continent. Everywhere the hostile arts of Bonaparte were rousing the nations. The breezes that had stirred the marshes of Havelet and awakened in Brock a sense of impending danger, now a furious gale, swept the empires. The roll of drums and roar of cannon that Isaac had listened to in his boyhood dreams were now challenging in deadly earnest. The great reveille that was awakening the world was followed by the British buglers calling to arms the soldiers of the King.

Notwithstanding the aversion of the English prime minister, Pitt, to commence hostilities, war was unavoidable. One of the twelve battalions of infantry selected for the front was the 49th. When the orders were read for the regiment to join the expedition to Holland, wild excitement prevailed in barracks. Active service had come at last. The parting of Brock with his family was softened by maternal pride in his appearance.

The tunic of the 49th was scarlet, with short swallow-tails. The rolling lapels were faced with green, the coat being laced with white, with a high collar. The shako, which was originally surmounted by white feathers with black tips, a distinction for services in the American war of 1776, at Bunker's Hill and Brandywine, was, at Brock's special request, replaced by a black plume. The officers wore their hair turned up behind and fastened with a black "flash." The spectacle of Master Isaac thus arrayed, in all the glory of epaulets and sabretache and the gold braid of a full colonel, reconciled the inhabitants of St. Peter's Port to his departure.

By the end of August the first division of the British army, of which the 49th was a unit, was aboard the transports in the Zuyder Zee, off the coast of Holland, and early one morning, under the command of Sir Ralph Abercrombie, with blare of trumpets and standards flying, they effected a landing under the guns of the ships of the line, of which, with frigates and sloops, there were well-nigh sixty. Brock had often listened to the roar of shot and shell in target practice and sham fight, but of a cannonade of artillery, where every shrieking cannon-ball was probably a winged messenger of death, this was his first experience. He now learned that in the music of the empty shell of experiment and the wicked screech of the missiles of war there was an unpleasant difference. He did not wince, but sternly drew himself 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."

Portrait of Colonel James FitzGibbon

Portrait of Colonel James FitzGibbon

That the action had been a hot one can be best judged by the official returns. Out of 391 rank and file of the 49th in the field, there were 110 casualties—30 killed, 50 wounded and 30 missing. Savery Brock shared the honours with his brother. Oblivious to a hurricane of bullets, he rode from sand-hill to sand-hill, encouraging the men until his truancy was noticed and he was halted by Isaac. "By the Lord Harry, Master Savery," shouted the colonel, loud as he could pitch his powerful voice, as the big paymaster strode by, his horse having been shot under him, "did I not order you, unless you remained with the General, to stay with your iron chest? Go back, sir, immediately." To which Savery answered, playfully, "Mind your regiment, Master Isaac. You surely would not have me quit the field now." Of this intrepid brother Isaac wrote, "Nothing could surpass Savery's activity and gallantry." Another of the wounded at Egmont was Lord Aylmer, afterwards Governor-General of British North America. The loss of the enemy was estimated at 4,000. Two weeks later the British troops—while suffering intensely from severe weather—met with a reverse in the field, to which, through a misunderstanding of orders, their Russian allies contributed. The Duke of York was ordered to evacuate the country. The campaign had resulted in much experience and high honour for Brock. Quick to perceive and learn, his powers of observation on the field had enriched his mind with lessons in the tactics of war never to be forgotten.

In the ranks of the 49th was a young Irishman of superior talents. Brock was not slow to discover his abilities, and "with a discrimination that honoured both," he later appointed this combative private sergeant-major. Still later he procured him an ensigncy in the 49th, finally appointing him adjutant, promotion that the ability and gallantry of James FitzGibbon, a Canadian veteran of 1812, and the "hero of Beaver Dams" (Adjutant-General of Canada, 1837, and Military Knight of Windsor, 1851), amply justified.

If Brock was quick to appreciate merit, he was no less so in detecting defects. The Russian soldiers came in for scathing criticism. The type at Egmont impressed him most unfavourably. The clumsy Russian foot-soldier was his special aversion. The accuracy of his criticism has been confirmed by military writers, but this book is not for the purpose of weighing the quality of Russian valour in Holland. Six thousand of these Russian allies, the lateness of the season preventing their return home, were later quartered for six months in Guernsey.

While our hero was a severe military critic, he was never an unjust one, neither did he spare his own men. Though not a martinet, which was foreign to every fibre of his nature, he was a stickler for rigid discipline. When the expedition was recalled, he was first quartered in Norwich, and then at the old familiar barracks of St. Helier, in Jersey. On his return to the latter place, in 1800, after leave of absence, he found that the junior lieutenant-colonel of the 49th—Colonel Sheaffe—had incurred the reasonable dislike of the men. The regiment was drawn up on the sands for morning parade, standing at ease. In company with this unpopular officer Brock appeared upon the scene. He was greeted with three hearty cheers. The personal honour, however, was lost sight of in the act of disobedience. Rebuking the men severely for "their most unmilitary conduct," they were marched to quarters and confined to barracks for a week. He would not, he explained, allow public exaltation of himself at the expense of another.

The next year found our hero in the Baltic Sea, aboard the Ganges, detailed for active duty as second in command of the land forces that under Lord Nelson were ordered to the attack on Copenhagen. It was intended that Brock, with the 49th, should lead in storming the Trekroner (Three Crown) battery, in conjunction with five hundred seamen; but the heroic defence by the Danes rendered the attempt impracticable, and Brock remained on the Ganges, an unwilling spectator of bloodshed in which he took no part. Towards the close of the engagement—the heaviest pounding match in history—he was on the Elephant, Nelson's flagship, and saw the hero of Trafalgar write his celebrated letter to the Crown Prince of Denmark.

As at Egmont, the irrepressible conduct of Savery Brock on the Ganges gave our hero much concern. Savery, as a former midshipman, was of course a gunner. While training a quarter-deck gun on the Trekroner battery his hat was blown from his head and he was knocked down by the rush of wind from a grapeshot. Seeing this, Brock exclaimed, "Ah, poor Savery! He is indeed dead." But, to use his own words, it was only "the hot air from the projectile that had 'floored' him." Previous to this he had driven Isaac almost demented by stating his intention of joining the storming party and sharing his brother's danger. "Is it not enough that one brother should be killed or drowned?" said Isaac. But Savery persisted until, at Isaac's request, the commander of the Ganges kept the paymaster quiet by stratagem. "Master Savery," said he, "you simply must remain with us. I appoint you captain of the gun. It will amuse you."

The loss of the Danes at Copenhagen was placed at 6,000, including prisoners. The British killed and wounded numbered 943, more than fell at the Battle of the Nile. Part of this loss is charged to a criminal misconception of military etiquette. To a line officer who asked where his men should be stationed, the captain of the battleship replied, that as soldiers were no good with big guns, and as the forts were out of musket range, he should "send them between decks." This, said the infantryman, "would be eternal disgrace." In deference to this brutal conception of military ethics, the men were drawn up on the gangway and, standing at attention, were allowed to be mowed down by Danish grapeshot. The 49th, on its return to England from Copenhagen, thoroughly initiated in the cruel cult of war, was ordered to Colchester.

Isaac Brock, with the bay-leaves of distinction on his brow, and his heart touched but not dismayed at the ferocity of war, had passed the second milestone of his life.