On the receipt of this the batteries were ordered to open fire upon the fort, which apparently threw the enemy into some confusion. An effort was made to return the fire from the opposite bank, but without effect. No damage was done on either side. All night the troops in Sandwich lay on their arms, prepared to cross the river at early dawn. Under the cover of darkness, six hundred Indians led by Tecumseh crossed over during the night, and were ordered to attack the enemy in flank and rear if they should oppose the landing of the troops. At six o'clock on Sunday, the 16th, three hundred regulars and four hundred militia under Brock's immediate command, were embarked in boats and canoes, carrying with them five pieces of light {252} artillery, and were landed at Springwells, four miles below Detroit. One who was present writes: "A soft August sun was just rising as we gained the centre of the river, and the view at the moment was certainly very animated and exciting, for amid the little squadron of boats and scows conveying the troops and artillery were mixed numerous canoes filled with Indian warriors decorated in their half-nakedness for the occasion, and uttering yells of mingled defiance of their foes and encouragement of the soldiery. Above us again were to be seen and heard the flashes and thunder of the artillery from our batteries, which, as on the preceding day, were but feebly replied to by the enemy, while the gay flags of the _Queen Charlotte_, drooping in the breezeless, yet not oppressive air, and playing on the calm surface of the river seemed to give earnest of success, and inspired every bosom."[1] Years before Isaac Brock had crossed the river on a peaceful visit to this garden of the West. The landscape was the same but what a change had come! There were still the settlers' homesteads, the orchards laden with fruit, the vines heavy with grapes, the fields of rich grass that lined the water's edge. But the flower-decked homes were deserted. Through the orchards gleamed the bayonets of armed men. Under the vines lurked the half-naked savage ready for his cruel work. Instead of the welcome he had once received, guns pointed their grim muzzles {253} down the road. The women and children who had met him with smiles before were gathered trembling in the fort, and instead of the church bells calling them to prayer this Sunday morning, came the dull boom of the cannon from the shore and fort. [Sidenote: The advance]