Thus far, everything had gone well for the defense, and the general, on his approach to Queenston, was greeted with the news that the greater number of the boats had been destroyed or taken. Another {303} brigade of four boats was just then setting off from Lewiston, and the 49th Light Company, which had been stationed at the redan battery on the mountain, was ordered down to assist in preventing them landing. General Brock had ridden forward to inspect this battery, where the 18-pounder had been left in charge of eight artillerymen. He had just dismounted to enter the enclosure when shots from above warned him that the enemy had gained the crest of the hill. As was learned afterwards, Captain Wool, of the United States army, on whom devolved the command of the boats when Colonel Van Rensselaer was wounded, had very skilfully conducted his men up the river, and on shore, until they came to a fisherman's path leading up the south side of the mountain, a path so steep and narrow that it had been left unguarded. They had succeeded in reaching the height unobserved, where they remained concealed by the crags and trees. It was now about seven in the morning. In the dangerous and exposed position in which General Brock found himself, there was nothing to be done but to order the gun to be spiked and to evacuate the battery with all the speed possible. There was no time for him even to mount his horse. He led it down the hill and entered the village to reform his troops and gather them for an assault on the enemy above. There were but two hundred men available for the work, two companies of the 49th, about a hundred men, and the same number {304} of militia. It was a hazardous and daring enterprise to attempt to regain the heights with so small a force, but regardless of danger, as was his wont, General Brock, on foot, led his men to the charge up the hill. In vain was the attempt. The enemy above were so advantageously placed, and kept up such a tremendous fire, that the small number ascending were driven back. Again the general rallied them, and proceeded by the right of the mountain, meaning to attack them in flank. His tall form and prominent position as leader made him too easy a mark. Scarcely had he ascended a few paces when the fatal bullet struck him in the breast, and he fell, "too prodigal of that life so needed by all." Of the last words of a hero there are always conflicting stories. Some say Isaac Brock called on his men to press forward, some say he murmured his sister's name; but who can doubt but that his faithful heart, in that supreme moment, was back with his loved ones, and it was not the heights of Queenston he was climbing but the steep cliffs of Guernsey, and it was not the roar of the cannon or the rush of the river that filled his dying ear, but the sound of the waves as they surged in the caverns of his island home.