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The boats had been carried for what felt like hundreds of miles, at least it felt that way to young Seamus McTeague. They had just completed yet another portage, this time well over ten miles. The men were exhausted, wet, and hungry.
Most of the provisions had been ruined early in the journey as the boats they were using leaked badly. Much of their powder had been ruined as well. Seamus had remarked to one of his comrades about that.
"When we get to Quebec City we'll have no powder, what are we expected to do, throw rocks at the garrison?"
Wesley Chatham, another Massachusetts militiaman who had volunteered for the expedition laughed, "You said 'when,' Seamus. More like 'if.' We'll probably starve to death out here in this dank, forgotten wilderness long before we get to Canada."
"Well, it would help if we didn't have to carry these damnable heavy boats ..." Seamus began before his sergeant cut him off.
"They're called bateaux, not boats."
"Boats, bateaux, useless leaking pieces of ..."
"Mind your language, lad. I know we're in the wilderness and there are no women or children present, but that sort of language becomes a habit. A bad habit."
Seamus wanted to glare at the sergeant but, realizing the man was right and knowing what his old Gran would say, he nodded and said, "Aye, I suppose yer right, Sarge."
The boredom of the siege of Boston had led many a militiaman to volunteer for Colonel Arnold's expedition to attack Canada. It was a two pronged expedition. One, led by a Colonel Montgomery, would follow the traditional route to Canada, up Lake George and Lake Champlain, traveling by water. Seamus McTeague was with Arnold's force, they had traveled by ship from Newburyport up to the mouth of the Kennebec River which they would follow through the Maine wilderness.
Colonel Arnold had set out with over a thousand men, Seamus doubted that many still remained with the column. Though, to his knowledge, only one man had died so far. While clearing timber a tree had fallen on one man, killing him outright. But as the weather got worse and worse and supplies ran lower and lower, Seamus fully expected that a lot more men would die long before reaching Canada.
Seamus was regretting his choice to leave the boredom of the siege for the peril of the wilderness. At this point, it was probably just as dangerous to go back as it was to go forward. He felt something cold on his hand as he thought about that, so he looked up from his revery.
It was snowing.
The British Lines, Boston, October 1775
"Salt pork again?" one of the grenadiers said with disgust as the company rations were distributed.
Sergeant Allen Andrews looked up from where he was seated, brushing his uniform tunic, and said, 'Look lads, it's all we've got at the moment. The Navy is supposed to be bringing in supplies any day now, but ..."
"When will that be, Sarge? When they can spare a moment from burning American towns?¹"
Private Jameson went quiet when he saw the man next to him look up and shake his head.
"Perhaps, if the salt pork ain't to your liking, Private Jameson, a taste of the lash might be more to your taste." Captain Marston had heard the men grousing as he arrived at the company bivouac, so decided to take action.
Jameson went pale as a sheet, "No Sir, begging your pardon, Sir. I meant no disrespect ..."
The captain had had a man flogged only the week before for insubordination. Every one of the grenadiers remembered that, but their morale had been sagging for quite some time. Many still remembered their bloody "victory" some months ago at Breed's Hill. Now they were bottled up in Boston, surrounded by a rebel force which seemed to grow larger daily.
Meanwhile, their only contact with the outside world was via the sea, and they all felt that the Royal Navy could do more to succor them. Instead, the Navy brought more men in and spent a lot of time patrolling the coast.
Andrews knew all this, knew that the generals were probably doing their best, but in his considered opinion, their best wasn't very good.
Marston looked around at his men, then came to a decision. "I'm volunteering this company for a working party out on the islands.² The Navy will transport us out there where a party of men will be cutting hay for the animals within our lines. There's also the possibility of gathering some rebel sheep out there as well. Any of you lads fancy a bit of mutton to supplement your diets?"
Andrews saw the men's attitudes improve almost immediately as the lads gave a cheer for their captain. Andrews knew that the captain could be harsh, but he had a knack for motivating the men. A little expedition into the harbor would certainly relieve the boredom of the siege.
The grenadiers had been landed in the early hours of a foggy October morning. They had secured a beach head on the small island and had watched as a group of men, loyalists Andrews assumed, had come ashore.
"Sergeant, post your line a bit further out, also send a couple of your best men ahead to scout the island. Can't see a damned thing in this bloody fog."
"Sir! Corporal Holloway, take Meade and Simpson, scout on ahead. Don't wander too far, stay in range of that ..." Andrews swept his hand over towards the civilian working party who were cutting hay and making an absurd amount of noise while doing so.
Holloway grinned, "Right away, Sarge. Come on you two, you heard the Sergeant."
The three men had been swallowed up by the fog within seconds of moving out. Andrews glanced at the captain, Marston was seemingly engaged with watching the men cutting hay. He had a grin on his face.
"That lot swears more than a group of tars³, wouldn't you say so, Sarn't Andrews?" Marston shook his head as he said that.
"They'd certainly give the Navy a run for their money, that's for sure, Sir."
The snow had turned to rain, and it was coming down so hard that Seamus could see that the river was rising, rapidly. They were now on the Dead River, so called because of its sluggish current, which was anything but sluggish now.
Their already dire situation became worse when one party ascended a branch of the river, only to discover their error only after a number of boats had overturned, spoiling what remained of their meager rations. Even Colonel Arnold considered turning back at that point.
The men were gathered under a tree, scant protection from the rain but better than sitting in the open, when the sergeant returned.
"Right lads, we're pushing on. Only the most fit though, any of you lads feel like you're done in, can stay here, or go back. I'm for pushing on. Any of you ladies feel like going back?"
What was left of the company, perhaps thirty men, decided that going back was no better than going forward. Seamus had shouldered his firelock and went to stand with his sergeant. "Might as well keep going, eh Sarge?"
"There's a good lad, now come on, boys, up and at 'em."
Canada was close, but so was starvation.
¹ The Royal Navy bombarded the town of Falmouth (now called Portland) in Maine, in October of 1775. Then Marines were sent ashore to burn the structures still standing.
² Boston harbor had many small islands back in 1775. Both sides used them to graze livestock and provide fodder for their horses and cattle. Many small battles were fought on those islands during the siege of Boston.
³ "Tar" was a Royal Navy slang term for a British sailor.
