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Though the grenadiers under Captain Marston had moved quickly, by the time they had reached the other shore of the small island the colonials were already well outside of musket range. Marston wondered if the Royal Navy would be as flexible as these New England fishermen. Every time they sought to bring the colonials to battle, they were gone as quickly as they had arrived.
South of Lake George, New York, November 1775
"Give 'em a volley, Sir?" Sergeant Andrews suggested to his commander.
"They're out of range but, what the hell. Lads, make ready!"
The company fell into a ragged line, on command, they fired a volley at the retiring whale boat. It felt somewhat satisfying, as long as one ignored the jeers from the colonials in the whale boat, who knew they were indeed out of range.
Andrews looked at the men, they were champing at the bit, they wanted to fight but the colonials were a will-o'-the-wisp. They'd land on an island to confront a British foraging party but never stand long enough for a proper fight. Often the foraging parties would come away empty handed which, Andrews supposed, was their goal all along.
As they fell in to march back to their own boats, Corporal Tom Holloway remarked to Andrews, "The lads are tiring of all this, Sarge."
"I know, Tommy, but you've seen it, the bastards won't stand unless they're behind a wall. It's almost as bad as fighting the natives."
"Almost?"
"As far as I know, the Americans don't torture their captives."
As the siege wore on, British morale continued to plummet.
South of Lake George, New York, November 1775
Will Hensley, much like other men laying siege to Boston, had volunteered for Colonel Knox's expedition to Ticonderoga out of boredom. As he put his back into pushing the heavy sledge up yet another small rise, he wondered at his own stupidity. He could be sitting in the lines around Boston, watching the British, instead he was out in the wilderness, helping to bring cannon, shot, and powder to Boston.
He was beginning to wonder if they would ever get there. The weather had been harsh, which froze everything over, making it easier to move the guns on their sleds, even though each rise brought the men in to assist the oxen and horses, further straining aching backs. Then the temperature would rise, turning everything to mud.
Will had seen the colonel once, sitting on horseback. The man was big, Will almost felt sorry for the horse, and seemed to be everywhere up and down the column. He would occasionally dismount and throw his own considerable bulk behind a stubborn sleigh. Will had been impressed by the man.
Everyone knew, that if they could get these guns to the new commander of the army around Boston, they might drive the British away for good. He was wondering what the new general from Virginia was like, fellow name of Washington he'd heard.
The sled he was pushing made it to the top of the rise, then men quickly worked to belay it with ropes before it slid down the other side, out of control. In many cases, they had to unhitch the team pulling the sled, then hook them up to pull in the opposite direction if the slope was steep enough.
Will had seen the Berkshires, he was starting to wonder how they'd ever get through those hills!
Before Quebec, November 1775
Colonel Benedict Arnold's half of the expedition, down to no more than 600 men of his original 1,100, had arrived at the St. Lawrence, across from the city. In the terrible weather, the men had seen the British ships on patrol in the river, there to prevent a crossing. A number had wondered just how they were going to get across, then attack the fortified town.
Seamus McTeague was still with his company, he was now a sergeant, much to his surprise. The company had started the trip through the wilderness of Maine with forty men, they were down to sixteen. Some had died on the trip, some had been left behind as too weak to carry on, and some had gone back the way they'd come. Those that were left were the toughest of the lot. Seamus didn't consider himself tough, just lucky.
Word had come down that Colonel Arnold was waiting for the other prong of the Canadian expedition, under Colonel Montgomery, to arrive before proceeding to attack the city. A messenger had arrived, Montgomery was on his way, Montreal had been captured. Arnold had been hoping for Canadian support on the expedition. Outside the kindness of the few Canadians they had encountered so far, supplying the men with shelter and provisions, few of the inhabitants of the region were ready to take up arms against the Crown.
Ensign Thompson was circulating among the few survivors of his company, when he saw Will, he gestured him to come over by the fire.
"Sir?"
"We'll be moving across the river soon. We're marching down to a mill on a tributary of the St. Lawrence, it's actually owned by a fellow from New Jersey. The army is gathering canoes and other boats to make the crossing. Have the lads be ready to move in about an hour. One of the locals says a storm is brewing, which will reduce visibility on the river."
"We're to cross in the face of the Royal Navy?" Seamus asked, a worried tone in his voice.
"There are only the two ships, right now they're riding at anchor. Local fellow says that the gap between the two is large enough that once the storm comes up, we should be able to slip on over between them without being seen."
"Should be?"
Ensign Thompson grinned and said, "There are no guarantees in life, Seamus. But if I was a praying man, that's what I'd be doing while waiting for the boats."
Seamus shivered, and not because the temperature was dropping.
They had crossed from New York into Massachusetts, many of the teamsters from New York, wishing to return home, had been replaced by new men, and teams, from Massachusetts, hired by Colonel Knox. Will was annoyed at that.
"What, these fellows have to return home?" he had grumbled.
"Not everyone wants to sacrifice, lad." his sergeant had said.
"We're how far from our homes in New Hampshire? And this lot can't proceed on to Boston?" Will was still angry.
"Complaining about it ain't going to get these cannon over the Berkshires, Will. That lot will no doubt rejoice once we've driven the redcoats out of Boston, but sacrifice to make it happen? Nah, they'll collect their pay and go home for now."
As the column began to move again, Will Hensley shook his head. The continent would never be free of that English king if everyone needed to be paid to fight. It didn't cross his mind, being single and free of any responsibility, that families needed to be fed, many men couldn't just up and leave to go fight the English. There was also the risk of repercussions from the Crown should this rebellion fail.
All that fled from Will's mind as another slope was upon them, time to help the oxen. As he bent his back to the task, Will's thoughts turned to getting through another day.
