Читать книгу The Blooding - James McGee - Страница 12

From his vantage point at the head of the column, Sir John Johnson turned to view the ranks of uniformed men marching in file behind him. They were a formidable fighting force, as good as any he’d served alongside; tough, fearless and loyal, he was proud of each and every one of them. When the right men fought for a cause, he thought as he gazed at their gritty, determined faces, they were well nigh unstoppable.

It was approaching midday and though the forest canopy provided a welcome shade, it was still oppressively warm. Ignoring the sweat trickling down the inside of his tunic, he addressed the man riding by his side. “How are they faring, Thomas?”

Captain Thomas Scott turned and looked over his shoulder, beyond the first phalanx of troops, to where a string of tired-looking civilians could be seen emerging slowly from around a bend in the trail.

“A few more blisters, a sprained ankle or two; nothing too calamitous.”

“The surgeon’s taken a look?”

Scott turned back. “He has. He tells me we won’t have to put any of them out of their misery just yet.”

“And the prisoners?”

“Cursing your name with every breath, sir.”

Johnson smiled. He’d become used to his second-in-command’s dry sense of humour. Scott, a former lieutenant in the Company of Select Marksmen, had been assigned to the expedition by Governor Haldimand. Even though their time together had been short, the two officers had formed a strong bond.

“Splendid! I’d feel insulted if they weren’t.”

Scott returned the smile, shifted in his saddle and winced. The colonel and he were the only officers on horseback; their mounts had been donated by a Loyalist sympathizer whose farm lay adjacent to the invasion route. Neither of the animals had taken kindly to having a new rider and it showed in their skittishness. To add to his discomfort, Scott, unlike his colonel, was not a natural horseman.

“We’ll take a rest,” Johnson said, reining in. “Thirty minutes. It’ll give the stragglers a chance to catch up. Pass the word. Deploy piquets. The men may smoke if they wish.”

“Yes, sir.” Hoping his relief didn’t show, Scott turned his horse about and trotted back down the column to relay the order.

The colonel rested his hands on the pommel. Taking a deep lungful of air, he let it out slowly and gazed about him, first at the forest and then at the trail running through the trees ahead of them. Though it was referred to as a road, the description was a misnomer. In reality it was no more than a rough dirt track; for the most part wide enough to accommodate a heavy wagon or half a dozen men marching abreast, but here and there, in short stretches where the path had become overgrown, there was hardly room for two men to walk side by side.