Harlan Quade, riding just behind the van, hunkered into his coat, massaged his right thigh and wished he was somewhere warmer; Tripoli, for instance. Though he recalled that during the march across the desert to Derna, the heat and the flies had been ferocious, while the nights had been as cold as the proverbial witch’s tits. Here, at least, there wasn’t that much disparity between day and night-time temperatures. There weren’t any flies either. Perhaps he should be thankful for what he had. He was in his own country, after all; for the time being, anyway.

And at least there was a road. They didn’t have to forge a path out of the wilderness, which, only a few years ago would have been a requirement. In this country, where even a cart track was considered a godsend, good roads had become lifelines, especially in times of war.

As darkness gave way to dawn, the mood of the troops lifted and by sun-up the sound of their progress had become a determined tramp. The men’s breath clouded the air as they marched while around them frost clung to the trees like droplets of white lace.

The order to advance had come from Colonel Pearce, retaining command due to Colonel Pike’s continued confinement. The objective: to capture and hold the blockhouse at Lacolle and create the first stepping stone on the road to Montreal, Quebec and the subsequent expulsion of the British from the Canadas, at which point the Revolution would have reached its natural conclusion.

The colonel was not expecting serious opposition. It had been reported that Lacolle was staffed by only a token force – forty or so militia and a couple of dozen native irregulars. Four regular companies would be more than enough to secure the ground; regulars, because the militia had been deemed unreliable after the fiasco at Queenston when they had refused to cross the river. Though the point was moot since the latter were all back in their homes and bedding down for the winter anyway.

There had been a worry that sickness spread by patients brought to Plattsburg from Burlington would reduce the number of troops available for the mission, but by segregating the fitter men, Pearce and Pike had ensured that there were more than sufficient numbers to staff the final assault of the year before the northern roads became impassable. At the moment, the snow was an inconvenience rather than a barrier and the lure of establishing a bridgehead while the British posts at both Lacolle and Île aux Noix were so conveniently under-manned was too attractive to ignore.