17
The ice on the St Lawrence River was breaking as Kennedy led his Rangers towards Quebec. They marched in a rough formation, with scouts in front, to the rear and on both flanks. They were unshaven and ragged, with torn and patched uniforms or no uniforms at all. Most had snowshoes tied together with pieces of rags, but all carried bright and oiled weapons and walked with the assured swagger of veterans. They were soldiers who knew their worth, soldiers who had fought greater numbers of French and Canadians in their own territory and defeated them. The Rangers were men who had faced and conquered fear; neither God nor the devil, and nothing in between, could scare them now. The French might kill them, but would never defeat them.
Some of the garrison watched the Rangers return, with of
