The expedition left Ship Cove at 7 a.m. on Sunday, January 13, 1811. It was a morning of scuddy weather, with low cloud and blowing snow, and it was still not much above light when they started out. In all there were twenty-three men in the group, including among them Peyton, Richmond, Taylor and Reilly; four marines, six Blue Jackets and a boy of the HMS Adonis; William Cull and Matthew Hughster, James Carey and several other men in their employ. The volunteers were examined by the ship’s surgeon and all but one, a marine who was beginning to show signs of a tuberculosis infection, were pronounced fit for travel.
As well as their packs and firearms the party hauled sledges loaded with 3,600 pounds of provisions and goods — bread, sugar, tea and cocoa, salt pork, salt fish, 60 gallons of spirits, 270 pounds of cartouche boxes and ammunition, 10 axes, 6 cutlasses, and 40 pounds of culinary utensils. The sledges were also packed with a carefully inventoried array of gifts for the Red Indians: blankets, 30; woollen wrappers, 9; flannel shirts, 18; hatchets, 26; tin pots, 10; sundry knickknacks such as beads, thread, knives, fish hooks.
They crossed from the schooner to Little Peter’s Point in an onshore gale and drifting snow that needled the eyes of the men. They walked single file and bent into the wind, their heads bowed low to protect the exposed skin of their faces. They wore creepers over their boots to help keep their footing but the ice on the bay was so tightly packed it had cracked and buckled into the air. Long stretches of pressure ridges and pinnacles made hauling the sledges a tricky, exhausting business. The men who carried only their knapsacks followed behind those dragging to keep the heavy sleds from tipping. They had been ordered to stay close to one another but the poor light and the blowing snow made it difficult to see a man ten yards ahead or behind. Buchan scampered back and forth along the line to ensure everyone was accounted for.
Peyton was partnered with Richmond and shouldered the back of the sledge through rough patches and heavy snowdrifts and stepped in with all his weight to keep the sledge from tipping over as it crested a ridge of ice. By the time they rounded a point out of the wind Peyton’s shirt and undergarments were soaked through with sweat. The men spelled off the sledges and chewed hard tack and sucked at handfuls of snow. Buchan made his way through the milling group with the air of a busy man who is about to put something down to get to more pressing concerns. There was a relentless, wiry energy about him that struck the furriers and fishermen as incongruous and almost ridiculous in such a short, slight figure. He tugged nervously at the lashings on the sledges to make sure they were secure. “The ice is calm on the Exploits,” he told his crew. “We’re out of the worst of the wind for now, we’ll make good time from here.”
“If he’s so goddamned hearty,” Richmond said to Peyton, “maybe he should take a sledge and we could play sheepdog for a while.”
Peyton picked up the harness where Richmond had let it fall. The sweat against his skin was already cold and he wanted to get moving again before the chill settled any deeper. He watched Richmond walk across to Tom Taylor and repeat himself. Taylor turned his face up to the clouds and laughed. The two men continued talking and Peyton could see the nature of the interaction shift in their darkening expressions. They began to argue about something and fell into a shouting match, cursing one another with a practised ease that attracted the attention of the entire party. Buchan made his way across to Peyton. “Should I intervene in this?” he asked.
Peyton shook his head. “It’s just their way.” He leaned into the harness, resting against the weight of the sledge and staring at his feet. In the ten years Peyton had known them he had never seen Richmond and Taylor carry on a conversation that didn’t involve insults and disagreement. The rancour between them was so habitual it was possible to dismiss it as harmless, even affectionate. He found it an embarrassingly intimate thing to watch. “We’d best get started,” he said. “If we wait for them to simmer down, we’ll be here till dark.”
Buchan began issuing orders and as the caravan trudged into motion Richmond turned away from Taylor to catch up with Peyton. His massive shoulders sloped like a barrel stave, his face hidden under a full beard of curly black hair. He was shaking his head and smiling to himself. He looked to Peyton like a man who had just quenched a thirst.