Hello! Here is a new chapter!
Thanks you Dekol347, Porthos10, Mium, Kebeckois, Microraptor, nameyelus, Pimbadeiro, ThisguyAEl, TheHumble_Dogge and alphin_cj for the support!
Writing is so hard! To relax, I've been working on the cover for the next volume. Suffer with me—it's not time to upload it yet! I've also made some improvements to the cover of this volume. Maybe you've noticed? It looks so much better on my PC: the eyes, the nose, and I've added the volume number.
Enjoy!
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The few days of calm spent in Quebec were greatly appreciated by the Duke of Richelieu's soldiers, but all agreed they passed far too quickly.
It was with regret that they left the city behind and boarded several ships of varying sizes to head toward Louisbourg.
During the week-long journey, they had strong, steady winds from the north.
The swells were impressive, making the ships sway like toys. The hull of the ship carrying Adam creaked so terribly that he feared it might split in two.
Just like during his first experience at sea, he quickly fell ill.
His face pale—almost ghostly—he leaned over the railing, closing his eyes to avoid looking at the wild waves surrounding the ship or the horizon rising and falling like an out-of-control elevator.
Far less impressive than the ocean, the elegant frigate Aréthuse was much less stable on the water.
He clung tightly to the wooden railing as though afraid of falling overboard, and he wasn't the only one. The cool wind, laden with sea spray, whipped against his face, occasionally sending salty droplets onto his skin.
His black-and-gold tricorne, firmly perched on his head, threatened to fly off at any moment and couldn't stop some long strands of hair from falling into his eyes.
"BLEURGH!"
A horrible noise beside Adam reached his ears, making him shudder.
Jean, the titan with muscles of steel, was handling the swells no better and noisily vomited a thick, yellowish liquid. Despite the force of the stream, it all ended up splattered against the Aréthuse's hull due to the wind.
Had they been smarter, they would have positioned themselves on the opposite side to have the wind at their backs.
"B-Bleurgh!"
Adam felt a spasm rise within him, something surging quickly from his stomach to his mouth. He furrowed his brow tightly and opened his mouth wide.
Because his stomach was empty, all he brought up was saliva and bile, terribly acidic.
His legs shaky, he buried his sickly face into his arm as though trying to sleep. He was indeed exhausted, but it was impossible to sleep in that position with the ship rolling so violently.
Weaker than he'd been in a long time, he swallowed and immediately tasted the awful bitterness in his mouth.
I-I can't take this anymore! I'm sick of vomiting!
Since boarding, Adam seemed to have aged ten years. Large dark circles had formed under his eyes.
Jules and Charles approached with the gait of drunkards, so unstable was the deck, and leaned on either side of their two queasy friends. Though not actively vomiting, they didn't look much better off.
"You hanging in there?"
"I feel like I'm d-dying," Jean groaned, lifting his head but not daring to move away from the railing.
"Could be worse. I think… I think I've got nothing left to throw up."
"Well then, you can only get better from here, haha!"
Charles chuckled at Jules's joke, but Adam was in no mood. He let out a faint sigh and gazed at the ocean, gray as steel.
"Good thing it's only this. Can you imagine if we were caught in that storm over there?"
Adam turned his gaze to the southwest, where the sky was as black as ink. It was a terrifying sight, even at this distance.
Occasionally, flashes of light illuminated the ominous clouds.
The young man couldn't imagine what it would be like to be inside such a monster.
"Brings back memories—and not good ones," Charles remarked.
"O-oh? What memories?" Jean asked in a trembling voice.
"The massive storm we sailed through to reach the New World."
Adam immediately nodded, recalling the monster that had nearly sent them all to Neptune's realm. That threatening sky indeed resembled the one they had left behind after narrowly escaping death.
I want to forget that! Never again do I want to go through something like that! Never again! I thought we were all going to die!
Despite being whipped in the face by his own hair, the young man couldn't stop the memories of howling winds, the sight of towering waves that seemed ready to swallow the ocean whole, the sailors' screams, the creaking timbers, and the straining ropes crying for help.
Though he had escaped death more times than he could count in just over a year, that storm had traumatized him. For reasons unknown, he made a distinction between dying from a bullet, a cannonball, disease, a knife, or a bayonet, and dying in a shipwreck.
The last possibility seemed terrifying beyond reason.
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The convoy, consisting of only five ships, arrived on November 2 in the sheltered harbor of Louisbourg. To their great surprise, it was already partially occupied by an impressive squadron.
There were warships—two of which were in pitiful condition—as well as numerous cargo vessels.
All the soldiers gathered on the decks of their respective ships, trying to see what was happening and figure out where the newcomers might be from.
As soon as they entered the harbor, they were greeted by the sound of cannon fire, and anchors were quickly dropped. Here, French ships were as protected from the English as they were from storms and even ice, unlike on the Saint Lawrence.
Quickly, the longboats were launched.
The old marshal was among the first to set foot on land. Adam, on the other hand, was among the last.
By the time it was his turn to disembark, the marshal had already disappeared, likely to meet with local authorities, both civilian and military, to learn what had transpired since the summer.
Adam looked around and saw that amidst all this commotion, there were almost only men in white coats. It felt as though the town was populated exclusively by soldiers.
On the wooden and stone docks, heavy crates, cannons, barrels, and other items were being unloaded nonstop. No one stood idle.
There were even a few animals, particularly horses.
"François, you have to hear this!"
Adam turned to see Martin Morrel de Lusernes waving to get his attention. He stood with several other captains, as well as a few junior officers. They all wore expressions of utter disbelief.
"What's going on?" Adam asked as he approached, discreetly observing the men he didn't recognize.
"These gentlemen arrived in Louisbourg two days ago and have some unbelievable stories to tell. They're under the command of the Duke of Broglie." (Reminder: pronounced "Breuil")
"Broglie?"
Adam hadn't forgotten that name. It meant these soldiers had served in Saxony and Hanover, just as he had.
"Sir."
"Captain, good day."
One by one, Adam respectfully shook the hands extended to him. Once the pleasantries were over, they got down to business.
"You've missed quite a bit, you know? Europe is far from quiet despite the fall of Hanover and Prussia."
"Oh? What's happened? Nothing too serious, I hope?"
"Well, a little serious!" said a captain with dark eyes and hollow cheeks. "We've suffered several attacks on our coasts—Saint-Malo, Rochefort, and Brest—but the most important thing is that we managed to strike back!"
"We… we attacked English ports?!"
"Not just that! We destroyed one of their arsenals! They say the King of England was so furious he collapsed! We also sank several English warships during the crossing. It's a great victory!"
Adam felt his heart swell with joy, even though, as a modern man, he should at best feel sorrow at such violence and loss. Yet he could feel his heart pounding and his blood boiling with excitement.
"Really?! That's incredible!"
"Isn't it? Haha! We were still in Hanover, so we missed the spectacle, unfortunately. They say at Sheerness—or something like that—Prince de Soubise turned all the cannons of the place toward the town before burning it to the ground, then had all the cannons thrown into the sea. Ah, what a pity he lost his life…"
Prince de Soubise is dead? Oh!
Adam had never met the man, even though they'd been at the same place during Rossbach in November 1757. Everything he knew about him was merely rumors and hearsay.
If what this man said was true, then France was definitively winning the war! With any luck, I'll be back in France next year! This is truly good news!
"Oh, that reminds me," said the hollow-cheeked captain, "you probably don't know, but the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg is dead. He was killed while trying to ambush one of our troops. Ah, that rascal gave us hell! We chased him for months!"
"Ah, him! Yes, he is… well, he was a slippery one! I hope he suffered!" said Captain Gauthier through gritted teeth.
Adam shook his head but could understand. All winter, they'd played a game of cat and mouse with him and his men. He had proven to be a formidable adversary, apparently right to the end.
"As soon as he was killed, peace returned to the region. It just goes to show you shouldn't underestimate the strength and influence of a single man. We returned to France as quickly as possible and boarded the squadron you saw."
"What a shame," said another officer with a nose as round as a ping-pong ball, "that we missed the British squadron. We also lost time because of a traitor."
"What? What's this about?"
"Well, it turns out a resident of Brest had been working as a servant for the English for years! He tried to set fire to the arsenal—the fool! Of course, he was arrested in time, but it delayed our departure by a few days."
"That wasn't so bad, huh," said the hollow-cheeked captain. "That way, we avoided that monstrous storm. By God, it was terrifying, even from a distance!"
At once, Adam recalled the dark skies they had seen far off during their journey.
"You escaped that?! Well, you were lucky!" Adam said, trembling involuntarily.
"You have no idea! You see those two ships? The one missing a mast and the one listing dangerously? That's all that's left of the British squadron that preceded us. Apparently, they got caught right in the middle of the storm. It's a miracle they didn't sink with the others."
"W-with the others?"
"There were more than fifteen warships, from what I heard."
"My God."
Adam's heart skipped a beat as he imagined over ten massive ships, each carrying hundreds of brave sailors, sinking in an instant amidst a raging sea. A cold bead of sweat ran down his back, sending a shiver through his spine.
"A-are there… any survivors?" asked André Louis with visible emotion, as shaken as Adam.
"Nobody knows. Those two ships might be the only survivors of that squadron, or there could be others. We found these two purely by chance, practically immobilized, two days after the storm. The one listing to starboard was incredibly lucky."
"What happened to it? Looks like it's sinking."
"That's because it is. The whole journey back, we had to keep pumping and bailing seawater, which kept pouring in through several breaches we couldn't seal. Apparently, it suffered a violent collision—likely with another ship."
The officers, though enemies of the men aboard, couldn't help but pity them. After all, they were not heartless monsters.
War compelled them to fight one another, but it could not force them to hate. The French—at least in Adam's experience—either despised or were indifferent to their British counterparts.
It wasn't unlike the rivalry one might feel toward the supporters of an opposing sports team. It was far from the fierce hatred that would make Adam's friends rejoice at such news.
Oddly enough, this attitude could change drastically depending on the circumstances.
After all, they had danced and sung when Hawke's fleet was dashed against the rocks near the Isle of Ouessant.
It was peculiar, and yet Adam found nothing unusual about it.
"And the English? What happened to them?" Martin Morrel suddenly asked.
"Well, naturally, we captured them all and locked them up. Apparently, they've been housed in a brand-new prison near the fort. Honestly, I'm a bit jealous—we're packed like sardines, and many of us are stuck aboard ships for lack of housing."
Adam raised an eyebrow in surprise, and he wasn't the only one.
"W-wait, are there that many of you? How many men came with Monsieur de Broglie?"
"Oh? I didn't tell you? There are four thousand of us, not including the 'colonists.'"
"Colonists? You brought civilians all this way?!"
The officers all choked at the thought of women and children enduring the same conditions as them. The journey had been grueling enough for soldiers; they could scarcely imagine what it must have been like for less hardy individuals.
"Yeah. But, of course, we weren't all on the same ships! They were on cargo vessels to avoid any... incidents."
Adam approved of this wise decision. Placing men and women together in such confined spaces for weeks at sea would inevitably lead to trouble. After long periods at sea, tempers frayed, and nerves could snap unpredictably.
The small group of officers left the port and entered the town, which still bore traces of the battle fought there some time ago.
Unbeknownst to Adam, he walked over the very spot where Brigadier General James Wolfe had fallen on October 13.
The town seemed bustling, but this was only due to the large number of soldiers present. Louisbourg was not as populous as Quebec and remained primarily a military stronghold. It lacked everything.
"It looks like market day," Martin remarked.
"Indeed, but don't be fooled. Once we leave, it'll feel empty and desolate," Albert replied confidently, pulling his coat tighter against a strong gust of wind.
"With any luck, these new colonists might change that and help develop the town."
The round-nosed captain chuckled softly and shook his head.
"You haven't seen the colonists. They're not much to speak of."
"What do you mean? What are you saying?" Martin asked innocently, while the other officers began to imagine the worst.
"Let's just say they aren't exactly the ideal candidates the governor probably dreamed of. They weren't really volunteers."
"W-we forced them to come here?!"
The officer smiled strangely and answered the young man—still practically a child in his eyes—with a question of his own.
"Would you have come here to rebuild your life from scratch, knowing you'd likely never return to France?"
Martin Morrel de Lusernes opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Adam answered for him in his head.
No, of course not. Who would leave everything behind for such an uncertain future? Only desperation could drive someone to live here.
"They're prostitutes, orphans, even criminals that we brought here. From what I've heard, they weren't even given the choice between prison and New France. Honestly, I think at least half of them would've preferred to stay in jail."