I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

The night had fallen early, plunging the ships anchored in the harbor of Brest into darkness. Only a few lanterns provided any light. The moon was not visible that evening, but since the sky was clear, they could admire the Milky Way, which stretched like a wide, densely starred band above their heads.

While an important discussion took place in the captain’s quarters at the rear, or stern, of the Océan, the soldiers under the Duke of Richelieu were finally resting in the bowels of the large ship.

As everyone feared, they were all crammed together. Hundreds of hammocks had been hung wherever possible. They looked like cloth beans stacked on four levels. If the one at the very top fell during the night, it could take the other three down with it.

Damn, I expected something horrible, but this… this is worse!

Adam lay in his hammock, the second one from the top, not far from the central mast, which they apparently called the "grand mât" or sometimes the "mât du grand perroquet"

Under his weight, the edges of the hammock had folded in on him, making him truly look like a bean. His comrades didn’t look any smarter, and more than one hadn’t managed to stay in theirs for more than a few minutes. The most annoying part was probably the fact that you couldn’t turn as you wished. Even the slightest movement made the hammock sway.

My God, I’ll never be able to sleep like this!

Adam was used to tossing and turning several times a night. Most often, he slept on his side. It was a habit he had always had and brought with him when he arrived in this body and in this era. Unfortunately, in this thing, he wouldn’t be able to do that.

Ah… he sighed inwardly. With any luck, I’ll be too tired to move during the night.

He was indeed exhausted. Those long days at sea, being tossed around in the English Channel, followed by the thrill of boarding such a massive ship… it was a lot.

At least I’m not alone.

Around him, all the men showed clear signs of fatigue. The previous weeks had been intense. They had marched like madmen to confront a Prussian army, crushed it while suffering heavy losses, pursued the survivors for two days, then headed north, leaving the Prince of Soubise to pacify the region. They had found ships to return to France and narrowly escaped death twice in the cold, gray waters of the Channel.

Adam had discovered something about this era. Something surprising and interesting: people here were very afraid of the sea. The soldiers around him had never been more afraid of death than when they were in the Channel, despite having faced the horrors of the battlefield.

He had learned that no one here knew how to swim. The young lieutenant realized that the cultural shift that saw the beach as a place of leisure and swimming as a sport had not yet occurred.

By chatting a bit with the sailors about this, he discovered that they too couldn’t swim, with one or two exceptions. The reason was simple: if they were unfortunate enough to fall into the water, it was better to drown quickly than to struggle and suffer. For them, not swimming meant a quick death, much like dying from a bullet was preferable to dying from a bayonet.

“Honestly,” said a soldier lying in a hammock two rows over, “I don’t know how we’re going to stand this for more than a few days.”

“Do as you please, but I’d rather sleep on the floor,” another grumbled, sitting on a cannon carriage next to which he seemed quite small.

“Trust me, mate, you won’t think the same once we’re at sea. Right now, it’s all clean because we’ve got plenty of time to tidy up, but it’ll be a whole different story out there. You’ll be glad to have a hammock hanging.”

Adam, feeling just as uncomfortable as his comrades, turned slightly to see what was going on around him. All the soldiers had tried to settle into the hammocks, but some hadn’t managed or simply didn’t like the feeling of being suspended. More than anything, it was the swaying from side to side at the slightest movement that bothered them.

“A-are we really going to have to climb up the… um, you know, the long poles in the middle of the ship?”

“The masts?”

“Yeah, those. Are we really going to have to go up there?”

“Don’t worry, little chick, we’re not going to send you up into the rigging just like that. You’ll get a crash course.”

The man who sounded confident was one of the many sailors still aboard the Océan. Fortunately, enough remained to handle the most complex maneuvers.

“Hey,” said the soldier lying in the hammock below Adam, “I heard there were big problems with getting a full crew. Is that true?”

“Oh, that.”

The sailor’s serious response surprised the soldiers listening to the conversation taking place in that part of the ship. Adam hadn’t heard about this issue.

“Yeah, it was really tough. It’s not that we didn’t want to board, but when the pay doesn’t come, you have the right to wonder why you’d risk your life at sea, you know? There were quite a few deserters because of that, back when we were still in Toulon.”

“I get the feeling it’s the same everywhere,” murmured another soldier. “We had pay problems too when we were in Prussia and Hanover. But at least we could make it up by looting the towns and villages we passed through.”

“Well, we couldn’t. So, quite a few of our men deserted or tried to. After our victory off the coast of Spain, when we took a lot of prisoners, the morale improved a lot, so we didn’t have too many deserters when we stopped in Bordeaux. We picked up a few more sailors there to make up for the shortage of hands, since we had to crew the English ships we captured. That’s also where we got our captain. We needed someone to command the Océan.”

“By the way, isn’t the captain pretty scary?” ventured a soldier, who sounded quite young from his voice.

"Scary?" chuckled a sailor whose skin had grown so dark from sunburn that one might mistake him for a Maghrebi. "Yes, I suppose, but believe me, kid, the one you should really fear is the boatswain. He's the one who handles discipline on a ship."

"The boatswain?"

"Yeah. Come here and take a look at this," said the sailor, revealing his back, crisscrossed with scars as deep as they were hideous.

"Oh my God! He did that to you?!"

"Indeed. My first voyage at sea. Back then, I was serving on the Tonnant. Unlucky for me, he was already the boatswain. I was young and stupid at the time. I didn’t yet know what kind of man he was and made the mistake of disrespecting him. He sure set me straight. I wasn’t so mouthy after that. He tied me up in front of the entire crew, tore off my shirt, and whipped me. Ten lashes, because it was my first offense."

"That’s awful!"

"That’s the life of a sailor. Word is, he used to work on plantations in the sugar islands before sailing on the King’s ships. He got fired by his former employer because he killed too many slaves when it came to punishing them."

"I’ve heard," said another sailor, who seemed quite young but was solidly built, "that he learned to handle the whip by enduring it first. They say he was a slave to the Ottomans, killed the ones who held him captive, including the one who whipped him, and then returned to France aboard a ship loaded with gold and spices!"

CLAC CLOC CLAC CLOC

Heavy footsteps echoed above their heads as a man Adam recognized as the boatswain appeared on the wooden stairs leading to the upper deck.

"And they say he learned everything from the Devil, even surpassed him, and that every night, the Devil comes to him for advice. Damn it, you sacks of shit, are you done chattering like a bunch of old women?! Everyone up! Move it! Faster! Lieutenant Lenoir has something to say to you! I said, up!"

He kicked the hammock in front of him, and a soldier tumbled to the floor at the feet of the scowling man.

Behind him appeared Louis Lenoir, dressed in his impeccably tailored uniform as always.

"Gentlemen, listen carefully," began the young officer in a sharp, authoritative voice. "We’ll be staying in Brest for a bit. Starting tomorrow, we’ll begin training so you won’t slow us down once we’re at sea. Two teams will be formed. Mr. Petit, our master gunner, along with our chief gunners, Messrs. Trébodou, Ruffet, Galle, Samuel, Gauthier, and Brézier, will teach you everything you need to know about operating our cannons. Once they’re done with you, you’ll be able to assist our dear gunners if necessary. Meanwhile, the second team will be with me, Mr. de Beaumont here, and a few ship’s officers responsible for the rigging. They’ll teach you the name of every part, its purpose, and how to use it. You’ll also learn how to tie solid knots. You’ll quickly understand how crucial it is to master this skill."

Louis Lenoir paused at this point to gauge the men’s reactions. He wasn’t sure what to make of them yet, but he had no intention of being lenient. The sea was an especially hostile environment, and it was in everyone’s best interest to learn these things quickly.

"I expect all of you to put effort into your exercises. If there are any shortcomings, you will be punished."

"And what if we do the exercises well?" asked a soldier whose expression didn’t exactly exude intelligence.

Immediately, Mr. de Beaumont reached for the whip, tightly coiled and attached to his waist by a small iron ring. He stepped forward, and the air on the deck became suffocating. Every sailor and soldier began to tremble violently, as if they were in the presence of a great predator.

W-what is this pressure? I-I can’t breathe!

Instinctively, Adam took a step back, and it was clear he wasn’t the only one. Even the most seasoned soldiers reacted strongly to this sudden change. Only the ship’s lieutenant remained unfazed. He raised a hand, and the boatswain stepped back to his place, like a dog recalled by its master.

"Kuhum! If you do your exercises well, to answer your question, you will have simply done what is expected of you and won’t be punished. That’s all. You should all go to sleep now. Tomorrow will be a long day."

With that, the officer turned and disappeared. Soon, all that could be heard were the labored breaths of the hundreds of gathered men. Adam, still in shock, made his way back to his hammock and tried to close his eyes.

The next morning, as the first rays of daylight struggled to pass through the wooden grates in the ceiling to allow air to circulate, heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs without any care, and they were commanded to wake up.

The old sea dogs and gunners were already awake and had begun folding their hammocks. Still groggy, Adam struggled to make sense of everything happening around him.

"Don’t just stand there like an idiot, kid, or you’ll get punished. Take down your hammock."

"Ah, uh, okay."

The sailor ignored the young lieutenant’s murmur and showed him how to do it. Each hammock had to be perfectly folded, the goal being to take up as little space as possible. When properly folded, they all fit neatly into a ridiculously small box.

"Good, now follow me," said the sailor, a man as tall as he was broad. "We store our hammocks like this," he explained simply, showing Adam each of his movements. "There are other compartments like this around the ship so we can easily pull them out at night. Everything has to be in its place. Once everything’s stored, we don’t waste time looking for things. You noticed the space is tight, right? We can’t afford to block passageways or run back and forth looking for a tool. Got it?"

"Yes," Adam replied timidly, his gaze naturally drawn to the sailor’s powerful arms. They were decorated with a few tattoos, each telling a small story. Most were linked to the sea, as was true for the other sailors as well.

Soon after, breakfast was brought. Young cabin boys were tasked with this duty. All the food was carefully stored at the lowest level of the ship, in large barrels. The gunpowder reserve was at the same level for safety reasons.

Quickly, Adam was served, and to his horror, it was worse than the dinner they had been given the night before.

"Is this it?" he asked the large sailor next to him, who was already eating.

"Yes. But don’t be picky. We’re lucky right now; we’ve got fresh food. Once we’re at sea, after a few weeks, your food won’t look quite the same."

"Really?" Adam asked with curiosity, eyeing his thick brown biscuit and slab of lard that looked nothing like what he was used to.

"Let’s just say there’ll be a little meat in your biscuit."

Adam’s face turned pale immediately. Seeing that his new comrade had understood he was talking about maggots, the sailor smiled and motioned for him to eat quickly.

I feel like I’m going to be sick… I want to go home!