I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

The powerful squadron of British Admiral Edward Boscawen was stationed in the spacious Gabarus Bay, to the west of Louisbourg. It was positioned about twelve kilometers from the harbor entrance and therefore from the naval battle itself.

This squadron was considerable, numbering nearly two hundred ships, but most of these—about three-quarters—were merely transport vessels. Having fulfilled their mission of bringing Major General Amherst’s army to this point, they were now practically empty.

It wasn’t only sailors on board, as the fall of Louisbourg had been deemed inevitable. Civilians had also been brought in from the port city of Halifax to begin colonizing the territory. On one of these ships, loud cries echoed, mixed with the wails of children.

“Waaaah! Waaaah!”

“Hurry! Get us out of here!” cried a hoarse old man, his eyes wide as he watched tall columns of smoke rising from Louisbourg's harbor.

“We’re all going to die!” panicked a woman as round as a balloon, her face contorted in terror.

“Sir, please, do something! My husband is still over there, at Louisbourg!”

“Shut up!” barked a sailor, clearly about to lose his temper. “Get out of my way! I need to pass!”

“Waaaah! Waaaah!”

“And quiet that kid down, or I’ll throw him overboard!”

“Waaaaaah!”

“Everything’s fine. I-it’ll be alright...” murmured the trembling mother, clutching her child wrapped in a thick blanket to her chest, warm tears trickling down her porcelain doll-like face.

“Why isn’t the anchor raised yet?! Damn it! Faster!” an officer shouted from the deck.

Of those two hundred ships, the admiral could only rely on forty-one warships to face this French fleet, which seemed to be led by a demon.

From his flagship, Admiral Boscawen, who had already fought through three wars, observed his enemies intently while issuing orders in a clear and powerful voice.

“We have the advantage in numbers, gentlemen! Move forward! Raise the anchor and unfurl all sails! We must assist the HMS Royal William before it’s too late!”

“Sir! We cannot move forward! Several cargo ships are blocking our way!”

“Order them to move aside quickly! There’s not a minute to lose!”

“Admiral! Our other ships of the line cannot leave the bay for the same reason, and the wind is against us!”

Despite the experience of his sailors and officers, it took considerable time to raise the anchor, unfurl the sails, and form up.

The flagship, HMS Namur, one of the three three-deck ships in this fine squadron, was positioned in the middle of the large gathering of ships, resembling a flock of sheep at sea.

It had to navigate through many smaller vessels to reach the battle, and it wasn’t the only one in this situation.

However, it had to proceed cautiously, as even the slightest collision could sink a cargo ship and drown dozens of innocent civilians.

***

At the same time, aboard the French ships, a delicious meal was anticipated with relish.

In front of them, the British ships, most of which were still at anchor or unable to maneuver, appeared as fragile as newborns.

With a strong wind at their backs, they sped forward like birds of prey on a small animal. They seemed to slice through the sea, and at times, they appeared to fly alongside the sea birds dancing and singing around them. Their large square sails were so filled with the north wind that they looked ready to tear.

“Captain, all our cannons are ready! We await your orders!” said a thirty-something officer, with brown hair and jet-black eyes, standing beside the chief gunner, a short, stocky man with a crooked nose.

“Begin firing as soon as possible with the bow chasers,” replied Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville with an eerily calm voice, his eyes gleaming with an icy light.

“Hehe, at your orders!” responded the chief gunner with a predatory grin, echoed by his much younger officer.

Shortly after, four cannons near the foremast opened fire. The gunners didn’t need to aim, as the targets were numerous and clustered together.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

Through his spyglass, the squadron leader discreetly observed his enemies, who were in great difficulty.

They haven’t formed up yet. This is our chance—they won’t be able to respond effectively.

“Keep firing! Let’s take advantage of this opportunity to avenge all our comrades who’ve lost their lives at sea! For the King! For France!”

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

The bow and stern artillery pieces were of small caliber. Even at close range, they couldn’t inflict major damage. However, the psychological effect on those subjected to the bombardment should not be underestimated.

Even from this distance, the squadron leader could see them panic.

They look like headless chickens. Good. Very soon, they’ll taste my thirty-six-pounders!

By comparison, the projectiles currently being fired weighed only eight pounds.

Moving from the north, the long line, reinforced by the ships previously trapped in Louisbourg’s harbor, slipped through a gap left by the English ships that had begun to move. Chaos reigned among the enemy. All the while, HMS Namur had barely moved.

As soon as Michel-Ange Duquesne’s ship reached the center of the enemy fleet, he gave the order to fire at will. There were no shortage of targets.

“Keep course! No mercy!”

When a troop transport ship was in its way, Foudroyant pushed it aside mercilessly. Its cannons roared like fierce lions.

Below decks, the sweating gunners worked quickly to reload their pieces, ignoring all the surrounding noise. In an instant, these trained men had almost simultaneously prepared their cannons and pushed them forward with all their strength.

“Ah!”

A bit of coarse, sand-like black powder was poured on top of the cannon where the “touch hole” was, and the men stepped back to let through the man holding a long pole tipped with a lit match.

“Haha! Greetings from France!”

BOOM

The cannon recoiled violently but not too far, as it was securely fastened with thick ropes.

Otherwise, it would have crashed to the other side of the ship, crushing the gunners standing behind it.

It was hard to describe the chaos in which the English fleet found itself. It took them some time to regain their composure and return fire.

Little by little, the English defense improved, and some shots began to cause damage aboard Foudroyant.

***

A bit farther away, aboard Monsieur de Roquefeuille’s ship, laughter erupted as the English suffered, unable to retaliate effectively.

“Gentlemen,” the captain of Hector said with dignity, “our English friends are regaining their wits. It would be a shame to let them.”

“Captain? Do you want us to leave the line?”

“Indeed. Let’s form a second column.”

A shark-like grin appeared on the captain’s face, full of determination.

“Turn to port! Leave the line, Mister Clermont!”

“At your orders, Captain!”

From above, seagulls watched without understanding as a French ship veered left, soon followed by others.

In an instant, a large group of ships flying the British flag with pride found themselves surrounded.

Under immense physical and psychological pressure, a good number of British ships tried to flee the fight, pulling away from the deadly trap closing in on the unlucky vessels.

***

Not far from there, in the main line, Océan was busy firing on all the ships around it. Shrouded in a thick, gray fog filled with gunpowder residue, it resembled a ghost ship.

Its cannons, now scorching hot from continuous firing, spewed iron balls almost without interruption, destroying everything in their path.

From the upper deck, even though the noise was deafening, one could hear the cries of civilians calling for help if they listened closely enough. Several English ships were already sinking, slowly descending into the still-cold waters of the Atlantic.

Some had even caught fire on the calm sea, as blue as the sky dotted with a few pure white clouds.

Each shot made Océan tremble.

Inside the ship, Adam was doing his best to help in this massive battle, so different from the one at Ushant. As he helped reload his cannon, a beauty weighing nearly two thousand kilos mounted on an elm carriage of over three hundred fifty kilos, he cheered on his comrades with all his might.

During these two months at sea, he had spent much time repeating these tasks.

Since their departure from Brest, Marshal-Duke of Richelieu’s soldiers had grown quite familiar with these terrible weapons.

“Fire at will! Aim for the rudder, the waterline, the gunports, and the masts if you can!”

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

One by one, the eighty cannons of this gigantic ship fired upon the enemies of the King of France.

The soldiers wore neither their coats nor their red-and-gold jackets, as it was too hot on the lower deck. Besides, the garments would have only gotten in their way.

“Hahaha! They don’t stand a chance!”

“Focus!” the lieutenant reminded one of his men, who had stuck his head out of the gunport to observe the enemy ship across from them, now riddled with holes.

Good! All that training hasn’t been for nothing. I’m glad I’m not in the rigging! I would have been useless!

Out of the corner of his eye, through the thick smoke gently hovering around the warship, Adam glimpsed the ghostly silhouette of a small frigate with a battered hull. Yet, it still seemed seaworthy.

That’s because the hulls are designed to withstand heavy impacts! Damn! Their weaknesses are elsewhere!

Adam was right.

The rudder, for instance, was as fragile as it was crucial for navigation. Without it, the helmsman wouldn’t be able to avoid obstacles or position the ship to make the best use of the wind. Nor could he position the broadside and its cannons toward the enemy. In other words, the ship would become a floating target.

By destroying the masts, which the French traditionally aimed to do, it was possible to significantly slow a ship down or even immobilize it, making it easy to slip behind and annihilate it from the rear, unless one aimed to board it.

As for the gunports, by definition, they were openings in the hull allowing the gunners to fire.

Adam identified these openings as priority targets.

“Target the mouth of the cannons, Mister Clerc. You can do it!”

“Yes, Lieutenant!”

The sergeant placed his eye close to the smoking cannon to estimate the shot’s trajectory and signaled that the cannon was properly aligned.

The enemy ship was so close that one could see the faces of the opposing gunners, filled with both hatred and fear.

When the position was right, Adam approached with a long tool called a slow match, equipped with a fuse at its tip, and ignited the powder on the touch hole. In an instant, the flame traveled into the cannon.

Under the pressure of the fire within the long tube—about two and a half meters—the shot was launched at high speed, hurtling straight toward the mouth of the English cannon.

The cannon recoiled violently, narrowly missing Sergeant Clerc’s foot. A massive cloud of smoke immediately formed in front of them, blocking their view of the outcome. There was an eerie silence, and then a voice rose from the group.

“The enemy cannon has been destroyed! We got it!”

Really?! Hahaha! Yes!

Adam restrained himself from jumping for joy, allowing only a small, satisfied smile.

Not only had the cannon been destroyed, but significant damage had been inflicted aboard the ship. The enemy cannon had been suddenly thrown backward, violently spun, and killed several men nearby. The shot had then ricocheted off the ship’s frame, sending countless wooden splinters flying in all directions.

Several powder monkeys and gunners caught in the path of the splinters died without even seeing the danger coming.

“Yes!”

“Hurrah!”

“Well done, Sergeant! Let’s keep it up, men!”

“If this keeps up, we’ll annihilate their fleet!”

“Hahaha!”

Morale was high on the ship, as similar damage had been done to the enemy from the other gun batteries. Victory seemed near.

But that changed when an English shot struck the quarterdeck, shattering a wooden railing, one of its pieces—about the size of a hand—lodging itself in the chest of Captain Louis Charles du Chaffault de Besné.

“The captain has been hit!”

Damn it! Adam cursed inwardly, turning sharply toward the sailor who had just appeared. The scary guy is dead?!

“Who... cough, cough, who’s in command?!” Captain Gilbert, exhausted by his illness yet still at his post, barked through a dry coughing fit.

“Lieutenant Louis Lenoir, Captain! He’s requesting to see you!”

“I-I’m coming, cough cough! Lieutenant Boucher, I’m leaving the company in your hands for a moment. Cough!”

“Understood!” Adam replied as he noticed a young powder monkey, no older than fifteen, approaching with a new charge of powder.

***

The deck was in disarray, littered with debris and stained with patches of blood in places. Captain Gilbert, as pale as the sails, spotted a large scarlet puddle where the captain had collapsed.

“C-Captain Gilbert!” Louis Lenoir called from his post, trying to hide the fact that his entire body was trembling. “The captain is severely injured and has been taken to the surgeon! I’m supposed to take command, but… I don’t know what to do! Normally, the second-in-command would take over, but he’s on another ship!”

“Cough cough, I… I know, I know. So, cough, first thing, calm down, kid. It’s okay. You’re not alone. We’re all with you, got it? Right, for now, just focus on following the ship ahead of you. Foudroyant is leading the way; all we need to do is follow. Look.”

“Y-yes!” replied Ship Lieutenant Lenoir, a bit calmer now that there was someone more experienced by his side, even if he wasn’t a sailor.

Just as the young man had had many conversations with Lieutenant François Boucher, he had also had numerous interesting discussions with his captain, Armand Gilbert. He held him in high regard and had been fascinated by his stories of war in Europe.

“Alright, now look around, cough cough, and if you have trouble seeing, use the tools at your disposal. What do you see?”

“P-plenty of ships, everywhere. The one to port is in very bad shape, and several of its cannons aren’t firing anymore.”

“Good. The next ship will finish the job. On the other side, what do you see?”

“That ship, Borcas, it’s trying to tack to block our path and is aiming at us with its cannons.”

“What can you do to stop it?”

“I-I could maybe slip in front of the damaged ship to port, fire, and join the other column?”

“That sounds like a good plan. Let’s do that. Give your orders now.”

“Yes!”

“And don’t worry, cough cough cough, don’t worry if they try to board us. We’ll have no trouble crushing them. I’ve trained my men well.”

Reassured, the young man regained confidence and gave a long series of orders, which the sailors obeyed without hesitation.

With Océan upwind, they managed to complete the maneuver before Borcas, which took a powerful broadside to the bow. Its figurehead was shattered, and several major leaks appeared. Additionally, due to the height difference between the two ships, several shots devastated the upper deck. One of the cannonballs smashed the mât de misaine, or the mât de petit perroquet, which fell backward, damaging the mainmast.

That ship was no longer a threat.

Océan then threaded its way between enemy and allied ships, skillfully slipping between Célèbre and Bienfaisant, two sixty-four-gun ships that had been trapped in Louisbourg harbor just the day before.

The gunners no longer had to worry, at least for the moment, about any threat to port. All their enemies were to starboard. With cannons and muskets, everyone aboard Océan fired upon HMS Bedford, a large sixty-four-gun ship that had been rebuilt in 1741.

It had already suffered from attacks by Célèbre and Hector, and though its hull showed numerous signs of weakness, few cannonballs had managed to pierce its sturdy wood.

HMS Bedford opened fire almost simultaneously with Océan, and when the smoke cleared, an eerie silence fell.

No one fired, no one spoke. Everyone seemed to be anxiously waiting for the smoke to clear.

Finally, several unsettling sounds echoed through the air, though it was impossible to pinpoint their exact source. Creaking and threatening groans rang out in the deathly quiet, soon followed by a loud crash.

When the smoke finally cleared, they saw that HMS Bedford’s mainmast had fallen, dragging the mizzenmast down with it from the ship’s stern.

Once again, cheers erupted aboard the ship.

“Sir! The English ships are retreating!”

“They’re fleeing!”

“Hooray!”

The sailors began to celebrate their victory.

But it was too soon to declare triumph, for Admiral Boscawen hadn’t given up yet.

Indeed, from the deck of every French ship, the English ships could be seen heading out of the bay, forming a battle line.

“Watch out! They’re coming back!”