I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

Marshal de Richelieu had considered pursuing the fleeing troops, but seeing the pitiful state of his soldiers, he changed his mind. His men had gone far beyond their limits after a long sea voyage and were collapsing from exhaustion like dominoes.

They had all worked hard and deserved to rest for a few days.

He himself was not in his best shape, as commanding an army required intense concentration over a long period. But there was still so much to do!

The most important tasks were to meet with the authorities of Louisbourg and to handle the large number of prisoners captured in just one day. He also needed to gather all the equipment abandoned by the English. Not counting the prisoners taken in Gabarus Bay, there were nearly five thousand of them, including Major General Amherst and several high-ranking officers.

It is worth noting, however, that half of them had been captured in the field hospital.

To the great satisfaction of the French officers, all the artillery pieces had been left behind! What a shame that the enemy had had time to sabotage so many of them before retreating! Several had been thrown into the harbor, but in many cases, that hadn’t been possible, so they resorted to another, almost equally effective, method.

The simplest way to render a cannon unusable was to block the vent, the small hole at the rear of the cannon used to ignite the powder inside the tube. A simple nail was enough, and that’s exactly what they had done.

Fortunately, this method wasn’t permanent, as all it took was drilling a new hole through the nail. Indeed, it was impossible to extract it.

Despite the flight of many English soldiers, this day was definitely a great victory.

At the gates of the city, marked by the intense bombardments of recent days, Marshal Richelieu’s soldiers were warmly welcomed by Madame Aubert de Courserac, the wife of Louisbourg’s governor, Augustin de Drucourt. She was an exceptional woman, adored and respected by all the soldiers of the city. One by one, without missing a single one, she greeted each soldier who had come from the Old Continent to aid them.

From the first day of the siege, this incredible woman had not hesitated to come to the rampart each day to fire two cannon shots to keep the troops' morale high.

Adam, who had reunited with his friends, including Louis, was surprised by this welcome. The young man smiled foolishly as he thanked the governor’s wife, and she returned the smile before moving on to the next soldier.

When he saw her, he immediately thought she must be the kindest of nurses or the most patient of teachers. He had met a woman who looked very much like her when he was very young. In his memories, she was very tall and always wore a small scarf around her neck. Every day, she would come with a different scarf, depending on her outfit and her mood. However, he had forgotten her name over time.

As it was getting late and it would not have been wise to scatter his army, the marshal decided to send small groups of light cavalry to patrol the entrenchments surrounding the city. He feared that if the abandoned camps were left unguarded, a large amount of equipment would be stolen.

Meanwhile, the rest of Richelieu’s army set up an impressive camp around Louisbourg. Most of the materials used to house these five thousand men came from the former camp of Major General Amherst.

For the locals, it was impressive, especially after nightfall, to see so many tents set up under the city’s walls. For Richelieu’s soldiers, it was nothing compared to what they had experienced in Hanover, where their numbers were ten times larger.

There was not a single able-bodied Englishman left outside the city. The only ones who hadn’t been sent there were those found in the field hospital. Among them were many sick men. The governor, understandably, did not want them in his city.

The other prisoners had joined, under heavy guard, those captured during the naval battle and were imprisoned in deplorable conditions, crammed together. The irony was that their prison was a structure they had built during their previous occupation of the city.

While the Duke of Richelieu was conferring with the governor and the city’s other notable figures, Adam was finally able to rest properly.

He felt so exhausted that he wanted to sleep for several days. That evening, after a light meal, he collapsed onto his straw bed inside a tent identical to those produced in French military factories for the soldiers of Louis XV.

As soon as he laid his head on his coat, which served as a pillow, he fell asleep, but even in his dreams, work did not leave him in peace.

He saw himself fighting at sea, landing, and fighting on land. Then he dreamed that he was ordered to dismantle the camp only to set it up a little farther away, then dismantle it again to set it up once more in another place.

He then dreamed that he was tasked with inventorying all the equipment abandoned by the English. There was so much of it that it made his head spin. Just when he finished in one place, he realized there was even more elsewhere.

***

At the same time, in the governor’s residence, the most important personalities of the city and Marshal Duke of Richelieu’s army were gathered. This imposing building was slightly elevated above the rest of the city and was protected on one side by a glacis and on the other by the King’s bastion. It looked more like a military building than a true residence.

A very large rectangular table, decorated with seasonal flowers, had been set up in the middle of the room. The room itself, although modest, had been very carefully decorated and furnished, making it feel like a charming provincial manor.

In front of the guests, who were seated with great care, numerous steaming dishes had been placed, each emitting a different but highly appetizing aroma.

The officers had been able to wash and change into new uniforms to look presentable. On the other hand, the civil authorities had chosen their attire with great care to make a good impression.

Monsieur the Governor had opted for a silver waistcoat, an apricot-colored jacket, and breeches decorated with silver embroidery. His wife, on her part, had chosen to wear a charming mimosa yellow dress adorned with small royal blue bows. She wore only a simple bracelet of white pearls, which seemed to come from the same place as the ones dangling from her ears and neck.

It was hard to believe, seeing them all gathered around such a fine meal, that they had just come out of a siege.

In the corner of the room, a few people were playing music to ease conversation and help the guests think of something other than war. Yet, it was impossible to avoid the topic.

“Monsieur Marshal, on behalf of the inhabitants of Louisbourg, I wish to thank you once again for your help. Without you and your men, this fortress would have surely fallen into enemy hands.”

“Monsieur Governor, please. I was only doing my duty. His Majesty commanded me to come, knowing that the English would attempt something. His orders were to assist his loyal subjects in his colonies in the New World, and we simply fulfilled his will. No matter the distance that separates us from Versailles, we are all faithful subjects of His Majesty. Naturally, he did not want this stronghold to fall under English control. Now that we are liberated in Europe, we have the means to defend ourselves wherever necessary and to take the war directly to English soil!”

“Marvelous!” Governor Drucourt applauded joyfully. “I must admit, Monsieur Marshal,” he added, raising a beautiful Venetian glass, “that we were very afraid here, as in Montreal and Quebec, that His Majesty had decided to abandon us, seeing that the fur trade was no longer as profitable as in the past.”

“Hmm, yes, there is a profitability issue,” the marshal agreed, aware of this fact, though he knew very little about the New World. “But, Monsieur Governor, New France is like an estate: without proper maintenance and resources, it cannot prosper. Instead, it will deteriorate until it becomes a ruin.”

“Well said, sir!” a young man dressed more lavishly than the governor exclaimed enthusiastically.

The marshal looked at him for a moment, trying to figure out who this child pretending to be an adult could be, but paid him no further attention. For the young noble, however, that brief moment had been intense. For a fraction of a second, he felt as if he had been face-to-face with a massive wolf, ready to tear out his throat at any moment.

“Now, tell me, what is our real situation?” asked the duke, turning his attention back to the governor. “I must admit I know very little about these matters, as it is my first time in these lands.”

“It would be an honor, my lord! New France is an immense territory, as you know, stretching from Louisiana to Hudson Bay, which is controlled by the English. Yet, we have almost no settlers! This vast territory is empty and underutilized! The few settlers we do have are concentrated in specific areas. In the north, it’s around the Saint Lawrence River.”

The marshal nodded slightly. That was part of common knowledge—about all he knew of New France was contained in those few words.

“That’s why we maintain good relations with the Indians, except for the Iroquois. Hmm, they are a tribe, or rather a confederation of Indian nations, allied with England. You may have seen some during the battle? They were there. In any case, we are very few, and the Indians help us control this territory for His Majesty. The English, however, are numerous in the New World, and they regularly receive reinforcements from England, Scotland, and Ireland. They can muster large numbers of soldiers and ships, whereas we cannot.”

“I see,” Richelieu said, savoring the fine wine he had been served. “How have you managed to hold out until now, then?”

“Ahem! You must understand that here, it’s not the Old Continent,” the city commander replied with some embarrassment. “The kings are far away, my lord, and the armies are smaller, as are the resources and the size of our towns. We also wage war differently, at least differently from the English. We engage in what we call ‘petite guerre.’”

Petite guerre? What is that?

As if reading his thoughts, the governor explained.

“It consists of conducting small skirmish battles with very few soldiers mixed with coureurs de bois and Indians, attacking the enemy by surprise. In this way, we inflict modest damage but also suffer few losses. That’s why the English here hate us so much. Added together, these small victories cause significant problems for our enemies.”

As soon as he heard the governor’s explanation, the old marshal thought back to his experiences in Hanover. Ferdinand of Brunswick-Lüneburg. That man had caused him so many problems that he never wanted to hear his name again.

Luckily, that’s Soubise’s problem now. I wonder if he’s handling it? That man is truly slippery.

“I understand. Even if these methods may seem dishonorable to some, they are, in certain circumstances, the only ones that can be employed to win. I suppose engaging in a conventional battle is impossible?”

“It would be a massacre, I fear. Numbers aren’t the only issue; there’s also discipline. The men who serve here are not like those you’ve commanded in Europe, my lord. Holding a formation is difficult for them, but they are very mobile and capable of taking initiative.”

They spoke at length over a warm meal and a glass of fine wine, refilled many times. It wasn’t just any wine either, but the one the enemy commander had offered as a gift to the governor at the beginning of this siege.

Monsieur de Drucourt sought to be as thorough as possible in providing the marshal with the most accurate picture of New France while highlighting their needs. He didn’t dodge a single question posed by the marshal, answering honestly each time.

“Well,” the duke said, placing his hands flat on the table. “I believe I’ve understood the situation well. I will draft a letter to Versailles requesting support to protect His Majesty’s interests by emphasizing the advantages of retaining New France. In this letter, I will include a detailed report on the events since my departure from Brest, particularly this battle, which I am sure will be greatly appreciated by our king.”

“Thank you so much, my lord!”

“Lastly, I will compile a complete list of our prisoners as soon as possible, so that we may send a request to His Britannic Majesty for ransom for his men.”

“Naturally, naturally! We should also draft a letter to Monsieur de Montcalm and de Vaudreuil to inform them of your presence. The first has been appointed by His Majesty as commander of the armed forces in the New World, and the second, as you surely know, is the governor of Montreal.”

“That’s right. I will do that as soon as possible.”

“Excellent! In that case, I am reassured! For the other matters, we can discuss them later. On behalf of all the inhabitants of New France, I welcome you!”

“Welcome to New France!”

Once the meal was over, Marshal Duke de Richelieu made his way to the barracks where Major General Amherst and his officers were being held. It wasn’t grand, but at least they had rooms and didn’t have to endure the conditions of the thousands of prisoners captured that day.

Two guards stood in front of the door, which had originally belonged to a city officer.

Though he was thousands of kilometers from Europe and the splendor of the grandest courts in the world, Richelieu was committed to upholding the tradition of treating prisoners well, especially officers. Even in the midst of battle, it was not uncommon for two enemy officers to meet, converse, and share a meal.

Thus, he didn’t find a broken man in the room but rather an English gentleman in his officer’s attire, savoring a cup of tea while reading a book, a collection of poems.

“Monsieur le Duc de Richelieu, it is an honor,” said the British general in perfect French, gently closing his book.

“The honor is mine, but I am surprised you recognized me so easily. Could it be that we’ve met before?”

The duke took a seat on the vacant chair across from the general, who served him a still-steaming cup of tea.

“I was at the Battle of Fontenoy, on May 11, 1745. I was then aide-de-camp to General Ligonier.”

“Really? That was some time ago, though at times it feels like only yesterday. The years fly by so quickly... What a coincidence to meet here. Are you being treated well?”

“I have no complaints, but certainly, I would prefer to be elsewhere.”

“Hmm, I can imagine.”

“Tell me instead, Your Grace, what has become of my army? How many dead and wounded?”

“We’re still counting, but early estimates suggest around seven thousand dead. We’ve taken nearly five thousand prisoners, many of whom were in your hospital. The rest managed to escape into the woods.”

The general’s face paled at hearing those staggering numbers.

So many prisoners, and worse, so many dead in this one battle! At Fontenoy, they had an army four times the size of this one, but here he was being told he had suffered twice the losses! His military career was surely over, and his name would forever be remembered in disgrace.

Though they were enemies, Marshal de Richelieu felt sympathy for him.