I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

The building housing the residence and workplace of the Governor of New France stood elegantly above the lower town, stretching out with a combination of simplicity and charm. At first glance, it was clear that much energy had been invested in its construction.

However, it wasn’t the only beautiful building in Quebec. If Adam and Armand Gilbert took the time to explore the city, they could discover others, often featuring lovely French-style gardens. It was as if they had sought to bring a small piece of France to this remote place.

The building, with its two stories and a few rectangular windows, had four small projections facing a charming paved courtyard. Naturally, the white flag adorned with golden fleurs-de-lis proudly fluttered in the wind above the fort.

They were quickly intercepted by two French soldiers wearing uniforms slightly different from their own. They looked so similar in face and stature that Adam immediately suspected they were brothers.

“Halt! No one passes without authorization!” said the first, tightening his grip on his musket.

“Yes! State your identities and the purpose of your visit!” continued the second, in a voice equally similar.

“I am Captain Armand Gilbert of the Second Battalion of the Picardy Regiment, commanded by the Marquis de Bréhant, and this is my lieutenant, François Boucher. We have come to meet the governor to deliver a letter of utmost importance by order of Marshal de Richelieu.”

Immediately, the two guards, who seemed as disheveled as they had been the previous winter, straightened up, showing serious expressions.

“If it’s just to deliver a letter…” said the first guard hesitantly.

“But it’s of the utmost importance, Bernard!”

“Well, ‘utmost importance’ is relative, Bertrand.”

“Relative? What does that mean?”

“It’s when something is important to you, but it might not be important to the other person.”

“Oh, right! Like when I got a letter from my cousin telling me to rush to the farm because there was a problem with his cow, but it was just because the calf had a different color and a weird spot on its forehead!”

What are these idiots talking about? Are they doing this on purpose or what?

“Are you two finished? I said I need to meet Governor de Vaudreuil immediately!”

“Ah, well, he might be busy. Do you have an appointment? If he’s not informed of your visit, he might not be able to see you.”

Captain Gilbert, growing more impatient by the second, was turning dangerously red and starting to resemble a beetroot. Yet the two guards didn’t seem to notice, as they were too engrossed in their conversation, debating whether to let them through.

Shit! They’re really stupid! The captain’s going to explode!

Finally, an officer with the rank of lieutenant arrived at the fort gates and defused the situation by apologizing to Captain Gilbert.

This lieutenant, André Petit, of medium height and in his forties, with particularly thick eyebrows, led them toward the entrance of the grand building and guided them inside. Walking confidently, he led them up a large stone staircase to the upper floor, to the right wing, where the governor’s office was located.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The lieutenant knocked three times, and a tired but firm voice responded from inside.

“Enter.”

“Governor, sir,” said the soldier, opening the door, “Captain Armand Gilbert of the Picardy Regiment has arrived with his lieutenant at the fort and requests a meeting.”

“Excuse me? The Picardy Regiment? What is… Ah, let them in. I’ll see them immediately.”

When the captain and the lieutenant entered the governor’s office, they found an old man seated behind an imposing desk covered with books and papers filled with fine writing.

Pierre de Rigaud de Vaudreuil de Cavagnial, Marquis de Vaudreuil, was a man in his sixties, his face rounded with age, wearing a large powdered wig as was the fashion. From his strained features, it was clear he was very troubled and hadn’t slept well for several days.

Contrary to what one might think upon hearing his full name and titles, he had been born in the colonies, in Quebec specifically. He knew his region, its people, and its problems very well. Before becoming Governor of New France, he had been responsible for Louisiana.

Though the climate was different, most of the problems were similar, whether in Quebec or New Orleans. The king didn’t seem concerned with their situation and preferred to leave them to fend for themselves.

From his desk, he did his best to improve the daily lives of the settlers, maintain friendly relations with the Indigenous people, and help the colony prosper. He sincerely hoped that one day Versailles would finally recognize the importance and potential of this continent.

“Captain Gilbert? Good morning. I am Governor de Vaudreuil. How may I help you?” Cough cough!

“Good morning, Governor. Sorry to interrupt your work. I am Captain Armand Gilbert of the Picardy Regiment,” he said, bowing respectfully. “And this is my lieutenant, François Boucher. It’s an honor to meet you. We have just arrived cough cough in the New World under the command of Marshal Richelieu. The marshal ordered me to present myself to you to inform you of our arrival. Under his command, we embarked with as many troops as could be transported after Prussia and Hanover were defeated. We left Brest two months ago and arrived in Louisbourg on June 16th. Cough cough! As we arrived in the New World, we surprised our enemies as they were besieging the city.”

At these words, the old governor jumped, nearly spilling ink all over his desk.

"What?! What are you saying?! Louisbourg is under siege?!"

His voice, face, and gestures clearly showed his shock.

"Rest assured, sir. We managed to inflict a heavy defeat on the English. The Marshal-Duke has, cough cough, entrusted me with a letter intended for you, and I also have one for Mr. de Montcalm, who commands the King’s armies in New France."

The old man had lost all his composure upon hearing this officer. That they were sending a troop was already extraordinary, but that there was a Marshal of France—this was unbelievable! A wonderful dream from which he didn’t want to wake! When he heard that Louisbourg had been under siege, he had immediately imagined the worst.

"How many men came with you, sir?!"

"Uh, around five thousand. They’re currently in Louisbourg, helping repair the damage caused by the battle. Cough cough! I’ve only come with my company and seven others, about three hundred men."

"Oh..."

The man seemed a little disappointed. That said, upon reflection, it made sense: Louisbourg had just been attacked, and it would have been risky to immediately move the entire force here, while the English might still be lurking around, waiting for an opportunity to harm His Majesty’s interests.

He accepted with a slightly trembling hand the letter Captain Gilbert handed him and read it with the utmost attention, as if it had been written by the King himself. As he read the lines, he slowly regained his composure, nodding several times. The content was quite simple and confirmed what this man had just said.

"I see, I see. Very well," he said, looking up at the two men standing before his desk. "It says here that the Marshal has exceptionally entrusted you with the command of seven companies in addition to your own, and that you are now at my disposal and that of Mr. de Montcalm once you’ve completed your mission. Ah, but he’s not in Quebec at the moment."

"The Marquis is not here? Cough! That’s unfortunate," Gilbert replied, furrowing his brows slightly, somewhat embarrassed.

Governor de Vaudreuil crossed his fingers over the unfolded letter on his desk and thought for a moment.

"Well, sir, in a way, that’s a good thing, because you’ll be able to deliver this letter to him and assist him at the same time."

"Ah? Assist him? Is there a problem? What can we do?" asked Gilbert, expecting to receive a difficult mission.

The Marquis de Vaudreuil nodded slowly, running a tired hand over his face to wipe away his fatigue.

"According to our information, the English are on the move. It seems they planned to attack us on two fronts. It’s fortunate that the Marshal arrived to break their assault on Louisbourg."

"Yes, sir. We were lucky. Do we know their target?"

"We have a fort south of Montreal, Fort Carillon. It’s quite remote and roughly marks the limit of the territories we control. Mr. de Montcalm left nine days ago to block their way with nearly all our men, but it may not be enough. He’ll need as many soldiers as possible, Captain. Despite all our efforts, he could only take 3,600 men with him. While we don’t yet know how many troops the enemy has brought, we know they will be considerable. How did you come to Quebec, sir?"

"On board the Aréthuse, Governor. A frigate."

"Very well. In that case, she will return to Louisbourg to inform the Duke of Richelieu of the situation and request more men to reinforce Mr. de Montcalm. It is imperative that the road leading to Montreal and Quebec be protected. In the meantime, you and your men will head upriver to join Mr. de Montcalm."

"Will we arrive in time? We’ll also need guides to help us."

"I hope so. From here, it will probably take you about ten days. Hmm, you’ll likely be faster in canoes. As for the guides, naturally, we’ll find someone. Lieutenant Petit?"

They discussed for a little while longer, and then the two officers left the fort and returned to the lower town.

As soon as they set foot back on the deck of the Aréthuse, Captain Gilbert repeated everything he had learned to the ship’s captain and the other infantry captains.

The soldiers were quickly disembarked. With the help of the Mi’kmaq Indians, the frigate was turned around on the great river, and as it unfurled its sails to head east, a guide arrived with some Indians. Lieutenant Petit was also present.

"Gentlemen, good day. I’m Lieutenant Petit. Let me introduce Damien Leblé, who will be your guide. He’s certainly one of the best hunters in the region. And here are the men who will accompany you."

"Hello! Yeah, as the lieutenant said, I’m the guide, so follow my instructions closely. We’re not on the Old Continent here. Everything here can kill you. Right, let’s start with the boats. This isn’t a rowboat, not a longboat; it’s a canot or a canoe, if you prefer."

Adam raised an eyebrow upon seeing their guide. He had an odd way of speaking and, most notably, an unusual outfit. He also carried a long musket, a small axe, and a very large knife at his belt. Due to these three intimidating features, no one dared to smirk at him.

Rather than linger on these small details, Adam stepped forward to listen to what he had to say. He also took the opportunity to examine the canots or canoes more closely.

Some were very small, limited to a few passengers, while others were much longer and wider, easily accommodating a dozen people.

As their guide, a coureur de bois dressed almost like the Indians surrounding them, had said, while these canoes looked quite rustic, a closer inspection revealed just how well-made they were.

Hmm, it looks like they put a lot of effort into making them.

With apprehension, the soldiers began boarding these vessels one by one, which seemed so unreliable to them.

Damien climbed into his canoe, large enough to accommodate ten other people. Adam boarded another, slightly smaller one, which had a few painted decorations on the sides.

Oh wow! It’s... hmm, narrower than I thought. It feels like a long wooden hammock.

If they all thought they would have trouble handling the canoes or that they would sink due to their weight—Adam included—they were pleasantly surprised. Not only were these strange boats easy to navigate, but they were also very stable and sturdy. Despite the heavy load, the canoes glided across the water gracefully.

"Alright, gentlemen, I’m leading the way," said Damien Leblé from his canoe, placing a strange hat on his head, with a peculiar orange and brown fluffy tail sticking out. "Follow my instructions, and everything will go smoothly."

A few Indigenous people, Mi'kmaq, dressed in unusual attire, with dark skin and black hair, accompanied them. They were spread out across different boats to ensure the journey went without incident.

Adam was very glad they were there to guide them, as the splendid landscapes were unfamiliar and barely touched by human hands. Despite the paths, they would have most likely gotten lost in the wilderness and probably wandered to their deaths on this vast continent.

One of the Indigenous men, particularly tall, stood at the rear of the canoe in which Adam was seated. He was very imposing, and he would have certainly made an excellent basketball player in the 21st century. He had long black hair, deep eyes, a hooked nose, and a sharply angular face, as if it had been carved from stone with a hammer.

He wore very simple animal skin clothes, somewhat reminiscent of a trapper, over which he had thrown a large poncho the color of eggshell.

The discomfort, fear, and mistrust lingered for a while. Whether in their canoe or in the others, everyone remained very quiet, occasionally glancing at these strange individuals who resembled neither the French, Germans, English, Italians, nor Spaniards. After some time, curiosity took over.

The Frenchmen tried to converse with the Indigenous people, who fortunately spoke a few words of French. In the canoe with Adam, it was he who initiated the conversation first.

Adam and the Indigenous man struggled a bit to communicate, but with patience, they managed to introduce themselves. The Indigenous man gave his name, but Adam couldn’t pronounce it correctly.

His comrades, encouraged by their lieutenant, in turn sought to learn more about this man, his culture, and his way of life.

Adam smiled and looked at the scenery. The river was calm, and the water was so clear that despite its depth, they could see the bottom.

It was impossible to reach Fort Carillon in a single day, as they would soon learn that there were nearly four hundred kilometers of river to travel upstream to get there. Taking into account breaks and the time each man needed to sleep, they could only make progress for about ten hours a day, which still amounted to, barring complications, around fifty kilometers per day!

It took them no less than two and a half days just to reach the nearest town, Trois-Rivières!

That evening, after a modest fire was lit, the Indigenous man who had shared Adam’s canoe offered a strange piece of meat to one of the French soldiers. The meat was flat, dark, and dry—dried and smoked for preservation.

The soldier, a young man from Adam’s company who had ended up in a different canoe, with a square jaw and a look of arrogance, suddenly became angry and violently slapped the Indigenous man’s hand, causing the meat to fall to the ground.

Immediately, all eyes turned to the two men.

"Don’t come near me, savage! You can keep your shit! No way am I eating that! Hey, do you want me to turn into a savage?!"

Adam immediately flew into a rage, jumping to his feet even before Damien Leblé could smash his fist into the young fool’s face. With a quick stride, under the surprised eyes of his comrades, including Captain Gilbert, he slapped the soldier so hard he fell onto his backside. Stunned, the soldier touched his burning cheek.

A deathly silence fell over the group. Everyone held their breath, especially those who knew Adam. It was the first time they had seen their lieutenant in such a state.

"Fool! Is the air these people breathe wild just because they breathe it? Is their water wilder than ours? There is no such thing as wild food!"

Fucking racist bastard!

With that, Adam picked up the dried meat and ate it in front of everyone. He then addressed the Indigenous man.

"Please excuse my subordinate’s behavior. Your meat is very good."

"He… angry?"

"No. Not angry… Fear. He doesn’t know… you."

Using large gestures, Adam tried to communicate with the Indigenous man, which made the woodsman sitting in the corner smile a little, holding an enormous knife with a piece of dried meat on the tip, identical to the one offered by the imposing Indigenous man.

This man, named Tjenopitoqsit, was the son of a Mi'kmaq woman and a French settler from New France. That’s why he spoke their language as well.

If Adam had understood correctly from the stories Tjenopitoqsit had told him over the past few days, his father was a well-known hunter in the region. As fur-bearing animals, one of the most valuable resources to Europeans in this part of the continent, became increasingly scarce due to overhunting, he had to venture farther and farther to continue his trade. This is why he often went away for weeks, returning only to sell his pelts.

Tjenopitoqsit had made significant efforts to learn elements of this strange language and their customs, although many things still escaped him.

The next day, a little before reaching Montreal, the Indigenous men signaled them to turn onto a river to their left that flowed into the main river. By following it, they would head directly south and reach Fort Carillon in a few days.

It was disconcerting to go from such a wide river to such a narrow one. However, the canoes could still move forward without having to form an endless column. Indeed, the river was nearly a hundred meters wide at this point.

Due to the trees surrounding them, casting large shadows over the water, it was difficult to navigate. Adam, like the others, no longer knew whether they were heading south, east, or in some other direction. They had no choice but to trust these Indigenous guides.

All they could do was count the days, paddle, and admire the view. They only stopped at the end of the day to sleep and rest their aching bodies from staying in the same position and using their arms continuously.

One morning, they noticed that the river was beginning to widen. Adam and the others had no idea whether to call this place a river, a stream, or a lake. At its widest point, over fifteen kilometers separated the two banks!

This place was teeming with life: birds, frogs, insects, beavers, deer, bears, fish. It was impressive to witness such a rich ecosystem.

They crossed this wide body of water without disturbing it, and at the far end, Adam realized the terrain was becoming more challenging. There was a difference in height between this part of the river and the upper section. Fortunately, it wasn’t to the extent of having to scale a cliff with a waterfall in the middle. The river simply flowed peacefully between moss-covered rocks, making a soft, comforting sound.

"We can’t go any further. Bring the canoes ashore; we’ll disembark here. We’ll need to walk for a bit," said the guide, vigorously scratching the thick beard that covered half his face.

The group followed the instructions and returned to dry land. They were then forced to carry the canoes for a while, being careful not to drop them, until the river became navigable again.

Damien Leblé led the group through the trees and rocks, occasionally observing the animal tracks. He found some bear prints, two adults and three cubs. To avoid any trouble, he took the group on a slight detour.

This cost them an entire day.

Finally, on June 30th, they arrived at Fort Carillon. It had taken them much less time than expected to get there, but the journey had still taken a week. Thanks to their efforts, they arrived just a few hours after the Marquis de Montcalm, who had traveled by land.