Hello! Here is a new chapter!
Enjoy!
Thank you Microraptor, Mium, Porthos10, Dekol347, Shingle_Top, Ranger_Red, AlexZero12, First_Time_**** and toby_cavazos1961 for the support!
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The mood at Fort Bourbon was gradually improving, just like its defenses.
As Martin had predicted, everyone was now talking about India. A wave of enthusiasm had swept over the garrison, sparking the soldiers' curiosity about this distant land that they still struggled to pinpoint on a world map.
Even the officers, who until then had mostly focused on the Caribbean—so lucrative for the Crown—and Europe, were now drawn to these tales.
The stories spreading through the fort were changing the trend. The men wanted to learn more.
India, to them, was a strange and mysterious land, inhabited by people adorned with gold and fine embroidered clothing. Those who had served there had become storytellers, always finding new anecdotes to share—whether about the landscapes, the exotic fruits, the women with fiery eyes, or the animals found nowhere else.
Leaning against a tall wooden wall on the southern rampart, Adam took advantage of a break to listen intently to one such tale from a captain named Costier, who had been stationed in Chandernagore during the previous war.
"Ah, life wasn't easy over there," said the narrow-faced officer, marked by an old illness as he recalled all he had seen during his time in India. "It could get incredibly hot, and when it rained, it was in great quantities! My God, I've never seen rains like those! Buckets of water pouring down on us! You couldn't even step outside without risking drowning! They call it the monsoon! They should've called it the flood!"
Adam, arms crossed and back pressed against the sturdy wooden wall, shivered at the thought.
"I'm not joking! With that much water pouring down, you couldn't open your eyes or breathe! I've seen houses swept away by raging rivers, herds of elephants drowned, and trees snapped like twigs! Ah, I'm glad I wasn't sent back there! It was hell! And the fevers… My God, a scourge worse than bullets! Believe me when I say they're more to be feared than the English! Over there, more men die of disease than honorable wounds! A friend of mine, strong as an ox, died in three days, and no one could do anything to help! Terrifying!"
The men surrounding Captain Costier swallowed nervously as they imagined military camps ravaged by disease. How could such a beautiful place be so dangerous?
Well, Adam thought, scratching his cheeks where the shadow of a beard was starting to show, it's the same here, isn't it? Even in Europe, diseases were a headache for officers. How many men have we lost since the start of this war because of this mess?
Noticing that the mood was quickly souring around him, Costier changed the subject to something more pleasant.
"Fortunately, it wasn't always like that. We also had good times. The fruits were excellent, and the monkeys were so amusing and cute! One of my good friends, Laurent, even stayed in Chandernagore after the war. He found love there, a local beauty. A tender heart, that one! I think he's still there, despite the city being occupied by the English."
By listening to the war stories of this veteran, Adam had learned a few things about this vast land. India at the time was far from unified. There were rival kingdoms and empires, each with their own strengths and weaknesses.
Of course, they had relations with each other, but also with European nations that held trading posts along the coasts.
At the beginning of this war, the French, Portuguese, Dutch, and English were all present on the continent, buying all kinds of goods from the locals and selling them back home at steep prices. Textiles were highly sought after in Europe and were even called "Indianes."
On the west coast, France only held Mahé. All the other trading posts on this side of India belonged to the English or their Portuguese ally, except for Cochin, held by the Dutch, a neutral power.
However, France was more present on the other side, holding from south to north Karikal, Pondicherry, Yanaon, and Chandernagore.
Unfortunately for France, the first years of this war had been very painful: Yanaon had been occupied by the English since 1758, Mahé since 1757, and Chandernagore—Calcutta's great rival in Bengal—had fallen into enemy hands the same year.
All trade was now conducted in Calcutta, and if nothing changed, it would suffocate.
For now, Pondicherry still held, and that was the most important thing.
Well, Adam thought, recalling the latest news from India, now that that vile nabob is gone and Fort William in Calcutta is under siege, we can make a comeback in that country! Bengal isn't conquered yet, but what can the English do from their fort? We outnumber them!
His gaze drifted toward the fort's exterior, and what he saw interrupted his thoughts.
Hm? Ah, they're here.
The English. They had returned, but not to fight.
Two officers had presented themselves two days earlier, on September 15th, under a white flag, to negotiate the retrieval of their fallen men from the siege.
Monsieur de Montcalm had accepted, and here they were with their carts, apparently unarmed to avoid misunderstandings.
Slowly, the convoy, escorted by a hundred redcoats, approached along the road.
It didn't take long for everyone to notice. An odd silence fell over the fort.
They've stopped. Ah, Monsieur de Montcalm has come out! Isn't that a bit too risky?!
Adam looked around but saw that the others didn't seem particularly worried. It was as if the idea of betrayal by the redcoats to kill their commander was unthinkable.
Indeed, such a dishonorable act would be unthinkable. No officer would stoop so low, which is why no one tried to hold Montcalm back.
There was a brief exchange between Montcalm and an enemy officer, and as soon as they had nothing more to say, the English got to work.
The bodies were already gathered; they only had to identify them, wrap them in cloth, and load them onto their carts.
Though they had come in considerable numbers, the task was significant. They had indeed lost many men, particularly in the final moments of the battle.
This is going to take a while. At least all day, I think.
Adam walked away from the rampart and went back to see his friend, young Martin. He was also taking a break, sitting in a corner of the fort, in the shade of a building.
"Ah! François!" exclaimed the young man. "Just the person I needed! Tell me what you think!"
Martin leapt to his feet and handed a letter to Adam. Adam made sure not to smudge the fresh ink and began to read.
He quickly understood what it was about.
"It's... uh, it's sweet, but has your little English girl replied to the other letters?"
"Not yet... At least, I haven't received anything... Maybe... maybe everything's stuck at Fort Carillon since the siege?"
Adam forced himself to smile to calm his friend's anxious mind. Since the end of the siege, the fort was no longer isolated and was receiving news from the outside world again. Nonetheless, it had been far too long since Martin had received a response.
Martin didn't seem to lose hope and kept writing with passion.
"It's possible. In any case, I think your letter is well-written. You can tell you put your heart into it."
Martin blushed and smiled shyly.
"I... Don't you think I'm overdoing it? I don't want to... you know, come across as too pushy. I might scare her away, right?"
"Well, I don't know," murmured Adam, rubbing an eye. "Maybe it's a bit repetitive?"
Martin trembled.
"I-I'm repeating myself?! Th-then what should I write? Please, help me!"
Adam quickly waved his hands in front of him, fearing his young friend might tear up the letter to start anew.
"Hey! I didn't say it was bad! The important thing is that it comes from you, alright? You're overthinking this!"
"No, no, you're right! I'm repeating myself! I need to find something else! Come on, sit here!"
Martin gestured for Adam to sit beside him.
Thus, Adam found himself once again helping Martin woo Ryckje van Schaick. He stifled a sigh and let Martin reread his text, making new changes.
For someone who knew nothing about poetry or 18th-century courtship, it all seemed the same to him. He didn't see how changing a word here or there would make any difference.
"When I say, 'The thought of soon admiring your warm features warms my heart,' doesn't it make it sound like I'm only interested in her looks?"
"I guess?"
"Then I should change it! I want to show her I love her whole self! Should I praise her moral qualities more?"
"If you want."
"Ah, but I know so little about her. Am I really only interested in her looks?"
"Who knows?"
Adam shrugged absentmindedly. Martin shot him a glare.
"Are you even listening to me?!"
Martin turned sharply toward Adam and noticed he had closed his eyes and looked on the verge of falling asleep beside him. His face instantly turned bright red.
"Let me know if I'm boring you, huh?!"
He jabbed Adam in the arm, forcing him to open his eyes.
"Ouch! That hurts!"
"Really? Not enough, it seems! Here!"
"Ouch! Stop hitting me! I've still got bruises, you know?"
"Good!"
The two friends continued to bicker like brothers for a few minutes before calm returned. Adam focused a bit more on Martin's troubles.
"So, you want to write a letter telling this girl you think about her all the time? I think the message has gotten across. How many letters have you written since we left Quebec?"
"I... don't know. A lot."
"Okay, that might be a bit much. It's about quality, not quantity, don't you think?"
"Yes! But... I always want to write to her..."
"Then maybe you should just talk to her as if she were right in front of you. No grand poems or flowery words, just sweet, sincere thoughts reflecting your mood at the moment."
Martin nodded firmly, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.
"I get it! Hold on, I think I have something!" Martin exclaimed, pulling out a new sheet.
Armed with a simple quill, he began scribbling a new draft, so focused that the entire world seemed to disappear around him.
He remained in that trance-like state for long minutes.
When he finally finished, he handed his work to Adam.
"W-what do you think?"
"..."
Adam read in silence and stopped halfway through. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to his friend.
They were cold, stern like rarely before.
Martin shuddered.
"W-Well? What's wrong?"
"Are you serious?"
"Tell me!"
"You say you've killed many Englishmen and declare that you're ready to kill many more just to be with her…"
"It's the truth!"
"She's English, you idiot."
"Oh…"
How could you forget something like that?!
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A little over two weeks later, on the morning of October 2nd, Martin received a letter from the lovely Ryckje van Schaick.
It was the first time she had ever written back.
Naturally, Martin burst with joy, like a child on Christmas morning discovering large presents under the tree. Yet, the envelope itself was nothing special.
The paper was cheap, and from the thickness of it, the contents seemed limited to a single sheet.
"F-François! She... she replied!"
Adam, who was on Rogers Island overseeing the construction—or rather, reconstruction—of the barracks meant to house the bulk of the garrison, turned to his friend striding toward him with long steps.
Martin held the precious letter firmly against his chest as if it were a sacred relic.
"Oh? I'm happy for you, Martin. What did she say?"
"I... I didn't dare open it! I'm too nervous."
"Well, then don't open it," Adam replied with feigned seriousness, betrayed by a sly grin.
"No! I'm going to open it!"
Martin took a deep breath and carefully tore open the envelope. His hands trembled as he extracted the folded sheet.
The handwriting was delicate and elegant, a sign that the person who had written these lines was well-versed in the art of the quill. The words were in French—simple, with a few errors here and there.
As if devouring the words on the page, Martin's wide eyes darted rapidly from one line to the next.
He forgot to breathe, and his cheeks flushed red.
"Well?" Adam asked, curious.
"She says she was worried about not receiving any letters during the siege! She's relieved to know I'm alive! Haha, do you hear that? She was worried about me! Ah, I'm so happy! François, I want to go back to Quebec right away!"
Adam gave him a warm smile. Martin, like him, would soon be granted leave, likely by the end of the month.
Clearly, he was going to do everything he could to find his little Englishwoman, even if it meant sacrificing part of his rest.
Luckily, she was in Quebec and not in Louisbourg or even farther away. The little time he would have wouldn't allow him to make such a long journey.
Adam, on the other hand, had no one to visit in the area. His friends—Jean, Jules, Louis, and Charles—were all far away.
He had received news from them a few days earlier.
Though they were all safe, the English had launched an offensive and forced the French to retreat. Fortunately, thanks to the support of the Indians, they had made life hell for the redcoats.
They had carried out guerrilla operations in the Indian style, cutting off enemy supply routes and forcing them to scatter their forces.
The enemy's momentum had been abruptly halted, denying them a decisive victory.
Adam had also received news from India. This time, the information was quite detailed.
Naturally, the Marquis de Montcalm had also heard the news, and because it was good, he decided to share it. A meeting was called at the fort.