I transmigrated as a french soldier during XVIIIth century

Michel-Ange Duquesne de Menneville watched with curiosity as the ships transporting Marshal de Richelieu's army came into view. There were many of them, some large and others smaller, but some seemed on the verge of sinking. The sailors didn’t look in very good shape either.

He turned to the elderly man, richly dressed as befitted his rank.

"My lord, perhaps we should start by redistributing your soldiers across our ships."

"Hmm, yes, let's do that. Let’s start with the ships in the worst condition. How many men can you take on board?" the Marshal-Duke asked seriously.

"Well, each ship is different. I think I can accommodate one hundred and fifty to two hundred men on the Foudroyant, but no more. Two hundred is really the limit, beyond that, and the conditions will become unbearable. We wouldn’t want to lose men before the battle, would we?"

Richelieu nodded and mentally noted the figure.

"The Océan, also being an eighty-gun ship, can take up to two hundred passengers. The Oriflamme is smaller, so we can only send one hundred and twenty men at most, and the Orphée, the sixty-four-gun ship you see there, can only carry fifty to a hundred of your soldiers, no more."

"And those?" asked the captain of the Juste, pointing to two fine ships that were in decent condition but showed some damage to their hulls.

"Those are the English ships we managed to bring with us. That one is the Monmouth and the other is the Swiftshire. They’re good vessels, and there’s enough space to put at least one hundred and fifty men on each."

"So, on your ships, sir, we can transport around one thousand one hundred men," the old Marshal summarized, visibly satisfied. "That’s good. And you, Monsieur de Saint-Allouarn? How many men can you take?"

"Well, we mostly have frigates, so we can’t take as many men, but we do have more ships. I think we can take about one thousand five hundred men on board."

"Perfect! With your two squadrons, we can move half of my men. We’ll leave many of the more damaged ships in Brest and use the others to transport supplies and heavy equipment."

"Really? Well, that’s good news. But how many men did you bring with you?" Duquesne asked, turning toward the ships that had been used to transport all these soldiers here.

"About five thousand," the Marshal replied.

The squadron leader raised an eyebrow in surprise. It wasn’t a small number for the New World, but it might not be enough.

"I see," the officer sighed. "Well, let’s get started."

***

Adam, who was aboard a humble merchant ship requisitioned for his company, didn’t look in great shape.

During these twelve days at sea, he had realized something very important: he didn’t have sea legs. He wasn’t sure if it was his fault or due to this body, but he had spent most of his time vomiting and agonizing in a corner, trying not to get in the way.

Pale as a corpse, he stood on the deck cluttered with ropes, barrels, and crates.

Ugh! Damn, finish me off! Why... Why me?

The young lieutenant, having finally received his share of the ransom for the King of Prussia and his brother, part of which had been used to purchase this rank, kept asking himself this question like a broken record.

To his great misfortune, he had moved even further away from Hameln and his escape route. His entire regiment had boarded numerous ships near Stade, taking whatever they could find.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" asked Captain Gilbert as he approached.

"O-yes, it's better than the other days."

"Don’t worry about it. No one will judge you for this lack of elegance. You’re not the only one who got sick, far from it."

When they had all boarded these ships, much smaller than the floating fortresses surrounding them, the sea had been very rough. There was wind, rain, and large waves tossing their frail vessels in all directions.

Fortunately, not the entire journey had been like that. For two or three days, the sea had been calm. But that was also when they encountered the first British squadron.

Ah, we were really lucky that day. Without the fog, we could have all been sunk or captured.

"Captain? What are we going to do?"

"The most logical thing would be to abandon the most damaged transport ships and board other vessels. Ah, here comes a small boat towards us. We’ll know more very soon."

As Company Captain Armand Gilbert had said, a small boat with six rowers was approaching. The oars sliced through the water, propelling the boat forward without much splash. Although they were far from the speed of a motorboat, these sailors managed to move it fairly quickly. All six seemed to know how to conserve their energy.

Despite the distance, Adam could see how powerful their arms were. Their faces, however, didn’t look particularly pleasant. One could easily mistake them for bandits.

Finally, the small boat came to a halt, and the sailors stowed their oars. A young man—though it might be more accurate to call him a child, as he didn’t seem to be older than twenty—climbed aboard their small merchant ship.

"Gentlemen, good day. I am Lieutenant Louis Lenoir, from the Océan. I’ve been tasked with transporting the soldiers aboard the most damaged ships. I’ll start with this one. Who’s the highest-ranking officer here?"

"Sir, I am Captain Armand Gilbert, from the Picardy Regiment."

"Nice to meet you, sir. How many men are aboard?"

"We are forty-three," the officer replied without hesitation.

"Good. We’ll make several trips to bring everyone aboard, but first, I need to ensure none of you are ill. You, sir," the ship lieutenant said, looking at Adam, "you don’t seem to be well."

"I’m seasick... but I’m getting better."

The officer, whose face still retained some childlike features, nodded gently. He knew what it was like, having been struck quite hard by seasickness himself during his first time aboard a ship.

"Hang in there, it’ll pass. Our ships are far more stable than this one. First time at sea?"

"Yes, sir," Adam replied honestly to the very well-dressed man with impeccable posture.

"Well, you haven’t started in the best of conditions. The Océan handles very well in open waters. It’ll be a completely different experience, you’ll see. Alright, let’s do a quick inspection and get started. Have all the men line up. Once I give the go-ahead, they can begin boarding."

The Océan was a magnificent three-masted ship. The closer Adam got, the more he was in awe. From his small boat, it looked enormous. Its masts rose majestically into the sky, as if trying to reach the gray heavens. Hundreds of meters of rigging held them firmly in place and allowed for the hoisting of massive white sails, which were currently furled. Other ropes, forming large square meshes, stretched from the upper deck to the heights, enabling sailors to reach the highest points.

My God, it’s beautiful! And huge! I wonder what the view must be like from up there?

His eyes fixed on the square platforms along the masts, and he imagined himself standing on them. The highest platform was also the smallest.

Damn, there’s no protection up there! No way I’m climbing that!

The closer the boat got, the more Adam could admire the details. The rear of the ship, commonly referred to as the "castle," was a true work of art. There were two golden balconies facing large rectangular windows, sculptures everywhere, the ship’s name in golden letters on the lower balcony, and the coat of arms of the King of France, three golden fleurs-de-lis, on the upper one. Above that, a massive wooden molding, covered in gold leaf, depicted a majestic human figure that inspired reverence. Finally, at the very top, there were three impressive golden lanterns, taller than a grown man.

Oh wow! This is too beautiful! This isn’t a warship, it’s a palace!

Adam’s eyes were filled with wonder, something that didn’t escape the young ship lieutenant Louis Lenoir, who was also aboard the small boat.

"It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It’s one of the six jewels of the Royal Navy. It may not be as imposing as the Soleil Royal or as richly decorated, but it’s every bit as impressive as the other ships of its generation, built on the same model."

"No, it’s incredible! It’s a real palace!"

Louis Lenoir smiled with pride. Not everyone had the chance to sail on such a ship.

"The exterior is splendid, that’s true, but you’ll quickly realize space is tight inside. Not a single inch can be wasted."

Oh, I see. It’s like an airplane or a submarine, then.

"The Océan," the officer began, almost as if reciting a lesson, "is only two years old. It’s brand new! Would you believe me if I told you it was built in just three years?"

"Only three?! Surely it took more like ten!" Adam exclaimed, still unable to tear his gaze away from the ship’s side, which was lined with numerous gun ports.

"Ten years?! Haha, no! When they lay down a ship like this, they put an army of workers to the task! Three years is actually quite long, in fact. In wartime, a few months can make all the difference!"

"Ah, yes, I suppose that makes sense."

The young man seemed so enthusiastic that Adam couldn’t bring himself to interrupt once he had started describing the ship. It was almost as if the officer had dreamed of being a shipbuilder rather than an officer aboard one.

"It’s one hundred and seventy-five feet long and armed with eighty guns! In reality, it’s not that different from the classic seventy-four-gun ships. It’s fast as well as powerful! It can easily hold its own against a hundred-gun ship! Of course, the hull is made of oak, from trees over eighty years old! It takes that kind of strength to resist English cannonballs! The rigging needs to be lighter, so we used pine. As for the carved figures, a softer wood is needed, easy to work with, so we chose linden and poplar."

"That’s incredible!"

How does he know all this?! It’s like I’m getting a guided tour of a museum!

"Alright, we’re here. Be careful not to make any sudden movements; you might fall into the water."

Adam glanced at the water in the harbor. There were a few brown algae floating here and there, and the water didn’t seem particularly warm. He dipped part of his hand into the seawater and confirmed his suspicion.

Hmm, in July or August, maybe, but right now... I’ll pass.

On the rounded side of the Océan, a long rope ladder hung down to the water’s surface. The gentle lapping of small waves against the thick hull—since there was hardly any swell in the harbor, protected by the Goulet—was oddly soothing. Adam found it hard to imagine such a ship ever being in trouble at sea.

It looks very stable, much more than the other ship. Anyway, it can’t be worse. Wait, what?! I have to climb up using that?!

"Climb up," the young officer instructed. "We need to fetch the others, so try to be quick... and don’t fall."

Adam stared at the officer, unable to tell whether he was joking or not.

Almost like on a battle day, he felt his body tense. He didn’t know why his body was reacting this way.

When it was finally his turn, he followed the others, placing his right foot first on the thick hemp rope, with both hands at eye level.

Come on! You’ve been through worse!

Fortunately, everything went smoothly. One foot after the other, he climbed the hull like a monkey. He felt immense relief when he reached the top. Two large hands grabbed him by the arms and hauled him aboard the warship.

But as soon as Adam looked around, he noticed that the many men on deck didn’t seem very friendly. In fact, their mood seemed as sour as the worst moments Adam remembered from the army of Marshal-Duke de Richelieu—the times when no one had enough to eat, when they had to keep marching despite the elements, fatigue, equipment issues, and so on.

What... what is this atmosphere? Why does the air feel heavier here? And why are they all looking at us like that? It’s like they want to tear us apart!

No sooner had they all boarded than the boat returned to fetch more soldiers. A second boat took its place, and more soldiers climbed aboard the Océan.

After a few hours, the transfer was complete.

"Men, this way. The captain is going to say a few words. Gather at the stern."

Adam, standing beside his officer, looked around with curiosity and fascination. The deck floor gleamed as if it had just been cleaned, the ropes were neatly coiled to take up less space, and, most notably, there were cannons on both sides, securely tied with ropes to large black iron stakes.

"Gentlemen, welcome aboard the Océan," said a man in his fifties, dressed in a long navy blue coat embroidered with gold. "I am Captain du Chaffault de Besné," he continued, sweeping his sharp, judge-like gaze over the crowd. "You must understand," he went on, his firm voice cracking in the wind like a whip, "that a ship is like a city. Everyone has a role to play, and there are rules to follow. As captain of this ship, I am the sole master on board. No one, and I mean no one, except God, has the right to question my authority. No matter your rank, seniority, or wealth, I will not hesitate to have you flogged, imprisoned, or hanged if you break our rules. Am I clear?"

Y-yes! Very clear! Damn, this guy is terrifying! And what a terrible scar on his face!