The account of the siege of Boston, followed by its complete destruction on April 29, 1759, shook the colonists far beyond the loss of Nova Scotia. The presses began working to spread the terrible news as quickly as possible and to illustrate the tragedy.
The most popular engraving depicted a view from the harbor entrance, with the city ablaze in the background while unfortunate civilians marched away and French ships sailed home.
For the northern villages and towns, there were additional consequences: a considerable number of refugees, sick and starving, arrived in their communities. Most stopped in New York, which fortunately had ample space.
On the outskirts of the city, which occupied the southern tip of Manhattan Island, hundreds of small houses—essentially shacks—sprang up almost overnight.
For the local authorities, this was a real headache. All these people were British colonists, so they had to accept them, especially since the influx allowed New York to surpass Philadelphia in population. But they also brought many problems with them.
Such a sudden population increase couldn’t be easily managed.
Very quickly, almost immediately, tensions began to arise between locals and those already being called “the Boston refugees.” They were viewed with suspicion.
Whenever there was a theft, the refugees were immediately suspected. Whenever a disease seemed to spread, fingers were pointed at them. When prices inevitably rose due to high demand, the Boston refugees were blamed.
Everything seemed to be their fault.
For all those who had just settled, it was the beginning of a new life, and it promised to be a very difficult one.
***
After a first stop in Halifax and a second in Louisbourg, Roquefeuil’s squadron arrived before Quebec on Sunday, May 20, 1759.
The city’s bells were joyfully ringing to mark the end of mass. Imagine the surprise of the parishioners when they saw Monsieur de Roquefeuil’s warships loaded with booty arriving in their harbor!
Governor Vaudreuil was so astonished that he personally went to the lower town to admire the extraordinary sight.
“Monsieur le Gouverneur,” said the old marshal, haloed with glory, “we have just returned from Boston, and I have the honor of informing you that this city no longer exists. After carefully looting it, we completely burned it down until not a single building was left standing.”
The Governor of New France’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in shock.
“Y-you destroyed Boston?! A-and this…"
"This is all we found. We tried to leave as little as possible behind. Some items aren’t very valuable, but they’ll surely make people happy in this city or elsewhere.”
Indeed, there were entire chests of clothing and small furniture.
The rowboats, so numerous they covered the St. Lawrence, tirelessly shuttled back and forth between the ships and the increasingly crowded harbor.
“D-don’t just stand there! Get to work! Sort all this and make an inventory!”
Although his voice might have sounded heavy, the old governor had a huge smile on his face, and his eyes sparkled with joy. Since New France lacked everything, every object he saw had immense value to him.
“Monsieur le Maréchal, come with me to my office and tell me everything! I want to hear all about it, haha! His Majesty will be so delighted when he hears the news! I can’t imagine how you’ll be rewarded."
"And I can’t imagine how His British Majesty will react, hehe.”
A sly smile appeared on the marshal’s thin lips as he pictured King George II erupting in fury. He didn’t know how the king had reacted to the capitulation of Nova Scotia—a territory painfully acquired by the British Crown during Queen Anne’s reign through the Treaty of Utrecht, ending the War of Spanish Succession—but he assumed, or at least hoped, that he had destroyed everything destructible in his office.
***
Meanwhile, Adam was aboard the Saint-Michel, supervising the unloading of the ship carrying Monsieur de Roquefeuil.
The latter stood on the aftcastle with another naval officer, discussing matters that did not concern him.
From his position, Adam could see the precious cargo being hauled out of the beautiful ship’s holds, hoisted in a large net suspended by an ingenious pulley system. With great care, all the crates, chests, and sacks were placed aboard large rowboats.
The soldiers seemed cramped on these boats and did their best to avoid sudden movements for fear of capsizing under the weight of the cargo. Of course, the loads were limited to prevent such accidents.
From where he stood, he could see the small harbor buzzing with activity. It looked like a beehive that had just been shaken or an anthill that had just been stomped on.
Hmm, this is really impractical. Why didn’t they build a proper port like Boston’s, with piers extending into the river? If they had, we could have docked and saved a ton of time!
After seeing Boston, Quebec had immediately seemed far less developed. It was like comparing a real city to a small village in the middle of nowhere.
Of course, this was an exaggeration, as there were a few fine buildings here. The main difference between the two, in his opinion, was the construction materials.
In Boston, nearly all the houses were made of brick!
Although Québec could not compare to Louisbourg, which still seemed to be in its early stages of development, it inevitably appeared less advanced in comparison to such a city—especially when all the streets of Boston were paved!
"Come on! Faster! Put some effort into it! Don’t you want to set foot on land already?"
"Hey, you there! Be careful with that! There’s porcelain in there! Porcelain, do you know what that is? It’s fragile, you idiot!"
Powerful, authoritative voices boomed across the deck of the Saint-Michel, and there was no doubt the same was happening on the quay and aboard the other ships.
Adam stood somewhat apart but kept a close eye on the unfolding chaos. The officers couldn’t monitor everything happening on the bustling deck.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
The young captain suddenly noticed one of his soldiers slip something into the pocket of his coat. His brows furrowed instantly.
“You filthy bastard,” he growled through clenched teeth, heading straight for the soldier, who quickly realized he’d been spotted.
The man’s face immediately fell.
“Corporal Brochet, empty your pockets!” Adam barked as he reached him.
“C-captain, it’s…”
“I said empty your pockets. Or would you prefer I do it myself?”
All activity halted. Sailors and soldiers alike turned to see what was happening. Adam’s company began to tremble at the sight of one of their own in trouble.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. Many had felt tempted themselves, watching so many treasures pass through their hands.
With a trembling hand, the corporal pulled a stunning gold necklace from his pocket, and Adam snatched it immediately. His eyes burned with fury as they bore into the mortified man.
“You disgrace this company, Corporal Brochet! I will not tolerate thieves among my ranks! You’ll pay for this! We’ll deal with it ashore. Get on the boat!”
Never before had the soldiers seen their captain so enraged. Their faces turned as pale as their uniforms.
The necklace was returned to a small red chest with the other valuables as the young man, barely twenty-two, climbed into the heavily loaded boat.
The oarsmen quickly got to work. The rhythmic splashing of the oars on the clear river water offered a pleasant sound, but aboard, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt suffocating.
Adam’s anger remained unabated as he mulled over what to tell the colonel.
Theft was a grave offense in the army, undermining discipline and jeopardizing the trust among soldiers. Without trust, there could be no unity—the very foundation of military forces in this era.
He would have to report the incident to Colonel de Bréhant, which would also be humiliating for him as the soldier’s commanding officer. The colonel would decide whether to handle the matter himself or delegate it to Adam, but either way, severe punishment awaited the culprit.
As soon as they reached the quay, Adam leapt out of the boat, gripping the corporal’s arm so tightly the man cried out in pain.
The scene did not go unnoticed by the civilians and military personnel nearby.
Adam spotted the colonel near a rapidly filling warehouse. One look at Adam’s expression, and the colonel knew something serious—and dreaded—had occurred.
“Colonel, my apologies for the disturbance, but I must inform you that this soldier under my command was caught stealing aboard the Saint-Michel.”
“Is this true?” the colonel thundered.
“Y-yes, Colonel. I…I am guilty. P-please forgive me.”
The corporal’s voice was barely audible, his shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt, his gaze darting to avoid the colonel’s piercing stare.
“What was stolen?”
“Colonel, I returned it to the red chest with the other valuables. I’ll retrieve it.”
Adam soon returned with the necklace—a masterpiece worth a fortune.
“I see. This is a serious offense, Corporal, and you will be punished accordingly. You will stand trial before a court-martial, which I will preside over. Captain Boucher, as the officer in charge, it is your duty to serve on the panel. I will name additional captains later. Guards, take him away!”
“No!”
“Gather witnesses, Captain. We’ll need them at the trial.”
“At your orders!”
The matter was grave and needed swift resolution to restore order, not only within Adam’s company but also throughout the regiment.
Unfortunately, this case wasn’t isolated. Two other thieves had been caught on the day of their arrival in Québec.
-----------------------------------------
On Wednesday, May 23, 1759, a court-martial convened at the fort to hear their cases.
The three accused stood before a long table—the same one where Adam had once been promoted to captain. The atmosphere, however, was starkly different.
Adam entered the silent chamber, following Captain Fontaine, Captain Briscard, and Colonel de Bréhant. Another officer trailed behind him, a captain Adam neither recognized nor knew by name.
The accused men, their foreheads glistening with sweat, their hands trembling, had no idea how to plead to the judges now holding the keys to their fate.
While they didn’t yet know their sentences, they understood the army didn’t take justice lightly. Most offenses were punishable by death, whether by hanging or firing squad.
They could also face life sentences in the galleys—a fate tantamount to death, as survival aboard those ships was notoriously brief.
Because they were guilty only of theft, there was still hope.
“Gentlemen, the three of you are accused of stealing property belonging either to your comrades or to His Majesty. We will now proceed with the reading of the charges against each of you. Soldier Leroux, step forward.”
The soldier named flinched and stepped forward under the close watch of the nearby guards.
“Soldier Leroux, born June 18, 1736, in Paris, you were arrested on the 20th of this month after being caught pocketing silverware seized in Boston. When apprehended, you struck a corporal in the face. Upon searching your clothes, additional items made of precious metals, including a gold ring set with a gemstone, were found. Do you acknowledge these facts and these items?”
The soldier, sweating profusely, struggled to speak but eventually admitted his guilt and recognized the items identified by the president of the court-martial.
“Theft,” said Monsieur de Bréhant in a calm but razor-sharp voice, “is a shameful act condemned equally by men and by God, but striking a non-commissioned officer goes far beyond that. The law, as clearly written by His Majesty to prevent such behavior, states: ‘He who strikes a corporal or a brigadier, whether of his regiment or others, shall be condemned to perpetual servitude in the galleys.’"
“Mercy, my colonel! I didn’t mean to strike him! It was an accident—I elbowed Corporal Choire by mistake!”
“Silence! You do not have the floor. You will have the opportunity to speak later. We call the witnesses. Corporal Choire, step forward.”
The man’s trial progressed at an alarming speed, and in just a few minutes, he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life aboard a galley—a fate that could last only a few years.
When it was over, the unfortunate man was taken away, and it was the next soldier’s turn: Corporal Brochet.
Immediately, Adam tensed in his seat. His hands subtly tightened on the long table covered with a white cloth.
“Corporal Alphonse Brochet, born February 4, 1737, in Quebec, you were also arrested on the 20th of this month after being caught by your captain slipping a gold necklace, seized in Boston, into your uniform pocket. When caught in the act, you immediately confessed. This necklace is here. Do you recognize it?”
“Y-yes, my colonel,” stammered the man standing in the cold, fridge-like hall.
“During your interrogation, you admitted to the charges against you. We call the witnesses to testify.”
As with the other accused, the trial was swift. The officers, including Adam, withdrew to an adjoining room to deliberate and returned less than five minutes later to the eerily silent hall.
Colonel de Bréhant spoke again, his gaze as cold as if he were standing on a battlefield.
“Corporal Brochet, after deliberation, this court-martial finds you guilty of the charges against you and sentences you to flogging. You will receive twenty lashes on the parade ground in the presence of your comrades and officers. Additionally, you are hereby stripped of your rank and demoted to the rank of private.”
The man collapsed on the spot upon hearing his sentence, knowing full well the suffering that awaited him—and suffer he did.
On the fort’s parade ground, Adam’s company, combined with Albert Fontaine’s company, as the last accused came from his unit, formed a square around a wooden post to which the first condemned man was tied.
Among the gathered soldiers, Adam easily recognized Soldier Petit, now wearing a black band over his missing eye.
Adam stepped forward and positioned himself in front of the corporal, trembling like a leaf. With a precise gesture, he tore off the insignia that marked his rank, letting them fall like garbages onto the cold cobblestones of the parade ground.
No one moved in the assembly, and the silence was heavy.
The disgrace of the former corporal was nearly complete. His white coat was removed, then the red jacket beneath it, leaving him in his shirt before everyone. Finally, he was bound to the central post like the worst of criminals.
Soldier Alphonse Brochet then cracked, bursting into tears, crying and pleading like a child to be spared.
Suspended by his wrists, he saw his shirt ripped off under the terrified eyes of his comrades and the next man to be punished, exposing his bare back.
Adam, his face ashen, slowly stepped back and returned to the side of the colonel and the other members of the court, hiding his trembling as best as he could. Each step he took felt heavier than the last.
The soldier drooled, and mucus streamed from his nose even before the punishment began. He screamed, promising he would never steal again, as though it could change anything.
His cries abruptly stopped with the first crack of the whip.
Schlack!
Shocked, his eyes widened, his mouth agape toward the fort. His breath seemed caught in his throat.
Long, red, almost purple welts appeared instantly on the man’s back. The instrument used was called a “cat-o’-nine-tails”—a type of whip with nine long cords, each tipped with knots.
Schlack!
“AAAAAGH!”
A powerful and terrifying cry of pain echoed in the courtyard, startling the guards who hadn’t been informed of the punishment.
Schlack!
The soldier clenched his fists and teeth to endure the pain, but it was impossible to completely suppress his screams.
With each lash, new deep marks appeared on the man’s back, resembling the stripes of a zebra or tiger.
Pieces of skin tore away, and blood oozed from the wounds. Finally, the twentieth lash sounded. Soldier Brochet no longer had the strength to cry out and collapsed onto the paved ground as soon as he was untied.
Shortly afterward, the second accused man was brought forward, paralyzed with terror. It took three men to tie him to the post. Once again, agonizing screams filled the courtyard of the French fort.