This overwhelming victory not only took the British officers by surprise, but also the French officers. The latter had not expected such an outcome. The Royal Navy was so renowned that nearly all of them expected to be feeding the fish by that hour.

Perhaps that would have happened if a few of the ships had not decided to follow them into the rocks and if the enemy admiral hadn’t been forced to send two ships to rescue the shipwrecked men.

While they were killing each other, the men aboard the HMS Anglesea and HMS Ramillies did everything they could to save as many sailors from drowning as possible. Unfortunately, the shipwrecks had been so quick, mainly because they had opened their gunports, allowing water to flood in, that a large number of sailors had been lost.

This was the case for HMS Rochester, the first to crash on the rocks between Ouessant and Île-Molène. Upon striking the rock, it dangerously tilted to starboard before completely capsizing, trapping inside the ill-fated ship all its gunners, the surgeon, the carpenter, and so many others.

The word tragedy was perfectly suited to describe its story. After the battle, the French immediately set out in pursuit of the English but did not attempt to catch them, only to push them further away. Like sharks drawn to fresh blood, they wanted to capture as many enemies as possible.

Each man had value, for behind each of them were years of training. They could be exchanged for French sailors held prisoner in England, for example.

There was also an effort to recover the HMS Resolution and HMS Culloden, both stuck on a sandbank. Even though they were damaged—especially the HMS Resolution, which had been struck from behind by the HMS Culloden—there was still hope of getting them out and bringing them to a safe port.

“Do you think it’s going to work, captain?” asked the Marshal-Duke anxiously, without taking his eyes off the astonishing spectacle he was witnessing.

“There’s no doubt about it. The real question is, ‘how long will it take to get these two off the sandbank?’ Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer. A few more hours, I’d say. They seem quite stuck, especially the HMS Resolution. The stern looks badly damaged too. It seems there’s quite a bit of water at the bottom of the ship. That’s a problem.”

“Don’t worry, my lord,” said Rosmadec de Saint-Allouarn. “Our men know what to do. They’re already at work pumping out the water and patching up the breaches. It doesn’t have to be a perfect job; it just needs to float long enough to reach Brest.”

“My brother is right. I think it will take a bit longer than the other, that’s all.”

The other, the HMS Culloden, was well on its way to being freed from the sandbank. The ship had been lightened by throwing anchors and a massive amount of low-quality cast iron used as ballast overboard, as well as numerous barrels of freshwater and food.

However, they hadn’t touched the cannons, as they were valuable to His Majesty. It would be a shame to toss them overboard. The officers wouldn’t hesitate to do so if it became necessary.

“We’re in luck. The tide is with us. It makes our men’s job much easier.”

The old Marshal-Duke nodded without saying a word and returned his gaze to the two British ships that, unlike the other two, could be saved. Nearby, the dozens of small boats trying to assist in the rescue mission looked very small in comparison.

***

Connected to the Ocean by thick and long ropes, Captain du Chaffault de Besné was trying to pull the HMS Culloden out of its predicament. He was being assisted by Le Juste and numerous small boats launched into the sea.

Adam, seated aboard one of them, was redder than a poppy. Shirtless, he gripped a heavy, light-colored wooden oar firmly and rowed with all his might. Sweat dripped from his forehead, falling into his eyes to the point of nearly blinding him. His comrades were in no better condition.

"ROW! HARDER! DO YOU HAVE NOTHING IN YOUR ARMS, OR WHAT?! ROW!"

Adam briefly glanced at the boatswain who had been barking orders at them for the past two hours. The men seated in front of him were receiving all his spittle, but they could do nothing and say nothing.

Ah! I’d love to… Ah! See him… Ah! Try! Ah! Bastard! Ah!

His muscles screamed in pain, begging him to stop this torture session, and despite all their efforts, the English ship had barely moved. They had at least managed to turn it slightly to the right.

"COME ON! ONE MORE EFFORT!"

The young lieutenant leaned forward, his hands gripping the oar tightly, plunged the tip into the cold, gray seawater, and clenched his teeth even harder.

"Hurgh!"

With all his strength, he pulled the oar in time with his fellow soldiers. Behind them, the rope grew even tighter.

I can’t take it anymore! Too hot! I feel like jumping into the water, at least to wash off this powder smell that’s clinging to me!

It was the same all around them.

If he had seen his friends again, they hadn’t had the chance since they had boarded different ships near Stade. He hadn’t been able to talk to them since they were all in other small boats. He had recognized them from afar thanks to Jean and his exceptional build.

These waters were quite choppy, causing his boat to rock from side to side and back to front. It was very unpleasant. If he weren’t so exhausted and focused on his task, which felt like slave labor, he would have already vomited up his last meal.

In fact, that meal was starting to rise. They had eaten in the morning before leaving the Brest roadstead, and then again a few hours before the fighting began as they approached the island of Beniguet. That was almost eight hours ago.

Damn it! I’m tired of this! I feel like I’m wearing myself out for nothing! And the sun is starting to set!

"OH!"

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

A loud shout made the whole group stop and turn as one.

"It’s moving! It’s moving!" someone shouted from another boat.

Finally!

Everyone could see it for themselves. Indeed, the HMS Culloden was starting to move. Thanks to their efforts, it was freed and could be led out of danger.

Now only the HMS Resolution remained, which had been roughly repaired and lightened as much as possible. All the ships used to free the HMS Culloden were redeployed and firmly connected to the other ship. Soon, they went back to work.

They worked hard through part of the night, but after many hours of suffering, they managed to pull the HMS Resolution off the sandbank.

However, Brest was not exactly nearby. It would take approximately seven hours of sailing to return to the port. At night, it was complicated but not impossible when you had highly experienced sailors and talented officers like de Saint-Allouarn.

It was almost five in the morning, two hours before sunrise, when these ships reached the entrance to the Goulet.

Of course, they hadn’t arrived without warning anyone. That would have been a recipe for being mistaken for enemies intent on besieging the city and its port. It would have been another tragedy, this time for the French. With so many batteries around the Goulet, they would have been bombarded from all sides.

They had therefore sent a light and fast frigate ahead to Brest to inform Commander Duguay of their great victory.

Several hours earlier.

The cannon thundered over the city ravaged by disease, rumbling like a storm.

In very little time, the military authorities were informed that the ship arriving in their port was one of those that had departed early that morning with Duquesne de Menneville's squadron. Naturally, they believed a catastrophe had occurred.

They had good reasons to think so, as they were told that its hull showed numerous cannonball impacts.

Monsieur Duguay rushed to the port facing the castle, escorted by about twenty marines, to find out what had happened to the squadron.

Despite the urgency, he was still impeccably dressed. Only his tense expression and quick pace betrayed the turmoil in his mind.

Please, let nothing have happened to our ships! And to our sailors! My God, make sure they managed to escape!

He walked so quickly that the soldiers seemed to struggle to keep up with his pace. His footsteps echoed on the cobbled streets of Brest, drawing many stares between the castle gate and the port.

As soon as he saw the frigate Junon, he nearly collided with his soldiers, for he had frozen like a statue. His fearful eyes took in the damage as he imagined the battle it must have endured.

It was as if it had been caught in the jaws of a gigantic monster and had escaped miraculously. Its sails were in tatters, and its figurehead, a beautiful woman dressed like the noble Roman goddess after whom the frigate was named, had been decapitated.

Oh, Lord, what state this poor ship is in!

The noble administrator trembled as he got a closer look at the ship, which was only going to be six years old. It was a wonder how it had managed to return.

Curiously, the damage was much less severe than it appeared. The impacts were indeed numerous, but there had been relatively few leaks, as most of the cannonballs had struck well above the waterline. If there had been any seawater infiltration, it had been easily repaired.

He then saw the captain of the ship, a thirty-one-year-old man with a pleasant face, a square jaw, and a straight nose, descending with an expression that didn’t match that of a defeated man.

If Adam had seen his face, he would have certainly thought that this man bore a slight resemblance to the famous American actor Johnny Depp.

"Monsieur Duguay, please forgive this arrival, but there was an urgent matter!"

"What happened?! Where is the rest of Duquesne de Menneville's squadron?! And Marshal de Richelieu?!"

The man, usually so calm, was so shaken that he forgot all his manners. The captain wasn’t offended and adopted a calm tone.

Please, don't tell me they perished at sea!

"All is well, sir. In fact, they are very busy as we speak, as they are dealing with the aftermath of a battle that ended not long ago near the island of Ouessant."

"We…"

"We have won a great victory, sir. All our men are working hard right now to pull two English ships off a large sandbank. Their condition is not alarming, and with some repairs, they will be able to serve in His Majesty's navy. We have taken a few more prisoners and captured many sailors. I have brought some of them with me."

"R-really?! Please, sir, don’t toy with my heart!"

"On my honor, sir, it’s the absolute truth. Monsieur Duquesne de Menneville sent me ahead to inform you and our batteries so they don't open fire on our ships when they arrive."

"Ah-yes, of course," stammered the commander, shocked by the news. "Th-this is excellent news! His Majesty will be delighted!"

"Certainly! Perhaps we should begin disembarking our prisoners and locking them up before the next wave of prisoners arrives."

"Yes. Gentlemen, get ready. Surround the gangway. Keep a close watch on them!"

One by one, the first prisoners were brought down. These had been taken from the few ships that hadn’t managed to escape and had found themselves surrounded by French warships.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t been possible to capture the crews of the HMS Resolution and HMS Culloden, as the English had been able to rescue them during the battle.Luckily, they hadn’t had time to burn the ships before fleeing.

Around six in the morning, two hours after the arrival of the HMS Culloden in Brest, the HMS Resolution crossed the Goulet under the proud gazes of the soldiers positioned on the batteries.

The cannon shots that echoed at this very early hour, as the sky was just beginning to lighten, seemed charged with their emotions.

It was escorted by the Juste, the Océan, and the Foudroyant.

This time, no one was surprised, and Monsieur Du Gay personally welcomed the marshal and the squadron commander. They spoke at length aboard the Océan while the sailors sought rest.

It didn’t take long for the story of the Battle of Ouessant to spread throughout the town. In front of churches, in markets, taverns, and soon in the nearby fields, everyone was recounting the French fleet’s exploits and mocking the British.

For them, it was a well-deserved divine punishment. God did not like the prideful.

As for the prisoners, numbering one thousand four hundred and fifty, they were all taken to the castle. This was both to prevent their escape and to keep them from observing what was happening in the Penfeld River, where the King's ships were repaired and maintained.

Merely watching what was going on there could make a person highly suspicious. Since a royal arsenal had been built in the city, many people had tried to uncover its secrets and had ended up hanged.

Often, they found tricks, like getting hired or getting imprisoned in Pontaniou prison or the penal colony.

Duquesne de Menneville's squadron did not stay in Brest, having already lost enough time, and with an enemy prowling nearby, they had to act quickly to avoid getting trapped in the harbor.

As soon as this was done, Monsieur Duguay took up his pen and wrote a laudatory letter to Versailles to inform the Minister of the Navy and His Majesty of the great French victory, along with the details of the battle.

The use of an unusual strategy could not and should not remain unknown to the officers when it was effective. Even though the line of battle had become the norm since the previous century, it was foolish to lock oneself into a strategy when another could be deployed to counter it.

The Académie de la Marine, a private institution approved by the King in 1752, whose goal was to modernize the royal navy and strengthen knowledge of all maritime affairs, seized on the matter like a child on a treat, eager to study this new approach to naval warfare.

In their previous meetings, the members of this academy had already discussed the possibility of intentionally breaking a line to isolate ships in order to engage them more effectively, but it had rarely been applied, as it was deemed too complex and too risky.

With a ship being such a valuable asset, it was hard to imagine a commander risking several dozen ships just to test the feasibility of such a maneuver. Yet, Monsieur de la Roquefeuille, a member of this assembly who had helped found it along with Monsieur Bigot de Morogue, the first and current director of the academy, had dared to take that step.

He would surely be rewarded by His Majesty.