When the British troop sent from the town of Kingston finally arrived before Fort Edward, the fort was already on high alert. Its gates were closed, and many soldiers in white uniforms could be seen on the ramparts.

Muskets and flags waved so much above that it was difficult to estimate their numbers from the spot where the British had stopped, out of the fort’s cannon range.

Thomas Pownall, being more of a colonial administrator than a soldier, was not dressed like a brave general who had seen a hundred battlefields. He wore a handsome, but impractical civilian outfit.

Following the advice of the officers whose profession was truly warfare, he wisely kept his men at a safe distance. The chosen location was also no accident, as it was hard to find dry land around this river. However, mosquitoes swarmed in numbers.

Clack

Filthy creatures!

He squashed one that had just landed on the back of his hand, probably about to sting. This effort was pointless, as hundreds more circled him joyfully.

A man with a broad smile approached him and stood comfortably beside him.

"Here we are, Governor. Fort Edward."

“It seems, Mr. Rogers, that we’re interrupting them in the middle of their work. What do you think?”

Robert Rogers took out a fairly good-quality spyglass and observed the fort. A single glance was enough for him to understand what had been done since its capture.

“Sir, they have dug a fairly deep trench around the fort, close enough to fire on anyone who reaches it. They’ve also built a high embankment on the outside. If we mishandle our cannons, they’ll hit nothing but the fill dirt. And if we simply send our men to assault it, they’ll be out of breath well before reaching the fort walls.”

The governor of the Province of Massachusetts Bay nodded slowly, his face somber.

Hmm, in that case, it was indeed wise not to wait for the soldiers coming from New York.

“I see. Do you notice any weaknesses?”

“It’s still too early to say, but it’s certainly fortunate they haven’t had time to complete their work. There must be some flaws to exploit. The main thing is to determine where their cannons are placed.”

Still smiling, Robert Rogers turned his gaze to Rogers Island, the island he had turned into a gigantic training ground for his men.

When Fort Edward fell, that’s where he was with his famous Rogers’ Rangers. The French had been unable to prevent his escape.

While he and his men could have easily reached Albany, they decided to lie low and disappear into the woods. They lived like savages, but it wasn’t a problem for them; they had trained for years for extreme situations like this.

“The island also appears to have been fortified. An earthen battery was built at the southern tip. Some cannons are visible. They’re able to block the river and prevent an entire army from reaching the fort along the road leading to Albany. If we approach any closer, they’ll likely fire on us, and we’ll suffer heavy losses without being able to retaliate effectively.”

Governor Pownall looked in turn at the island in the middle of the Hudson River and confirmed what this young man, who for some strange reason made him uneasy, had just said.

Lieutenant Colonel Schuyler arrived at that moment and positioned himself to the left of the governor.

“Sir, our cannons are in position, and the camp is set up. We await your orders,” he said calmly, in a deep, reassuring voice.

He was the opposite of Robert Rogers.

He looked stiff and was rarely smiling, yet the young governor found him more reliable and sincere. From what little he knew about this man approaching his fifties, he wasn’t the type to fawn for favors.

That was reassuring because Pownall knew he could count on him to provide all the important news about this operation, not just the good news. He hoped Rogers would do the same.

The governor looked at his two officers, who were so different, and asked the question that had been burning on his mind.

“Do you think we can take this fort with the number of soldiers we currently have?”

***

Inside the fort, Adam gripped his sword tightly while observing the enemy’s movements.

From the heights of the wooden ramparts, he had a perfect view of the cleared area, the stream flowing into the Hudson River, the long trench far from finished, the river itself, and the enemy troop.

Their bright red uniforms stood out against the beautiful landscape that seemed like it belonged in a nature documentary.

An eagle flew over the fort and let out a loud cry before moving away, as if sensing that a violent clash would soon take place here. Across the field, discipline reigned. Each man seemed exactly in his place, which was impressive given the size of their forces.

Yet Adam quickly noticed several hundred men taking an enormous amount of time to form simple ranks. They weren’t dressed like the others and fidgeted a lot for doing very little.

Militiamen. Numerous but far less dangerous than the others. Hmm? Men in green... I’ve seen those men somewhere before...

The young officer thought for a moment and remembered seeing them at the Battle of Fort Carillon. It was light infantry, very different from regular infantry.

They represented the perfect mix between a militiaman and a line soldier: well-equipped and capable of taking initiative.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Adam observed his own men and saw almost no fear, even though they were outnumbered by the enemy.

The advantage of defense had been evident at Fort Carillon. This time would surely be no exception.

They’re numerous, at least twice as many as we are. If only the maréchal-duc hadn’t had to take so many men north to escort the prisoners… But at Carillon, the English were far more numerous.

He had to hold back a smile, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch as if he were stifling a laugh.

Yeah, no reason to be afraid. You don’t scare us, lobsters! Come on! We’re waiting for you!

Adam’s eyes trembled with excitement, surprising even himself. Just a year ago, he would have trembled at the thought of having to fight and perhaps kill someone. Since then, he had participated in many battles and had blood on his hands.

He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, and a gust of wind made the regiment’s flag snap nearby.

Colonel de Bréhant, immaculate as always, strode by two meters from the young lieutenant, jaw clenched, his gaze so cold that one might think he was commanding a firing squad. In a way, wasn’t that exactly what they were about to do?

The English had dared to come here with so few men to take back the fort. They deserved a lesson.

“Soldiers, prepare for combat! The enemy will not stand against you! Cannoneers, are you ready?

"Yes, Colonel! All pieces are loaded!”

Adam’s heart pounded, his eyes fixed on the enemy army.

The sun then moved behind a thick gray cloud stretching to the horizon.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The English cannons fired first, but only one shot hit the fort. All the others struck the high embankment, raising dust and clumps of grass.

The one shot that did hit the fort, however, claimed a victim. It grazed a log forming part of the rampart and shattered into deadly splinters.

One of these had lodged in the left eye of the young man with a face too beautiful to be natural, the one who had asked Adam for a break an hour earlier. In less than a minute, he was dead.

Adam looked around and quickly noted that only one cannon was firing.

Why aren’t the other cannons firing? Is there a problem?

He realized then that the redcoats had positioned themselves to only be in range of a single French cannon, rendering the others useless.

Damn! Those bastards! We… We made a mistake!

The fort’s southern side, designed to repel an army approaching from the north, was its most vulnerable part. Only one point allowed two cannons to target an advancing enemy unit. This was where the road to Albany lay.

To the east and north, the protection was optimal.

This fort was well built. No blind spots.

If we manage to repel this troop, we’ll need to strengthen our defenses on that side! Adam thought, gritting his teeth.

A cannonball passed over his head, landing on the other side of the fort without causing casualties, while another struck the wood of the rampart a meter or two from him.

Then the redcoats began advancing, covered by their cannons. They moved at a steady pace. The single active French cannon fired as best it could, but it was not enough to discourage these men with steel morale.

Little changed when the cannons from Rogers Island joined in. Even placed high on an artificial mound, they were not powerful enough to push back these thousands of soldiers who had come to drive them from the region.

Finally, they reached musket range. Adam ordered his men to open fire on those below.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

A long series of detonations echoed in the air, and a large plume of white smoke formed in front of them. Adam didn’t flinch and ordered the second line to fire.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

A few more men fell in the wild grass, some letting out terrifying screams. Adam’s face didn’t change, and he ordered the third line to step forward and fire.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The smoke didn’t have time to dissipate. The young man felt as if he were in the middle of a fog.

Then he felt a drop of water fall on his cheek despite his tricorne hat. He looked up at the sky, which had darkened dramatically in just a few minutes. Another drop landed near his right eye, forcing him to close it.

“First line, fire!”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

He wasn’t distracted any further and ordered his men to fire again at the redcoats who had just reached the embankment from the trench. The angle was perfect. It offered no cover to the enemy, merely slowing and exhausting them.

Over a dozen men collapsed, some clutching their stomachs, others their legs or shoulders.

Adam drew his pistol, cocked it, and aimed it at a soldier whose silhouette he could barely make out in the artificial haze.

Bang!

The shot blended with the many others, along with the screams and the drum’s beat.

"Sir, they’re sending a second wave!"

"Let them come! Right where they are, they’ll quickly be exposed to two cannons!”

Bastards! We won’t let this fort fall so easily!

BOOM!

A cannonball hit the rampart near Adam, making it tremble. The ground shook with the impact’s power.

If it had hit a bit higher, they’d need a shovel and broom to gather his remains.

And yet, Adam still felt no fear. Only anger. His eyes, red from all the acrid smoke burning his lungs, glared at the advancing enemy.

“Fire!”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Those who had descended into the trench were shot like rabbits, but most managed to take cover thanks to a blind spot. Indeed, in trying to make a straight wall on both sides of the trench, the French had given their enemies some shelter.

Shit! Oh well!

“Kill them before they reach the trench!” Adam shouted at the top of his lungs.

A rain of fire fell on the redcoats, who were increasingly reaching the defensive line.

It then began to pour, making it very difficult to continue the battle. The powder was damp, and the ground quickly turned into sticky mud.

The terrain seemed increasingly hard to traverse. It was easy to see how slowed down the enemy was, with some soldiers even slipping in the mud.

The ones most affected by the change were the militia. Less trained, less disciplined, and less courageous than their regular counterparts, they tired and became discouraged more quickly.

After nearly three hours of battle, seeing they were making no progress and with morale plummeting, the enemy commander ordered a retreat.

The vast field surrounding the fort had become so muddy that running across it was impossible without risking injury.

Those in the ditch, watching the water accumulate, realized they now needed to find a way to climb out and return to camp without being killed.

For the defenders, it became something of a shooting contest. Every time a red uniform appeared, it was riddled with bullets.

Few managed to return to their camp.

The camp was large enough and stood in a cleared area near the Hudson River. Even if the river were to rise rapidly, it wouldn’t be flooded.

Even after several hours, the downpour showed no signs of letting up. On the contrary, it seemed even more violent. The rain didn’t stop falling, transforming the landscape. The forests suddenly seemed gray and dreary.

“Cheers!”

“To victory!”

At Fort Edward, however, the atmosphere was celebratory. The marquis de Montcalm had allowed the men to drink some beer to celebrate this first day of siege, which had been a success. The enemy seemed to have lost several hundred men, while they only had to mourn a dozen comrades.

Adam raised his glass and clinked it with his fellow soldiers and friends. Even Captain Gauthier seemed to be in a good mood.

The marquis de Montcalm made rounds that evening, visiting each group to offer words of encouragement and congratulations where they were due. Colonel de Bréhant did the same, though he also announced that they would likely need to rely on patience more than courage, as this siege might last.

Time was undoubtedly their greatest enemy, as the fort’s supplies, though greatly replenished in recent days through pillaging nearby villages and forts, weren’t enough to sustain so many men indefinitely.

Well, we’ll just have to ration the food. I’m sure we can hold out for a month like this! By then, the enemy will have given up, or the maréchal will be back!

He looked at what remained in his cup, swirling the dark liquid as dark as the sky.

Or they’ll have succeeded in taking Fort Edward.

Adam drained his glass in one gulp, grimacing.

“Damn, this beer is disgusting. It was better in Hanover.”

Although he had spoken quietly, his comrades heard him and burst out laughing.

“What?” he finally said, annoyed, though his cheeks turned red.

“Nothing,” Albert Fontaine replied, looking amused. “It’s just that we all agree, haha! It tastes like horse piss!”

With that, he tossed the rest of his beer over his shoulder, and he was quickly imitated by all the other soldiers, all wearing broad smiles.