Martin hadn’t had much time to grow closer to young Ryckje van Schaick, but fortunately, she had granted him permission to write to her.

This was a perfectly acceptable and ordinary way to communicate with the woman of one’s heart. Often, it was through letters that young people like them could connect and fall in love.

However, there was a significant obstacle: Martin’s parents.

Since they belonged to the nobility, it was their responsibility to choose the best possible partner for their son. Ryckje van Schaick clearly did not meet their criteria. Not only was she English, but she was also a commoner with no fortune.

Had Martin been honest with Ryckje’s parents, they would not have approved of the relationship, as it would have led only to heartbreak. After all, any relationship was expected to culminate in marriage, and marriage required the approval of both families.

When it came to gaining the approval of Mr. and Mrs. van Schaick, Martin had lied about his parents’ stance. He told them his parents were very understanding and wanted nothing more for their son than his happiness, thus they would not stand in the way of the woman he loved.

Despite his doubts, Sybrant van Schaick agreed to let young Martin approach his daughter.

True to his promise, Martin wrote a long letter the very next day—filled with love and promises—on the day the troops under Colonel de Bréhant departed.

Alas, this was not an age where messages could be sent with the click of a mouse. Letters had to be delivered in person.

The French army could not afford to assign men for such tasks, so Martin kept writing and set the letters aside until someone was sent to Quebec.

Days passed, and by the time Colonel de Bréhant’s troops finally reached Fort Edward—now renamed Fort Bourbon—half of June had gone by.

The sun shone brightly, flooding the landscape with radiant light, and the azure sky stretched out, cloudless. Birds sang cheerfully above the long column of men and wagons.

The dense, towering trees, full of life, spread their countless leaves to capture as much sunlight as possible to fuel their growth. Their shadows cast gentle relief on the fertile ground, offering men and animals a respite from the sun’s heat.

The air was warm and dry. Everything suggested that the weather would remain unchanged for the coming days.

Upon arrival, Adam was astonished to see the changes since his last visit.

The fort had expanded significantly, occupying more of Rogers Island, now renamed Long Island. Most notably, the stone bridge connecting the fort to the south-facing demi-lune had been completed. The moat surrounding the fort had also been widened and deepened.

Long Island was now protected by a tall wooden palisade atop which several cannons had been mounted. Their menacing barrels were largely aimed at the vast cleared area south of the fort.

The cannons on the opposite side could easily control the Hudson River, sinking any vessel that dared attempt passage.

Adam could hardly believe that so much had been accomplished in just a few months.

“Well, this place sure has changed,” Adam murmured, deeply impressed.

Despite the progress, it was clear there was still much work to be done.

When they reached the fort’s northern gates, they were warmly welcomed by the Marquis de Montcalm, who had returned from Montreal with some new recruits.

The senior officer seemed in better spirits than during their first meeting, back when a massive army had threatened Fort Carillon—and with it, all of New France. Yet, he now appeared preoccupied.

Adam assumed this had to do with their presence at Fort Bourbon when they might have been more useful in Acadia.

“Colonel de Bréhant,” said Montcalm, extending a friendly hand, “what a pleasure to see you again! I’ve heard about your exploits in Nova Scotia and New England. It seems you and your men have been busy. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, Marquis,” replied the colonel in the same cordial tone, shaking Montcalm’s hand after removing his light cream-colored gloves. “A bit tired from the long journey.”

“I understand. We are still improving the fort, but soon we’ll turn our efforts to the roads. How many men have you brought?”

“Only a battalion, I’m afraid. We’re too threatened in the east. There’s no doubt our enemy will seek revenge for the humiliation we’ve dealt them.”

“That’s understandable. I hope your men will dissuade our enemies here from attacking us and His Majesty’s interests. Did you encounter any obstacles along the way?”

Colonel de Bréhant shook his head lightly and paused with elegant ease.

“None at all. The route was calm the entire way. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just wary of those savages. Even though we’ve signed a treaty of peace and neutrality, allowing us to trade, I fear it’s just a ruse to strike us when our guard is down.”

“Really? What makes you think that? Have they shown signs of resuming hostilities?”

“No, not as far as I know. But those Iroquois are cunning. Although I’ve only been in the New World for a few years, I’ve seen how treacherous they can be. Trust my experience—and I’m sure Governor Vaudreuil would agree—it’s better to be overly cautious with those people than not cautious enough.”

“If you say so. You’re probably right. But I don’t believe that’s the reason you requested reinforcements, is it?”

Montcalm couldn’t suppress a deep sigh.

"Indeed, but let’s discuss this inside. Your men won’t need to set up camp; there’s now enough housing at Fort Bourbon to accommodate everyone and more. This way, please."

Adam and his company, like all the other companies, were led to Rogers Island, also called Long Island. They were pleasantly surprised by the size and number of lodgings on site. It felt as though a village had sprung up in their absence.

The buildings, long and rectangular, were arranged with military precision around a broad square covered with gravel. The gravel came from the stone blocks used in the construction of the long bridge connecting the demi-lune to the fort.

At the center of the square stood an immense mast with a large white flag adorned with golden fleur-de-lis fluttering at its peak.

It’s very impressive, but the atmosphere is far too serious. It feels like a prison camp, Adam thought as he looked around.

Along the barracks, he noticed a few soldiers going about their duties: some were repairing tools, others maintaining the buildings, while a few appeared to be resting in the shade. The steady rhythm of hammers mingled with the voices of the men, adding to the lively and industrious atmosphere.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

A captain guided them to a long wooden building, identical to the others, located behind the first row of buildings on the southern side of the central square.

The long wooden bridge that spanned the Hudson River, connecting to Fort Royal—formerly Royal Blockhouse—was close by.

"Captain Boucher, your men will sleep here," the man said firmly. "This building can easily house two companies. As you can see, it has two levels. The ground floor is currently occupied by Captain Rouvier’s company of the Royal Roussillon regiment. He is currently at the stone quarry, so you may not meet him until tonight. Your men will therefore occupy the upper floor, which is identical to the ground floor."

With that, the officer led Adam and his men to an exterior varnished wooden staircase that led directly to the communal hall on the upper floor. He unlocked the door with a large dark key, allowing Adam a glimpse of the very simple interior.

On either side of the room, wooden beds were aligned neatly, leaving a wide aisle down the center.

"Each level contains two rooms. One, which takes up most of the space, is communal for the soldiers. The second is reserved for the sergeants. It’s possible to move between the two rooms internally through that door at the back. Alternatively, the officers’ quarters can be accessed via a separate staircase on the other side. Captains and their lieutenants have their own building."

Adam nodded appreciatively.

"I understand. Thank you very much, Captain. May my men already start unloading their belongings inside?"

"Certainly. Here’s the key. The officers’ building is the large one I pointed out earlier, across the central square. You’ll share a room with your lieutenants. If there’s nothing else, I’ll make sure the others are settled in as well."

"Thank you, sir. I won’t keep you any longer, then."

Once the captain departed, Adam entered the barracks and quickly inspected the building to ensure his men lacked nothing. He couldn’t help but feel relieved not to be sharing the same quarters as his men. Though well-constructed, he no longer had the patience to share a space, no matter how large, with so many others.

After glancing into the sergeants’ quarters, he exchanged a few words with his subordinates to ensure there would be no incidents during the night or any neglect in maintaining the premises.

Satisfied, Adam and his two lieutenants slipped away to explore their own lodgings.

***

Meanwhile, inside the fort, Montcalm and Colonel de Hautoy, commanding the Royal Roussillon regiment, were patiently explaining their situation to Colonel de Bréhant. They leaned over a relatively detailed map of the region, spanning from Fort Carillon in the north to Albany in the south.

The atmosphere in the office was solemn.

"I see," Colonel de Bréhant said when they finished. "So this Robert Rogers is the cause of your troubles and the primary reason for our presence here. His men, who behave more like bandits than soldiers, are indeed both a threat and a nuisance."

"Indeed, sir. They have harassed us continually since your departure, disappearing so quickly that we’ve had no time to eliminate them. Rogers is a tenacious adversary."

"His methods resemble those of the Indians, do they not?"

"You are entirely correct. From what we know, he has trained his men in the strangest ways to strike our soldiers and civilians quickly, then withdraw before it’s too late. He would never face us directly!"

Montcalm’s anger and disdain were clearly visible on his face. Rogers likely represented everything he despised most about this continent. It was as though he had been corrupted by the Indians’ methods.

"An incredibly frustrating opponent, then. Do you think he’s testing our lines?"

"I don’t believe so, Colonel. His goal seems to be to weaken us, exhaust us, and destabilize us. He forces us to remain in a constant state of alert."

"Isn’t that a good thing?" the colonel said, raising an eyebrow slightly. "If we remain on alert, they cannot surprise us."

"If only," sighed de Hautoy. "My men are exhausted. Remaining alert for a few days or weeks is manageable; but this has been going on for months! I fear they’ll let their guard down at the worst moment."

"I understand your concern, Colonel. We’ve faced a similar enemy in Europe. Though their numbers were small, they harassed us incessantly, costing us many brave soldiers."

"How did you deal with this enemy?" Montcalm asked, visibly intrigued and hopeful that the same approach could be applied here.

"We laid traps and feigned weakness to lure the enemy into attacking. Gradually, we reduced their numbers, forcing them to stop their games. Unfortunately, we couldn’t kill their leader, as we were redeployed to Brest to head for New France. Another regiment tracked and eliminated him later. From what I understand, it wasn’t easy; their pursuit lasted for months."

"Good heavens…"

The Marquis de Montcalm clenched his teeth and tightened his fists on his desk. A heavy silence settled over the small group.

"Monsieur de Hautoy, can you point out the locations where this Rogers has been spotted? That should give me an idea of his range of action."

The man nodded and began marking spots on the map. Soon, the area surrounding the fort was covered with markers.

"It seems he and his men have been very active. These are mostly wild territories. He must know the region well to have eluded you for so long."

"Yes, he’s a real eel. Sometimes he strikes in several places at once."

"So, he splits his forces to harass us. What are his targets?"

Montcalm and de Hautoy stared at each other for a moment before the colonel spoke.

"Small convoys, mostly. He also goes after patrols. The silver lining is that he’s no longer attacking the villages north of Lakes George and Champlain."

"Good. I have a better understanding of the situation now. One last thing: do you think the fort is at immediate risk of a frontal attack?"

"Hmm, I don’t think so," Montcalm replied pensively. "The British have suffered too many losses since Fort Carillon. They must still be recovering."

"But surely they’ve had enough time to train new troops, haven’t they?"

"Time, perhaps, but they also need resources and food. I think it’s still too early, but in a month or two, we could face a direct invasion force."

The colonel nodded, seemingly satisfied.

"What are you planning to do?" asked the Marquis de Montcalm.

"Prepare bait to go fishing for the eel, of course!"

***

Adam let out a long sigh and settled at his desk in the room he shared with Lieutenants Marais and Laroche.

The three officers were exhausted after such a long day. Their legs were heavy, and their feet ached.

Lieutenant Marais returned from a quick inspection of the barracks and immediately let out a deep yawn, his broad, square jaw snapping shut in a way that made it look like it had been shaped by a sculptor.

Adam felt a yawn coming on as well and couldn’t hold it back. He blinked several times to wake himself up and looked at his novel, which had made some progress during the journey to Fort Bourbon.

Since he had started writing, he had tried to write a few pages every evening. He quickly realized that knowing the entire story of Beauty and the Beast didn’t help him as much as he had thought when it came to writing his own version.

Sometimes, he could only manage to write a few sentences, which was why he hadn’t made much progress. He had reached the point where Belle offers herself as the Beast’s prisoner in exchange for her father, Maurice, who was very ill.

Let’s see… How do I describe this? Adam thought, his quill hovering over the thick book. The Beast, immense and menacing, took another step forward but did not step into the cold, pale light streaming in from outside, preferring to remain in the shadows. Belle’s torch smoldered softly at her feet, lying in one of the large puddles of water in the dungeon, as cold as it was damp. Belle and her father, trembling and terrified alike, watched with dread… Am I repeating myself here? Hmm… watched the towering figure approach until it reached the door of the cell where poor Maurice lay. Hmm, no, the poor old man. Yet Belle did not back away and remained close to her father. Though terrified, she was too worried about his health. Not too bad, is it?

Adam looked with some satisfaction at the few sentences he had just added. The fresh black ink glistened under the soft candlelight before darkening and drying into a matte shade.

All right, I think this is where Belle begs the Beast to let her father go.

A long, shrill sound suddenly echoed behind him, making him jump. Soon, the room was filled with rather melodious notes.

Adam turned around, surprised to see Lieutenant Laroche playing the violin. It was the first time he had ever seen him play. He hadn’t even known his subordinate could play the instrument.

Laroche, half-lying in bed with his back against the wall, noticed late that his captain was watching him and quickly lowered his instrument.

"Ah, my apologies, Captain. I didn’t mean to disturb you. If I have, I’ll stop."

"Please, carry on, Monsieur Laroche. You’re quite the musician."

"Thank you. Let’s say I have years of practice behind me, but my talent is nothing compared to my younger brother’s."

"You have a brother? I didn’t know that."

"His name is Thomas, and he has a natural gift for music. As for me, well, let’s just say I haven’t improved in years. I play just to keep from losing the habit. I found this little gem in Boston. Do you know how to play?"

"Oh, no. I’ve never even touched a violin in my life. I only played the flute, but I wasn’t very good at it."

"Would you like to give it a try?"

Adam hesitated but eventually agreed out of curiosity. He wanted to know if François had a knack for music as he did for languages.

After a few attempts, it was clear that he did not. All Adam managed to produce were long, ear-piercing screeches, so awful that one might have thought a pig was being tortured.

Respectfully, he handed the small instrument back to its owner, making sure to thank him. He turned back to his book but realized he didn’t really feel like writing that evening, mainly because he was too tired.

He couldn’t concentrate, and his eyes were starting to hurt. Adam decided to put down his quill and go to bed.