The Ruins Of Fort William Henry

Thank you IndigoChild for the review and thank you Donut_Halo, ThisguyAEl, TheHumble_Dogge and Mium for the support!

I made a mistake with the name of the fur trader. I called him Adrian instead of Damien. I have corrected this mistake in the previous chapters. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Enjoy!

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Two days after the arrival of the Marshal-Duke of Richelieu, the French army set off.

The terrain was particularly difficult, far wilder than Prussia or Hanover, with significant elevation changes. It was decided to use boats to cover the distance between Fort Carillon and the ruins of Fort William Henry with minimal effort.

However, the few canoes at their disposal were not enough to transport the army commanded by the Duke. After all, their strength had now reached nearly six thousand men! During those two days, they built large, sturdy wooden rafts.

Adam was on one of them, along with about sixty men, sitting still to avoid any accidents. Next to him were the very young Captain Martin Morrel de Lusernes, the Micmac Indian Tjenopitoqsit, and the fur trader Damien Leblé, who was very displeased to be once again mixed up in soldiers' business when he should have been hunting and selling his furs.

They chatted peacefully amongst themselves, observing the scenery and the canoes slowly towing them on the water. The surface of Lake George resembled an immense mirror, reflecting the trees, mountains, and sky perfectly, since there was not a breath of wind. The air was warm without being stifling, which was fortunate.

Still, all Adam wanted was to strip off his clothes and dive into the lake for a swim.

Such clear water... What a shame! he lamented inwardly, letting his fingertips glide off the edge of the raft.

Around their raft floated numerous boats, also towing large rafts, some carrying one or two artillery pieces. They were heading to the same place, but not quite the southern tip of the lake.

"Tell me, is it really that dangerous here?" asked Martin Morrel de Lusernes, eyeing the trees.

"Dangerous, yes," said Tjenopitoqsit, crossing his arms over his chest, revealing well-developed muscles.

"You have no idea, kid," confirmed Damien. "In fact, since we left Fort Carillon, we've entered contested territory. This isn't New France, but it's not the British colonies either."

"The colonies..." murmured Adam, imagining lands seized by the English, which didn't extend much farther than coastal cities like New York and Boston.

"With an army as large as the one we pushed back two weeks ago, these forests must be crawling with patrols. Not to mention the Iroquois, who are allied with the British."

"Them... more dangerous than the English. Them bad," Tjenopitoqsit grumbled, baring his teeth. "Eat enemies."

"WHAT?!" Martin and Adam exclaimed in unison, drawing the attention of the soldiers, both anxious and eager to fight.

"Bah, that's probably just stories to scare children," said the fur trader, pulling out a flask of his vile liquor. "But it's true that they're much more troublesome. For all we know, our efforts to stay unnoticed might be in vain."

Adam declined the liquor offered by the fur trader, and Martin quickly realized—though too late—why.

"Good heavens! What on earth is this horror?!"

"This horror? Boy, that's real liquor! If you drink it, you'll have a beard in no time!"

Martin Morrel de Lusernes looked hesitantly at the flask, but declined, as his throat was already on fire.

***

Due to the heavy load, it took them no less than twelve hours to reach their destination. Yet they were far from the southern tip of the lake. About sixteen kilometers remained to be covered.

Slowly, very slowly, the canoes approached the shore on their right, the western shore of the lake.

There was a large, teardrop-shaped island, but more importantly, a good place to disembark the marshal's army and all their equipment.

The area was hostile, and the sun was about to set. The remaining hours of daylight were used to patrol the landing area and set up a camp among the tall trees in the region.

Marshal Richelieu was quite satisfied with this progress, as he was in no particular hurry. He preferred to do things properly, moving his men step by step to avoid detection by the enemy.

That's why, the next day, they wouldn't board the boats again. It was obvious that the British had left men south of the lake to watch the surface and sound the alarm if they spotted any suspicious movement.

By giving the order to continue on foot so far to the north, he minimized that risk, as it was unlikely that anyone with a spyglass could have seen them arriving.

While they watch the lake, we will circle around to the west through the woods. Certainly, they won't expect that.

The old man, dressed in his dark cuirass as if already on the battlefield, imagined their surprised faces and frightened eyes. A cruel smile formed on his lips.

By the time they notice us, it will be too late.

They then set up a modest camp, concentrating the tents as much as possible, and gave the order not to light any fires, no matter the reason.

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The night was cool, but quickly, thanks to the soft rays of the sun filtering through the leaves, the air warmed. The lake seemed to steam, and a light mist floated in the air. These woods seemed full of mysteries and secrets. It was a very strange feeling that made all the men remain vigilant.

Even the old marshal was not immune to this magic.

With his ears sharp, he listened to everything happening around him, trying to pinpoint the slightest sound. He watched the trees and bushes, frequently believing he saw the menacing silhouette of a savage, with bloodshot eyes and murderous intent.

It was an exhausting ordeal for all bodies, even the youngest, and it considerably slowed them down.

Additionally, they had to contend with the complexity of the terrain. While there were no major obstacles like cliffs, they still had to ascend slopes that were sometimes quite steep. Combined with the particularly dense vegetation, every step required significant effort.

Finally, the artillery also slowed down the entire group. Even though they had brought only six pieces, transporting them required complex logistics. There was the cannon itself, the carriage on which it was mounted, the equipment for loading and cleaning it, the projectiles, and of course, the gunpowder!

It took them no less than twelve long, grueling hours to cover the miserable sixteen kilometers that separated them from the southern tip of Lake George. Normally, on favorable terrain and at a good pace, they could have done it in three hours!

It wasn't difficult to spot the ruins of the British fort on the southern shore of the lake. It was quite simple: just four thick walls designed to absorb cannonball impacts, with a bastion at each corner to eliminate blind spots.

Though it had been abandoned, not enough time had passed for nature to reclaim it.

Hmm, maybe one day. If we don't let them rebuild it. Oh? As expected, I see a few redcoats. Only a handful, seemingly light infantry. And a few horses. Good, the marshal said, lowering his spyglass before handing it to Colonel de Bréhant, who stood beside him, dignified as a general.

"This is Fort William Henry, Marshal," remarked the Marquis de Montcalm, staring at the ruins, likely reflecting on the past. "The English base of operations in the region until last year."

Indeed, there wasn't much left. A few walls and the deep ditch that surrounded them, now overgrown with weeds and brambles.

"I see that. So you said the nearest fort is called Fort Edward, is that right?"

"Yes, sir. Since it's getting late, I suggest we set up camp here, on the heights surrounding the ruins of this fort. The area seems safe and easy to defend."

"Hmm, it's a shame it was destroyed rather than occupied. It's a good location. Although... I'm sure it's possible to destroy it completely from where we stand or higher up."

"Indeed, sir, but that wasn't the option I chose at the time, as the garrison was too small to bother placing cannons that high. I set up my cannons and mortars there," the officer said, pointing to a clearing slightly further north, near the lake, overlooking the fort's northern façade.

"That's also a good spot, though it doesn't have the advantage of height," the marshal commented somewhat blandly before turning away from the ruins.

Thus, they set up camp once more among the trees, and once again, they were strictly forbidden from lighting any fires. They even went so far as to forbid candles. Fortunately, the moon illuminated the clear sky, allowing the sentries to see fairly clearly, even in the middle of the night.

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Early in the morning of July 23, 1758, Marshal Richelieu's army quietly folded up their tents and advanced like a ghost toward the ruins of Fort William Henry.

Contrary to the Marquis de Montcalm's suggestion, they employed the Indians and their techniques to silently approach the redcoats tasked with monitoring the lake. Regular soldiers also participated in the operation, but with strict orders to use their muskets only if absolutely necessary.

The men took great care to perfectly surround the ruins and the few men inside. Without realizing it, these redcoats had been trapped in a deadly vise.

As the old marshal had wanted, the redcoats didn't notice their approach and died without being able to alert anyone. While there were a few gunshots, they were lost in the wind, the rustling of leaves and branches, and the melodic birdsong.

By eleven in the morning, it was all over, and the southern shore of Lake George had fallen under French control.

There, it's done. Now, only the big game remains.

***

Even without the Indians, they had no trouble following the trail the British army had used to besiege Fort Carillon. All they had to do was trace it back to reach Fort Edward.

However, the general's army veered slightly to avoid potential British patrols. They headed almost due south until they reached the wide Hudson River, which was likely between one and two hundred meters across.

It meandered naturally between the wooded hills, drawing wide, graceful loops in this idyllic landscape. Deadwood had accumulated in some spots, making it a perfect playground for small mammals.

Adam spotted a small group of beavers and otters playing or working in the water and near a large tree-covered island in the middle of the river. He felt himself melt at the sight of such beauty and cuteness.

The view would have been perfect if he weren't surrounded by soldiers reeking of sweat.

"They're so cute!" he finally said, watching the little balls of fur interacting with each other.

"Hmm? Cute?" Damien Leblé chuckled. "I guess they are. But they're not much use. Just their fur. Oh, and their meat, though it's not nearly as good as venison. It's pretty close to rat, actually. Here, well, it wouldn't even be worth hunting them. They're too small. Better to wait for them to breed."

Adam said nothing and stared in horror at the fur trapper, who had put on his strange fur hat. He scratched his head vigorously and continued on his way, lazily holding his musket over his shoulder.

The young lieutenant then heard a familiar voice behind him, causing him to turn around.

"Jean?!"

"François?!"

"And Jules! Little Pol! Louis! Charles! I've missed you all so much!"

"You were here?! But where did you go?! We searched everywhere for you!"

"Ah! Sorry, I've been so busy since my captain's death! I've had to take care of the company in his name, even though he's no longer with us! But, Jules... You've been promoted?! Ahahaha! Congratulations!"

"Thanks! Haha, I'm a corporal now!"

"Two promotions at once?! Wow! That's impressive!"

"Not as much as you, my friend! Let's just say I got lucky."

"Don't say that, Jules!" exclaimed Little Pol. "You earned that promotion! He stopped a breakout, you know?! It was a few days after you left for Quebec. He noticed a soldier acting strangely, and with just a few questions, he realized it was an Englishman in disguise!"

"Really?! That's incredible!"

"Isn't it? He pretended to be a wounded man from the Battle of Louisbourg, so he wasn't sent to France with the others. And at the first chance he got, he attacked one of our men, stole his uniform, and tried to escape!"

"And that's not all, look," said Charles proudly, showing his arm. "I've been promoted too. Now I'm an anspessade, hehe!"

"Congratulations!"

I'm so happy for them! It's great they've been promoted! I hope Little Pol, Jean, and Charles will get promoted soon too!

***

Slowly, Richelieu's army moved eastward along the calm river, following the current. The flow was neither weak nor strong, but a few clues suggested that during floods, the water level could rise quite high.

As the afternoon wore on and evening began, scouts emerged from the trees and informed the marshal that Fort Edward was near.

"Let the men rest in silence. Naturally, no fires. I'm counting on you, gentlemen, to punish anyone who disobeys. Keep watch on the road leading to the ruins of Fort William Henry, but no gunfire. We must not alert the enemy to our presence. Meanwhile, I'll go observe their positions. How far are we from the fort?" the marshal asked, turning to Damien Leblé.

"About a lieue, maybe a lieue and a half," (around 3 or 4 kilometers).

"Good. Monsieur de Montcalm and de Bréhant, come with me," Richelieu said calmly.

Guided by a few Indians and the woodsman, the three French officers approached Fort Edward as closely as possible, moving through the trees like serpents with eyes gleaming with deadly intent.

At a certain distance from the fort, all the trees had been cut down to prevent them from hiding troops. It was also to give the cannons on the high wooden walls of the fortress a clear field of fire.

Basic, the old marshal thought as soon as he reached the edge of the forest and raised his spyglass.

Hmm... Let's see what our enemy looks like.

As soon as his eye settled on the fort, he was surprised by the quality of the fortifications. There was the main fort, but it was accompanied by a defensive structure on a large island in the middle of the river, called Rogers Island.

This was a camp used to house and train a very special unit, the Rogers's Rangers. Highly mobile, they had been rigorously trained in combat styles far removed from what was typically done in the regular army. It wasn't wrong to say these men were closer to woodsmen than line infantry.

In addition to this camp, there were small wooden watchtowers around the fort.

Finally, the fort was accompanied by another wooden bastion on the other side of the Hudson River. It was just a small square fort with two small bastions on either side of the central building, all surrounded by a simple palisade and a ditch. Yet, Richelieu sensed that this fort, though small, could cause a lot of trouble if neglected.

He turned his gaze back to the main fort and began devising a plan of attack.

A fort made up of three distinct parts... This will be difficult.

"Sir, if we attack the main fort, the other two will have time to prepare," the colonel and Marquis de Bréhant said seriously.

"That's certain. We'd need to attack from both sides simultaneously while isolating the island so they can't assist each other. But they've built some fairly solid bridges..."

Indeed, the three forts were connected by two bridges. The first connected Fort Edward to Rogers Island, and the second linked the island to the small fort called Royal Blockhouse. There was a third bridge that crossed the entire Hudson River south of the fort, but it was protected by bastions.

Let's take the time we need and bring down this fort in one blow.