Major Cope

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Three days passed at a frightening speed in the lands of Nova Scotia.

During this time, the French took control of this vast territory, which was not very difficult since the English villages and forts were located only along the coast.

Marshal Richelieu had dispersed his impressive troops to conquer everything in one fell swoop. Fort Edward, located just a few kilometers to the north on the other side of Nova Scotia, was the first to fall under French control. Outnumbered more than ten to one, the English had no choice but to raise the white flag.

The same scenario repeated itself at Fort Anne, in Annapolis Royal, to the west of the territory.

However, things were more complicated at Fort Lawrence. From Fort Gaspareaux, the French captain Charles Deschamps de Boishébert launched an attack with the support of his Mi'kmaq and Acadian allies.

The small number of men at his disposal meant he suffered significant losses during the operation.

Thus, when Richelieu's soldiers arrived, the fort, which protected the British territories at the entrance to the peninsula, was already in their hands.

With each passing day, the French gained more ground. The British settlers, panicked—especially those living in the western part of the peninsula—attempted to flee to nearby colonies, but many were captured before they could escape.

Adam took an active part in the conquest of Nova Scotia but did not particularly distinguish himself.

The death of P'tit Pol had awakened a new emotion in his heart: hatred. For the first time, in this life or the previous one, he burned with the desire to kill.

Because the one who had taken his friend's life was a British settler, his rage was directed at those people. During the operation at La Hève, he was reprimanded by Albert.

Albert had taken him aside, spoken to him quite directly, and ordered him to show some restraint. Yet he had been understanding and had not gone further because he knew what Adam was going through.

It was the first time Adam had been scolded by Albert, and it calmed him, though his heart was not at peace.

As Albert had asked, in the following coastal villages, Adam showed restraint and limited himself to doing what was expected of him: informing civilians that all these territories were now under the protection of King Louis XV, King of France and Navarre.

He was the only one in the company who could somewhat speak English, thanks to the countless lessons he had endured when he was still Adam—just Adam—a regular 21st-century French student. Curiously, more than all those hours spent studying this complex language he still didn't fully understand, it was thanks to movies and TV series that he owed his proficiency.

By the time he arrived in this era, he already had a decent foundation, but with François' remarkable ability to learn languages, his skills were skyrocketing. He could now hold full conversations with the inhabitants of Nova Scotia and clearly communicate the French forces' intentions.

This played a role in the operation's success, though he received little to no credit since these villages had already been brought under French control through brute force.

***

On November 29, a large group of people arrived in Halifax. Among them were a few French soldiers in colonial uniforms, as well as several Indigenous people.

The most striking figure was an elderly man with closed eyes and a face more wrinkled than an old apple. He was warmly dressed and leaned on a long carved staff adorned with shells and colorful feathers.

His back was so hunched that he seemed to bow respectfully to anyone who looked at him, and his steps dragged as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Appearances, however, were deceiving, for this old man was no ordinary person and had not always been so frail and aged.

He was an important Mi'kmaq chief and had once been a great warrior. The English had learned to fear him, and three years earlier, he had shown that they still should.

When he reached the marshal-duke inside what had been the governor's house in Nova Scotia, he slightly opened his eyes, revealing to the general and all his officers an unexpectedly powerful gaze.

These were the eyes of a fierce warrior who had shed rivers of blood.

Despite the years, they had lost none of their strength.

His name was Jean-Baptiste Cope, and for all his services, he had been granted the rank of major.

"Major Cope, Messieurs Drucourt and de Vaudreuil have spoken to me about you," said Marshal Richelieu respectfully, saluting the old man who seemed as ancient as the world itself.

In reality, the two men were of similar age. Moreover, they both exuded a comparable martial aura. For someone with a weaker mind, it would feel like witnessing the meeting of two tigers.

Though aged, these two men remained warriors.

"And I have heard of your exploits," replied the major in flawless French. "It is an honor to fight alongside you."

"Your command of French is excellent. I'm a bit surprised."

"Thank you," the chief replied.

He closed his eyes again and remained silent for a moment as they were served a warm drink and something to eat.

This gave the marshal time to gather all the information he had about the man.

He had led several wars against the English in the region, which had fallen under British rule at the start of the century following the War of the Spanish Succession. He had witnessed the English settling, building villages, driving his people from the best lands, and erecting forts.

It was always for these reasons that he took up arms, and for this, he was deeply respected.

But he also made peace, and the last time he did, it had cost him dearly. His prestige had nearly collapsed!

In 1749, almost ten years ago, the Mi'kmaq and Acadians of Nova Scotia were being driven from their ancestral lands. Father Le Loutre, a Catholic missionary for whom Cope had mixed feelings, had proposed helping them by welcoming them to French territory. To Cope, however, this was an admission of weakness—worse, it was a betrayal!

For him, who had fought alongside Le Loutre for years during what was now called King George's War, it was a crushing disappointment.

This was their home! If anyone had to leave, it should be the English!

All his efforts to secure the right to remain had failed in the face of the stubbornness of the British leader of the time, Edward Cornwallis. The conflict quickly became a racial war.

Each side believed they had every right to stay on these lands. Like the previous conflict between the natives and the English, much blood had been spilled—mostly theirs—which had eventually driven him to join Le Loutre.

That didn't mean the fight had to end. The war had simply shifted.

Finally, in 1752, he sat at the negotiation table. This was only possible because the governor at the time was a different man, Peregrine Hopson. Cope was the only Mi'kmaq chief to participate; the others had refused to give up even an inch of land to the enemy.

It was this peace agreement that caused Cope's reputation to crumble. Among the French, he fell from being a "respected and respectable leader" to an "untrustworthy and dubious man."

Governor Drucourt had been harsh in his remarks when recounting the story of this man. Fortunately, that shameful peace had not lasted.

To Cope, it was the English who broke the peace after just a few months. Two redcoats, believing themselves superior, had wrongfully thought they could do anything to the Mi'kmaq without consequences. For the English, however, it was the bloodshed that followed that broke the peace.

Either way, Cope had once again picked up the tomahawk and resumed the fight.

Together with others, he did everything he could to assist the Acadians, who were being driven from their lands en masse and treated like slaves. Unfortunately, he could only help a handful of them.

Most were sent far from home, separated from their families, broken, humiliated, and abandoned like mangy dogs.

Some ended up in the Caribbean, others even in England, to serve as laborers. Among these, half died during the journey.

And all of this, for what? Because the king didn't want them and preferred to replace them with loyal subjects who wouldn't turn against him in the next war.

Alas, Marshal de Richelieu intervened too late—the damage had already been done.

"Tell me now," Major Cope asked in a deep voice, "what will you do?"

The marshal delicately lifted a teacup to his lips and responded with another question after placing it back on a magnificent porcelain saucer.

"About the prisoners or the town?"

"Both."

"Hmm, I hesitated a great deal. I thought of relocating them, perhaps to Louisbourg? But I don't want to empty this town or these villages—we lack settlers. The simplest solution is to place them under the protection of His Majesty, the King of France. There are already too many foreigners in Quebec, Trois-Rivières, and Montreal."

"I've heard you've been very active in the west," Cope said. "Your name is celebrated among us as much as it must be feared by the English. But isn't it risky to leave so many English settlers in these villages?"

"Certainly. We'll simply have to control them, one way or another. As for the town, I understand you Mi'kmaq already have an opinion."

"Indeed," said the elder firmly, still not touching his tea. "The establishment of this town by Governor Cornwallis violates the 1726 treaty. We therefore wish to destroy it completely."

Richelieu felt the cold, angry gaze of the Indian chief but did not react. He sensed he was being tested. He remained silent for a moment, savoring the warmth of the steaming cup between his frozen hands.

"I see… I understand. But to be honest, this port would be useful for the rest of the war. From there, we could more easily strike at the English colonies. Is it possible to negotiate?"

Jean-Baptiste Cope widened his eyes slightly, looking surprised at the officer before him. His dark eyes seemed to search for the marshal's thoughts. Finally, a faint smile appeared on his thin, withered lips.

"Hmm… Your honesty does you credit. We do not like lies or being kept in the dark, especially among allies. You need this town for the rest of the war? Negotiation is possible, but it will take more than just my agreement. I promise nothing, but Halifax will remain standing until a decision is made."

The Duke of Richelieu smiled in turn.

"Thank you, Major."

***

Meanwhile, far away on the southern tip of Nova Scotia, Adam was observing the small village of Ministigueche from a height. There were only a few houses and fishing huts.

Albert Fontaine's company alone had more men than there were inhabitants.

There was nothing here of real interest to the Crown, but it couldn't completely ignore these isolated villages. There were many like this one, and once gathered together, they represented a significant source of revenue. Fishing was crucial in this region.

When France lost these territories to England at the start of the century, it was left with the less bountiful waters, allowing England to grow rich. Taking all these villages, therefore, had its advantages.

Ministigueche had been under the authority of His Majesty Louis XV for two days now, but the landscape hadn't changed. A document in English and French had simply been posted at the entrance of the village on the road to Pobomcoup.

The inhabitants, though hostile to the French, had no choice but to submit. However, Adam had no doubt that, in their hearts, they remained loyal subjects of King George II.

They continued their work, grateful not to have been driven off their lands. Their boats had not been confiscated, as these were their primary tools for survival.

Albert and Adam feared they might use them to escape, but they didn't, likely because they couldn't afford to lose what little they had here.

In brief exchanges with them, Adam had sensed that they were unwilling to risk losing their meager possessions in a dangerous attempt, especially at this time of year, to start anew further south in the Thirteen Colonies. They understood well that such an escape would mean certain loss, and their chances of rebuilding a decent life weren't particularly high.

Submitting was the better option.

Adam watched as a fishing boat returned to the dock and unloaded its precious catch. Fishing seemed relatively good despite the weather and the season.

Soon, it would no longer be possible to venture out to sea without risking one's life. That didn't mean they were safe outside the winter months, either.

What drew the young officer's attention the most, however, was his own comrades. They bustled about in silence, maintaining their weapons, mending their shoes, sewing buttons onto their uniforms, trying to light a fire despite the biting wind that carried a massive gray cloud toward them, and patrolling the region.

All of them looked haggard from exhaustion. Even their laughter, usually loud and full of bravado, seemed melancholic.

At this time of year, they should all have been resting and regaining their strength for the spring and summer, which promised to be tumultuous. After all, it was impossible that the redcoats would leave them alone after suffering so many humiliations.

Adam ran a gloved hand over his drawn face. Despite the thickness of his gloves, he could feel just how tense his muscles were from exhaustion.

His nights, plagued by nightmares, were short. They weren't enough to restore the energy he needed to face the next day.

He had lost nearly five kilos in just one week, and it was beginning to show despite the coat he kept close to him to retain as much warmth as possible.

They were expected to bring the entire peninsula under the king's authority through his representatives. To achieve this, much had been demanded of them. This was dangerous because a troop without morale was no better than a troop without weapons.

Captain Fontaine was well aware of this, and it was the only reason they were still in this village.

Normally, they should have already moved on to the next village or be en route to the one after that.

A sudden gust of wind made the branches of the surrounding trees creak, snapping Adam out of his thoughts. The gray cloud was now overhead.

Adam saw a large snowflake, whiter than his coat, land on his sleeve. Delicate and beautiful, it didn't melt due to the frigid air.

It was quickly followed by a second and a third.

Soon, countless flakes began to fall over the region, forming a thick white curtain before his tired eyes. The houses quickly became barely visible.

This wasn't the first snowfall, far from it, but Adam felt that this one was here to stay.

Within minutes, the landscape changed completely, covered by a thin layer of snow that grew thicker by the moment. It wasn't impossible that, in just a few hours, there would be twenty centimeters of snow on the rooftops of the few houses in Ministigueche.

He inhaled deeply, the cold air stinging his lungs, and exhaled a long plume of white. He looked a bit like a locomotive.

"Another winter far from home," the young man lamented to himself, a deep sense of loneliness in his heart, before deciding to head back to the village.