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Here is a new chapter! I will do my best to publish the last chapter quickly!
Enjoy!
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December 23, 1761.
Winter was harsh, relentless. The wind sometimes howled against the walls and windows, whistling whenever it managed to sneak into Adam's room.
Christmas was approaching, but for the people of this century, it was just another day.
Through the window, despite the condensation, Adam could see large snowflakes dancing and slowly falling, as if to bury the city.
The streets had long since vanished beneath a thick blanket of snow. There had to be at least forty centimeters—perhaps more against the walls.
Had the roofs not been so steep, they would have collapsed long ago under the weight of this heavy, pristine cover.
Outside, people mostly traveled by sled. These slid silently, often pulled by sturdy horses suited to the climate.
Others were on foot, equipped with snowshoes or special footwear.
Montreal, like all of New France in winter, was operating in slow motion. Looking at such weather, you'd have to be mad to consider launching a military operation.
Unless, of course, you went with a very small group, and were equipped like a hunter.
Adam, for his part, was warm and comfortable, naked beneath a long, light linen shirt, enjoying a hot bath.
The water had cooled somewhat by now, but it was still warm enough to be relaxing. In fact, although he was seated with his legs slightly drawn up, he was on the verge of falling asleep.
His back rested against the wooden wall, lined with oiled cloth, and his arms lay quietly on his thighs.
Beside the scar left by a musket ball at Louisbourg was the newer one—the one left by Joseph Brant's arrow.
Though impressive and recent, it no longer hurt as much.
There was a lingering tension, especially when walking, but that was all. Even short walks required a cane.
Adam had been extremely lucky: not only had the arrow missed the bone, it had narrowly avoided a major artery. Treated in time, it had left large pink marks on either side of his thigh, vaguely star-shaped.
Baths, he thought, helped him recover from the many trials he had endured over the years. It was a way to become human again.
It was also a way to reconnect with the modern teenager he had once been—even if he couldn't bathe daily.
Technological limitations, the availability of resources, and cost meant he had to settle for one bath every two weeks.
For the time, even for an infantry captain, that was excessive. It was practically the lifestyle of a nobleman.
Most people stuck to daily washings, and bathed only rarely.
Even if it cost him, he wanted to enjoy this luxury. His purse was full, and he felt he had earned a bit of comfort.
It raised some questions, but he didn't care. Others—among the officers and nobility—bathed just as often, not to imitate him, but to imitate the king.
Since the 1750s, a quiet revolution in hygiene had begun. People were rediscovering the virtues of water, especially hot water.
Louis XV, it was said, had two copper bathtubs: one for washing, the other for rinsing.
Adam had to make do with what was available—and that suited him just fine.
Aaaah… I'll never get tired of this… How did I ever go without for so long?
When he thought back to his soldier's life—the training, the battles, the nights bivouacked deep in the forest… it had been incredibly rough.
In his other life, it would have seemed unimaginable.
How could anyone live without washing? It was the life of a beast, not a man.
And yet he had endured it in silence, like everyone else. Day after day, week after week…
And now that winter had put the war on hold, and its end was fast approaching, he could finally enjoy these small, nearly forgotten pleasures.
His skin was clean and smelled pleasantly of soap. His nails had regained their shine, and his hair its luster.
Overall, he looked younger and more trustworthy. From the face of a bandit, he had regained the face of a respectable officer.
In a corner of the room he occupied, his clean uniform rested on the back of a comfortable armchair placed behind a large desk.
On the desk lay a manuscript, waiting. His new project.
He had started it a few days after arriving in Montreal. It was now well underway.
The story of a lion cub destined to become king, but who, deceived by his cruel and ambitious uncle, had to flee in fear of facing the consequences of a crime he mistakenly believed he had committed. Then his return, his struggle, and his victory.
Another Disney masterpiece which, he hoped, would not displease the gentlemen of the Censorship Office.
As for Pirates of the Caribbean, he had no illusions. He still hadn't received their response.
He briefly thought of Martin Morrel de Lusernes, in Acadia under Richelieu. As for Montcalm, he was probably in Quebec, though Adam wasn't certain.
Knock, knock, knock!
Someone banged on his door—rapid, urgent knocks.
"One moment! I'm in my—"
Adam didn't even have time to finish his sentence.
The door burst open, and Jean Collet stormed in, eyes shining, breathless, as if he'd sprinted around the city more than once. Bursting in might have been the most accurate description.
With long strides, he entered the modest room—which had only a few pieces of furniture—as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"The war is over, François! Ahah! It's finally over!"
Adam sat upright in his bath, eyes wide.
"W-what?!"
He nearly leapt out of the water.
"W-what did you say?! You're not joking, are you?! Don't tell me this is a joke, Jean!"
"It's deadly serious! Everyone's talking about it in town! The news just arrived from Quebec! We've won, François! It's really over!"
Adam couldn't hold back his tears of joy.
A sob escaped him as he covered his face with his hands, shoulders shaking with emotion.
Then, in a burst of uncontrollable joy, he jumped out of the tub, dripping, his soaked shirt clinging to his skin. He grabbed Jean and pulled him into a hug.
"Ahahaha! We won! We won!" he cried out with laughter.
Jean, laughing at Adam's reaction, spun with him in the middle of the room, ignoring the water dripping all over the wooden floor. Adam had to stop quickly because of his left leg.
"A-ah! Wait, let me get dressed," Adam suddenly realized. "Give me a second!"
Ignoring Jean, who was still laughing, he began wrestling with his shirt, now heavy and sticky. He hurriedly slipped on a fresh, dry shirt, followed by the rest of his clothes.
He left his long hair wet and loose.
"Now, tell me everything! Quickly! I want to know it all!"
Jean Collet grinned knowingly.
"An agreement was reached with King George on November 3rd. Naturally, it's very favorable to us because it reflects the situation on the front at that time! Ahahah!"
Adam's eyes widened. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
"Wait… What?"
"Yes! You heard right! The war has been over since November 3rd, so anything that happened after that doesn't count! The English are going to go mad!"
"S-so… Fort Carillon…"
"Is still French! But that's not all! What matters isn't even the real situation at the moment of signing—but what the diplomats knew at that time! Do you understand?"
Adam realized it after a few seconds. He brought a hand to his mouth.
Oh my God!
"Then… Fort Bourbon is still French too! They couldn't have known it had fallen just days earlier!"
"Exactly! Ahahah! If they'd waited until spring, they would have taken both forts!"
Adam burst into uncontrollable laughter with his friend. They could be heard from the street below.
"Ah… ah… I can't take it anymore," Adam groaned, doubled over, tears in his eyes. "My ribs hurt."
"They're going to have to redraw all the maps now," said Jean, catching his breath. "Ah! But I'm afraid we'll have to be patient. Apparently, only the preliminaries have been signed. The treaty's framework, if you will. The actual treaty won't be signed for a few more months."
"R-really? What about us?"
Captain Collet shrugged.
"Well, if it's anything like the last war, we might have to wait even longer. Maybe a year?"
"A-a year?! Why?!?"
The disappointment and confusion in Adam's voice were obvious. Naturally, Jean shared his feelings.
He patted Adam's shoulder.
"You have to understand, François. Even if we're expensive for His Majesty and his ministers would love to disband a few battalions, caution is necessary… just in case those damn redcoats try anything. We'll have to formally take control of our new territories, release prisoners, send His Majesty's British subjects back home—that is, to British territory—and probably do a lot more. To put it simply, His Majesty still needs us to ensure the British honor their commitments."
Adam slowly nodded, though it frustrated him.
Now that he knew the war was over, he couldn't wait to shed that uniform.
He had waited so long, prayed so often for this moment.
God… I guess there's nothing I can do. I've waited more than four years… I can wait one more. And who knows—maybe I'll be released before that.
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As Jean had predicted, it took several months to sign a formal treaty.
Between the November agreement and the treaty signed in London on February 11, 1762, the Old Continent had learned of General Murray's victories.
Unfortunately for the British, those victories could not be taken into account.
What had pushed the British—represented by Lord Bute, the Duke of Newcastle, Hardwicke, and Granville—to sign such a treaty was the news of a brilliant victory in the Caribbean near the Bahamas and the recapture of the island of Jamaica from the Spanish.
There had also been the fire at the port of Brest, a criminal act triggered by a spy working for former minister Pitt. The success had been most unexpected, given the slim chances. His target had been a first-rate ship under construction, still months away from completion.
It was a true behemoth, designed to carry 116 guns and over a thousand crew members.
It had indeed caught fire, and due to strong winds, the flames had quickly spread to other buildings, including the ropewalk and the prison galleys. Nothing could be done to save the ship—only to contain the surrounding damage.
As for the spy, a local, he was caught the same day and, naturally, hanged high and short after a long session of torture. An accomplice, a worker at the shipyard, was also hanged.
The Treaty of London was devastating for Great Britain.
It contained about thirty articles covering various matters, from the exchange of prisoners of war to the return of captured territories.
As tradition dictated, the first article proclaimed a Christian, universal, and perpetual peace—in other words, valid across the world for all time. A perfectly useless article, a joke really, since—as always—peace would last only as long as it took to start a new war.
It also spoke of a sincere and lasting friendship being restored between the monarchs, their heirs and successors, their states and provinces, and their subjects.
The second article reinstated all former treaties related to peace and trade, going back to the Treaty of Westphalia of 1648, unless they contradicted this present treaty.
The third article concerned the release of all prisoners taken by either side, on land or sea. This also applied to hostages taken or given, with no ransom, within six weeks.
All ships captured after the date of signing—whether warships or merchant vessels—were to be returned in good faith with all crews and cargo.
The following articles were the most important. They explicitly detailed the cession and restitution of territories.
It was from this point on that the British began to weep tears of blood.
The fourth article concerned Acadia, or Nova Scotia. His British Majesty renounced all claims to these lands, as well as to the island of Terre-Neuve.
However, just like in the Treaty of Utrecht that ended the War of the Spanish Succession in 1713, France graciously granted a fishing zone to British fishermen. Of course, it was not the most profitable one.
Next, Great Britain lost all its trading posts in India to France. Surat was the only exception, as it became, by this treaty, a Dutch trading post.
Bengal was given a special status, placed under the protection of His Majesty the King of France and Navarre, Louis XV. In exchange for contributing financially to the region's defense, the Dutch were granted the right to trade freely there.
For the capture of French ships, crews, and cargo prior to the official declaration of this war, Great Britain committed to compensating France in the amount of one million pounds. Naturally, everything would be returned.
For the vile murder of Captain Villiers de Jumonville, who had come under a white flag to negotiate with the British in the New World on May 28, 1754, Great Britain agreed to pay His French Majesty three hundred thousand pounds.
That amount was twice the ransom once demanded for King Frederick II of Prussia.
His British Majesty also renounced all claims to the territory between Fort Edward and Fort Carillon, as well as to the northwestern half of New Hampshire and a large portion of Massachusetts.
Britain ceded Georgia and South Carolina to Spain, up to Charlestown, which had been destroyed during the conflict. It also renounced claims to the Mosquito Coast, the trading post of Accra in Africa, and the island of Saint Helena.
Because Spain wanted to recover the highly profitable Jamaica, and Britain wanted Minorca, still held by the French thanks to Marshal-Duke Richelieu, a small territorial exchange was agreed upon.
France thus received the eastern half of the island of Saint-Domingue, of which it already possessed the western part, and the other two parties got the territories they sought to regain.
The treaty was signed under great tension by the representatives of the three monarchs: the Count of Choiseul for France, the Marquis of Grimaldi for Spain, and the Earl of Bedford for Great Britain.
As for the Kingdom of Portugal, represented by Martinho de Mello e Castro, it quickly signed a separate agreement to avoid facing France and Spain alone.
Because Britain had acted too quickly, Portugal also lost heavily in this costly conflict: the Azores, Cape Verde, Madeira, São Tomé, the island of Socotra, and the Indian trading post of Diu went to Spain; while the island of Ascension and the Indian post of Goa were ceded to France—even though the Portuguese had barely fought.
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The news did not reach America until the end of March 1762.
Adam, for his part, only learned the details in April—on the 14th, to be exact.
For three hours already, the bells of Montreal had been ringing non-stop. And there was no sign they would stop anytime soon.
Peace deserved to be celebrated. Victory even more so.
Ding! Dang! Dong! Ding! Dang! Dong!
It felt like a wedding day.
In the streets, faces were lit with joy. Adam was no exception.
He walked with a light step—though his left leg still acted up sometimes, especially when it rained—toward a crowded tavern. Civilians and soldiers alike had packed the place.
In their euphoria, they seemed determined to empty every barrel and spare not a single bottle.
The moment he stepped inside, Adam felt as though he had walked into a sauna drenched in alcohol.
There was laughter, dancing, and singing. People celebrated the glory of the King, of his armies, of peace, and of life itself.
Adam, who had come to share a drink with his brothers-in-arms, soon found a pint in his hand, singing until his voice nearly gave out.
That night, the curfew was forgotten.
It was as if no one dared go to sleep, afraid they might wake up and find it had all been a beautiful dream.
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Among the British, the news caused quite a different storm.
A wave of outrage swept through the kingdom.
Caricatures of shocking violence were quickly produced in staggering numbers.
Within days, they had spread across England, Scotland, and Ireland—and then reached the colonies.In fact, the colonies proved to be especially creative and prolific in condemning what they saw as an act of treason.
One caricature directly accused the young King George III, claiming that Admirals Byng and Hawke had been executed for less.
It was shocking—scandalous. If one followed that line of reasoning, it implied that George III deserved death.
A century later, the English had not forgotten the Great Rebellion and the fate of King Charles I, beheaded in 1649.
Despite their best efforts, local authorities failed to halt the production and spread of these drawings.
The more they censored, the more copies circulated.
Their numbers doubled when colonists heard a piece of news so scandalous it was at first thought to be false:
To recover his precious Hanover, George III had ceded to France all British territories north of what had once been Boston, up to the line where fighting had stalled, deep in the heart of New Hampshire.
In other words, His Majesty had handed over to the French all the gains made in his name by General Amherst since his return to the New World.
Even before confirmation, riots of rare violence erupted in the major cities—especially Philadelphia and New York.
Both cities plunged into utter chaos within a single day.
In New York, it was worse than the day the population had seen a horde of northern refugees flood their streets, ravaged by the Old Bandit Richelieu, known there as the Nero of Boston.
The few troops left in garrison were quickly overwhelmed by the scale of the unrest.
This forced the valiant General Amherst to pull back and assume a policing role.
Only the arrival of such a large force restored a semblance of calm to the colonies.
But it was only surface calm.
Colonial anger ran deep, especially among refugees from those provinces who saw their hopes of returning home slip away.
To make matters worse, rumors spread that the royal treasury was so empty that Parliament would soon create new taxes to cover its own failures.
Whether in the colonies or in Great Britain, people were deeply worried about the future.
While George III's popularity collapsed, that of Louis XV soared to heights never seen before.
His title of "Beloved", lost after the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, was now fully restored.
The philosophes of the Enlightenment, many of them Anglophiles, fell silent.
Those who once praised the British system, where royal power was balanced by a strong Parliament, now had to stay quiet, leave, or change their tone.
In the salons of Paris, people now explained—quite willingly—that the humiliating British defeat could be blamed on the weakness of royal authority.
By contrast, France, with its absolute, divine-right monarchy, had triumphed because the King could enforce his will without hindrance.
Thanks to the firm counsel of his son, the Dauphin Louis, and a strong hand, Louis XV had managed to silence the Parlement.
The French monarchy seemed to have bright days ahead.
Across the Channel, the British monarchy looked on the brink of collapse.