Shall the Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. Not a ship will leave the bay!" IV. Then was called a council straight. Brief and bitter the debate: "Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, For a prize to Plymouth Sound? Better run the ships aground!" Not a minute more to wait! "Let the Captains all and each Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! France must undergo her fate. V. "Give the word!" But no such word Was ever spoke or heard; For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these -A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate-first, second, third? No such man of mark, and meet With his betters to compete ! But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet, A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese. VI. And, "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel: "Twixt the offing here and Grève where the river disembogues? Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? Morn and eve, night and day, Have I piloted your bay, Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. Burn the fleet and ruin France? Hogues! That were worse than fifty Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way! Only let me lead the line, Have the biggest ship to steer, Get this Formidable' clear, Make the others follow mine, And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, Right to Solidor past Grève, And there lay them safe and sound; And if one ship misbehave, -Keel so much as grate the ground, Why, I've nothing but my life, - here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel Not a minute more to wait. VII. "Steer us in, then, small and great! Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief. Captains, give the sailor place! He is Admiral, in brief. Still the north wind, by God's grace! See the noble fellow's face As the big ship, with a bound, Clears the entry like a hound, Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound! See, safe thro' shoal and rock, How they follow in a flock, Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, 'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance! Out burst all with one accord, "This is Paradise for Hell! Let France, let France's King Thank the man that did the thing!" What a shout, and all one word, "Hervé Riel!" As he stepped in front once more, IX. Then said Damfreville, "My friend, Though I find the speaking hard. France remains your debtor still. Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfreville." X. Then a beam of fun outbroke Since on board the duty's done, And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run? Since 'tis ask and have, I may – Since the others go ashore Come! A good whole holiday! Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" That he asked and that he got, -nothing more. Name and deed alike are lost: Not a pillar nor a post XI. In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; Not a head in white and black On a single fishing smack, In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. Go to Paris: rank on rank Search the heroes flung pellmell On the Louvre, face and flank! You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel. |