Practice Book | Page 4

pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board; "Why,
what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they:
"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,
Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns, Think to
make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,
Trust to enter where
'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,
And with flow at full beside?
Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide.
Reach
the mooring? Rather say,
While rock stands or water runs,
Not a
ship will leave the bay!"
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!"

(Ended Damfreville his speech.)
"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.
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.
And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel; "Are
you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? Talk to
me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell On my fingers
every bank, every shallow, every swell,
'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? That were worse than fifty Hogues! 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,--and here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel.
Not a minute more to wait.
"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 through shoal and rock,
How they follow in a flock.
Not a
ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,
Not a spar that comes to grief!
The peril, see, is past,
All are
harbored to the last,
And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as
fate,
Up the English come, too late.
So, the storm subsides to calm;
They see the green trees wave
On
the heights o'erlooking Grève.
Hearts that bled are stanched with
balm.
"Just our rapture to enhance,
Let the English rake the bay,

Gnash their teeth and glare askance
As they cannonade away!

Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!" Now 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,
Not a symptom of
surprise
In the frank blue Breton eyes,
Just the same man as before.
Then said Damfreville, "My friend,
I must speak out at the end,

Though I find the speaking hard.
Praise is deeper than the lips;
You
have saved the King his ships,
You must name your own reward.

Faith, our sun was near eclipse!
Demand whate'er you will,
France
remains your debtor still
Ask to heart's content, and have! or my
name's not Damfreville!"
Then a beam of fun outbroke
On the bearded mouth that spoke,
As
the honest heart laughed through
Those frank eyes of Breton blue:

"Since I needs must say my say,
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
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