Journeys Through Bookland Volume Viii Part 11

Reach the mooring? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+ps aground!"

(Ended Damfreville his speech).

Not a minute more to wait!

"Let the Captains all and each Shove ash.o.r.e, 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, Herve Riel the Croisickese.

And, "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Herve 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 Greve 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 anch.o.r.ed 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 s.h.i.+p to steer, Get this 'Formidable' clear, Make the others follow mine, And I lead them, most and least, by a pa.s.sage I know well, Right to Solidor past Greve, And there lay them safe and sound; And if one s.h.i.+p misbehave, Keel so much as grate the ground, Why, I've nothing but my life--here's my head!" cries Herve Riel.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THEY FOLLOW IN A FLOCK]

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 G.o.d's grace!

See the n.o.ble fellow's face, As the big s.h.i.+p with a bound, Clears the entry like a hound, Keeps the pa.s.sage 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 s.h.i.+p 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 Herve 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 Greve.

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!"

How hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance!

Out burst all with one accord, "This is Paradise for h.e.l.l!

Let France, let France's King Thank the man that did the thing!"

What a shout, and all one word, "Herve 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 s.h.i.+ps, 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 ash.o.r.e-- 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 fis.h.i.+ng 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 pell-mell On the Louvre, face and flank!

You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel.

So, for better and for worse, Herve Riel, accept my verse!

In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO

_By_ LORD BYRON

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hus.h.!.+ hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?--No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet-- But, hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier that before!

Arm! Arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar!

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUT, HARK!]

Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear.

And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a b.l.o.o.d.y bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rushed into the field, and, foremost, fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips--"The foe! They come! They come!"

And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose!

The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:-- How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instills The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pa.s.s, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,--alas!

Ere evening to be trodden like the gra.s.s Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery ma.s.s Of living valor, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of l.u.s.ty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,--the day Battle's magnificently-stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,--friend, foe,--in one red burial blent.

HOW THEY TOOK THE GOLD-TRAIN[180-1]

_By_ CHARLES KINGSLEY[180-2]