"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?" cried 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 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 pa.s.sage I know well, Right to Solidor past Greve, 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 Herve 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 G.o.d's grace!

See the n.o.ble fellow's face As the big ship, 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 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 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 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 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 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 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!

HELPS TO STUDY.

Notes and Questions.

Find on your map: Saint Malo, le Croisic (St. Croisic), Plymouth Sound, Paris.

What forfeit did Herve Riel propose in case he failed to pilot the ships safely in?

What ships were seeking harbor?

Who were the "porpoises" and who the "sharks"?

What reward did he claim?

What comparison is found in the first stanza?

What do stanzas three and four tell?

In what way is the hero's memory perpetuated?

The rhythm gives spirit to the poem. Which lines or stanzas are most spirited?

What line gives the key-note to Herve Riel's character?

Contrast Herve Riel with the local pilots.

Saint Malo--noted for its high tides.

Rance--name of a river.

The Hogue--a cape on the French coast.

Malouins--residents of Saint Malo.

Tourville--the French admiral.

Greve--name given the beach.

Solidor--the old fortress.

Belle Aurore--the dawn.

Croisickese--inhabitants of Croisie.