"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:

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"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

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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;

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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 !

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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:

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"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,

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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,

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And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know

well,

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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!"

Icries 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 thro' shoal and rock,

How they follow in a flock,

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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!".

Up the English come, too late!

So, the storm subsides to calm :
They see the green trees wave
On the heights o'erlooking Grève.

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-sure as fate

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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!

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'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,
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,

Tho' 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.

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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,

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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!

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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,

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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!

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

So, for better and for worse,

Hervé Riel, accept my verse° !

In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more

Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the

Belle Aurore!

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