Hervé Riel

Romance and

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred Reality

ninety-two,

Did the English fight the French,-woe to

France!

And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter thro' the blue,

Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of
sharks pursue,

Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the
Rance,

With the English fleet in view.

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor
in full chase;

First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship,
Damfreville;

Close on him fled, great and small,

Twenty-two good ships in all;

And they signalled to the place

66

Help the winners of a race!

Get us guidance, give us harbour, take us quick

or, quicker still,

Here's the English can and will!"

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;

"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they:

Romance "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the pasand

Reality

sage 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 Croi

sickese.

'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 foot of Soli

dor.

Romance and

Reality

Romance and

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Burn the fleet and ruin France?

That were

Reality

worse than fitty 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, 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!

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cried his 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 seas 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 harboured 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!"

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!"

Romance and

Reality