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HERVÉ RIEL

ON the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,

Did the English fight the French,-woe to
France!

And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter

through the blue,

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

Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance,

With the English fleet in view.

'T was 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

Help the winners of a race!

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us

quick―or. quicker still.

Here's the English can and will!"

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Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and

leapt on board;

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"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, t

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 't is ticklish for a craft of

twenty tons,

And with flow at full beside?

Now, 't is 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

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Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels

on the beach!

France must undergo her fate.

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"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.

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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, be

lieve 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!" 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 i

grates the ground,

Not a spar that comes to grief!

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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!

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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,
Though I find the speaking hard.

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