ν "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. VI 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 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, 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. VII 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 seas profound! See, safe through 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 Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"-sure as fate Up the English come-too late! VIII 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, As he stepped in front once more, IX Then said Damfreville, "My friend, Though I find the speaking hard. France remains your debtor still. Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Damfreville." X Then a beam of fun outbroke 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! Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" That he asked and that he got,—nothing more. ΧΙ 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 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! 60 THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW 1 ALFRED TENNYSON I Banner of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry! Never with mightier glory than when we had rear'd thee on high Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Luck now Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew, And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. II Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our lives Women and children among us, God help them, our children and wives! Hold it we might-and for fifteen days or for twenty at most. "Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post!" Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave: Cold were his brows when we kiss'd him-we laid him that night in his grave. 1. During the Sepoy rebellion in India, 1857, a small company of English soldiers, supported by a few native soldiers, were besieged at Lucknow by a greatly superior Indian force. After the death of Sir Henry Lawrence on July 4, Brigadier Inglis held the city for twelve weeks. It was then relieved by the arrival of General Havelock, September 25. The poem tells the story of the defense and the rescue. |