The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1871-03-13

quick-or, quicker still,
Here's the English can and will J!
Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and
leaped on board; m
s'Why, what hope or chance have ships ike
these to pass?" laughed they:
Crooks to starboard, rocks to port, all the
passage SCARED 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 It's ticklish for a craft of
twenty tons,
And with flow at full beside?
Now tbs sleckest ebb of tide.
Reach the mooring? Rather say,
While rock stands or water runs,
Not ship will leave the bay!"
Then was called 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 feet linked together
stern and bow,
For prize to Plymouth Sound?
Better run the ships aground"
Ended Damfreville his specify
''Not minute more to wait
Let the captains all and each
Shove ashore then blow up, burn the ves-
sells 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-frst,
second, thirdP
No such man of mark, and meet
With his betters to compete
But q 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 here2"
cries Herve Riel:
"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you
towards, 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 ofing 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 piloted your bay,
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of
Solidor.
Burn the fleet, and ruin France? That were
worse than fifty Houges.
Sirs, they know 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 lead them, most and least, by q pas
sage 1 know WE'LL
Right to Solidor past Greve,
And there lay them safe and sound
And if one ship misbehave-
Keel SO much as CRATE the ground
Why, I've nothing but my life: here's my
head !" cries Herve Riel.
Not minute more to wait.
''Steer MS 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 Gods grace.
See the noble fellows face
AS the big ship, with bound,
Clears the entry like hound,
Keeps the passage as its inch Of way were the
wide seas profound!
See, safe through shoal and rock,
How they follow in flock.
Not ship that misbehaves, not keel that
CRATES the ground,
Not q 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 subsidies to calm:
They see the green trees wave
On the heights o'erlook ng Greve:
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.
'tJust our rapture to enhance,
Let the English rake the bay,
Gnash their teeth and glare askance
AS they cannonade away!
Meath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on
the Rance!"
How hope succeeds despair on each captain g
countenance!
Outburst all with one accord,
This is Paradise for He'll
Let France, let Frances king
Thank the man that did the thing!"
What shout, and an one ward,
"Herve-Riel,
AS he stepped in front once more
Not symptom of surprise
In the frank blue Breton eyes,
Just the same man as before.
Then said Damfrevile, ''My friend,
l must speak out at the end,
Though 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 hearts content, and have, or my names
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: