Chapter 22

Not a minute more to wait. "Steer us in, then, small and great! 5 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! 10 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! 15 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! 20 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; 25 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, 30 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, 5 "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!" 10 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, 15 I must speak out at the end, Though I find the speaking hard. Praise is deeper than the lips; You have saved the King his ships, You must name your own reward. 20 Faith, our sun was near eclipse! Demand whate'er you will, France remains your debtor still. Ask to heart's content and have!--or my name's not Damfreville." 25

Then a beam of fun outbroke On the bearded mouth that spoke, 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-- 5 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.

Name and deed alike are lost: 10 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 15 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! 20 You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Kiel. 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 25 Aurore!

1. What about the man Hervé Riel do you admire most? Try to describe his character. Tell how he saved the fleet.

2. Notes: Line 13, page 312, refers to the custom of painting or carving the head of a hero on the bow of a ship.--Lines 16-17, page 312. Formerly a bell was the prize given the victor in a race.

THE SONG OF THE CAMP

BY BAYARD TAYLOR

This is a song of the Crimean War, a war between Russia on one side and Turkey, Great Britain, France, and Sardinia on the other. Guarding Sebastopol (the chief city of the Crimea) were several forts among which were the Redan and the Malakoff, mentioned herein. These, as well as the works of Balaklava, were held by the Russians. It was at Balaklava, you will recall, that the "Charge of the Light Brigade" was made, a charge made famous by Tennyson's poem.

"Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, The outer trenches guarding, When the heated guns of the camps allied Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff, 5 Lay grim and threatening under; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. A guardsman said, "We storm the forts to-morrow: 10 Sing while we may; another day Will bring enough of sorrow."

They lay along the battery's side, Below the smoking cannon-- Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde 15 And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love and not of fame; Forgot was Britain's glory; Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang _Annie Laurie_.

Voice after voice caught up the song, 5 Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem, rich and strong-- Their battle-eve confession.

Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, But as the song grew louder, 10 Something upon the soldier's cheek Washed off the stains of powder.

Beyond the darkening ocean burned The bloody sunset's embers, While the Crimean valleys learned 15 How English love remembers.

And once again a fire of hell Rained on the Russian quarters, With scream of shot, and burst of shell, And bellowing of the mortars! 20

And Irish Nora's eyes are dim For a singer dumb and gory; And English Mary mourns for him Who sang of _Annie Laurie_.

Sleep, soldiers! Still in honored rest Your truth and valor wearing; The bravest are the tenderest-- The loving are the daring.

1. At what time of day did the singing take place? Why, do you suppose, did the British soldiers sing _Annie Laurie_? Repeat some of the lines of that song.

2. What and where are the Severn, the Clyde, and the Shannon?

3. Who was Florence Nightingale? How was she connected with the Crimean War?

CABIN BOY AND ADMIRAL

Sir Cloudesley Shovel (1650?-1707) was the cabin boy of this story. He went to sea when quite young, and by his ability and courage won constant promotion, finally becoming admiral. In the sea fight between the English and French at La Hogue in 1692 (see Browning's "Hervé Riel," page 307) Shovel's was the first English ship to break through the enemy's line.

It was a gray autumn evening more than two hundred years ago, in the reign of King Charles II. There was the moan of a rising storm over the North Sea, and the lowering sky, the flying streamers of cloud, and the great leaden waves, heaving sullenly far as the eye could reach, 5 warned even the bravest sailor that it was a day to keep safe in port. For what ship could live in such a sea as that?

Yet the English fleet, far from keeping in port, was beating seaward against wind and wave. On the quarter deck 10 of the flagship stood Admiral Sir John Narborough--the first seaman in England--who thirty-five years before had been a cabin boy. His daring and dauntless courage had earned for him the name of "Gunpowder Jack," and that dark autumn day was to test how well the bold name fitted him. But he had been tried many a time, and tempest and sea and the fire of the enemy could not make 5 his stout heart quail.

Suddenly his grave face lighted up and his stern gray eyes sparkled with joy. Far away along the eastern sky he saw a bristling line of tall masts with a flag which he knew well floating over them. The shadow of a smile of scorn 10 changed for a moment the expression of the admiral's face. For a moment only. There was no time for smiles. There was mighty work to be done. The floating flag told that the Dutch were coming; and that day must see the enemy of England swept from the sea or England herself 15 forget her ancient glory.

Next to an old friend the British sailor loves an old enemy; and as soon as the men saw the flag of Holland they were eager for battle. On came the enemy in grim silence until their nearest vessels were within musket 20 range of the English. Then, all at once, bang! went the whole broadside from the admiral's vessel, and with a crash that seemed to echo to the sky the deadly struggle began.

The English blood was soon up and the only thought 25 was to fight to the last. Amid the blinding smoke, the reek of gunpowder, the thunder of cannon, and the grinding tear of the shot through the strong timbers, the sailors did noble duty that day in the dogged faith that they would "give as good as they got, anyhow!" 30

Aided by a sudden change of the wind, the Dutch vessels closed around the flagship with a perfect circle of fire. Two guns were disabled, the main and mizzen masts had been shot away, and a long line of wounded and dying men were lying among the shattered rigging. The thunder from the guns on the right showed that there the English were getting the best of it; but even if help should come to the 5 admiral from that quarter, it might come too late.

But how should help be summoned? No signal could be seen in that smoke, and as for lowering a boat, the great waves that rushed roaring up the battered sides of the flagship were a sufficient warning against that. 10

"Lads," cried Sir John, going forward with a scrap of paper in his hand, "this order must go at once to Captain Hardy, and the only way is for one of you to swim with it. Fifty guineas to anyone that will volunteer!"

Such a request, in the face of that boiling sea and that 15 hailstorm of shot, was little better than a sentence of death; yet before the words were well out of his mouth, half the crew stepped forward. Before any of them could speak, however, a shrill, childish voice made itself heard: "Let me go, your honor!" 20

And there stood a ragged little cabin boy, bareheaded and barefooted, touching his forelock to Sir John, just as Sir John had touched his to the admiral, five and thirty years ago. The boy had evidently been in the thick of the fight. His hands were grimed with powder and there 25 were splashes of blood upon his tattered clothing. But through his bright, fearless blue eyes there shone a spirit worth that of ten ordinary men.

"You, my boy? Why, you can never swim so far in this sea, and with all that shot flying about." 30

"Can't I?" echoed the boy indignantly. "I've done more than that before now; and, as for the shot, I don't care _that_ for it. I'm not going to sit still while everybody else is fighting the Dutch. Flog me at the gangway to-morrow, if you like, your honor, but let me do this job to-day."

The old warrior's stern eyes glistened as if tears were 5 forcing their way. He grasped the thin little hand in his own.

"You're a chip of the old block," he growled, "and no mistake! Off with you, then; and may God keep you safe!" 10

The words were hardly spoken when the boy, thrusting the dispatch into his mouth, plunged headlong into the roaring sea. And then for fifteen fierce minutes all was one scene of fire and tumult and slaughter.

Many a time in that terrible quarter of an hour did the 15 weary men strain their bloodshot eyes, and strain them in vain, to catch a glimpse of English colors breaking through the smoke. "If help is to come at all, it must come soon," said more than one worn-out sailor.

Suddenly the admiral's grim face brightened with a 20 light never seen there before, and he drew a long, deep breath like one shaking off a heavy burden. At the same moment there broke out a fresh thunder of guns on the right, and through the smoke burst the flag of England, sweeping all before it like mists scattered by the rising sun. 25

The battle was won, and the few Dutch vessels that had escaped were disappearing in the dimness of night when the admiral and his remaining officers gathered on the quarter-deck to do honor to the little hero. He stood in their presence with a boyish smile upon his face; but when Sir 30 John held out a well-filled purse, the boy turned his head proudly away.

"Your honor, I did not do this job for money," said he firmly. "I did it for the sake of the flag and because you have been good to me. If you say you are satisfied, that is all I want."

The listening crew, forgetting all restraint, broke into a 5 deafening cheer; and the admiral's iron face softened strangely as he laid his blackened hand on the bare white shoulder: "God bless you, my brave lad! I shall live to see you on a quarter-deck of your own yet."

Thirty years later, when Queen Anne's greatest admiral, 10 Sir Cloudesley Shovel, sailed up the Thames in triumph, the first to greet him as he stepped ashore was an old white-haired man who still retained traces of the fire and energy that had once distinguished "Gunpowder Jack."

"Welcome home, my lad!" said he, heartily. "I said 15 I'd live to see you on a quarter-deck of your own; and, thank God, I _have_ lived to see you there!"

1. What other sea fights have you read about? Make a list of sea books and sea battles with which you are acquainted.

2. What is the high point of interest in this story? What happened? How is the story related to Browning's "Hervé Riel"?

3. In modern warfare, how do the ships communicate with each other? Contrast briefly naval warfare in Queen Anne's time (the early seventeen hundreds) with naval warfare of to-day as to: (_a_) propulsion of ships; (_b_) armor; (_c_) guns; (_d_) range of fighting.

4. What modern machines operate now in water fighting? Describe one of these.

LITTLE GIFFEN

BY FRANCIS O. TICKNOR

This poem is based on an actual occurrence. A lad, nursed back to life, rejoins the hard-pressed Southern troops and is killed in the first battle. Ticknor (1822-1874) was a Georgian. By profession a physician, his love of poetry led to the production of some of the finest lyrics of the South. Among these the best known are "Little Giffen" and "The Virginians of the Valley."

Out of the focal and foremost fire-- Out of the hospital walls as dire-- Smitten of grapeshot and gangrene-- Eighteenth battle and he sixteen-- Specter such as you seldom see, 5 Little Giffen of Tennessee.

"Take him and welcome," the surgeon said; "Little the doctor can help the dead!" So we took him and brought him where The balm was sweet in our summer air; 10 And we laid him down on a wholesome bed-- Utter Lazarus, heel to head!

And we watched the war with bated breath-- Skeleton boy against skeleton death! Months of torture, how many such! 15 Weary weeks of the stick and crutch; And still a glint in the steel-blue eye Told of a spirit that wouldn't die,

And didn't! Nay, more! in death's despite The crippled skeleton learned to write. "Dear Mother," at first, of course; and then, "Dear Captain," inquiring about the men. Captain's answer: "Of eighty and five, 5 Giffen and I are left alive."

Word of gloom from the war, one day: "Johnston's pressed at the front, they say!" Little Giffen was up and away; A tear--his first--as he bade good-by, 10 Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye. "I'll write, if spared." There was news of fight, But none of Giffen.--He did not write.

I sometimes fancy that were I king Of the courtly knights of Arthur's Ring, 15 With the voice of the minstrel in mine ear And the tender legend that trembles here, I'd give the best on his bended knee-- The whitest soul of my chivalry-- For Little Giffen of Tennessee. 20

1. In what war did the incidents described occur? When and between whom did this war take place? Name some of its great battles; its great commanders.

2 On which side was Little Giffen? Prove your answer from the poem. Who was Johnston, line 8, page 321? How old was Giffen? How much service had he seen?

3. Explain the meaning of: Utter Lazarus (see Luke xvi: 20); specter; gangrene; line 14, page 320; line 15, page 321.

4. Name some other writers of the South.

(Used by permission of the Neale Publishing Company.)

MARCO BOZZARIS

BY FITZ-GREENE HALLECK

Marco Bozzaris (1790-1823) was born among the mountains of Suli, in Epirus, a province of Greece. He had early military training in the French service; but at the age of thirty he undertook to battle against the Turks, who were holding the Greeks in heavy subjection. At the head of his countrymen, the Suliotes, he won many battles; but finally, through treachery, he and his forces were besieged. To relieve the siege, Bozzaris led his troops against the enemy in a night attack and won a complete victory, but the hero fell, dying in the hour of triumph.

At midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power; In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 5 The trophies of a conqueror; In dreams, his song of triumph heard; Then wore his monarch's signet ring; Then pressed that monarch's throne--a king; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 10 As Eden's garden bird.

At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. 15 There had the Persian's thousands stood, There had the glad earth drunk their blood, On old Platæa's day; And now, there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires who conquered there, With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 5 As quick, as far, as they.

An hour passed on--the Turk awoke; That bright dream was his last; He woke to hear his sentries shriek, "To arms!--they come! the Greek! the Greek!" 10 He woke--to die midst flame, and smoke, And shout, and groan, and saber stroke, And death shots falling thick and fast As lightning from the mountain cloud-- And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 15 Bozzaris cheer his band: "Strike--till the last armed foe expires; Strike--for your altars and your fires; _Strike_--for the green graves of your sires, God--and your native land!" 20

They fought--like brave men, long and well; They piled that ground with Moslem slain; They conquered--but Bozzaris fell Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw 25 His smile when rang their proud huzza And the red field was won; Then saw in death his eyelids close, Calmly as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun. 30

Come to the bridal chamber, Death! Come to the mother, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath; Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, 5 And crowded cities wail its stroke; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake's shock, the ocean's storm; Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet song, and dance, and wine,-- 10 And thou art terrible!--The tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier; And all we know, or dream, or fear, Of agony are thine.

But to the hero, when his sword 15 Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. Bozzaris! with the storied brave 20 Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee; there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. We tell thy doom without a sigh; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's.-- 25 One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die!

1. This is a stirring selection to read aloud. What makes it so? Read the lines that you like best.

2. What has the first stanza on page 324 to do with the poem?

3. Explain: Suliote; Moslem; Platæa; lines 25-27, page 324.

SAN JUAN HILL

BY GENERAL JOHN J. PERSHING

Santiago, Cuba, was the center of some of the heaviest fighting of the Spanish-American War. The Spanish fleet had taken refuge from the American fleet in Santiago Harbor. The Spanish army had been concentrated there to protect their fleet. The American army, under the general command of Major General Shafter, invested the city. The following extract describes picturesquely the fighting three days before the Spanish fleet put to sea.

On June 30th the general order came to move forward and every man felt that the final test of skill at arms would soon come. The cavalry division of six regiments, camped in its tracks at midnight on El Pozo Hill, awoke next morning to find itself in support of Grimes' Battery, 5 which was to open fire here on the left.

The morning of July 1st was ideally beautiful, the sky was cloudless and the air soft and balmy, peace seemed to reign supreme, great palms towered here and there above the low jungle. It was a picture of a peaceful valley. 10 There was a feeling that we had secretly invaded the Holy Land. The hush seemed to pervade all nature as though she held her bated breath in anticipation of the carnage.