Ionica Part 15

Jess licked a cold cheek, and the bonny boy spoke: "Where's Hugh?" The pup whimpered, but Hugh never woke.

A SOLDIER'S MIRACLE

'Twas when we learnt we could be beat; Our star misled us, and' we strayed.

Elsewhere the host was in retreat; We were a guideless lost brigade.

We stumbled on a town in doubt, To halt and sup we were full fain, The man that held the chart cried out, "'Tis Vaucouleurs in old Lorraine."

In Vaucouleurs we will not doubt, For here, when need was sore, Saint Jane Arose, and girt herself to rout The foes that troubled her Lorraine.

So here we feast in faith to-night, To-morrow we'll rejoin the host Drink, drink! the wine is pure and bright, And Jane our maiden is the toast.

But I, that faced the window, caught A pa.s.sing cloud, a foreign plume, A Prussian helmet; and the thought Of peril chilled the tavern room.

We rose, we glared through twilight panes, We muttered curses bosom-deep; A tell-tale gallop scared the lanes, We grudged to spoil our comrades' sleep.

Then louder than the Uhlan's hoof Fell storm from sky and flood on banks, September's pa.s.sion smote the roof; We blest it, and to Jane gave thanks.

Betwixt us and that Uhlan's mates A bridgless river strongly flowed.

A sign was shown that checked the fates, And on that storm our maiden rode.

A BALLAD FOR A BOY

When George the Third was reigning a hundred years ago, He ordered Captain Farmer to chase the foreign foe.

"You're not afraid of shot," said he, "you're not afraid of wreck, So cruise about the west of France in the frigate called _Quebec_.

Quebec was once a Frenchman's town, but twenty years ago King George the Second sent a man called General Wolfe, you know, To clamber up a precipice and look into Quebec, As you'd look down a hatchway when standing on the deck.

If Wolfe could beat the Frenchmen then so you can beat them now.

Before he got inside the town he died, I must allow.

But since the town was won for us it is a lucky name, And you'll remember Wolfe's good work, and you shall do the same."

Then Farmer said, "I'll try, sir," and Farmer bowed so low That George could see his pigtail tied in a velvet bow.

George gave him his commission, and that it might be safer, Signed "King of Britain, King of France," and sealed it with a wafer.

Then proud was Captain Farmer in a frigate of his own, And grander on his quarter-deck than George upon his throne.

He'd two guns in his cabin, and on the spar-deck ten, And twenty on the gun-deck, and more than ten score men.

And as a huntsman scours the brakes with sixteen brace of dogs, With two-and-thirty cannon the s.h.i.+p explored the fogs.

From Cape la Hogue to Ushant, from Rochefort to Belleisle, She hunted game till reef and mud were rubbing on her keel.

The fogs are dried, the frigate's side is bright with melting tar, The lad up in the foretop sees square white sails afar; The east wind drives three square-sailed masts from out the Breton bay, And "Clear for action!" Farmer shouts, and reefers yell "Hooray!"

The Frenchmen's captain had a name I wish I could p.r.o.nounce; A Breton gentleman was he, and wholly free from bounce, One like those famous fellows who died by guillotine For honour and the fleurs-de-lys, and Antoinette the Queen.

The Catholic for Louis, the Protestant for George, Each captain drew as bright a sword as saintly smiths could forge; And both were simple seamen, but both could under- stand How each was bound to win or die for flag and native land.

The French s.h.i.+p was _La Surveillante_, which means the watchful maid; She folded up her head-dress and began to cannonade.

Her hull was clean, and ours was foul; we had to spread more sail.

On canvas, stays, and topsail yards her bullets came like hail.

Sore smitten were both captains, and many lads beside, And still to cut our rigging the foreign gunners tried.

A sail-clad spar came flapping down athwart a blazing gun; We could not quench the rus.h.i.+ng flames, and so the Frenchman won.

Our quarter-deck was crowded, the waist was all aglow; Men clung upon the taffrail half scorched, but loth to go; Our captain sat where once he stood, and would not quit his chair.

He bade his comrades leap for life, and leave him bleeding there.

The guns were hushed on either side, the Frenchmen lowered boats, They flung us planks and hencoops, and everything that floats.

They risked their lives, good fellows! to bring their rivals aid.

'Twas by the conflagration the peace was strangely made.

_La Surveillante_ was like a sieve; the victors had no rest.

They had to dodge the east wind to reach the port of Brest.

And where the waves leapt lower and the riddled s.h.i.+p went slower, In triumph, yet in funeral guise, came fisher-boats to tow her.

They dealt with us as brethren, they mourned for Farmer dead; And as the wounded captives pa.s.sed each Breton bowed the head.

Then spoke the French Lieutenant, "'Twas fire that won, not we.

You never struck your flag to us; you'll go to England free."

'Twas the sixth day of October, seventeen hundred seventy-nine, A year when nations ventured against us to combine, _Quebec_ was burnt and Farmer slain, by us remem- bered not; But thanks be to the French book wherein they're not forgot.

Now you, if you've to fight the French, my youngster, bear in mind Those seamen of King Louis so chivalrous and kind; Think of the Breton gentlemen who took our lads to Brest, And treat some rescued Breton as a comrade and a guest.

1885.

EPILOGUE.

Exactos, puer, esse decern tibi gratulor annos; Hactenus es matris cura patrisque decus.

Inc.u.mbis studiis, et amas et amaris, et audes Pro patria raucis obvius ire fretis.

Non erimus comites, fili, tibi; sed memor esto Matris in oceano c.u.m vigil astra leges.

Imbelli patre natus habe tamen arma Britannus, Militiam perfer, spemque fidemque fove.

1889.

JE MAINTIENDRAI

(FOR THE TUNE CALLED SANTA LUCIA)