1. What kind of vehicle did the Deacon build? What was his theory as to building a "shay"?
2. How did he carry out his theory? Read the passages that answer this question. Make a list of the special parts of the chaise named.
3. On what day did the Deacon complete his task? Is Holmes correct as to the dates of Braddock's defeat and the Lisbon earthquake?
4. Explain lines 10-11, page 286; 8, 17, 27, page 289; 17, page 290.
5. What happened finally to the "masterpiece"? Was the Deacon still living? How did the chaise happen to go to pieces? Was the Deacon's theory of building correct?
6. Suggested readings: Holmes's "How the Old Horse Won the Bet"; Lowell's "The Courtin'."
THE SCHOOLMASTER'S RIDE
By Washington Irving
The time of this story is post-Revolutionary. Ichabod Crane, a lean, awkward schoolmaster, has been courting the village belle, Katrina Van Tassel, his rival being Brom Bones, a powerful fellow, noted for his pugnacity. He has frequently threatened Ichabod for aspiring to the charming Katrina. Here, Ichabod, at a late hour, is leaving the Van Tassel home after a "quilting frolic" where he took occasion to propose to Katrina. Judge of the young lady's answer!
Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pursued his
travel homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills
which rise above Tarrytown. The hour was as dismal as
himself. Far below him the Tappan Zee spread its dusky
and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the 5
tall mast of a sloop riding quietly at anchor under the
land. In the dead hush of midnight he could even hear
the barking of the watchdog from the opposite shore of the
Hudson; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an
idea of his great distance from this faithful companion of 10
man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a
cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off,
from some farmhouse away among the hills. No signs of
life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy
chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bullfrog 15
from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably
and turning suddenly in his bed.
The night grew darker and darker, the stars seemed to
sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid
them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and 20
dismal. In the center of the road stood an enormous tulip
tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees
of the neighborhood and formed a kind of landmark. It
was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate
André, who had been taken prisoner hard by, and was 5
universally known by the name of Major André's Tree.
The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect
and superstition.
As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to
whistle. He thought his whistle was answered. It was 10
but a blast sweeping through the dry branches. As he
approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something
white hanging in the midst of the tree. He paused and
ceased whistling; but on looking more narrowly, perceived
that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by 15
lightning and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard
a groan. His teeth chattered, and his knees smote against
the saddle. It was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon
another as they were swayed about by the breeze. He
passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him.20
About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook
crossed the road and ran into a marshy and thickly wooded
glen, known by the name of Wiley's Swamp. A few rough
logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream.
To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It was at this 25
identical spot that the unfortunate André was captured,
and this has ever since been considered a haunted stream,
and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to
pass it alone after dark.
As he approached the stream his heart began to thump. 30
He summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his
horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to
dash briskly across the bridge. But instead of starting
forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement
and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears
increased with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side
and kicked lustily with the contrary foot. It was all in 5
vain. His steed started, it is true, but it was only to
plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of
brambles and alder bushes.
The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel
upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed 10
forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just
by the bridge with a suddenness which had nearly sent his
rider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment a
plashy tramp on the bank of the stream, by the side of
the bridge, caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the 15
dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the murmuring
brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black, and
towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathering up in the
gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the
traveler. 20
The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head
with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly was now
too late. Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he
demanded, in stammering tones, "Who are you?" He
received no reply. 25
He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice.
Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgeled the sides
of the inflexible Gunpowder, and shutting his eyes, broke
forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then
the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and with a 30
scramble and a bound, stood at once in the middle of the road.
Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of
the unknown might now, in some degree, be ascertained.
He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions and
mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He made
no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on
one side of the road. Ichabod, who had no relish for this 5
strange midnight companion, now quickened his steed in
hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger quickened
his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up and fell
into a walk, thinking to lag behind. The other did the
same. His heart began to sink within him. He endeavored 10
to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to
the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave.
There was something in the moody and dogged silence
of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and
appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On 15
mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his
fellow traveler in relief against the sky, gigantic in height
and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving
that he was headless! But his horror was still more
increased on observing that the head which should have 20
rested on his shoulders was carried before him on the
pommel of his saddle! His terror rose to desperation.
He rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder,
hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion the
slip. But the specter started full jump with him. Away 25
then they dashed, through thick and thin, stones flying
and sparks flashing at every bound.
An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes
that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection
of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that 30
he was not mistaken. "If I can but reach that bridge,"
thought Ichabod, "I am safe." Just then he heard the
black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he
even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive
kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang
upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding
planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod 5
cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish,
according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just
then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very
act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to
dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered 10
his cranium with a tremendous crash. He was tumbled
headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed,
and the goblin rider passed by like a whirlwind.
The next morning the old horse was found without his
saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping 15
the grass at his master's gate, while near the bridge, on
the bank of a broad part of the brook where the water
ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate
Ichabod, and close beside it—a shattered pumpkin!
—A Legend of Sleepy Hollow.
1. You should read the entire "Legend" (see Irving's Sketch Book) and enjoy the detailed incidents leading up to this climax. Of course Ichabod leaves Sleepy Hollow, never to return. What evidence is there that Brom Bones was the ghost?
2. A ghost was supposed not to be able to cross running water. What evidence of this do you find in the story?
3. Why was Ichabod "heavy-hearted and crestfallen"? Give two reasons.
4. Pick out the elements of the first two paragraphs that make the situation appear lonely.
5. Who was Major André? Why should Ichabod have especially feared the André tree?
6. What is there in this selection that is humorous?
SIGNING PETITIONS
"Another petition!" exclaimed the banker. "No, I
never sign them offhand—not any more. I used to
do so—once to my sorrow and to the amusement of my
friends. Leave yours with me till day after to-morrow and
I'll consider it. I have at least four more now on the waiting 5
list, ranging in subject from the Removal of a Soap Factory
to a Bridge Across the Pacific. Every business man is
hounded week in and week out with petitions."
I reluctantly surrendered my long scroll with its formidable
list of signatures. "But the one that you once signed—what 10
of that?"
"Oh, that one? Well, there was a bright newsboy down
on the square whose booth had been removed from a street
corner because of a petition to the Police Commissioner.
Of course everybody had signed the petition; for signing 15
petitions was considered the proper thing if certain names
headed the list. It came to be a roster of the best families
in town. This newsboy retaliated—in kind. He drafted
and circulated a petition that was in due form. Everybody,
including myself, signed it. Next day it was published in20
full with the names of its signers, by all our city papers, and
by night everybody in the state was laughing at us.
"The petition recited that a sundial in Central Park, the
gift of a wealthy citizen, was weathering badly. It should
be protected. That sounded reasonable, so everybody 25
signed just below the name of everybody else. And what
had we petitioned for? A roof to cover that sundial!
"You'll get no hasty signatures to a petition in this
city—we remember the sundial!"
IN TIME OF WAR
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;
Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking. . . .
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more;
Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
—Sir Walter Scott.
GREAT LITTLE RIVERS
By Frazier Hunt
The armies of the world were contending on the battlefields of France in a death struggle, known in history as the World War. It was a mighty clash of ideas and ideals. Frazier Hunt, a war correspondent and journalist, selected the Little Rivers of France as a subject to carry his theme: that little things sometimes set apart great differences, and that littleness and greatness are not matters of physical size.
For miles along the hard white road that had helped
save France a tiny river ran. But it was such a quiet
race with life and time. It had no steep banks; only gentle,
green, silent slopes that fell gracefully back from its edges.
Here and there fragrant woods wandered almost to its 5
drowsy waters.
A cuckoo sounded its call, and far off its mate sent
back the echo. On sun-splashed mornings the thrush
came, and in the moonlight the nightingale sang to
this little stream. 10
It was a tiny river, and if in great America, only the
countryside that knew its winding ways could have told
its name. It was a brook for poets to dream by. Little
islands of willows, weeping for France, slept in its heart.
One could almost whisper across it, and as a French schoolgirl 15
of fourteen wrote, "Birds could fly over it with one
sweep of their wings. And on the two banks there were
millions of men, the one turned towards the other, eye to
eye. But the distance which separated them was greater
than the stars in the sky; it was the distance which separates
right from injustice."
It was a tiny river; it was the Yser.
Oxen drawing the cultivating plows that will help feed
France and win the war almost splash into its shallow edges 5
as they turn the furrow. And on hot July days, the old
man who prods them with his pointed stick and the sturdy
woman who handles the plow let them drink their fill of
its cooling waters—not plunging their noses deep like
thirsty horses but gently drawing in the water with the lips, 10
after the manner of oxen.
It is a quiet stream that a child could ford without danger.
It flows slowly and sweetly from the mother hills to the
embracing sea. A few arched bridges leap from one low
bank to another. It has not cut deep into the land of 15
France but it has cut deep into the heart of France. It is
one of the ribbons of victory and glory that France will
always wear across her breast. And it is a ribbon made red
by the blood of the men of France who have died for France.
And yet we of America would call it a little stream, and 20
old men would fish all day in it from a shaded velvet point,
and boys swimming would hunt some favorite Devil's Hole
where they might dive.
It is the Marne.
For four years now it has flowed peacefully on while 25
men have fought to scar its banks with trenches—burrowing
themselves into the earth as only the muskrat had done
in the forgotten days of peace. Strong, unafraid men came
from the ends of the world to die by its side. And it would
have gladly sung them a sweet, low lullaby, crooning a song 30
with which mothers on the shores of all the seven seas had
once rocked them to sleep—only now the sound of heavy
firing, dull booms of the cannon, and the spit and nervous
drum of the machine gun, made its song as futile and indistinguishable
as the whisper of a child in the roar of a mob. 5
What a story its sweet waters had to tell to all the rivers
of the world when they met in the broad sea: a tale of
strange men who fought and died that it might still be a
part of France; a tale of deeds of glory and of valor and
of sacrifice. And some of these men had come from faraway10
America to this little river, this stream so tiny and so
modest that it might have forever remained unknown and
unsung.
It was the Somme.
After all, what does size matter—except the size of the 15
heart and of the soul?
The great Mississippi, the mystic Amazon, the majestic
Hudson, the wide Danube—all mighty in power and commerce!
The Yser, the Aisne, the Oise, the Somme, the Marne—little 20
streams of France; old brooks as precious as Thermopylæ
or Bunker Hill!
Tiny are they—and so was Bethlehem!
—Red Cross Magazine.
1. What three rivers are discussed? For what does each stand?
2. Explain the French schoolgirl's letter. Which party, to her, represented justice?
3. What great general is called the "Hero of the Marne"? Why?
4. Why are Thermopylæ and Bunker Hill "previous"? Name some other "precious" places in the world.
5. What lesson do you get from this selection?
(Used by permission of the Red Cross Magazine.)
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE
By Charles Wolfe
Sir John Moore (1761-1809) was a British general. His last engagement was at the head of the British forces in Spain, fighting against Napoleon. Upon word that Napoleon with an army of 70,000 was marching against him, he decided to make for the coast with his 25,000 men. They were obliged to march for 250 miles over slippery mountain roads, and were forced into battle before they could embark. The French were repulsed with heavy losses, but Moore was fatally wounded. This fine poem describes his burial on that foreign shore.
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly at dead of night, 5
The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.
No useless coffin inclosed his breast,
Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him;10
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest
With his martial cloak around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, 15
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head.
And we far away on the billow.
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 5
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on,
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
But half of our heavy task was done
When the bell tolled the hour for retiring;10
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, 15
But we left him alone with his glory!
1. Give synonyms for: corse, ramparts, martial, upbraid, tolled, reck, gory, random.
2. Describe this simple burial in your own words. What are the customary rites at a soldier's burial? Why did Sir John Moore not receive a military funeral?
3. Compare this burial with the one described on page 329.
4. Report briefly on Napoleon: who he was, what he did, and what finally became of him.
5. Memorize the poem. Time yourself to see how quickly you can do this.
LEXINGTON AND CONCORD
By William Emerson
The Reverend William Emerson, grandfather of Ralph Waldo Emerson, was pastor of the Congregational Church at Concord. The battle of April 19, 1775, was fought near his residence. He was called the "patriot preacher" and died while serving in the Revolutionary army.
This morning between one and two o'clock we were
alarmed by the ringing of the church bell, and upon
examination found that the troops, to the number of eight
hundred, had stolen their march from Boston in boats and
barges from the bottom of the Common over to a point 5
in Cambridge near to Inman's farm, and were at Lexington
meetinghouse half an hour before sunrise, where they had
fired upon a body of our men, and as we afterward heard,
had killed several. This intelligence was brought to us at
first by Dr. Samuel Prescott, who narrowly escaped the 10
guard that were sent before on horses purposely to prevent
all posts and messengers from giving us timely information.
He, by the help of a very fleet horse, crossing several walls
and fences, arrived at Concord at the time above mentioned,
when several posts were immediately dispatched, 15
that, returning, confirmed the presence of the regular
army at Lexington, and that they were on their way to
Concord. Upon this a number of our minutemen belonging
to this town and Acton and Lincoln, with several others
that were in readiness, marched out to meet them. 20
While the alarm company were preparing to meet them
in the town, Captain Minot, who commanded them,
thought it proper to take possession of the hill above the
meetinghouse as the most advantageous situation. No
sooner had we gained it than we were met by the company
that were sent out to meet the troops, who informed us 5
they were just upon us and that we must retreat, as their
number was more than thribble to ours. We then retreated
from the hill near Liberty Pole and took a new post
back of the town upon a rising eminence, where we formed
into two battalions and waited the arrival of the enemy. 10
Scarcely had we formed before we saw the British troops
at the distance of a quarter of a mile, glittering in arms,
advancing toward us with the greatest celerity.
Some were for making a stand notwithstanding the
superiority of their numbers, but others more prudent 15
thought best to retreat till our strength should be equal
to the enemy by recruits from neighboring towns who were
continually coming in to our assistance. Accordingly we
retreated over the bridge; when the troops came into the
town, set fire to several carriages for the artillery, destroyed 20
sixty barrels of flour, rifled several houses, took possession
of the Town House, destroyed five hundred pounds of
ball, set a guard of a hundred men at the North Bridge,
and sent up a party to the house of Colonel Barrett, where
they were in expectation of finding a quantity of warlike25
stores; but these were happily secured just before their
arrival by transfer into the woods and other by-places.
In the meantime, the guard set by the enemy to secure the
pass at the North Bridge were alarmed by the approach
of our people, who had retreated, as mentioned before, 30
and were now advancing with special orders not to fire
upon the troops unless fired upon.
These orders were so punctually observed that we received
the fire of the enemy in three several and separate
discharges of their pieces before it was returned by our
commanding officer. The firing then soon became general
for several minutes, in which skirmish two were killed on 5
each side and several of the enemy wounded. It may here
be observed, by the way, that we were the more careful
to prevent beginning a rupture with the King's troops as
we were then uncertain what had happened at Lexington
and knew not that they had begun the quarrel there by 10
first firing upon our party and killing eight men upon the
spot. The British troops soon quitted their post at the
bridge and retreated in great disorder and confusion to the
main body, who were soon upon the march to meet them.
For half an hour the enemy, by their marches and countermarches, 15
discovered great fickleness and inconstancy of
mind, sometimes advancing, sometimes returning to their
former posts, till at length they quitted the town and retreated
by the way they came. In the meantime a party of
our men (one hundred and fifty) took the back way through20
the great fields into the East Quarter and had placed themselves
to advantage, lying in ambush behind walls, fences,
and buildings, ready to fire upon the enemy on their retreat.
—Journal.
1. This entry in Mr. Emerson's journal was made on the day of the Lexington-Concord battle. Give the date of it.
2. What poem did the Reverend Mr. Emerson's grandson write about the battle of Concord? Bring it to class and read it.
3. What famous ride is connected with this battle?
4. Describe the fight. Was Mr. Emerson actually engaged in the battle? Give proof of your answer.
HERVÉ RIEL
By Robert Browning
Robert Browning (1812-1889) is one of the great poets of England. The following incident of a simple French sailor performing a deed of heroism appealed to Browning's dramatic sense; hence this stirring ballad. The poem was written in 1871, when France was suffering defeat in the Franco-Prussian War. The proceeds from its sale (one hundred pounds) were contributed to French war sufferers.
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 5
pursue,
Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance,
With the English fleet in view.
'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full
chase;10
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 signaled to the place— 15
"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!"
Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on
board.
"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?"
laughed they.
"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred 5
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 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,
And with flow at full beside?10
Now, 'tis 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. 15
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? 20
Better run the ships aground!"—
(Ended Damfreville his speech)—
"Not a minute more to wait!
Let the captains all and each
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the25
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— 30
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—5
A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese.
And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé
Riel.
"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or
rogues?10
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?15
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. 20
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, 25
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, 30
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! 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.
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?