And then old Ambroi paused. “Ah, yes!” said he, “You do not quite believe my tale, I see. Nathless these things all happened, understand: Did I not hold the tiller with this hand? Were I to live a thousand years, I say, I should remember what befell that day.” “What, father, you were there and saw the fun?” The labourers cried in mischief. “Three to one, They flattened you like scythes beneath the hammer!” “Who, me? The English?” the old tar ’gan stammer, Upspringing; then, with smile of fine disdain, Took up the burden of his tale again:-- IX. So with blood-dabbled feet fought we on Four hours, until dark. Then, our eyes being cleared of the powder, We missed from our bark Fivescore men. But the king of the English lost ships of renown: Three good vessels with all hands on board to the bottom went down. X. And now, our sides riddled with shot, Once more homeward hie we, Yards splintered, mast shivered, sails tattered; But brave Captain Bailly Spake us words of good cheer. “My comrades, ye have done well! To the great king of Paris the tale of your valour I’ll tell!” XI. “Well said, Captain dear!” we replied: “Sure the king will hear you When you speak. But for us, his poor mariners, What will he do,-- Who left our all gladly, our homes and our firesides,” we said, “For his sake, and lo! now in those homes there is crying for bread? XII. “Ah, Admiral, never forget When all bow before you, With a love like the love of your seamen None will adore you! Why, say but the word, and, ere homeward our footsteps we turn, Aloft on the tips of our fingers a king you are borne!” XIII. A Martigau, mending his nets One eve, made this ditty. Our admiral bade us farewell, And sought the great city. Were they wroth with his glory up there at the court? Who can say? But we saw our beloved commander no more from that day! A timely ending thus the minstrel made, Else the fast-coming tears his tale had stayed; But for the labourers--they sat intent, Mute all, with parted lips, and forward bent As if enchanted. Even when he was done, For a brief space they seemed to hearken on. “And such were aye the songs,” said the old man, “Sung in the good old days when Martha span. Long-winded, maybe, and the tunes were queer. But, youngsters, what of that? They suit my ear. Your new French airs mayhap may finer be; But no one understands the words, you see!”