 Section 81 of England. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sonya. The World's Story, Volume 9, England, edited by Eva March-Tappen. Section 81. The Revenge, A Ballad of the Fleet, by Alfred Lord Tennyson. In 1591 an English squadron was on the way to intercept the Spanish vessels with their vast amount of treasure from the New World. A strong Spanish fleet came upon them, but Grenville, who was second in command, delayed till he could get his sick men safely on board. He then tried to sail through the Spanish fleet, but was overpowered after many hours of desperate fighting. The Editor. 1. At Flores, in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay, and the Pinners, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away. Spanish ships of war at sea, we have sighted fifty-three. Then swear Lord Thomas Howard, for God I am no coward, but I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, and to have my men as sick. I must fly, but follow quick, we are six ships of the line. Can we fight with fifty-three? 2. Then spake Sir Richard Grenville. I know you are no coward, you fly them for a moment to fight with them again. But I have ninety men, and more that are lying sick ashore. I should count myself the coward, if I left them, my Lord Howard, to these inquisition dogs, and the devil-doms of Spain. 3. So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that day, till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven. But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land, very carefully and slow, men of Bideford in Devon, and we laid them on the ballast down below. For we brought them all aboard, and they blessed him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain, to the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord. 4. He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight, and he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, with his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather-bow. Shall we fight, or shall we fly? Good Sir Richard, let us know, for to fight is but to die. There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set, and Sir Richard said again, We be all good Englishmen, let us hang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, for I'd never turned my back upon Don or Devil yet. 5. Sir Richard spoke, and he laughed, and we roared the hurrah, and so the little revenge ran on, sheer into the heart of the foe, with a hundred fighters on deck, and a ninety sick below, for half of their fleet to the right, and half to the left was seen, and the little revenge ran on, through the long sea-lane between. 6. Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and laughed, thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft, running on and on till delayed, by their mountain-like Sun-Philip, that of fifteen hundred tons, and upshadowing high above us, with the yawning tears of guns, took the breath from our sails, and we stayed. 7. And while now the great Sun-Philip hung above us like a cloud, whence the thunderbolt will fall, long and loud, four galleons drew away from the Spanish fleet that day, and two upon the lair-board, and two upon the star-board lay, and a battle-thunder broke from them all. 8. By the none the great Sun-Philip she bethought herself and went, having that within her womb that had left her ill-content, and the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand, for a dozen times they came with their pikes and musketeers, and a dozen times we shook them off as a dog that shakes his ears, when he leaps from the water to the land. 9. And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer-sea, but never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three. Ship after ship, the whole night long, the high-built galleons came. Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame. Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame, for some were sunk, and many were shattered, and so could fight us no more. God of battles was ever a battle like this in the world before. 10. For he said, fight on, fight on, though his vessel was all but a wreck, and a chance that when half of the summer night was gone, with a grisly wound to be dressed, he had left the deck, but the bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead, and himself he was wounded again in the side and the head, and he said, fight on, fight on. 11. And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer-sea, and the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring, but they dared not touch us again, for they feared that we still could sting. So they watched what the end would be, and we had not fought them in vain, but in perilous plight were we, seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, and half of the rest of us maimed for life, in the crash of the cannon-aids and the desperate strife, and the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold, and the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent. 12. And the masts and rigging were lying over the side, but Sir Richard cried in his English pride, We have fought such a fight for a day and a night, as may never be fought again. We have won great glory, my men, and a day less or more, at sea or a shore, we die, does it matter when? Sink me the ship, Master Gunner, sinker, splitter in twain, fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain. 12. And the gunner said, I, I, but the seamen made reply, We have children, we have wives, and the Lord has spared our lives, we will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield to let us go, we shall live to fight again and to strike another blow, and the lion dare lay dying, and they yield it to the foe. 13. And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then, where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last, and they praised him to his face with their courtly, foreign grace. But he rose upon their decks, and he cried, I have fought for queen and faith, like a valiant man and true, I have only done my duty, as a man is bound to do. With a joyful spirit, I, Sir Richard Grenville, die, and he fell upon their decks, and he died. 14. And they stared at the dead, that had been so valiant and true, and had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap, that he dared her with one little ship and his English few. 15. Was he devil or man? He was devil for all they knew, but they sank his body with honour down into the deep, and they meant the revenge with a sworthier alien crew, and the way she sailed with her loss and longed for her own. A wind from the lands they had ruined, awoke from sleep, and the water began to heave, and the weather to moan, and or ever that evening ended, a great gale blew, and a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, and the whole sea plunged and fell on the shod-shattered navy of Spain, and the little revenge herself went down by the island crags to be lost evermore in the main. End of Section 81 End of The World Story A history of the world in story, song, and art. Volume 9. England Edited by Eva Marchtappen