PART VI: A Bed among the Birds
The Frenchman turned his thoughts toward
His shelter and his mooring,
For though the wind was breathing soft
Soon it could be roaring.
He gazed along the chain of rocks,
Les Douvres to the ‘Man’:
The Man stood like a citadel –
Its size gave him his plan.
Beneath that hulk of granite hewn
There stretched a sort of creek;
He steered his sloop inside its gate
His harbour there to seek.
His sloop safe moored, the sun had soared,
The tide was now full low;
Gazing from the Man to Douvres
His fears began to grow.
Between the two, the smaller rocks
Did form a corridor
Divided by the surf and squall
As sharp as tooth and claw.
No time to lose, he could not choose
His place to lay his head:
If he must labour day and night,
Les Douvres must be his bed.
He packed his sack upon his back
And hopped from rock to rock;
Arriving there, he climbed to reach
The steamer’s grisly dock.
The hull was split, the planks all ripped,
Each gust a tremor sent –
But paddles, chain and engine whole,
The funnel not even bent!
The sea had kept the ship alive
As might a cat a mouse;
Below it washed across red rocks
Like blood in a slaughterhouse.
He could not sleep aboard Durande
For fear that she would plummet:
His home must be the plateau on
The greater Douvre’s summit.
Its glossy sides too smooth to scale
And slippery as soap,
He thrust his hopes on the trusty
Sling and grasp of his rope.
His rope he threw, the aim was true –
Up flew the grappling hook:
Two times it scratched and slipped, the third –
It latched inside a nook.
Hand over hand he hauled himself
Atop the precipice
As far below the foam did seethe
At the foot of the abyss.
A bed once found inside a niche,
His problems both were solved;
He lay awake and watched above –
The darkening sky revolved!
The circling birds returning whirled
A halo thick as night;
Denied their nests upon the peak
To the Man they did alight.
The squawking chorus there denounced
The impostor on their rock:
In weeks to come, each conference
His task would seem to mock.
The Frenchman turned his thoughts toward
His shelter and his mooring,
For though the wind was breathing soft
Soon it could be roaring.
He gazed along the chain of rocks,
Les Douvres to the ‘Man’:
The Man stood like a citadel –
Its size gave him his plan.
Beneath that hulk of granite hewn
There stretched a sort of creek;
He steered his sloop inside its gate
His harbour there to seek.
His sloop safe moored, the sun had soared,
The tide was now full low;
Gazing from the Man to Douvres
His fears began to grow.
Between the two, the smaller rocks
Did form a corridor
Divided by the surf and squall
As sharp as tooth and claw.
No time to lose, he could not choose
His place to lay his head:
If he must labour day and night,
Les Douvres must be his bed.
He packed his sack upon his back
And hopped from rock to rock;
Arriving there, he climbed to reach
The steamer’s grisly dock.
The hull was split, the planks all ripped,
Each gust a tremor sent –
But paddles, chain and engine whole,
The funnel not even bent!
The sea had kept the ship alive
As might a cat a mouse;
Below it washed across red rocks
Like blood in a slaughterhouse.
He could not sleep aboard Durande
For fear that she would plummet:
His home must be the plateau on
The greater Douvre’s summit.
Its glossy sides too smooth to scale
And slippery as soap,
He thrust his hopes on the trusty
Sling and grasp of his rope.
His rope he threw, the aim was true –
Up flew the grappling hook:
Two times it scratched and slipped, the third –
It latched inside a nook.
Hand over hand he hauled himself
Atop the precipice
As far below the foam did seethe
At the foot of the abyss.
A bed once found inside a niche,
His problems both were solved;
He lay awake and watched above –
The darkening sky revolved!
The circling birds returning whirled
A halo thick as night;
Denied their nests upon the peak
To the Man they did alight.
The squawking chorus there denounced
The impostor on their rock:
In weeks to come, each conference
His task would seem to mock.
------------------------------------------
The adventure continues as Gilliat finds a bed among the birds atop the Greater Douvre. One of my favourite illustrations of the lot, this one...
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