It was a fine morning, on the 28th of September, 1066. Harold's vessels, which had been cruising along the coast during a whole month, had put in to land on the previous evening, being short of provisions. The fleet of the Normans approached, therefore, without resistance, and landed in Sussex, at Bulverhithe, between Pevensey and Hastings. The archers landed first, then the horsemen, and lastly the pioneers carrying their tools and wood ready prepared for making trenches round their camp. The Duke was the last to set foot on English soil, after superintending the disembarking of his men. Immediately upon stepping down, he stumbled and fell, smearing his hands with dirt. A shudder ran along the ranks. "What ails you?" cried the Duke, who had instantly sprung to his feet. "I have seized the land with my hands, and by the grace of God, throughout its length and breadth, it is yours." They were reassured at these words; a camp was at once planned and fortified with wooden trenches, after the French fashion, and bands of soldiers overran the neighborhood, ravaging and laying waste the country. {98} Harold was still at Stamford, resting after the fatigues of the campaign against the Norwegians, when a messenger in an exhausted and breathless condition, burst into the room where he was at supper. "The enemy," he cried, "the enemy has landed!" Harold rose, for daybreak had arrived. He knew William and the Normans sufficiently well to feel confident that the struggle would be fierce and prolonged. Time was precious. Harold was accustomed to make forced marches, and he accordingly started for London, ordering on his road all the earls and free men to rally round his standard. The whole country rose at his command, and large forces were being organized in different parts. "In four days the Saxon will have a hundred thousand men at his side," William was informed by one of those Normans formerly established in England during the reign of King Edward, who served him as spies. But some time was necessary to bring together these confused masses of men and to assemble them at a given point. Harold, in his haste, had not given them time to do so. He had arrived in London; his mother Gytha found his army worn-out and very small for opposing so formidable an enemy. "Do not risk a battle, my son," she said; "let the Normans pursue their ravages in the country, and famine will rid you of them." Harold trembled with indignation. "Would you have me ruin my kingdom?" he said. "By my faith, it would be treason; I prefer to put my trust in the strength of my arm and the justice of my cause." His young brother, Gurth, persisted, for the oath made to the Duke William weighed upon his conscience. [Image] William the Conqueror Reviewing His Troops. {99}