Olaf’s chief captains, seeing the enemy’s fleet come out and how the matter lay, strongly advised King Olaf to elude this stroke of treachery, and with all sail hold on his course, fight being now on so unequal terms. Snorro says the king, high on the quarter-deck where he stood, replied: “Strike the sails! never shall men of mine think of flight. I never fled from battle. Let God dispose of my life; but flight I will never take!” And so the battle arrangements immediately began, and the battle with all fury went loose, and lasted hour after hour till almost sunset, if I well recollect. “Olaf stood on the Serpent’s quarter-deck,” says Snorro, “high over the others. He had a gilt shield and a helmet inlaid with gold; over his armor he had a short red coat, and was easily distinguished from other men.” The Danish fleet, the Swedish fleet, were both of them quickly dealt with, and successively withdrew out of shotrange. And then Jarl Eric came up and fiercely grappled with the Long Serpent, or rather with her surrounding comrades, and gradually, as they were beaten empty of men, with the Long Serpent herself. The fight grew ever fiercer, more furious. Eric was supplied with new men from the Swedes and Danes; Olaf had no such resource, except from the crews of his own beaten ships; and at length this also failed him, all his ships, except the Long Serpent, being beaten and emptied. Olaf fought on unyielding. Eric twice boarded him, was twice repulsed. Olaf kept his quarter-deck, unconquerable, though left now more and more hopeless, fatally short of help. A tall young man, called Einar Tamberskelver, very celebrated and important afterward in Norway, and already the best archer known, kept busy with his bow. Twice he nearly shot Jarl Eric in his ship. “Shoot me that man!” said Jarl Eric to a bowman near him; and, just as Tamberskelver was drawing his bow the third time, an arrow hit it in the middle and broke it in two. “What is this that has broken?” asked King Olaf. “Norway from thy hand, king,” answered Tamberskelver. Tryggveson’s men, he observed with surprise, were striking violently on Eric’s, but to no purpose; nobody fell. “How is this?” asked Tryggveson. “Our swords are notched and blunted, king; they do not cut.” Olaf stepped down to his arm-chest, delivered out new swords, and it was observed, as he did it, blood ran trickling from his wrist, but none knew where the wound was. Eric boarded a third time. Olaf, left with hardly more than one man, sprang overboard (one sees that red coat of his still glancing in the evening sun), and sank in the deep waters to his long rest.