Next day--the day before the battle--William attempted to obtain a personal interview with Harold. Harold refused to meet him. By the messenger who brought Harold’s negative to the proposal for a meeting, William sent him word that if he would retire he would give him all Northumberland, and whatever belonged to the kingdom beyond the Humber; to his brother Gurth he promised the lands of Godwin their father. Harold rejected this also: Northumberland was nothing worth; it was chiefly peopled by Danes, and was liable to constant invasion. William, when king, could not govern Northumberland. As a matter, not of feeling, not of revenge, but of cool, calculating state policy, he swept it of every living thing--he made it a desert, and such it continued for a century after his time. At the same time that William sent his last message, he charged the clerk who took it, in case of refusal, to sow the seeds of terror and dissatisfaction among the English. “Tell them,” said he, “that all who come with Harold, or support him in this affair, are excommunicated by the Apostle and his clergy.” This was a javelin skilfully thrown. “At this excommunication the English were much troubled; they feared it greatly, and the battle still more.” Gurth, however, rallied them. He told them that their all was at stake, that William had promised their lands to his followers, and that he had already taken homage for them from many. “Defend yourselves then,” he said, “and your children and all that belongs to you, while you may.” At these words the English were aroused, and cried out that the Normans had come on an evil day, and had embarked on a foolish matter. “The Duke and his men tried no further negotiation, but returned to their tents, sure of fighting on the morrow. Then men were to be seen on every side straightening lances, fitting hauberks and helmets, making ready the saddles and stirrups; filling the quivers, stringing the bows, and making all ready for the battle.” The night before a battle must be a season of peculiar solemnity and suspense. The shades of night, giving indistinctness to the landscape, harmonize too well with the doubts which becloud the mind as to the morrow’s destiny. He is a fool, not a hero, who would step from time into eternity without solemn thought.