Hardly had the fray begun before Hardrada fell with a random arrow in his throat. The fury of the English onset could not be resisted. The Norwegians fell back and crossed the Derwent by Stamford Bridge, and the English followed. For a time a gigantic Norseman, like Horatius of old, “kept the bridge;” but he was slain at last, and the English swarmed after the retreating foe. At nightfall the Norsemen were overthrown, the raven banner of the Vikings was taken, and Tostig and most of his captains were dead. Harold had triumphed. His foes came in three hundred ships; they fled in twenty-four. [Illustration: =THE DEATH OF HAROLD.= (_From the drawing by Daniel Maclise, R.A. By permission of the Art Union of London._)] [Illustration] THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS. “_Norman saw on English oak,_ _On English neck a Norman yoke,_ _Norman spoon in English dish,_ _And England ruled as Normans wish;_ _Blithe world in England never will be more,_ _Till England’s rid of all the four._” And now, in mimic strife, let that great battle which gave England for the last time to foreign foes be fought again. The first act of the drama which we are about to witness takes place on the Sussex shore near Pevensey, on the spot where Roman and Saxon alike landed when they too coveted the possession of our isle. It is the twenty-ninth day of September, in the year of grace 1066. The wind that is even now fluttering the victorious banners of Harold at York is wafting to our coast an even more terrible foe. You see the vast armada of the Norman approaching the beach. Amidst the crowd of vessels which cover the sea you discern a ship with the prow fashioned like a brazen child loosing an arrow from a bended bow. That ship bears Duke William and his fortunes. Speedily the vessels run aground, planks are thrust ashore, and the work of landing begins. “Out archers!” is the cry, and the shaven and shorn cross-bowmen in their short habits spring ashore and form up on the beach. They scour the neighbourhood, but no armed foe is in sight. Now the knights, clad in hauberk, helmet, and shining cuirass, with their shields slung round their necks, step ashore, and their bustling squires, with many a tug and strain and muttered curse, lead their high-mettled chargers down the creaking gangways. In a trice the knights are mounted, their swords girded on, and their lances in hand. You see their glittering ranks form and wheel upon the shore. Here come the carpenters, with their axes, planes, and adzes, seeking a suitable spot for the erection of a castle, which was completely fashioned in Normandy, and now only needs fitting together. Great frames are carried ashore, and like magic a wooden fortress is deftly reared on the strand. Ere set of sun the stores are landed and safely bestowed within its walls. The guards are set, and the evening meal is served.