THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS.
A.D. 1066
Tostig.--He is driven from England.--Expedition of Tostig.--He sails
to Norway.--Tostig's alliance with the Norwegians.--The Norwegian
fleet.--Superstitions.--Dreams of the soldiers.--The combined
fleets.--Attack on Scarborough.--The rolling fire.--Burning of
Scarborough.--Tostig marches to York.--Surrender of the city.--Arrival
of King Harold.--Movements of Tostig.--Surprise of Tostig and his
allies.--Preparations for battle.--Negotiations between Tostig and his
brother.--The battle.--Death of Tostig.--The Norwegians retire.--Harold
attempts to surprise William.--His failure.--Advice of Harold's
counselors.--He rejects it.--Harold's encampment.--The country
alarmed.--Harold's brothers.--He proposes to visit William's
camp.--Harold's arrival at William's lines.--He reconnoiters the
camp.--Harold's despondency.--His spies.--Their report.--William's
embassadors.--Their propositions.--William's propositions
unreasonable.--Harold declines them.--Further proposals of
William.--Counter proposal of Harold.--Harold's forebodings.--Proposals
of his brothers.--Night before the battle.--Scenes in Harold's
camp.--Scenes in William's camp.--Religious ceremonies.--A martial
bishop.--William's war-horse.--Preliminary arrangements.--Battle of
Hastings.--Defeat of Harold.--He is slain.--Final subjugation of the
island.--William crowned at Westminster.--William's power.--His
greatness.
The reader will doubtless recollect that the tidings which William first
received of the accession of King Harold were brought to him by Tostig,
Harold's brother, on the day when he was trying his bow and arrows in
the park at Rouen. Tostig was his brother's most inveterate foe. He had
been, during the reign of Edward, a great chieftain, ruling over the
north of England. The city of York was then his capital. He had been
expelled from these his dominions, and had quarreled with his brother
Harold in respect to his right to be restored to them. In the course of
this quarrel he was driven from the country altogether, and went to the
Continent, burning with rage and resentment against his brother; and
when he came to inform William of Harold's usurpation, his object was
not merely to arouse _William_ to action--he wished to act himself. He
told William that he himself had more influence in England still than
his brother, and that if William would supply him with a small fleet
and a moderate number of men, he would make a descent upon the coast and
show what he could do.
William acceded to his proposal, and furnished him with the force which
he required, and Tostig set sail. William had not, apparently, much
confidence in the power of Tostig to produce any great effect, but his
efforts, he thought, might cause some alarm in England, and occasion
sudden and fatiguing marches to the troops, and thus distract and weaken
King Harold's forces. William would not, therefore, accompany Tostig
himself, but, dismissing him with such force as he could readily raise
on so sudden a call, he remained himself in Normandy, and commenced in
earnest his own grand preparations, as is described in the last chapter.
Tostig did not think it prudent to attempt a landing on English shores
until he had obtained some accession to the force which William had
given him. He accordingly passed through the Straits of Dover, and then
turning northward, he sailed along the eastern shores of the German
Ocean in search of allies. He came, at length, to Norway. He entered
into negotiations there with the Norwegian king, whose name, too, was
Harold. This northern Harold was a wild and adventurous soldier and
sailor, a sort of sea king, who had spent a considerable portion of his
life in marauding excursions upon the seas. He readily entered into
Tostig's views. An arrangement was soon concluded, and Tostig set sail
again to cross the German Ocean toward the British shores, while Harold
promised to collect and equip his own fleet as soon as possible, and
follow him. All this took place early in September; so that, at the same
time that William's threatened invasion was gathering strength and
menacing Harold's southern frontier, a cloud equally dark and gloomy,
and quite as threatening in its aspect, was rising and swelling in the
north; while King Harold himself, though full of vague uneasiness and
alarm, could gain no certain information in respect to either of these
dangers.
The Norwegian fleet assembled at the port appointed for the rendezvous
of it, but, as the season was advanced and the weather stormy, the
soldiers there, like William's soldiers on the coast of France, were
afraid to put to sea. Some of them had dreams which they considered as
bad omens; and so much superstitious importance was attached to such
ideas in those times that these dreams were gravely recorded by the
writers of the ancient chronicles, and have come down to us as part of
the regular and sober history of the times. One soldier dreamed that the
expedition had sailed and landed on the English coast, and that there
the English army came out to meet them. Before the front of the army
rode a woman of gigantic stature, mounted on a wolf. The wolf had in his
jaws a human body, dripping with blood, which he was engaged in
devouring as he came along. The woman gave the wolf another victim after
he had devoured the first.
Another of these ominous dreams was the following: Just as the fleet was
about setting sail, the dreamer saw a crowd of ravenous vultures and
birds of prey come and alight every where upon the sails and rigging of
the ships, as if they were going to accompany the expedition. Upon the
summit of a rock near the shore there sat the figure of a female, with a
stern and ferocious countenance, and a drawn sword in her hand. She was
busy counting the ships, pointing at them, as she counted, with her
sword. She seemed a sort of fiend of destruction, and she called out to
the birds, to encourage them to go. "Go!" said she, "without fear; you
shall have abundance of prey. I am going too."
It is obvious that these dreams might as easily have been interpreted to
portend death and destruction to their English foes as to the dreamers
themselves. The soldiers were, however, inclined--in the state of mind
which the season of the year, the threatening aspect of the skies, and
the certain dangers of their distant expedition, produced--to apply the
gloomy predictions which they imagined these dreams expressed, to
themselves. Their chief, however, was of too desperate and determined a
character to pay any regard to such influences. He set sail. His
armament crossed the German Sea in safety, and joined Tostig on the
coast of Scotland. The combined fleet moved slowly southward, along the
shore, watching for an opportunity to land.
[Illustration: THE NORWEGIANS AT SCARBOROUGH.]
They reached, at length, the town of Scarborough, and landed to attack
it. The inhabitants retired within the walls, shut the gates, and bid
the invaders defiance. The town was situated under a hill, which rose in
a steep acclivity upon one side. The story is, that the Norwegians went
upon this hill, where they piled up an enormous heap of trunks and
branches of trees, with the interstices filled with stubble, dried
bark, and roots, and other such combustibles, and then setting the whole
mass on fire, they rolled it down into the town--a vast ball of fire,
roaring and crackling more and more, by the fanning of its flames in the
wind, as it bounded along. The intelligent reader will, of course, pause
and hesitate, in considering how far to credit such a story. It is
obviously impossible that any mere _pile_, however closely packed, could
be made to roll. But it is, perhaps, not absolutely impossible that
trunks of trees might be framed together, or fastened with wet thongs or
iron chains, after being made in the form of a rude cylinder or ball,
and filled with combustibles within, so as to retain its integrity in
such a descent.
The account states that this strange method of bombardment was
successful. The town was set on fire; the people surrendered. Tostig and
the Norwegians plundered it, and then, embarking again in their ships,
they continued their voyage.
The intelligence of this descent upon his northern coasts reached Harold
in London toward the close of September, just as he was withdrawing his
forces from the southern frontier, as was related in the last chapter,
under the idea that the Norman invasion would probably be postponed
until the spring; so that, instead of sending his troops into their
winter quarters, he had to concentrate them again with all dispatch, and
march at the head of them to the north, to avert this new and unexpected
danger.
While King Harold was thus advancing to meet them, Tostig and his
Norwegian allies entered the River Humber. Their object was to reach the
city of York, which had been Tostig's former capital, and which was
situated near the River Ouse, a branch of the Humber. They accordingly
ascended the Humber to the mouth of the Ouse, and thence up the latter
river to a suitable point of debarkation not far from York. Here they
landed and formed a great encampment. From this encampment they advanced
to the siege of the city. The inhabitants made some resistance at first;
but, finding that their cause was hopeless, they offered to surrender,
and a treaty of surrender was finally concluded. This negotiation was
closed toward the evening of the day, and Tostig and his confederate
forces were to be admitted on the morrow. They therefore, feeling that
their prize was secure, withdrew to their encampment for the night, and
left the city to its repose.
It so happened that King Harold arrived that very night, coming to the
rescue of the city. He expected to have found an army of besiegers
around the walls, but, instead of that, there was nothing to intercept
his progress up to the very gates of the city. The inhabitants opened
the gates to receive him, and the whole detachment which was marching
under his command passed in, while Tostig and his Norwegian allies were
sleeping quietly in their camp, wholly unconscious of the great change
which had thus taken place in the situation of their affairs.
The next morning Tostig drew out a large portion of the army, and formed
them in array, for the purpose of advancing to take possession of the
city. Although it was September, and the weather had been cold and
stormy, it happened that, on that morning, the sun came out bright, and
the air was calm, giving promise of a warm day; and as the movement into
the city was to be a peaceful one--a procession, as it were, and not a
hostile march--the men were ordered to leave their coats of mail and all
their heavy armor in camp, that they might march the more unencumbered.
While they were advancing in this unconcerned and almost defenseless
condition, they saw before them, on the road leading to the city, a
great cloud of dust arising. It was a strong body of King Harold's
troops coming out to attack them. At first, Tostig and the Norwegians
were completely lost and bewildered at the appearance of so unexpected a
spectacle. Very soon they could see weapons glittering here and there,
and banners flying. A cry of "The enemy! the enemy!" arose, and passed
along their ranks, producing universal alarm. Tostig and the Norwegian
Harold halted their men, and marshaled them hastily in battle array. The
English Harold did the same, when he had drawn up near to the front of
the enemy; both parties then paused, and stood surveying one another.
Presently there was seen advancing from the English side a squadron of
twenty horsemen, splendidly armed, and bearing a flag of truce. They
approached to within a short distance of the Norwegian lines, when a
herald, who was among them, called out aloud for Tostig. Tostig came
forward in answer to the summons. The herald then proclaimed to Tostig
that his brother did not wish to contend with him, but desired, on the
contrary, that they should live together in harmony. He offered him
peace, therefore, if he would lay down his arms, and he promised to
restore him his former possessions and honors.
Tostig seemed very much inclined to receive this proposition favorably.
He paused and hesitated. At length he asked the messenger what terms
King Harold would make with his friend and ally, the Norwegian Harold.
"He shall have," replied the messenger, "seven feet of English ground
for a grave. He shall have a little more than that, for he is taller
than common men." "Then," replied Tostig, "tell my brother to prepare
for battle. It shall never be said that I abandoned and betrayed my ally
and friend."
The troop returned with Tostig's answer to Harold's lines, and the
battle almost immediately began. Of course the most eager and inveterate
hostility of the English army would be directed against the Norwegians
and their king, whom they considered as foreign intruders, without any
excuse or pretext for their aggression. It accordingly happened that,
very soon after the commencement of the conflict, Harold the Norwegian
fell, mortally wounded by an arrow in his throat. The English king then
made new proposals to Tostig to cease the combat, and come to some
terms of accommodation. But, in the mean time, Tostig had become himself
incensed, and would listen to no overtures of peace. He continued the
combat until he was himself killed. The remaining combatants in his army
had now no longer any motive for resistance. Harold offered them a free
passage to their ships, that they might return home in peace, if they
would lay down their arms. They accepted the offer, retired on board
their ships, and set sail. Harold then, having, in the mean time, heard
of William's landing on the southern coast, set out on his return to the
southward, to meet the more formidable enemy that menaced him there.
His army, though victorious, was weakened by the fatigues of the march,
and by the losses suffered in the battle. Harold himself had been
wounded, though not so severely as to prevent his continuing to exercise
the command. He pressed on toward the south with great energy, sending
messages on every side, into the surrounding country, on his line of
march, calling upon the chieftains to arm themselves and their
followers, and to come on with all possible dispatch, and join him. He
hoped to advance so rapidly to the southern coast as to surprise
William before he should have fully intrenched himself in his camp, and
without his being aware of his enemy's approach. But William, in order
to guard effectually against surprise, had sent out small reconnoitering
parties of horsemen on all the roads leading northward, that they might
bring him in intelligence of the first approach of the enemy. Harold's
advanced guard met these parties, and saw them as they drove rapidly
back to the camp to give the alarm. Thus the hope of surprising William
was disappointed. Harold found, too, by his spies, as he drew near, to
his utter dismay, that William's forces were four times as numerous as
his own. It would, of course, be madness for him to think of attacking
an enemy in his intrenchments with such an inferior force. The only
alternative left him was either to retreat, or else to take some strong
position and fortify himself there, in the hope of being able to resist
the invaders and arrest their advance, though he was not strong enough
to attack them.
Some of his counselors advised him not to hazard a battle at all, but
to fall back toward London, carrying with him or destroying every thing
which could afford sustenance to William's army from the whole breadth
of the land. This would soon, they said, reduce William's army to great
distress for want of food, since it would be impossible for him to
transport supplies across the Channel for so vast a multitude. Besides,
they said, this plan would compel William, in the extremity to which
he would be reduced, to make so many predatory excursions among the more
distant villages and towns, as would exasperate the inhabitants,
and induce them to join Harold's army in great numbers to repel
the invasion. Harold listened to these counsels, but said, after
consideration, that he could never adopt such a plan. He could not be
so derelict to his duty as to lay waste a country which he was under
obligations to protect and save, or compel his people to come to his aid
by exposing them, designedly, to the excesses and cruelties of so
ferocious an enemy.
Harold determined, therefore, on giving William battle. It was not
necessary, however, for him to attack the invader. He perceived at once
that if he should take a strong position and fortify himself in it,
William must necessarily attack _him_, since a foreign army, just landed
in the country, could not long remain inactive on the shore. Harold
accordingly chose a position six or seven miles from William's camp,
and fortified himself strongly there. Of course neither army was in
sight of the other, or knew the numbers, disposition, or plans of the
enemy. The country between them was, so far as the inhabitants were
concerned, a scene of consternation and terror. No one knew at what
point the two vast clouds of danger and destruction which were hovering
near them would meet, or over what regions the terrible storm which was
to burst forth when the hour of that meeting should come, would sweep in
its destructive fury. The inhabitants, therefore, were every where
flying in dismay, conveying away the aged and the helpless by any means
which came most readily to hand; taking with them, too, such treasures
as they could carry, and hiding, in rude and uncertain places of
concealment, those which they were compelled to leave behind. The
region, thus, which lay between the two encampments was rapidly becoming
a solitude and a desolation, across which no communication was made, and
no tidings passed to give the armies at the encampments intelligence of
each other.
Harold had two brothers among the officers of his army, Gurth and
Leofwin. Their conduct toward the king seems to have been of a more
fraternal character than that of Tostig, who had acted the part of a
rebel and an enemy. Gurth and Leofwin, on the contrary, adhered to his
cause, and, as the hour of danger and the great crisis which was to
decide their fate drew nigh, they kept close to his side, and evinced a
truly fraternal solicitude for his safety. It was they, specially, who
had recommended to Harold to fall back on London, and not risk his life,
and the fate of his kingdom, on the uncertain event of a battle.
As soon as Harold had completed his encampment, he expressed a desire
to Gurth to ride across the intermediate country and take a view of
William's lines. Such an undertaking was less dangerous then than it
would be at the present day; for now, such a reconnoitering party would
be discovered from the enemy's encampment, at a great distance, by means
of spy-glasses, and a twenty-four-pound shot or a shell would be sent
from a battery to blow the party to pieces or drive them away. The only
danger _then_ was of being pursued by a detachment of horsemen from the
camp, or surrounded by an ambuscade. To guard against these dangers,
Harold and Gurth took the most powerful and fleetest horses in the
camp, and they called out a small but strong guard of well-selected men
to escort them. Thus provided and attended, they rode over to the
enemy's lines, and advanced so near that, from a small eminence to which
they ascended, they could survey the whole scene of William's
encampment: the palisades and embankments with which it was guarded,
which extended for miles; the long lines of tents within; the vast
multitude of soldiers; the knights and officers riding to and fro,
glittering with steel; and the grand pavilion of the duke himself, with
the consecrated banner of the cross floating above it. Harold was very
much impressed with the grandeur of the spectacle.
After gazing on this scene for some time in silence, Harold said to
Gurth that perhaps, after all, the policy of falling back would have
been the wisest for them to adopt, rather than to risk a battle with so
overwhelming a force as they saw before them. He did not know, he added,
but that it would be best for them to change their plan, and adopt that
policy now. Gurth said that it was too late. They had taken their stand,
and now for them to break up their encampment and retire would be
considered a retreat and not a maneuver, and it would discourage and
dishearten the whole realm.
After surveying thus, as long as they desired to do so, the situation
and extent of William's encampment, Harold's party returned to their own
lines, still determined to make a stand there against the invaders, but
feeling great doubt and despondency in respect to the result. Harold
sent over, too, in the course of the day, some spies. The men whom he
employed for this purpose were Normans by birth, and they could speak
the French language. There were many Normans in England, who had come
over in King Edward's time. These Norman spies could, of course,
disguise themselves, and mingle, without attracting attention, among the
thousands of workmen and camp followers that were going and coming
continually around the grounds which William's army occupied. They did
this so effectually, that they penetrated within the encampment without
difficulty, examined every thing, and, in due time, returned to Harold
with their report. They gave a formidable account of the numbers and
condition of William's troops. There was a large corps of bowmen in the
army, which had adopted a fashion of being shaven and shorn in such a
manner that the spies mistook them for priests. They told Harold,
accordingly, on their return, that there were more _priests_ in
William's camp than there were soldiers in all his army.
During this eventful day, William too sent a body of horsemen across the
country which separated the two encampments, though his emissaries were
not spies, but embassadors, with propositions for peace. William had no
wish to fight a battle, if what he considered as rightfully his kingdom
could be delivered to him without it; and he determined to make one
final effort to obtain a peaceable surrender of it, before coming to the
dreadful resort of an appeal to arms. He accordingly sent his embassy
with _three_ propositions to make to the English king. The principal
messenger in this company was a monk, whose name was Maigrot. He rode,
with a proper escort and a flag of truce, to Harold's lines. The
propositions were these, by accepting either of which the monk said that
Harold might avoid a battle. 1. That Harold should surrender the kingdom
to William, as he had solemnly sworn to do over the sacred relics in
Normandy. 2. That they should both agree to refer the whole subject of
controversy between them to the pope, and abide by his decision. 3.
That they should settle the dispute by single combat, the two claimants
to the crown to fight a duel on the plain, in presence of their
respective armies.
It is obvious that Harold could not accept either of these propositions.
The first was to give up the whole point at issue. As for the second,
the pope had already prejudged the case, and if it were to be referred
to him, there could be no doubt that he would simply reaffirm his former
decision. And in respect to single combat, the disadvantage on Harold's
part would be as great in such a contest as it would be in the proposed
arbitration. He was himself a man of comparatively slender form and of
little bodily strength. William, on the other hand, was distinguished
for his size, and for his extraordinary muscular energy. In a modern
combat with fire-arms these personal advantages would be of no avail,
but in those days, when the weapons were battle-axes, lances, and
swords, they were almost decisive of the result. Harold therefore
declined all William's propositions, and the monk returned.
William seems not to have been wholly discouraged by this failure of his
first attempt at negotiation, for he sent his embassage a second time
to make one more proposal. It was, that if Harold would consent to
acknowledge William as King of England, William would assign the whole
territory to him and to his brother Gurth, to hold _as provinces_, under
William's general sway. Under this arrangement William would himself
return to Normandy, making the city of Rouen, which was his capital
there, the capital of the whole united realm. To this proposal Harold
replied, that he could not, on any terms, give up his rights as
sovereign of England. He therefore declined this proposal also. He,
however, now made a proposition in his turn. He was willing, he said, to
compromise the dispute, so far as it could be done by _the payment of
money_. If William would abandon his invasion and return to Normandy,
giving up his claims to the English crown, he would pay him, he said,
any sum of money that he would name.
William could not accept this proposal. He was, as he believed, the true
and rightful heir to the throne of England, and there was a point of
honor involved, as well as a dictate of ambition to be obeyed, in
insisting on the claim. In the mean time, the day had passed, while
these fruitless negotiations had been pending. Night was coming on.
William's officers and counselors began to be uneasy at the delay. They
said that every hour new re-enforcements were coming into Harold's camp,
while they themselves were gaining no advantage, and, consequently, the
longer the battle was delayed, the less was the certainty of victory. So
William promised them that he would attack King Harold in his camp the
very next morning.
As the time for the great final struggle drew near, Harold's mind was
oppressed more and more with a sense of anxiety and with foreboding
fears. His brothers, too, were ill at ease. Their solicitude was
increased by the recollection of Harold's oath, and of the awful
sanctions with which they feared the sacred relics might have invested
it. They were not sure that their brother's excuse for setting it aside
would save him from the guilt and curse of perjury in the sight of
Heaven. So they proposed, on the eve of the battle, that Harold himself
should retire, and leave them to conduct the defense. "We can not deny,"
they said, "that you did take the oath; and, notwithstanding the
circumstances which seem to absolve you from the obligation, it is best
to avoid, if possible, the open violation of it. It will be better, on
the whole, for you to leave the army and go to London. You can aid very
effectually in the defense of the kingdom by raising re-enforcements
there. We will stay and encounter the actual battle. Heaven can not be
displeased with us for so doing, for we shall be only discharging the
duty incumbent on all, of defending their native land from foreign
invasion."
Harold would not consent to adopt this plan. He could not retire
himself, he said, at the hour of approaching danger, and leave his
brothers and his friends exposed, when it was _his_ crown for which
they were contending.
Such were the circumstances of the two armies on the evening before the
battle; and, of course, in such a state of things, the tendency of the
minds of men would be, in Harold's camp, to gloom and despondency, and
in William's, to confidence and exultation. Harold undertook, as men in
his circumstances often do, to lighten the load which weighed upon his
own heart and oppressed the spirits of his men, by feasting and wine. He
ordered a plentiful supper to be served, and supplied his soldiers with
abundance of drink; and it is said that his whole camp exhibited, during
the whole night, one wide-spread scene of carousing and revelry, the
troops being gathered every where in groups around their camp fires,
some half stupefied, others quarreling, and others still singing
national songs, and dancing with wild excitement, according to the
various effects produced upon different constitutions by the
intoxicating influence of beer and wine.
In William's camp there were witnessed very different scenes. There were
a great many monks and ecclesiastics in the train of his army, and, on
the night before the battle, they spent the time in saying masses,
reading litanies and prayers, chanting anthems, and in other similar
acts of worship, assisted by the soldiers, who gathered, in great
congregations, for this wild worship, in the open spaces among the tents
and around the camp fires. At length they all retired to rest, feeling
an additional sense of safety in respect to the work of the morrow by
having, as they supposed, entitled themselves, by their piety, to the
protection of Heaven.
In the morning, too, in William's camp, the first thing done was to
convene the army for a grand celebration of mass. It is a curious
illustration of the mingling of the religious, or, perhaps, we ought
rather to say, the superstitious sentiment of the times, with the
spirit of war, that the bishop who officiated in this solemn service of
the mass wore a coat of mail under his pontifical attire, and an
attendant stood by his side, while he was offering his prayers, with a
steel-pointed spear in his hand, ready for the martial prelate to assume
as soon as the service should be ended. Accordingly, when the religious
duty was performed, the bishop threw off his surplice, took his spear,
and mounting his white charger, which was also all saddled and bridled
beside him, he headed a brigade of horse, and rode on to the assault of
the enemy.
William himself mounted a very magnificent war-horse from Spain, a
present which he had formerly received from one of his wealthy barons.
The name of the horse was Bayard. From William's neck were suspended
some of the most sacred of the relics over which Harold had taken his
false oath. He imagined that there would be some sort of charm in them,
to protect his life, and to make the judgment of Heaven more sure
against the perjurer. The standard which the pope had blessed was borne
by his side by a young standard bearer, who was very proud of the honor.
An older soldier, however, on whom the care of this standard officially
devolved, had asked to be excused from carrying it. He wished, he said,
to do his work that day with the _sword_. While making these preliminary
arrangements for going into battle, William, with the party around him,
stood upon a gentle eminence in the middle of the camp, and in sight of
the whole army. Every one was struck with admiration at the splendid
figure which their commander made--his large and well-formed limbs
covered with steel, and his horse, whose form was as noble as that of
his master, prancing restlessly, as if impatient for the battle to
begin.
When all were ready, the Norman army advanced gayly and joyously to
attack the English lines; but the gayety and joyousness of the scene
soon disappeared, as corps after corps got fairly engaged in the awful
work of the day. For ten long hours there reigned over the whole field
one wide-spread scene of havoc and death--every soul among all those
countless thousands delivered up to the supreme dominion of the most
dreadful passions, excited to a perfect phrensy of hatred, rage, and
revenge, and all either mercilessly killing others, or dying themselves
in agony and despair. When night came, the Normans were every where
victorious. They were in full possession of the field, and they rode
triumphantly to and fro through Harold's camp, leaping their horses over
the bodies of the dead and dying which covered the ground. Those of King
Harold's followers that had escaped the slaughter of the day fled in
hopeless confusion toward the north, where the flying masses strewed the
roads for miles with the bodies of men who sank down on the way, spent
with wounds or exhausted by fatigue.
In the morning, William marshaled his men on the field, and called over
the names of the officers and men, as they had been registered in
Normandy, for the purpose of ascertaining who were killed. While this
melancholy ceremony was going on, two monks came in, sent from the
remains of the English army, and saying that King Harold was missing,
and that it was rumored that he had been slain. If so, his body must be
lying somewhere, they said, upon the field, and they wished for
permission to make search for it. The permission was granted. With the
aid of some soldiers they began to explore the ground, turning over and
examining every lifeless form which, by the dress or the armor, might
seem to be possibly the king's. Their search was for a long time vain;
the ghastly faces of the dead were so mutilated and changed that nobody
could be identified. At length, however, a woman who had been in
Harold's family, and knew his person more intimately than they, found
and recognized the body, and the monks and the soldiers carried it away.
* * * * *
The battle of Hastings sealed and settled the controversy in respect to
the English crown. It is true that the adherents of Harold, and also
those of Edgar Atheling, made afterward various efforts to rally their
forces and recover the kingdom, but in vain. William advanced to London,
fortified himself there, and made excursions from that city as a centre
until he reduced the island to his sway. He was crowned at length, at
Westminster Abbey, with great pomp and parade. He sent for Matilda to
come and join him, and instated her in his palace as Queen of England.
He confiscated the property of all the English nobles who had fought
against him, and divided it among the Norman chieftains who had aided
him in the invasion. He made various excursions to and from Normandy
himself, being received every where throughout his dominions, on both
sides the Channel, with the most distinguished honors. In a word, he
became, in the course of a few years after he landed, one of the
greatest and most powerful potentates on the globe. How far all his
riches and grandeur were from making him happy, will appear in the
following chapter.