tide held the ships strongly against the bridge. Yet when the ships
were there the height of the bridge above them was far greater than
it had seemed from a distance. Now their fore decks were under the
towers, for the upper works of these overhung the water.

Then the Danish war horns blew, and the men raised a great shout,
and down from those towers and from openings in the bridge rained
and thundered great ragged blocks of stone--masses rent from the
old Roman city walls--and into the ships they crashed, and there
rose a terrible cry from our men, for no ship that was ever built
could stand so fierce a storm as this.

Two good ships swayed and sank, and their men climbed on bridge and
piling, or leapt into the stream to reach the ships that yet were
afloat. Then the storm stayed for lack of rocks within reach, as it
would seem, for I saw men hoisting more into the towers as fast as
crane and windlass would serve them.

Now fell the javelins again, and still the grappling irons held the
ships, though the oars were manned. Then dared a man in each ship
to do the bravest deed of that day. Through rain of falling
javelins each ran forward, axe in hand, and cut the grappling lines
as our Norsemen cheered them in wild praise. Yet I know that not
one of those men lived to see that his deed had saved the ships,
for our oars were out and swiftly we towed them away to safety.

Aye, but I saw one tall Dane on the bridge strive to hold the hands
of his fellows that he might save at least the brave man in the
ship below him. And that should be told of him, for such a deed is
that of a true warrior.