"I cannot make him out rightly." "'Tis West Saxon," said an old warrior from the waist.

"He asks who we are and what is our business." "Tell him therefore, if you can speak in his way," I answered; "and ask the same of him." So a hail or two went backwards and forwards, and then: "Says he is Odda, jarl or somewhat of Devon in Wessex, and bids us yield to Alfred the king." "In truth," said I, "if he had not spoken of yielding, I had had more to say to a king who can build ships like these.

Now we will speak with him on his own deck.

Tell him he will have to fight us first." The old warrior sent a mighty curt hail back in answer to Odda's summons; then our war horns blew, and the oars rose and fell, and we were grinding our bows alongside the great ship's quarter before they knew we were there.

Alfred's men had yet somewhat to learn of fighting in a sea way, as it seemed, for we were on their deck aft before they had risen from their oar benches.