As we lay in line among the bushes we could see without much fear of being ourselves seen, and by and by we could make out the ships.

They had their masts raised, and the sails were plain to be seen, ready for hoisting.

The men were busy about their decks, and on shore as well, while the vessels were yet close up to the land.
They must haul off soon, little by little, or they would be aground, as doubtless they had been with every tide till this, for rocks are none, only soft mud on which a ship may lie safely, but through which no man may go, save on such a "horse" as the fishers use to reach their nets withal, sledge-like contrivances of flat boards which sink not.
The wait seemed long, but at last we heard the hum of voices, and the tramp of feet, and our hearts beat fast and thick, for the time was coming.
Over the hill and down it they streamed in a long, loose line, laughing and shouting as the ships came in sight.

A long breath came from us, and there was a little stir among the men; but the time was not yet, and we crouched low, waiting to make our spring.
Then ran up a long red forked flag, with a black raven on it, from the largest ship, and that seemed to be a signal for haste, for the tide was failing, so that some of the foremost men began to stream away from their comrades.

And then I saw that many carried packs full of plunder, and also that the last of them were on the level.
So also saw the bishop, and he rose to his feet, pointing with the great mace he bore (for he might not wield sword) to the Danes, and saying: "For the honour of Dorset--for the holy cross--charge!" With a mighty shout we rose up, each in his place, and down the hill we rushed sword and axe aloft, on that straggling line.
Then from the Danes came a howl of wrath and terror, and, for a moment, dropping their burdens, they fled in a panic towards the ships.
Yet that was not the way of Danish men and vikings, and that flight stayed almost before it had gone fifty yards.