mood,
gentler and more merciful in disposition, as life went on.

To this wandering Englishman beyond the seas came tidings of sad
disasters in his native land. Harold and his army had been overthrown at
Hastings, and Norman William was on the throne; Norman earls had
everywhere seized on English manors, Norman churls, ennobled on the
field of battle, were robbing and enslaving the old owners of the land.
The English had risen in the north, and William had harried whole
counties, leaving a desert where he had found a fertile and flourishing
land. The sufferings of the English at home touched the heart of this
genuine Englishman abroad. Hereward the Wake gathered a band of stout
warriors, took ship, and set sail for his native land.

And now, to a large extent, we leave the realm of legend, and enter the
domain of fact. Hereward henceforth is a historical character, but a
history his with shreds of romance still clinging to its skirts. First
of all, story credits him with descending on his ancestral hall of
Bourne, then in the possession of Normans, his father driven from his
domain, and now in his grave. Hereward dealt with the Normans as
Ulysses had done with the suitors, and when the hall was his there were
few of them left to tell the tale. Thence, not caring to be cooped up by
the enemy within stone walls, he marched merrily away, and sought a
safer refuge elsewhere.

This descent upon Bourne we should like to accept as fact. It has in it
the elements of righteous retribution. But we must admit that it is one
of the shreds of romance of which we have spoken, one of those
interesting stories which men believe to be true because they would like
them to be true,--possibly with a solid foundation, certainly with much
embellishment.

Where we first surely find Hereward is in the heart of the fen country
of eastern England. Here, at Ely in Cambridgeshire, a band of Englishmen
had formed what they called a "Camp of Refuge," whence they issued at
intervals in excursions against the Normans. England had no safer haven
of retreat for her patriot sons. Ely was practically an island, being
surrounded by watery marshes on all sides. Lurking behind the reeds and
rushes of these fens, and hidden by their misty exhalations, that
faithful band had long defied its foes.

Hither came Hereward with his warlike followers, and quickly found
himself at the head of the band of patriot refugees. History was
repeating itself. Centurie