The Last Man to Fall Was a Chief

The last man to fall was a chief. Twice i had seen him hard pressed and had lifted my javelin to slay him, but a touch of silly compunction had each time held my hand. But what cared the britons for flaxen locks or the goodliness of a young thaw? He had in his hands a broken spear, his own sword being snapped in two. And with this weapon he lay about fiercely every now and then as the men edged in upon him. Luckless, viking, there is no retreat or rescue. Even as i watched, his chin sank upon his chest. The pleasant lichened alleys of the seashore wood were