202 Southern Historical Society Papers.
spectator. No dense clouds of sulphurous smoke hung over a field of battle in those days, enveloping and concealing the action.
There was no refuge in rifle-pits, and no long-range batteries deal- ing death across the interval of miles. Doubtless the spectacle was imposing and inspiring.
The sunlight gleaming on the burnished armour of the steel-clad knights ; the gay trappings of the caparisoned steeds ; the standards of the chieftains unfurled to the breezes, resplendent with armorial bearings ; the blare of the trumpets sounding defiance and uttering the signal of battle ; the evolutions of the glittering lines ; the fierce onset of the knights with lances couched and bodies bent to the pom- mel; the swords leaping from their scabbards and clashing on shields and helmeted heads ; the terrible crash of the battle-axe oh, it seems to me that a man must needs have been a man, with a heart that knows not how to tremble, with a frame of iron, and with sinews of steel, to engage in such warfare as that. Give me, then, a man whose physical frame has been developed as befits a frame which en- shrines an immortal soul. Give me a man who is endowed with all the natural qualities of a true manhood. I will baptize him with the fire of a religious enthusiasm ; I will kindle in his soul the zeal which is born of faith in the everlasting God ; I will send him forth on such a field, armed in a righteous cause, and he will be invincible.
Gentlemen, religion is a force which enters the innermost recesses of the heart, and stirs the deepest powers of the soul. There is many a fool who thinks it a fit thing for women and children, but somehow detrimental to manliness and incongruous with the most exalted types of character, as they are manifested in the stirring action of life. It is this idea I combat. Believe me, religion strengthens, ennobles. It gives bones of iron and sinews of brass. In every righteous cause it enters as an ally heaven-born, and endowed of heaven with the heroic virtues of the archangels about the throne. It is no weak, nerveless, effeminate thing. It tones the tension of the soul to a pitch of heroism which earth-born spirits may strive in vain to reach.
It is night. It is the eve of the battle of Hastings. To-morrow shall be fought the fight upon which hang the destinies of Enghnd. I stand on the area between the embattled hosts, the area which shall to-morrow be contested with stubborn valor, and which shall run red with brave blood. The moon sheds her sweet light, as though she were shining on human loves, and happiness, and sweet peace, and the stars blink and twinkle in the skies. Yonder is the camp of the Normans, and there the tents of the Saxons. I stand between. Upon
