The
guards were hewn down, the outposts taken, and the King's men were
falling back in confusion, their standard lost, when Prince Vitislav
of Ruegen who had been camping with his men in a hollow between the
sand-hills, out of the line of attack, threw himself between them
and the Esthlanders, and gave the Danes time to form their lines.
In the twilight of the June evening the battle raged with great
fury. With the King at their head, who had led them to victory on so
many hard-fought fields, the Danes drove back their savage foes time
after time, literally hewing their way through their ranks with
sword and battle-axe. But they were hopelessly outnumbered. Their
hearts misgave them as they saw ten heathen spring out of the ground
for every one that was felled. The struggle grew fiercer as night
came on. The Christians were fighting for life; defeat meant that
they must perish to a man, by the sword or upon pagan altars; escape
there was none. Upon the cliff overlooking the battle-field the
archbishop and his priests were praying for success to the King's
arms. Tradition that has been busy with this great battle all
through the ages tells how, while the aged bishop's hands were
raised toward heaven, victory leaned to the Danes; but when he grew
tired, and let them fall, the heathen won forward, until the priests
held up his hands and once more the tide of battle rolled back from
the shore, and the Christian war-cry rose higher.
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