Night came down, thick and foggy, and the captain did not know where they were. All remained on deck, keeping an anxious look-out; and in the darkness the vessel suddenly struck.
Before them they could see some masses of rock; and the men had just time to scramble out before the little ship filled with water and sank.
The unlucky pleasure-seekers found themselves clinging to a little rocky islet which would scarcely afford them foothold; and all night they remained there drenched with rain and spray.
At daybreak they were able to make out the coast of France, not very far away from them. By the side of the reef lay their little vessel, half in, half out of the water, with a large hole in her side. There was nothing that they could do but wait until some one should see them from the shore, and come off with a boat to rescue them.
In a little while Harold and his men saw a stir upon the coast. Men were coming and going; looking towards the rock and then running to fetch other men. After a while a party came down to the beach, launched a boat and rowed towards the wreck.
How thankful were the hungry, shivering castaways to get into the boat and be rowed ashore by these sturdy Norman-French fishermen!
They entered one of the cottages; and as they were warming themselves before a blazing fire the door was suddenly burst open, and a man in a shining coat of mail stood in the doorway. Behind him were grouped a dozen or so of stout men-at-arms.
'Aha,' said the mail-clad knight, looking around him with restless, glittering black eyes; 'if I am not mistaken it is a great man whom the wind and waves have done me the honour to waft to my shores.—I am Guy, Count of Ponthieu; and you, if I am not mistaken,' he said to Harold, 'are Earl Harold, brother-in-law to the King of England.'
'I thought so,' muttered Harold as he gravely inclined his head in answer to the count; 'our troubles are only beginning.'
'This is not a fitting spot in which to receive the kinsman of King Edward of England,' said Guy in mock courtesy. 'I must trouble you, Sir, to come to my poor dwelling, where I hope a short stay may be rendered as pleasant as possible to yourself and your followers.'