confiscated for the royal service, for the sailors have mainly
espoused the popular cause, and dread the medieval press gang. How
many familiar objects we see around--Michelham Priory, Battle
Abbey, Wilmington Priory, Pevensey Castle, Lewes Castle--all in
view.

There, too, opposite us, is the highest of the eastern downs, Firle
Beacon. It is smoking like a volcano with the embers of the bale
fire, which men lit last night, to warn the natives that the king
was coming. There is yet another volcano farther on. It is
Ditchling Beacon; and, yes, another still farther west;
Chanctonbury Ring, with the rounded cone. And on this fair clear
morning we can indistinctly discern a thin line of smoke curling up
from Butzer, on the very limits of Sussex, and in view of the Isle
of Wight and Carisbrooke Castle.

Turn eastward. The ridge continues towards Heathfield, Burwash, and
Battle, and beyond the sun glistens on Fairlight over Hastings,
where another beacon has blazed all night to tell the ships that
the royal enemy is in the forest.

Now look northward and northeast. There is the heathy ridge which
attains its greatest height at Crowborough, ere it descends into
the valley of Tunbridge, and a little eastward lies Mayfield, rich
in tradition. We can see the palace of the Archbishop of
Canterbury, founded by Dunstan. There a royal flag flaunts the
breeze: yes, the king is taking his luncheon, his noontide meal,
and soon the thousands who encamp around the old pile will swarm up
the ridge to the point where we are standing, for they will sleep
at Walderne tonight, on their road to Pevensey.