THE ANCIENT SEA-KINGS.
"The Northmen sailed in their nailed ships,
On the roaring sea over deep water--
They left behind them raw to devour
The sallow kite, the swarthy raven with horny nib,
And the house vulture, with the eagle swift,
And that grey beast, the wolf of the wold,
To consume the prey."
ANGLO-SAXON WAR SONG.--Ingram's _Translation_.
The Danes, Norwegians, or Norsemen, for it matters not by which title
we distinguish them, descended from the same primitive race as the
Anglo-Saxons--the old Teutonic or Gothic tribes. But to enter fully
into the mixed population, all of whom sprung from this ancient stock,
and at different periods invaded England, we should have to go deeply
into the early history of Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. Their religion
was the same as that which we have described at the commencement of
the Saxon invasion. They worshipped Odin, and died in the hope of
enjoying the brutal delights which their imaginations pictured as
never-ending in the halls of Valhalla. From the rocky coast of Norway,
and the very islands where Hengist, and Cerdric, and Ella, first led
their followers, the stormy sea-kings came: across the rough Baltic
they rode; they swarmed like locusts along the neighbouring shores,
and were neither intimidated by the tempest, nor disheartened by the
defeats which they frequently sustained. The kingdoms from whence they
came were divided into petty sovereignties, where one chief made war
upon the other--where the conqueror of yesterday was likely enough to
be driven on the morrow to the sea-coast, and, finally, out into the
ocean, when, with his ships, he became a sea-king, and over the billows
rode merrily to discover some other country. If he returned enriched
with plunder, he was respected; if he came back empty-handed, he was
despised. His vessels laden with spoil soon procured him plenty of
followers, and then his former conqueror fell a victim; for over each
province, or state, that could furnish forth a dozen ships, each of
which contained about sixty or seventy armed men, there a sea-king was
to be found. Norway alone, at one period, was divided into about thirty
of these sovereignties.
Others there were who possessed not a rood of territory, whose only
property was their ships, the crews their subjects, the sword their
sceptre; who had no alternative but to plunder or perish, to slay or
starve, or stay at home and prey upon their brethren, who themselves
were ever darting out from the herbless coast to seize whatever they
saw passing upon the sea. If the family retained any landed possession,
one son stayed at home to inherit it, the rest sallied out with their
ships to seek their fortune across the deep; for a few vessels, well
equipped and ably manned, were considered a rich inheritance amongst
the Danes. At twelve years of age, they were initiated into this
piratical profession, and taught to believe that to plunder and to
slay were the only honourable passports to wealth and glory--the only
employments that were considered noble. The lessons their fathers
taught them, all tended to the same end, for they left their children
no wealth. "Go, my sons," said they, "and reap riches and renown,
with your ships and your swords." They learned to despise inherited
property; they valued that most which had been won by the greatest
danger, and prized highest the plunder which they had become possessed
of by venturing into the most perilous paths.
In bays and creeks, and in the shadows of jutting headlands, they
concealed themselves, where they were ever ready, at a moment's notice,
to rush upon the passing prey. When out at sea, they cared not where
they were driven to, so long as it was not to their own coast. They
called the storm their servant, and wherever it carried them, they said
"that was the spot where they desired to go--the tempest that hurled
them along with its mighty breath but came, that the rowers might rest
their weary arms." Those who were drowned, they believed, went safely
to Odin; those who survived, but laughed at the storm they had escaped.
Danger depressed them not, and death they but considered as a common
and necessary companion, who went on his appointed mission to conduct
them to the halls of Odin, and returned again unheeded, and dwelt
amongst them from day to day; coming and going like a common messenger
that scarcely merited a passing remark. They looked upon the Saxon
Christians as traitors to their gods; and as they had been crushed
under the iron hand of Charlemagne, and been subjected to revolting
cruelties to compel them to renounce their ancient creed, they believed
that they rendered true service to Odin by slaughtering the priests,
and destroying the churches of Christ. Such of the unconverted Saxons
as still inhabited the neighbourhood of Jutland, readily formed a
league with the more distant sea-kings, and, thus banded together,
they made head against their common enemies, though their near
brethren; for they now looked upon them as renegades, and neither the
resemblance which they bore to each other in feature or language, nor
the remembrance that all were once of the same religion, checked for a
moment their hostile spirit. In former times, they worked themselves up
into fits of madness, bit their shields, and imitated the howling of
wolves, and the barking of dogs; and, under this excitement, performed
feats of unnatural strength, such as maniacs alone are capable of
achieving. When in this state, woe to the warriors they rushed upon!
Such savage deeds were common in early times amongst the followers of
Odin. It is said that, in the darker centuries, they ate the flesh
of horses raw, dragged the infant from the breast of its mother, and
tossed it from one to another upon the points of their lances.
They decorated the prows of their ships with the figures of animals:
the heads of shaggy lions, and savage bulls, and hideous dragons, were
placed at the front of their vessels, and threw their grim shadows upon
the waves. Along the sides of their ships they hung their shields,
which, placed together, threw back the billows, and thus protected them
from the surges of the sea, as they did from the blows dealt in battle.
On their masts were placed the figures of birds, whose outstretched
wings veered round with every wind that blew. Some of their vessels
were built in the form of a serpent, the prow resembling the head, the
long stern forming the tail; these they called the great sea-serpents,
or sea-dragons. When they unloosed their cables, and left their ships
to career freely over the waves, they called it giving their great
sea-horses the rein. They lashed the prows of their vessels together,
and while thus linked, steered right into their enemies' ships; over
the dragons', and the bulls', and the lions' heads they leaped, and
courageously boarded the foe. The huge club, studded with spikes, which
dealt death wherever it fell, they called the "star of the morning."
When they fought, they called their war-cry, "chaunting the mass of
lances;" to show their contempt for the Christian creed, they stabled
their horses in the Christian churches; and when they finished the
repast which they had compelled the reluctant host to furnish, they
slew him, and burnt his house.[5]
When they ascended the rivers, and found a convenient and secure
station, they drew up their vessels, as the Romans had done beforetime,
threw up intrenchments, and left a guard behind, while the bulk of
their force sallied out to scour the country, burning and slaying
wherever they came, seizing upon all the horses they could capture,
to carry their plunder over-land; and when hotly pursued, or followed
by a superior force, they broke up their encampment, and trusted for
safety to their ships. After a time, they became bolder; drove away
or slaughtered the natives, and settled down upon the land they had
taken from the inhabitants. Some they allowed to reside amongst them,
on condition that they renounced their religion; and the ceremony of a
Christian becoming a pagan consisted of his partaking of the flesh of
a horse, which was sacrificed on one of their altars dedicated to the
worship of Odin. When the sea-kings made a solemn vow, they swore upon
a golden bracelet. In their social hours, all were equal; no man was
then addressed as chief; all distinction was levelled. They sat in a
circle, and passed the drinking-horn from hand to hand. He whom they
obeyed in battle, whom they followed wherever he chose to steer his
ship--when the victory was won, laid his dignity aside; for the stormy
spirit who ruled in the tempest and heralded the way in the fight,
(though still a sea-king if the alarm was given,) was, while peace
lasted, and the feast continued, on a level with the lowest of his
followers. This very unbending, during these festive moments, linked
the chief closer to his subjects, and made them feel that he was one
of themselves; it left ambition less to aspire to, and lowly valour
to receive the same meed of praise. He was chosen king, who was best
fitted to endure the greatest hardships, and not for his high rank
alone; one who had never slept under a house-roof, nor emptied a cup
beside the domestic hearth, but whose habitation had, from childhood,
ever been his ship, was the sea-king they would follow to the gates of
the grave; such a one they chose, when the leader in whose veins the
blood of Woden was believed to have flowed, either slept beneath the
waves, or furnished a feast for the ravens in the deserted battle-field.
The dangers they recklessly dared, would necessarily require a frequent
change of chieftains; and as such qualities as we have enumerated were
essential to the character of a sea-king, the command was left open to
all who, by their bravery, chose to aspire to it; and nothing could
be more conducive to the cultivation of a high spirit of valour than
that levelling of all distinction. He who in his social moments hailed
all as his equals, would, in the hour of trial, rally around him the
stoutest and the truest hearts; and to prove their devotedness, they
would follow him through fire and flood, nor leave him when he fell
across the dark threshold of death.
Such were the stormy sea-kings, whose ships were now darkening the
ocean, who were soon to become sharers of the island which their
adventurous brethren had wrested from the Britons, and who were
destined to enrich the plains of England with each other's blood. The
grim gods of the ancient Cymry seemed to require some savage sacrifice
before they departed for ever from the wave-washed island on which
their altars had for centuries blazed.
Through a land whose skies were reddened by the fires of the destroyer,
and whose fields were heavy and wet with the blood of the slain, are we
now about to journey; and after toiling through two weary centuries of
slaughter, we shall but sit down upon the shore, to be startled again
by the sound of the Norman trumpets. A king lives and dies, a battle
is won and lost; and he who next succeeds to the throne, or wins the
victory, sweeps over the dead who have passed away, as the autumn-blast
whirls the withered leaves before it, until the very storm itself dies
out, and others awaken from the caverned sleep in which they have grown
strong enough to contend with the green array of a new summer. Briton,
Saxon, Dane, and Norman, are like the four seasons which make up the
long year of our history.