ACCESSION AND ABDICATION OF ALFRED.
"In fortune's love--then the bold and coward,
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin;--
But in the wind and tempest of her frown,
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away."--SHAKSPERE.
Alfred was scarcely twenty-two years of age when he ascended the
throne of Wessex--it was on the eve of a defeat when the sceptre fell
into his hands--when the Danes were flushed with victory, and nearly
all England lay prostrate at their feet. With such a gloomy prospect
before him, we can easily account for the reluctance he showed in
accepting the crown, although it was offered to him by all the chiefs
and earls who formed the witenagemot, when there were children of his
elder brother Ethelbald alive, who, according to the Saxon order of
succession, were the next heirs to the crown. But the Wessex nobles
were already well acquainted with Alfred's talents, for during the
twelve months prior to his accession, he had distinguished himself in
eight pitched battles against the Danes, and had fought in many an
unrecorded skirmish against parties of the enemy who were sent out
to forage. Alfred well knew that the death of Ethelred would hardly
leave him breathing-time, before he should again be compelled to take
the field; that he also had to fight under the disadvantage which
necessarily attends a defeat; while the enemy came swelling in all the
triumph of recent victory; that he had to repair his late losses, and
rouse afresh his subjects, who were still smarting with the wounds they
had received from their conquerors, while the invaders were made more
daring by every conquest, and more insolent by every concession. Such
was the state of the kingdom into which Alfred was ushered by the death
of his brother: nor was this all--he no doubt, with his clear eye, saw
that it was no longer a mere struggle between two parties, where the
one seeks to plunder, and the other to protect his property, but a
contest for the very land on which they fought. The Danes had ceased to
trust for safety to their "sea-horses"--they had abandoned "the road
of the swans," they but travelled over it to a land in which their
countrymen were now kings, where their brethren were in the possession
of cities and lands--they came to share in the inheritance of the
soil--either to find their future homes, or their graves in England.
The prize each party was now contending for, was England itself--it
was neither more nor less than to decide whether our island should in
future be ruled over by the Danes, or the Saxons. It was but what the
Romans had beforetime aspired to, and what, after a hard struggle, the
Saxons themselves had accomplished. Well might Alfred despair when he
looked at his shattered army, and saw how small a portion of England he
possessed.
What had he gained by the eight hard-fought battles he shared in the
year before his accession to the crown? The places of those whom he
had helped to hew down were filled up again by the first favourable
wind that blew towards his ill-starred kingdom; as the grave closed
over the dead, the sea threw another living shoal upon the coast--none
returned--if they retreated, it was but to some neighbouring
intrenchment, or some kingdom over which a sea-king reigned. Alfred
had not sat upon the throne of Wessex a month, before his army was
attacked, at Wilton, during his absence, and defeated by the Northmen.
Wearied of a war which only brought victory to-day, to be followed by
defeat on the morrow, he made peace with his enemies, and they left the
kingdom of Wessex, though on what terms we know not, unless it was that
Alfred agreed not to assist the king of Mercia, as his brother Ethelred
had frequently done. It would almost appear by their marching at once
into Mercia, that such were the conditions on which they quitted Wessex.
Nine battles in one year must have made a sad opening amongst the West
Saxons, for, unlike the Danes, they had no ships constantly arriving
upon the coast to fill up the places of those that were slain. Oh, how
the young king must have yearned for retirement, and his books! when
he looked round and saw the miserable and almost defenceless state
of his kingdom--his brave warriors dropping off daily, and none to
close the gap that was left open in his ranks. Let us leave him for a
brief space--his heart heavy, his soul sad, and his head resting upon
his hand, with not a ray of hope to cheer him, excepting his trust in
God--while we follow the footsteps of the Danes.
That part of the Danish army which abandoned Wessex took up its winter
quarters in London, at about the same time that another portion of
the invaders marched from Northumbria, and wintered at Repton, in
Derbyshire, where they sacked and destroyed the beautiful monastery,
which for above two centuries had been the burial-place of the Mercian
kings; and, as at Croyland and Peterborough, they broke open the
sepulchres and scattered abroad the ashes of the Saxon monarchs. Twice
had Burrhed, the king of Mercia, negotiated with these truce-breakers,
as the old chroniclers called them, and finding that they paid no
regard to their oaths, and wearied with such a repetition of conflicts,
Burrhed quitted his throne, went to Rome, where he died, and left his
subjects to struggle on, or perish, as they best could. Instead of
placing one of their own kings upon the throne of Mercia, the Danes
gave the crown to Ceolwulf, under the stipulation that he should pay
them tribute, and assist them with his forces whenever he was called
upon; and that when he ceased to fulfil these conditions, he should
from that moment resign his power. It would almost appear that there
was so little left in the kingdom of Mercia worth their taking that
they left him to gather up the remainder of the spoil, while they
turned their attention to more substantial plunder; but his reign was
short, he was hated by those by whom he was employed, as well as by
those whom he plundered, for he robbed alike the peasant, the merchant,
the clergy, and even on the remnant of the poor monks of Croyland,
whose brethren had been slain, and whose abbey had been destroyed,
regardless of their losses and their sufferings, he imposed a tax of
a thousand pounds. But in spite of this stern severity, he soon grew
into disfavour with his new masters, was stripped of everything, and
perished miserably. After his death, Mercia never existed again as a
kingdom, but was blotted out for ever from the Saxon octarchy as a
distinct state; and in an after day, when the power of the invaders
began to wane, it was united by Alfred to Wessex, never again to exist
as a separate province.
The arena of England was now only occupied by two powers; on the one
hand, by Alfred, with his little kingdom and his mere handful of West
Saxons: on the other, by the Danes, who were in possession of nearly
the whole of the remainder of the island--for, with the exception of
the kingdom of Wessex, all the rest of the Saxon states were in the
hands of the invaders.
Three of the Danish sea-kings, named Godrun, Oskitul, and Amund,
having, with their army, wintered at Cambridge, set out again, early in
the spring, to attack Wessex; to give Alfred another proof how useless
it was by either treaty or concession to hope to put off the evil
day. This time they brought a large force to oppose him, and besides
crossing the country, they sailed round by Dorsetshire, where they
stormed the castle of Wareham; and though Alfred destroyed their ships,
those who passed inland devastated the country for miles around. Alfred
seems at this period to have grown weary of war, to have lost all heart
and hope, and, for the first time, he purchased peace of them with
gold; nor was he long before he had to repent of such timid policy, for
although they swore as usual upon their bracelets, and even, at his
request, pledged themselves solemnly upon the relics of the Christian
saints, yet only a few nights after this useless ceremony, they rushed
upon his encampment, slew a great portion of his cavalry, and, carrying
off the horses, mounted their own soldiers upon them, and rode off
to Exeter, where they passed the following winter. Though weary and
dispirited, Alfred did not remain idle, but commenced building larger
ships and galleys, so that he might be better able to compete with his
enemies upon the ocean. Such a plan, had it been pursued earlier by
the Saxon kings, would have caused thousands of the Northmen to have
found their graves in the ocean ere their feet touched our coast; but
now the whole land behind him was filled with enemies, from the edge
of the Channel, which his own kingdom overlooked, deep down, and far
inland, to where the green lands of England stretched unto the Frith
of Forth. Hopeless as it now was, Alfred boldly sallied forth with
his ships, to encounter a fleet of Northmen off the Hampshire coast,
where, having suffered much damage in a previous storm, the Danes were
defeated, with the loss of one hundred and twenty of their ships.
Emboldened by this success, Alfred collected his army and went forth to
attack the Danes in their stronghold at Exeter. Here, however, instead
of renewing the assault, and turning to advantage the victory which
he had obtained at sea, he contented himself with a few hostages, and
a renewal of the oaths, which his experience ought to have taught him
they would break on the first favourable occasion, and allowed them
once more to depart into Mercia. We can only account for this strange
conduct on the part of Alfred by believing that the population of
Wessex had been greatly thinned by the rapid succession of battles
which had been fought at the close of the reign of Ethelred.
We now arrive at the most unaccountable action in the life of this
great king, the abdication of his throne, and desertion of his
subjects. His real cause for acting in this strange manner (unless some
new and authentic document should be brought to light) will never be
known. In the January of 878, the Danes attacked Chippenham; it is not
clearly proved that Alfred struck a single blow; all we really know
for truth is that many of the West Saxons fled, some of them quitting
England, that Alfred was nowhere to be found, not even by his most
intimate friends. These are historical truths, too clearly proved to
remain for a moment doubtful. The cause we will as carefully examine as
if the great Saxon king stood on his trial before us, for the honour of
Alfred is dear to every Englishman, for though dead "he yet speaketh"
in the wise laws he has bequeathed to us.
We know, from many authorities, that when the Danes invaded Wessex
in January, numbers of the inhabitants fled. The effect such conduct
would produce on a sensitive mind like Alfred's, it is easy to
picture; his sensations would be a minglement of pity, contempt, and
disgust, and his proud heart would inwardly feel that they knew not
how to value him aright; that if left to themselves for a little time
they would then know how to estimate the king they had lost. We could
fill a chapter with good, tangible reasons, showing why Alfred acted
as he did, and yet we should, probably, after all, fall far short of
the true cause. It might be injured pride, stern necessity, or the
very despair which drives men to retire from the contest, to wait for
better days. There is one undeniable point clearly in his favour, he
did not retreat to enjoy a life of luxury and ease, but to endure one
of hardship, privation, and suffering. In this he still remained the
great and noble-hearted king. Asser, who loved him, clearly proves that
Alfred, at this time, laboured under a low, desponding, and melancholy
feeling. His words are, "He fell often into such misery that none of
his subjects knew what had befallen him."
Surely no king had ever greater cause to feel unhappy; the man who, day
after day, struggles on, and still finds matters worse on the morrow,
becomes weary of the ever-flickering rays of hope, grows desperate, and
plunges amongst the deepest shadows of despair; others, again, through
very despondency, fold their arms, and wait until the worst comes, as
if a fatality overwhelmed them, for all human perseverance hath its
limits; these once passed, men become believers in inevitable destiny.
To these Alfred, at this time, probably belonged.
It appears that Alfred did not desert his subjects before they deserted
him; and after the many battles that were fought within the year
which saw him king of Wessex, we can readily conceive he had not a
single soldier to spare. He is accused, by those who knew him well,
who conversed with him frequently, and saw him daily, of having been
high, haughty, and severe; in a word, of looking down with contempt
upon those around him. This is a grave charge; but where, with one
or two exceptions, could he in his whole kingdom find a kindred mind
to his own? Asser loved him, but he was an exception. His relation,
Neot, rebuked him, and a young king would but ill brook lecturing. His
chiefs or earls were brave, but illiterate men, not even fit companions
for his own cabinet; for he was familiar with the forms of government
in civilized Rome and classic Greece; and, excepting when engaged in
the battle-field, there could be no reciprocal feeling between them.
These were the sharp and forbidding angles that time was sure to
smooth down; but the Saxon nobles could not comprehend how they ever
came to exist--they did not understand him. There is nothing new in
this--it occurs every day. Let a man of superior intelligence rise up
in a meeting of unlettered boors, and he will find some amongst the
herd ready to oppose him, and these generally the least ignorant of
the mass, but jealous of one whose capabilities stretch so far beyond
their own. Who knows how many heart-burnings of this kind he had to
endure, when assembled with his barbarous councillors--His mind was
not their mind, his thoughts soared far above their understanding.
Where they believed they distinguished the right, he would at a glance
discover palpable wrong; where they doubted, he had long before come
to a clear conviction. And no marvel that he at times treated their
ignorant clamours with contempt, for he appears to have been as decided
and hasty as he was intelligent and brave. He was young. The children
of his eldest brother were now men, and from their high station would
take an active part in the government. According to the order of Saxon
succession, one of these ought to have sat upon the throne of Wessex.
Who more likely than they to oppose his wise plans--to thwart him when
he was anxiously labouring for the good of his subjects? All that has
been brought against him but proves that he was hasty in his temper,
high and haughty, and unbending when in the right; and somewhat severe
in the administration of justice, especially upon those whom he had
appointed as judges, when he found them guilty of tampering with it for
selfish ends.
It will be borne in mind, that after Alfred had compelled the Danes
to abandon Exeter, they retired into Mercia, where, in the autumn,
they were joined by a strong force of Northmen, another cloud of those
"locusts of the Baltic." They entered Wessex at the close of the year,
and in January had taken up their winter quarters at Chippenham in
Wiltshire, it would almost appear, without meeting any opposition; for
very little dependence can be placed on the account of Alfred having
been attacked while celebrating Christmas there; of numbers being
slaughtered on both sides, and Alfred escaping alone in the night.
No mention has been made of such a battle in the records which were
written during Alfred's life, and which have descended to us. All we
know for a certainty is, that on the approach of the Danes, many of
the inhabitants fled in terror, some to the Isle of Wight, others
into France; while numbers went over to Ireland. It is at this time
that we find Alfred himself absent from his kingdom. "Such became
his distress," says Turner, quoting from the old chronicles, "that
he knew not where to turn; such was his poverty, that he had even no
subsistence but that which by furtive or open plunder he could extort,
not merely from the Danes, but even from those of his subjects who
submitted to their government, or by fishing and hunting obtain. He
wandered about in woods and marshes in the greatest penury, with a
few companions; sometimes, for greater secresy, alone. He had neither
territory, nor for a time the hope of regaining any."
Near to that spot where the rivers Thone and Parret meet, there is a
beautiful tract of country, which still retains its old Saxon name of
Athelney, now diversified by corn and pasture lands; but at the time of
Alfred, according to the description in the Life of St. Neot, written
at that period, "it was surrounded by marshes, and so inaccessible,
that no one could get to it, but by a boat; it had also a great wood
of alders, which contained stags, goats, and many animals of that
kind. Into this solitude Alfred had wandered, where, seeing the hut
of a peasant, he turned to it, asked, and received shelter." It was
in this hut that the incident occurred between the cowherd's wife and
Alfred, which is so familiar to every reader of English history. We
quote Asser's description, for there is no doubt that he gave it nearly
literally, as he heard it from king Alfred's own lips: "It happened,
that on a certain day the rustic wife of this man prepared to bake her
bread; the king, sitting then near the hearth, was making ready his
bows and arrows, and other warlike instruments, when the rough-tempered
woman beheld the loaves burning at the fire. She ran hastily and
removed them, scolding the king, and exclaiming: 'You man! you will not
turn the bread you see burning, but you will be very glad to eat it
when done.' This unlucky woman little thought," continues Asser, "that
she was addressing the king, Alfred."
This anecdote was often told in an after day, and no doubt awakened
many a smile around the cheerful Saxon hearths, among both noble and
lowly, when the brave monarch had either driven the ravagers from his
dominion, or compelled the remnant to settle down peaceably in such
places as he in his wisdom had allotted to them. And now, even through
the dim distance of nearly a thousand years, we can call up the image
of the Saxon king, with his grave, intelligent countenance, as he sat
in the humble hut, preparing his weapons of the chase, his thoughts
wandering far away to those he loved, or brooding thoughtfully over
the causes which had forced him from his high estate. We can fancy the
angry spot gathering for a moment upon his kingly brow, as, startled
by the shrill clamour of the cowherd's wife, he half turned his head,
and the faint, good-natured smile that followed, while the glowing
embers threw a sunshine over his face, as he afterwards stooped down
and turned the loaves which the rough-tempered, but warm-hearted Saxon
woman had prepared for their homely meal; and this anecdote is all
the more endeared to us by the fact that the noble-minded king, on a
later day, recommended the cowherd Denulf to the study of letters,
and afterwards promoted him to a high situation in the church. While
residing in the neighbourhood of this cowherd's hovel, says an old
manuscript, written a century or two after these events, and attributed
to an abbot of Croyland, "Alfred was one day casually recognised by
some of his people, who, being dispersed, and flying all around,
stopped where he was. An eager desire then arose both in the king and
his knights to devise a remedy for their fugitive condition. In a
few days they constructed a place of defence as well as they could;
and here, recovering a little of his strength, and comforted by the
protection of a few friends, he began to move in warfare against his
enemies. His companions were very few in number compared with the
barbarian multitude, nor could they on the first day, or by their first
attacks, obtain any advantages; yet they neither quitted the foe nor
submitted to their defeats; but, supported by the hope of victory, as
their small number gradually increased, they renewed their efforts, and
made one battle but the preparation for another. Sometimes conquerors
and sometimes conquered, they learned to overcome time by chance,
and chance by time. The king, both when he failed, and when he was
successful, preserved a cheerful countenance, and supported his friends
by his example."
What a rich, unwritten volume, does this last extract contain; what
a diary of valorous deeds, keen privations, and patient sufferings!
What "footmarks on the sands of time" are here left! These are the
great gaps in history which we mourn over--the changes which Time
has made, as he passed through the human ranks he has hewn down, and
which we regret he has not chronicled. We would forgive the grim
scythe-bearer the ten thousand battles he has buried in oblivion, had
he but preserved for us one day of the life of Alfred on this lonely
island--one brief record of what he said and did between sunrise and
sunset, whilst he sojourned with Denulf, the cowherd. Alas! alas! Time
has but shaken off the blood that dappled his pinions, upon the pages
of History; the sweet dew-drops which hung like silver upon his plumes,
and fed the flowers, have evaporated in the sunsets that saw them
wither.
Although a gloom seemed to have settled down upon the land during the
absence of Alfred, yet all was not so hopeless as it appeared; for
Hubba, who with his own hand had shed the blood of so many monks at
the massacre of Peterborough, had himself been slain by Odun, the earl
of Devonshire; and the magical banner which the three sisters of Hubba
are said to have woven in one noontide, during which they ceased not to
chaunt their mystic rhymes, had fallen into the hands of the Saxons.
The rumour of such a victory cheered the heart of Alfred, and he must
have felt humbled at the thought that, while he himself was inactive,
there still existed English hearts that preferred pouring forth their
best blood to becoming slaves to their invaders.
To render his island retreat more secure, Alfred caused a defensive
tower to be erected on each side of the bridge; and, as this was the
only point of access by land, he there placed, as sentinels, a few of
his most trusty followers, so that they might be ready to give the
alarm in the event of their hiding-place being discovered. Scarcely a
day passed, but he sallied forth at the head of his little band and
assailed the enemy. Too weak to attack the main body, he hung upon,
and harassed their foragers; he waylaid the Danish plunderers as they
passed on their way to their camp with the spoil, and again wrested
from them what they had wrung from his own countrymen. Day and night,
Alfred and his followers were ever springing unaware upon the invaders
from out the wood, the marsh, and the morass; wherever a clump of trees
grew, or a screen of willows gave them shelter, there did the Saxons
conceal themselves until the enemy appeared, when, rushing forth, they
laid the spoilers low. Such a system of warfare made the king well
acquainted with all the secret passes in the neighbourhood, and thus
enabled him with his little band to thread his way securely between
the bog and the morass, and to attack the Northmen at such unexpected
points as they never dreamed it was possible for the enemy to pass.
Such a rugged method of attack also inured them to hardships, kindled
the martial spirit which had too long slumbered, and thus schooled
Alfred in that generalship which he so skilfully brought to bear upon
a larger scale when he overthrew the Danes. Even before his rank was
discovered, his fame had spread for miles around the country; and all
who had spirit enough to throw off the Danish yoke, who preferred a
life of freedom in the woods and wilds and had sufficient courage
to abandon their homes for the love of liberty, gathered around and
fought under the banner of the island stranger. Such of the Saxons as
had stooped to acknowledge the Danish rulers, did not escape scathless
from the attacks of Alfred and his followers; for he made them feel
how feeble was the power upon which their cowardly fears had thrown
themselves for protection, when measured beside the strength of their
own patriotic countrymen.
Of the straits to which he was sometimes driven, Time has preserved one
touching record, which beautifully illustrates the benevolence of his
character. One day, while his attendants were out hunting, or searching
for provisions, and the king sat alone in the humble abode which had
been hastily reared for his accommodation, whiling away the heavy hours
by the perusal of a book, a poor man came up to him, weary and hungry,
and asked his alms in God's name. Alfred took up the only loaf which
remained, and, breaking it asunder, said, "It is one poor man visiting
another;" then, thanking God that it was in his power to relieve the
beggar, he shared his last loaf with him; for he well remembered his
own privations when he first applied for shelter at the cowherd's hut.
Turn we now to a brighter page in the life of this great king, when,
emerging from his hiding-place, he seemed to spring up suddenly into
a new existence, and by his brave and valorous deeds to startle alike
both friend and foe.