Nearly a thousand years ago, in the year of our Lord 871, the great
battle of Ashdown was fought; but, in order to give you a true idea
of its importance, I must begin my story some years earlier; that is
to say, in the year of our Lord 866. In this year Æthelbert, king of
the West Saxons, died, having ruled his kingdom for five years in
peace, with the love of his subjects; and Æthelred, his next brother,
who succeeded him, buried his body in Sherborne Minster. In this year
Alfred, the younger brother, who afterwards succeeded Æthelred, and was
called Alfred the Great, reached his seventeenth year. In the autumn a
great army of pagan Danes came over to Britain, and landed in that part
of the island which was then called East Anglia, but now Norfolk. These
were not the first Danes who had come over to vex England, but none of
them ever stayed so long, fought so many battles, or did so much harm
(as we should say, speaking according to man’s judgment) as these.
A very curious story is told of why they came over here; and as it goes
at first sight against a good many of our notions of how the world is
governed, and so ought to make us think a little more about the matter,
I shall give it you pretty much as it is told by the old chronicler,
John Brompton.
“There was a man of royal birth in the kingdom of Denmark, named
Lodbroc, who had two sons, Hinguar and Hubba. This man embarked one
day with his hawk in a small boat to catch ducks, and other wild-fowl
on the adjoining sea-coasts and islands. A terrible storm arose, by
which Lodbroc was carried away and tossed for several days on every
part of the ocean. After numberless perils, he was cast ashore on the
coast of Norfolk, near the village of Redham,” (at least that must be
the name, as I read it in Brompton, though I have not been able to
hear of a village of that name on the coast of Norfolk,) “where he was
found having his hawk alone for his companion, and presented to King
Edmund. That king, struck with the manliness of his form, kept him at
his court, and heard from his own mouth the history of his adventures.
He was then associated with Berne, the king’s huntsman, and indulged
in all the pleasures of the chase, for in the exercise of both hunting
and hawking he was remarkably skilful, and succeeded in capturing both
birds and beasts according as he had a mind.” In fact, Lodbroc was the
sort of man to please King Edmund, for the art of capturing birds and
beasts was, next to the art of fighting for one’s home and country,
the art most esteemed amongst the Anglo-Saxons; who acknowledged “that
skill and good fortune in this art, as in all others, are among the
gifts of God, as we also have often witnessed.” But to go on with our
story. “The skill of Lodbroc bred jealousy in the heart of Berne the
huntsman, who one day, as they went out together hunting, unawares
set upon Lodbroc, and having foully slain him, buried his body in the
thickets of the forest. But Lodbroc had a small harrier dog, which he
had bred up from its birth, and which loved him much. While Berne the
huntsman went home with the other hounds, this little dog remained
alone with his master’s body. In the morning, the king asked what had
become of Lodbroc, to which Berne answered that he had parted from him
yesterday in the woods, and had not seen him since. At that moment the
harrier came into the hall and went round wagging its tail, and fawning
on the whole company, but especially on the king; when he had eaten
his fill, he again left the hall. This happened often; until some one
at last followed the dog to see where he went, and having found the
body of the murdered Lodbroc, came and told the story to the king. The
affair was now carefully inquired into, and when the truth was at last
found out, the huntsman was exposed on the sea, without oars, in the
boat which had belonged to Lodbroc. In some days, he was cast ashore
in Denmark, and brought before the sons of Lodbroc; who, putting him
to the torture, inquired of him what had become of their father, to
whom they knew the boat belonged. To this Berne answered,” as one might
have guessed he would answer, he being a liar and cowardly murderer,
“that their father Lodbroc had fallen into the hands of Edmund, King
of East Anglia, by whose orders he had been put to death.” Now, King
Edmund was a wise and righteous man, who “devoutly undertook the
government of the East Angles, and held it with the right hand of
power, always adoring and glorifying God for all the good things which
he enjoyed;”[3] and it is a pity he did not on this occasion remember,
that having safely caught a great scoundrel, the best thing to do with
him was to see him hung out of the way himself; for, by letting him go,
you see, he gave a chance to the devil, who can’t afford to lose such
gentlemen as Berne the huntsman out of the world, and has considerable
grudges against kings like Edmund.
Well, when Hinguar and Hubba heard the tale of Berne the huntsman,
they, like good and true sons, according to the notions of piety then
current amongst the Danes, hastened to fit out a fleet to invade
England, and avenge their father. And their three sisters wove for them
the standard, called the Raven, in one day--which flag waved over many
a bloody field, from Northumbria to Devonshire, until it was taken by
King Alfred’s men, under Odda, the Alderman of Devon, before a certain
castle in that county, which is called Cynuit by Asser, and Kenuith
elsewhere, (the situation of which castle I cannot identify, or the
name,) where were slain King Halfdene, a brother of Hinguar and Hubba,
and 840 Danish warriors. It was said, that when the Danes were about to
gain a battle, a live crow would fly before the middle of the standard;
but if they were to be beaten, it would hang motionless.[4]
So Hinguar and Hubba, as has been said, landed in the country of the
East Angles, in the late autumn, bent on vengeance. King Edmund knew
nothing of the blood-feud between him and these Danish leaders, by
reason of Berne’s lying story, so took no more than the usual measures
for preparing to attack them; but whether it was that they found King
Edmund too strong for them at the time, or for some other reason, they
seem to have wintered there quietly, and to have bought horses, and
made some sort of truce with the East Angles.[5] But in the spring of
the year 867, they crossed the Humber, marched hastily upon York, and
took it.
The kingdom of Northumbria was just the place for the army of Pagans
and the standard Raven at this time; for it was divided against itself.
Osbert, the rightful king, had been playing Tarquin in the house of
Bruern Brocard, one of his chief earls; so his people had cast him out,
and had taken to themselves a king Ælla, of unkingly blood, and the two
were warring against one another when the Danes took York. Late in the
autumn, however, a peace was made between Osbert and Ælla, and they
marched to York; where within the very walls of the city into which
the Northumbrians penetrated, was fought a most bloody battle. In that
fight fell almost all the Northumbrian warriors, and both the kings,
and a multitude of noble men; and the remainder who escaped made peace
with the Pagans.[6] By this time, no doubt, there was small spoil left
for Hinguar and Hubba north of the Humber.
Accordingly, in the year 868, the pagan army, leaving Northumbria,
marched into Mercia, and surprised and took Nottingham. Then Burhred,
King of Mercia, and his witan sent to Æthelred, king of the West
Saxons, to come and help them. And Æthelred and Alfred marched to
Nottingham with the West Saxon power, and with Burhred besieged the
Pagans, there; but they could not force the wall, and there was no
great battle, and Æthelred and Alfred went home with their troops. But
the Pagans, after wintering at Nottingham, made peace with Burhred and
the Mercians; that is to say, such a peace as they loved to make--I
mean a peace till it was worth their while to come again; for in 874
they came back, drove King Burhred over the sea, and subdued the whole
country--and Burhred went to Rome and died there, and his body lies in
St. Mary’s Church at the English School.[7]
In the year 869, “the aforesaid army of Pagans, galloping back to
Northumbria, went to York, and there passed the winter;” or, in the
words of Huntingdon, “remained there cruelly for one year.” And what
sort of a winter was it for the poor Yorkshiremen? “There was again a
great famine, a mortality among men, and a pest among cattle.” Such
is the fate of a divided people which can only make truces with its
oppressors.
In this winter, Hinguar and Hubba seem to have got large
reinforcements from over the sea, headed by two other kings, Bægseeg
and Halfdene their brother, for in the year 870 we find them no longer
surprising a city, and from thence defying their enemies and oppressing
the neighbourhood. Now they march openly and fearlessly across Mercia;
and, the day of vengeance having come, burst upon East Anglia, and take
up their head-quarters at Thetford. And then comes the saddest part of
a sad story. King Edmund, being a king like Josiah, who believed in God
and ruled in righteousness, was not the man to see the desolation of
any part of his people, or to shut himself up in fenced cities while
the pagan cavalry rode through East Anglia--so the aforesaid King
Edmund gathered his men, and “fought fiercely and manfully against
the army. But because the merciful God foreknew that he was to arrive
at the crown of martyrdom, he there fell gloriously. Of his passion
I would fain insert some particulars into our history, that the sons
of men may know and perceive how terrible is Christ the Son of God in
the counsels of men, and with what glorious triumph he adorns those
whom he tries here under the name of suffering, that the saying may
be fulfilled, ‘He is not crowned except he strive lawfully.’ (2 Tim.
ii. 5.)”[8] Such is the lesson which the old monk Simeon, præcentor
of the Church of Durham, gets out of the death and martyrdom of King
Edmund, and I know not where we are to look for a better. Perhaps it
may help us when we think of India[9] to remember with Simeon, how
terrible is Christ the Son of God in the counsels of men, and with
what glorious triumph he adorns those whom he tries here under the
name of suffering. For Hinguar and Hubba took the wounded king on
the field of battle, and tied him to a tree, because he chose to die
sooner than give over his people to them, and there shot him through
the body with their arrows.[10] But his people got the body and buried
it at Bradoriesunyrthe, now called St. Edmund’s Bury, or Bury St.
Edmunds;[11] and many miracles were wrought at his tomb, and he was
canonized--at which honour let all Englishmen rejoice, the earth having
as much need as ever of many such kings and saints.
And they were rare then as now, and then as now men went their own
way, and not God’s way, and cut out their own work instead of taking
his. For “when King Edmund was slain, his brother Edwold, dreading
the pleasures of the world, and seeing that a hard lot had fallen
on himself and his brother, retired to the monastery of Carnelia in
Dorsetshire, near a clear well which St. Augustine had formerly brought
out of the earth by prayer, to baptize the people in, and there he
led a hermit’s life on only bread and water.”[12] Yes! and no doubt
thought himself righteous and despised others--and left the kingdom
which God had given him to the Pagans, who “subdued all the land and
destroyed all the ministers they came to,” which Edmund his brother had
built--“and that same time they came to Medeshamstede, and burned and
beat it down, slew abbot and monks, and all that place which before was
full rich, they reduced to nothing,”[13] while Edwold, who should have
been there with the remnant of the East Angles, to make his last stand,
like a true shepherd of his people, was eating his bread and drinking
his water in peace, by a clear well near the monastery of Carnelia in
Dorsetshire.
And now the Pagan kings, “with a new army, very great, like a flowing
river which carries all along with it,”[14] having doubtless been
reinforced again from over the sea, where the story of their victories
had spread far and wide, were looking about for some new field for
plunder and murder. The whole north and east of England was a desolate
wilderness behind them; London was in ruins, and Kent had been harried
over and over again by their brethren the sea-kings. But some thirty
miles up the Thames was a fair kingdom, stretching far away west,
down to the distant sea. This was Wessex, the kingdom of the West
Angles, over which Æthelred, the brother of Alfred, was now ruling, and
entering on the sixth year of his reign. The kingdom had had peace for
ten years, and was full of royal burgs, and rich pastures, with cattle
and horses, and sheep. Perhaps Hinguar and Hubba remembered the leaguer
of Nottingham three years before, and how the West Angles, with their
king and his brother, had hemmed them in and watched them there through
a long summer.
In the early years of their inroad, the Pagans would not have dared
to brave a united people with Æthelred for king; but they had now
grown bold from success, and were in numbers so great that “by reason
thereof they could not advance together, but went by different roads.”
So in an early month of the year 871, with their usual swiftness, they
marched up the Thames valley and seized on Reading, a royal burg, and
the then easternmost city of note in Wessex. Reading is situate on the
south bank of the Thames and on the north bank of the Kennet, at the
confluence of the two rivers; and, while part of the Pagan host made a
rampart between the rivers, to protect their camp and the town which
they had taken, a large force, on the third day after their arrival,
began scouring the country for plunder, under two of their earls.
But the men of Wessex had increased and multiplied as well as their
cattle, and Æthelwulf, Alderman of Berkshire, was a man “who raged as
a lion in battle.” So Æthelwulf, with what men he could get together,
fought with the two earls at Englefield, though he had but a small
band of Christians with him. But he cheered his men, saying to them,
“though they attack us with the advantage of more men we may despise
them, for our commander Christ, is braver than they.”[15] Whereupon the
men of Wessex buckled to their work under the oaks of Englefield Chase
(afterwards beloved by the great Queen Bess), and there discomfited
the pagans very sore, and slew one of the two earls. In one of the
old chroniclers, there are a few lines which may partly account for
Æthelwulf’s victory; “their two consuls,” says Æthelwerd, “forgetting
that they were not on board their fleet, rode proudly through fields
and meadows on horseback, which nature had denied them;” possibly
therefore these were the new comers, who had just joined the Pagan army
and were not used to horses or landfighting.
Within the next three days King Æthelred and his brother Alfred came
up from the west, each leading a strong band of West Saxon warriors,
and joined Æthelwulf; and on the fourth day they attacked the Pagans at
Reading. Those who were outside the rampart they cut to pieces, and at
first had the vantage; but the Pagans came out with all their forces,
and after great slaughter had been made on either hand, and the brave
Æthelwulf had been slain, “the Pagans had possession of the place of
death.”[16] Thus the chronicle states it; probably the men of Wessex
were grievously beaten, and went back with their king, in confusion,
along the chalk hills to the other end of Berkshire, pursued by Bægseeg
and Halfdene, the two lately arrived Danish kings, with the strength of
the Pagan host. I suppose that Hinguar and Hubba stayed at Reading, to
hold the place of safety; for neither of them were at Ashdown.
But every mile as they fell back added strength to Æthelred and Alfred,
as bands of men came up from the rear; from the broad Wiltshire plains
over the Kennet at Hungerford, and along the chalk hills from Swindon
and Ashbury; from the vales of the Kennet and the Thames on either
flank; and a few perhaps already from Glostershire and Oxfordshire,
where the news was doubtless spreading like the wind. So Æthelred and
his host turned to bay at Ashdown, and set the battle in array against
the pagan kings.
There is some question between antiquaries as to where the exact site
of this battle is. It must however, it seems to me, be somewhere in the
western part of Berkshire; for it is quite impossible that Æthelred and
Alfred could have fought at Reading, at Ashdown, and at Basing, as they
unquestionably did, within three weeks, if we are to look for Ashdown
battle-field either at Ashdown forest, in Essex, or at Ashendon, in
the hundred of Bernwood in Buckinghamshire, which are the only sites
out of Berkshire claiming this honour, and supported by a tittle of
authority. Besides, even supposing these three battles could have been
fought in the time, yet the battle of Reading, having gone against the
Saxons, (as to which every chronicler agrees,) is it likely that they
should have retired _past_ the town and stronghold of the Danes, either
northeast into Buckinghamshire, or southeast into Sussex, leaving the
whole of Wessex open to the enemy, instead of falling back westward
into Wessex, and so covering their own homes? It is perfectly absurd to
suppose this, Alfred being one of their generals; and how such ancient
and venerable persons as Bishops Kennet and Leland can have talked such
nonsense, is hard to say; unless, indeed, they were born, the one in
Sussex, the other in Buckinghamshire, in which case it is of course
excusable, nay, justifiable in them; but of this I know nothing.
As to the Berkshire sites, I don’t see any reason for troubling you
with their several titles. I am myself satisfied that the battle was
fought here; but all the sites are somewhere on this range of chalk
hills, of which the old White Horse is king. So now we will turn to the
account of the great battle in the old chroniclers.
[Illustration]
“About four days after the battle at Reading, King Æthelred and Alfred,
his brother, fought against the whole army of the Pagans at Ashdown.
And they were in two bodies; in the one were Bægseeg and Halfdene the
Pagan kings, and in the other were the earls.” “Now the Christians
had determined that King Æthelred with his men should attack the two
Pagan kings, but that Alfred his brother with his men, should take the
chance of war against the earls. Things being so settled, the king
remained a long time in prayer, hearing the mass, and said he would
not leave it till the priest had done, nor abandon the protection of
God for that of men. And so he did, which afterwards availed him much
with the Almighty, as we shall declare more fully in the sequel. But
the Pagans came up quickly to the fight. Then Alfred, though holding a
lower authority, as I have been told by those who were there and would
not lie, could no longer support the troops of the enemy unless he
retreated or charged upon them without waiting for his brother; so he
marched out promptly with his men in a close column and gave battle.”
“He too,” as Simeon says, “knowing without a doubt that victory would
not lie with a multitude of men, but in the pity and mercy of
God,” and seeing also that, mass or no mass, the Pagans must not be
allowed to get between him and his brother. “But here I must inform
those who are ignorant of the fact, that the field of battle was not
equal for both armies. The Pagans occupied the higher ground, and the
Christians came up from below. There was also in that place a single
stunted thorn-tree, which I myself have seen with my own eyes. Around
this tree the opposing hosts came together with loud shouts from all
sides, the one to pursue their wicked course, the other to fight for
their lives, their dearest ties, and their country.” “In the midst of
the fight, and when Alfred was hard pressed,”--according to Brompton,
for the older chroniclers do not mention this,--“the king came up with
his fresh forces.” “And when both hosts had fought long and bravely,
at last the Pagans, by God’s judgment, could no longer bear the attack
of the Christians, and having lost great part of their men, took to a
disgraceful flight, and all the Pagan host pursued its flight not only
until night, but the next day, even until they reached the stronghold
from which they had come out. The Christians followed, slaying all
they could reach until it became dark.”[17] “And the flower of the
Pagan youth were there slain, so that neither before nor since was
ever such destruction known since the Saxons first gained Britain by
their arms.” “There fell in that battle King Bægseeg and these earls
with him; that old Earl Sidroc, to whom may be applied that saying ‘the
ancient of evil days,’ and Earl Sidroc the younger, and Earl Osbern,
and Earl Frœna, and Earl Harold; who, with their men, choosing the
broad and spacious way, went down into the depths of the lake;” or, let
us perhaps hope not, old monk Simeon, seeing that they died gallantly
in harness, and that, as you yourself add in the next sentence, “they
knew not the way of teaching nor understood its paths; it was kept far
away from their faces.” It is fair to add that Brompton states that
Æthelred slew Bægseeg with his spear, and another Pagan of note with
his sword, after, he got up to the fight; but the older chroniclers do
not mention this.[18]
To finish briefly the history of the rest of the year 871, fourteen
days after the battle of Ashdown, Æthelred and Alfred fought another
battle with the Pagans (probably with that part which had remained
in garrison at Reading, with Hinguar and Hubba, and the relics of
Halfdene’s army), at Basing, which seems to have been undecided; and
two months afterwards another at Merton. After which, in the summer,
reinforcements came from beyond sea, and joined the Pagans; King
Æthelred died, and Alfred fought before the winter four more pitched
battles. So, as the Saxon Chronicle sums up, “in this year nine general
battles were fought against the army in the kingdom south of the
Thames; besides which, Alfred, the king’s brother, and single aldermen
and king’s thanes, oftentimes made attacks on them which were not
numbered, and slew of them within the year one king and nine earls.”
This was not what the Pagans reckoned on; they liked fighting very
much in reason, as an accompaniment of spoiling a country, and did it
well; but to be fighting nine pitched battles in a year, hemmed in in
one corner of a rich kingdom (for they never got farther than a few
miles into Wiltshire), and getting no spoil even there, was not to
their taste; so in the winter they made truce with Alfred, and took
themselves off to their old haunts in Mercia and Northumbria, and did
not return for five years.
This year, A.D. 871, is a year for Berkshire men to be proud of, for
on them fell the brunt of that fiery trial; and their gallant stand
probably saved England a hundred years of Paganism. For had they
given way at Ashdown, and the reinforcements from over the sea come
to a conquering, instead of to a beaten army in the summer, there was
nothing to stop the Pagans between Reading and Exeter. The other eight
battles were skirmishes in comparison with this one; they scarcely
occupy five lines each in the chroniclers, and out of the king and nine
Pagan earls who were slain within the year, six fell at Ashdown. It was
Alfred’s crowning mercy; and so he felt it to be, and in memory of it
he caused his army (tradition says, on the day after the battle) to
carve the White Horse, the standard of Hengist, on the hill-side just
under the Castle, where it stands as you see until this day.
* * * * *
“Thank you, Sir,” said I, when he paused, “what a grand story it makes!
And are those the real words of the old chroniclers, as you call them,
Sir, which you used?”
“Yes,” said he, “almost every word is simply a translation from one
or other of them, but the greater part is taken from the Chronicle of
Asser, who was a contemporary and intimate friend of Alfred, and a very
learned and pious ecclesiastic.”
“I suppose they were; mostly priests and monks who wrote the Chronicles
then, Sir, for they don’t read at all like our modern histories. They
seem a much more religious sort of books.”
“Don’t call them religious books,” said he, “it puts one in mind of
religious newspapers,--the greatest curse of our times. Yes, people
sneer at the old English chroniclers now-a-days, and prefer the Edda,
and all sorts of heathen stuff, to them; but they are great books,
Sir, for those who have eyes for them; godly books is the name for
them, written by God-fearing men, who were not ashamed of the faith
which was in them;--men who believed, Sir, that a living God was ruling
in England, and that in his name one of them might defy a thousand.
Your historians, now-a-days, Sir, believe that Providence (for they
dare not talk of God) is on the side of the strongest battalion.
There’s some difference, when you come to think of it, between the two
creeds, Sir.”
The old gentleman looked at me quite fierce, so I made all the haste I
could to change the subject.
“Don’t you think it very curious, Sir, that the figure should have
lasted all this time?” said I; “because you see, Sir, if you or I were
to cut a trench, two feet or so deep, up here, on the side of the hill,
and stamp down the chalk ever so hard, it would be all filled up and
grown over in a few years.”
“You are not the first person who has made that remark,” said he. “In
the year 1738, an antiquary, of the name of Francis Wise, who lived
at Oxford, visited the hill, and wrote a letter on the subject to Dr.
Mead, the most learned antiquary of that day. First he speaks of the
figure of the horse as ‘being described in so masterly a manner that it
may defy the painter’s skill to give a more exact description of the
animal.’”
“How could he talk like that, Sir?” said I; “why the figure isn’t a bit
like----”
“You are as bad as Camden,” said he, “who talks of I know not what
shape of a horse fancied on the side of a whitish hill; but the truth
is, it is a copy of the Saxon standard, which, of course, was a rude
affair. However, Wise, whom I was telling you of, goes on:--
“When I saw it, the head had suffered a little and wanted reparation;
and the extremities of his hinder legs, from their unavoidable
situation, have by the fall of rains been filled up in some measure
with the washings from the upper parts; so that, in the nearest view of
him, the tail, which does not suffer the same inconvenience, and has
continued entire from the beginning, seems longer than his legs. The
supplies, which nature is continually affording, occasion the turf to
crumble and fall off into the white trench, which in many years’ time
produces small specks of turf, and not a little obscures the brightness
of the Horse; though there is no danger from hence of the whole figure
being obliterated, for the inhabitants have a custom of ‘scouring the
Horse,’ as they call it; at which time a solemn festival is celebrated,
and manlike games with prizes exhibited, which no doubt had their
original in Saxon times in memory of the victory.”[19]
“Scouring the Horse! yes, of course,” said I, “that is what they are
doing now, and the games are to come off to-morrow.”
“Exactly so,” said he, “but you will like to hear how Wise goes on:--
“If ever the genius of King Alfred exerted itself (and it never failed
him in his greatest exigencies), it did remarkably so upon account
of this trophy. The situation of his affairs would not permit him
to expend much time, nor his circumstances much cost, in effecting
one,” (truly, for he had six more pitched battles to fight between
April and November.) “His troops, though victorious, were harassed
and diminished by continual duty; nor did the country afford, to any
man’s thinking, materials proper for a work of this kind. Though he
had not therefore the opportunity of raising, like other conquerors, a
stupendous monument of brass or marble, yet he has shown an admirable
contrivance, in erecting one magnificent enough, though simple in its
design--executed, too, with little labour and no expense--that may
hereafter vie with the Pyramids in duration, and perhaps exist when
these shall be no more.”
“But, dear me, Sir,” said I, “how can the White Horse vie with the
Pyramids in duration? Why, the Pyramids were built----”
“Never mind when they were built,” said he; “don’t you see the old
antiquary is an enthusiast? I had hoped you were one also.”
“Indeed, Sir, I am very anxious to hear all you can tell me,” said I,
“and I won’t interrupt again.”
“Well, as to the scouring, Wise says:--
“The ceremony of scouring the Horse, from time immemorial, has been
solemnized by a numerous concourse of people from all the villages
round about. I am informed, though the Horse stands in the parish of
Uffington, yet other towns claim, by ancient custom, a share of the
duty upon this occasion. Since, therefore, this noble antiquity is now
explained, and consequently the reason of the festival, it were to
be wished that, in order to prevent for the future its falling into
oblivion, some care was taken of the regulation of the games, and
that they were restored to their ancient splendour, of which, without
question, they are fallen much short. I know that these rites are
cavilled at and maligned by the more supercilious part of mankind;
but the dislike to them seems to be founded merely upon the abuse of
them to riot and debauchery, which I intend by no means to justify
or excuse. The practice of the best and wisest states, whose maxims
we approve and profess to follow, is sufficient authority for their
use. The liberty we so justly boast, and which ought to be a common
blessing to all, pleads loudly for them. The common people, from their
daily labour, stands at least in as much need of proper intervals of
recreation as their superiors, who are exempt from it, and therefore
in all free states have been indulged in sports most suited to their
genius and capacity. And if manlike games contribute any thing
towards the support of the natural bravery of these, who are to be our
bulwark and defence in times of danger, they cannot be more seasonably
revived than at this juncture, when, through the general luxury and
dissoluteness of the age, there was never more likelihood of its
being extinguished. Besides all this, from hence a superior influence
diffuseth itself through the better sort, who are supposed to enter
further into the intention of these solemnities; for which reason it
is, that to perpetuate to posterity the remembrance of great men, and
of great actions, has been always recommended, as a proper incentive to
virtue. Customs of very trifling import, some ridiculous in themselves,
others owing to causes equally ridiculous, are oftentimes kept up by
Englishmen with much zeal and tenacity; and shall the greatest prince
that this isle was ever blessed with, and the greatest action of that
prince’s life, be in danger of being forgot, through the neglect of a
solemnity, the only one, perhaps, that was ever instituted, at least,
that is now preserved, to his honour?”[20]
I didn’t say a word now, though he seemed to have finished.
“Well,” said he, after a minute, “have you nothing to say? You’re very
glad that it’s over, I suppose?”
“No, Sir, indeed I am not,” said I; “but I am very much obliged to you
for your kindness in telling me all that you have.”
“You are a very intelligent young man, Sir,” said he; “most young
fellows of your age would have been bored to death half-an-hour ago,
even if they hadn’t managed to run off altogether, and so they would
have lost a good lesson in English history--not that they would have
cared much for that though. But now, I dare say you are getting hungry.
Let us go up and see what they are doing in the Castle, and I shall be
very glad if you will do me the honour of lunching with me.”
“Well,” thought I, as we got up from the turf, “there are not many
better things for getting a man on than being a good listener. Here is
a very learned old gentleman who doesn’t know my name, and I have got
the length of his foot, and he has asked me to luncheon, just because I
have been listening to his old stories. I wonder where the lunch is to
be though? he spoke of a Castle, perhaps he lives in it--who knows?”
So we strolled away together up over the brow of the hill.
[3] See Simeon, A.D. 870.
[4] See Chronicle of St. Neot, A.D. 878.
[5] See Saxon Chron. and Asser, A.D. 866.
[6] See Asser, A.D. 867.
[7] See Saxon Chron. and Huntingdon, A.D. 874.
[8] See Simeon, A.D. 870.
[9] N. B. This was written in October, 1857.
[10] Here is Robert of Gloster’s account of the martyrdom:--
“So that atte laste to Estangle agen hym come:
Ther hii barned and robbede and that fole to grounde slowe;
And as wolves among ssep reulych hem to drowe,
Seynt Edmond was tho her kyng, and tho he sey that delvol cas
That me morthred so that fole, and non amendement n’as,
He ches levere to deye hym-sulf, that such soreve to ysey--
He dude hym vorth among ys ton, n’olde he nothyng fle.
Hii nome hym and scourged hym, and suthe naked hym bounde
To a tre, and to hym ssote, and made hym mony a wounde,
That the arewe were on hym tho thycke, that no stede n’as byleved.
Atte laste hii martred hym, and smyte of ys heved.”
_Robert of Gloster’s Chronicle_, p. 263,
_apud Thomas Hearne_. Ed. 1724.
[11] See Saxon Chronicle, and Huntingdon, A.D. 870.
[12] See Brompton, A.D. 870.
[13] See Sax Chron., A.D. 870.
[14] See Huntingdon, A.D. 871.
[15] See Simeon, A.D. 871.
[16] See Saxon Chronicle, A.D. 871.
[17] See Asser, A.D. 871.
[18] This is Robert of Gloster’s account of the Battle:--
“The Kyng and Alfred ys brother nome men ynowe,
Mette hem, and a batayle smyte up Assesdowne--
Ther was mony moder chyld, that sone lay ther doune--
The batayle ylaste vorte-nygt, and ther were aslawe
Vyf dukes of Dene-march, ar hii wolde wyth drawe,
And mony thousende of other men, and tho’ gonne hii to fle;
Ac hii adde alle ybe assend, gyf the nyght n’adde y bee.
_Robert of Gloster, p. 263,
apud Thomas Hearne. Ed. 1724._”
[19] Wise’s Letter to Dr. Mead, “concerning some Antiquities in
Berkshire,” ed. 1, pp. 25, 26.
[20] Wise’s Letter, p. 31.