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diff --git a/12481-0.txt b/12481-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b542255 --- /dev/null +++ b/12481-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6283 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hero tales of the far north, by Jacob A. Riis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Hero tales of the far north + +Author: Jacob A. Riis + +Release Date: May 1, 2004 [EBook #12481] + +Most Recent Release Date: December 21, 2022 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Janet Kegg + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERO TALES OF THE FAR NORTH *** + + + + +HERO TALES OF THE FAR NORTH + + + + + [Illustration: (Publisher colophon)] + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO + ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO + + MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED + LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA + MELBOURNE + + THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. + TORONTO + + + + +[Illustration: FREDERIKSBORG + + _See page 182_ +] + + + + + HERO TALES + OF THE FAR NORTH + + By + JACOB A. RIIS + + + + AUTHOR OF “HOW THE OTHER HALF LIVES” + “THE MAKING OF AN AMERICAN” + “THE OLD TOWN,” ETC. + + New York + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + 1919 + + _All rights reserved_ + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1910, + BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. + + Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1910. + + + Norwood Press + J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co. + Norwood, Mass. U.S.A. + + + + + THIS BOOK OF MY DEAD HEROES + + I DEDICATE TO MY LIVING HERO + + + THEODORE ROOSEVELT + + + MAY IT BE MANY YEARS BEFORE THE LAST CHAPTER + + OF HIS SPLENDID WHOLESOME LIFE IS + + WRITTEN IN THE PAGES OF OUR + + COUNTRY’S HISTORY + + + + +FOREWORD + + +When a man knocks at Uncle Sam’s gate, craving admission to his +house, we ask him how much money he brings, lest he become a +hindrance instead of a help. If now we were to ask what he brings, +not only in his pocket, but in his mind and in his heart, this +stranger, what ideals he owns, what company he kept in the country +he left that shaped his hopes and ambitions,—might it not, if the +answer were right, be a help to a better mutual understanding +between host and guest? For the _Mayflower_ did not hold all who +in this world have battled for freedom of home, of hope, and of +conscience. The struggle is bigger than that. Every land has its +George Washington, its Kosciusko, its William Tell, its Garibaldi, +its Kossuth, if there is but one that has a Joan d’Arc. What we +want to know of the man is: were its heroes his? + +This book is an attempt to ask and to answer that question for my +own people, in a very small and simple way, it is true, but perhaps +abler pens with more leisure than mine may follow the trail it has +blazed. I should like to see some Swede write of the heroes of his +noble, chivalrous people, whom lack of space has made me slight +here, though I count them with my own. I should like to hear the +epic of United Italy, of proud and freedom-loving Hungary, the +swan-song of unhappy Poland, chanted to young America again and +again, to help us all understand that we are kin in the things that +really count, and help us pull together as we must if we are to +make the most of our common country. + +These were my—our—heroes, then. Every lad of Northern blood, whose +heart is in the right place, loves them. And he need make no +excuses for any of them. Nor has he need of bartering them for the +great of his new home; they go very well together. It is partly +for his sake I have set their stories down here. All too quickly +he lets go his grip on them, on the new shore. Let him keep them +and cherish them with the memories of the motherland. The immigrant +America wants and needs is he who brings the best of the old home +to the new, not he who threw it overboard on the voyage. In the +great melting-pot it will tell its story for the good of us all. + +To those who wonder that I have left the Saga era of the North +untouched, I would say that I have preferred to deal here only with +downright historic figures. For valuable aid rendered in insuring +accuracy I am indebted to the services of Dr. P.A. Rydberg, Dr. J. +Emile Blomén, Gustaf V. Lindner, and Professor Joakim Reinhard. +My thanks are due likewise to many friends, Danes by birth like +myself, who have helped me with the illustrations. + + J. A. R. + + RICHMOND HILL, + June, 1910. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + A KNIGHT ERRANT OF THE SEA 1 + + HANS EGEDE, THE APOSTLE TO GREENLAND 31 + + GUSTAV VASA, THE FATHER OF SWEDEN 61 + + ABSALON, WARRIOR BISHOP OF THE NORTH 87 + + KING VALDEMAR, AND THE STORY OF THE DANNEBROG 125 + + HOW THE GHOST OF THE HEATH WAS LAID 153 + + KING CHRISTIAN IV 179 + + GUSTAV ADOLF, THE SNOW-KING 205 + + KING AND SAILOR, HEROES OF COPENHAGEN 239 + + THE TROOPER WHO WON A WAR ALONE 263 + + CARL LINNÉ, KING OF THE FLOWERS 277 + + NIELS FINSEN, THE WOLF-SLAYER 305 + + + + +A KNIGHT ERRANT OF THE SEA + + +The Eighteenth Century broke upon a noisy family quarrel in the +north of Europe. Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, the royal hotspur +of all history, and Frederik of Denmark had fallen out. Like their +people, they were first cousins, and therefore all the more bent +on settling the old question which was the better man. After the +fashion of the lion and the unicorn, they fought “all about the +town,” and, indeed, about every town that came in their way, now +this and now that side having the best of it. On the sea, which was +the more important because neither Swedes nor Danes could reach +their fighting ground or keep up their armaments without command +of the waterways, the victory rested finally with the Danes. And +this was due almost wholly to one extraordinary figure, the like +of which is scarce to be found in the annals of warfare, Peder +Tordenskjold. Rising in ten brief years from the humblest place +before the mast, a half-grown lad, to the rank of admiral, ennobled +by his King and the idol of two nations, only to be assassinated on +the “field of honor” at thirty, he seems the very incarnation of +the stormy times of the Eleven Years’ War, with which his sun rose +and set; for the year in which peace was made also saw his death. + +Peder Jansen Wessel was born on October 28, 1690, in the city of +Trondhjem, Norway, which country in those days was united with +Denmark under one king. His father was an alderman with eighteen +children. Peder was the tenth of twelve wild boys. It is related +that the father in sheer desperation once let make for him a pair +of leathern breeches which he would not be able to tear. But the +lad, not to be beaten so easily, sat on a grind-stone and had +one of his school-fellows turn it till the seat was worn thin, a +piece of bravado that probably cost him dear, for doubtless the +exasperated father’s stick found the attenuated spot. + +Since he would have none of the school, his father had him +apprenticed out to a tailor with the injunction not to spare the +rod. But sitting cross-legged on a tailor’s stool did not suit the +lad, and he took it out of his master by snowballing him thoroughly +one winter’s day. Next a barber undertook to teach him his trade; +but Peder ran away and was drifting about the streets when the King +came to Norway. The boy saw the splendid uniforms and heard the +story of the beautiful capital by the Öresund, with its palaces and +great fighting ships. When the King departed, he was missing, and +for a while there was peace in Trondhjem. + +Down in Copenhagen the homeless lad was found wandering about by +the King’s chaplain, who, being himself a Norwegian, took him home +and made him a household page. But the boy’s wanderings had led +him to the navy-yard, where he saw mid-shipmen of his own size at +drill, and he could think of nothing else. When he should have +been waiting at table he was down among the ships. For him there +was ever but one way to any goal, the straight cut, and at fifteen +he wrote to the King asking to be appointed a midshipman. “I am +wearing away my life as a servant,” he wrote. “I want to give it, +and my blood, to the service of your Majesty, and I will serve you +with all my might while I live!” + +The navy had need of that kind of recruits, and the King saw to it +that he was apprenticed at once. And that was the beginning of his +strangely romantic career. + +Three years he sailed before the mast and learned seamanship, +while Charles was baiting the Muscovite and the North was resting +on its arms. Then came Pultava and the Swedish King’s crushing +defeat. The storm-centre was transferred to the North again, and +the war on the sea opened with a splendid deed, fit to appeal to +any ardent young heart. At the battle in the Bay of Kjöge, the +_Dannebrog_, commanded by Ivar Hvitfeldt, caught fire, and by its +position exposed the Danish fleet to great danger. Hvitfeldt could +do one of two things: save his own life and his men’s by letting +his ship drift before the wind and by his escape risking the rest +of the fleet and losing the battle, or stay where he was to meet +certain death. He chose the latter, anchored his vessel securely, +and fought on until the ship was burned down to the water’s edge +and blew up with him and his five hundred men. Ivar Hvitfeldt’s +name is forever immortal in the history of his country. A few years +ago they raised the wreck of the _Dannebrog_, fitly called after +the Danish flag, and made of its guns a monument that stands on +Langelinie, the beautiful shore road of Copenhagen. + +Fired by such deeds, young Wessel implored the King, before he had +yet worn out his first midshipman’s jacket, to give him command of +a frigate. He compromised on a small privateer, the _Ormen_, but +with it he did such execution in Swedish waters and earned such +renown as a dauntless sailor and a bold scout whose information +about the enemy was always first and best, that before spring they +gave him a frigate with eighteen guns and the emphatic warning +“not to engage any enemy when he was not clearly the stronger.” He +immediately brought in a Swedish cruiser, the _Alabama_ of those +days, that had been the terror of the sea. In a naval battle in the +Baltic soon after, he engaged with his little frigate two of the +enemy’s line-of-battle ships that were trying to get away, and only +when a third came to help them did he retreat, so battered that he +had to seek port to make repairs. Accused of violating his orders, +his answer was prompt: “I promised your Majesty to do my best, and +I did.” King Frederik IV, himself a young and spirited man, made +him a captain, jumping him over fifty odd older lieutenants, and +gave him leave to war on the enemy as he saw fit. + +The immediate result was that the Governor of Göteborg, the enemy’s +chief seaport in the North Sea, put a price on his head. Captain +Wessel heard of it and sent word into town that he was outside—to +come and take him; but to hurry, for time was short. While waiting +for a reply, he fell in with two Swedish men-of-war having in tow +a Danish prize. That was not to be borne, and though they together +mounted ninety-four guns to his eighteen, he fell upon them like a +thunderbolt. They beat him off, but he returned for their prize. +That time they nearly sank him with three broad-sides. However, he +ran for the Norwegian coast and saved his ship. In his report of +this affair he excuses himself for running away with the reflection +that allowing himself to be sunk “would not rightly have benefited +his Majesty’s service.” + +However, the opportunity came to him swiftly of “rightly +benefiting” the King’s service. After the battle of Kolberger +Heide, that had gone against the Swedes, he found them beaching +their ships under cover of the night to prevent their falling into +the hands of the victors. Wessel halted them with the threat that +every man Jack in the fleet should be made to walk the plank, saved +the ships, and took their admiral prisoner to his chief. When +others slept, Wessel was abroad with his swift sailer. If wind and +sea went against him, he knew how to turn his mishap to account. +Driven in under the hostile shore once, he took the opportunity, +as was his wont, to get the lay of the land and of the enemy. He +learned quickly that in the harbor of Wesensö, not far away, a +Swedish cutter was lying with a Danish prize. She carried eight +guns and had a crew of thirty-six men; but though he had at the +moment only eighteen sailors in his boat, he crept up the coast at +once, slipped quietly in after sundown, and took ship and prize +with a rush, killing and throwing overboard such as resisted. In +Sweden mothers hushed their crying children with his dreaded name; +on the sea they came near to thinking him a troll, so sudden and +unexpected were his onsets. But there was no witchcraft about it. +He sailed swiftly because he was a skilled sailor and because he +missed no opportunity to have the bottom of his ship scraped and +greased. And when on board, pistol and cutlass hung loose; for it +was a time of war with a brave and relentless foe. + +His reconnoitring expeditions he always headed himself, and +sometimes he went alone. Thus, when getting ready to take +Marstrand, a fortified seaport of great importance to Charles, he +went ashore disguised as a fisherman and peddled fish through the +town, even in the very castle itself, where he took notice, along +with the position of the guns and the strength of the garrison, +of the fact that the commandant had two pretty daughters. He was +a sailor, sure enough. Once when ashore on such an expedition, +he was surprised by a company of dragoons. His men escaped, but +the dragoons cut off his way to the shore. As they rode at him, +reaching out for his sword, he suddenly dashed among them, cut +one down, and, diving through the surf, swam out to the boat, his +sword between his teeth. Their bullets churned up the sea all about +him, but he was not hit. He seemed to bear a charmed life; in all +his fights he was wounded but once. That was in the attack on the +strongly fortified port of Strömstad, in which he was repulsed with +a loss of 96 killed and 246 wounded, while the Swedish loss footed +up over 1500, a fight which led straight to the most astonishing +chapter in his whole career, of which more anon. + +All Denmark and Norway presently rang with the stories of +his exploits. They were always of the kind to appeal to the +imagination, for in truth he was a very knight errant of the sea +who fought for the love of it as well as of the flag, ardent +patriot that he was. A brave and chivalrous foe he loved next to a +loyal friend. Cowardice he loathed. Once when ordered to follow a +retreating enemy with his frigate _Hvide Örnen_ (the White Eagle) +of thirty guns, he hugged him so close that in the darkness he ran +his ship into the great Swedish man-of-war _Ösel_ of sixty-four +guns. The chance was too good to let pass. Seeing that the _Ösel’s_ +lower gun-ports were closed, and reasoning from this that she +had been struck in the water-line and badly damaged, he was for +boarding her at once, but his men refused to follow him. In the +delay the _Ösel_ backed away. Captain Wessel gave chase, pelted her +with shot, and called to her captain, whose name was _Söstjerna_ +(sea-star), to stop. + +“Running away from a frigate, are you? Shame on you, coward and +poltroon! Stay and fight like a man for your King and your flag!” + +Seeing him edge yet farther away, he shouted in utter exasperation, +“Your name shall be dog-star forever, not sea-star, if you don’t +stay.” + +“But all this,” he wrote sadly to the King, “with much more which +was worse, had no effect.” + +However, on his way back to join the fleet he ran across a +convoy of ten merchant vessels, guarded by three of the enemy’s +line-of-battle ships. He made a feint at passing, but, suddenly +turning, swooped down upon the biggest trader, ran out his boats, +made fast, and towed it away from under the very noses of its +protectors. It meant prize-money for his men, but their captain did +not forget their craven conduct of the night, which had made him +lose a bigger prize, and with the money they got a sound flogging. + +The account of the duel between his first frigate, _Lövendahl’s +Galley_, of eighteen guns, and a Swede of twenty-eight guns reads +like the doings of the old vikings, and indeed both commanders +were likely descended straight from those arch fighters. Wessel +certainly was. The other captain was an English officer, Bactman by +name, who was on the way to deliver his ship, that had been bought +in England, to the Swedes. They met in the North Sea and fell to +fighting by noon of one day. The afternoon of the next saw them at +it yet. Twice the crew of the Swedish frigate had thrown down their +arms, refusing to fight any more. Vainly the vessel had tried to +get away; the Dane hung to it like a leech. In the afternoon of the +second day Wessel was informed that his powder had given out. He +had a boat sent out with a herald, who presented to Captain Bactman +his regrets that he had to quit for lack of powder, but would he +come aboard and shake hands? + +The Briton declined. Meanwhile the ships had drifted close enough +to speak through the trumpet, and Captain Wessel shouted over from +his quarter-deck that “if he could lend him a little powder, they +might still go on.” Captain Bactman smilingly shook his head, +and then the two drank to one another’s health, each on his own +quarter-deck, and parted friends, while their crews manned what was +left of the yards and cheered each other wildly. + +Wessel’s enemies, of whom he had many, especially among the +nobility, who looked upon him as a vulgar upstart, used this +incident to bring him before a court-martial. It was unpatriotic, +they declared, and they demanded that he be degraded and fined. His +defence, which with all the records of his career are in the Navy +Department at Copenhagen, was brief but to the point. It is summed +up in the retort to his accusers that “they themselves should be +rebuked, and severely, for failing to understand that an officer in +the King’s service should be promoted instead of censured for doing +his plain duty,” and that there was nothing in the articles of war +commanding him to treat an honorable foe otherwise than with honor. + +It must be admitted that he gave his critics no lack of cause. +His enterprises were often enough of a hair-raising kind, and he +had scant patience with censure. Thus once, when harassed by an +Admiralty order purposely issued to annoy him, he wrote back: “The +biggest fool can see that to obey would defeat all my plans. I +shall not do it. It may suit folk who love loafing about shore, but +to an honest man such talk is disgusting, let alone that the thing +can’t be done.” He was at that time twenty-six years old, and in +charge of the whole North Sea fleet. No wonder he had enemies. + +However, the King was his friend. He made him a nobleman, and gave +him the name Tordenskjold. It means “thunder shield.” + +“Then, by the powers,” he swore when he was told, “I shall thunder +in the ears of the Swedes so that the King shall hear of it!” And +he kept his word. + +Charles had determined to take Denmark with one fell blow. He had +an army assembled in Skaane to cross the sound, which was frozen +over solid. All was ready for the invasion in January 1716. The +people throughout Sweden had assembled in the churches to pray +for the success of the King’s arms, and he was there himself to +lead; but in the early morning hours a strong east wind broke up +the ice, and the campaign ended before it was begun. Charles then +turned on Norway, and laid siege to the city of Frederikshald, +which, with its strong fort, Frederiksteen, was the key to that +country. A Danish fleet lay in the Skagerak, blocking his way of +reënforcements by sea. Tordenskjold, with his frigate, _Hvide +Örnen_, and six smaller ships (the frigate _Vindhunden_ of sixteen +guns, and five vessels of light draught, two of which were heavily +armed), was doing scouting duty for the Admiral when he learned +that the entire Swedish fleet of forty-four ships that was intended +to aid in the operations against Frederikshald lay in the harbor of +Dynekilen waiting its chance to slip out. It was so well shielded +there that its commander sent word to the King to rest easy; +nothing could happen to him. He would join him presently. + +Tordenskjold saw that if he could capture or destroy this fleet +Norway was saved; the siege must perforce be abandoned. And Norway +was his native land, which he loved with his whole fervid soul. But +no time was to be lost. He could not go back to ask for permission, +and one may shrewdly guess that he did not want to, for it would +certainly have been refused. He heard that the Swedish officers, +secure in their stronghold, were to attend a wedding on shore the +next day. His instructions from the Admiralty were: in an emergency +always to hold a council of war, and to abide by its decision. At +daybreak he ran his ship alongside _Vindhunden_, her companion +frigate, and called to the captain: + +“The Swedish officers are bidden to a wedding, and they have +forgotten us. What do you say—shall we go unasked?” + +Captain Grip was game. “Good enough!” he shouted back. “The wind is +fair, and we have all day. I am ready.” + +That was the council of war and its decision. Tordenskjold gave +the signal to clear for action, and sailed in at the head of his +handful of ships. + +The inlet to the harbor of Dynekilen is narrow and crooked, winding +between reefs and rocky steeps quite two miles, and only in +spots more than four hundred feet wide. Half-way in was a strong +battery. Tordenskjold’s fleet was received with a tremendous fire +from all the Swedish ships, from the battery, and from an army of +four thousand soldiers lying along shore. The Danish ships made +no reply. They sailed up grimly silent till they reached a place +wide enough to let them wear round, broadside on. Then their guns +spoke. Three hours the battle raged before the Swedish fire began +to slacken. As soon as he noticed it, Tordenskjold slipped into the +inner harbor under cover of the heavy pall of smoke, and before the +Swedes suspected their presence they found his ships alongside. +Broadside after broadside crashed into them, and in terror they +fled, soldiers and sailors alike. While they ran Tordenskjold +swooped down upon the half-way battery, seized it, and spiked its +guns. The fight was won. + +But the heaviest part was left—the towing out of the captured +ships. All the afternoon Tordenskjold led the work in person, +pulling on ropes, cheering on his men. The Swedes, returning +gamely to the fight, showered them with bullets from shore. One +of the abandoned vessels caught fire. Lieutenant Toender, of +Tordenskjold’s staff, a veteran with a wooden leg, boarded it just +as the quartermaster ran up yelling that the ship was full of +powder and was going to blow up. He tried to jump overboard, but +the lieutenant seized him by the collar and, stumping along, made +him lead the way to the magazine. A fuse had been laid to an open +keg of powder, and the fire was sputtering within an inch of it +when Lieutenant Tönder plucked it out, smothered it between thumb +and forefinger, and threw it through the nearest port-hole. There +were two hundred barrels of powder in the ship. + +Tordenskjold had kept his word to the King. Not as much as a yawl +of the Dynekilen fleet was left to the enemy. He had sunk or +burned thirteen and captured thirty-one ships with his seven, and +all the piled-up munitions of war were in his hands. King Charles +gave up the siege, marched his army out of Norway, and the country +was saved. The victory cost Tordenskjold but nineteen killed and +fifty-seven wounded. On his own ship six men were killed and twenty +wounded. + +Of infinite variety was this sea-fighter. After a victory like +this, one hears of him in the next breath gratifying a passing whim +of the King, who wanted to know what the Swedish people thought of +their Government after Charles’s long wars that are said to have +cost their country a million men. Tordenskjold overheard it, had +himself rowed across to Sweden, picked up there a wedding party, +bridegroom, minister, guests, and all, including the captain of +the shore watch who was among them, and returned in time for the +palace dinner with his catch. King Frederik was entertaining Czar +Peter the Great, who had been boasting of the unhesitating loyalty +of his men which his Danish host could not match. He now had the +tables turned upon him. It is recorded that the King sent the party +back with royal gifts for the bride. One would be glad to add that +Tordenskjold sent back, too, the silver pitcher and the parlor +clock his men took on their visit. But he didn’t. They were still +in Copenhagen a hundred years later, and may be they are yet. It +was not like his usual gallantry toward the fair sex. But perhaps +he didn’t know anything about it. + +Then we find him, after an unsuccessful attack on Göteborg that +cost many lives, sending in his adjutant to congratulate the +Swedish commandant on their “gallant encounter” the day before, +and exchanging presents with him in token of mutual regard. And +before one can turn the page he is discovered swooping down upon +Marstrand, taking town and fleet anchored there, and the castle +itself with its whole garrison, all with two hundred men, swelled +by stratagem into an army of thousands. We are told that an officer +sent out from the castle to parley, issuing forth from a generous +dinner, beheld the besieging army drawn up in street after street, +always two hundred men around every corner, as he made his way +through the town, piloted by Tordenskjold himself, who was careful +to take him the longest way, while the men took the short cut to +the next block. The man returned home with the message that the +town was full of them and that resistance was useless. The ruse +smacks of Peder Wessel’s boyish fight with a much bigger fellow who +had beaten him once by gripping his long hair, and so getting his +head in chancery. But Peder had taken notice. Next time he came to +the encounter with hair cut short and his whole head smeared with +soft-soap, and that time he won. + +The most extraordinary of all his adventures befell when, after the +attack on Strömstad, he was hastening home to Copenhagen. Crossing +the Kattegat in a little smack that carried but two three-pound +guns, he was chased and overtaken by a Swedish frigate of sixteen +guns and a crew of sixty men. Tordenskjold had but twenty-one, +and eight of them were servants and non-combatants. They were +dreadfully frightened, and tradition has it that one of them wept +when he saw the Swede coming on. Her captain called upon him to +surrender, but the answer was flung back: + +“I am Tordenskjold! Come and take me, if you can.” + +With that came a tiny broadside that did brisk execution on +the frigate. Tordenskjold had hauled both his guns over on the +“fighting side” of his vessel. There ensued a battle such as Homer +would have loved to sing. Both sides banged away for all they were +worth. In the midst of the din and smoke Tordenskjold used his +musket with cool skill; his servants loaded while he fired. At +every shot a man fell on the frigate. + +Word was brought that there was no more round shot. He bade them +twist up his pewter dinner service and fire that, which they did. +The Swede tried vainly to board. Tordenskjold manœuvred his smack +with such skill that they could not hook on. Seeing this, Captain +Lind, commander of the frigate, called to him to desist from the +useless struggle; he would be honored to carry such a prisoner into +Göteborg. Back came the taunt: + +“Neither you nor any other Swede shall ever carry me there!” And +with that he shot the captain down.[1] + +When his men saw him fall, they were seized with panic and made off +as quickly as they could, while Tordenskjold’s crew, of whom only +fourteen were left, beat their drums and blew trumpets in frantic +defiance. Their captain was for following the Swede and boarding +her, but he couldn’t. Sails, rigging, and masts were shot to +pieces. Perhaps the terror of the Swedes was increased by the sight +of Tordenskjold’s tame bear making faces at them behind his master. +It went with him everywhere till that day, and came out of the +fight unscathed. But during the night the crew ran the vessel on +the Swedish shore, whence Tordenskjold himself reached Denmark in +an open boat which he had to keep bailing all night, for the boat +was shot full of holes, and though he and his companions stuffed +their spare clothing into them it leaked badly. The enemy got the +smack, after all, and the bear, which, being a Norwegian, proved so +untractable on Swedish soil that, sad to relate, in the end they +cut him up and ate him. + +King Charles, himself a knightly soul and an admirer of a gallant +enemy, gave orders to have all Tordenskjold’s belongings sent +back to him, but he did not live to see the order carried out. He +was found dead in the rifle-pits before Frederiksteen on December +11, 1718, shot through the head. It was Tordenskjold himself who +brought the all-important news to King Frederik in the night +of December 28,—they were not the days of telegraphs and fast +steamers,—and when the King, who had been roused out of bed to +receive him, could not trust his ears, he said with characteristic +audacity, “I wish it were as true that your Majesty had made me a +schoutbynacht,”—the rank next below admiral. And so he took the +step next to the last on the ladder of his ambition. + +Within seven months he took Marstrand. It is part of the record +of that astonishing performance that when the unhappy Commandant +hesitated as the hour of evacuation came, not sure that he had done +right in capitulating, Tordenskjold walked up to the fort with a +hundred men, half his force, banged on the gate, went in alone and +up to the Commandant’s window, thundering out: + +“What are you waiting for? Don’t you know time is up?” + +In terror and haste, Colonel Dankwardt moved his Hessians out, and +Tordenskjold marched his handful of men in. When he brought the +King the keys of Marstrand, Frederik made him an admiral. + +It was while blockading the port of Göteborg in the last year of +the war that he met and made a friend of Lord Carteret, the English +Ambassador to Denmark, and fell in love with the picture of a young +Englishwoman, Miss Norris, a lady of great beauty and wealth, +who, Lord Carteret told him, was an ardent admirer of his. It was +this love which indirectly sent him to his death. Lord Carteret +had given him a picture of her, and as soon as peace was made he +started for England; but he never reached that country. The remnant +of the Swedish fleet lay in the roadstead at Göteborg, under the +guns of the two forts, New and Old Elfsborg. While Tordenskjold was +away at Marstrand, the enemy sallied forth and snapped up seven +of the smaller vessels of his blockading fleet. The news made him +furious. He sent in, demanding them back at once, “or I will come +after them.” He had already made one ineffectual attempt to take +New Elfsborg that cost him dear. In Göteborg they knew the strength +of his fleet and laughed at his threat. But it was never safe to +laugh at Tordenskjold. The first dark night he stole in with ten +armed boats, seized the shore batteries of the old fort, and spiked +their guns before a shot was fired. The rising moon saw his men +in possession of the ships lying at anchor. With their blue-lined +coats turned inside out so that they might pass for Swedish +uniforms, they surprised the watch in the guard-house and made them +all prisoners. Now that there was no longer reason for caution, +they raised a racket that woke the sleeping town up in a fright. +The commander of the other fort sent out a boat to ascertain the +cause. It met the Admiral’s and challenged it, “Who goes there?” + +“Tordenskjold,” was the reply, “come to teach you to keep awake.” + +It proved impossible to warp the ships out. Only one of the seven +lost ones was recovered; all the rest were set on fire. By the +light of the mighty bonfire Tordenskjold rowed out with his men, +hauling the recovered ship right under the guns of the forts, the +Danish flag flying at the bow of his boat. He had not lost a single +man. A cannon-ball swept away all the oars on one side of his boat, +but no one was hurt. + +At Marstrand they had been up all night listening to the +cannonading and the crash upon crash as the big ships blew up. They +knew that Tordenskjold was abroad with his men. In the morning, +when they were all in church, he walked in and sat down by his +chief, the old Admiral Judicher, who was a slow-going, cautious +man. He whispered anxiously, “What news?” but Tordenskjold only +shrugged his shoulders with unmoved face. It is not likely that +either the old Admiral or the congregation heard much of that +sermon, if indeed they heard any of it. But when it was over, they +saw from the walls of the town the Danish ships at anchor and heard +the story of the last of Tordenskjold’s exploits. It fitly capped +the climax of his life. Sweden’s entire force on the North Sea, +with the exception of five small galleys, had either been captured, +sunk, or burned by him. + +The King would not let Tordenskjold go when peace was made, but he +had his way in the end. To his undoing he consented to take with +him abroad a young scalawag, the son of his landlord, who had more +money than brains. In Hamburg the young man fell in with a gambler, +a Swedish colonel by name of Stahl, who fleeced him of all he had +and much more besides. When Tordenskjold heard of it and met the +Colonel in another man’s house, he caned him soundly and threw him +out in the street. For this he was challenged, but refused to fight +a gambler. + +“Friends,” particularly one Colonel Münnichhausen, who volunteered +to be his second, talked him over, and also persuaded him to give +up the pistol, with which he was an expert. The duel was fought at +the Village of Gledinge, over the line from Hanover, on the morning +of November 12, 1720. Tordenskjold was roused from sleep at five, +and, after saying his prayers, a duty he never on any account +omitted, he started for the place appointed. His old body-servant +vainly pleaded with his master to take his stout blade instead of +the flimsy parade sword the Admiral carried. Münnichhausen advised +against it; it would be too heavy, he said. Stahl’s weapon was a +long fighting rapier, and to this the treacherous second made no +objection. Almost at the first thrust he ran the Admiral through. +The seconds held his servant while Stahl jumped on his horse and +galloped away. Tordenskjold breathed out his dauntless soul in the +arms of his faithful servant and friend. + +His body lies in a black marble sarcophagus in the “Navy Church” +at Copenhagen. The Danish and Norwegian peoples have never ceased +to mourn their idol. He was a sailor with a sailor’s faults. But +he loved truth, honor, and courage in foe and friend alike. Like +many seafaring men, he was deeply religious, with the unquestioning +faith of a child. There is a letter in existence written by him +to his father when the latter was on his death-bed that bears +witness to this. He thanks him with filial affection for all his +care, and says naïvely that he would rather have his prayers +than fall heir to twenty thousand daler. His pictures show a +stocky, broad-shouldered youth with frank blue eyes, full lips, +and an eagle nose. His deep, sonorous voice used to be heard, in +his midshipman days, above the whole congregation in the Navy +Church. In after years it called louder still to Denmark’s foes. +When things were at their worst in storm or battle, he was wont +to shout to his men, “Hi, _now_ we are having a fine time!” and +his battle-cry has passed into the language. By it, in desperate +straits demanding stout hearts, one may know the Dane after his own +heart, the real Dane, the world over. Among his own Tordenskjold is +still and always will be “the Admiral of Norway’s fleet.” + + +Footnotes: + +[1] He was not mortally wounded, and Tordenskjold took him prisoner +later at the capture of Marstrand. + + + + +HANS EGEDE, THE APOSTLE TO GREENLAND + + +When in the fall of 1909 the statement was flashed around the +world that the North Pole had at last been reached, a name long +unfamiliar ran from mouth to mouth with that of the man who claimed +to be its discoverer. Dr. Cook was coming to Copenhagen, the daily +despatches read, on the Danish Government steamer _Hans Egede_. A +shipload of reporters kept an anxious lookout from the Skaw for +the vessel so suddenly become famous, but few who through their +telescopes made out the name at last upon the prow of the ship +gave it another thought in the eager welcome to the man it brought +back from the perils of the Farthest North. Yet the name of that +vessel stood for something of more real account to humanity than +the attainment of a goal that had been the mystery of the ages. No +such welcome awaited the explorer Hans Egede, who a hundred and +seventy-two years before sailed homeward over that very route, +a broken, saddened man, and all he brought was the ashes of his +best-beloved that they might rest in her native soil. No gold medal +was struck for him; the people did not greet him with loud acclaim. +The King and his court paid scant attention to him, and he was +allowed to live his last days in poverty. Yet a greater honor is +his than ever fell to a discoverer: the simple natives of Greenland +long reckoned the time from his coming among them. To them he was +in their ice-bound home what Father Damien was to the stricken +lepers in the South seas, and Dr. Grenfell is to the fishermen of +Labrador. + +Hans Poulsen Egede, the apostle of Greenland, was a Norwegian of +Danish descent. He was born in the Northlands, in the parish of +Trondenäs, on January 31, 1686. His grandfather and his father +before him had been clergymen in Denmark, the former in the town of +West Egede, whence the name. Graduated in a single year from the +University of Copenhagen, “at which,” his teachers bore witness, +“no one need wonder who knows the man,” he became at twenty-two +pastor of a parish up in the Lofoden Islands, where the fabled +maëlstrom churns. Eleven years he preached to the poor fisherfolk +on Sunday, and on week-days helped his parishioners rebuild the old +church. When it was finished and the bishop came to consecrate it, +he chided Egede because the altar was too fine; it must have cost +more than they could afford. + +“It did not cost anything,” was his reply. “I made it myself.” + +No wonder his fame went far. When the church bell of Vaagen called, +boats carrying Sunday-clad fishermen were seen making for the +island from every point of the compass. Great crowds flocked to +his church; great enough to arouse the jealousy of neighboring +preachers who were not so popular, and they made it so unpleasant +that his wife at last tired of it. They little dreamed that they +were industriously paving the way for his greater work and for his +undying fame. + +The sea that surges against that rockbound coast ever called its +people out in quest of adventure. Some who went nine hundred years +ago found a land in the far Northwest barred by great icebergs; but +once inside the barrier, they saw deep fjords like their own at +home, to which the mountains sloped down, covered with a wealth of +lovely flowers. On green meadows antlered deer were grazing, the +salmon leaped in brawling brooks, and birds called for their mates +in the barrens. Above it all towered snow-covered peaks. They saw +only the summer day; they did not know how brief it was, and how +long the winter night, and they called the country Greenland. They +built their homes there, and other settlers came. They were hardy +men, bred in a harsh climate, and they stayed. They built churches +and had their priests and bishops, for Norway was Christian by +that time. And they prospered after their fashion. They even paid +Peter’s Pence to Rome. There is a record that their contribution, +being in kind, namely, walrus teeth, was sold in 1386 by the Pope’s +agent to a merchant in Flanders for twelve livres, fourteen sous. +They kept up communication with their kin across the seas until the +Black Death swept through the Old World in the Fourteenth Century; +Norway, when it was gone, was like a vast tomb. Two-thirds of its +people lay dead. Those who were left had enough to do at home; and +Greenland was forgotten. + +The seasons passed, and the savages, with whom the colonists +had carried on a running feud, came out of the frozen North and +overwhelmed them. Dim traditions that were whispered among the +natives for centuries told of that last fight. It was the Ragnarok +of the Northmen. Not one was left to tell the tale. Long years +after, when fishing vessels landed on that desolate coast, they +found a strange and hostile people in possession. No one had ever +dared to settle there since. + +This last Egede knew, but little more. He believed that there were +still settlements on the inaccessible east coast of Greenland where +descendants of the old Northmen lived, cut off from all the world, +sunk into ignorance and godlessness,—men and women who had once +known the true light,—and his heart yearned to go to their rescue. +Waking and dreaming, he thought of nothing else. The lamp in his +quiet study shone out over the sea at night when his people were +long asleep. Their pastor was poring over old manuscripts and the +logs of whalers that had touched upon Greenland. From Bergen he +gathered the testimony of many sailors. None of them had ever seen +traces of, or heard of, the old Northmen. + +To his bishop went Egede with his burden. Ever it rang in his +ears: “God has chosen you to bring them back to the light.” The +bishop listened and was interested. Yes, that was the land from +which seafarers in a former king’s time had brought home golden +sand. There might be more. It couldn’t be far from Cuba and +Hispaniola, those golden coasts. If one were to go equipped for +trading, no doubt a fine stroke of business might be done. Thus +the Right Reverend Bishop Krog of Trondhjem, and Egede went home, +disheartened. + +At home his friends scouted him, said he was going mad to think +of giving up his living on such a fool’s chase. His wife implored +him to stay, and with a heavy heart Egede was about to abandon +his purpose when his jealous neighbor, whose parishioners had +been going to hear Egede preach, stirred up such trouble that his +wife was glad to go. She even urged him to, and he took her at +her word. They moved to Bergen, and from that port they sailed on +May 3, 1721, on the ship _Haabet_ (the Hope), with another and +smaller vessel as convoy, forty-six souls all told, bound for the +unknown North. The Danish King had made Egede missionary to the +Greenlanders on a salary of three hundred daler a year, the same +amount which Egede himself contributed of his scant store toward +the equipment. The bishop’s plan had prevailed; the mission was to +be carried by the expected commerce, and upon that was to be built +a permanent colonization. + +Early in June they sighted land, but the way to it was barred +by impassable ice. A whole month they sailed to and fro, trying +vainly for a passage. At last they found an opening and slipped +through, only to find themselves shut in, with towering icebergs +closing around them. As they looked fearfully out over the rail, +their convoy signalled that she had struck, and the captain of +_Haabet_ cried out that all was lost. In the tumult of terror that +succeeded, Egede alone remained calm. Praying for succor where +there seemed to be none, he remembered the One Hundred and Seventh +Psalm: “He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, +and brake their bands in sunder.” And the morning dawned clear, +the ice was moving and their prison widening. On July 3, _Haabet_ +cleared the last ice-reef, and the shore lay open before them. + +The Eskimos came out in their kayaks, and the boldest climbed +aboard the ship. In one boat sat an old man who refused the +invitation. He paddled about the vessel, mumbling darkly in a +strange tongue. He was an Angekok, one of the native medicine-men +of whom presently Egede was to know much more. As he stood upon +the deck and looked at these strangers for whose salvation he had +risked all, his heart fell. They were not the stalwart Northmen he +had looked for, and their jargon had no homelike sound. But a great +wave of pity swept over him, and the prayer that rose to his lips +was for strength to be their friend and their guide to the light. + +Not at once did the way open for the coveted friendship with the +Eskimos. While they thought the strangers came only to trade they +were hospitable enough, but when they saw them build, clearly +intent on staying, they made signs that they had better go. They +pointed to the sun that sank lower toward the horizon every day, +and shivered as if from extreme cold, and they showed their +visitors the icebergs and the snow, making them understand that +it would cover the house by and by. When it all availed nothing +and the winter came on, they retired into their huts and cut the +acquaintance of the white men. They were afraid that they had come +to take revenge for the harm done their people in the olden time. +There was nothing for it, then, but that Egede must go to them, and +this he did. + +They seized their spears when they saw him coming, but he made +signs that he was their friend. When he had nothing else to give +them, he let them cut the buttons from his coat. Throughout the +fifteen years he spent in Greenland Egede never wore furs, as +did the natives. The black robe he thought more seemly for a +clergyman, to his great discomfort. He tells in his diary and in +his letters that often when he returned from his winter travels it +could stand alone when he took it off, being frozen stiff. After +a while he got upon neighborly terms with the Eskimos; but, if +anything, the discomfort was greater. They housed him at night in +their huts, where the filth and the stench were unendurable. They +showed their special regard by first licking off the piece of seal +they put before him, and if he rejected it they were hurt. Their +housekeeping, of which he got an inside view, was embarrassing in +its simplicity. The dish-washing was done by the dogs licking the +kettles clean. Often, after a night or two in a hut that held half +a dozen families, he was compelled to change his clothes to the +skin in an open boat or out on the snow. But the alternative was to +sleep out in a cold that sometimes froze his pillow to the bed and +the tea-cup to the table even in his own home. Above all, he must +learn their language. + +It proved a difficult task, for the Eskimo tongue was both very +simple and very complex. In all the things pertaining to their +daily life it was exceedingly complex. For instance, to catch one +kind of fish was expressed by one word, to catch another kind in +quite different terms. They had one word for catching a young seal, +another for catching an old one. When it came to matters of moral +and spiritual import, the language was poor to desperation. Egede’s +instruction began when he caught the word “kine”—what is it? And +from that time on he learned every day; but the pronunciation was +as varied as the workaday vocabulary, and it was an unending task. + +It proceeded with many interruptions from the Angekoks, who +tried more than once to bewitch him, but finally gave it up, +convinced that he was a great medicine-man himself, and therefore +invulnerable. But before that they tried to foment a regular +mutiny, the colony being by that time well under way, and Egede +had to arrest and punish the leaders. The natives naturally clung +to them, and when Egede had mastered their language and tried to +make clear that the Angekoks deceived them when they pretended to +go to the other world for advice, they demurred. “Did you ever see +them go?” he asked. “Well, have you seen this God of yours of whom +you speak so much?” was their reply. When Egede spoke of spiritual +gifts, they asked for good health and blubber: “Our Angekoks give +us that.” Hell-fire was much in theological evidence in those +days, but among the Eskimos it was a failure as a deterrent. They +listened to the account of it eagerly and liked the prospect. When +at length they became convinced that Egede knew more than their +Angekoks, they came to him with the request that he would abolish +winter. Very likely they thought that one who had such knowledge of +the hot place ought to have influence enough with the keeper of it +to obtain this favor. + +It was not an easy task, from any point of view, to which he had +put his hands. As that first winter wore away there were gloomy +days and nights, and they were not brightened when, with the return +of the sun, no ship arrived from Denmark. The Dutch traders came, +and opened their eyes wide when they found Egede and his household +safe and even on friendly terms with the Eskimos. Pelesse—the +natives called the missionary that, as the nearest they could +come to the Danish _präst_ (priest)—Pelesse was not there after +blubber, they told the Dutchmen, but to teach them about heaven +and of “Him up there,” who had made them and wanted them home with +Him again. So he had not worked altogether in vain. But the brief +summer passed, and still no relief ship. The crew of _Haabet_ +clamored to go home, and Egede had at last to give a reluctant +promise that if no ship came in two weeks, he would break up. His +wife alone refused to take a hand in packing. The ship was coming, +she insisted, and at the last moment it did come. A boat arriving +after dark brought the first word of it. The people ashore heard +voices speaking in Danish, and flew to Egede, who had gone to bed, +with the news. The ship brought good cheer. The Government was well +disposed. Trading and preaching were to go on together, as planned. +Joyfully then they built a bigger and a better house, and called +their colony Godthaab (Good Hope). + +The work was now fairly under way. Of the energy and the hardships +it entailed, even we in our day that have heard so much of Arctic +exploration can have but a faint conception. Shut in on the coast +of eternal ice and silence,—silence, save when in summer the +Arctic rivers were alive, and crash after crash announced that the +glaciers coming down from the inland mountains were “casting their +calves,” the great icebergs, upon the ocean,—the colonists counted +the days from the one when that year’s ship was lost to sight till +the returning spring brought the next one, their only communication +with their far-off home. In summer the days were sometimes burning +hot, but the nights always bitterly cold. In winter, says Egede, +hot water spilled on the table froze as it ran, and the meat they +cooked was often frozen at the bone when set on the table. Summer +and winter Egede was on his travels between Sundays, sometimes in +the trader’s boat, more often the only white man with one or two +Eskimo companions, seeking out the people. When night surprised +him with no native hut in sight, he pulled the boat on some desert +shore and, commending his soul to God, slept under it. Once he and +his son found an empty hut, and slept there in the darkness. Not +until day came again did they know that they had made their bed on +the frozen bodies of dead men who had once been the occupants of +the house, and had died they never knew how. Peril was everywhere. +Again and again his little craft was wrecked. Once the house blew +down over their heads in one of the dreadful winter storms that +ravage those high latitudes. Often he had to sit on the rail of his +boat, and let his numbed feet hang into the sea to restore feeling +in them. On land he sometimes waded waist-deep in snow, climbed +mountains and slid down into valleys, having but the haziest notion +of where he would land. At home his brave wife sat alone, praying +for his safety and listening to every sound that might herald his +return. Tremble and doubt they did, Egede owns, but they never +flinched. Their work was before them, and neither thought of +turning back. + +The Eskimos soon came to know that Egede was their friend. When +his boat entered a fjord where they were fishing, and his rowers +shouted out that the good priest had come who had news of God, they +dropped their work and flocked out to meet him. Then he spoke to +a floating congregation, simply as if they were children, and, as +with Him whose message he bore, “the people heard him gladly.” They +took him to their sick, and asked him to breathe upon them, which +he did to humor them, until he found out that it was an Angekok +practice, whereupon he refused. Once, after he had spoken of the +raising of Lazarus from the dead, they took him to a new-made grave +and asked him, too, to bring back their dead. They brought him a +blind man to be healed. Egede looked upon them in sorrowful pity. +“I can do nothing,” he said; “but if he believes in Jesus, He has +the power and can do it.” + +“I do believe,” shouted the blind man: “let Him heal me.” It +occurred to Egede, perhaps as a mere effort at cleanliness, to wash +his eyes in cognac, and he sent him away with words of comfort. He +did not see his patient again for thirteen years. Then he was in a +crowd of Eskimos who came to Godthaab. The man saw as well as Egede. + +“Do you remember?” he said, “you washed my eyes with sharp water, +and the Son of God in whom I believed, He made me to see.” + +Children the Eskimos were in their idolatry, and children they +remained as Christians. By Egede’s prayers they set great store. +“You ask for us,” they told him. “God does not hear us; He does +not understand Eskimo.” Of God they spoke as “Him up there.” They +believed that the souls of the dead went up on the rainbow, and, +reaching the moon that night, rested there in the moon’s house, +on a bench covered with the white skins of young polar bears. +There they danced and played games, and the northern lights were +the young people playing ball. Afterward they lived in houses on +the shore of a big lake overshadowed by a snow mountain. When the +waters ran over the edge of the lake, it rained on earth. When the +“moon was dark,” it was down on earth catching seal for a living. +Thunder was caused by two old women shaking a dried sealskin +between them; the lightning came when they turned the white side +out. The “Big Nail” we have heard of as the Eskimos’ Pole, was a +high-pointed mountain in the Farthest North on which the sky rested +and turned around with the sun, moon, and stars. Up there the stars +were much bigger. Orion’s Belt was so near that you had to carry a +whip to drive him away. + +The women were slaves. An Eskimo might have as many wives as he +saw fit; they were his, and it was nobody’s business. But adultery +was unknown. The seventh commandment in Egede’s translation came +to read, “One wife alone you shall have and love.” The birth of +a girl was greeted with wailing. When grown, she was often wooed +by violence. If she fled from her admirer, he cut her feet when +he overtook her, so that she could run no more. The old women +were denounced as witches who drove the seals away, and were +murdered. An Eskimo who was going on a reindeer hunt, and found +his aged mother a burden, took her away and laid her in an open +grave. Returning on the third day, he heard her groaning yet, and +smothered her with a big stone. He tried to justify himself to +Egede by saying that “she died hard, and it was a pity not to speed +her.” Yet they buried a dog’s head with a child, so that the dog, +being clever, could run ahead and guide the little one’s steps to +heaven. + +They could count no further than five; at a stretch they might +get to twenty, on their fingers and toes, but there they stopped. +However, they were not without resources. It was the day of long +Sunday services, and the Eskimos were a restless people. When the +sermon dragged, they would go up to Egede and make him measure +on their arms how much longer the talk was going to be. Then +they tramped back to their seats and sat listening with great +attention, all the time moving one hand down the arm, checking off +the preacher’s progress. If they got to the finger-tips before he +stopped, they would shake their heads sourly and go back for a +remeasurement. No wonder Egede put his chief hope in the children, +whom he gathered about him in flocks. + +For all that, the natives loved him. There came a day that brought +this message from the North: “Say to the speaker to come to us to +live, for the other strangers who come here can only talk to us +of blubber, blubber, blubber, and we also would hear of the great +Creator.” Egede went as far as he could, but was compelled by ice +and storms to turn back after weeks of incredible hardships. The +disappointment was the more severe to him because he had never +quite given up his hope of finding remnants of the ancient Norse +settlements. The fact that the old records spoke of a West Bygd +(settlement) and an East Bygd had misled many into believing +that the desolate east coast had once been colonized. Not until +our own day was this shown to be an error, when Danish explorers +searched that coast for a hundred miles and found no other trace +of civilization than a beer bottle left behind by the explorer +Nordenskjold. + +Egede’s hope had been that Greenland might be once more colonized +by Christian people. When the Danish Government, after some years, +sent up a handful of soldiers, with a major who took the title of +governor, to give the settlement official character as a trading +station, they sent with them twenty unofficial “Christians,” ten +men out of the penitentiary and as many lewd and drunken women +from the treadmill, who were married by lot before setting sail, +to give the thing a half-way decent look. They were good enough +for the Eskimos, they seem to have thought at Copenhagen. There +followed a terrible winter, during which mutiny and murder were +threatened. “It is a pity,” writes the missionary, “that while we +sleep secure among the heathen savages, with so-called Christian +people our lives are not safe.” As a matter of fact they were not, +for the soldiers joined in the mutiny against Egede as the cause +of their having to live in such a place, and had not sickness and +death smitten the malcontents, neither he nor the governor would +have come safe through the winter. On the Eskimos this view of the +supposed fruits of Christian teaching made its own impression. +After seeing a woman scourged on shipboard for misbehavior, they +came innocently enough to Egede and suggested that some of their +best Angekoks be sent down to Denmark to teach the people to be +sober and decent. + +There came a breathing spell after ten years of labor in what +had often enough seemed to him the spiritual as well as physical +ice-barrens of the North, when Egede surveyed a prosperous mission, +with trade established, a hundred and fifty children christened and +schooled, and many of their elders asking to be baptized. In the +midst of his rejoicing the summer’s ship brought word from Denmark +that the King was dead, and orders from his successor to abandon +the station. Egede might stay with provisions for one year, if +there was enough left over after fitting out the ship; but after +that he would receive no further help. + +When the Eskimos heard the news, they brought their little children +to the mission. “These will not let you go,” they said; and he +stayed. His wife, whom hardship and privation and the lonely +waiting for her husband in the long winter nights had at last +broken down, refused to leave him, though she sadly needed the +care of a physician. A few of the sailors were persuaded to stay +another year. “So now,” Egede wrote in his diary when, on July 31, +1731, he had seen the ship sail away with all his hopes, “I am +left alone with my wife and three children, ten sailors and eight +Eskimos, girls and boys who have been with us from the start. God +let me live to see the blessed day that brings good news once more +from home.” His prayer was heard. The next summer brought word that +the mission was to be continued, partly because Egede had strained +every nerve to send home much blubber and many skins. But it was as +a glimpse of the sun from behind dark clouds. His greatest trials +trod hard upon the good news. + +To rouse interest in the mission Egede had sent home young Eskimos +from time to time. Three of these died of smallpox in Denmark. The +fourth came home and brought the contagion, all unknown, to his +people. It was the summer fishing season, when the natives travel +much and far, and wherever he went they flocked about him to hear +of the “Great Lord’s land,” where the houses were so tall that +one could not shoot an arrow over them, and to ask a multitude of +questions: Was the King very big? Had he caught many whales? Was +he strong and a great Angekok? and much more of the same kind. In +a week the disease broke out among the children at the mission, +and soon word came from islands and fjords where the Eskimos were +fishing, of death and misery unspeakable. It was virgin soil for +the plague, and it was terribly virulent, striking down young +and old in every tent and hut. More than two thousand natives, +one-fourth of the whole population, died that summer. Of two +hundred families near the mission only thirty were left alive. A +cry of terror and anguish rose throughout the settlements. No one +knew what to do. In vain did Egede implore them to keep their sick +apart. In fever delirium they ran out in the ice-fields or threw +themselves into the sea. A wild panic seized the survivors, and +they fled to the farthest tribes, carrying the seeds of death with +them wherever they went. Whole villages perished, and their dead lay +unburied. Utter desolation settled like a pall over the unhappy land. + +Through it all a single ray of hope shone. The faith that Egede +had preached all those years, and the life he had lived with them, +bore their fruit. They had struck deeper than he thought. They +crowded to him, all that could, as their one friend. Dying mothers +held their suckling babes up to him and died content. In a deserted +island camp a half-grown girl was found alone with three little +children. Their father was dead. When he knew that for him and the +baby there was no help, he went to a cave and, covering himself and +the child with skins, lay down to die. His parting words to his +daughter were, “Before you have eaten the two seals and the fish I +have laid away for you, Pelesse will come, no doubt, and take you +home. For he loves you and will take care of you.” At the mission +every nook and cranny was filled with the sick and the dying. Egede +and his wife nursed them day and night. Childlike, when death +approached, they tried to put on their best clothes, or even to +have new ones made, that they might please God by coming into His +presence looking fine. When Egede had closed their eyes, he carried +the dead in his arms to the vestibule, where in the morning the men +who dug the graves found them. At the sight of his suffering the +scoffers were dumb. What his preaching had not done to win them +over, his sorrows did. They were at last one. + +That dreadful year left Egede a broken man. In his dark moments +he reproached himself with having brought only misery to those he +had come to help and serve. One thorn which one would think he +might have been spared rankled deep in it all. Some missionaries +of a dissenting sect—Egede was Lutheran—had come with the smallpox +ship to set up an establishment of their own. At their head was +a man full of misdirected zeal and quite devoid of common-sense, +who engaged Egede in a wordy dispute about justification by faith +and condemned him and his work unsparingly. He had grave doubts +whether he was in truth a “converted man.” It came to an end when +they themselves fell ill, and Egede and his wife had the last word, +after their own fashion. They nursed the warlike brethren through +their illness with loving ministrations and gave them back to life, +let us hope, wiser and better men. + +At Christmas, 1735, Egede’s faithful wife, Gertrude, closed her +eyes. She had gone out with him from home and kin to a hard and +heathen land, and she had been his loyal helpmeet in all his +trials. Now it was all over. That winter scurvy laid him upon a bed +of pain and, lying there, his heart turned to the old home. His +son had come from Copenhagen to help, happily yet while his mother +lived. To him he would give over the work. In Denmark he could do +more for it than in Greenland, now he was alone. On July 29, 1736, +he preached for the last time to his people and baptized a little +Eskimo to whom they gave his name, Hans. The following week he +sailed for home, carrying, as all his earthly wealth, his beloved +dead and his motherless children. + +The Eskimos gathered on the shore and wept as the ship bore their +friend away. They never saw him again. He lived in Denmark eighteen +years, training young men to teach the Eskimos. They gave him the +title of bishop, but so little to live on that he was forced in +his last days to move from Copenhagen to a country town, to make +both ends meet. His grave was forgotten by the generation that came +after him. No one knows now where it is; but in ice-girt Greenland, +where the northern lights on wintry nights flash to the natives +their message from the souls that have gone home, his memory will +live when that of the North Pole seeker whom the world applauds is +long forgotten. Hans Egede was their great man, their hero. He was +more,—he was their friend. + + + + +GUSTAV VASA, THE FATHER OF SWEDEN + + +A great and wise woman had, after ages of war and bloodshed, united +the crowns of the three Scandinavian kingdoms upon one head. In the +strong city of Kalmar, around which the tide of battle had ever +raged hottest, the union was declared in the closing days of the +Thirteenth Century. Norwegian, Swede, and Dane were thenceforth +to stand together, to the end of time; so they resolved. It was +all a vain dream. Queen Margaret was not cold in her grave before +the kingdoms fell apart. Norway clung to Denmark, but Sweden went +her own way. In the wars of two generations the Danish kings won +back the Swedish crown and lost it, again and again, until in 1520 +King Christian II clutched it for the last time, at the head of a +conquering army. He celebrated his victory with a general amnesty, +and bade the Swedish nobles to a great feast, held at the capital +in November. + +Christian is one of the unsolved riddles of history. Ablest but +unhappiest of all his house, he was an instinctive democrat, +sincerely solicitous for the welfare of the plain people, but +incredibly cruel and faithless when the dark mood seized him. +The coronation feast ended with the wholesale butchery of the +unsuspecting nobles. Hundreds were beheaded in the public square; +for days it was filled with the slain. It is small comfort that +the wicked priest who egged the King on to the dreadful deed was +himself burned at the stake by the master he had betrayed. The +Stockholm Massacre drowned the Kalmar Union in its torrents of +blood. Retribution came swiftly. Above the peal of the Christmas +bells rose the clash and clangor of armed hosts pouring forth from +the mountain fastnesses to avenge the foul treachery. They were led +by Gustav[2] Eriksson Vasa, a young noble upon whose head Christian +had set a price. + +The Vasas were among the oldest and best of the great Swedish +families. It was said of them that they ever loved a friend, +hated a foe, and never forgot. Gustav was born in the castle of +Lindholmen, when the news that the world had grown suddenly big by +the discovery of lands beyond the unknown seas was still ringing +through Europe, on May 12, 1496. He was brought up in the home +of his kinsman, the Swedish patriot Sten Sture, and early showed +the fruits of his training. “See what I will do,” he boasted in +school when he was thirteen, “I will go to Dalecarlia, rouse the +people, and give the Jutes (Danes) a black eye.” Master Ivar, his +Danish teacher, gave him a whaling for that. White with anger, +the boy drove his dirk through the book, nailing it to the desk, +and stalked out of the room. Master Ivar’s eyes followed the slim +figure in the scarlet cloak, and he sighed wearily “_nobilium nati +nolunt aliquid pati_,—the children of the great will put up with +nothing.” + +Hardly yet of age, he served under the banner of Sten Sture against +King Christian, and was one of six hostages sent to the King when +he asked an interview of the Swedish leader. But Christian stayed +away from the meeting and carried the hostages off to Denmark +against his plighted faith. There Gustav was held prisoner a year. +All that winter rumors of great armaments against Sweden filled the +land. He heard the young bloods from the court prate about bending +the stiff necks in the country across the Sound, and watched them +throw dice for Swedish castles and Swedish women,—part of the loot +when his fatherland should be laid under the yoke. Ready to burst +with anger and grief, he sat silent at their boasts. In the spring +he escaped, disguised as a cattle-herder, and made his way to +Luebeck, where he found refuge in the house of the wealthy merchant +Kort König. + +They soon heard in Denmark where he was, and the King sent letters +demanding his surrender; but the burghers of the Hanse town hated +Christian with cause, and would not give him up. Then came Gustav’s +warder who had gone bail for him in sixteen hundred gulden, and +pleaded for his prisoner. + +“I am not a prisoner,” was Gustav’s retort, “I am a hostage, for +whom the Danish king pledged his oath and faith. If any one can +prove that I was taken captive in a fight or for just cause, let +him stand forth. Ambushed was I, and betrayed.” The Lübeck men +thought of the plots King Christian was forever hatching against +them. Now, if he succeeded in getting Sweden under his heel, their +turn would come next. Better, they said, send this Gustav home to +his own country, perchance he might keep the King busy there; by +which they showed their good sense. His ex-keeper was packed off +back home, and Gustav reached Sweden, sole passenger on a little +coast-trader, on May 31, 1520. A stone marks the spot where he +landed, near Kalmar; for then struck the hour of Sweden’s freedom. + +But not yet for many weary months did the people hear its summons. +Swedish manhood was at its lowest ebb. Stockholm was held by the +widow of Sten Sture with a half-famished garrison. In Kalmar +another woman, Anna Bjelke, commanded, but her men murmured, and +the fall of the fortress was imminent. When Gustav Vasa, who had +slipped in unseen, exhorted them to stand fast, they would have +mobbed him. He left as he had come, the day before the surrender. +Travelling by night, he made his way inland, finding everywhere +fear and distrust. The King had promised that if they would obey +him “they should never want for herring and salt,” so they told +Gustav, and when he tried to put heart into them and rouse their +patriotism, they took up bows and arrows and bade him be gone. +Indeed, there were not wanting those who shot at him. Like a hunted +deer he fled from hamlet to hamlet. Such friends as he had left +advised him to throw himself upon the King’s mercy; told him of the +amnesty proclaimed. But Gustav’s thoughts dwelt grimly among the +Northern mountaineers whom as a boy he had bragged he would set +against the tyrant. Insensibly he shaped his course toward their +country. + +He was with his brother-in-law, Joachim Brahe, when the King’s +message bidding him to the coronation came. Gustav begged him not +to go, but Brahe’s wife and children were within Christian’s reach, +and he did not dare stay away. When he left, the fugitive hid in +his ancestral home at Räfsnäs on lake Mälar. There one of Brahe’s +men brought him news of the massacre in which his master and +Gustav’s father had perished. His mother, grandmother, and sisters +were dragged away to perish in Danish dungeons. On Gustav’s head +the King had set a price, and spies were even then on his track. + +Gustav’s mind was made up. What was there now to wait for? Clad as +a peasant, he started for Dalecarlia with a single servant to keep +him company, but before he reached the mines the man stole all his +money and ran away. He had to work now to live, and hired out to +Anders Persson, the farmer of Rankhyttan. He had not been there +many days when one of the women saw an embroidered sleeve stick out +under his coat and told her master that the new hand was not what +he pretended to be. The farmer called him aside, and Gustav told +him frankly who he was. Anders Persson kept his secret, but advised +him not to stay long in any one place lest his enemies get wind of +him. He slipped away as soon as it was dark, nearly lost his life +by breaking through the ice, but reached Ornäs on the other side of +Lake Runn, half dead with cold and exposure. He knew that another +Persson who had been with him in the war lived there, and found +his house. Arendt Persson was a rascal. He received him kindly, +but when he slept harnessed his horse and went to Måns Nilsson, a +neighbor, with the news: the King’s reward would make them both +rich, if he would help him seize the outlawed man. + +Måns Nilsson held with the Danes, but he was no traitor, and he +showed the fellow the door. He went next to the King’s sheriff; +he would be bound to help. To be sure, he would claim the lion’s +share of the blood-money, but something was better than nothing. +The sheriff came soon enough with a score of armed men. But Arendt +Persson had not reckoned with his honest wife. She guessed his +errand and let Gustav down from the window to the rear gate, where +she had a sleigh and team in waiting. When the sheriff’s posse +surrounded the house, Gustav was well on his way to Master Jon, the +parson of Svärdsjö, who was his friend. Tradition has it that while +Christian was King, the brave little woman never dared show her +face in the house again. + +Master Jon was all right, but news of the man-hunt had run through +the country, and when the parson’s housekeeper one day saw him hold +the wash-bowl for his guest she wanted to know why he was so polite +to a common clod. Master Jon told her that it was none of her +business, but that night he piloted his friend across the lake to +Isala, where Sven Elfsson lived, a gamekeeper who knew the country +and could be trusted. The good parson was hardly out of sight on +his way back when the sheriff’s men came looking for Gustav. It +did not occur to them that the yokel who stood warming himself by +the stove might be the man they were after. But the gamekeeper’s +wife was quick to see his peril. She was baking bread and had just +put the loaves into the oven with a long-handled spade. “Here, you +lummox!” she cried, and whacked him soundly over the back with +it, “what are ye standing there gaping at? Did ye never see folks +afore? Get back to your work in the barn.” And Gustav, taking the +hint, slunk out of the room. + +For three days after that he lay hidden under a fallen tree in +the snow and bitter cold; but even there he was not safe, and the +gamekeeper took him deeper into the forest, where a big spruce grew +on a hill in the middle of a frozen swamp. There no one would seek +him till he could make a shift to get him out of the country. The +hill is still there; the people call it the King’s Hill, and not +after King Christian, either. But in those long nights when Gustav +Vasa listened to the hungry wolves howling in the woods and nosing +about his retreat, it was hardly kingly conceits his mind brooded +over. His father and kinsmen were murdered; his mother and sister +in the pitiless grasp of the tyrant who was hunting him to his +death; he, the last of his race, alone and forsaken by his own. +Bitter sorrow filled his soul at the plight of his country that had +fallen so low. But the hope of the young years came to the rescue: +all was not lost yet. And in the morning came Sven, the gamekeeper, +with a load of straw, at the bottom of which he hid him. So no one +would be the wiser. + +It was well he did it, for half-way to the next town some prowling +soldiers overtook them, and just to make sure that there was +nothing in the straw, prodded the load with their spears. Nothing +stirred, and they went on their way. But a spear had gashed +Gustav’s leg, and presently blood began to drip in the snow. Sven +had his wits about him. He got down, and cut the fetlock of one of +the beasts with his jack-knife so that it bled and no one need ask +questions. When they got to Marnäs, Gustav was weak from the loss +of blood, but a friendly surgeon was found to bind up his wounds. + +Farther and farther north he fled, keeping to the deep woods in the +day, until he reached Rättwik. Feeling safer there, he spoke to the +people coming from church one Sunday and implored them to shake off +the Danish yoke. But they only shook their heads. He was a stranger +among them, and they would talk it over with their neighbors. Not +yet were his wanderings over. To Mora he went next, where Parson +Jakob hid him in a lonely farm-house. Evil chance led the spies +direct to his hiding-place, and once more it was the housewife +whose quick wit saved him. Dame Margit was brewing the Yule beer +when she saw them coming. In a trice she had Gustav in the cellar +and rolled the brewing vat over the trap-door. Then they might +search as they saw fit; there was nothing there. The first blood +was spilled for Gustav Vasa while he was at Mora, and it was a +Dane who did it. He was the kind that liked to see fair play; when +an under-sheriff came looking for the hunted man there, the Dane +waylaid and killed him. + +Christmas morning, when Master Jakob had preached his sermon in the +church, Gustav spoke to the congregation out in the snow-covered +churchyard. A gravestone was his pulpit. Eloquent always, his +sorrows and wrongs and the memory of the hard months lent wings to +his words. His speech lives yet in Dalecarlia, for now he was among +its mountains. + +“It is good to see this great meeting,” he said, “but when I think +of our fatherland I am filled with grief. At what peril I am here +with you, you know who see me hounded as a wild beast day by day, +hour by hour. But our beloved country is more to me than life. How +long must we be thralls, we who were born to freedom? Those of you +who are old remember what persecution Swedish men and women have +suffered from the Danish kings. The young have heard the story of +it and have learned from they were little children to hate and +resist such rule. These tyrants have laid waste our land and sucked +its marrow, until nothing remains for us but empty houses and lean +fields. Our very lives are not safe.” He called upon them to rise +and drive the invaders out. If they wanted a leader, he was ready. + +His words stirred the mountaineers deeply. Cries of anger were +heard in the crowd; it was not the first time they had taken up +arms in the cause of freedom. But when they talked it over, the +older heads prevailed; there had not been time enough to hear both +sides. They told him that they would not desert the King; he must +expect nothing of them. + +Broken-hearted and desperate, Gustav Vasa turned toward the +Norwegian frontier. He would leave the country for which there was +no hope. While the table in the poorest home groaned with Yuletide +cheer, Sweden’s coming king hid under an old bridge, outcast and +starving, till it was safe to leave. Then he took up his weary +journey alone. The winter cold had grown harder as the days grew +shorter. Famished wolves dogged his steps, but he outran them on +his snow-shoes. By night he slept in some wayside shelter, such +as they build for travellers in that desolate country, or in the +brush. The snow grew deeper, and the landscape wilder, as he went. +For days he had gone without food, when he saw the sun set behind +the lofty range that was to bar him out of home and hope forever. +Even there was no abiding place for him. What thoughts of his +vanished dream, perchance of the distant lands across the seas +where the tyrant’s hand could not reach him, were in his mind, who +knows, as he bent his strength to the last and hardest stage of his +journey? He was almost there, when he heard shouts behind him and +turned to sell his life dear. Two men on skis were calling to him. +They were unarmed, and he waited to let them come up. + +Their story was soon told. They had come to call him back. After he +left, an old soldier whom they knew in Mora had come from the south +and told them worse things than even Gustav knew. It was all true +about the Stockholm murder; worse, the King was having gallows set +up in every county to hang all those on who said him nay; a heavy +tax was laid upon the peasants, and whoever did not pay was to have +a hand or foot cut off; they could still follow the plow. And now +they had sent away the one man who could lead against the Danes, +with the forests full of outlawed men who would have enlisted +under him as soon as ever the cry was raised! While the men of +Dalecarlia were debating the news among themselves orders came from +the bailiff at Westerås that the tax was to be paid forthwith. That +night runners were sent on the trail of Gustav to tell him to come +back; they were ready. + +When he came, it was as if a mighty storm swept through the +mountains. The people rose in a body. Every day whole parishes +threw off their allegiance to King Christian. Sunday after Sunday +Gustav spoke to the people at their meeting-houses, and they raised +their spears and swore to follow him to death. Two months after +the murder in Stockholm an army of thousands that swelled like an +avalanche was marching south, and province after province joined +in the rebellion. King Christian’s host met them at Brunbäck in +April. One of its leaders asked the country folk what kind of men +the Dalecarlians were, and when he was told that they drank water +and ate bread made of bark, he cried out, “Such a people the devil +himself couldn’t whip; let us get out.” But his advice was not +taken and the Danish army was wiped out. Gustav halted long enough +to drill his men and give them time to temper their arrows and +spears, then he fell upon Westerås and beat the Danes there. The +peasant mob scattered too soon to loot the town, and the King’s men +came back with a sudden rush. Only Gustav’s valor and presence of +mind saved the day that had been won once from being lost again. + +When it was seen that the Danes were not invincible, the whole +country rose, took the scattered castles, and put their defenders +to the sword. Gustav bore the rising on his shoulders from first +to last. He was everywhere, ordering and leading. His fiery +eloquence won over the timorous; his irresistible advance swept +every obstacle aside. In May he took Upsala; by midsummer he was +besieging Stockholm itself. Most of the other cities were in his +hands. The Hanse towns had found out what this Gustav could do +at home. They sang his praise, but as for backing him with their +purse, that was another matter. They refused to lend Gustav two +siege-guns when he lay before Stockholm, though he offered to +pledge a castle for each. He had no money. Happily his enemy, +Christian, was even worse off. Neither pledges nor promises could +get him the money he needed. His chief men were fighting among +themselves and made peace only to turn upon him. Within a year +after the Swedish people had chosen Gustav Vasa to be Regent at +the Diet of Vadstena, Christian went into exile and, when he tried +to get his kingdom back, into prison, where he languished the rest +of his life. He fully deserved his fate. Yet he meant well and had +done some good things in his day. Had he been able to rule himself, +he might have ruled others with better success. Schoolboys remember +with gratitude that he forbade teachers to “spank their pupils +overmuch and without judgment, as was their wont.” + +At the Diet of Vadstena the people had offered Gustav the crown, +but he put it from him. Scarce eight months had passed since he hid +under the bridge, hunted and starving. When Stockholm had fallen +after a siege of two years and all Sweden was free, the people met +(1523) and made him King, whether or no. He still objected, but +gave in at last and was crowned. + +Popular favor is fickle. Hard times came that were not made easier +by Gustav’s determination to fill the royal coffers, and the very +Dalecarlians who had put him in the high seat rose against him and +served notice that if things did not mend they would have none of +him. Gustav made sure that they had no backing elsewhere, then went +up and persuaded them to be good by cutting off the heads of their +leaders, who both happened to be priests: one was even a bishop. +He had been taught in a school that always found an axe ready to +hand. Let those who lament the savagery of modern warfare consider +what happened then to a Danish fleet that tried to bring relief +to hard-pressed Stockholm. It was beaten in a fight in which six +hundred men were taken prisoners. They were all, say the accounts, +“tied hand and foot and flung overboard amid the beating of drums +and blowing of trumpets to drown their cries.” The clergy fared +little better than the laymen in that age, but then it was their +own fault. In plotting and scrapping they were abreast of the worst +and took the consequences. + +They were the days of the Reformation, and Gustav would not have +been human had he failed to see a way out of his money troubles by +confiscating church property. He had pawned the country’s trade to +the merchants of Lübeck and there was nothing else left. Naturally +the church opposed him. The King took the bull by the horns. He +called a meeting and told the people that he was sick of it all. He +had encouraged the Reformation for their good; now, if they did not +stand by him, they might choose between him and his enemies. The +oldest priest arose at that and said that the church’s property was +sacred. The King asked if the rest of them thought the same way. +Only one voice was raised, and to say yes. + +“Then,” said Gustav, “I don’t want to be your King any more. If it +does not rain, you blame me; if the sun does not shine, you do the +same. It is always so. All of you want to be masters. After all my +trouble and labor for you, you would as lief see my head split with +an axe, though none of you dare lay hold of the handle. Give me +back what I have spent in your service and I will go away and never +come back.” And go he did, to his castle, with half a dozen of his +nearest friends. + +They sat and looked at one another when he was gone, and then +priests and nobles fell to arguing among themselves, all talking +at once. The plain people, the burghers and the peasants, listened +awhile, but when they got no farther, let them know that if +they couldn’t settle it, they, the people, would, and in a way +that would give them little joy. The upshot of it all was that +messengers were sent to bring the King back. He made them go three +times, and when he came at last, it was as absolute master. In the +ordering of the kingdom that was made there, he became the head of +the church as well as of the state. Gustav’s pen was as sharp as +his tongue. When Hans Brask, the oldest prelate in the land, who +had stood stoutly by the old régime, left the country and refused +to come back, he wrote to him: “As long as you might milk and shear +your sheep, you staid by them. When God spake and said you were to +feed them, not to shear and slaughter them, you ran away. Every +honest man can judge if you have done well.” Hard words to a good +old man; but there were plenty of others who deserved them. That +was the end of the hierarchy in Sweden. + +But not of the unruly peasants who had tasted the joys of +king-making. How kindly they took to the Reformation at the outset +one can judge from the demand of some of them that the King should +“burn or otherwise kill such as ate meat on Friday.” They rose +again and again, and would listen only to the argument of force. +When the Lübeckers pressed hard for the payment of old debts, +and the treasury was empty as usual, King Gustav hit upon a new +kind of revenue. He demanded of every church in the land that it +give up its biggest bell to the funds. It was the last straw. +The Dalecarlians rose against what they deemed sacrilege, under +the leadership of Måns Nilsson and Anders Persson of Rankhyttan, +the very men who had befriended Gustav in his need, and the +insurrection spread. The “War of the Bells” was settled with the +sword, and the peasants gave in. But Gustav came of a stock that +“never forgot.” Two years later, when his hands were free at home, +he suddenly invaded Dalecarlia with a powerful army, determined to +“pull those weeds up by the roots.” He summoned the peasants to +Thing, made a ring around them of armed men, and gave them their +choice: + +“Submit now for good and all,” he said, “or I will spoil the land +so that cock shall not crow nor hound bark in it again forever!” + +The frightened peasants fell on their knees and begged for mercy. +He made them give up their leaders, including his former friends, +and they were all put to the sword. After that there was peace in +Dalecarlia. + +Gustav Vasa’s long reign ended in 1560. Like his enemy, Christian +II, he was a strange mixture of contradictions. He was brave in +battle, wise in council, pious, if not a saint, clean, and merciful +when mercy fitted into his plans. His enemies called him a greedy, +suspicious despot. Greedy he was. More than eleven thousand farms +were confiscated by the crown during his reign, and he left four +thousand farms and a great fortune to his children as his personal +share. But historians have called him “the great housekeeper” who +found waste and loss and left an ordered household. He gave all +for Sweden, and all he had was at her call. It was share and share +alike, in his view. Despotic he could be, too. _L’état c’est moi_ +might have been said by him. But he did not exploit the state; +he built it. He fashioned Sweden out of a bunch of quarrelsome +provincial governments into a hereditary monarchy, as the best +way—indeed, the only way then—of giving it strength and stability. +He was suspicious because everybody had betrayed him, or had tried +to. With all that, his steady purpose was to raise and enlighten +his people and make them keep the peace, if he had to adopt the +Irishman’s plan of keeping it himself with an axe. He was the +father of a line of great warriors. Gustav Adolf was his grandson. + +[Illustration: GUSTAV VASA BIDDING HIS PEOPLE GOOD-BY] + +Bent under the burden of years, he bade his people good-by at the +Diet of Stockholm, a few weeks before his death. His old eloquence +rings unimpaired in the farewell. He thanked God, who had chosen +him as His tool to set Sweden free from thralldom. Almost might +he liken himself to King David, whom God from a shepherd had made +the leader of his people. No such hope was in his heart when, +forty years before, he hid in the woods from a bloodthirsty enemy. +For what he had done wrong as king, he asked the people’s pardon; +it was not done on purpose. He knew well that many thought him a +hard ruler, but the time would come when they would gladly dig him +up from his grave if they only could. And with that he went out, +bowing deeply to the Diet, the tears streaming down his face. + +They saw him no more; but on his tomb the Swedish people, +forgetting all else, have written that he was the “Father of his +Country.” + + +Footnotes: + +[2] The older spelling of this name is followed here in preference +to the more modern Gustaf. Gustav Vasa himself wrote his name so. + + + + +ABSALON, WARRIOR BISHOP OF THE NORTH + + +A welcome change awaits the traveller who, having shaken off the +chill of the German Dreadnaughts at Kiel, crosses the Baltic to +the Danish Islands—a change from the dread portents of war to +smiling peace. There can be nothing more pastoral and restful than +the Seeland landscape as framed in a car window; yet he misses +its chief charm whom its folk-lore escapes—the countless legends +that cling to field and forest from days long gone. The guide-book +gives scarce a hint of them; but turn from its page and they meet +you at every step, hail you from every homestead, every copse. Nor +is their story always of peace. Here was Knud Lavard slain by his +envious kinsman for the crown, and a miraculous spring gushed forth +where he fell. Of the church they built for the pilgrims who sought +it from afar they will show you the site, but the spring dried +up with the simple old faith. Yonder, under the roof of Ringsted +church, lie Denmark’s greatest dead. Not half an hour from the +ferry landing at Korsör, your train labors past a hill crowned by a +venerable cross, Holy Anders’ Hill. So saintly was that masterful +priest that he was wont, when he prayed, to hang his hat and gloves +on a sunbeam as on a hook. And woe to the land if his cross be +disturbed, for then, the peasant will tell you, the cattle die of +plague and the crops fail. A little further on, just beyond Sorö, +a village church rears twin towers above the wheat-field where the +skylark soars and sings to its nesting mate. For seven hundred +years the story of that church and its builder has been told at +Danish firesides, and the time will never come when it is forgotten. + +Fjenneslev is the name of the village, and Asker Ryg[3] ruled +there in the Twelfth Century, when the king summoned his men to +the war. Bidding good-by to his wife, Sir Asker tells her to build +a new church while he is away, for the old, “with wall of clay, +straw-thatched and grim,” is in ruins. And let it be worthy of the +Master: + + “The roof let make of tiling red; + Of stone thou build the wall;” + +and then he whispers in her ear: + + “Hear thou, my Lady Inge, + Of women thou art the flower; + An’ thou bearest to me a son so bold, + Set on the church a tower.” + +Should the child be a girl, he tells her to build only a spire, for +“modesty beseemeth a woman.” Well for Sir Asker that he did not +live in our day of clamoring suffragists. He would have “views” +without doubt. But no such things troubled him while he battled +in foreign lands all summer. It was autumn when he returned and +saw from afar the swell behind which lay Fjenneslev and home. +Impatiently he spurred his horse to the brow of the hill, for no +news had come of Lady Inge those many months. The bard tells us +what he saw there: + + “It was the good Sir Asker Ryg; + Right merrily laughed he, + When from that green and swelling hill + Two towers did he see.” + +Two sons lay at the Lady Inge’s breast, and all was well. + + “The first one of the brothers two + They called him Esbern Snare.[4] + He grew as strong as a savage bear + And fleeter than any hare. + + “The second him called they Absalon, + A bishop he at home. + He used his trusty Danish sword + As the Pope his staff at Rome.” + +Absalon and Esbern were not twins, as tradition has it. They were +better than that. They became the great heroes of their day, and +the years have not dimmed their renown. And Absalon reached far +beyond the boundaries of little Denmark to every people that speaks +the English tongue. For it was he who, as archbishop of the North, +“strictly and earnestly” charged his friend and clerk Saxo to +gather the Danish chronicles while yet it was time, because, says +Saxo, in the preface of his monumental work, “he could no longer +abide that his fatherland, which he always honored and magnified +with especial zeal, should be without a record of the great deeds +of the fathers.” And from the record Saxo wrote we have our Hamlet. + +It was when they had grown great and famous that Sir Asker and his +wife built the church in thanksgiving for their boys, not when they +were born, and the way that came to light was good and wholesome. +They were about to rebuild the church, on which there had been +no towers at all since they crumbled in the middle ages, and had +decided to put on only one; for the sour critics, who are never +content in writing a people’s history unless they can divest it of +all its flesh and make it sit in its bones, as it were, sneered +at the tradition and called it an old woman’s tale. But they did +not shout quite so loud when, in peeling off the whitewash of the +Reformation, the mason’s hammer brought forth mural paintings that +grew and grew until there stood the whole story to read on the +wall, with Sir Asker himself and the Lady Inge, clad in garments +of the Twelfth Century, bringing to the Virgin the church with the +twin towers. So the folk-lore was not so far out after all, and the +church was rebuilt with two towers, as it should be. + +Under its eaves, whether of straw or tile, the two boys played +their childish games, and before long there came to join in them +another of their own age, young Valdemar, whose father, the very +Knud Lavard mentioned above, had been foully murdered a while +before. It was a time, says Saxo, in which “he must be of stout +heart and strong head who dared aspire to Denmark’s crown. For +in less than a hundred years more than sixteen of her kings and +their kin were either slain without cause by their own subjects, +or otherwise met a sudden death.” Sir Asker and the murdered +Knud had been foster brothers, and throughout the bloody years +that followed, he and his brothers, sons of the powerful Skjalm +Hvide,[5] espoused his cause in good and evil days, while they saw +to it that no harm came to the young prince under their roof. + +The three boys, as they grew up, were bred to the stern duties of +fighting men, as was the custom of their class. Absalon, indeed, +was destined for the church; but in a country so recently won from +the old war gods, it was the church militant yet, and he wielded +spear and sword with the best of them. When, at eighteen, they +sent him to France to be taught, he did not for his theological +studies neglect the instruction of his boyhood. There he became +the disciple and friend of the Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux, more +powerful then than prince or Pope, and when the abbot preached the +second great crusade, promising eternal salvation to those who +took up arms against the unbelievers, whether to wrest from them +the Holy Sepulchre or to plant the cross among the wild heathen +on the Baltic, his heart burned hot within him. It was a long way +to the Holy Land, but with the Baltic robbers his people had a +grievous score to settle. Their yells had sounded in his boyish +ears as they ravished the shores of his fatherland, penetrating +with murder and pillage almost to his peaceful home. And so, while +he lent a diligent ear to the teachings of the church, earning the +name of the “most learned clerk” in the cloister of Ste. Geneviève +in Paris, daily he laid the breviary aside and took up sword and +lance, learning the arts of modern warfare with the graces of +chivalry. In the old way of fighting, man to man, the men of the +North had been the equals of any, if not their betters; but against +the new methods of warfare their prowess availed little. Absalon, +the monk, kept his body strong while soul and mind matured. When +nothing more adventurous befell, he chopped down trees for the +cloister hearths. But oftener the clash of arms echoed in the quiet +halls, or the peaceful brethren crossed themselves as they watched +him break an unruly horse in the cloister fen. Saxo tells us that +he swam easily in full armor, and in more than one campaign in +later years saved drowning comrades who were not so well taught. + +The while he watched rising all about some of the finest churches +in Christendom. It was the era of cathedral building in Europe. +The Romanesque style of architecture had reached its highest +development in the very France where he spent his young manhood’s +years, and the Gothic, with its stamp of massive strength, was +beginning to displace its gentler curve. Ten years of such an +environment, in a land teeming with historic traditions, rounded +out the man who set his face toward home, bent on redeeming his +people from the unjust reproach of being mere “barbarians of the +North.” + +It was a stricken Denmark to which he came back. Three claimants +were fighting for the crown. The land was laid waste by sea-rovers, +who saw their chance to raid defenceless homes while the men able +to bear arms were following the rival kings. The people had lost +hope. Just when Absalon returned, peace was made between the +claimants. Knud, Svend, and Valdemar, his foster brother of old, +divided up the country between them. They swore a dear oath to keep +the pact, but for all that “the three kingdoms did not last three +days.” The treacherous Svend waited only for a chance to murder +both his rivals, and it came quickly, when he and Valdemar were +the guests of Knud at Roskilde. They had eaten and drunk together +and were gathered in the “Storstue,” the big room of the house, +when Knud saw Svend whispering aside with his men. With a sudden +foreboding of evil, he threw his arms about Valdemar’s shoulders +and kissed him. The young King, who was playing chess with one +of his men, looked up in surprise and asked what it meant. Just +then Svend left the hall, and his henchmen fell upon the two with +drawn swords. Knud was cut down at once, his head cleft in twain. +Valdemar upset the table with the candles and, wrapping his cloak +about his arm to ward off the blows that showered upon him, knocked +his assailants right and left and escaped, badly wounded. + +Absalon came into the room as Knud fell and, thinking it was +Valdemar, caught him in his arms and took his wounded head in his +lap. Sitting there in utter sorrow and despair, heedless of the +tumult that raged in the darkness around him, he felt the King’s +garment and knew that the man who was breathing his last in his +arms was not his friend. He laid the lifeless body down gently and +left the hall. The murderers barred his way, but he brushed their +swords and spears aside and strode forth unharmed. Valdemar had +found a horse and made for Fjenneslev, twenty miles away, with all +speed, and there Absalon met him and his brother Esbern in the +morning. + +King Svend sought him high and low to finish his dastardly work, +while on Thing he wailed loudly before the people that Valdemar +and Knud had tried to kill him, showing in proof of it his cloak, +which he had rent with his own sword. But Valdemar’s friends were +wide awake. Esbern flew through the island on his fleet horse +in Valdemar’s clothes, leading his pursuers a merry dance, and +when the young King’s wound was healed, he found him a boat and +ferried him across to the mainland, where the people flocked to +his standard. When Svend would have followed, it was the Lady Inge +who scuttled his ship by night and gave her foster son the start +he needed. There followed a short and sharp struggle that ended on +Grathe Heath with the utter rout of Svend’s forces. He himself was +killed, and Valdemar at last was King of all Denmark. + +From that time the three friends were inseparable as in the old +days when they played about the fields of Fjenneslev. Absalon was +the keeper of the King’s conscience who was not afraid to tell him +the truth when he needed to hear it. And where they were Esbern +was found, never wavering in his loyalty to either. Within a year +Absalon was made bishop of Roskilde, the chief See of Denmark. +Saxo innocently discovers to us King Valdemar’s little ruse to +have his friend chosen. He was yet a very young man, scarce turned +thirty, and had not been considered at all for the vacancy. There +were three candidates, all of powerful families, and, according to +ecclesiastical law, the brethren of the chapter were the electors. +The King went to their meeting and addressed them in person. +Nothing was farther from him, he said, than to wish to interfere +with their proper rights. Each must do as his conscience dictated, +unhindered. And with that he laid on the table _four_ books with +blank leaves and bade them write down their names in them, each for +his own choice, to get the matter right on the record. The brethren +thanked him kindly and all voted “nicely together” for Absalon. So +three of the books were wasted. But presently Saxo found good use +for them. + +For now had come the bishop’s chance of putting in practice the +great abbot’s precepts. “Pray and fight” was the motto he had +written into the Knights Templars’ rule, and Absalon had made it +his own. Of what use was it to build up the church at home, when +any day might see it raided by its enemies who were always watching +their chance outside? The Danish waters swarmed with pirates, the +very pagans against whom Abbot Bernard had preached his crusade. Of +them all the Wends were the worst, as they were the most powerful +of the Slav tribes that still resisted the efforts of their +neighbors, the Christian Germans, to dislodge them from their old +home on the Baltic. They lived in the island of Rügen, fairly in +sight of the Danish shores. Every favoring wind blew them across +the sea in shoals to burn and ravage. The Danes, once the terror of +the seas, had given over roving when they accepted the White Christ +in exchange for Thor and his hammer, and now, when they would be at +peace, they were in turn beset by this relentless enemy, who burned +their homes and their crops and dragged the peaceful husbandman +away to make him a thrall or offer him up as a sacrifice to heathen +idols. More than a third of all Denmark lay waste under their +ferocious assault. Here was the blow to be struck if the country +was to have peace and the church prosperity. + +The chance to strike came speedily. Absalon had been bishop only +a few months when, on the evening before Palm Sunday, word was +brought that the enemy had landed, twenty-four ship-crews strong, +and were burning and murdering as usual. Absalon marshalled his +eighteen house-carles and such of the country folk as he could, +and fell upon the Wends, routing them utterly. A bare handful +escaped, the rest were killed, while the bishop lost but a single +man. He said mass next morning, red-handed it is true, but one may +well believe that for all that his Easter message reached hearts +filled with a new, glad hope for their homes and for the country. +That was a bishop they could understand. So the first blow Absalon +struck for his people was at home. But he did not long wait for +the enemy to come to him. Half his long and stirring life he lived +on the seas, seeking them there. Saxo mentions, in speaking of his +return from one of his cruises, that he had then been nine months +on shipboard. And in a way he was shepherding his flock there, if +it was with a scourge; for, many years before, a Danish king had +punished the Wends in their own home and laid their lands under the +See of Roskilde, though little good it did them or any one else +then. But when Absalon had got his grip, there were days when he +baptized as many as a thousand of them into the true faith. + +He was not altogether alone in the stand he took. Here and there, +from very necessity, the people had organized to resist the +invaders, but as no one could tell where they would strike next, +they were not often successful, and fear and discouragement sat +heavy on the land. From his own city of Roskilde a little fleet of +swift sailers under the bold Wedeman had for years waged relentless +war upon the freebooters and had taken four times the number of +their own ships. Their crews were organized into a brotherhood +with vows like an order of fighting monks. Before setting out on +a cruise they were shriven and absolved. Their vows bound them to +unceasing vigilance, to live on the plainest of fare, to sleep +on their arms, ready for instant attack, and to the rescue of +Christians, wherever they were found in captivity. The Roskilde +guild became the strong core of the King’s armaments in his score +of campaigns against the Wends. + +Perhaps it was not strange that Valdemar should be of two minds +about venturing to attack so formidable an enemy in his own house. +The nation was cowed and slow to move. In fact, from the first +expedition, that started with 250 vessels, only seven returned with +the standard, keeping up a running fight all the way across the +Baltic with pursuing Wends. The rest had basely deserted. On the +way over, the King, listening to their doubts and fears, turned +back himself once, but Absalon, who always led in the attack and +was the last on the homeward run, overtook him and gave him the +talking to be deserved. Saxo, who was very likely there and heard, +for there is little doubt that he accompanied his master on many of +the campaigns he so vividly describes, gives us a verbatim report +of the lecture: + +“What wonder,” said the bishop, “if the words stick in our throats +and are nigh to stifling us, when such grievous dole is ours! +Grieve we must, indeed, to find in you such a turncoat that naught +but dishonor can come of it. You follow where you should lead, and +those you should rule over, you make your peers. There is nothing +to stop us but our own craven souls, hunt as we may for excuses. Is +it with such laurel you would bind your crown? with such high deed +you would consecrate your reign?” + +The King was hard hit, and showed it, but he walked away without +a word. In the night a furious storm swept the sea and kept the +fleet in shelter four whole days, during which Valdemar’s anger had +time to cool. He owned then that Absalon was right, and the friends +shook hands. The King gave order to make sail as soon as the gale +abated. If there was still a small doubt in Absalon’s mind as he +turned, on taking leave, and asked, “What now, if we must turn back +once more?” Valdemar set it at rest: + +“Then you write me from Wendland,” he laughed, “and tell me how +things are there.” + +If little glory or gain came to the Danes from this first +expedition, at least they landed in the enemy’s country and made +reprisal for past tort. The spirit of the people rose and shamed +them for their cowardice. When the King’s summons went round again, +as it did speedily, there were few laggards. Attacked at home, the +Wends lost much of the terror they had inspired. Before many moons, +the chronicle records, the Danes cut their spear-shafts short, that +they might the more handily get at the foe. Scarce a year passed +that did not see one or more of these crusades. Absalon preached +them all, and his ship was ever first in landing. In battle he and +the King fought shoulder to shoulder. In the spring of 1169, he +had at last his wish: the heathen idols were destroyed and their +temples burned. + +The holy city of the Wends, Arcona, stood on a steep cliff, +inaccessible save from the west, where a wall a hundred feet high +defended it. While the sacred banner Stanitza waved over it the +Danes might burn and kill, but the power of Svantevit was unbroken. +Svantevit was the god of gods in whose presence his own priests +dared not so much as breathe. When they had to, they must go to +the door and breathe in the open, a good enough plan if Saxo’s +disgust at the filth of the Wendish homes was justified. Svantevit +was a horrid monster with four heads, and girt about with a huge +sword. Up till then the Christian arms had always been stayed at +his door, but this time the King laid siege to Arcona, determined +to make an end of him. Some of the youngsters in his army, making +a mock assault upon the strong walls, discovered an accidental +hollow under the great tower over which the Stanitza flew and, +seizing upon a load of straw that was handy, stuffed it in and set +it on fire. It was done in a frolic, but when the tower caught +fire and was burned and the holy standard fell, Absalon was quick +to see his advantage, and got the King to order a general assault. +The besieged Wends, having no water, tried to put out the fire +with milk, but, says the chronicle, “it only fed the flames.” They +fought desperately till, between fire and foe, they were seized +with panic and, calling loudly upon Absalon in their extremity, +offered to give up their city. The army clamored for the revenge +that was at last within their grasp, and the King hesitated; but +Absalon met the uproar firmly, reminding them that they had crossed +the seas to convert the heathen, not to sack their towns. + +The city was allowed to surrender and the people were spared, but +Svantevit and his temple were destroyed. A great crowd of his +followers had gathered to see him crush his enemies at the last, +and Absalon cautioned the men who cut the idol down to be careful +that he did not fall on them and so seem to justify their hopes. +“He fell with so great a noise that it was a wonder,” says Saxo, +naïvely; “and in the same moment the fiend ran out of the temple in +a black shape with such speed that no eye could follow him or see +where he went.” Svantevit was dragged out of the town and chopped +into bits. That night he fed the fires of the camp. So fickle is +popular favor that when the crowd saw that nothing happened, they +spurned the god loudly before whom they had grovelled in the dust +till then. + +[Illustration: FALL OF ARCONA. THE IDOL SVANTEVIT DESTROYED] + +When they heard of Arcona’s fall in the royal city of Karents, they +hastened with offers of surrender, and Absalon went there with a +single ship’s crew to take possession. They were met by 6000 armed +Wends, who guarded the narrow approach to the city. In single file +they walked between the ranks of the enemy, who stood with inverted +spears, watching them in sullen silence. His men feared a trap, but +Absalon strode ahead unmoved. Coming to the temple of their local +god, Rygievit, he attacked him with his axe and bade his guard fall +to, which they did. Saxo has left us a unique description of this +idol that stood behind purple hangings, fashioned of oak “in every +evil and revolting shape. The swallows had made their nests in his +mouths and throats” (there were seven in so many faces) “and filled +him up with all manner of stinking uncleanness. Truly, for such god +was such sacrifice fit.” He had a sword for every one of his seven +faces, buckled about his ample waist, but for all that he went the +way of the others, and even had to put up with the indignity of +the Christian priests standing upon him while he was being dragged +out. That seems to have helped cure his followers of their faith +in him. They delivered the temple treasure into the hands of the +King—seven chests filled with money and valuables, among them a +silver cup which the wretched King Svend had sent to Svantevit as +a bribe to the Wends for joining him against his own country and +kin. But those days were ended. It was the Danes’ turn now, and +Wendland was laid waste until “the swallows found no eaves of any +house whereunder to build their nests and were forced to build them +on the ships.” A sad preliminary to bringing the country under the +rule of the Prince of Peace; but in the scheme of those days the +sword was equal partner with the cross in leading men to the true +God. + +The heathen temples were destroyed and churches built on their +sites of the timber gathered for the siege of Arcona. The people, +deserted by their own, accepted the Christians’ God in good faith, +and were baptized in hosts, thirteen hundred on one day and nine +hundred on the next. Three days and nights Absalon saw no sleep. He +did nothing half-way. No sooner was he back home than he sent over +priests and teachers supplied with everything, even food for their +keep, so that they “should not be a burden to the people whom they +had come to show the way to salvation.” + +The Wends were conquered, but the end was not yet. They had savage +neighbors, and many a crusade did Absalon lead against them in +the following years, before the new title of the Danish rulers, +“King of the Slavs and Wends,” was much more than an empty boast. +He organized a regular sea patrol of one-fourth of the available +ships, of which he himself took command, and said mass on board +much oftener than in the Roskilde church. It is the sailor, the +warrior, the leader of men one sees through all the troubled years +of his royal friend’s life. Now the Danish fleet is caught in +the inland sea before Stettin, unable to make its way out, and +already the heathen hosts are shouting their triumph on shore. +It is Absalon, then, who finds the way and, as one would expect, +he forces it. The captains wail over the trap and abuse him for +getting them into it. Absalon, disdaining to answer them, leads +his ships in single file straight for the gap where the Wendish +fleet lies waiting, and gets the King to attack with his horsemen +on shore. Between them the enemy is routed, and the cowards are +shamed. But when they come to make amends, he is as unmoved as ever +and will have none of it. Again, when he is leading his men to the +attack on a walled town, a bridge upon which they crowd breaks, and +it is the bishop who saves his comrades from drowning, swimming +ashore with them in full armor. + +Resting in his castle at Haffn, the present Copenhagen, which he +built as a defence against the sea-rovers, he hears, while in his +bath, his men talking of strange ships that are sailing into the +Sound, and, hastily throwing on his clothes, gives chase and kills +their crews, for they were pirates whose business was murder, and +they merely got their deserts. In the pursuit his archers “pinned +the hands of the rowers to the oars with their arrows” and crippled +them, so skilful had much practice made them. Turn the leaf of +Saxo’s chronicle, and we find him under Rügen with his fleet, +protecting the now peaceful Wendish fishermen in their autumn +herring-catch, on which their livelihood depended. Of such stuff +was made the bishop who + + “Used his trusty Danish sword + As the Pope his staff in Rome.” + +Wherever danger threatens Valdemar and Absalon, Esbern is found, +too, earning the name of the Fleet (Snare), which the people had +fondly given to their favorite. Where the fighting was hardest, he +was sure to be. The King’s son had ventured too far and was caught +in a tight place by an overwhelming force, when Esbern pushed his +ship in between him and the enemy and bore the brunt of a fight +that came near to making an end of him. He had at last only a +single man left, but the two made a stand against a hundred. “When +the heathen saw his face they fled in terror.” At last they knocked +him senseless with a stone and would have killed him, but in the +nick of time the King’s men came to the rescue. + +Coming home from Norway he ran afoul of forty pirate ships under +the coast of Seeland. He tried to steal past; forty against one +were heavy odds. But it was moonlight and he was discovered. The +pirates lay across his course and cut him off. Esbern made ready +for a fight and steered straight into the middle of them. The +steersman complained that he had no armor, and he gave him his own. +He beat his pursuers off again and again, but the wind slackened +and they were closing in once more, swearing by their heathen gods +that they would have him dead or alive, for a Danish prisoner on +one of their ships had told who he was. But Esbern had more than +one string to his bow. He sent a man aloft with flint and steel +to strike fire in the top, and the pirates, believing that he was +signalling to a fleet he had in ambush, fled helter-skelter. Esbern +got home safe. + +The German emperors’ fingers had always itched for the +over-lordship of the Danish isles, and they have not ceased to +do so to this day. When Frederick Barbarossa drove Alexander III +from Rome and set up a rival Pope in his place, Archbishop Eskild +of Lund, who was the Primate of the North, championed the exiled +Pope’s case, and Valdemar, whose path the ambitious priest had +crossed more than once, let it be known that he inclined to the +Emperor’s cause, in part probably from mere pique, perhaps also +because he thought it good politics. The archbishop in a rage +summoned Absalon and bade him join him in a rising against the +King. Absalon’s answer is worthy the man and friend: + +“My oath to you I will keep, and in this wise, that I will not +counsel you to your own undoing. Whatever your cause against the +King, war against him you cannot, and succeed. And this know, that +never will I join with you against my liege lord, to whom I have +sworn fealty and friendship with heart and soul all the days of my +life.” + +He could not persuade the archbishop, who went his own way and was +beaten and exiled for a season, nor could he prevent the King from +yielding to the blandishments of Frederick and getting mixed up +in the papal troubles; but he went with him to Germany and saved +him at the last moment from committing himself by making him leave +the church council just as the anti-pope was about to pronounce +sentence of excommunication against Alexander. He commanded Absalon +to remain, as a servant of the church, but Absalon replied calmly +that he was not there in that capacity, but as an attendant on +his King, and must follow where he went. It appeared speedily +that the Emperor’s real object was to get Valdemar to own him +as his over-lord, and this he did, to Absalon’s great grief, on +the idle promise that Frederick would join him in his war upon +all the Baltic pagans. However, it was to be a purely personal +matter, in nowise affecting his descendants. That much was saved, +and Absalon lived long enough to fling back, as the counsellor of +Valdemar’s son, from behind the stout wall he built at Denmark’s +southern gate, the Emperor’s demand for homage, with the reply that +“the King ruled in Denmark with the same right as the Emperor in +Germany, and was no man’s subject.” + +However grievously Absalon had offended the aged archbishop, when +after forty years in his high office illness compelled him to lay +it down, he could find no one so worthy to step into his shoes. He +sent secretly to Rome and got the Pope’s permission to name his own +successor, before he called a meeting of the church. The account of +what followed is the most singular of all Saxo’s stories. Valdemar +did not know what was coming and, fearing fresh trouble, got the +archbishop to swear on the bones of the saints before them all +that he was not moved to abdication by hate of the King, or by any +coercion whatever. Then the venerable priest laid his staff, his +mitre, and his ring on the altar and announced that he had done +with it all forever. But he had made up his mind not to use the +power given him by the Pontiff. They might choose his successor +themselves. He would do nothing to influence their action. + +The bishops and clergy went to the King and asked him if he had any +choice. The King said he had, but if he made it known he would get +no thanks for it and might estrange his best friend. If he did not, +he would certainly be committing a sin. He did not know what to do. + +“Name him,” said they, and Valdemar told them it was the bishop of +Roskilde. + +At that the old archbishop got up and insisted on the election then +and there; but Absalon would have none of it. The burden was too +heavy for his shoulders, he said. However, the clergy seized him, +“being,” says Saxo, who without doubt was one of them, “the more +emboldened to do so as the archbishop himself laid hands upon him +first.” Intoning the hymn sung at archiepiscopal consecrations, +they tried to lead him to the altar. He resisted with all his might +and knocked several of the brethren down. Vestments were torn and +scattered, and a mighty ruction arose, to which the laity, not to +be outdone, added by striking up a hymn of their own. Archbishop +and King tried vainly to make peace; the clamor and battle only +rose the higher. Despite his struggles, Absalon was dragged to the +high seat, but as they were about to force him into it, he asked +leave to say a single word, and instantly appealed his case to the +Pope. So there was an end; but when the aged Eskild, on the plea +of weakness, begged him to pronounce the benediction, he refused +warily, because so he would be exercising archiepiscopal functions +and would be _de facto_ incumbent of the office.[6] + +Here, as always, Absalon thought less of himself than of his +country, so the event showed. For when the Pope heard his plea, +though he decided against him, he allowed him to hold the bishopric +of Roskilde together with the higher office, and so he was left at +Valdemar’s side to help finish their work of building up Denmark +within and without. At Roskilde he spent, as a matter of fact, most +of his time while Valdemar lived. At Lund he would have been in +a distant part of the country, parted from his friend and out of +touch with the things that were the first concern of his life. + +They were preparing to aim a decisive blow against the Pomeranian +pagans when Valdemar died, on the very day set for the sailing. The +parting nearly killed Absalon. Saxo draws a touching picture of him +weeping bitterly as he said the requiem mass over his friend, and +observes: “Who can doubt that his tears, rising with the incense, +gave forth a peculiar and agreeable savour in high heaven before +God?” The plowmen left their fields and carried the bier, with sobs +and lamentations, to the church in Ringsted, where the great King +rests. His sorrow laid Absalon on a long and grievous sick-bed, +from which he rose only when Valdemar’s son needed and called him. + +In the fifteen years that follow we see his old warlike spirit +still unbroken. Thus his defiance of the German Emperor, whose +anger was hot. Frederick, in revenge, persuaded the Pomeranian duke +Bugislav to organize a raid on Denmark with a fleet of five hundred +sail. Scant warning reached Absalon of the danger. King Knud was +away, and there was no time to send for him. Mustering such vessels +as were near, he sailed across the Baltic and met the enemy under +Rügen the day after Whitsuntide (1184). The bishop had gone ashore +to say mass on the beach, when word was brought that the great +fleet was in sight. Hastily pulling off his robe and donning armor +instead, he made for his ship with the words: “Now let our swords +sing the praise of God.” The Pomeranians were taken completely by +surprise. They did not know the Danes were there, and when they +heard the archbishop’s dreaded war-cry raised, they turned and fled +in such terror and haste that eighteen of their ships were run down +and sunk with all on board. On one, a rower hanged himself for fear +of falling into the hands of the Danes. Absalon gave chase, and the +rout became complete. Of the five hundred ships only thirty-five +escaped; all the rest were either sunk or taken. Duke Bugislav soon +after became a vassal of Denmark, and of the Emperor’s plots there +was an end. + +It was the last blow, and the story of it went far and wide. +Absalon’s work was nearly done. Denmark was safe from her enemies. +The people were happy and prosperous. Valdemar’s son ruled +unchallenged, and though he was childless, by his side stood his +brother, a manly youth who, not yet full grown, had already shown +such qualities of courage and sagacious leadership that the old +archbishop could hang up the sword with heart at ease. The promise +was kept. The second Valdemar became Denmark’s royal hero for all +time. Absalon’s last days were devoted to strengthening the Church, +around which he had built such a stout wall. He built churches and +cloisters, and guided them with a wise and firm hand. And he made +Saxo, his clerk, set it all down as an eye-witness of these things, +and as one who came to the task by right; for, says the chronicler, +“have not my grandfather and his father before him served the King +well on land and sea, hence why should not I serve him with my +book-learning?” He bears witness that the bishop himself is his +authority for much that he has written. + +Archbishop Absalon closed his eyes on St. Benedict’s Day, March +21, 1201, in the cloister at Sorö which Sir Asker built and where +he lived his last days in peace. Absalon’s statue of bronze, on +horseback, battle-axe in hand, stands in the market square in +Copenhagen, the city he founded and of which he is the patron +saint; but his body lies within the quiet sanctuary where, in +the deep forest glades, one listens yet for the evensong of the +monks, long silent now. When his grave was opened, in 1826, the +lines of his tall form, clad in clerical robes, were yet clearly +traceable. The strong hands, turned to dust, held a silver chalice +in which lay his episcopal ring. They are there to be seen to-day, +with remnants of his staff that had partly crumbled away. No Dane +approaches his grave without emotion. “All Denmark grieved for +him,” says a German writer of that day, “and commended his soul +to Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace, for that in his lifetime he +had led many who were enemies to peace and concord.” In his old +cathedral, in Roskilde town, lies Saxo, according to tradition +under an unmarked stone. When he went to rest his friend and master +had slept five years. + +Esbern outlived his brother three years. The hero of so many +battles met his death at last by an accidental fall in his own +house. The last we hear of him is at a meeting in the Christmas +season, 1187, where emissaries of Pope Gregory VIII preached a +general crusade. Their hearers wept at the picture they drew of the +sufferings Christians were made to endure in the Holy Land. Then +arose Esbern and reminded them of the great deeds of the fathers +at home and abroad. The faith and the fire of Absalon were in his +words: + +“These things they did,” he said, “for the glory of their name and +race, knowing nothing of our holy religion. Shall we, believing, +do less? Let us lay aside our petty quarrels and take up this +greater cause. Let us share the sufferings of the saints and earn +their reward. Perhaps we shall win—God keeps the issue. Let him who +cannot give himself, give of his means. So shall all we, sharing +the promise, share also the reward.” + +The account we have says that many took the cross, such was the +effect of his words, more likely of the man and what he was and had +been in the sight of them all throughout his long life. + + +Footnotes: + +[3] Pronounced Reeg. + +[4] Pronounced Snare, with a as in are. In the Danish hare rhymes +with snare, so pronounced. + +[5] Pronounced Veethe. + +[6] That all this in no way affected the personal relations of the +two men Saxo assures us in one of the little human touches with +which his chronicle abounds. When Eskild was going away to end his +days as a monk in the monastery of Clairvaux, he rested awhile with +Absalon at his castle Haffn, where he was received as a father. The +old man suffered greatly from cold feet, and Absalon made a box +with many little holes in, and put a hot brick in it. With this at +his feet, Eskild was able to sleep, and he was very grateful to +Absalon, both because of the comfort it gave him and “because that +he perceived that filial piety rather than skill in the healer’s +art” prompted the invention. + + + + +KING VALDEMAR, AND THE STORY OF THE DANNEBROG + + +To the court of King Ottocar of Bohemia there came in the year +1205 a brilliant embassy from far-off Denmark to ask the hand of +his daughter Dragomir for King Valdemar, the young ruler of that +country. Sir Strange[7] Ebbesoen and Bishop Peder Sunesön were the +spokesmen, and many knights, whose fame had travelled far in the +long years of fighting to bring the Baltic pagans under the cross, +rode with them. The old king received them with delight. Valdemar +was not only a good son-in-law for a king to have, being himself +a great and renowned ruler, but he was a splendid knight, tall +and handsome, of most courteous bearing, ambitious, manly, and of +ready wit. So their suit prospered well. The folk-song tells how +they fared; how, according to the custom of those days, Sir Strange +wedded the fair princess by proxy for his lord, and how King +Ottocar, when he bade her good-by, took this promise of her: + + In piety, virtue, and fear of God, + Let all thy days be spent; + And ever thy subjects be thy thought, + Their hopes on thy care be bent. + +The daughter kept her vow. Never was queen more beloved of her +people than Dagmar. That was the name they gave her in Denmark, for +the Bohemian Dragomir was strange to them. Dagmar meant daybreak +in their ancient tongue, and it really seemed as if a new and +beautiful day dawned upon the land in her coming. The dry pages of +history have little enough to tell of her beyond the simple fact of +her marriage and untimely death, though they are filled with her +famous husband’s deeds; but not all of his glorious campaigns that +earned for him the name of “The Victor” have sunk so deep into the +people’s memory, or have taken such hold of their hearts, as the +lovely queen who + + Came without burden, she came with peace; + She came the good peasant to cheer. + +Through all the centuries the people have sung her praise, and they +sing it yet. Of the many folk-songs that have come down from the +middle ages, those that tell of Queen Dagmar are the sweetest, as +they are the most mournful, for her happiness was as brief as her +life was beautiful. + +They sailed homeward over sunny seas, until they came to the shore +where the royal lover awaited his bride, impatiently scanning the +horizon for the gilded dragon’s head of the ship that bore her. The +minstrel sings of the great wedding that was held in the old city +of Ribe.[8] The gray old cathedral in which they knelt together +still stands; but of Valdemar’s strong castle only a grass-grown +hill is left. It was the privilege of a bride in those days to ask +a gift of her husband on the morning after the wedding, and have it +granted without question. Two boons did Dagmar crave, + + “right early in the morning, long before it was day”: + +one, that the plow-tax might be forgiven the peasant, and that +those who for rising against it had been laid in irons be set free; +the other, that the prison door of Bishop Valdemar be opened. +Bishop Valdemar was the arch-enemy of the King. The first request +he granted; but the other he refused for cause: + + An’ he comes out, Bishop Valdemar, + Widow he makes you this year. + +And he did his worst; for in the end the King yielded to Dagmar’s +prayers, and much mischief came of it. + +Seven years the good queen lived. Seven centuries have not dimmed +the memory of them, or of her. The King was away in a distant part +of the country when they sent to him in haste with the message +that the queen was dying. The ballad tells of his fears as he sees +Dagmar’s page coming, and they proved only too true. + + The king his checker-board shut in haste, + The dice they rattled and rung. + Forbid it God, who dwells in heaven, + That Dagmar should die so young. + +In the wild ride over field and moor, the King left his men far +behind: + + When the king rode out of Skanderborg + Him followed a hundred men. + But when he rode o’er Ribe bridge, + Then rode the king alone. + +The tears of weeping women told him as he thundered over the +drawbridge of the castle that he was too late. But Dagmar had only +swooned. As he throws himself upon her bed she opens her eyes, and +smiles upon her husband. Her last prayer, as her first, is for +mercy and peace. Her sin, she says, is not great; she has done +nothing worse than to lace her silken sleeves on a Sunday. Then she +closes her eyes with a tired sigh: + + The bells of heaven are chiming for me; + No more may I stay to speak. + +Thus the folk-song. Long before Dagmar went to her rest, Bishop +Valdemar had stirred up all Germany to wreak his vengeance upon +the King. He was an ambitious, unscrupulous priest, who hated his +royal master because he held himself entitled to the crown, being +the natural son of King Knud, who was murdered at Roskilde, as told +in the story of Absalon. While they were yet young men, when he +saw that the people followed his rival, he set the German princes +against Denmark, a task he never found hard. But young Valdemar +made short work of them. He took the strong cities on the Elbe +and laid the lands of his adversaries under the Danish crown. The +bishop he seized, and threw him into the dungeon of Söborg Castle, +where he had sat thirteen years when Dagmar’s prayers set him free. +He could hardly walk when he came out, but he could hate, and all +the world knew it. The Pope bound him with heavy oaths never to +return to Denmark, and made him come to Italy so that he could keep +an eye on him himself. But two years had not passed before he broke +his oath, and fled to Bremen, where the people elected him to the +vacant archbishopric and its great political power. Forthwith he +began plotting against his native land. + +In the bitter feud between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines he found +his opportunity. One of the rival emperors marched an army north +to help the perjured priest. King Valdemar hastened to meet them, +but on the eve of battle the Emperor was slain by one of his own +men. On Sunday, when the archbishop was saying mass in the Bremen +cathedral, an unknown knight, the visor of whose helmet was closed +so that no one saw his face, strode up to the altar, and laying a +papal bull before him, cried out that he was accursed, and under +the ban of the church. The people fled, and forsaken by all, the +wretched man turned once more to Rome in submission. But though the +Pope forgave him on condition that he meddle no more with politics, +war, or episcopal office, another summer found him wielding sword +and lance against the man he hated, this time under the banner of +the Guelphs. The Germans had made another onset on Denmark, but +again King Valdemar defeated them. The bishop intrenched himself in +Hamburg, and made a desperate resistance, but the King carried the +city by storm. The beaten and hopeless man fled, and shut himself +up in a cloister in Hanover, where daily and nightly he scourged +himself for his sins. If it is true that “hell was fashioned by the +souls that hated,” not all the penance of all the years must have +availed to save him from the torments of the lost. + +Denmark now had peace on its southern border. Dagmar was dead, and +Valdemar, whose restless soul yearned for new worlds to conquer, +turned toward the east where the wild Esthland tribes were guilty +of even worse outrages than the Wends before Absalon tamed them. +The dreadful cruelties practised by these pagans upon christian +captives cried aloud to all civilized Europe, and Valdemar took the +cross “for the honor of the Virgin Mary and the absolution of his +sins,” and gathered a mighty fleet, the greatest ever assembled in +Danish waters. With more than a thousand ships he sailed across +the Baltic. The Pope sped them with his apostolic blessing, and +took king and people into his especial care, forbidding any one to +attack the country while they were away converting the heathen. +Archbishop Anders led the crusade with the king. As the fleet +approached the shore they saw it covered with an innumerable host +of the enemy. So great was their multitude that the crusaders +quailed before the peril of landing; but the archbishop put heart +into them, and led the fleet in fervent prayer to the God of +battle. Then they landed without hindrance. + +There was an old stronghold there called Lyndanissa that had +fallen into decay. The crusaders busied themselves for two days +with building another and better fort. On the third day, being St. +Vitus’ Day, they rested, fearing no harm. The Esthlanders had not +troubled them. Some of their chiefs had even come in with an offer +of surrender. They were willing to be converted, they said, and +the priests were baptizing them after vespers, while the camp was +making ready for the night, when suddenly the air was filled with +the yells of countless savages. On every side they broke from the +woods, where they had been gathering unsuspected, and overwhelmed +the camp. The guards were hewn down, the outposts taken, and the +King’s men were falling back in confusion, their standard lost, +when Prince Vitislav of Rügen who had been camping with his men in +a hollow between the sand-hills, out of the line of attack, threw +himself between them and the Esthlanders, and gave the Danes time +to form their lines. + +In the twilight of the June evening the battle raged with great +fury. With the King at their head, who had led them to victory on +so many hard-fought fields, the Danes drove back their savage foes +time after time, literally hewing their way through their ranks +with sword and battle-axe. But they were hopelessly outnumbered. +Their hearts misgave them as they saw ten heathen spring out of the +ground for every one that was felled. The struggle grew fiercer as +night came on. The Christians were fighting for life; defeat meant +that they must perish to a man, by the sword or upon pagan altars; +escape there was none. Upon the cliff overlooking the battle-field +the archbishop and his priests were praying for success to the +King’s arms. Tradition that has been busy with this great battle +all through the ages tells how, while the aged bishop’s hands were +raised toward heaven, victory leaned to the Danes; but when he +grew tired, and let them fall, the heathen won forward, until the +priests held up his hands and once more the tide of battle rolled +back from the shore, and the Christian war-cry rose higher. + +Suddenly, in the clash of steel upon steel and the wild tumult of +the conflict, there arose a great and wondering cry “the banner! +the banner! a miracle!” and Christian and pagan paused to listen. +Out of the sky, as it seemed, over against the hill upon which the +priests knelt, a blood-red banner with a great white cross was +seen falling into the ranks of the Christian knights, and a voice +resounded over the battle-field, “Bear this high, and victory +shall be yours.” With the exultant cry, “For God and the King,” +the crusaders seized it, and charged the foe. Terror-stricken, +the Esthlanders wavered, then turned, and fled. The battle became +a massacre. Thousands were slain. The chronicles say that the +dead lay piled fathom-high on the field that ran red with blood. +Upon it, when the pursuit was over, Valdemar knelt with his men, +and they bowed their heads in thanksgiving, while the venerable +archbishop gave praise to God for the victory. + +That is the story of the Dannebrog which has been the flag of the +Danes seven hundred years. Whether the archbishop had brought it +with him intending to present it to King Valdemar, and threw it +down among the fighting hordes in the moment of extreme peril, +or whether, as some think, the Pope himself had sent it to the +crusaders with a happy inspiration, the fact remains that it came +to the Danes in this great battle, and on the very day which, +fifty years before, had seen the fall of Arcona, and the end of +idol-worship among the western Slavs. Three hundred years the +standard flew over the Danes fighting on land and sea. Then it was +lost in a campaign against the Holstein counts and, when recovered +half a century later, was hung up in the cathedral at Slesvig, +where gradually it fell to pieces. In the first half of the +Nineteenth Century, when national feeling and national pride were +at their lowest ebb, it was taken down with other moth-eaten old +banners, one day when they were cleaning up, and somebody made a +bonfire of them in the street. Such was the fate of “the flag that +fell from heaven,” the sacred standard of the Danes. But it was +not the end of it. The Dannebrog flies yet over the Denmark of the +Valdemars, no longer great as then, it is true, nor master of its +ancient foes; but the world salutes it with respect, for there was +never blot of tyranny or treason upon it, and its sons own it with +pride wherever they go. + +King Valdemar knighted five and thirty of his brave men on the +battle-field, and from that day the Order of the Dannebrog is said +to date. It bears upon a white crusader’s cross the slogan of the +great fight “For God and the King,” and on its reverse the date +when it was won, “June 15, 1219.” The back of paganism was broken +that day, and the conversion of all Esthland followed soon. King +Valdemar built the castle he had begun before he sailed home, and +called it Reval, after one of the neighboring tribes. The Russian +city of that name grew up about it and about the church which +Archbishop Anders reared. The Dannebrog became its arms, and its +people call it to this day “the city of the Danes.” + +Denmark was now at the height of her glory. Her flag flew over all +the once hostile lands to the south and east, clear into Russia. +The Baltic was a Danish inland sea. King Valdemar was named +“Victor” with cause. His enemies feared him; his people adored him. +In a single night foul treachery laid the whole splendid structure +low. The King and young Valdemar, Dagmar’s son, with a small suite +of retainers had spent the day hunting on the little island of Lyö. +Count Henrik of Schwerin,—the Black Count they called him,—who had +just returned from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, was his guest. +The count hated Valdemar bitterly for some real or fancied injury, +but he hid his hatred under a friendly bearing and smooth speech. +He brought the King gifts from the Holy Sepulchre, hunted with +him, and was his friend. But by night, when the King and his son +slept in their tent, unguarded, since no enemy was thought to be +near, he fell upon them with his cutthroats, bound and gagged them +despite their struggles, and gathering up all the valuables that +lay around, to put the finishing touch upon his villainy, fled +with his prisoners “in great haste and fear,” while the King’s +men slept. When they awoke, and tried to follow, they found their +ships scuttled. The count’s boat had been lying under sail all day, +hidden in a sheltered cove, awaiting his summons. + +Germany at last had the lion and its whelp in her grasp. In chains +and fetters they were dragged from one dungeon to another. The +traitors dared not trust them long in any city, however strong. The +German Emperor shook his fist at Count Henrik, but secretly he was +glad. He would have liked nothing better than to have the precious +spoil in his own power. The Pope thundered in Rome and hurled his +ban at the thugs. But the Black Count’s conscience was as swarthy +as his countenance; and besides, had he not just been to the Holy +Land, and thereby washed himself clean of all his sins, past and +present? + +Behind prison walls, comforted only by Dagmar’s son, sat the King, +growing old and gray with anger and grief. Denmark lay prostrate +under the sudden blow, while her enemies rose on every side. Day by +day word came of outbreaks in the conquered provinces. The people +did not know which way to turn; the strong hand that held the helm +was gone, and the ship drifted, the prey of every ill wind. It +was as if all that had been won by sixty years of victories and +sacrifice fell away in one brief season. The forests filled with +out-laws; neither peasant nor wayfarer, nor yet monk or nun in +their quiet retreat, was safe from outrage; and pirates swarmed +again in bay and sound, where for two generations there had been +peace. The twice-perjured Bishop Valdemar left his cloister cell +once more and girt on the sword, to take the kingdom he coveted by +storm. + +He was met by King Valdemar’s kinsman and friend, Albert of +Orlamunde, who hastened to the frontier with all the men he could +gather. They halted him with a treaty of peace that offered to set +Valdemar free if he would take his kingdom as a fief of the German +crown. He, Albert, so it was written, was to keep all his lands and +more, would he but sign it. He did not stop to hear the rest, but +slashed the parchment into ribbons with his sword, and ordered an +instant advance. The bishop he made short work of, and he was heard +of no more. But in the battle with the German princes Albert was +defeated and taken prisoner. The door of King Valdemar’s dungeon +was opened only to let his friend in. + +After two years and a half in chains, Valdemar was ransomed by his +people with a great sum of gold. The Danish women gave their rings +and their jewels to bring back their king. They flocked about him +when he returned, and received him like the conqueror of old; but +he rode among them gray and stern, and his thoughts were far away. + +They had made him swear on oath upon the sacrament, and all +Denmark’s bishops with him, before they set him free, that he +would not seek revenge. But once he was back in his own, he sent +to Pope Gregory, asking him to loose him from an oath wrung from +him while he was helpless in the power of bandits. And the Pope +responded that to keep faith with traitors was no man’s duty. Then +back he rode over the River Eider into the enemy’s land—for they +had stripped Denmark of all her hard-won possessions south of +the ancient border of the kingdom, except Esthland and Rügen—and +with him went every man who could bear arms in all the nation. +He crushed the Black Count who tried to block his way, and at +Bornhöved met the German allies who had gathered from far and +near to give him battle. Well they knew that if Valdemar won, the +reckoning would be terrible. All day they fought, and victory +seemed to lean toward the Danes, when the base Holsteiners, the +Danish rear-guard whom the enemy had bought to betray their king, +turned their spears upon his army, and decided the day. The battle +ended in utter rout of Valdemar’s forces. Four thousand Danish men +were slain. The King himself fell wounded on the field, his eye +pierced by an arrow, and would have fallen into the hands of the +enemy once more but for an unknown German knight, who took him upon +his horse and bore him in the night over unfrequented paths to +Kiel, where he was safe. + +“But all men said that this great hurt befell the King because that +he brake the oath he swore upon the sacred body of the Lord.” + +The wars of Valdemar were over, but his sorrows were not. Four +years later the crushing blow fell when Dagmar’s son, who was +crowned king to succeed him, lost his life while hunting. With him, +says the folk-song, died the hope of Denmark. The King had other +sons, but to Dagmar’s boy the people had given their love from +the first, as they had to his gentle mother. The old King and his +people grieved together. + +But Valdemar rose above his sorrows. Great as he had been in the +days of victory, he was greater still in adversity. The country +was torn by the wars of three-score years, and in need of rest. +He gave his last days to healing the wounds the sword had struck. +Valdemar, the Victor, became Valdemar, the Law-giver. The laws of +the country had hitherto made themselves. They were the outgrowths +of the people’s ancient customs, passed down by word of mouth +through the generations, and confirmed on Thing from time to time. +King Valdemar gave Denmark her first written laws that judged +between man and man, in at least one of her provinces clear down +into our day. “With law shall land be built” begins his code. “The +law,” it says, “must be honest, just, reasonable, and according to +the ways of the people. It must meet their needs, and speak plainly +so that all men may know and understand what the law is. It is not +to be made in any man’s favor, but for the needs of all them who +live in the land.” That is its purpose, and “no man shall judge +(condemn) the law which the King has given and the country chosen; +neither shall he (the King) take it back without the will of the +people.” That tells the story of Valdemar’s day, and of the people +who are so near of kin with ourselves. They were not sovereign +and subjects; they were a chosen king and a free people, working +together “with law land to build.” + +King Valdemar was married twice. The folk-song represents Dagmar as +urging the King with her dying breath + + “that Bengerd, my lord, that base bad dame you never to wife + will take.” + +Bengerd, or Berengaria, was a Portuguese princess whom Valdemar +married in spite of the warning, two years later. As the people had +loved the fair Dagmar, so they hated the proud Southern beauty, +whether with reason or not. The story of her “morning gift,” as it +has come down to us through the mists of time, is very different +from the other. She asks the King, so the ballad has it, to give +her Samsö, a great and fertile island, and “a golden crown[9] for +every maid,” but he tells her not to be quite so greedy: + + There be full many an honest maid with not dry bread to eat. + +Undismayed, Bengerd objects that Danish women have no business +to wear silken gowns, and that a good horse is not for a peasant +lad. The King replies patiently that what a woman can buy she may +wear for him, and that he will not take the lad’s horse if he can +feed it. Bengerd is not satisfied. “Let bar the land with iron +chains” is her next proposal, that neither man nor woman enter +it without paying tax. Her husband says scornfully that Danish +kings have never had need of such measures, and never will. He is +plainly getting bored, and when she keeps it up, and begrudges the +husbandman more than “two oxen and a cow,” he loses his temper, and +presumably there is a matrimonial tiff. Very likely most of this is +fiction, bred of the popular prejudice. The King loved her, that +is certain. She was a beautiful high-spirited woman, so beautiful +that many hundreds of years after, when her grave was opened, the +delicate oval of her skull excited admiration yet. But the people +hated her. Twenty generations after her death it was their custom +when passing her grave to spit on it with the exclamation “Out upon +thee, Bengerd! God bless the King of Denmark”; for in good or evil +days they never wavered in their love and admiration for the king +who was a son of the first Valdemar, and the heir of his greatness +and of that of the sainted Absalon. Tradition has it that Bengerd +was killed in battle, having gone with her husband on one of his +campaigns. “It was not heard in any place,” says the folk-song +wickedly, “that any one grieved for her.” But the King mourned for +his beautiful queen to the end of his days. + +Bengerd bore Valdemar three sons upon whom he lavished all the +affection of his lonely old age. Erik he chose as his successor, +and to keep his brothers loyal to him he gave them great fiefs and +thus, unknowing, brought on the very trouble he sought to avoid, +and set his foot on the path that led to Denmark’s dismemberment +after centuries of bloody wars. For to his second son Abel he gave +Slesvig, and Abel, when his brother became king, sought alliance +with the Holstein count Adolf,[10] the very one who had led the +Germans at the fatal battle of Bornhöved. The result was a war +between the brothers that raged seven years, and laid waste the +land. Worse was to follow, for Abel was only “Abel in name, but +Cain in deed.” But happily the old King’s eyes were closed then, +and he was spared the sight of one brother murdering the other for +the kingdom. + +Some foreboding of this seems to have troubled him in his last +years. It is related that once when he was mounting his horse to go +hunting he fell into a deep reverie, and remained standing with his +foot in the stirrup a long time, while his men wondered, not daring +to disturb him. At last one of them went to remind him that the +sun was low in the west. The King awoke from his dream, and bade +him go at once to a wise old hermit who lived in a distant part of +the country. “Ask him,” he said, “what King Valdemar was thinking +of just now, and bring me his answer.” The knight went away on his +strange errand, and found the hermit. And this was the message he +brought back: “Your lord and master pondered as he stood by his +horse, how his sons would fare when he was dead. Tell him that war +and discord they shall have, but kings they will all be.” When the +King heard the prophecy he was troubled in mind, and called his +sons and all his great knights to a council at which he pleaded +with them to keep the peace. But though they promised, he was +barely in his grave when riot and bloodshed filled the land. The +climax was reached when Abel inveigled his brother to his home with +fair words and, once he had him in his power, seized him and gave +him over to his men to do with “as they pleased.” They understood +their master only too well, and took King Erik out on the fjord in +an open boat, and killed him there, scarce giving him time to say +his prayers. They weighted his body with his helmet, and sank it in +the deep. + +Abel made oath with four and twenty of his men that he was innocent +of his brother’s blood, and took the crown after him. But the foul +crime was soon avenged. Within a few years he was himself slain +by a peasant in a rising of his own people. For a while his body +lay unburied, the prey of beast and bird, and when it was interred +in the Slesvig cathedral there was no rest for it. “Such turmoil +arose in the church by night that the monks could not chant their +vigils,” and in the end they took him out, and buried him in a +swamp, with a stake driven through the heart to lay his ghost. But +clear down to our time when people ceased to believe in ghosts, the +fratricide was seen at night hunting through the woods, coal-black +and on a white horse, with three fiery dogs trailing after; and +blue flames burned over the sea where they vanished. That was how +the superstition of the people judged the man whom the nobles and +the priests made king, red-handed. + +Christopher, the youngest of the three brothers, was king last. +His end was no better than that of the rest. Indeed, it was worse. +Hardly yet forty years old, he died—poisoned, it was said, by the +Abbot Arnfast, in the sacrament as he knelt at the altar-rail +in the Ribe cathedral. He was buried in the chancel where the +penitents going to the altar walk over his grave. So, of all +Valdemar’s four sons, not one died a peaceful, natural death. But +kings they all were. + +Valdemar was laid in Ringsted with his great father. He sleeps +between his two queens. Dagmar’s grave was disturbed in the late +middle ages by unknown vandals, and the remains of Denmark’s +best-loved queen were scattered. Only a golden cross, which she +had worn in life, somehow escaped, and found its way in course of +time into the museum of antiquities at Copenhagen, where it now is, +its chief and priceless treasure. There also is a braid of Queen +Bengerd’s hair that was found when her grave was opened in 1855. +The people’s hate had followed her even there, and would not let +her rest. The slab that covered her tomb had been pried off, and a +round stone dropped into the place made for her head. Otherwise her +grave was undisturbed. + +“Truly then fell the crown from the heads of Danish men,” says +the old chronicle of King Valdemar’s death, and black clouds were +gathering ominously even then over the land. But in storm and +stress, as in days that were fair, the Danish people have clung +loyally to the memory of their beloved King and of his sweet Dagmar. + + +Footnotes: + +[7] Pronounced as Strangle, with the l left out. + +[8] Pronounced Reebe, in two syllables. + +[9] A coin, probably. + +[10] That was the beginning of the Slesvig-Holstein question that +troubled Europe to our day; for the fashion set by Abel other +rulers of his dukedom followed, and by degrees Slesvig came to +be reckoned with the German duchies, whereas up till then it had +always been South-Jutland, a part of Denmark proper. + + + + +HOW THE GHOST OF THE HEATH WAS LAID + + +On the map of Europe the mainland of Denmark looks like a beckoning +finger pointing due north and ending in a narrow sand-reef, upon +which the waves of the North Sea and of the Kattegat break with +unceasing clamor and strife. The heart of the peninsula, quite +one-fourth of its area, was fifty years ago a desert, a barren, +melancholy waste, where the only sign of life encountered by the +hunter, gunning for heath-fowl and plover, was a rare shepherd +tending a few lonesome sheep, and knitting mechanically on his +endless stocking. The two, the lean sheep and the long stocking, +together comprised the only industries which the heath afforded and +was thought capable of sustaining. A great change has taken place +within the span of a single life, and it is all due to the clear +sight and patient devotion of one strong man, the Gifford Pinchot +of Denmark. The story of that unique achievement reads like the +tale of the Sleeping Beauty who was roused from her hundred years’ +sleep by the kiss of her lover prince. The prince who awoke the +slumbering heath was a captain of engineers, Enrico Dalgas by name. + +[Illustration: THE HEATH AS IT WAS FIFTY YEARS AGO] + +Not altogether fanciful is the conceit. Barren, black, and +desolate, the great moor gripped the imagination as no smiling +landscape of field and forest could—does yet, where enough of it +remains. Far as eye reaches the dun heather covers hill and plain +with its sombre pall. Like gloomy sentinels, furry cattails nod in +the bog where the blue gentian peeps timidly into murky pools; the +only human habitation in sight some heath boer’s ling-thatched hut, +flanked by rows of peat stacks in vain endeavor to stay the sweep +of the pitiless west wind. On the barrows where the vikings sleep +their long sleep, the plover pipes its melancholy lay; between +steep banks a furtive brook steals swiftly by as if anxious to +escape from the universal blight. Over it all broods the silence of +the desert, drowsy with the hum of many bees winging their swift +way to the secret feeding-places they know of, where mayflower and +anemone hide under the heather, witness that forests grew here in +the long ago. In midsummer, when the purple is on the broom, a +strange pageant moves on the dim horizon, a shifting mirage of sea +and shore, forest, lake, and islands lying high, with ships and +castles and spires of distant churches—the witchery of the heath +that speaks in the tales and superstitions of its simple people. +High in the blue soars the lark, singing its song of home and +hope to its nesting mate. This is the heath which, denying to the +hardest toil all but the barest living, has given of its poetry to +the Danish tongue some of its sweetest songs. + +But in this busy world day-dreams must make way for the things that +make the day count, castles in the air to homes upon the soil. The +heath had known such in the dim past. It had not always been a +desert. The numberless cairns that lie scattered over it, sometimes +strung out for miles as if marking the highways of the ancients, +which they doubtless do, sometimes grouped where their villages +stood, bear witness to it. Great battles account for their share, +and some of them were fought in historic times. On Grathe Heath the +young King Valdemar overcame his treacherous rival Svend. Alone +and hunted, the beaten man sought refuge, Saxo tells us, behind a +stump, where he was found and slain by one of the King’s axemen. A +chapel was built on the spot. More than seven centuries later (in +1892) they dug there, and found the bones of a man with skull split +in two. + +The stump behind which the wretched Svend hid was probably the last +representative of great forests that grew where now is sterile +moor. In the bogs trunks of oak and fir are found lying as they +fell centuries ago. The local names preserve the tradition, with +here and there patches of scrub oak that hug the ground close, to +escape the blast from the North Sea. There is one such thicket +near the hamlet of Taulund—the name itself tells of long-forgotten +groves—and the story runs among the people yet that once squirrels +jumped from tree to tree without touching ground all the way from +Taulund to Gjellerup church, a stretch of more than five miles to +which the wild things of the woods have long been strangers. In the +shelter of the old forests men dwelt through ages, and made the +land yield them a living. Some cairns that have been explored span +over more than a thousand years. They were built in the stone age, +and served the people of the bronze and iron ages successively as +burial-places, doubtless the same tribes who thus occupied their +homesteads from generation to generation. That they were farmers, +not nomads, is proved by the clear impression of grains of wheat +and barley in their burial urns. The seeds strayed into the clay +and were burned away, but the impression abides, and tells the +story. + +Clear down to historic times there was a thrifty population in many +of the now barren spots. But a change was slowly creeping over +the landscape. The country was torn by long and bloody wars. The +big men fought for the land and the little ones paid the score, +as they always do. They were hunted from house and home. Next the +wild hordes of the Holstein counts overran Jutland. Its towns were +burned, the country laid waste. Great fires swept the forests. +What ravaging armies had left was burned in the smelteries. In the +sandy crust of the heath there is iron, and swords and spears were +the grim need of that day. The smelteries are only names now. They +went, but they took the forests with them, and where the ground was +cleared the west wind broke through, and ruin followed fast. Last +of all came the Black Death, and set its seal of desolation upon +it all. When it had passed, the country was a huge graveyard. The +heath had moved in. Rovers and smugglers found refuge there; honest +folk shunned it. Under the heather the old landmarks are sometimes +found yet, and deep ruts made by wheels that long since ceased to +turn. + +In the Eighteenth Century men began to think of reclamation. A +thousand German colonists were called in and settled on the heath, +but it was stronger than they, and they drifted away until scarce +half a hundred families remained. The Government tried its hand, +but there was no one who knew just how, and only discouragement +resulted. Then came the war with Germany in 1864, that lost to +Denmark a third of her territory. The country lay prostrate under +the crushing blow. But it rose above defeat and disaster, and once +more expectant eyes were turned toward the ancient domain that had +slipped from its grasp. “What was lost without must be won within” +became the national slogan. And this time the man for the task was +at hand. + +Enrico Mylius Dalgas was by the accident of birth an Italian, his +father being the Danish consul in Naples; by descent a Frenchman; +by choice and training a Dane, typical of the best in that people. +He came of the Huguenot stock that left France after the repeal of +the Edict of Nantes in 1685 and scattered over Europe, to the great +good of every land in which it settled. They had been tillers of +the soil from the beginning, and at least two of the family, who +found homes in Denmark, made in their day notable contributions to +the cause of advanced, sensible husbandry. Enrico’s father, though +a merchant, had an open eye for the interests which in later years +claimed the son’s life-work. In the diary of a journey through +Sweden he makes indignant comment upon the reckless way in which +the people of that country dealt with their forests. That he was +also a man of resolution is shown by an incident of the time when +Jew-baiting was having its sorry day in Denmark. An innkeeper +mistook the dark-skinned little man for a Jew, and set before him +a spoiled ham, retorting contemptuously, when protest was made, +that it was “good enough for a Sheeny.” Without further parley +Mr. Dalgas seized the hot ham by its shank and beat the fellow +with it till he cried for mercy. The son tells of the first school +he attended, when he was but five years old. It was kept by the +widow of one of Napoleon’s generals, a militant lady who every +morning marshalled the school, a Lilliputian army with the teachers +flanking the line like beardless sergeants in stays and petticoats, +and distributed rewards and punishments as the great Emperor was +wont to do after a battle. For the dunces there was a corner strewn +with dried peas on which they were made to kneel with long-eared +donkey caps adorning their luckless heads. Very likely it was after +an insult of this kind that Enrico decided to elope to America with +his baby sister. They were found down by the harbor bargaining +with some fishermen to take them over to Capri _en route_ for the +land of freedom. The elder Dalgas died while the children were yet +little, and the widow went back to Denmark to bring up her boys +there. + +They were poor, and the change from the genial skies of sunny Italy +to the bleak North did not make it any easier for them. Enrico’s +teacher saw it, and gave him his overcoat to be made over. But +the boys spotted it and squared accounts with their teacher by +snowballing the wearer of the big green plaid until he was glad to +leave it at home, and go without. He was in the military school +when war broke out with Germany in 1848. Both of his brothers +volunteered, and fell in battle. Enrico was ordered out as +lieutenant, and put on the shoulder-straps joyfully, to the great +scandal of his godfather in Milan, who sympathized with the German +cause. When the young soldier refused to resign he not only cut him +off in his will, but took away a pension of four hundred kroner +he had given his mother in her widowhood. If he had thoughts of +bringing them over by such means, he found out his mistake. Mother +and son were made of sterner stuff. Dalgas fought twice for his +country, the last time in 1864, as a captain of engineers. + +It was no ordinary class, the one of 1851 that resumed its studies +in the military high school. Two of the students did not answer +roll-call; their names were written among the nation’s heroic dead. +Some had scars and wore the cross for valor in battle. All were +first lieutenants, to be graduated as captains. Dalgas had himself +transferred from the artillery to the engineers, and was detailed +as road inspector. So the opportunity of his life came to him. + +There were few railways in those days; the highways were still the +great arteries of traffic. Dalgas built roads that crossed the +heath, and he learned to know it and the strong and independent, +if narrow, people who clung to it with such a tenacious grip. He +had a natural liking for practical geology and for the chemistry +of the soil, and the deep cuts which his roads sometimes made gave +him the best of chances for following his bent. The heath lay as +an open book before him, and he studied it with delight. He found +the traces of the old forests, and noted their extent. Occasionally +the pickaxe uncovered peat deposits of unsuspected depth and +value. Sometimes the line led across the lean fields, and damages +had to be discussed and assessed. He learned the point of view +of the heath farmer, sympathized with his struggles, and gained +his confidence. Best of all, he found a man of his own mind, a +lawyer by the name of Morville, himself a descendant of the exiled +Huguenots. It is not a little curious that when the way was cleared +for the Heath Society’s great work, in its formal organization with +M. Mourier-Petersen, a large landowner, as their associate in its +management, the three men who for a quarter of a century planned +the work and marked out the groove in which it was to run were +all of that strong stock which is by no means the most common in +Denmark. + +With his lawyer friend Captain Dalgas tramped the heath far and +wide for ten years. Then their talks had matured a plan. Dalgas +wrote to the Copenhagen newspapers that the heath could be +reclaimed, and suggested that it should be done by the State. They +laughed at him. “Nothing better could have happened,” he said in +after years, “for it made us turn to the people themselves, and +that was the road to success, though we did not know it.” In the +spring of 1866 a hundred men, little and big landowners most of +them, met at his call, and organized the Heath Society[11] with the +object of reclaiming the moor. Dalgas became its managing director. + +To restore to the treeless waste its forest growth was the +fundamental idea, for until that was done nothing but the heather +could grow there. The west wind would not let it. But the heath +farmer shook his head. It would cost too much, and give too little +back. What he needed was water and marl. Could the captain help +them to these?—that was another matter. The little streams that +found their way into the heath and lost it there, dire need had +taught them to turn to use in their fields; not a drop escaped. But +the river that ran between deep banks was beyond their reach. Could +he show them how to harness that? Dalgas saw their point. “We are +working, not for the dead soil, but for the living men who find +homes upon it,” he told his associates, and tree planting was put +aside for the time. They turned canal diggers instead. Irrigation +became their aim and task; the engineer was in his right place. +The water was raised from the stream and led out upon the moor, +and presently grass grew in the sand which the wiry stems of the +heather had clutched so long. Green meadows lined the water-runs, +and fragrant haystacks rose. To the lean sheep was added a cow, +then two. The farmer laid by a little, and took in more land +for cultivation. That meant breaking the heath. Also, it meant +marl. The heath is lime-poor; marl is lime in the exact form in +which it best fits that sandy soil. It was known to exist in some +favored spots, but the poor heath farmer could not bring it from a +distance. So the marl borer went with the canal digger. Into every +acre he drove his auger, and mapped out his discoveries. At last +accounts he had found marl in more than seventeen hundred places, +and he is not done yet. Where there was none, Dalgas’s Society +built portable railways into the moor far enough to bring it to +nearly every farmer’s door. + +It was as if a magic wand had been waved over the heath. With +water and marl, the means were at hand for fighting it and winning +out. Heads that had drooped in discouragement were raised. The +cattle keep increased, and with it came the farmer’s wealth. Marl +changes the character of the heath soil; with manure to fertilize +it there was no reason why it should not grow crops—none, except +the withering blast of the west wind. The time for Dalgas to preach +tree planting had come. + +While the canal digger and marl seeker were at work, there had been +neighborhood meetings and talks at which Captain Dalgas did the +talking. When he spoke the heath boer listened, for he had learned +to look upon him as one of them. He wore no gold lace. A plain man +in every day gray tweeds, with his trousers tucked into his boots, +he spoke to plain people of things that concerned them vitally, and +in a way they could understand. So when he told them that the heath +had once been forest-clad, at least a large part of it, and pointed +them to the proofs, and that the woods could be made to grow again +to give them timber and shelter and crops, they gave heed. It was +worth trying at any rate. The shelter was the immediate thing. They +began planting hedges about their homesteads; not always wisely, +for it is not every tree that will grow in the heath. The wind +whipped and wore them, the ahl cramped their roots, and they died. +The ahl is the rusty-red crust that forms under the heather in the +course of the ages where the desert rules. Sometimes it is a loose +sandstone formation; sometimes it carries as much as twenty per +cent of iron that is absorbed from the upper layers of the sand. In +any case, it must be broken through; no tree root can do it. The +ahl, the poverty of the sand, and the wind, together make the “evil +genius” of the heath that had won until then in the century-old +fight with man. But this time he had backing, and was not minded to +give up. The Heath Society was there to counsel, to aid. And soon +the hedges took hold, and gardens grew in their shelter. There is +hardly a farm in all west Jutland to-day that has not one, even if +the moor waits just beyond the gate. + +Out in the desert the Society had made a beginning with plantations +of Norway spruce. They took root, but the heather soon overwhelmed +the young plants. Not without a fight would this enemy let go its +grip upon the land. It had smothered the hardy Scotch pine in days +past, and now the spruce was in peril. Searching high and low for +something that would grow fast and grow green, Dalgas and his +associates planted dwarf pine with the spruce. Strangely, it not +only grew itself, but proved to be a real nurse for the other. The +spruce took a fresh start, and they grew vigorously together—for a +while. Then the pine outstripped its nursling, and threatened to +smother it. The spruce was the more valuable; the other was at best +little more than a shrub. The croaker raised his voice: the black +heath had turned green, but it was still heath, of no value to any +one, then or ever. + +He had not reckoned with Dalgas. The captain of engineers could use +the axe as well as the spade. He cut the dwarf pine out wherever +the spruce had got its grip, and gave it light and air. And it grew +big and beautiful. The Heath Society has now over nineteen hundred +plantations that cover nearly a hundred thousand acres, and the +State and private individuals, inspired by the example it set, have +planted almost as large an area. The ghost of the heath has been +laid for all time. + +Go now across the heath and see the change forty years have +wrought. You shall seek in vain the lonely shepherd with his +stocking. The stocking has grown into an organized industry. In +grandfather’s day the farmer and his household “knitted for the +taxes”; if all hands made enough in the twelvemonth to pay the +tax-gatherer, they had done well. Last year the single county of +Hammerum, of which more below, sold machine-made underwear to the +value of over a million and a half kroner. The sheep are there, +but no longer lean; no more the ling-thatched hut, but prosperous +farms backed by thrifty groves, with hollyhock and marigold in the +dooryards, heaps of gray marl in the fields, tiny rivulets of water +singing the doom of the heath in the sand; for where it comes the +heather moves out. A resolute, thrifty peasantry looks hopefully +forward. Not all of the heath is conquered yet. Roughly speaking, +thirty-three hundred square miles of heath confronted Dalgas in +1866. Just about a thousand remain for those who come after to +wrestle with; but already voices are raised pleading that some of +it be preserved untouched for its natural beauty, while yet it is +time. + +Meanwhile the plow goes over fresh acres every year—once, twice, +then a deeper plowing, this time to break the stony crust, and the +heath is ready for its human mission. From the Society’s nurseries +that are scattered through the country come thousands of tiny +trees, and are set out in the furrows, two of the spruce for each +dwarf pine till the nurse has done her work. Then she is turned +into charcoal, into tar, and a score of other things of use. The +men who do the planting in summer find chopping to do in winter +in the older plantations, at good wages. Money is flowing into +the moor in the wake of the water and the marl. Roads are being +made, and every day the mail-carrier comes. In the olden time a +stranger straying into the heath often brought the first news of +the world without for weeks together. Game is coming, too,—roebuck +and deer,—in the young forests. The climate itself is changing; +more rain falls in midsummer, when it is needed. The sand-blast has +been checked, the power of the west wind broken. The shrivelled +soil once more takes up and holds the rains, and the streams will +deepen, fish leap in them as of yore. Groves of beech and oak are +springing up in the shelter of their hardier evergreen kin. “Make +the land furry,” Dalgas said, with prophetic eye beholding great +forests taking the place of sand and heather, and in his lifetime +the change was wrought that is transforming the barren moor into +the home-land of a prosperous people. + +To the most unlikely of places, through the very prison doors, +his gospel of hope has made its way. For the last dozen years the +life prisoners in the Horsens penitentiary have been employed in +breaking and reforesting the heath, and their keepers report that +the effect upon them of the hard work in the open has been to +notably cheer and brighten them. The discipline has been excellent. +There have been few attempts at escape, and they have come to +nothing through the vigilance of the other prisoners. + +While the population in the rest of Denmark is about stationary, in +west Jutland it grows apace. The case of Skåphus farm in the parish +of Sunds shows how this happens. Prior to 1870 this farm of three +thousand acres was rated the “biggest and poorest” in Denmark. Last +year it had dwindled to three hundred and fifty acres, but upon +its old land thirty-three homesteads had risen that kept between +them sixty-two horses and two hundred and fifty-two cows, beside +the sheep, and the manor farm was worth twice as much as before. +The town of Herning, sometimes called “the Star of the Heath,” is +the seat of Hammerum county, once the baldest and most miserable on +the Danish mainland. In 1841 twenty-one persons lived in Herning. +To-day there are more than six thousand in a town with handsome +buildings, gas, electric lighting, and paved streets. The heath is +half a dozen miles away. And this is not the result of any special +or forced industry, but the natural, healthy growth of a centre for +an army of industrious men and women winning back the land of their +fathers by patient toil. All through the landscape one sees from +the train the black giving way to the green. Churches rear their +white gables; bells that have been silent since the Black Death +stalked through the land once more call the people to worship on +the old sites. More churches were built in the reign of “the good +King Christian,” who has just been gathered to his fathers, than in +all the centuries since the day of the Valdemars. + +Bog cultivation is the Heath Society’s youngest child. The heath +is full of peat-bogs that only need the sand, so plentiful on the +uplands, to make their soil as good as the best, the muck of the +bog being all plant food, and they have a surplus of water to give +in exchange. With hope the keynote of it all, the State has taken +up the herculean task of keeping down the moving sands of the North +Sea coast. All along it is a range of dunes that in the fierce +storms of that region may change shape and place in a single night. +The “sand flight” at times reached miles inland, and threatened to +bury the farmer’s acres past recovery. Austrian fir and dwarf pine +now grow upon the white range, helping alike to keep down the sand +and to bar out the blast. + +With this exception, the great change has been, is being, wrought +by the people themselves. It was for their good, in the apathy +that followed 1864, that it should be so, and Dalgas saw it. The +State aids the man who plants ten acres or more, and assumes +the obligation to preserve the forest intact; the Heath Society +sells him plants at half-price, and helps him with its advice. It +disposes annually of over thirteen million young trees. The people +do the rest, and back the Society with their support. The Danish +peasant has learned the value of coöperation since he turned dairy +farmer, and associations for irrigation, for tree planting, and +garden planting are everywhere. They even reach across the ocean. +This year a call was issued to sons of the old soil, who have found +a new home in America, to join in planting a Danish-American forest +in the desert where hill and heather hide a silvery lake in their +deep shadows and returning wanderers may rest and dream of the long +ago. + +[Illustration: THE HEATH TRANSFORMED IN TWENTY-ONE YEARS] + +Soldier though he was, Enrico Dalgas’s pick and spade brigade won +greater victories for Denmark than her armies in two wars. He +literally “won for his country within what she had lost without.” A +natural organizer, a hard worker who found his greatest joy in his +daily tasks, a fearless and lucid writer who yet knew how to keep +his cause out of the rancorous politics that often enough seemed +to mistake partisanship for patriotism, he was the most modest of +men. Praise he always passed up to others. At the “silver wedding” +of the Society he founded they toasted him jubilantly, but he sat +quiet a long time. When at last he arose, it was to make this +characteristic little speech: + +“I thank you very much. His Excellency the Minister of the +Interior, who is present here, will see from this how much you +think of me, and possibly my recommendation that the State +make a larger contribution to the Heath Society’s treasury may +thereby acquire greater weight with him. I drink to an increased +appropriation.” + +On the heath Dalgas was prophet, prince, and friend of the people. +In the crowds that flocked about his bier homespun elbowed gold +lace in the grief of a common loss. Boughs of the fragrant spruce +decked his coffin, the gift of the heath to the memory of him who +set it free. + +To Dalgas apply the words of the seer with which he himself +characterized the Society that was the child of his heart and +brain: “The good men are those who plant and water,” for they add +to the happiness of mankind. + + +Footnotes: + +[11] Danske Hedeselskab. + + + + +KING CHRISTIAN IV + + +[Illustration: + + King Christian stood by loft - y mast In mist and + smoke; His sword was ham - mer - ing so fast, Thro’ + Goth -ic helm and brain it passed; Then sank each hos-tile + hulk and mast. In mist and smoke. “Fly,” + shout-ed they, “fly, he who can! Who braves of Denmark’s + Christ- i -an, Who braves of Denmark’s Christian The stroke?”] + +Deep in the beech-woods between Copenhagen and Elsinore, upon +the shore of a limpid lake, stands Frederiksborg, one of the +most beautiful castles in Europe. In its chapel the Danish kings +were crowned for two centuries, and here was born on April 12, +1577, King Christian of the Danish national hymn which Longfellow +translated into our tongue. No Danish ruler since the days of the +great Valdemars made such a mark upon his time; none lives as he +in the imagination of the people. He led armies to war and won +and lost battles; indeed, he lost more than he won on land when +matched against the great generals of that fighting era. On the sea +he sailed his own ship and was the captain of his own fleet, and +there he had no peer. He made laws in the days of peace and reigned +over a happy, prosperous land. In his old age misfortune in which +he had no share overwhelmed Denmark, but he was ever greatest in +adversity, and his courage saved the country from ruin. The great +did not love him overmuch; but to the plain people he was ever, +with all his failings, which were the failings of his day, a great, +appealing figure, and lives in their hearts, not merely in the dry +pages of musty books. + +He was eleven years old when his father died, and until he came of +age the country was governed by a council of happily most able men +who, with his mother, gave him such a schooling as few kings have +had. He not only became proficient in the languages, living and +dead, and in mathematics which he put to such practical use that +he was among the greatest of architects and ship-builders; he was +the best all-round athlete among his fellows as well, and there was +some sense in the tradition that survives to this day that whoever +was touched by him in wrath did not live long, for he was very tall +with a big, strong body, and when he struck, he struck hard. He was +a dauntless sailor who knew as much about sailing a ship as any one +of his captains, and much more about building it. Danger appealed +to him always. When the spire on the great cathedral in Copenhagen +threatened to fall, he was the one who went up in it alone and gave +orders where and how to brace it. + +As he grew, he sat in the council of state, learning kingcraft, and +showed there the hard-headed sense of fairness and justice that +went with him through life. He was hardly fourteen when the case +of three brothers of the powerful Friis family came before the +council. They had attacked another young nobleman in the street, +struck off one of his hands, and crippled the other. Because of +their influence, the council was for being lenient, atrocious as +the crime was. A fine was deemed sufficient. The young prince +asked if there were not some law covering the case with severer +punishment, and was told that in the province of Skaane there was +such a law that applied to serfs. But the assault had not been +committed in Skaane, and these were high noblemen. + +“All the worse for them,” said the prince. “Is then a serf in +Skaane to have more rights under the law than a nobleman in the +rest of Denmark? Let the law for the serf be theirs.” And the +judgment stood. + +He had barely attained his majority, when the young king was called +upon to judge between another great noble and a widow whom he sued +for 9000 daler, money he claimed to have lent to her husband. In +proof he laid before the judges two bonds bearing the signatures of +husband and wife. The widow denounced them as forgeries, but the +court decided that she must pay. She went straight to the King with +her story, assuring him that she had never heard of the debt. The +King sent for the bonds and upon close scrutiny discovered that one +of them was on paper bearing the water-mark of a mill that was not +built till two years after the date written in the bond. The noble +was arrested and the search of his house brought to light several +similar documents waiting their turn. He went to the scaffold. His +rank only aggravated his offence in the eyes of the King. No wonder +the fame of this judge spread quickly through the land. + +A dozen contented years he reigned in peace, doing justice between +man and man at home. Then the curse of his house gripped him. In +two centuries, since the brief union between the three Scandinavian +kingdoms was broken by the secession of Sweden, only two of sixteen +kings in either country had gone to their rest without ripping +up the old feud. It was now Christian’s turn. The pretext was of +little account: there was always cause enough. Gustav Adolf, whose +father was then on the throne of Sweden, said in after years that +there was no one he had such hearty admiration for and whose friend +he would like so well to be as Christian IV: “The mischief is that +we are neighbors.” King Christian crossed over into Sweden and laid +siege to the strong fortress of Kalmar where he first saw actual +war and showed himself a doughty campaigner of intrepid courage. +It came near costing him his life when a cannoneer with whom he +had often talked on his rounds deserted to the enemy and picked +the King out as his especial target. Twice he killed an officer +attending upon him, but the King he never hit. It is almost a +pleasure to record that when he tried it again, in another fight, +Christian caught him and dealt with him as the traitor he was, +though the rough justice of those days is not pleasant to dwell on. +The besieged tried to create a diversion by sneaking into camp at +night and burying wax images of the King and his generals in the +earth, where they were afterwards found and spread consternation +through the army; for such things were believed to be wrought by +witchcraft and to bring bad luck to those whom they represented. + +However, neither the real courage of the defenders, nor their +dallying with the black art, helped them any. King Christian +stormed the town at the head of his army and took it. The +burgomaster hid in the church, disguised as a priest, and pretended +to be shriving some women when the crash came, but it did not save +him. When the Swedish king came with a host twice the size of his +own, there was a battle royal, but Christian drove him off and laid +siege to the castle where dissension presently arose between the +garrison and its commander who was for surrendering. In the midst +of their noisy quarrel, King Christian was discovered standing upon +the wall, calmly looking on. He had climbed up alone on a rope +ladder which the sentinel let down at his bidding. At the sight +they gave it up and opened the gates, and the King wrote home, +proudly dating his letter from “our castle Kalmar.” + +Its loss so angered the Swedish king who was old and sick, that he +challenged Christian to single combat, without armor. The letters +that passed between them were hardly kingly. King Christian wrote +that he had other things to do: “Better catch a doctor, old man, +and have your head-piece looked after.” Helpless anger killed Karl, +and Gustav Adolf, of whom the world was presently to hear, took the +command and the crown. After that Christian had a harder road to +hoe. + +A foretaste of it came to him when he tried to surprise the +fortress of Gullberg near the present Götaborg. Its commander +was wounded early in the fight, but his wife who took his place +more than filled it. She and her women poured boiling lye upon +the attacking Danes until they lay “like scalded pigs” under the +walls. Their leader knew when he had enough and made off in haste, +with the lady commandant calling after him, “You were a little +unexpected for breakfast, but come back for dinner and we will +receive you properly.” She would not even let them take their +dead away. “Since God gave us luck to kill them,” she said, “we +will manage to bury them too.” They were very pious days after +their own fashion, and God was much on the lips of his servants. +Troubles rarely come singly. Soon after, King Christian met the +enemy unexpectedly and was so badly beaten that for the second time +he had to run for it, though he held out till nearly all his men +had fallen. His horse got mired in a swamp with the pursuers close +behind. The gay and wealthy Sir Christen Barnekow, who had been +last on the field, passed him there, and at once got down and gave +him his horse. It meant giving up his life, and when Sir Christen +could no longer follow the fleeing King he sat down on a rock with +the words, “I give the King my horse, the enemy my life, and God my +soul.” The rock is there yet and the country folk believe that the +red spots in the granite are Christen Barnekow’s blood which all +the years have not availed to wash out. + +They tired of fighting at last and made it up. Sweden paid Denmark +a million daler; for the rest, things stayed as they had been +before. King Christian had shown himself no mean fighter, but the +senseless sacking and burning of town and country that was an ugly +part of those days’ warfare went against his grain, and he tried to +persuade the Swedes to agree to leave that out in future. Gustav +Adolf had not yet grown into the man he afterward became. “As to +the burning,” was his reply, “seeing that it is the usage of war, +and we enemies, why we will each have to do the best we can,” which +meant the worst. Had the two kings, who had much in common, got +together in the years of peace that followed, much misery might +have been saved Denmark, and a black page of history might read +very differently. For those were the days of the Thirty Years’ War, +in which together they might have dictated peace to harassed Europe. + +Now King Christian’s ambition, his piety, for he was a sincerely +religious man, as well as his jealousy of his younger rival and of +the growing power of Sweden—so mixed are human motives—made him +yield to the entreaties of the hard-pressed Protestant princes to +take up alone their cause against the German Emperor. He had tried +for half a dozen years to make peace between them. At last he drew +the sword and went down to force it. After a year of fighting Tilly +and Wallenstein, the Emperor’s great generals, he met the former +in a decisive battle at Lutter-am-Baremberg. King Christian’s army +was beaten and put to rout. He himself fled bareheaded through the +forests of the Hartz Mountains, pursued by the enemy’s horsemen. +It was hardly necessary for the Emperor to make him promise as +the price of peace to keep out of German affairs thenceforth. His +allies had left him to fight it out alone. All their fine speeches +went for nothing when it came to the test, and King Christian rode +back to Denmark, a sadder and wiser man. It was left to Gustav +Adolf, after all, to teach the German generals the lesson they +needed. + +In the years of peace before that unhappy war, Danish trade and +Danish culture had blossomed exceedingly, thanks to the wisdom, +the clever management, and untiring industry of the King. He +built factories, cloth-mills, silk-mills, paper-mills, dammed the +North Sea out from the rich marshlands with great dikes, taught +the farmers profitable ways of tilling their fields; for he was a +wondrous manager for whom nothing was too little and nothing too +big. He kept minute account of his children’s socks and little +shirts, and found ways of providing money for his war-ships and +for countless building schemes he had in hand both in Denmark and +Norway. For many of them he himself drew the plans. Wherever one +goes to this day, his monogram, which heads this story, stares +at him from the splendid buildings he erected. The Bourse in +Copenhagen and the Round Tower, the beautiful palace of Rosenborg, +a sort of miniature of his beloved Frederiksborg which also he +rebuilt on a more magnificent scale—these are among his works +which every traveller in the North knows. He built more cities +and strongholds than those who went before or came after him for +centuries. Christiania and Christiansand in Norway bear his name. +He laid out a whole quarter of Copenhagen for his sailors, and +the quaint little houses still serve that purpose. Regentsen, a +dormitory for poor students at the university, was built by him. +He created seven new chairs of learning and saw to it that all +the professors got better pay. He ferreted out and dismissed in +disgrace all the grafting officials in Norway, and administered +justice with an even hand. At the same time he burned witches +without end, or let it be done for their souls’ sake. That was +the way of his time; and when he needed fireworks for his son’s +wedding (he made them himself, too), he sent around to all the old +cloisters and cathedral churches for the old parchments they had. +Heaven only knows what treasures that can never be replaced went up +in fire and smoke for that one night’s fun. + +King Christian founded a score of big trading companies to +exploit the East, taking care that their ships should have their +bulwarks pierced for at least six guns, so that they might serve +as war-ships in time of need. He sent one expedition after another +to the waters of Greenland in search of the Northwest Passage. +It was on the fourth of these, in 1619, that Jens Munk with two +ships and sixty-four sailors was caught in the ice of Hudson Bay +and compelled to winter there. One after another the crew died of +hunger and scurvy. When Jens Munk himself crept out from what he +had thought his death-bed, he found only two of them all alive. +Together they burrowed in the snow, digging for roots until spring +came when they managed to make their way down to Bergen in the +smallest of the two vessels. Jens Munk had deserved a better end +than he got. He spun his yarns so persistently at court that he +got to be a tiresome bore, and at last one day the King told him +that he had no time to listen to him. Whereat the veteran took +great umbrage and, slapping his sword, let the King know that he +had served him well and was entitled to better treatment. Christian +snatched the weapon in anger and struck him with the scabbard. The +sailor never got over it. “He withered away and died,” says the +tradition. It was the old superstition; but whether that killed him +or not, the King lost a good man in Jens Munk. + +He was not averse to hearing the truth, though, when boldly put. +When Ole Vind, a popular preacher, offended some of the nobles +by his plain speech and they complained to the King, he bade him +to the court and told him to preach the same sermon over. Master +Vind was game and the truths he told went straight home, for he +knew well where the shoe pinched. But King Christian promptly made +him court preacher. “He is the kind we need here,” he said. There +was never a day that the King did not devoutly read his Bible, +and he was determined that everybody should read it the same way. +The result was a kind of Puritanism that filled the churches and +compelled the employment of men to go around with long sticks to +rap the people on the head when they fell asleep. Christian the +Fourth was not the first ruler who has tried to herd men into +heaven by battalions. But his people would have gladly gone in the +fire for him. He was their friend. When on his tramps, as likely +as not he would come home sitting beside some peasant on his +load of truck, and would step off at the palace gate with a “So +long, thanks for good company!” He was everywhere, interested in +everything. In his walking-stick he carried a foot-rule, a level, +and other tools, and would stop at the bench of a workman in the +navy-yard and test his work to see how well he was doing it. “I +can lie down and sleep in any hut in the land,” was his contented +boast. And he would have been safe anywhere. + +Gustav Adolf was a wise and generous foe. While he lived he refused +to listen to proposals for the partition of Denmark after King +Christian’s defeat in Germany. He knew well that she was a barrier +against the ambition of the German princes and that, once she was +out of the way, Sweden’s turn would come next. But when he had +fallen on the battle-field of Lützen, and his generals, following +in his footsteps, had achieved fame and lands and the freedom +of worship for which he gave his life, the Swedish statesmen +lost their heads and dreamed of the erection of a great northern +Protestant state by the conquest of Denmark and Norway, to balance +the power of the German empire. Without warning or declaration of +war a great army was thrown into the Danish peninsula from the +south. Another advanced from Sweden upon the eastern provinces, and +a fleet hired in Holland for Swedish money came through the North +Sea to help them over to the Danish islands. If the two armies +met, Denmark was lost. In Swedish harbors a still bigger fleet was +fitting out for the Baltic. + +King Christian was well up in the sixties, worn with the tireless +activities of a long reign; but once more he proved himself greater +than adversity. When the evil tidings reached him, in the midst +of profound peace, the enemy was already within the gates. The +country lay prostrate. The name of Torstenson, the Swedish general, +spread terror wherever it was heard. In the German campaigns he had +been known as the “Swedish Lightning.” Beset on every side, never +had Denmark’s need been greater. The one man who did not lose his +head was her king. By his personal example he put heart into the +people and shamed the cowardly nobles. He borrowed money wherever +he could, sent his own silver to the mint, crowded the work in the +navy-yard by night and by day, gathered an army, and hurried with +it to the Sounds where the enemy might cross. When the first ships +were ready he sailed around the Skaw to meet the Dutch hirelings. +“I am old and stiff,” he said, “and no good any more to fight on +land. But I can manage the ships.” + +And he did. He met the Dutchmen in the North Sea, in under the +Danish coast, and whipped them, almost single-handed, for his own +ship _Trefoldigheden_ was for a long while the only one that wind +and tide would let come up with them. That done, he left one of his +captains to watch lest they come out from among the islands where +their ships of shallower draught had sought refuge, and sailed for +Copenhagen. Everything that could carry sail was ready for him +by that time; also the news that the Swedish fleet of forty-six +fighting ships under Klas Fleming had sailed for the coast of +Holstein to take on board Torstenson’s army. + +King Christian lost no time. He hoisted his flag on +_Trefoldigheden_ and made after them with thirty-nine ships, vowing +that he would win this fight or die. At Kolberger Heide, the water +outside the Fjord of Kiel, he caught up with them and attacked at +once. The battle that then ensued is the one of which the poet +sings and with which the name of Christian IV is forever linked. + +At the outset the Danish fleet was in great peril. The Swedes +fought gallantly as was their wont, and they were three or four +against one, for most of the King’s ships came up slowly, some of +them purposely, so it seems. The King said after the battle of +certain of his captains, “They used me as a screen between them +and the enemy.” His own ship and that of his chief admiral’s bore +the brunt of the battle for a long time. _Trefoldigheden_ fired +315 shots during the engagement, and at one time had four hostile, +ships clustering about her. King Christian was on the quarter-deck +when a cannon-ball shivered the bulwark and one of his guns, +throwing a shower of splintered iron and wood over him and those +near him, killing and wounding twelve of the crew. The King himself +fell, stunned and wounded in twenty-three places. His right eye was +knocked out, two of his teeth, and his left ear hung in shreds. + +The cry was raised that the King was dead and panic spread on +board. The story has it that a sailor was sent aloft to strike the +flag but purposely entangled it in the rigging so that it could not +fall; he could not bear to see the King’s ship strike its colors. +In the midst of the tumult the aged monarch rose to his feet, torn +and covered with blood. “I live yet,” he cried, “and God has left +me strength to fight on for my country. Let every man do his duty.” +Leaning on his sword, he led the fight until darkness fell and the +battle was won. Denmark was saved. The danger of an invasion was +averted. In the palace of Rosenborg the priceless treasure they +show to visitors is the linen cloth, all blood-stained, that bound +the King’s face as he fought and won his last and biggest fight +that day. + +[Illustration: CHRISTIAN IV AT THE BATTLE OF KOLBERGER HEIDE] + +Half blind, his body black and blue and sore from many bruises, +King Christian yet refused to sail for Copenhagen to have his +wounds attended. Three weeks he lay watching the narrow inlet +behind which the beaten enemy was hiding, to destroy his ships +when he came out. Then he gave over the command to another and +hastened to the province of Skaane on the Swedish mainland, from +which he expelled a hostile army. But when his back was turned, the +men he had set to watch fell asleep and let the Swedish admiral +steal out into the open. There he found and joined the Dutch ships +that had slipped around the Skaw during the rumpus. Together they +overwhelmed the Danish fleet, being now three to one, and crushed +it. The slothful admiral paid for it with his life, but the harm +was done. It was the last and heaviest blow. The old King sheathed +his sword and set his name to a peace that took from Denmark some +of her ancient provinces, with the bitter sigh: “God knows I had +no share in this,” and he had not. Even at the last he appealed +to the country to try the fortunes of war with him once more. The +people were willing, but the nobles wanted peace, “however God +send it,” and he had to yield. The treaty was made at Brömsebro, +where a bridge crossed the river dividing the two kingdoms. In +the middle of the river was an island and the negotiations were +carried on in a tent erected there, the French and the Dutch being +the arbitrators. The envoys of Sweden and Denmark sat on opposite +sides of the boundary post where the line cut through, each on the +soil of his own country. So bitterly did they hate one another that +they did not speak but wrote their messages, though they could have +shaken hands where they sat. Even that was too close quarters, and +they ended up by negotiating at second hand through the foreign +ambassadors, all at the same table, but each looking straight past +the other as if he were not there. + +Another touch of comedy relieves the gloom of that heavy day. It +was the conquest of the Särnadal, a mountain valley in Norway +just over the Swedish frontier, by Pastor Buschovius who, Bible +in hand, at the head of two hundred ski-men invaded and captured +it one winter’s day without a blow. He came over the snow-fields +into the valley that had not seen a preacher in many a long day, +had the church bells rung to summon the people, preached to them, +married and christened them, and gave them communion. The simple +mountaineers had hardly heard of the war and had nothing against +their neighbors over the mountain. They joined Sweden then and +there at the request of the preacher, and they stayed Swedes too, +for in the final muster they were forgotten with their valley. Very +likely the treaty-makers did not know that it existed. + +King Christian died four years later, in 1648, past the three score +and ten allotted to man. He was not a great leader like Gustav +Adolf, and he was very human in some of his failings. But he was a +strong man, a just king, and a father of his people who still cling +to his memory with more than filial affection. + + + + +GUSTAV ADOLF, THE SNOW-KING + + +The city of Prague, the capital of Bohemia, went wild with +excitement one spring morning in the year 1618. The Protestant +Estates of Germany had met there to protest against the aggressions +of the Catholic League and the bad faith of the Emperor, who +had guaranteed freedom of worship in the land and had now sent +two envoys to defy the meeting and declare it illegal. In the +old castle they delivered their message and bade the convention +disperse; and the delegates, when they had heard, seized them and +their clerk and threw them out of the window “in good old Bohemian +fashion.” They fell seventy feet and escaped almost without a +scratch, which fact was accepted by the Catholics of that strenuous +day as proof of their miraculous preservation; by the Protestants +as evidence that the devil ever takes care of his own. + +It was the tiny spark that set Europe on fire. Out of it grew +the Thirty Years’ War, the most terrible that ever scourged the +civilized world. When Catholic League and Evangelical Union first +mustered their armies, Bohemia had a prosperous population of four +million souls; when the war was over there were less than eight +hundred thousand alive in that unhappy land, and the wolves that +roamed its forests were scarcely more ferocious than the human +starvelings who skulked among the smoking ruins of burned towns and +hamlets. Other states fared little better. Two centuries did not +wipe out the blight of those awful years when rapine and murder, +inspired by bigotry and hate, ran riot in the name of religion. + +In the gloom and horror of it all a noble figure stands forth +alone. It were almost worth the sufferings of a Thirty Years’ War +for the world to have gained a Gustav Adolf. The “snow-king” the +Emperor’s generals named him when he first appeared on German soil +at the head of his army of Northmen, and they prophesied that he +would speedily melt, once the southern sun shone upon his host. +They little knew the man. He went from victory to victory, less +because he was the greatest general of his day than because he, and +all his army with him, believed himself charged by the Almighty +with the defence of his country and of his faith. The Emperor had +attacked both, the first by attempting to extend his dominion to +the Baltic; but Pommerania and the Baltic provinces were regarded +by the Swedish ruler as the outworks of his kingdom; and Sweden was +Protestant. Hence he drew the sword. “Our brethren in the faith are +sighing for deliverance from spiritual and bodily thraldom,” he +said to his people. “Please God, they shall not sigh long.” That +was his warrant. Axel Oxenstjerna, his friend and right hand who +lived to finish his work, said of him, “He felt himself impelled by +a mighty spirit which he was unable to resist.” As warrior, king, +and man, he was head and shoulders above his time. Gustav Adolf +saved religious liberty to the world. He paid the price with his +life, but he would have asked no better fate. A soldier of God, +he met a soldier’s death on the field of battle, in the hour of +victory. + +A man of destiny he was to his people as to himself. Long years +before his birth, upon the appearance of the comet of 1577, Tycho +Brahe, the astronomer, who was deep in the occultism of his day, +had predicted that a prince would appear in Finland who would do +great things in Germany and deliver the Protestant peoples from the +oppression of the popes, and the prophecy was applied to Gustav +Adolf by his subjects all through his life. He was born on December +9, 1594, old style, as they still reckon time in Russia. Very early +he showed the kind of stuff he was made of. When he was yet almost +a baby he was told that there were snakes in the park, and showed +fight at once: “Give me a stick and I will kill them.” With the +years he grew into a handsome youth who read his books, knew his +Seneca by heart, was fond of the poets and the great orators, and +mastered eight languages, living and dead. At seventeen he buckled +on the sword and put the books away, but kept Xenophon as his +friend; for he was a military historian after his own heart. He was +then Duke of Finland. + +The King, his father, was a stern but observant man who, seeing +his bent, threw him with soldiers to his heart’s content, glad to +have it so, for it was a warlike age. From his tenth year he let +him sit in council with him and early delegated to him the duty of +answering ambassadors from foreign countries. The lad was the only +one who dared oppose the king when he was in a temper, and often he +made peace and healed wounds struck in anger. The people worshipped +the fair young prince, and his father, when he felt the palsy of +old age and bodily infirmities creeping upon him and thought of +his unfinished tasks, would murmur as his eyes rested upon the +bonny youth: “_Ille faciet_—He will do it.” There is still in +existence a document in which he laid down to him his course as a +sovereign. “First of all,” he writes, “you shall fear God and honor +your father and mother. Give your brothers and sisters brotherly +affection; love your father’s faithful servants and requite them +after their due. Be gracious to your subjects; punish evil and love +the good. Believe in men, but find out first what is in them. Hold +by the law without respect of person.” + +It was good advice to a prince, and the king took it to heart. On +the docket of the Supreme Court at Stockholm is a letter written +by Gustav Adolf to the judges and ordered by him to be entered +there, which tells them plainly that if any of them is found +perverting justice to suit him, the King, or any one else, he will +have him flayed alive and his hide nailed to the judgment-seat, +his ears to the pillory! Not a nice way of talking to dignified +judges, perhaps, but then the prescription was intended to suit the +practice, if there was need. + +The young king earned his spurs in a war with Denmark that came +near being his last as it was his first campaign. He and his +horsemen were surprised by the Danes on a winter’s night as they +were warming themselves by a fire built of the pews in the Wittsjö +church, and they cut their way through only after a desperate fight +on the frozen lake. The ice broke under the king’s horse and he was +going down when two of his men caught him in the nick of time. He +got away with the loss of his sword, his pistols, and his gloves. +“I will remember you with a crust that shall do for your bairns +too,” he promised one of his rescuers, a stout peasant lad, and he +kept his word. Thomas Larssön’s descendants a generation ago still +tilled the farm the King gave him. When the trouble with Denmark +was over for the time being, he settled old scores with Russia and +Poland in a way that left Sweden mistress of the Baltic. In the +Polish war he was wounded twice and was repeatedly in peril of his +life. Once he was shot in the neck, and, as the bullet could not +be removed, it ever after troubled him to wear armor. His officers +pleaded with him to spare himself, but his reply was that Cæsar and +Alexander did not skulk behind the lines; a general must lead if he +expected his men to follow. + +In this campaign he met the League’s troops, sent to chase him back +to his own so that Wallenstein, the leader of the imperial armies, +might be “General of the Baltic Sea,” unmolested. “Go to Poland,” +he commanded one of his lieutenants, “and drive the snow-king out; +or else tell him that I shall come and do it myself.” The proud +soldier never knew how near he came to entertaining the snow-king +as his unwilling guest then. In a fight between his rear-guard and +the imperial army Gustav Adolf was disarmed and taken prisoner by +two troopers. There was another prisoner who had kept his pistol. +He handed it to the King behind his back and with it he shot one +of his captors and brained the other. For all that they nearly got +him. He saved himself only by wriggling out of his belt and leaving +it in the hands of the enemy. Eight years he campaigned in Poland +and Prussia, learning the arts of war. Then he was ready for his +life-work. He made a truce with Poland that freed his hands for a +season, and went home to Sweden. + +That spring (1629) he laid before the Swedish Estates his plan +of freeing the Protestants. To defend Sweden, he declared, was +to defend her faith, and the Estates voted supplies for the +war. To gauge fully the splendid courage of the nation it must +be remembered that the whole kingdom, including Finland, had +a population of only a million and a half at the time and was +preparing to attack the mighty Roman empire. In the first year of +the war the Swedish budget was thirteen millions of dollars, of +which nine and a half went for armaments. The whole army which +Gustav Adolf led into Germany numbered only 14,000 soldiers, but +it was made up of Swedish veterans led by men whose names were to +become famous for all time, and welded together by an unshakable +belief in their commander, a rigid discipline and a religious +enthusiasm that swayed master and men with a common impulse. Such a +combination has in all days proven irresistible. + +The King’s farewell to his people—he was never to see Sweden +again—moved a nation to tears. He spoke to the nobles, the clergy +and to the people, admonishing them to stand together in the hard +years that were coming and gave them all into the keeping of God. +They stood on the beach and watched his ships sail into the sunset +until they were swallowed up in glory. Then they went back home to +take up the burden that was their share. On the Rügen shore the +King knelt with his men and thanked God for having brought them +safe across the sea, then seized a spade, and himself turned the +first sod in the making of a camp. “Who prays well, fights well,” +he said. + +He was not exactly hospitably received. The old Duke of Pommerania +would have none of him, begged him to go away, and only when the +King pointed to his guns and hinted that he had keys well able to +open the gates of Stettin, his capital, did he give in and promise +help. The other German princes, with one or two exceptions, were +as cravenly short-sighted. They held meetings and denounced the +Emperor and his lawless doings, but Gustav they would not help. +The princes of Brandenburg and of Saxony, the two Protestant +Electors of the empire, were rather disposed to hinder him, if they +might, though Brandenburg was his brother-in-law. Only when the +King threatened to burn the city of Berlin over his head did he +listen. While he was yet laboring with them, recruiting his army +and keeping it in practice by driving the enemy out of Pommerania, +news reached him of the fall of Magdeburg, the strongest city in +northern Germany, that had of its own free will joined his cause. + +The sacking of Magdeburg is one of the black deeds of history. In +a night the populous city was reduced to a heap of smoking ruins +under which twenty thousand men, women, and children lay buried. +Not since the fall of Jerusalem, said Pappenheim, Tilly’s famous +cavalry leader to whom looting and burning were things of every +day, had so awful a visitation befallen a town. Only the great +cathedral and a few houses near it were left standing. The history +of warfare of the Christian peoples of that day reads like a horrid +nightmare. The fighting armies left a trail of black desolation +where they passed. “They are not made up of birds that feed on +air,” sneered Tilly. Peaceful husbandmen were murdered, the young +women dragged away to worse than slavery, and helpless children +spitted upon the lances of the wild landsknechts and tossed with a +laugh into the blazing ruins of their homes. But no such foul blot +cleaves to the memory of Gustav Adolf. While he lived his men were +soldiers, not demons. In his tent the work of Hugo Grotius on the +rights of the nations in war and peace lay beside the Bible and +he knew them both by heart. When he was gone, the fame of some of +his greatest generals was smirched by as vile orgies as Tilly’s +worst days had witnessed. It is told of John Banér, one of the most +brilliant of them, that he demanded ransom of the city of Prix, +past which his way led. The city fathers permitted themselves an +untimely jest: “Prix giebt nichts—Prix gives nothing,” they said. +Banér was as brief: “Prix wird zu nichts—Prix comes to nothing,” +and his army wiped it out. + +Grief and anger almost choked the King when he heard of Magdeburg’s +fate. “I will avenge that on the Old Corporal (Tilly’s nickname),” +he cried, “if it costs my life.” Without further ado he forced the +two Electors to terms and joined the Saxon army to his own. On +September 7, 1631, fifteen months after he had landed in Germany, +he met Tilly face to face at Breitenfeld, a village just north +of Leipzig. The Emperor’s host in its brave show of silver and +plumes and gold, the plunder of many campaigns under its invincible +leader, looked with contempt upon the travel-worn Swedes in their +poor, soiled garb. The stolid Finns sat their mean but wiry little +horses very unlike Pappenheim’s dreaded Walloons, descendants of +the warlike Belgæ of Gaul who defied the Germans of old in the +forest of the Ardennes and joined Cæsar in his victorious march. +But Tilly himself was not deceived. He knew how far this enemy had +come and with what hardships cheerfully borne; how they had routed +the Russians, written laws for the Poles in their own land, and +overthrown armies and forts that barred their way. He would wait +for reënforcements; but his generals egged him on, said age had +made him timid and slow, and carried the day. + +The King slept in an empty cart the night before the battle and +dreamed that he wrestled with Tilly and threw him, but that he tore +his breast with his teeth. When all was ready in the morning he +rode along the front and told his fusiliers not to shoot till they +saw the white in the enemy’s eyes, the horsemen not to dull their +swords by hacking the helmets of the Walloons: “Cut at their horses +and they will go down with them.” In the pause before the onset he +prayed with head uncovered and lowered sword, and his voice carried +to the farthest lines: + +“Thou, God, in whose hands are victory and defeat, look graciously +upon thy servants. From distant lands and peaceful homes have we +come to battle for freedom, truth and thy gospel. Give us victory +for thy holy name’s sake, Amen!” + +Tilly had expected the King to attack, but the fiery Pappenheim +upset his plans. The smoke of the guns drifted in the faces of the +Swedes and the King swung his army to the south to get the wind +right. In making the turn they had to cross a brook and this moment +Pappenheim chose for his charge. Like a thunderbolt his Walloons +fell upon them. The Swedish fire mowed them down like ripened grain +and checked their impetuous rush. They tried to turn the King’s +right and so outflank him; but the army turned with them and stood +like a rock. The extreme mobility of his forces was Gustav Adolf’s +great advantage in his campaigns. He revised the book of military +tactics up to date. The imperial troops were massed in solid +columns, after the old Spanish fashion, the impact of which was +hard to resist when they struck. The King’s, on the contrary, moved +in smaller bodies, quickly thrown upon the point of danger, and +his artillery was so distributed among them as to make every shot +tell on the compact body of the enemy. Whichever way Pappenheim +turned he found a firm front, bristling with guns, opposing him. +Seven times he threw himself upon the living wall; each time his +horsemen were flung back, their lines thinned and broken. The field +was strewn with their dead. Tilly, anxiously watching, threw up his +hands in despair. “This man will lose me honor and fame, and the +Emperor his lands,” he cried. The charge ended in wild flight, and +Tilly saw that he must himself attack, to turn the tide. + +On the double-quick his columns of spearmen charged down the +heights, swept the Saxons from the field, and fell upon the Swedish +left. The shock was tremendous. General Gustav Horn gave back to +let his second line come up, and held the ground stubbornly against +fearful odds. Word was brought the King of his danger. With the +right wing that had crushed Pappenheim he hurried to the rescue. +In the heat of the fight the armies had changed position, and +the Swedes found themselves climbing the hill upon which Tilly’s +artillery was posted. Seeing this, the King made one of the rapid +movements that more than once won him the day. Raising the cry, +“Remember Magdeburg!” he carried the position with his Finns by a +sudden overwhelming assault, and turned the guns upon the dense +masses of the enemy fighting below. + +In vain they stormed the heights. Both wings and the centre closed +in upon them, and the day was lost. Tilly fled, wounded, and +narrowly escaped capture. A captain in the Swedish army, who was +called Long Fritz because of his great height, was at his heels +hammering him on the head with the butt of his pistol. A staff +officer shot him down in passing, and freed his chief. Twilight +fell upon a battle-field where seven thousand men lay dead, +two-thirds of them the flower of the Emperor’s army. Blood-stained +and smoke-begrimed, Gustav Adolf and his men knelt on the field and +thanked God for the victory. + +Had the King’s friend and adviser, Axel Oxenstjerna, been with him +he might have marched upon Vienna then, leaving the Protestant +Estates to settle their own affairs, and very likely have ended the +war. Gustav Adolf thought of Tilly who would return with another +army. Oxenstjerna saw farther, weighing things upon the scales of +the diplomatist. + +“How think you we would fare,” asked the King once, when the +chancellor saw obstacles in their way which he would brush aside, +“if my fire did not thaw the chill in you?” + +“But for my chill cooling your Majesty’s fire,” was his friend’s +retort, “you would have long since been burned up.” The King +laughed and owned that he was right. + +Instead of bearding the Emperor in his capital he turned toward the +Rhine where millions of Protestants were praying for his coming and +where his army might find rest and abundance. The cathedral city +of Wuerzburg he took by storm. The bishop who ruled it fled at his +approach, but the full treasury of the Jesuits fell into his hands. +The Madonna of beaten gold and the twelve solid silver apostles, +famous throughout Europe, were sent to the mint and coined into +money to pay his army. In the cellar they found chests filled with +ducats. The bottom fell out of one as they carried it up and the +gold rolled out on the pavement. The soldiers swarmed to pick it +up, but a good many coins stuck to their pockets. The King saw it +and laughed: “Since you have them, boys, keep them.” The dead were +still lying in the castle yard after the siege, a number of monks +among them. The color of some of them seemed high for corpses. +“Arise from the dead,” he said waggishly, “no one will hurt you,” +and the frightened monks got upon their feet and scampered away. + +Frankfort opened its gates to his victorious host and Nürnberg +received him as a heaven-sent liberator. But Tilly was in the field +with a fresh army, burning to avenge Breitenfeld. He had surprised +General Horn at Bamberg and beaten him. At the approach of the King +he camped where the river Lech joins the Danube, awaiting attack. +There was but one place to cross to get at him, and right there he +stood. The king seized Donauworth and Ulm, and under cover of the +fire of seventy guns threw a bridge across the Lech. Three hundred +Finns carrying picks and spades ran across the shaky planks upon +which the fire of Tilly’s whole artillery park was concentrated. +Once across, they burrowed in the ground like moles and, with +bullets raining upon them, threw up earthworks for shelter. Squad +after squad of volunteers followed. Duke Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar +swam his horsemen across the river farther up-stream and took the +Bavarian troops in the flank, beating them back far enough to let +him join the Finns at the landing. The King himself was directing +the artillery on the other shore, aiming the guns with his own +hand. The Walloons, Tilly’s last hope, charged, but broke under the +withering fire. In desperation the old field-marshal seized the +standard and himself led the forlorn hope. Half-way to the bridge +he fell, one leg shattered by a cannon-ball, and panic seized his +men. The imperialists fled in the night, carrying their wounded +leader. He died on the march soon after. Men said of him that he +had served his master well. + +The snow-king had not melted in the south. He was master of the +Roman empire from the Baltic to the Alps. The way to Austria and +Italy lay open before him. Protestant princes crowded to do him +homage, offering him the imperial crown. But Gustav Adolf did +not lose his head. Toward the humbled Catholics he showed only +forbearance and toleration. In Munich he visited the college of +the Jesuits, and spoke long with the rector in the Latin tongue, +assuring him of their safety as long as they kept from politics and +plotting. The armory in that city was known to be the best stocked +in all Europe and the King’s surprise was great when he found +gun-carriages in plenty, but not a single cannon. Looking about +him, he saw evidence that the floor had been hastily relaid and +remembered the “dead” monks at Würzburg. He had it taken up and a +dark vault appeared. The King looked into it. + +“Arise!” he called out, “and come to judgment,” and amid shouts of +laughter willing hands brought out a hundred and forty good guns, +welcome reënforcements. + +The ignorant Bavarian peasants had been told that the King was +the very anti-Christ, come to harass the world for its sins, and +carried on a cruel guerilla warfare upon his army. They waylaid the +Swedes by night on their foraging trips and maimed and murdered +those they caught with fiendish tortures. The bitterest anger +filled Gustav Adolf’s soul when upon his entry into Landshut the +burgomaster knelt at his stirrup asking mercy for his city. + +“Pray not to me,” he said harshly, “but to God for yourself and for +your people, for in truth you have need.” + +For once thoughts of vengeance seemed to fill his soul. “No, no!” +he thundered when the frightened burgomaster pleaded that his +townsmen should not be held accountable for the cruelty of the +country folk, “you are beasts, not men, and deserve to be wiped +from the earth with fire and sword.” From out the multitude there +came a warning voice: “Will the King now abandon the path of mercy +for the way of vengeance and visit his wrath upon these innocent +people?” No one saw the speaker. The day was oppressively hot +and the King came near fainting in the saddle. As he rode out of +the city toward the camp, a bolt of lightning struck the ground +beside him and a mighty crash of thunder rolled overhead. Pale +and thoughtful, he rode on. But Landshut was spared. That evening +General Horn brought the anxious citizens the King’s promise of +pardon. + +A few weeks later tidings reached Gustav Adolf that Wallenstein +and the Elector of Bavaria were marching to effect a junction +at Nürnberg. If they took the city, his line of communication +was cut and his army threatened. Wallenstein, who was a traitor, +had been in disgrace; but he was a great general and in his dire +need Emperor Ferdinand had no one else to turn to. So he took him +back on his own terms, and in the spring he had an army of forty +thousand veterans in the field. This was the host he was leading +against Nürnberg. But the King got there first and intrenched +himself so strongly that there was no ousting him. Wallenstein +followed suit and for eleven weeks the enemies eyed one another +from their “lagers,” neither willing to risk an attack. In the +end Gustav Adolf tried, but even his Finns could not take the +impregnable heights the enemy held. At last he went away with +colors flying and bands playing, right under the enemy’s walls, in +the hope of tempting him out. But he never stirred. + +When Wallenstein was sure he had gone, he burned his camp and +turned toward Saxony to punish the Elector for joining the Swedes. +A wail of anguish went up from that unhappy land and the King heard +it clear across the country. By forced marches he hurried to the +rescue of his ally, picking up Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar on the way. +At Naumburg the people crowded about him and sought to kiss or even +to touch his garments. The King looked sadly at them. “They put +their trust in me, poor weak mortal, as if I were the Almighty. +It may be that He will punish their folly soon upon the object +of their senseless idolatry.” He had come to stay, but when he +learned that Wallenstein had sent Pappenheim away to the west, thus +weakening his army, and was going into winter quarters at Lützen, +near Leipzig, a half-day’s march from the memorable Breitenfeld, he +broke camp at once and hastened to attack him. Starting early, his +army reached Lützen at nightfall on November 15, 1632. + +Wallenstein believed the campaign was over for that year and the +Swedes in winter quarters, and was taken completely by surprise. +Had the King given battle that night, he would have wiped the enemy +out. Two things, in themselves of little account, delayed him: a +small brook that crossed his path, and the freshly plowed fields. +His men were tired after the long march and he decided to let them +rest. It was Wallenstein’s chance. Overnight he posted his army +north of the highway that leads from Lützen to Leipzig, dug deep +the ditches that enclosed it, and made breastworks of the dirt. +Sunrise found sheltered behind them twenty-seven thousand seasoned +veterans to whom Gustav Adolf could oppose but twenty thousand; but +he had more guns and they were better served. + +As the day broke the Swedish army, drawn up in battle array, +intoned Luther’s hymn, “A mighty fortress is our God,” and cheered +the King. He wore a leathern doublet and a gray mantle. To the +pleadings of his officers that he put on armor he replied only, +“God is my armor.” “To-day,” he cried as he rode along the lines, +“will end all our hardships.” He himself took command of the right +wing, the gallant Duke Bernhard of the left. As at Breitenfeld, the +rallying cry was, “God with us!” + +The King hoped to crush his enemy utterly, and the whole line +attacked at once with great fury. From the start victory leaned +toward the Swedish army. Then suddenly in the wild tumult of +battle a heavy fog settled upon the field. What followed was all +confusion. No one knows the rights of it to this day. The King led +his famous yellow and blue regiments against the enemy’s left. +“The black fellows there,” he shouted, pointing to the Emperor’s +cuirassiers in their black armor, “attack them!” Just then an +adjutant reported that his infantry was hard-pressed. “Follow me,” +he commanded, and, clapping spurs to his horse, set off at full +speed for the threatened quarter. In the fog he lost his way and +ran into the cuirassiers. His two attendants were shot down and a +bullet crushed the King’s right arm. He tried to hide the fact that +he was wounded, but pain and loss of blood made him faint and he +asked the Duke of Lauenburg who rode with him to help him out of +the crush. At that moment a fresh troop of horsemen bore down upon +them and their leader, Moritz von Falkenberg, shot the King through +the body with the exultant cry, “You I have long sought!” The words +had hardly left his lips when he fell with a bullet through his +head. + +The King swayed in the saddle and lost the reins. “Save yourself,” +he whispered to the Duke, “I am done for.” The Duke put his arm +around him to support him, but the cuirassiers surged against them +and tore them apart. The King’s horse was shot in the neck and +threw its rider. Awhile he hung by the stirrup and was dragged +over the trampled field. Then the horse shook itself free and ran +through the lines, spreading the tidings of the King’s fall afar. + +A German page, Leubelfing, a lad of eighteen, was alone with the +King. He sprang from his horse and tried to help him into the +saddle but had not the strength to do it. Gustav Adolf was stout +and very heavy. While he was trying to lift him some Croats rode up +and demanded the name of the wounded man. The page held his tongue, +and they ran him through. Gustav Adolf, to save him, said that +he was the King.[12] At that they shot him through the head, and +showered blows upon him. When the body was found in the night it +was naked. They had robbed and stripped him. + +The King was dead. Through the Swedish ranks Duke Bernhard shouted +the tidings. “Who now cares to live? Forward, to avenge his death!” +With the blind fury of the Berserkers of old the Swedes cleared +the ditches, stormed the breastworks, and drove the foe in a panic +before them. The Duke’s arm was broken by a bullet. He hardly knew +it. With his regiment he rode down the crew of one of the enemy’s +batteries and swept on. In the midst of it all a cry resounded over +the plain that made the runaways halt and turn back. + +“Pappenheim! Pappenheim is here!” + +He had come with his Walloons in answer to the general’s summons. +“Where is the King?” he asked, and they pointed to the Finnish +brigade. With a mighty crash the two hosts that had met so often +before came together. Wallenstein mustered his scattered forces and +the King’s army was attacked from three sides at once. The yellow +brigade fell where it stood almost to the last man. The blue fared +little better. Slowly the Swedish infantry gave back. The battle +seemed lost. + +But the tide turned once more. In the hottest fight Pappenheim +fell, pierced by three bullets. The “man of a hundred scars” +died, exulting that the King whom he hated had gone before. With +his death the Emperor’s men lost heart. The Swedes charged again +and again with unabated fury. Night closed in with Wallenstein’s +centre still unbroken; but he had lost all his guns. Under cover +of the darkness he made his escape. The King’s army camped upon +the battle-field. The carnage had been fearful; nine thousand were +slain. It was Wallenstein’s last fight. With the remnants of his +army he retreated to Bohemia, sick and sore, and spent his last +days there plotting against his master. He died by an assassin’s +hand. + +The cathedrals of Vienna, Brussels, and Madrid rang with joyful +Te Deums at the news of the King’s death. The Spanish capital +celebrated the “triumph” with twelve days of bull-fighting. Emperor +Ferdinand was better than his day; he wept at the sight of the +King’s blood-stained jacket. The Protestant world trembled; its +hope and strength were gone. But the Swedish people, wiping away +their tears, resolved stoutly to carry on Gustav Adolf’s work. The +men he had trained led his armies to victory on yet many a stricken +field. Peace came at length to Europe; the last religious war had +been fought and won. Freedom of worship, liberty of conscience, +were bought at the cost of the kingliest head that ever wore a +crown. The great ruler’s life-work was done. + +Gustav Adolf was in his thirty-eighth year when he fell. Of stature +he was tall and stout, a fair-haired, blue-eyed giant, stern in +war, gentle in the friendships of peace. He was a born ruler of +men. Though he was away fighting in foreign lands all the years of +his reign, he kept a firm grasp on the home affairs of his kingdom. +One traces his hand everywhere, ordering, shaping, finding ways, or +making them where there was none. The valuable mines of Sweden were +ill managed. The metal was exported in coarse pigs to Germany for +very little, worked up there, and resold to Sweden at the highest +price. He created a Board of Mines, established smelteries, and the +day came when, instead of going abroad for its munitions of war, +Sweden had for its customers half Europe. Like Christian of Denmark +with whom he disagreed, he encouraged industries and greatly +furthered trade and commerce. He built highways and canals, and he +did not forget the cause of instruction. Upon the university at +Upsala he bestowed his entire personal patrimony of three hundred +and thirteen farms as a free gift. His people honor him with cause +as the real founder of the Swedish system of education. + +The master he was always. Sweden had, on one hand, a powerful, +able nobility; on the other, a strong, independent peasantry,—a +combination full of pitfalls for a weak ruler, but with equal +promise of great things under the master hand. His father had cowed +the stubborn nobles with the headsman’s axe. Gustav Adolf drew +them to him and imbued them with his own spirit. He found them a +contentious party within the state; he left them its strongest +props in the conduct of public affairs. Nor was it always with +persuasion he worked. His reward for the unjust judge has been +quoted. When the council failed to send him supplies in Germany, +pleading failure of crops as their excuse, he wrote back: “You +speak of the high prices of corn. Probably they are high because +those who have it want to profit by the need of others.” And he set +a new chief over the finances. On the other hand, he gave shape +to the relations between king and people. The Riksdag held its +sessions, but the laws that ruled it were so vague that it was no +unusual thing for men who were not members at all to attend and +join in the debates. Gustav Adolf put an abrupt end to “a state +of things that exposed Sweden to the contempt of the nations.” +As he ordered it, the initiative remained with the crown; it was +the right of the Riksdag to complain and discuss; of the King to +“choose the best” after hearing all sides. + +As a young prince, Gustav Adolf fell deeply in love with Ebba +Brahe, the beautiful daughter of one of Sweden’s most powerful +noblemen. The two had been play-mates and became lovers. But the +old queen frowned upon the match. He was the coming king, she was +a subject, and the queen managed, with the help of Oxenstjerna, +who was Gustav’s best friend all through his life, to make him +give up his love. “Then I will never marry,” he cried in a burst +of tempestuous grief. But when the queen had got Ebba Brahe safely +married to one of his father’s famous generals, he wedded the +lovely sister of the Elector of Brandenburg. She adored her royal +husband, but never took kindly to Sweden, and the people did not +like her. They clung to the great king’s early love, and to this +day they linger before the picture of the beautiful Ebba in the +Stockholm castle when they come from his grave in the Riddarholm +church, while they pass the queen’s by with hardly a glance. It is +recorded that Ebba made her husband a good and dutiful wife. If her +thoughts strayed at times to the old days and what might have been, +it is not strange. In one of those moods she wrote on a window-pane +in the castle: + + I am happy in my lot, + And thanks I give to God. + +The queen-mother saw it and wrote under it her own version: + + You wouldn’t, but you must. + ’Tis the lot of the dust. + + +Footnotes: + +[12] This is the story as the page told it. He lived two days. + + + + +KING AND SAILOR, HEROES OF COPENHAGEN + + +Of all the foolish wars that were ever waged, it would seem that +the one declared by Denmark against Sweden in 1657 had the least +excuse. A century before, the two countries had fought through +eight bitter years over the momentous question whether Denmark +should carry in her shield the three lions that stood for the three +Scandinavian kingdoms, the Swedish one having set up for itself +in the dissolution of the union between them, and at the end of +the fight they were where they had started: each of them kept the +whole brood. But this war was without even that excuse. Denmark +was helplessly impoverished. Her trade was ruined; the nobles were +sucking the marrow of the country. Of the freehold farms that had +been its strength scarce five thousand were left in the land. It +could hardly pay its way in days of peace. Its strongholds lay in +ruins; it had neither arms, ammunition, nor officers. On its roster +of thirty thousand men for the national defence were carried the +dead and the yet unborn, while the Swedish army of tried veterans +had gone from victory to victory under a warlike king. To cap the +climax, Copenhagen had been harassed by pestilence that had killed +one-fifth of its fifty thousand people. + +So ill matched were they when a stubborn king forced a war that +could end only in disaster. When one of his councillors advised +against the folly, he caned him and sent him into exile. Yet out of +the fiery trial this king came a hero; his queen, whose pride and +wasteful vanity[13] had done its full share in bringing the country +to the verge of ruin, became the idol of the nation. In the hour +of its peril she grew to the stature of a great woman who shared +danger and hardship with her people and by her example put hope and +courage into their hearts. + +Karl Gustav, the Swedish king, was campaigning in Poland, but as +soon as he could turn around he marched his army against Denmark, +scattered the forces that opposed him, and before news of his +advance had reached Copenhagen knocked at the gate of Denmark +demanding “speech of brother Frederik in good Swedish.” A winter +of great severity had bridged the Baltic and the sounds of the +island kingdom. In two weeks he led his army, horse, foot, and +guns, over the frozen seas where hardly a wagon had dared cross +before. Great rifts yawned in their way, and whole companies were +swallowed up; his own sleigh sank in the deep, but nothing stopped +him. Danish emissaries came pleading for peace. He met them on the +way to the capital, surrounded by his Finnish horsemen, and gave +scant ear to their speeches while he drove on. Before the city he +halted and dictated a peace so humiliating that one of the Danish +commissioners exclaimed when he came to sign, “I wish I could not +write.” Perhaps the same wish troubled the conqueror’s ambitious +dreams. The peace was broken as swiftly as made. In five months he +was back before Frederik’s capital with his whole army, while a +Swedish fleet anchored in the roadstead outside. “What difference +does it make to you,” was the contemptuous taunt flung at the +anxious envoys who sought his camp, “whether the name of your king +is Karl or Frederik so long as you are safe?” He had come to make +an end of Denmark. + +Copenhagen was almost without defences. The old earth walls mounted +only six guns, with breastworks scarce knee-high. In places King +Karl could have driven his sleigh into the heart of the city at the +head of his army. But for the second time he hesitated when a swift +blow would have won all—and lost. Overnight the Danish nation awoke +to a fight for its life. King and people, till then strangers, in +that hour became one. Frederik the Third met the craven counsel +that he fly to Norway with the proud answer, “I will die in my +nest, if need be, and my wife with me.” With a shout the burghers +swore to fight to the last man. The walls of the city rose as if +by magic. Nobles and mechanics, clergy and laborers, students, +professors and sailors worked side by side; high-born women wheeled +barrows. Every tree was cut down and made into palisades. The crops +ripening in the fields were gathered in haste and the cattle driven +in. The city had been provisioned for barely a week and garrisoned +by four hundred raw recruits. Sailors from the useless ships took +out their guns and mounted them in the redoubts. Peasants flocked +in and were armed with battle-axes, clubs, and boat-hooks when the +supply of muskets gave out. When Karl Gustav drew his lines tight +he faced six thousand determined men behind strong walls. The city +stood in a ring of blazing fires. Its defenders were burning down +the houses and woods beyond the moats to clear the way for their +gunners. The King watched the sight from his horse in silence. He +knew what it meant; he had fought in the Thirty Years’ War: “Now, I +vow, we shall have fighting,” was all he said. + +It was not long in coming. On the second night the garrison made +a sortie and drove back the invaders, destroying their works with +great slaughter. Night after night, and sometimes in the broad day, +they returned to the charge, overwhelming the Swedes where least +expected, capturing their guns, their supplies, and their outposts. +Short of arms and ammunition, they took them in the enemy’s +lines. In one of these raids Karl Gustav himself was all but made +prisoner. A horseman had him by the shoulder, but he wrenched +himself loose and spurred his horse into the sea where a boat from +one of the ships rescued him. The defence took on something of the +fervor of religious frenzy. Twice a day services were held on the +walls of the city; within, the men who could not bear arms, and the +women, barricaded the streets with stones and iron chains for the +last fight, were it to come. In his place on the wall every burgher +had a hundred brickbats or stones piled up for ammunition, and by +night when the enemy rained red-hot shot upon the city, he fought +with a club or spear in one hand, a torch in the other. + +[Illustration: + + _From a painting by Lund_ + +THE SIEGE OF COPENHAGEN, 1658] + +Eleven weeks the battle raged by night and by day. Then a Dutch +fleet forced its way through the blockade after a fight in which +it lost six ships and two admirals. It brought food, ammunition, +and troops. The joy in the city was great. All day the church bells +were rung, and the people hailed the Dutch as the saviours of the +nation. But when they, too, would thank God for the victory and +asked for the use of the University’s hall, they were refused. They +were followers of Calvin and their heresies must not be preached +in the place set apart for teaching the doctrines of the “pure +faith,” said the professors, who were Lutheran. It was the way of +the day. The Reformation had learned little from the bigotry of the +Inquisition. The Dutchmen had to be content with the court-house. +But the siege was not over. Another hard winter closed in with the +enemy at the door, burrowing hourly nearer the outworks, and food +and fire-wood grew scarcer day by day in the hard-pressed city. +When things were at the worst pass in February, the Swedes gathered +their hosts for a final assault. In the midnight hour they came on +with white shirts drawn over their uniforms to make it hard to tell +them from the snow. Karl Gustav himself led the storming party and +at last was in the way of “getting speech of brother Frederik,” for +the Danish King was as good as his word. He had said that he would +die in his nest, and time and again he had to be sternly reasoned +with to prevent him from exposing himself overmuch. Where the +danger was greatest he was, and beside him ever the queen, all her +frivolity gone and forgotten. She who had danced at the court fetes +and followed the hounds on the chase as if the world had no other +cares, became the very incarnation of the spirit of the bitter and +bloody struggle. All through that winter the royal couple lived in +a tent among their men, and when the alarm was sounded they were +first on foot to lead them. Now that the hour had come, they were +in the forefront of the fight. + +Where the famous pleasure garden Tivoli now is, the strength of the +enemy was massed against the redoubts at the western gate. The name +of “Storm Street” tells yet of the doings of that night. King Karl +had promised to give over the captured town to be sacked by his +army three days and nights, and like hungry wolves they swarmed to +the attack, a mob of sailors and workmen with scaling ladders in +the van. The moats they crossed in spite of the gaps that had been +made in the ice to stop them, but the garrison had poured water +over the walls that froze as it ran, until they were like slippery +icebergs. A bird could have found no foothold on them. Showers of +rocks and junk and clubs fell upon the laddermen. Three times Karl +Gustav hurled his columns against them; as often they were driven +back, broken and beaten. A few gained a foothold on the walls only +to be dashed down to death. The burghers fought for their lives and +their homes. Their women carried boiling pitch and poured it over +the breastworks, and when they had no more, dragged great beams +and rolled them down upon the ladders, sweeping them clear of the +enemy. In the hottest fight Gunde Rosenkrantz, one of the king’s +councillors, trod on a fallen soldier and, looking into his face, +saw that it was his own son breathing his last. He bent over and +kissed him, and went on fighting. + +In the early morning hour Karl Gustav gave the order to retreat. +The attack had failed. Many of his general officers were slain; +nearly half of his army was killed, disabled, or captured. Six +Swedish standards were taken by the Danes. The moats were filled +with the dead. The Swedes had “come in their shrouds.” The guns +of the city thundered out a triple salute of triumph and the +people sang Te Deums on the walls. Their hardships were not over. +Fifteen months yet the city was invested and the home of daily +privation; but their greatest peril was past. Copenhagen was saved, +and with it the nation; the people had found itself and its king. +That autumn a second Swedish army under the veteran Stenbock was +massacred in the island of Fyen, and Karl Gustav exclaimed when +the beaten general brought him the news, “Since the devil took the +sheep he might have taken the buck too.” He never got over it. +Three months later he lay dead, and the siege of Copenhagen was +raised in May, 1660. It had lasted twenty months. + + * * * * * + +Seven score years and one passed, and the morning of Holy +Thursday[14] saw a British fleet sailing slowly up the deep before +Copenhagen, the deck of every ship bristling with guns, their +crews at quarters, Lord Nelson’s signal to “close for action” +flying from the top of the flag-ship _Elephant_. Between the fleet +and the shore lay a line of dismantled hulks on which men with +steady eyes and stout hearts were guarding Denmark’s honor. Once +more it had been jeopardized by foolish counsel in high places. +Danish statesmen had trifled and temporized while England, facing +all Europe alone in the fight for her life, made ready to strike +a decisive blow against the Armed Neutrality that threatened +her supremacy on the sea. Once more the city had been caught +unprepared, defenceless, and once more its people rose as one man +to meet the danger. But it was too late. Outside, in the Sound, a +fleet as great as that led by Nelson waited, should he fail, to +finish his work. That was to destroy the Danish ships, if need +be to bombard the city and so detach Denmark from the coalition +of England’s foes. So she chose to consider such as were not her +declared friends. + +Denmark had no fighting ships at home to pit against her. Her +sailors were away serving in the merchant marine. She had no +practised gunners, nothing but a huddle of dismantled vessels +in her navy-yard, most of them half-rotten hulks without masts. +Those that had standing rigging were even worse, for none of them +had sails and the falling spars in battle lumbered up the decks +and menaced the crew. But such as they were she made the most of +them. Eighteen hulks were hauled into the channel and moored head +and stern. Where they lay they could not be moved. Only the guns +on one side were therefore of use, while the enemy could turn and +manœuvre. They were manned by farm lads, mechanics, students, +enlisted in haste, not one of whom had ever smelt powder, and these +were matched against Nelson’s grim veterans. Even their commander, +J. Olfert Fischer, had not been under fire before that day, for +Denmark had had peace for eighty years. But his father had served +as a midshipman with Tordenskjold and the son did not flinch, +outnumbered though his force was, two to one, in men and guns. + +The sun shone fair upon the blue waters as the great fleet of +thirty-odd fighting ships sailed up from the south. From the city’s +walls and towers a mighty multitude watched it come, unmindful of +peril from shot and shell; the Danish line was not half a mile +away. In the churches whose bells were still ringing when the first +gun was fired from the block-ship _Prövestenen_, the old men and +women prayed through the long day, for there were few homes in +Copenhagen that did not have son, brother, or friend fighting out +there. A single gun answered the challenge, now two and three at +once, then broadside crashed upon broadside with deafening roar. +When at length all was quiet a tremendous report shook the city. It +was the flag-ship _Dannebrog_ that blew up. She was on fire with +only three serviceable guns left when she struck her colors, but no +ship of her name might sail with an enemy’s prize crew on board, +and she did not. + +The story of that bloody day has been told many times. Briton and +Dane hoist their flags on April 2 with equal right, for never was +challenge met with more dauntless valor. Lord Nelson owned that of +all the hundred and five battles he had fought this was hottest. +On the _Monarch_, which for hours was under the most galling fire +from the Danish ships, two hundred and twenty of the crew were +killed or wounded. “There was not a single man standing,” wrote a +young officer on board of her, “the whole way from the mainmast +forward, a district containing eight guns a side, some of which +were run out ready for firing, others lay dismounted, and others +remained as they were after recoiling.... I hastened down the fore +ladder to the lower deck and felt really relieved to find somebody +alive.” The slaughter on the Danish ships was even greater. More +than one-fifth of their entire strength of a little over five +thousand men were slain or wounded. Of the eighteen hulls they +lost thirteen, but only one were the British able to take home +with them. The rest were literally shot to pieces and were burned +where they lay. As one after another was silenced, those yet alive +on board spiked their last guns, if indeed there were any left +worth the trouble, threw their powder overboard and made, for the +shore. Twice the Danish Admiral abandoned his burning ship, the +last time taking up his post in the island battery Tre Kroner. +Each time one of the old hulls was crushed, a Briton pushed into +the hole made in the line and raked the remaining ones fore and +aft until their decks were like huge shambles. The block-ship +_Indfödsretten_ bore the concentrated fire of five frigates and +two smaller vessels throughout most of the battle. Her chief was +killed. When the news reached head-quarters on shore, Captain von +Schrödersee, an old naval officer who had been retired because of +ill health, volunteered to take his place. He was rowed out, but +as he came over the side of the ship a cannon-ball cut him in two. +_Prövestenen_, as it was the first to fire a shot, held out also +to the last. One-fourth of her crew lay dead, and her flag had +been shot away three times when the decks threatened to cave in +and Captain Lassen spiked his last guns and left the wreck to be +burned. All through the fight she was the target of ninety guns to +which she could oppose only twenty-nine of her own sixty. + +Nelson had promised Admiral Parker to finish the fight in an hour. +When the battle had lasted three, Parker signalled to him to stop. +Every school-boy knows the story of how Lord Nelson put the glass +to his blind eye and, remarking that he could see no signal, kept +right on. In the end he had to resort to stratagem to force a truce +so that he might disentangle some of his ships that were drifting +into great danger in the narrow channel. The ruse succeeded. Crown +Prince Frederik, moved by compassion for the wounded whom Nelson +threatened to burn with the captured hulks if firing did not stop, +ordered hostilities to cease without consulting the Admiral of +the fleet, and the battle was over. Denmark’s honor was saved. +“Nothing,” wrote our own Captain Mahan, “could place a nation’s +warlike fame higher than did her great deeds that day.” All else +was lost; for “there had come upon Denmark one of those days of +judgment to which nations are liable who neglect in time of peace +to prepare for war.” It had been long coming, but it had overtaken +her at last and found all the bars down. + +Alongside the _Dannebrog_ throughout her fight with Nelson’s +flag-ship, and edging ever closer in under the _Elephant’s_ side +until at last the marines were sent to man her rail and keep it +away with their muskets, lay a floating battery mounting twenty +guns under command of a beardless second lieutenant. The name of +Peter Willemoes will live as long as the Danish tongue is spoken. +Barely graduated from the Naval Academy, he was but eighteen when +the need of officers thrust the command of “Floating Battery No. +1” upon him. So gallantly did he acquit himself that Nelson took +notice of the young man who, every time a broadside crashed into +his ship or overhead, swung his cocked hat and led his men in a +lusty cheer. When after the battle he met the Crown Prince on +shore, the English commander asked to be introduced to his youthful +adversary. “You ought to make an admiral of him,” he said, and +Prince Frederik smiled: “If I were to make admirals of all my brave +officers, I should have no captains or lieutenants left.” When the +_Dannebrog_ drifted on the shoals, abandoned and burning, Willemoes +cut his cables and got away under cover of the heavy smoke. Having +neither sails nor oars, he was at the mercy of the tide, but +luckily it carried him to the north of the Tre Kroner battery, and +he reached port with forty-nine of his crew of one hundred and +twenty-nine dead or wounded. The people received him as a conqueror +returning with victory. His youth and splendid valor aroused the +enthusiasm of the whole country. Wherever he went crowds flocked to +see him as the hero of “Holy Thursday’s Battle.” Especially was he +the young people’s idol. Sailor that he was, he was “the friend of +all pretty girls,” sang the poet of that day. He danced and made +merry with them, but the one of them all on whom his heart was set, +so runs the story, would have none of him, and sent him away to +foreign parts, a saddened lover. + +Meanwhile much praise had not made him vain. “I did my duty,” he +wrote to his father, a minor government official in the city of +Odense where four years later Hans Christian Andersen was born on +the anniversary day of the battle, “and I have whole limbs which I +least expected. The Crown Prince and the Admiral have said that I +behaved well.” He was to have one more opportunity of fighting his +country’s enemy, and this time to the death. + +In the summer of 1807, England was advised that by the treaty of +Tilsit Russia and Prussia had secretly joined Napoleon in his +purpose of finally crushing his mortal enemy by uniting all the +fleets of Europe against her, Denmark’s too, by compulsion if +persuasion failed. Without warning a British fleet swooped down +upon the unsuspecting nation, busy with the pursuits of peace, +bombarded and burned Copenhagen when the Commandant refused to +deliver the ships into the hands of the robbers as a “pledge of +peace,” and carried away ships, supplies, even the carpenters’ +tools in the navy-yard. Nothing was spared. Seventy vessels, +sixteen of them ships of the line, fell into their hands, and +supplies that filled ninety-two transports beside. A single +fighting ship was left to Denmark of all her fleet,—the _Prince +Christian Frederik_ of sixty-eight guns. She happened to be away in +a Norwegian port and so escaped. Willemoes was on leave serving in +the Russian navy, but hastened home when news came of the burning +of Copenhagen, and found a berth under Captain Jessen. + +On March 22, 1808, the _Prince Christian_, so she was popularly +called, hunting a British frigate that was making Danish waters +insecure, met in the Kattegat the _Stately_ and the _Nassau_, +each like herself of sixty-eight guns. The _Nassau_ was the old +_Holsteen_, renamed,—the single prize the victors had carried home +from the battle of Copenhagen. Three British frigates were working +up to join them. The coast of Seeland was near, but wind and tide +cut off escape to the Sound. Captain Jessen ran his ship in close +under the shore so that at the last he might beach her, and awaited +the enemy there. + +The sun had set, but the night was clear when the fight between the +three ships began. With one on either side, hardly a pistol-shot +away, Jessen returned shot for shot, giving as good as they sent, +and with such success that at the end of an hour and a half the +Britons dropped astern to make repairs. The _Prince Christian_ +drifted, helpless, with rudder shot to pieces, half a wreck, +rigging all gone, and a number of her guns demolished. But when the +enemy returned he was hailed with a cheer and a broadside, and the +fight was on once more. This time they were three to one; one of +the British frigates of forty-four guns had come up and joined in. + +When the hull of the _Prince Christian_ was literally knocked to +pieces, and of her 576 men 69 lay dead and 137 wounded, including +the chief and all of his officers who were yet alive, Captain +Jessen determined as a last desperate chance to run one of his +opponents down and board her with what remained of his crew. But +his officers showed him that it was impossible; the ship could not +be manœuvred. There was a momentary lull in the fire and out of +the night came a cry, “Strike your colors!” The Danish reply was a +hurrah and a volley from all the standing guns. Three broad-sides +crashed into the doomed ship in quick succession, and the battle +was over. The _Prince Christian_ stood upon the shore, a wreck. + +Young Willemoes was spared the grief of seeing the last Danish +man-of-war strike its flag. In the hottest of the fight, as he +jumped upon a gun the better to locate the enemy in the gloom, a +cannon-ball took off the top of his head. He fell into the arms +of a fellow officer with the muttered words, “Oh God! my head—my +country!” and was dead. In his report of the fight Captain Jessen +wrote against his name: “Fell in battle—honored as he is missed.” +They made his grave on shore with the fallen sailors, and as the +sea washed up other bodies they were buried with them. + +The British captured the wreck, but they could only set fire to it +after removing the wounded. In the night it blew up where it stood. +That was the end of the last ship of Denmark’s proud navy. + + +Footnotes: + +[13] It is of record that Queen Sofie Amalie used one-third of the +annual revenues of the country for her household. The menu of a +single “rustic dinner” of the court mentions 200 courses and nearly +as many kinds of preserves and dessert, served on gold, with wines +in corresponding abundance. + +[14] The battle of Copenhagen was fought April 2, 1801. + + + + +THE TROOPER WHO WON A WAR ALONE + + +Jens Kofoed was the name of a trooper who served in the disastrous +war of Denmark against Sweden in Karl Gustav’s day. He came from +the island of Bornholm in the Baltic, where he tilled a farm in +days of peace. When his troop went into winter quarters, he got a +furlough to go home to receive the new baby that was expected about +Christmas. Most of his comrades were going home for the holidays, +and their captain made no objection. The Swedish king was fighting +in far-off Poland, and no one dreamed that he would come over the +ice with his army in the depth of winter to reckon with Denmark. So +Jens Kofoed took ship with the promise that he would be back in two +weeks. But they were to be two long weeks. They did not hear of him +again for many moons, and then strange tidings came of his doings. +Single-handed he had bearded the Swedish lion, and downed it in a +fair fight—strangest of all, almost without bloodshed. + +The winter storms blew hard, and it was Christmas eve when he made +land, but he came in time to receive, not one new heir, but twin +baby girls. Then there were six of them, counting Jens and his +wife, and a merry Christmas they all had together. On Twelfth Night +the little ones were christened, and then the trooper bethought +himself of his promise to get back soon. The storms had ceased, but +worse had befallen; the sea was frozen over as far as eye reached, +and the island was cut off from all communication with the outer +world. There was nothing for it but to wait. It proved the longest +and hardest winter any one then living could remember. Easter was +at hand before the ice broke up, and let a fishing smack slip +over to Ystad, on the mainland. It came back with news that set +the whole island wondering. Peace had been made, and Denmark had +ceded all its ancient provinces east of the Öresund to Karl Gustav. +Ystad itself and Skaane, the province in which Jens Kofoed had been +campaigning, were Swedish now, and so was Bornholm. All unknown +to its people, the island had changed hands in the game of war +overnight, as it were. A Swedish garrison was coming over presently +to take charge. + +When Jens Kofoed heard it, he sat down and thought things over. +If there was peace, his old captain had no use for him, that was +certain; but there might be need of him at home. What would happen +there, no one could tell. And there were the wife and children to +take care of. The upshot of it all was that he stayed. Only, to be +on the safe side, he got the Burgomaster and the Aldermen in his +home town, Hasle, to set it down in writing that he could not have +got back to his troop for all he might have tried. Kofoed, it will +be seen, was a man with a head on his shoulders, which was well, +for presently he had need of it. + +There were no Danish soldiers in the island, only a peasant +militia, ill-armed and untaught in the ways of war; so no one +thought of resisting the change of masters. The people simply +waited to see what would happen. Along in May a company of one +hundred and twenty men with four guns landed, and took possession +of Castle Hammershus, on the north shore, the only stronghold on +the island, in the name of the Swedish king. Colonel Printzensköld, +who had command, summoned the islanders to a meeting, and told them +that he had come to be their governor. They were to obey him, and +that was all. The people listened and said nothing. + +Perhaps if the new rulers had been wise, things might have kept +on so. The people would have tilled their farms, and paid their +taxes, and Jens Kofoed, with all his hot hatred of the enemy he +had fought, might never have been heard of outside his own island. +But the Swedish soldiers had been through the Thirty Years’ War +and plunder had become their profession. They rioted in the towns, +doubled the taxes, put an embargo on trade and export, crushed the +industries; worse, they took the young men and sent them away to +Karl Gustav’s wars in foreign lands. They left only the old men and +the boys, and these last they kept a watchful eye on for drafts in +days to come. When the conscripts hid in the woods, so as not to +be torn from their wives and sweethearts, they organized regular +man-hunts as if the quarry were wild beasts, and, indeed, the poor +fellows were not treated much better when caught. + +All summer they did as they pleased; then came word that Karl +Gustav had broken the peace he made, and of the siege of +Copenhagen. The news made the people sit up and take notice. Their +rightful sovereign had ceded the island to the Swedish king, that +was one thing. But now that they were at war again, these strangers +who persecuted them were the public enemy. It was time something +were done. In Hasle there was a young parson with his heart in the +right place, Poul Anker by name. Jens Kofoed sat in his church; he +had been to the wars, and was fit to take command. Also, the two +were friends. Presently a web of conspiracy spread quietly through +the island, gripping priest and peasant, skipper and trader, +alike. Its purpose was to rout out the Swedes. The Hasle trooper +and parson were the leaders; but their secret was well kept. With +the tidings that the Dutch fleet had forced its way through to +Copenhagen with aid for the besieged, and had bottled the Swedish +ships up in Landskrona, came a letter purporting to be from King +Frederik himself, encouraging the people to rise. It was passed +secretly from hand to hand by the underground route, and found the +island ready for rebellion. + +Governor Printzensköld had seen something brewing, but he was a +fearless man, and despised the “peasant mob.” However, he sent to +Sweden for a troop of horsemen, the better to patrol the island +and watch the people. Early in December, 1658, just a year after +Jens Kofoed, the trooper, had set out for his home on furlough, the +governor went to Rönne, the chief city in the island, to start off +a ship for the reënforcements. The conspirators sought to waylay +him at Hasle, where he stopped to give warning that all who had not +paid the heavy war-tax would be sold out forthwith; but they were +too late. Master Poul and Jens Kofoed rode after him, expecting +to meet a band of their fellows on the way, but missed them. The +parson stayed behind then to lay the fuse to the mine, while Kofoed +kept on to town. By the time he got there he had been joined by +four others, Aage Svendsön, Klavs Nielsen, Jens Laurssön, and Niels +Gummelöse. The last two were town officers. As soon as the report +went around Rönne that they had come, Burgomaster Klaus Kam went to +them openly. + +The governor had ridden to the house of the other burgomaster, Per +Larssön, who was not in the plot. His horse was tied outside and he +just sitting down to supper when Jens Kofoed and his band crowded +into the room, and took him prisoner. They would have killed him +there, but his host pleaded for his life. However, when they took +him out in the street, Printzensköld thought he saw a chance to +escape in the crowd and the darkness, and sprang for his horse. But +his great size made him an easy mark. He was shot through the head +as he ran. The man who shot him had loaded his pistol with a silver +button torn from his vest. That was sure death to any goblin on +whom neither lead nor steel would bite, and it killed the governor +all right. The place is marked to this day in the pavement of the +main street as the spot where fell the only tyrant who ever ruled +the island against the people’s will. + +The die was cast now, and there was need of haste. Under cover of +the night the little band rode through the island with the news, +ringing the church bells far and near to call the people to arms. +Many were up and waiting; Master Poul had roused them already. At +Hammershus the Swedish garrison heard the clamor, and wondered +what it meant. They found out when at sunrise an army of half +the population thundered on the castle gates summoning them to +surrender. Burgomaster Kam sat among them on the governor’s horse, +wearing his uniform, and shouted to the officers in command that +unless they surrendered, he, the governor, would be killed, and +his head sent in to his wife in the castle. The frightened woman’s +tears decided the day. The garrison surrendered, only to discover +that they had been tricked. Jens Kofoed took command in the castle. +The Swedish soldiers were set to doing chores for the farmers +they had so lately harassed. The ship that was to have fetched +reënforcements from Sweden was sent to Denmark instead, with the +heartening news. They needed that kind there just then. + +But the ex-trooper, now Commandant, knew that a day of reckoning +was coming, and kept a sharp lookout. When the hostile ship _Spes_ +was reported steering in from the sea, the flag of Sweden flew from +the peak of Hammershus, and nothing on land betrayed that there +had been a change. As soon as she anchored, a boat went out with +an invitation from the governor to any officers who might be on +board, to come ashore and arrange for the landing of the troops. +The captain of the ship and the major in charge came, and were made +prisoners as soon as they had them where they could not be seen +from the ship. It blew up to a storm, and the _Spes_ was obliged +to put to sea, but as soon as she returned boats were sent out to +land the soldiers. They sent only little skiffs that could hold +not over three or four, and as fast as they were landed they were +overpowered and bound. Half of the company had been thus disposed +of when the lieutenant on board grew suspicious, and sent word that +without the express orders of the major no more would come. But +Jens Kofoed’s wit was equal to the emergency. The next boat brought +an invitation to the lieutenant to come in and have breakfast +with the officers, who would give him his orders there. He walked +into the trap; but when he also failed to return, his men refused +to follow. He had arranged to send them a sign, they said, that +everything was all right. If it did not come, they would sail away +to Sweden for help. + +It took some little persuasion to make the lieutenant tell about +the sign, but in the end Jens Kofoed got it. It turned out to be +his pocket-knife. When they saw that, the rest came, and were put +under lock and key with their fellows. + +The ship was left. If that went back, all was lost. Happily +both captain and mate were prisoners ashore. Four boat-loads of +islanders, with arms carefully stowed under the seats, went out +with the mate of the _Spes_, who was given to understand that if he +as much as opened his mouth he would be a dead man. They boarded +the ship, taking the crew by surprise. By night the last enemy +was comfortably stowed, and the ship on her way to Rönne, where +the prisoners were locked in the court-house cellar, with shotted +guns guarding the door. Perhaps it was the cruelties practised by +Swedish troops in Denmark that preyed upon the mind of Jens Kofoed +when he sent the parson to prepare them for death then and there; +but better counsel prevailed. They were allowed to live. The whole +war cost only two lives, the governor’s and that of a sentinel at +the castle, who refused to surrender. The mate of the _Spes_ and +two of her crew contrived to escape after they had been taken to +Copenhagen, and from them Karl Gustav had the first tidings of how +he lost the island. + +The captured ship sailed down to Copenhagen with greeting to King +Frederik that the people of Bornholm had chosen him and his heirs +forever to rule over them, on condition that their island was never +to be separated from the Danish Crown. The king in his delight +presented them with a fine silver cup, and made Jens Kofoed captain +of the island, beside giving him a handsome estate. He lived +thirty-three years after that, the patriarch of his people, and +raised a large family of children. Not a few of his descendants are +to-day living in the United States. In the home of one of them in +Brooklyn, New York, is treasured a silver drinking cup which King +Frederik gave to the ex-trooper; but it is not the one he sent back +with his deputation. That one is still in the island of Bornholm. + + + + +CARL LINNÉ, KING OF THE FLOWERS + + +Years ago there grew on the Jonsboda farm in Smaland, Sweden, a +linden tree that was known far and wide for its great age and +size. So beautiful and majestic was the tree, and so wide the +reach of its spreading branches, that all the countryside called +it sacred. Misfortune was sure to come if any one did it injury. +So thought the people. It was not strange, then, that the farmer’s +boys, when they grew to be learned men and chose a name, should +call themselves after the linden. The peasant folk had no family +names in those days. Sven Carlsson was Sven, the son of Carl; and +his son, if his given name were John, would be John Svensson. So +it had always been. But when a man could make a name for himself +out of the big dictionary, that was his right. The daughter of the +Jonsboda farmer married; and her son played in the shadow of the +old tree, and grew so fond of it that when he went out to preach +he also called himself after it. Nils Ingemarsson was the name he +received in baptism, and to that he added Linnæus, never dreaming +that in doing it he handed down the name and the fame of the friend +of his play hours to all coming days. But it was so; for Parson +Nils’ eldest son, Carl Linné, or Linnæus, became a great man who +brought renown to his country and his people by telling them and +all the world more than any one had ever known before about the +trees and the flowers. The King knighted him for his services to +science, and the people of every land united in acclaiming him the +father of botany and the king of the flowers. + +They were the first things he learned to love in his baby world. If +he was cross, they had but to lay him on the grass in the garden +and put a daisy in his hand, and he would croon happily over it for +hours. He was four years old when his father took him to a wedding +in the neighborhood. The men guests took a tramp over the farm, and +in the twilight they sat and rested in the meadow, where the spring +flowers grew. The minister began telling them stories about them; +how they all had their own names and what powers for good or ill +the apothecary found in the leaves and root of some of them. Carl’s +father, though barely out of college, was a bright and gifted man. +One of his parishioners said once that they couldn’t afford a whole +parson, and so they took a young one; but if that was the way of +it, the men of Stenbrohult made a better bargain than they knew. +They sat about listening to his talk, but no one listened more +closely than little Carl. After that he had thought for nothing +else. In the corner of the garden he had a small plot of his own, +and into it he planted all the wild flowers from the fields, and he +asked many more questions about them than his father could answer. +One day he came back with one whose name he had forgotten. The +minister was busy with his sermon. + +“If you don’t remember,” he said impatiently, “I will never tell +you the name of another flower.” The boy went away, his eyes wide +with terror at the threat; but after that he did not forget a +single name. + +When he was big enough, they sent him to the Latin school at Wexiö, +where the other boys nicknamed him “the little botanist.” His +thoughts were outdoors when they should have been in the dry books, +and his teachers set him down as a dunce. They did not know that +his real study days were when, in vacation, he tramped the thirty +miles to his home. Every flower and every tree along the way was +an old friend, and he was glad to see them again. Once in a while +he found a book that told of plants, and then he was anything but +a dunce. But when his father, after Carl had been eight years in +the school, asked his teachers what they thought of him, they told +him flatly that he might make a good tailor or shoemaker, but a +minister—never; he was too stupid. + +That was a blow, for the parson of Stenbrohult and his wife had set +their hearts on making a minister of Carl, and small wonder. His +mother was born in the parsonage, and her father and grandfather +had been shepherds of the parish all their lives. There were tears +in the good minister’s eyes as he told Carl to pack up and get +ready to go back home; he had an errand at Dr. Rothman’s, but would +return presently. The good doctor saw that his patient was heavy +of heart and asked him what was wrong. When he heard what Carl’s +teachers had said, he flashed out: + +“What! he not amount to anything? There is not one in the whole +lot who will go as far as he. A minister he won’t be, that I’ll +allow, but I shall make a doctor of him such as none of them ever +saw. You leave him here with me.” And the parson did, comforted in +spite of himself. But Carl’s mother could not get over it. It was +that garden, she declared, and when his younger brother as much as +squinted that way, she flew at him with a “You dare to touch it!” +and shook him. + +When Dr. Rothman thought his pupil ready for the university, he +sent him up to Lund, and the head-master of the Latin School gave +him the letter he must bring, to be admitted. “Boys at school,” he +wrote in it, “may be likened to young trees in orchard nurseries, +where it sometimes happens that here and there among the saplings +there are some that make little growth, or even appear as wild +seedlings, giving no promise; but when afterwards transplanted to +the orchard, make a start, branch out freely, and at last yield +satisfactory fruit.” By good luck, though, Carl ran across an old +teacher from Wexiö, one of the few who had believed in him and was +glad to see him. He took him to the Rector and introduced him with +warm words of commendation, and also found him lodgings under the +roof of Dr. Kilian Stobæus. + +Dr. Stobæus was a physician of renown, but not good company. He was +one-eyed, sickly, lame in one foot, and a gloomy hypochondriac to +boot. Being unable to get around to his patients, he always had one +or two students to do the running for him and to learn as best they +might, in doing it. Carl found a young German installed there as +the doctor’s right hand. He also found a library full of books on +botany, a veritable heaven for him. But the gate was shut against +him; the doctor had the key, and he saw nothing in the country lad +but a needy student of no account. Perhaps the Rector had passed +the head-master’s letter along. However, love laughs at locksmiths, +and Carl Linnæus was hopelessly in love with his flowers. He got on +the right side of the German by helping him over some hard stiles +in the _materia medica_. In return, his fellow student brought him +books out of the library when the doctor had gone to bed, and Carl +sat up studying the big tomes till early cockcrow. Before the house +stirred, the books were back on their shelves, the door locked, and +no one was the wiser. + +No one except the doctor’s old mother, whose room was across the +yard. She did not sleep well, and all night she saw the window +lighted in her neighbor’s room. She told the doctor that Carl +Linnæus fell asleep with the candle burning every single night, and +sometime he would upset it and they would all be burned in their +beds. The doctor nodded grimly; he knew the young scamps. No doubt +they both sat up playing cards till dawn; but he would teach them. +And the very next morning, at two o’clock, up he stumped on his +lame foot to Carl’s room, in which there was light, sure enough, +and went in without knocking. + +Carl was so deep in his work that he did not hear him at all, and +the doctor stole up unperceived and looked over his shoulder. There +lay his precious books, which he thought safely locked in the +library, spread out before him, and his pupil was taking notes and +copying drawings as if his life depended upon it. He gave a great +start when Dr. Stobæus demanded what he was doing, but owned up +frankly, while the doctor frowned and turned over his notes, leaf +by leaf. + +“Go to bed and sleep like other people,” he said gruffly, yet +kindly, when he had heard it all, “and hereafter study in the +daytime;” and he not only gave him a key to his library, but took +him to his own table after that. Up till then Carl had merely been +a lodger in the house. + +When he was at last on the home stretch, as it seemed, an accident +came near upsetting it all. He was stung by an adder on one of his +botanizing excursions, so far from home and help that the bite +came near proving fatal. However, Dr. Stobæus’ skill pulled him +through, and in after years he got square by labelling the serpent +_furia infernalis_—hell-fury—in his natural history. It was his way +of fighting back. All through his life he never wasted an hour on +controversy. He had no time, he said. But once when a rival made +a particularly nasty attack upon him, he named a new plant after +him, adding the descriptive adjective _detestabilis_—the detestable +so-and-so. On the whole, he had the best of it; for the names he +gave stuck. + +It was during his vacation after the year at Lund that Linnæus made +a catalogue of the plants in his father’s garden at Stenbrohult +that shows us the country parson as no mean botanist himself; for +in the list, which is preserved in the Academy of Sciences at +Stockholm, are no less than two hundred and twenty-four kinds of +plants. Among them are six American plants that had found their +way to Sweden. The poison ivy is there, though what they wanted +of that is hard to tell, and the four-o’clock, the pokeweed, the +milkweed, the pearly everlasting, and the potato, which was then +(1732) classed as a rare plant. Not until twenty years later did +they begin to grow it for food in Sweden. + +When Carl Linnæus went up to Upsala University, his parents had so +far got over their disappointment at his deserting the ministry +that they gave him a little money to make a start with; but they +let him know that no more was coming—their pocket-book was empty. +And within the twelvemonth, for all his scrimping and saving, +he was on the point of starvation. He tells us himself that he +depended on chance for a meal and wore his fellow students’ +cast-off clothes. His boots were without soles, and in his +cheerless attic room he patched them with birch bark and card board +as well as he could. He was now twenty-three years old, and it +seemed as if he would have to give up the study that gave him no +bread; but still he clung to his beloved flowers. They often made +him forget the pangs of hunger. And when the cloud was darkest the +sun broke through. He was sitting in the Botanical Garden sketching +a plant, when Dean Celsius, a great orientalist and theologian of +his day, passed by. The evident poverty of the young man, together +with his deep absorption in his work, arrested his attention; he +sat down and talked with him. In five minutes Carl had found a +friend and the Dean a helper. He had been commissioned to write a +book on the plants of the Holy Land and had collected a botanical +library for the purpose, but the work lagged. Here now was the one +who could help set it going. That day Linnæus left his attic room +and went to live in the Dean’s house. His days of starvation were +over. + +In the Dean’s employ his organizing genius developed the marvellous +skill of the cataloguer that brought order out of the chaos of +groping and guessing and blundering in which the science of botany +had floundered up till then. Here and there in it all were flashes +of the truth, which Linnæus laid hold of and pinned down with his +own knowledge to system and order. Thus the Frenchman, Sebastian +Vaillant, who had died a dozen years before, had suggested a +classification of flowers by their seed-bearing organs, the stamens +and pistils, instead of by their fruits, the number of their +petals, or even by their color, as had been the vague practice of +the past. Linnæus seized upon this as the truer way and wrote a +brief treatise developing the idea, which so pleased Dr. Celsius +that he got his young friend a license to lecture publicly in the +Botanical Garden. + +The students flocked to hear him. His message was one that put life +and soul into the dry bones of a science that had only wearied them +before. The professor of botany himself sat in the front row and +hammered the floor with his cane in approval. But his very success +was the lecturer’s undoing. Envy grew in place of the poverty he +had conquered. The instructor, Nils Rosén, was abroad taking his +doctor’s degree. He came home to find his lectures deserted for the +irresponsible teachings of a mere undergraduate. He made grievous +complaint, and Linnæus was silenced, to his great good luck. For +so his friend the professor, though he was unable to break the red +tape of the university, got him an appointment to go to Lapland on +a botanical mission. His enemies were only too glad to see him go. + +Linnæus travelled more than three thousand miles that summer +through a largely unknown country, enduring, he tells us, more +hardships and dangers than in all his subsequent travels. Again +and again he nearly lost his life in swollen mountain streams, for +he would not wait until danger from the spring freshets was over. +Once he was shot at as he was gathering plants on a hillside, +but happily the Finn who did it was not a good marksman. Fish +and reindeer milk were his food, a pestilent plague of flies his +worst trouble. But, he says in his account of the trip, which is +as fascinating a report of a scientific expedition as was ever +penned, they were good for something, after all, for the migrating +birds fed on them. From his camps on lake or river bank he saw the +water covered far and near with swarms of ducks and geese. The +Laplander’s larder was easily stocked. + +He came back from the dangers of the wild with a reputation that +was clinched by his book “The Flora of Lapland,” to find the dragon +of professional jealousy rampant still at Upsala. His enemy, +Rosén, persuaded the senate of the university to adopt a rule that +no un-degreed man should lecture there to the prejudice of the +regularly appointed instructors. Tradition has it that Linnæus flew +into a passion at that and drew upon Rosén, and there might have +been one regular less but for the interference of bystanders. It +may be true, though it is not like him. Men wore side-arms in those +days just as some people carry pistols in their hip-pockets to-day, +and with as little sense. At least they had the defence, such as it +was, that it was the fashion. However, it made an end of Linnæus +at Upsala for the time. He sought a professorship at Lund, but +another got it. Then he led an expedition of his former students +into the Dalecarlia mountains and so he got to Falun, where Baron +Reuterholm, one of Sweden’s copper magnates, was seeking a guide +for his two sons through the region where his mines were. + +Linnæus was not merely a botanist, but an all around expert in +natural science. He took charge of the boys and, when the trip +was ended, started a school at Falun, where he taught mineralogy. +It had been hit or miss with the miners up till then. There was +neither science nor system in their work. What every day experience +or the test of fire had taught a prospector, in delving among the +rocks, was all there was of it. Linnæus was getting things upon a +scientific basis, when he met and fell in love with the handsome +daughter of Dr. Moræus. The young people would marry, but the +doctor, though he liked the mineralogist, would not hear of it till +he could support a wife. So he gave him three years in which to go +abroad and get a degree that would give him the right to practise +medicine anywhere in Sweden. The doctor’s daughter gave him a +hundred dollars she had saved, and her promise to wait for him. + +He went to Harderwyk in Holland and got his degree at the +university there on the strength of a thesis on the cause of +malarial fever, with the conclusions of which the learned doctors +did not agree; but they granted the diploma for the clever way +in which he defended it. On the way down he tarried in Hamburg +long enough to give the good burghers a severe jolt. They had a +seven-headed serpent that was one of the wonders of the town. The +keen sight of the young naturalist detected the fraud at once; +the heads were weasels’ heads, covered with serpent’s skin and +cunningly sewed on the head of the reptile. The shape of the jaws +betrayed the trick. But the Hamburgers were not grateful. The +serpent was an asset. There was a mortgage on it of ten thousand +marks; now it was not worth a hundred. They took it very ill, and +Linnæus found himself suddenly so unpopular that he was glad to get +out of town overnight. What became of the serpent history does not +record. + +Linnæus had carried more than his thesis on malarial fever with him +to Holland. At the bottom of his trunk were the manuscripts of two +books on botany which, he told his sweetheart on parting, would yet +make him famous. Probably she shook her head at that. Pills and +powders, and broken legs to set, were more to her way of thinking, +and her father’s, too. If only he had patients, fame might take +care of itself. But now he put them both to shame. At Leyden he +found friends who brought out his first book, “Systema Naturæ,” in +which he divides all nature into the three kingdoms known to every +child since. It was hardly more than a small pamphlet, but it laid +the foundation for his later fame. To the enlarged tenth edition +zoölogists point back to this day as to the bed-rock on which they +built their science. The first was quickly followed by another, and +yet another. Seven large volumes bearing his name had come from the +press before he set sail for home, a whole library in botany, and a +new botany at that, so simple and sensible that the world adopted +it at once. + +Dr. Hermann Boerhaave was at that time the most famous physician in +Europe. He was also the greatest authority on systematic botany. +Great men flocked to his door, but the testy old Dutchman let them +wait until it suited him to receive them. Peter the Great had to +cool his heels in his waiting-room two long hours before his turn +came. Linnæus he would not see at all—until he sent him a copy of +his book. Then he shut the door against all others and summoned +the author. The two walked through his garden, and the old doctor +pointed proudly to a tree which was very rare, he said, and not +in any of the books. Yes, said Linnæus, it was in Vaillant’s. The +doctor knew better; he had annotated Vaillant’s botany himself, and +it was not there. Linnæus insisted, and the doctor, in a temper, +went for the book to show him. But there it was; Linnæus was +right. Nothing would do then but he must stay in Holland. Linnæus +demurred; he could not afford it. But Dr. Boerhaave knew a way out +of that. He had for a patient Burgomaster Cliffort, a rich old +hypochondriac with whom he could do nothing because he would insist +on living high and taking too little exercise. When he came again +he told him that what he needed was a physician in daily attendance +upon him, and handed him over to Linnæus. + +“He will fix your diet and fix your garden, too,” was his +prescription. The Burgomaster was a famous collector and had a +wondrous garden that was the apple of his eye. He took Linnæus +into his house and gave him a ducat a day for writing his menu and +cataloguing his collection. That was where his books grew, and the +biggest and finest of them was “Hortus Cliffortianus,” the account +of his patron’s garden. + +Armed with letters from Dr. Boerhaave and the Burgomaster, he took +one stronghold of professional prejudice after another. Not without +a siege. One of them refused flatly to surrender. That was Sir Hans +Sloan, the great English naturalist, to whom Dr. Boerhaave wrote +in a letter that is preserved in the British Museum: “Linnæus, who +bears this letter, is alone worthy of seeing you, alone worthy of +being seen by you. He who shall see you both together shall see two +men whose like will scarce ever be found in the world.” And the +doctor was no flatterer, as may be inferred from his treatment of +Peter the Great. But the aged baronet had had his own way so long, +and was so well pleased with it, that he would have nothing to do +with Linnæus. At Oxford the learned professor Dillenius received +him with no better grace. “This,” he said aside to a friend, “is +the young man who confounds all botany,” and he took him rather +reluctantly into his garden. A plant that was new to him attracted +Linnæus’ attention and he asked to what family it belonged. + +“That is more than you can tell me,” was the curt answer. + +“I can, if you will let me pluck a flower and examine it.” + +“Do, and be welcome,” said the professor, and his visitor after +a brief glance at the flower told its species correctly. The +professor stared. + +“Now,” said Linnæus, who had kept his eyes open, “what did you mean +by the crosses you had put all through my book?” He had seen it +lying on the professor’s table, all marked up. + +“They mark the errors you made,” declared the other. + +“Suppose we see about that,” said the younger man and, taking +the book, led the way. They examined the flowers together, and +when they returned to the study all the pride had gone out of the +professor. He kept Linnæus with him a month, never letting him out +of his sight and, when he left, implored him with tears to stay and +share his professorship; the pay was enough for both. + +A letter that reached him from home on his return to Holland made +him realize with a start that he had overstayed his leave. It was +now in the fourth year since he had left Sweden. All the while he +had written to his sweetheart in the care of a friend who proved +false. He wanted her for himself and, when the three years had +passed, told her that Carl would never come back. Dr. Moræus was +of the same mind, and had not a real friend of the absent lover +turned up in the nick of time Linnæus would probably have stayed a +Dutchman to his death. Now, on the urgent message of his friend, he +hastened home, found his Elisabeth holding out yet, married her and +settled down in Stockholm to practise medicine. + +Famous as he had become, he found the first stretch of the row at +home a hard one to hoe. His books brought him no income. Nobody +would employ him, “even for a sick servant,” he complained. Envious +rivals assailed him and his botany, and there were days when +herring and black bread was fare not to be despised in Dr. Linnæus’ +household. But he kept pegging away and his luck changed. One +well-to-do patient brought another, and at last the queen herself +was opportunely seized with a bad cough. She saw one of her ladies +take a pill and asked what it was. Dr. Linnæus’ prescription for +a cold, she said, and it always cured her right up. So the doctor +was called to the castle and his cure worked there, too. Not long +after that he set down in his diary that “Now, no one can get well +without my help.” + +But he was not happy. “Once, I had flowers and no money,” he +said; “now, I have money and no flowers.” That they appointed him +professor of medicine at Upsala did not mend matters. His lectures +were popular and full of common sense. Diet and the simple life +were his hobbies, temperance in all things. He ever insisted that +where one man dies from drinking too much, ten die from overeating. +Children should eat four times a day, grown-ups twice, was his +rule. The foolish fashions and all luxury he abhorred. He himself +in his most famous years lived so plainly that some said he was +miserly, and his clothes were sometimes almost shabby. The happiest +day of his life came when he and his old enemy Rosén, whom he found +filling the chair of botany at the university, and with whom he +made it up soon after they became fellow members of the faculty, +exchanged chairs with the ready consent of the authorities. So, at +last, Linnæus had attained the place he coveted above all others, +and the goal of his ambition was reached. + +He lived at Upsala thirty-seven years and wrote many books. His +students idolized him. They came from all over the world. Twice a +week in summer, on Wednesday and Saturday, they sallied forth with +him to botanize in field and forest, and when they had collected +specimens all the long day they escorted the professor home through +the twilight streets with drums and trumpets and with flowers +in their hats. But however late they left him at his door, the +earliest dawn saw him up and at his work, for the older he grew the +more precious the hours that remained. In summer he was accustomed +to rise at three o’clock; in the dark winter days at six. + +He found biology a chaos and left it a science. In his special +field of botany he was not, as some think, the first. He himself +catalogued fully a thousand books on his topic. But he brought +order into it; he took what was good and, rejecting the false, +fashioned it into a workable system. In the mere matter of +nomenclature, his way of calling plants, like men, by a family name +and a given name wrought a change hard to appreciate in our day. +The common blue grass of our lawns, for instance, he called, and we +call it still, _Poa pratensis_. Up to his time it had three names +and one of them was _Gramen pratense paniculatum majus latiore +folio poa theophrasti_. Dr. Rydberg, of the New York Botanical +Gardens, said aptly at the bicentenary of his birth, that it was +as if instead of calling a girl Grace Darling one were to say “Mr. +Darling’s beautiful, slender, graceful, blue-eyed girl with long, +golden curls and rosy cheeks.” + +The binomial system revolutionized the science. What the lines +of longitude and latitude did for geography Linnæus’ genius did +for botany. And he did not let pride of achievement persuade him +that he had said the last word. He knew his system to be the best +till some one should find a better, and said so. The King gave him +a noble name and he was proud of it with reason—vain, some have +said. But vanity did not make the creature deny the Creator. He +ever tried to trace science to its author. When the people were +frightened by the “water turning to blood” and overzealous priests +cried that it was a sign of the wrath of God, he showed under the +magnifying glass the presence of innumerable little animals that +gave the water its reddish tinge, and thereby gave offence to some +pious souls. But over the door of his lecture room were the words +in Latin: “Live guiltless—God sees you!” and in his old age, seeing +with prophetic eye the day of bacteriology that dawned a hundred +years after his death, he thanked God that He had permitted him to +“look into His secret council room and workshop.” + +He was one of the clear thinkers of all days, uniting imagination +with sound sense. It was Linnæus who discovered that plants sleep +like animals. The Pope ordered that his books, wherever they were +found in his dominions, should be burned as materialistic and +heretical; but Linnæus lived to see a professor in botany at Rome +dismissed because he did not understand his system, and another put +in his place who did, and whose lectures followed his theories. +When he was seventy he was stricken with apoplexy, while lecturing +to his students, and the last year of his life was full of misery. +“Linnæus limps,” is one of the last entries in his diary, “can +hardly walk, speaks unintelligibly, and is scarce able to write.” +Death came on January 10, 1778. + +Under the white flashes of the northern lights in the desolate land +he explored in his youth, there grows in the shelter of the spruce +forests a flower which he found and loved beyond any other, the +_Linnæa borealis_, named after him. In some pictures we have of +him, he is seen holding a sprig of it in his hand. It is the twin +flower of the northern Pacific coast and of Labrador, indeed of the +far northern woods from Labrador all the way to Alaska, that lifts +its delicate, sweet-scented pink bells from the moss with gentle +appeal, “long overlooked, lowly, flowering early” despite cold and +storm, typical of the man himself. + + + + +NIELS FINSEN, THE WOLF-SLAYER + + +Hard by the town of Thorshavn, in the Faröe islands, a little lad +sat one day carving his name on a rock. His rough-coated pony +cropped the tufts of stunted grass within call. The grim North +Sea beat upon the shore below. What thoughts of the great world +without it stirred in the boy he never told. He came of a people +to whom it called all through the ages with a summons that rarely +went unheeded. If he heard he gave no sign. Slowly and laboriously +he traced in the stone the letters N.R.F. When he had finished he +surveyed his work with a quiet smile. “There!” he said, “that is +done.” + +The years went by, and a distant city paused in its busy life to +hearken to bells tolling for one who lay dead. Kings and princes +walked behind his coffin and a whole people mourned. Yet in life he +had worn no purple. He was a plain, even a poor man. Upon his grave +they set a rock brought from the island in the North Sea, just like +the other that stands there yet, and in it they hewed the letters +N.R.F., for the man and the boy were one. And he who spoke there +said for all mankind that what he wrought was well done, for it was +done bravely and in love. + +Niels Ryberg Finsen was born in 1860 in the Faröe islands, where +his father was an official under the Danish Government. His family +came of the sturdy old Iceland stock that comes down to our time +unshorn of its strength from the day of the vikings, and back to +Iceland his people sent him to get his education in the Reykjavik +Latin school, after a brief stay in Denmark where his teachers +failed to find the key to the silent, reserved lad. There he lived +the seven pregnant years of boyhood and youth, from fourteen to +twenty-one, and ever after there was that about him that brought to +mind the wild fastnesses of that storm swept land. Its mountains +were not more rugged than his belief in the right as he saw it. + +The Reykjavik school had a good name, but school and pupils were +after their own kind. Conventional was hardly the word for it. Some +of the “boys” were twenty and over. Finsen loved to tell of how +they pursued the studies each liked best, paying scant attention to +the rest. In their chosen fields they often knew much more than the +curriculum called for, and were quite able to instruct the teacher; +the things they cared less about they helped one another out with, +so as to pass examinations. For mere proficiency in lessons they +cherished a sovereign contempt. To do anything by halves is not the +Iceland way, and it was not Niels Finsen’s. All through his life he +was impatient with second-hand knowledge and borrowed thinking. So +he worked and played through the long winters of the North. In the +summer vacations he roamed the barren hills, helped herd the sheep, +and drank in the rough freedom of the land and its people. At +twenty-one the school gave him up to the university at Copenhagen. + +Training for life there was not the heyday of youthful frolicking +we sometimes associate with college life in our day and land. Not +until he was thirty could he hang up his sheepskin as a physician. +Yet the students had their fun and their sports, and Finsen was +seldom missing where these went on. He was not an athlete because +already at twenty-three the crippling disease with which he battled +twenty years had got its grip on him, but all the more he was an +outdoor man. He sailed his boat, and practised with the rifle until +he became one of the best shots in Denmark. And it is recorded that +he got himself into at least one scrape at the university by his +love of freedom. + +The country was torn up at that time by a struggle between people +and government over constitutional rights, and it had reached a +point where a country parish had refused to pay taxes illegally +assessed, as they claimed. It was their Boston tea-party. A +delegation of the “tax refusers” had come to Copenhagen, where +the political pot was boiling hot over the incident. The students +were enthusiastic, but the authorities of the university sternly +unsympathetic. The “Reds” were for giving a reception to the +visitors in Regentsen, the great dormitory where, as an Iceland +student, Finsen had free lodging; but it was certain that the Dean +would frown upon such a proposition. So they applied innocently for +permission to entertain some “friends from the country,” and the +party was held in Finsen’s room. Great was the scandal when the +opposition newspapers exploited the feasting of the tax refusers +in the sacred precincts of the university. To the end of his days +Finsen chuckled over the way they stole a march on the Dean. + +For two or three years after getting his degree he taught in the +medical school as demonstrator, eking out his scant income by +tutoring students in anatomy. His sure hand and clear decision +in any situation marked him as a practitioner of power, and he +had thoughts once of devoting himself to the most delicate of +all surgery,—that of the eye. He was even then groping for his +life-work, without knowing it, for it was always light, light—the +source or avenue or effect of it—that held him. And presently his +work found him. + +It has been said that Finsen was a sick man. A mysterious +malady[15] with dropsical symptoms clutched him from the earliest +days with ever tightening grip, and all his manhood’s life he was a +great but silent sufferer. Perhaps it was that; perhaps it was the +bleak North in which his young years had been set that turned him +to the light as the source of life and healing. He said it himself: +“It was because I needed it so much, I longed for it so.” Probably +it was both. Add to them his unique power of turning the things +of every day life to account in his scientific research, and one +begins to understand at once his success and his speedy popularity. +He dealt with the humble things of life, and got to the heart of +things on that road. And the people comprehended; the wise men fell +in behind him—sometimes a long way behind. + +[Illustration: DR. NIELS FINSEN] + +In the yard of Regentsen there grows a famous old linden tree. +Standing at his window one day and watching its young leaf sprout, +Finsen saw a cat sunning itself on the pavement. The shadow of the +house was just behind it and presently crept up on pussy who got +up, stretched herself, and moved into the sunlight. In a little +while the shadow overtook her there, and pussy moved once more. +Finsen watched the shadow rout her out again and again. It was +clear that the cat liked the sunlight. + +A few days later he stood upon a bridge and saw a little squad of +insects sporting on the water. They drifted down happily with the +stream till they came within the shadow of the bridge, when they at +once began to work their way up a piece to get a fresh start for a +sunlight sail. Finsen knew just how they felt. His own room looked +north and was sunless; his work never prospered as it did when he +sat with a friend whose room was on the south side, where the sun +came in. It was warm and pleasant; but was that all? Was it only +the warmth that made the birds break into song when the sun came +out on a cloudy day, made the insects hum joyously and man himself +walk with a more springy step? The housekeeper who “sunned” the +bed-clothes and looked with suspicion on a dark room had something +else in mind; the sun “disinfected” the bedding. Finsen wanted to +know what it was in the sunlight that had this power, and how we +could borrow it and turn it to use. + +The men of science had long before analyzed the sunlight. They had +broken it up into the rays of different color that together make +the white light we see. Any boy can do it with a prism, and in the +band or spectrum of red, yellow, green, blue, and violet that then +appears, he has before him the cipher that holds the key to the +secrets of the universe if we but knew how to read it aright; for +the sunlight is the physical source of all life and of all power. +The different colors represent rays with different wave-lengths; +that is, they vibrate with different speed and do different work. +The red vibrate only half as fast as the violet, at the other end +of the spectrum, and, roughly speaking, they are the heat carriers. +The blue and violet are cold by comparison. They are the force +carriers. They have power to cause chemical changes, hence are +known as the chemical or actinic rays. It is these the photographer +shuts out of his dark room, where he intrenches himself behind a +ruby-colored window. The chemical ray cannot pass that; if it did +it would spoil his plate. + +This much was known, and it had been suggested more than once +that the “disinfecting” qualities of the sunlight might be due +to the chemical rays killing germs. Finsen, experimenting with +earthworms, earwigs, and butterflies, in a box covered with glass +of the different colors of the spectrum, noted first that the bugs +that naturally burrowed in darkness became uneasy in the blue +light. As fast as they were able, they got out of it and crawled +into the red, where they lay quiet and apparently content. When +the glass covers were changed they wandered about until they found +the red light again. The earwigs were the smartest. They developed +an intelligent grasp of the situation, and soon learned to make +straight for the red room. The butterflies, on the other hand, +liked the red light only to sleep in. It was made clear by many +such experiments that the chemical rays, and they only, had power +to stimulate, to “stir life.” Finsen called it that himself. In the +language of the children, he was getting “warm.” + +That this power, like any other, had its perils, and that nature, +if not man, was awake to them, he proved by some simple experiments +with sunburn. He showed that the tan which boys so covet was the +defence the skin puts forth against the blue ray. The inflammation +of sunburn is succeeded by the brown pigmentation that henceforth +stands guard like the photographer’s ruby window, protecting the +deeper layers of the skin. The black skin of the negro was no +longer a mystery. It is his protection against the fierce sunlight +of the tropics and the injurious effect of its chemical ray. + +Searching the libraries in Copenhagen for the records of earlier +explorers in his field, and finding little enough there, Finsen +came across the report of an American army surgeon on a smallpox +epidemic in the South in the thirties of the last century. There +were so many sick in the fort that, every available room being +filled, they had to put some of the patients into the bomb-proof, +to great inconvenience all-round, as it was entirely dark there. +The doctor noted incidentally that, as if to make up for it, the +underground patients got well sooner and escaped pitting. To him +it was a curious incident, nothing more. Upon Dr. Finsen, sitting +there with the seventy-five-year-old report from over the sea in +his hand, it burst with a flood of light: the patients got well +without scarring _because_ they were in the dark. Red light or +darkness, it was all the same. The point was that the chemical rays +that could cause sunburn on men climbing glaciers, and had power to +irritate the sick skin, were barred out. Within a month he jolted +the medical world by announcing that smallpox patients treated +under red light would recover readily and without disfigurement. + +The learned scoffed. There were some of them who had read of the +practice in the Middle Ages of smothering smallpox patients in +red blankets, giving them red wine to drink and hanging the room +with scarlet. Finsen had not heard of it, and was much interested. +Evidently they had been groping toward the truth. How they came +upon the idea is not the only mystery of that strange day, for +they knew nothing of actinic rays or sunlight analyzed. But Finsen +calmly invited the test, which was speedy in coming. + +They had smallpox in Bergen, Norway, and there the matter was +put to the proof with entire success; later in Sweden and in +Copenhagen. The patients who were kept under the red light +recovered rapidly, though some of them were unvaccinated children, +and bad cases. In no instance was the most dangerous stage of the +disease, the festering stage, reached; the temperature did not rise +again, and they all came out unscarred. + +Finsen pointed out that where other methods of treatment such as +painting the face with iodine or lunar caustic, or covering it +with a mask or with fat, had met with any success in the past, the +same principle was involved of protecting the skin from the light, +though the practitioner did not know it. He was doing the thing +they did in the middle ages, and calling them quacks. + +It is strange but true that Dr. Finsen had never seen a smallpox +patient at that time, but he knew the nature of the disease, and +that the sufferer was affected by its eruption first and worst on +the face and hands—that is to say, on the parts of the body exposed +to the light—and he was as sure of his ground as was Leverrier +when, fifty years before, he bade his fellow astronomers look in a +particular spot of the heavens for an unknown planet that disturbed +the movements of Uranus. And they found the one we call Neptune +there. + +Presently all the world knew that the first definite step had been +taken toward harnessing in the service of man the strange force +in the sunlight that had been the object of so much speculation +and conjecture. The next step followed naturally. In the published +account of his early experiments Finsen foreshadows it in the +words, “That the beginning has been made with the hurtful effects +of this force is odd enough, since without doubt its beneficial +effect is far greater.” His clear head had already asked the +question: if the blue rays of the sun can penetrate deep enough +into the skin to cause injury, why should they not be made to do +police duty there, and catch and kill offending germs—in short, to +heal? + +Finsen had demonstrated the correctness of the theory that the +chemical rays have power to kill germs. But it happens that these +are the rays that possess the least penetration. How to make +them go deeper was the problem. By an experiment that is, in its +simplicity, wholly characteristic of the man, he demonstrated that +the red blood in the deeper layers of the skin was the obstacle. He +placed a piece of photographic paper behind the lobe of his wife’s +ears and concentrated powerful blue rays on the other side. Five +minutes of exposure made no impression on the paper; it remained +white. But when he squeezed all the blood out of the lobe, by +pressing it between two pieces of glass, the paper was blackened in +twenty seconds. + +That night Finsen knew that he had within his grasp that which +would make him a rich man if he so chose. He had only to construct +apparatus to condense the chemical rays and double their power +many times, and to apply his discovery in medical practice. Wealth +and fame would come quickly. He told the writer in his own simple +way how he talked it over with his wife. They were poor. Finsen’s +salary as a teacher at the university was something like $1200 a +year. He was a sick man, and wealth would buy leisure and luxury. +Children were growing up about them who needed care. They talked it +out together, and resolutely turned their backs upon it all. Hand +in hand they faced the world with their sacrifice. What remained of +life to him was to be devoted to suffering mankind. That duty done, +what came they would meet together. Wealth never came, but fame in +full measure, and the love and gratitude of their fellow-men. + +There is a loathsome disease called lupus, of which, happily, in +America with our bright skies we know little. Lupus is the Latin +word for wolf, and the ravenous ailment is fitly named, for it +attacks by preference the face, and gnaws at the features, at nose, +chin, or eye, with horrible, torturing persistence, killing slowly, +while the patient shuts himself out from the world praying daily +for death to end his misery. + +In the north of Europe it is sadly common, and there had never been +any cure for it. Ointments, burning, surgery—they were all equally +useless. Once the wolf had buried its fangs in its victim, he was +doomed to inevitable death. The disease is, in fact, tuberculosis +of the skin, and is the most dreadful of all the forms in which the +white plague scourges mankind—was, until one day Finsen announced +to the world his second discovery, that lupus was cured by the +simple application of light. + +It was not a conjecture, a theory, like the red light treatment for +smallpox; it was a fact. For two years he had been sending people +away whole and happy who came to him in despair. The wolf was +slain, and by this silent sufferer whose modest establishment was +all contained within a couple of small shanties in a corner of the +city hospital grounds, at Copenhagen. + +There was a pause of amazed incredulity. The scientific men did +not believe it. Three years later, when the physician in charge +of Finsen’s clinic told at the medical congress in Paris of the +results obtained at the Light Institute, his story was still +received with a polite smile. The smile became astonishment when, +at a sign from him, the door opened and twelve healed lupus +patients came in, each carrying a photograph of himself as he was +before he underwent the treatment. Still the doctors could not +grasp it. The thing was too simple as matched against all their +futile skill. + +But the people did not doubt. There was a rush from all over Europe +to Copenhagen. Its streets became filled with men and women whose +faces were shrouded in heavy bandages, and it was easy to tell +the new-comers from those who had seen “the professor.” They came +in gloom and misery; they went away carrying in their faces the +sunshine that gave them back their life. Finsen never tired, when +showing friends over his Institute, of pointing out the joyous +happiness of his patients. It was his reward. For not “science +for science’s sake,” or pride in his achievement, was his aim and +thought, but just the wish to do good where he could. Then, in +three more years, they awarded him the great Nobel prize for signal +service to humanity, and criticism was silenced. All the world +applauded. + +“They gave it to me this year,” said Finsen, with his sad little +smile, “because they knew that next year it would have been too +late.” And he prophesied truly. He died nine months later. + +All that is here set down seems simple enough. But it was +achieved with infinite toil and patience, by the most painstaking +experiments, many times repeated to make sure. In his method of +working Finsen was eminently conservative and thorough. Nothing +“happened” with him. There was ever behind his doings a definite +purpose for which he sought a way, and the higher the obstacles +piled up the more resolutely he set his teeth and kept right on. +“The thing is not in itself so difficult,” he said, when making +ready for his war upon the wolf, “but the road is long and the +experiments many before we find the right way.” + +He took no new step before he had planted his foot firmly in the +one that went before; but once he knew where he stood, he did not +hesitate to question any scientific dogma that opposed him, always +in his own quiet way, backed by irrefutable facts. In a remarkable +degree he had the faculty of getting down through the husk to the +core of things, but he rejected nothing untried. The little thing +in hand, he ever insisted, if faithfully done might hold the key +to the whole problem; only let it be done _now_ to get the matter +settled. + +Whatever his mind touched it made perfectly clear, if it was not +so already. As a teacher of anatomy he invented a dissecting knife +that was an improvement on those in use, and clamps for securing +the edges of a wound in an operation. As a rifle shot he made an +improved breech; as a physician, observing the progress of his +own disease, an effective blood powder for anaemia. At the Light +Institute, which friends built for him, and the government endowed, +he devised the powerful electric lamps to which he turned in +the treatment of lupus, for the sun does not shine every day in +Copenhagen; and when it did not, the lenses that gathered the blue +rays and concentrated them upon the swollen faces were idle. And +gradually he increased their power, checking the heat rays that +would slip through and threatened to scorch the patient’s skin, by +cunning devices of cooling streams trickling through the tubes and +the hollow lenses. + +Nothing was patented; it was all given freely to the world. The +decision which he and his wife made together was made once for +all. When the great Nobel prize was given to him he turned it over +to the Light Institute, and was with difficulty persuaded to keep +half of it for himself only when friends raised an equal amount and +presented it to the Institute. + +Finsen knew that his discoveries were but the first groping steps +upon a new road that stretched farther ahead than any man now +living can see. He was content to have broken the way. His faith +was unshaken in the ultimate treatment of the whole organism under +electric light that, by concentrating the chemical rays, would +impart to the body their life-giving power. He himself was beyond +their help. Daily he felt life slipping from him, but no word of +complaint passed his lips. He prescribed for himself a treatment +that, if anything, was worse than the disease. Only a man of iron +will could have carried it through. + +A set of scales stood on the table before him, and for years he +weighed every mouthful of food he ate. He suffered tortures from +thirst because he would allow no fluid to pass his lips, on account +of his tendency to dropsy. Through it all he cheerfully kept up his +labors, rejoicing that he was allowed to do so much. His courage +was indomitable; his optimism under it all unwavering. His favorite +contention was that there is nothing in the world that is not good +for something, except war. That he hated, and his satire on the +militarism of Europe as its supreme folly was sharp and biting. + +Of such quality was this extraordinary man of whom half the world +was talking while the fewest, even in his own home city, ever saw +him. Fewer still knew him well. It suited his temper and native +modesty, as it did the state of his bodily health, to keep himself +secluded. His motto was: “_bene vixit qui bene latuit_—he has +lived well who has kept himself well hidden”—and his contention +was always that in proportion as one could keep himself in the +background his cause prospered, if it was a good cause. When kings +and queens came visiting, he could not always keep in hiding, +though he often tried. On one of his days of extreme prostration +the dowager empress of Russia knocked vainly at his door. She +pleaded so hard to be allowed to see Dr. Finsen that they relented +at last, and she sat by his bed and wept in sympathy with his +sufferings, while he with his brave smile on lips that would twitch +with pain did his best to comfort her. She and Queen Alexandra, +both daughters of King Christian, carried the gospel of hope and +healing from his study to their own lands, and Light Institutes +sprang up all over Europe. + +In his own life he treated nearly nineteen hundred sufferers, +two-thirds of them lupus patients, and scarce a handful went from +his door unhelped. When his work was done he fell asleep with +a smile upon his lips, and the “universal judgment was one of +universal thanksgiving that he had lived.” He was forty-three years +old. + +When the news of his death reached the Rigsdag, the Danish +parliament, it voted his widow a pension such as had been given to +few Danes in any day. The king, his sons and daughters, and, as it +seemed, the whole people followed his body to the grave. The rock +from his native island marks the place where he lies. His work is +his imperishable monument. His epitaph he wrote himself in the +speech another read when the Nobel prize was awarded him, for he +was then too ill to speak. + +“May the Light Institute grasp the obligation that comes with its +success, the obligation to maintain what I account the highest aim +in science—truth, faithful work, and sound criticism.” + + +Footnotes: + +[15] The autopsy which he himself ordered on his death-bed as his +last contribution to medical knowledge, showed it to be a slow +ossification of the membrane of the heart, involving the liver and +all the vital organs. He was “tapped” for dropsy more than twenty +times. + + +Printed in the United States of America. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERO TALES OF THE FAR NORTH *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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