Hereward, The Last of the English | Page 6

ragged and
decayed, and fast dying out in England even then; though lingering still
in the forests of the Scotch highlands.
Between the forests were open wolds, dotted with white sheep and
golden gorse; rolling plains of rich though ragged turf, whether cleared
by the hand of man or by the wild fires which often swept over the hills.
And between the wood and the wold stood many a Danish "town," with
its clusters of low straggling buildings round the holder's house, stone
or mud below, and wood above; its high dikes round tiny fields; its
flocks of sheep ranging on the wold; its herds of swine in the forest;
and below, a more precious possession still,--its herds of mares and
colts, which fed with the cattle in the rich grass-fen.
For always, from the foot of the wolds, the green flat stretched away,
illimitable, to an horizon where, from the roundness of the earth, the
distant trees and islands were hulled down like ships at sea. The firm
horse-fen lay, bright green, along the foot of the wold; beyond it, the
browner peat, or deep fen; and among it, dark velvet alder beds, long
lines of reed-rond, emerald in spring, and golden under the autumn sun;
shining river-reaches; broad meres dotted with a million fowl, while the
cattle waded along their edges after the rich sedge-grass, or wallowed
in the mire through the hot summer's day. Here and there, too, upon the
far horizon, rose a tall line of ashen trees, marking some island of firm
rich soil. Here and there, too, as at Ramsey and Crowland, the huge
ashes had disappeared before the axes of the monks, and a minster
tower rose over the fen, amid orchards, gardens, cornfields, pastures,
with here and there a tree left standing for shade. "Painted with flowers
in the spring," with "pleasant shores embosomed in still lakes," as the
monk-chronicler of Ramsey has it, those islands seemed to such as the
monk terrestrial paradises.
Overhead the arch of heaven spread more ample than elsewhere, as

over the open sea; and that vastness gave, and still gives, such "effects"
of cloudland, of sunrise, and sunset, as can be seen nowhere else within
these isles. They might well have been star worshippers, those Girvii,
had their sky been as clear as that of the East: but they were like to
have worshipped the clouds rather than the stars, according to the too
universal law, that mankind worship the powers which do them harm,
rather than the powers which do them good.
And therefore the Danelagh men, who feared not mortal sword, or axe,
feared witches, ghosts, Pucks, Will-o'-the-Wisps, werewolves, spirits of
the wells and of the trees, and all dark, capricious, and harmful beings
whom their fancy conjured up out of the wild, wet, and unwholesome
marshes, or the dark wolf-haunted woods. For that fair land, like all
things on earth, had its darker aspect. The foul exhalations of autumn
called up fever and ague, crippling and enervating, and tempting,
almost compelling, to that wild and desperate drinking which was the
Scandinavian's special sin. Dark and sad were those short autumn days,
when all the distances were shut off, and the air choked with foul
brown fog and drenching rains from off the eastern sea; and pleasant
the bursting forth of the keen north-east wind, with all its whirling
snowstorms. For though it sent men hurrying out into the storm, to
drive the cattle in from the fen, and lift the sheep out of the
snow-wreaths, and now and then never to return, lost in mist and mire,
in ice and snow;--yet all knew that after the snow would come the keen
frost and the bright sun and cloudless blue sky, and the fenman's yearly
holiday, when, work being impossible, all gave themselves up to play,
and swarmed upon the ice on skates and sledges, and ran races,
township against township, or visited old friends full forty miles away;
and met everywhere faces as bright and ruddy as their own, cheered by
the keen wine of that dry and bracing frost.
Such was the Fenland; hard, yet cheerful; rearing a race of hard and
cheerful men; showing their power in old times in valiant fighting, and
for many a century since in that valiant industry which has drained and
embanked the land of the Girvii, till it has become a very "Garden of
the Lord." And the Scotsman who may look from the promontory of
Peterborough, the "golden borough" of old time; or from the tower of

Crowland, while Hereward and Torfrida sleep in the ruined nave
beneath; or from the heights of that Isle of Ely which was so long "the
camp of refuge" for English freedom; over the labyrinth of dikes and
lodes, the