The Stillwater Tragedy
The Stillwater Tragedy By Thomas Bailey Aldrich I It is close upon daybreak. The great wall of pines and hemlocks that keep off the west wind from Stillwater stretches black and indeterminate against the sky. At intervals a dull, metallic sound, like the guttural twang of a violin string, rises form the frog-invested swamp skirting the highway. Suddenly the birds stir in their nests over there in the woodland, and break into that wild
of conquest and plunder in other parts of the island, they came like
an inundation over Alfred's frontiers, and all hope of resisting them
seems to have been immediately abandoned. The Saxon armies were broken
up. Alfred had lost, it appears, all influence and control over both
leaders and men. The chieftains and nobles fled. Some left the country
altogether; others hid themselves in the best retreats and fastnesses
that they could find. Alfred himself was obliged to follow the general
example. A few attendants, either more faithful than the rest, or else
more distrustful of their own resources, and inclined, accordingly, to
seek their own personal safety by adhering closely to their sovereign,
followed him. These, however, one after another, gradually forsook
him, and, finally, the fallen and deserted monarch was left alone.
In fact, it was a relief to him at last to be left alone; for they who
remained around him became in the end a burden instead of affording
him protection. They were too few to fight, and too many to be easily
concealed. Alfred withdrew himself from them, thinking that, under the
circumstances in which he was now placed, he was justified in seeking
his own personal safety alone. He had a wife, whom he married when he
was about twenty years old; but she was not with him now, though she
afterward joined him. She was in some other place of retreat. She
could, in fact, be much more easily concealed than her husband; for
the Danes, though they would undoubtedly have valued her very highly
as a captive, would not search for her with the eager and persevering
vigilance with which it was to be expected they would hunt for their
most formidable, but now discomfited and fugitive foe.
The Stillwater Tragedy By Thomas Bailey Aldrich I It is close upon daybreak. The great wall of pines and hemlocks that keep off the west wind from Stillwater stretches black and indeterminate against the sky. At intervals a dull, metallic sound, like the guttural twang of a violin string, rises form the frog-invested swamp skirting the highway. Suddenly the birds stir in their nests over there in the woodland, and break into that wild