“It is hard,” says Hughes, who has written an interesting but not exhaustive life of Alfred, “to account for the sudden and complete collapse of the West Saxon power in January, 878, since in the campaign of the preceding year Alfred had been successful both by sea and land.”  Yet such seems to have been the fact, whatever may be its explanation.  No such panic had ever overcome the Britons, who made a more stubborn resistance.  No prince ever suffered a severer humiliation than did the Saxon monarch during the dreary winter of 878; but, according to Asser, it was for his ultimate good.  Alfred was deeply and sincerely religious, and like David saw the hand of God in all his misfortunes.  In his case adversity proved the school of greatness.  For six months he was hidden from public view, lost sight of entirely by his afflicted subjects, enduring great privations, and gaining a scanty subsistence.  There are several popular legends about his life in the marshes, too well known to be described,—­one about the cakes and another about his wanderings to the Danish camp disguised as a minstrel, both probable enough; yet, if true, they show an extraordinary depth of misfortunes.

At last his subjects began to rally.  It was known by many that Alfred was alive.  Bodies of armed followers gradually gathered at his retreat.  He was strongly intrenched; and occasionally he issued from his retreat to attack straggling bands, or to make reconnoissance of the enemy’s forces.  In May, 878, he left his fortified position and met some brave and faithful subjects at Egbert’s Stone, twenty miles to the east of Selwood.  The gathering had been carefully planned and secretly made, and was unknown to the Danes.  His first marked success was at Edington, or Ethandune, where the Pagan host lay encamped, near Westbury.  We have no definite knowledge of the number of men engaged in that bloody and desperate battle, in which the Saxons were greatly outnumbered by the Danes, who were marshalled under a chieftain called Guthrun.  But the battle was decisive, and made Alfred once more master of England south of the Thames.  Guthrun, now in Alfred’s power, was the ablest warrior that the Northmen had as yet produced.  He was shut up in an inland fort, with no ships on the nearest river, and with no hope of reinforcements.  At the end of two weeks he humbly sued for peace, offering to quit Wessex for good, and even to embrace the Christian religion.  Strange as it may seem, Alfred granted his request,—­either, with profound statesmanship, not wishing to drive a desperate enemy to extremities, or seeking his conversion.  The remains of the discomfited Pagan host crossed over into Mercia, and gave no further trouble.  Never was a conquest attended with happier results.  Guthrun (with thirty of his principal nobles) was baptized into the Christian faith, and received the Saxon name of Athelstan.  But East Anglia became a Danish kingdom.  The Danes were not expelled