The English army was too small notwithstanding this desperate effort to strengthen it.  They stood, however, all day in a compact band, protecting themselves with their shields from the arrows of the foot soldiers of the enemy, and with their pikes from the onset of the cavalry.  At night the Danes retired, as if giving up the contest; but as soon as the Saxons, now released from their positions of confinement and restraint, had separated a little, and began to feel somewhat more secure, their implacable foes returned again and attacked them in separate masses, and with more fury than before.  The Saxons endeavored in vain either to defend themselves or escape.  As fast as their comrades were killed, the survivors stood upon the heaps of the slain, to gain what little advantage they could from so slight an elevation.  Nearly all at length were killed.  A few escaped into a neighboring wood, where they lay concealed during the day following, and then, when the darkness of the succeeding night came to enable them to conceal their journey, they made their way to the abbey, to make known to the anxious inmates of it the destruction of the army, and to warn them of the imminence of the impending danger to which they were now exposed.

A dreadful scene of consternation and terror ensued.  The affrighted messengers told their tale, breathless and wayworn, at the door of the chapel, where the monks were engaged at their devotions.  The aisles were filled with exclamations of alarm and despairing lamentations.  The abbot, whose name was Theodore, immediately began to take measures suited to the emergency.  He resolved to retain at the monastery only some aged monks and a few children, whose utter defenselessness, he thought, would disarm the ferocity and vengeance of the Danes.  The rest, only about thirty, however, in number—­nearly all the brethren having gone out under the Friar Joly into the great battle—­were put on board a boat to be sent down the river.  It seems at first view a strange idea to send away the vigorous and strong, and keep the infirm and helpless at the scene of danger; but the monks knew very well that all resistance was vain, and that, consequently, their greatest safety would lie in the absence of all appearance of the possibility of resistance.

The treasures were sent away, too, with all the men.  They hastily collected all the valuables together, the relics, the jewels, and all of the gold and silver plate which could be easily removed, and placed them in a boat—­packing them as securely as their haste and trepidation allowed.  The boats glided down the river till they came to a lonely spot, where an anchorite or sort of hermit lived in solitude.  The men and the treasures were to be intrusted to his charge.  He concealed the men in the thickets and other hiding-places in the woods, and buried the treasures.