Christina was thus afforded a short respite in which to gather strength. The bravery and determination which she had displayed, even from the moment of her husband's death, already began to inspire confidence among the people. Most of the great men in the realm, intimidated by the threats or allured by the promises of Krumpen, had sworn allegiance to the king of Denmark. But the chief castles were still held by the patriots, and throughout the land there was a strong undercurrent of feeling against the Danes. In most parts the people were only waiting to see which way the wind was going to blow, and for the time being it seemed likely to blow in favor of the Swedes. The regent's widow used every effort to rouse the people from their lethargy, and with increased success. All winter long the king of Denmark was burning to send reinforcements, and dickering with the Powers of Europe to obtain the necessary funds. But his credit was bad, and it was only with great difficulty that he at last despatched a body of some fifteen hundred men. Christina, on the other hand, was being reinforced by the Hanse Towns along the Baltic, and in the early spring the current of sentiment had set so strongly in her favor that a plot was formed to drive off the Danish troops beleaguering the Castle of Vesterås, on the Mälar. So soon as this plot reached the ears of the Danish leader, he resolved to break the siege and hurry off to join the forces of Krumpen at Upsala. He did so; but he did so none too soon. He found his path beset by the peasantry lying in ambush in the woods, and before he succeeded in pushing through them, he was led into a bloody battle from which the patriots came off victorious, though their leader fell.[42]
Emboldened by this success, Christina now sent a messenger among the peasantry to collect a force with which to attack the Danish army in Upsala. In a short space of time he had gathered a strong band of peasantry and miners, with whom, reinforced by a detachment from Stockholm, he marched forward to Upsala. As the patriots approached the town, a squad stationed by Krumpen outside the walls descried them and sounded the alarm. This was on Good Friday, April 6, 1520, and Krumpen was in the cathedral when the news arrived. Without delay he hurried forth and gave orders that every man, both horse and foot, should gird on his armor and assemble in the square. As soon as they had come together, he led them outside the town and drew up his line of battle close beneath the walls. In front of this line he formed a solid phalanx, with a wing on either side composed of horse and foot. Still farther ahead he placed his catapults, with the largest of which he opened fire first, the sharpshooters at the same time picking off the enemy. The sky was heavily overcast, and at the very beginning of the battle a driving storm with rain and sleet came beating down in the faces of the Danes, thus blinding them. Their cavalry, too, was almost useless; for the ground was covered with melting snow, which formed in great cakes under the horses' hoofs, and soon sent horses and riders sprawling on the ground. The patriots, however, being without cavalry or muskets, suffered little from the rain. They were not slow to take advantage of the opportunity thus afforded them, and pressed forward madly on the left wing until finally it began to yield. The standard-bearer, half frozen, was about to drop the standard, when a Danish veteran rushed forward, seized it from his hands, and fixed it in the nearest fence, at the same time shouting: "Forward, my men! Remember your own and your fathers' valor! Shall this standard of your country fall unstained into the hands of the enemy?" At these words the company rallied and, hacking at the hands of the patriots who strove to pluck the standard from the fence, compelled them to withdraw. This company then joined the others, and a long and bitter conflict followed, the two armies fighting face to face. At length, as soon as the snow began to be well packed, the Danish cavalry came to the front once more, and after a series of violent charges, broke in two places through the enemy's ranks. The patriots, now cut into three distinct bodies, fled in wild despair. One body of them was surrounded and massacred on the spot. Another fled to a brick-kiln near at hand, hoping thus to be sheltered from the fury of the Danes. But they were pursued, the whole place was set on fire, and all who issued from it were put to the sword. The third portion of the Swedes fled in terror to the river, but many of them weighted down by their arms were drowned. Thus ended a fearful battle. The snow was literally drenched with blood. Of the Swedes, who numbered 30,000, it is said two thirds were killed; while the Danes, 8,000 strong, lost half.[43]
After this fearful slaughter both parties were for the nonce more cautious. Messengers were sent by each throughout the land to gain recruits, but they were careful to avoid a general conflict. Skirmishes and trickery were the order of the day. The patriots were frittering away their chances for lack of a leader, and Krumpen was waiting for the arrival of King Christiern. This was delayed only till the breaking of the ice. Towards the close of April, 1520, Christiern set sail with a large fleet for Sweden, having on board the Archbishop of Lund and some other influential prelates, to lend to his expedition the aspect of a religious crusade. Proceeding first to Kalmar, he called upon the castle to surrender, but in vain. Seeing that his only mode of reducing the castle was by siege, he resolved for the present to give it up, and after issuing a broadside to the people of Vestergötland, summoning them to a conference to be held a month later, on the 3d of June, he advanced to Stockholm and dropped anchor just outside the town. This was on the 27th of May, four days before the landing of Gustavus Vasa on the Swedish coast.[44]
The arrival of Gustavus Vasa marks an epoch in the history of Sweden. It is the starting-point of one of the most brilliant and successful revolutions that the world has ever known. Other political upheavals have worked quite as great results, and in less time. But rarely if ever has a radical change in a nation's development been so unmistakably the work of a single hand,—and that, too, the hand of a mere youth of four-and-twenty. The events immediately preceding the return of Gustavus prove conclusively, if they prove anything, how impotent are mere numbers without a leader. For years the whole country had been almost continuously immersed in blood. One moment the peasantry were all in arms, burning to avenge their wrongs, and the next moment, just on the eve of victory, they scattered, each satisfied with promises that his wrongs would be redressed and willing to let other persons redress their own. What was needed above all else was a feeling of national unity and strength; and it was this feeling that from the very outset the young Gustavus sought to instil in the minds of the Swedish people. As we now follow him in his romantic wanderings through dreary forest and over ice and snow and even down into the bowels of the earth, we shall observe that the one idea which more than any other filled his mind was the idea of a united Swedish nation. At first we shall find this idea laughed at as visionary, and its promoter driven to the far corners of the land. But before three years are over, we shall see a Swedish nation already rising from the dust, until at last it takes a high place in the firmament of European powers.
The memorable soil on which Gustavus disembarked lay two miles south of Kalmar; and he hurried to the town without delay. Kalmar was at this time, next to Stockholm, the strongest town in Sweden. Lying on two or three small islands, it was guarded from the mainland by several narrow streams, while on the east it was made secure through a stupendous castle from attack by sea. This castle was at the time in charge of the widow of the last commandant, and was strongly garrisoned, as was also the town below, with mercenaries from abroad. On entering the town Gustavus was received with kindness by the burghers, and sought in every way to rouse their drooping spirits. He even approached the German soldiers with a view to inspire comfort in their souls. But his words of courage fell on stony ground. It is the nature of mercenaries to fight like madmen when the prospect of reward is bright, but no sooner does a cloud gather on the horizon, than they throw down their arms and begin to clamor for their pay. Such at that moment was the state of things in Kalmar. Christiern, backed by the leading powers of Europe, and upheld in his expedition by the authority of Rome, had just arrived in Sweden with a powerful army, and was now lying at anchor in the harbor of the capital. The Swedish forces, broken in many places and without a leader, were gradually scattering to their homes. The cloud that had long been gathering over the head of Sweden seemed about to burst. The future was already black, and a listening ear could easily catch the mutterings of the approaching storm. The Kalmar mercenaries therefore were only irritated by the importunities of the youthful refugee, and it was only through the intercession of the burghers that he was saved from violence and allowed to leave the town.[45]
To revisit the scenes of his boyhood and his father's house was no longer possible. The brave Sten Sture, from whose palace he had been stolen two years since, was lying beneath the sod; and Stockholm, held by the young man's aunt Christina, was in a state of siege. All access to her or to the capital would have been at the peril of his life. He therefore; renounced for the time being his desire to see his family, and proceeded stealthily to approach the capital by land. His way lay first across the dreary moors and swamps of Småland. Here he went from house to house, inciting the peasantry to rebel. Among others he sought out some of his father's tenants, in the hope that they at least would hear him. But he found them all sunk in lethargy, cowering under the sword of Christiern. His voice was truly the voice of one crying in the wilderness. The golden hope of lifting his country out of her misery seemed shattered at a blow. Instead of being received with open arms as a deliverer, he was jeered at in every town, and finally so bitter grew the public sentiment against him that he was forced to flee. Hardly daring to show his face lest he should be shot down by the soldiers of the king, he betook himself to a farm owned by his father on the south shore of the Mälar. Here he remained in secrecy through the summer, hoping for better times,—an unwilling witness of the subjugation of his land,—till finally he was driven from his refuge by an act of Christiern so revolting in its villany that it made the whole of Europe shudder.[46]
Christiern, on the 27th of May, was riding at anchor in the harbor of the capital. Among his men was Hemming Gad, over the spirit of whose dream had come a vast change since his capture some eighteen months before. Just when this change began, or how it was effected, is unknown. But already, in March of 1520, the report had spread through Sweden that Gad had turned traitor to his native land, and we find him writing to the people of Stockholm to tell them that he and they had done Christiern wrong, and begging them to reconcile themselves to Christiern as he had done. Gad was a statesman,—a word synonymous in those days with charlatan,—and he did not hesitate to leave his falling comrades in order to join the opposite party on the road to power. Doubtless Christiern took care that he lost nothing by his change of colors, and doubtless it was with a view to aid himself that he brought Gad back to Sweden.[47]
No sooner did Christiern arrive off Stockholm than Krumpen came with Archbishop Trolle from Upsala, to receive him. They held a council of war on board the fleet, and resolved to lay siege once more to Stockholm. The capital was by this time well supplied with food; but the summer had only just begun, and Christiern thought by using strict precautions to starve the town ere winter. Pitching his camp along the shore both north and south, and blockading the harbor on the east, he sent messengers through the land to enlist the peasantry in his cause. Many of them he propitiated by a generous distribution of salt which he had brought with him from Denmark. Things, however, were not entirely to his taste. Christina too had ambassadors inciting the people to revolt. On the 27th of June a large body of the patriots laid siege to the palace of the bishop of Linköping. About the same time also the monastery of Mariefred, inhabited by the old archbishop Ulfsson, was threatened; and a throng of peasants marched to Strengnäs to burn and plunder. How crude the patriot forces at this time were is apparent from a letter from a Danish officer to Krumpen, in which it is said that out of a body of about three thousand only one hundred and fifty were skilled soldiers. Christiern finally deemed it best to send a force to Vesterås to storm the castle. This was done, the castle fell, and the officer in command was taken prisoner. It was now August, and the Stockholmers, no aid thus far having come to them from abroad, were losing heart. In this state of things the king sent Gad and others inside the walls to urge the people to surrender. Christina and her sturdy burghers received the messengers with scorn; but the magnates, already more than half inclined to yield, vehemently advocated the proposal. Soon the whole town was in an uproar. A riot followed, and some blood was shed. But at last Christina and her adherents yielded, and delegates were sent outside the town to parley. After several days of bickering it was agreed that Stockholm should be surrendered on the 7th of September next, but on the other hand that all hostility to Christiern and to his fathers, as well as to Archbishop Trolle and the other prelates, should be forgiven.[48]
Two days later, on the 7th of September, the burgomasters crossed over in a body to Södermalm, and delivered the keys of the city gates into the hands of Christiern. Then, with bugles sounding and all the pomp and ceremony of a triumph, he marched at the head of his army through the city walls and up to the Great Church, where he offered thanksgiving to Almighty God. That over, he proceeded to the citadel and took possession. The same day and the day following he obtained two documents,—one from the Cabinet members then in Stockholm, and the other from the burgomaster and Council,—granting the castle to Christiern during his life, and at his death to his son Hans, or, if he should die before the king, then to the king's wife Elizabeth, to revert, after the death of all three, to the Cabinet of Sweden. Christiern then appointed his officers throughout the country, after which he sailed away for Denmark.[49]
Not long, however, was Sweden freed from his contaminating presence. Within a month he had returned, breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the nation that he had vanquished. A general diet had been summoned to meet at Stockholm on the first day of November. As this diet was to be immediately followed by the coronation of the king, special efforts had been made to secure a large attendance of the Danish party. The venerable Ulfsson, now tottering to the grave, had recently written to Christiern that he would be present at the triumphal entry into Stockholm, "even if," as he says, "I have to crawl upon my knees;" and he was present at the diet. When the appointed day arrived, the delegates were summoned to a hill outside the town, and were shut in on every side by the pikes and rapiers of the royal soldiers. The proceedings were cut and dried throughout. A pompous oration was delivered by one of the king's satellites, declaring the grounds on which his master claimed the throne of Sweden, at the close of which the people were asked whether they would have him for their king, and with their tyrants' weapons brandished before their eyes they answered yes. With this elaborate farce the ceremony ended and the people scattered, being first ordered to return on the following Sunday and share in the coronation festivities of the king whom they had thus elected against their will. The ostentatious mummery of these mock ceremonies would cause a smile but for the frightful tragedy with which they were to close. None but the blindest partisans could have felt anything else than aversion for this monster on whose head they were to place the crown. Even his own friends hated him, and despised the very ground on which he trod. But it was the age of heaven-born rulers; so the masses bent their knee and sang their pæans to the demon whom fate had made their king.[50]