History informs us, that Harold, surnamed Blaatand, or Blue Tooth, (a king of Denmark, who reigned in the middle of the tenth century) had founded on the coast of Pomerania, which he had subdued, a city named Julin or Jomsburg; where he sent a colony of young Danes, and bestowed the government on a celebrated warrior named Palnatoko. This new Lycurgus had made of that city a second Sparta, and every thing was directed to this single end, to form complete soldiers. The author who has left us the history of this colony, assures us, that “it was forbidden them so much as to mention the name of fear, even in the most imminent dangers.” No citizen of Jomsburg was to yield to any number, however great, but to fight intrepidly without flying, even from a very superior force. The sight of present and inevitable death would have been no excuse with them for making any the least complaint, or for shewing the slightest apprehension. And this legislator really appears to have eradicated from the minds of most of the youths bred up under him, all traces of that sentiment so natural and so universal, which makes men think on their destruction with horror. Nothing can shew this better than a single fact in their history, which deserves to have place here for its singularity. Some of them having made an irruption into the territories of a powerful Norwegian lord, named Haquin, were overcome in spite of the obstinacy of their resistance; and the most distinguished among them being made prisoners, were, according to the custom of those times, condemned to death. The news of this, far from afflicting them, was, on the contrary, received with joy. The first who was led to punishment was content to say, without changing countenance, “why should not the same happen to me as did to my father? he died, and so must I.” A warrior named Thorchill, who was to cut off the head of the second, having asked him what he felt at the sight of death, he answered, “that he remembered too well the laws of Jomsburg to utter any words that denoted fear.” The third, in reply to the same question, said, “he rejoiced to die in glory, and that he preferred such a death to an infamous life like that of Thorchill’s.” The fourth made an answer much longer and more extraordinary. “I suffer with a good heart; and the present hour is to me very agreeable. I only beg of you,” added he, addressing himself to Thorchill, “to be very quick in cutting off my head; for it is a question often debated by us at Jomsburg, whether one retains any sense after being beheaded. I will therefore grasp this knife in my hand; if, after my head is cut off, I strike it towards you, it will shew I have not lost all sense; if I let it drop, it will be a proof to the contrary. Make haste, therefore, and decide the dispute.” ‘Thorchill, adds the historian, cut off his head in the most expeditious manner, but the knife, as might be expected, dropped from his hand.’ The fifth shewed the same tranquility, and died rallying and jeering his enemies. The sixth begged of Thorchill that he might not be led to punishment like a sheep; “strike the blow in my face,” said he, “I will sit still without shrinking; and take notice whether I once wink my eyes or betray one sign of fear in my countenance. For we inhabitants of Jomsburg are used to exercise ourselves in trials of this sort, so as to meet the stroke of death without once moving.” He kept his promise before all the spectators, and received the blow without the least sign of fear, or so much as winking his eyes. The seventh, says the historian, was a very beautiful young man, in the flower of his age. His long fair hair, as fine as silk, floated in curls and ringlets on his shoulders. Thorchill asked him what he thought of death? “I receive it willingly,” said he, “since I have fulfilled the greatest duty of life, and have seen all those put to death whom I would not survive. I only beg of you one favour, not to let my hair be touched by a slave, or stained with my blood.”
Notes:
The place name is generally spelled Jomsborg (Denmark). This account is probably not historical.
The “powerful Norwegian lord, named Haquin” is the historical Haakon Jarl.
COMMUNION WITH OUR OWN HEARTS.
If we could but learn to commune with our own hearts, and know what noble company we can make them, we should little regard the elegance and the splendors of the worthless. Almost all men have been taught to call life a passage, and themselves the travellers. The similitude still may be improved, when we observe that the good are joyful and serene, like travellers that are going towards home; the wicked but by intervals happy, like travellers that are going into exile.