Alfred, therefore, after disentangling himself from all but one or two
trustworthy and faithful friends, wandered on toward the west, through
forests, and solitudes, and wilds, to get as far away as possible from
the enemies who were upon his track. He arrived at last on the remote
western frontiers of his kingdom, at a place whose name has been
immortalized by its having been for some time the place of his
retreat. It was called Athelney.[1] Athelney was, however, scarcely
deserving of a name, for it was nothing but a small spot of dry land
in the midst of a morass, which, as grass would grow upon it in the
openings among the trees, a simple cow-herd had taken possession of,
and built his hut there.

The solid land which the cow-herd called his farm was only about two
acres in extent. All around it was a black morass, of great extent,
wooded with alders, among which green sedges grew, and sluggish
streams meandered, and mossy tracts of verdure spread treacherously
over deep bogs and sloughs. In the driest season of the summer the
goats and the sheep penetrated into these recesses, but, excepting in
the devious and tortuous path by which the cow-herd found his way to
his island, it was almost impassable for man.

Alfred, however, attracted now by the impediments and obstacles which
would have repelled a wanderer under any other circumstances, went
on with the greater alacrity the more intricate and entangled the
thickets of the morass were found, since these difficulties promised
to impede or deter pursuit. He found his way in to the cow-herd's
hut. He asked for shelter. People who live in solitudes are always
hospitable. The cow-herd took the wayworn fugitive in, and gave him
food and shelter. Alfred remained his guest for a considerable time.