An email missive from one of our longship company members clarifies (with a heavy dose of common sense, and humor) the legend that Vikings burned their ships before a raid to prevent retreat. (A. they're the Ultimate Tough Guy image, you thing they're gonna retreat? B. how're they gonna escape with the booty...with no ships...) This was so good I had to post it...

On 10/13/2011 8:06 PM, T Neill wrote:  "Someone e-mailed Janet and me asking for help 
debunking a myth that Vikings burned their ships before a raid to prevent retreat. Here is our reply. Heavy on the snark but perhaps good for a laugh.  Research those myths before you pass them on, folks!"

"Dear Person  Who Asked –
  
Extraordinary claims require  extraordinary evidence. Ask her where is her evidence that they
burned  their ships upon landing?

For one thing, it’s absurd on its  face.Viking raids were snatch and run. Not snatch  and then  twiddle their thumbs on the beach loaded down with loot they have no way of  moving.These guys weren’t stupid. They were vastly outnumbered  in England, Scotland and Ireland when the raids started. If they’d stuck around with no method of retreat, the locals would have ganged up and killed them dead.

King Æthelread wouldn’t have been so Unræde and King Ælfred wouldn’t have  needed to be so Great if the Vikings had conveniently cut off their own  retreat.Their very success was because they could jump back in their ships and raid somewhere else faster than word could spread they were there.Come on, apply some rudimentary tactical logic. Even we know this stuff and we don’t even play a soldier on TV!This isn’t military policy from an organized State; it’s biker gangs raiding under-defended gold-studded monasteries. 

Which then morphs into the Danish Mafia running a  protection racket in Danegeld. For much of the Viking age, they’d threaten to  invade then allow themselves to be bought off to go away. King AEthelred the  Unrede (Ill-advised) paid thousands of pounds of silver in Danegeld. Can’t take  that home if they’d burned their ships.

In 865 a great army  of Vikings invaded England and stayed for years, raiding up and down both the  Eastern coast of  England and the western coast of Europe. Can’t do that  if they burned
their ships. Some stayed and settled in the Danelaw in England.  Some were offered land in France to stop them sacking Paris. (Northman’s  Land--Normandy)

There’s one hundred years between the  beginning of the Viking raids and the Danelaw being settled. What  did they do in  all that time with their ships burned?Run from  village to village  chased by the whole of the Fyrd?A bit tiring carrying all that  loot I should think.

The Vikings used their ships as transport so why burn them? Even if they won, they’d want
to keep them  for future raids, going home, and trading. Few Vikings were only raiders. Most  were also traders as opportunity presented itself. Viking is a job description  not an ethnic designation. Vikings raided. They didn’t settle. They took their  loot home and raided and traded more. Can’t do that if they’ve burned their  ships.

Other Norse settled and even they wouldn’t  burn their ships. They needed them for trade and
transport. York, Dublin, Cork, etc. were all trading towns that relied on trade  from unburned ships for wealth.

Take the Battle of  Maldon. The Vikings in that battle had been raiding along the Essex
coast before winning that  battle. (A classic case of the English snatching  defeat from the jaws of  victory.) The Vikings wouldn’t have been able to raid along the coast and get to  Maldon if they’d burned their ships when they landed.

If  they burned their ships (to force themselves to stay) then how did they go home  to bring their wives and kids back to settle? Raiding ships aren’t meant to hold  cattle and goods. Knars (a wider sort of ship) hold cattle and goods for  settling. But word has to get back to Norway or Denmark
for Wives and kids and cows to come over to the  conquered land. Need an unburned ship for that.

Let’s see.  King Harald Hardrata of Norway invaded England in September of 1066. He came  with over 300 ships and the remnants of his army only needed 24 ships to return  to the Orkneys and
overwinter before returning the rest of the way to Norway.  Well known historical data. The remnants wouldn’t have been able to get back to  the Orkneys if they’d burned their ships.

The first  recorded Viking raid in England was on the Monastery of Lindisfarne in 793 ad.
  Lindisfarne is an island and the raiders didn’t stick around. Two months  later the Monks were writing to the King and complaining about the raid. These  raids were followed by Jarrow (794) and Wearmouth (794), and Iona (795, 802 and 806). These raids were exclusively for money—if the Vikings burned their ships, how did they take the money away? And where did they take it to? Plus, Iona is an island.

Building a ship takes time--hundreds of man hours--and skill. And money. Why burn a very valuable asset?"


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Sometime ago, a noted paper in the southern Maryland area did an article on the Longship Company which made us sound a bit, well, less than serious about history and archaeological sailing (by aquiring blisters, snapping oars and varous rigging, and occasionally sinking, we aim to rediscover how the Vikings actually did it).

They should have been on this one.

End of July, it's hot, muggy, and threatening thunderstorms. I drove down myself in the Mighty Van Fearaf, sucking enough fossil fuels to fuel a small country. I braved the horrors of 695 ( I loathe 695, I detest urban areas, Fearaf refuses to do more than 55 and Marylanders near urban areas refuse to do less than 90). The Longship Company assembles at the crack of noon (it's Sunday, some Vikings actually have to appear in church). We have nine crew (it worked for Frodo); Captain Atli Who Started It All (tall, lean, brilliant, plays with superheated iron), Captain Leonard The Silent (looks, perhaps, a bit like Captain Jack, minus the dreads; and is far more on an even keel), Son of Bork the Mighty (who causes the ship to list mightily), Son of Atli, two Friends of Son of Atli: a Brawny Biker Guy (replete with tatoos and helmet bumper stickers best not repeated in PG company), and The Dashing Young Man in the Captain Jack Headscarf. With Son of Bork are a slender, intellectual Vegetarian Anarchist and a cheerful, adventurous Hobbit Girl.

And me. I once spent six days on the other Viking ship, (Fyrdraca) on the Potomac, running out of water, being buzzed by jet fighters (Quantico was practicing blowing things up at the time), and freaking the tourists as our black, dragon-prowed ship materialized out of black night backed by lightning and green bioluminescence. I spent a lot of time in living history knocking guys upside the head with broadswords, which may explain why I'm still single. You could not have cast a movie better if you'd tried. I don't even think Gilligan's Island had such a motely crew. Or is that motley?

We set out (the Three Who Came On Bikes had commandeered a great deal of beer, which they were willing to share. Wisely, the captain limited the amount consumed.) We filled two-litre soda bottles with water from the marina's spigot (avoiding the bird poo) and stuffed them into Bork Bags arrayed upon the gunnels. We stowed gear under thwarts, stashed a sufficient number of life vests and floaty cushions (all stamped with the warning: "do not wear on back"... yes this would cause you to float face down when you fall overboard, unconcious). We set forth, under oars (we spend a lot of time under oars, which explains why I can row better than I can sail), headed for the Patuxent. We toiled south against wind and current, inched past Molly's Leg (no longer leg-shaped, due to Global Climate Change and the nature of the sandy Chesapeake, which is to erode). The idea was to crawl out into the Patuxent, raise the sail and blow magnificently back downwind into the marina. We have discovered that Viking ships do not sail close to the wind; they like the wind abaft the beam. In other words, on our butts.

Hard-a-starboard a great black cloud of doom loomed over the bar. As all good sailors do, we pay great attention to things looming on the far horizon; they usually arrive on top of us much faster, and much fiercer than we expect.

"Is that lightning?"

Indeed it was. On captain's orders, we heaved the boat around. Heaving a forty foot Viking longship around is much different from spinning the wheel and revving the engine of a yacht. We have, occasionally, turned around on the thwarts (rowing benches) and rowed backwards, the other pointy end going forward. Coming about involves things like...

"Port side, hold water!"
"Starboard side, give way!"
"Port side, backwater!"
"Starboard side, frontwater!"
"Port side, stop looking like an epileptic centipede!" (ok, I know that's not PC)
"Starboard side, do something else, do it really fast..."

I took a few minutes. We finally got the other other pointy end pointed at land. The nearest land was not our dock, a good twenty minute row up the creek, with or without paddles. And since we had a large lightning rod in the middle of the boat, it seemed like a good idea to head for something closer than our slip. We aimed for the nearest public place with a dock, the bar. They're used to us, to having a wooden Viking ship tied up alongside the shining white day sailers and fishing boats. We straggled in, heaving gear bags, an armful of charts, PFDs, and one Viking axe. Biker Guy stood at the bar wielding the axe. It didn't help us get faster service.

There was a shift change coming up, and rain pouring down. We were eventually shuttled upstairs where we watched our giant canoe fill up with water and ordered lots more beer and stuff. The Vegetarian managed to aquire two hefty plates of actual vegetables (smashed potatoes sort of count) while the rest of us ate crab soup and burgers. I (Flexitarian that I am) tried to find something resembling a vegetable too, and was nearly successful. Atli maintains that Omnivores have the best chance of success and survival in any new environment, because they can eat anything. A discussion began about how bacon counted as a vegetable. Other discussions of an intellectual nature ensued. Probably not much like the actual discussions Vikings would have had. I burned some memory card trying to shoot the soggy ship past a nifty tattered flag blowing from the deck of the bar, and watching it fill up with water.

After a couple of hours, the clouds lightened enough for us to make a run for it. We bailed the boat and manned the oars. I manned the tiller, and upon Captain Atli's request, tried to remember the commands to get us away from the dock without running over any other boats, or leaving our figurehead on someone's trawler. We passed a boat tied up at the dock, a nice sort of boat, one you could wander from port to port in; across its stern was the name Millennium Falcon.  Having had a beat up Ford Falcon of that name once, I was amused, though this boat was far shinier and newer than Han Solo's ship, and probably couldn't make the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs.

Confronted with the maze that is the marina and the channel (filled with people driving things with engines) I repeated the ancient bit of sea wisdom: "red-right-returning" and succesfully steered Sae Hrafn in a straight line back to the dock, despite Brawny Biker Guy being on one side of the ship, and Veggie Guy (half his size) on the other.

It was successful voyage, nobody drowned. The sky remained calm. Thor had given up and gone home.
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