morning before ten—he'd just ring the fellow up presently to
make sure—and Dr. Martineau retired early and went rather thoughtfully
to bed. The spate of Sir Richmond's confidences, it was evident, was
over.
Section 4
Sir Richmond's car arrived long before ten, brought down by a young
man in a state of scared alacrity—Sir Richmond had done some vigorous
telephoning before turning in,—the Charmeuse set off in a repaired and
chastened condition to town, and after a leisurely breakfast our two
investigators into the springs of human conduct were able to resume
their westward journey. They ran through scattered Twyford with its
pleasant looking inns and through the commonplace urbanities of Reading,
by Newbury and Hungerford's pretty bridge and up long wooded slopes to
Savernake forest, where they found the road heavy and dusty, still in
its war-time state, and so down a steep hill to the wide market street
which is Marlborough. They lunched in Marlborough and went on in the
afternoon to Silbury Hill, that British pyramid, the largest artificial
mound in Europe. They left the car by the roadside and clambered to the
top and were very learned and inconclusive about the exact purpose of
this vast heap of chalk and earth, this heap that men had made before
the temples at Karnak were built or Babylon had a name.
Then they returned to the car and ran round by a winding road into the
wonder of Avebury. They found a clean little inn there kept by pleasant
people, and they garaged the car in the cowshed and took two rooms for
the night that they might the better get the atmosphere of the ancient
place. Wonderful indeed it is, a vast circumvallation that was already
two thousand years old before the dawn of British history; a great wall
of earth with its ditch most strangely on its inner and not on its outer
side; and within this enclosure gigantic survivors of the great circles
of unhewn stone that, even as late as Tudor days, were almost complete.
A whole village, a church, a pretty manor house have been built, for the
most part, out of the ancient megaliths; the great wall is sufficient to
embrace them all with their gardens and paddocks; four cross-roads meet
at the village centre. There are drawings of Avebury before these things
arose there, when it was a lonely wonder on the plain, but for the most
part the destruction was already done before the MAYFLOWER sailed. To
the southward stands the cone of Silbury Hill; its shadow creeps up and
down the intervening meadows as the seasons change. Around this lonely
place rise the Downs, now bare sheep pastures, in broad undulations,
with a wart-like barrow here and there, and from it radiate, creeping
up to gain and hold the crests of the hills, the abandoned trackways
of that forgotten world. These trackways, these green roads of England,
these roads already disused when the Romans made their highway past
Silbury Hill to Bath, can still be traced for scores of miles through
the land, running to Salisbury and the English Channel, eastward to
the crossing at the Straits and westward to Wales, to ferries over the
Severn, and southwestward into Devon and Cornwall.
The doctor and Sir Richmond walked round the walls, surveyed the shadow
cast by Silbury upon the river flats, strolled up the down to the
northward to get a general view of the village, had tea and smoked
round the walls again in the warm April sunset. The matter of their
conversation remained prehistoric. Both were inclined to find fault
with the archaeological work that had been done on the place. "Clumsy
treasure hunting," Sir Richmond said. "They bore into Silbury Hill and
expect to find a mummified chief or something sensational of that sort,
and they don't, and they report nothing. They haven't sifted finely
enough; they haven't thought subtly enough. These walls of earth ought
to tell what these people ate, what clothes they wore, what woods they
used. Was this a sheep land then as it is now, or a cattle land?
make sure—and Dr. Martineau retired early and went rather thoughtfully
to bed. The spate of Sir Richmond's confidences, it was evident, was
over.
Section 4
Sir Richmond's car arrived long before ten, brought down by a young
man in a state of scared alacrity—Sir Richmond had done some vigorous
telephoning before turning in,—the Charmeuse set off in a repaired and
chastened condition to town, and after a leisurely breakfast our two
investigators into the springs of human conduct were able to resume
their westward journey. They ran through scattered Twyford with its
pleasant looking inns and through the commonplace urbanities of Reading,
by Newbury and Hungerford's pretty bridge and up long wooded slopes to
Savernake forest, where they found the road heavy and dusty, still in
its war-time state, and so down a steep hill to the wide market street
which is Marlborough. They lunched in Marlborough and went on in the
afternoon to Silbury Hill, that British pyramid, the largest artificial
mound in Europe. They left the car by the roadside and clambered to the
top and were very learned and inconclusive about the exact purpose of
this vast heap of chalk and earth, this heap that men had made before
the temples at Karnak were built or Babylon had a name.
Then they returned to the car and ran round by a winding road into the
wonder of Avebury. They found a clean little inn there kept by pleasant
people, and they garaged the car in the cowshed and took two rooms for
the night that they might the better get the atmosphere of the ancient
place. Wonderful indeed it is, a vast circumvallation that was already
two thousand years old before the dawn of British history; a great wall
of earth with its ditch most strangely on its inner and not on its outer
side; and within this enclosure gigantic survivors of the great circles
of unhewn stone that, even as late as Tudor days, were almost complete.
A whole village, a church, a pretty manor house have been built, for the
most part, out of the ancient megaliths; the great wall is sufficient to
embrace them all with their gardens and paddocks; four cross-roads meet
at the village centre. There are drawings of Avebury before these things
arose there, when it was a lonely wonder on the plain, but for the most
part the destruction was already done before the MAYFLOWER sailed. To
the southward stands the cone of Silbury Hill; its shadow creeps up and
down the intervening meadows as the seasons change. Around this lonely
place rise the Downs, now bare sheep pastures, in broad undulations,
with a wart-like barrow here and there, and from it radiate, creeping
up to gain and hold the crests of the hills, the abandoned trackways
of that forgotten world. These trackways, these green roads of England,
these roads already disused when the Romans made their highway past
Silbury Hill to Bath, can still be traced for scores of miles through
the land, running to Salisbury and the English Channel, eastward to
the crossing at the Straits and westward to Wales, to ferries over the
Severn, and southwestward into Devon and Cornwall.
The doctor and Sir Richmond walked round the walls, surveyed the shadow
cast by Silbury upon the river flats, strolled up the down to the
northward to get a general view of the village, had tea and smoked
round the walls again in the warm April sunset. The matter of their
conversation remained prehistoric. Both were inclined to find fault
with the archaeological work that had been done on the place. "Clumsy
treasure hunting," Sir Richmond said. "They bore into Silbury Hill and
expect to find a mummified chief or something sensational of that sort,
and they don't, and they report nothing. They haven't sifted finely
enough; they haven't thought subtly enough. These walls of earth ought
to tell what these people ate, what clothes they wore, what woods they
used. Was this a sheep land then as it is now, or a cattle land?
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