“My God! Look! Look there—down there!”
Every one of us, obeying an irresistible impulse of terrified curiosity, stared in the same direction. Even Mrs. Ellingham, who was running towards her husband, was caught by the impulse. I looked with the others, but I was dimly aware of a slight lurching movement as Ellingham swayed over the tomb.
Then he appeared to recover himself, though he was pale as death.
“I beg your pardon for being such a fool,” he said. “No, no, my dear; I am perfectly well, I assure you. It’s very good of you, Farringdale, but I require no assistance. There is nothing wrong.” His voice was firm, natural and reassuring.
“But—Ellingham—”
They were all crowding round him anxiously.
“It was an unaccountable trick of the imagination. I have never had such an experience before. It is not likely to recur. Pray forget it, and let us resume this interesting work.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing at all. The very absurdity of what I fancied I saw fills me with shame. I was about to turn round for another look at the beaker when I—I had the impression of seeing a man down on the hillside yonder. I now realise there could have been no such person. I thought it was Joe Lloyd—”
“Joe Lloyd!” Reisby bellowed. “He’s dead!”
“Is he?” said Ellingham, looking hard at the other.
“Well, there is good reason for supposing he is dead. The man disappeared, years ago.”
“Nobody there, anyhow,” said Mr. Goy, slowly nodding his solemn head.
“Nobody there,” repeated Ugglesby-Gore, bubbling with friendly concern. “Have a spot of whisky? Flask here. Delighted. Best thing if a fella’s jumpy. Often feel jumpy myself. Take a spot of whisky—no more jumps.”
Ellingham declined, though with gratitude. He assured us all—and particularly his anxious wife and son—that he was perfectly well. And as far as I could judge, he was telling the truth. I have an impression, but it may not be correct, that he winked at me.
“Nervous disequilibrium is to be anticipated,” he said, “in the case of men who served on the Western Front. Let me again beg you to forgive me. Please forget this unfortunate and absurd episode, or at least regard it as a matter of no importance whatever.”
Nervous disequilibrium! I thought. Whatever the explanation might be, I was quite sure it had nothing to do with any such disorder.
I observed that Mrs. Ellingham and Peter were looking quite easy, and it then occurred to me that Ellingham had perhaps been acting a part for some purpose of his own. Perhaps he had some theory about the disappearance of Joe Lloyd. At any rate, I felt relieved of anxiety as far as Ellingham himself was concerned.
The members of the party were somewhat shaken by this extraordinary event, but the calmness of Ellingham’s manner, the perfect regulation of his voice and his movements, quickly restored their confidence.
“Shell-shock,” I heard Mr. Goy observing tersely and sympathetically to Mr. Tuffle.
The excavation was resumed.
5
By gradual stages the almost entire skeleton of a young man was revealed on the floor of the tomb. It was lying on the left side in the position known to archaeology as “flexed” or “contracted.” The legs were bent, so that the knees were on a level with the chest. The right hand was placed by the throat; the left arm, with all the finger-bones scattered or missing, was curiously flexed over towards the right, in such a manner that the left hand must have been placed on the right side of the head. Both bones of the left forearm lay actually on the facial part of the skull. Many of the smaller bones were displaced, and a few were missing. Some of the larger bones were broken; the ribs, backbone and pelvis were considerably damaged, and there was a hole in the right side of the head. In front of the face there was a small though interesting group of objects: three bronze rings, five jet buttons, and a remarkably fine “dagger” of bluish-grey flint. The arrangement of these objects, I understand, was unusual.
With infinite care the bones were dusted and cleared with fine brushes by Mr. Goy and Mr. Tuffle. With even greater care the side-slab was replaced, and Ellingham took a large number of photographs—it always appeared to me that he took many more than could possibly be required.
“It is very odd,” said Ingleworth peevishly, “it is very odd that he should not have been wearing those bracelets. I am surprised to find them in such a position. And I should have expected those buttons to be used as the fastening of a garment—in which case we should have found them dispersed at intervals among the bones. In these details the burial does not conform to the orthodox arrangement, and I must admit that I am greatly disappointed.”
He spoke with rising petulance, as if he was criticising the work of a clumsy undertaker.
“Burial at Upper Willowsmere—deposit of buttons,” Mr. Goy assured him in a soothing manner. But the Dean was evidently annoyed.
“The texture of the bones is remarkably fresh,” observed Ellingham, who had followed with cool vigilance every stage of the work.
“And what a lovely set of teeth!” said Hilda Reisby, looking down at the crouching skeleton.
“Ha, Goy!” cried the Professor, “I hope you are satisfied. Could I have done any better for you? He will be the joy of all beholders in your new saloon, the cynosure of learned and curious alike, the envy of less fortunate curators, the pride of Northport! Ha, ha, ho-ha, ho-ha-ha-ha! Oh-ho!” And he went off into one of those terrible shuddering explosions of laughter.
We looked rather embarrassed, and I saw Hilda bite her lips nervously; and then, thank goodness! Reisby recovered himself. He watched Mr. Tuffle preparing some boxes full of cotton-wool, the boxes in which the bones would presently be taken away.
“I shall examine the skeleton at leisure before I place him in your custody,” he said to Mr. Goy, “but I shall only keep him a few days.”
Mr. Goy expressed his delight, his gratitude, in an unusually long speech of at least three dozen words.
“The presentation of so important a gift to the museum,” said the Dean, “cannot be allowed to pass without appropriate ceremony. I know that my fellow-trustees, Lord Woffletree and Sir Giles Dudbud, will heartily concur. We shall convene a meeting, and we shall invite Mrs. Macwardle and Professor Reisby—”
“Oh, I’m sure mother would much rather be left out of it!” declared Miss Prudence Macwardle.
“I am no lover of municipal ceremonies, as you know,” said Reisby, with a deliberate emphasis on the adjective, “but if you would like me to give a simple account of the burial—”
Mr. Tuffle winked at Mr. Goy.
“We shall expect nothing less, my dear sir,” the Dean assured him. “We shall have a public meeting in the lecture hall of the museum, perhaps exhibiting the burial in a portable case. Then, after hearing your illuminating and masterly exposition—for such, I know, it will be—we shall formally receive this beautiful and exceptionally complete burial, and I, on behalf of the trustees, will endeavour to show the appreciation and the gratitude, not merely of the trustees, but also of the members of the Littlehope Society, some of whom, I trust, will have the great privilege of examining this chamber to-morrow and of being allowed to see the relics, and of the responsible and intelligent citizens of Northport as a whole, including the Mayor and members of the Corporation, in which I shall no doubt be supported by representatives of the University, of which you, sir, are so distinguished an ornament—”
He appeared to be rehearsing the actual speech. For a moment the agreeable consciousness of his own dignity, the prospect of being able to dominate so magnificent a concourse, invested him with a transient glow of benevolence. He looked round at us with an air of serene patronage. And then his countenance resumed its normal aspect of doddering severity.
“But the arrangement of the tomb is decidedly peculiar,” he s
aid, “and I must say it surprises me very much to see it. When I was a young man, there were rules, there were principles in archaeology; but now—” He wandered off helplessly into a dreadful confusion of thought. One could see that his resentment included, in some unaccountable manner, the skeleton in the grave, which, if Goy and Reisby were correct, ought to have been at least four thousand years old.
The main object of the digging was now accomplished. Work was continued for two more days, but we need not concern ourselves with the archaeological results.
After the most careful records had been made by Mr. Tuffle, and heaven knows how many photographs taken by Ellingham, the bones were lifted out of the chamber and were placed in beds of cotton-wool for transport.
The unfortunate episode of Ellingham’s delusion had, I think, ceased to trouble us very profoundly, and everybody was pleased with the highly satisfactory result of the dig.
6
After dinner, on the day of this momentous discovery, our hotel party walked over to Scarweather. We had been invited by Professor and Mrs. Reisby, and the occasion was partly social and partly scientific.
Ellingham had completely recovered himself, and there were no references to the odd scene at the Devil’s Hump. It was, in fact, a pleasant and a happy group of people who now assembled at Scarweather, and I think the most entertaining and engaging figure was that of Reisby himself. He was evidently gratified by the discovery of a fine burial, a valuable addition to his great work, though not to his own private mortuary. His manner was genial, and even boisterous, but I can truthfully say that it was the manner of an eminently sane and rational person. If he treated Mr. Goy with a lot of ponderous banter, he did so without malice, and as Mr. Goy was impervious to criticism and insensitive to ridicule he was not in the least affected by these professorial or professional jokes.
No purpose would be served if I gave a minute account of this delightful evening, though I remember it vividly, but I shall draw the reader’s attention to one particular episode.
All the objects from the Devil’s Hump had been set out on a large table in the study, and Reisby invited us to inspect them. With the exception of Peter and Frances, who drifted out into the garden, we all went into the study at about half-past nine. A powerful oil-lamp of the Aladdin type was hanging from the ceiling, and under it was the table on which were deposited the pottery vessels, boxes of debris, all the miscellaneous relics from the tumulus. At one end of the table, neatly arranged in their anatomical order, were the bones of the skeleton.
I well remember the somewhat melancholy and even sordid appearance of those bones. In the hard white light of the lamp they looked fresher than ever, and it was no easy matter to realise their presumed antiquity. But it has to be remembered that the appearance of exhumed bones does vary in a surprising degree. The bones of an extremely ancient burial may be light in colour, firm, and of even texture; while the bones from a modern cemetery are sometimes greatly decayed, friable, darkly stained and of a most venerable appearance. These facts are well known to doctors, and even to the archaeologist.
We gathered round the table, and we examined the skeleton.
“Some of the bones are missing,” said Reisby in a dry and formal style, as if he was addressing a group of students, “and you will observe that many of them are broken. It is a very singular fact that only a small fragment of the right patella or knee-cap has been recovered. As a rule the patella, which is a fairly solid lump of bone, is preserved intact. The left patella, as you see, is hardly injured at all. Of the bones which are definitely missing, or only represented by doubtful fragments, most of them are bones of the fingers and toes, and there are several bones of the wrists and ankles—carpal or tarsal bones—which have been practically destroyed. Such damage or dispersal is frequently due to the action of small rodents, or even to the action of the weather, or to movements of subsidence within the tumulus. In this case, where the roof of the tomb has been dislodged, and where the overlying material was of a nature so permeable and soft, it is astonishing that our burial is, comparatively, so perfect. The hole in the skull is due to an injury at the time of death, or soon after.”
“What a grim idea!” said Hilda Reisby, and she lightly touched the hollow skull with the tips of her fingers.
As she did so, I distinctly heard Ellingham utter a low but very peculiar sound—I can only describe it as a muted or muffled groan. It was apparently not observed by anyone else.
“As to the age and sex of the skeleton, there can be no question at all. It is the skeleton of a young man, between twenty-five and thirty years old. He was moderately muscular. In certain features, perhaps, he does not resemble any modern type; but that is a matter for the expert. It would be foolish to attempt a description of his appearance. The skull is well developed and is probably the skull of a youth who was intelligent as well as remarkably handsome. Pray observe, that I say probably—I resist the journalistic impulse. Now, the teeth—” He picked up the lower jaw, and then he frowned.
“This is very strange, Hilda. I suppose nobody has been moving these things. One of the teeth—the first left molar—has gone. It was certainly there when I placed the bones on the table.”
Goy, Tuffle and Ellingham solemnly affirmed that every tooth was in the jaw when it was taken from the barrow. There was a slight embarrassment.
“It is very annoying,” said Reisby, “and really quite inexplicable. The tooth has gone, but I am prepared to swear that it was there less than two hours ago.”
“Are you quite sure?” said Hilda.
“Well”—he appeared to hesitate,—“I certainly took it for granted. We all observed, at the site, that none of the teeth was missing.”
Once again Tuffle and Goy, who had been responsible for removing and packing the relics, protested that all the teeth were present when the skull and the jaw were placed in the box.
We looked everywhere, on the table and under the table, through the packing in the box; but the tooth had gone—there was no doubt of it.
However, this accidental loss (no other explanation could be accepted) was not of sufficient magnitude to disturb the good-humour, to interfere with the enjoyment, of our little party.
“Well well!” said the Professor, recovering his cheerfulness, “it may very well turn up somewhere. In the meanwhile, let us continue our investigation. The teeth, you see, are in excellent condition, and I think their state is due to a natural and wholesome diet. The skull is brachycephalic, like that of most of the Bronze Age invaders, though it is most unwise to indulge in a risky generalisation. I estimate the height of this individual to have been not less than five foot eleven, considerably above the average height of the Bronze Age people. And there is one other interesting point, and that is the elegance, the unexpected refinement of the brow, unusually smooth and high for a male of this period. You see, my dear,” he looked intently at Hilda, “the somewhat marked difference between this and the other skulls in our collection.”
“Yes,” she replied, “I see exactly what you mean. Poor youth!” And again she lightly caressed the hollow bone with her fingers. “It really does seem a very callous procedure, doesn’t it?”
“Advancement of knowledge.” Mr. Goy spoke with a miniature solemnity which made her smile.
“I know. But I can’t help feeling rather sentimental about this poor young man with his buttons and his bracelets and all his little treasures. Fancy having your bones all spread out on a table, and a lot of—of rather odd, unfamiliar people handling them and talking about your size and your diet and all that sort of thing!”
“I should have thought you were quite used to it,” said Mrs. Goy, with a thin grimace.
“So I am. But this youth is more personal than the others. I’m sure I don’t know why. Perhaps because it’s the most perfect skeleton of the series.”
She took up one of the arm bones, as if she was tr
ying to convince herself of a lack of unreasonable sensibility. But I saw her shudder slightly as she put it down again.
After we had all had a good look at the skeleton, we examined the pottery and the other things. I was informed that the beaker found with the main burial was of much earlier date than the cinerary urn and the so-called “incense-cup” found in the outer chamber. I also gathered that the bits of broken pottery found in the debris above the skeleton were of the same date as the cinerary vessel.
“But,” I objected, in my great simplicity and ignorance, “I thought you said the burial-chambers in the mound were all built at the same time.”
Mr. Goy was ready with an answer.
“Beaker primary—cremations intruded.”
This answer appeared to satisfy everyone, though I observed Ellingham rubbing his finger along his nose, as he did always when he was thinking hard and keeping his thoughts to himself.
7
I have said that nothing essential to my narrative occurred in the course of the two days’ digging which followed the chief exhumation. That is quite true, so far as archaeological results are concerned, but it seems worth while to mention another small discovery.
It will be remembered that Dean Ingleworth had arranged to bring to the Devil’s Hump a selected party of members of the Littlehope Field Society. These depressing people, conveyed in a motor-coach, duly arrived on the third day of the excavation.
There were about two dozen of them, and at least half of the party consisted of elderly women of a singularly bleak aspect. I think there were two main types (I had got into the archaeological habit of classification); “county” ladies in expensive tweeds, and “parochial” ladies in cheap finery. There were also three or four mildewed clergymen, a pawky solicitor with a sly flabby face, two retired colonels (a British Israelite and a Theosophist), a retired rural postman (by far the most intelligent man of the party), and a few dull but worthy gentlemen, none of them much under sixty.
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