VIII. THE RESULTS OF CAESAR’S INVASIONS OF BRITAIN (part 1 of 4)

VIII. THE RESULTS OF CAESAR’S INVASIONS OF BRITAIN (part 1 of 4)

[Sidenote: 54 B.C.--A.D. 43.]

Caesar’s contemporaries and the Roman writers of succeeding [Sidenote: The importance of Caesar’s British expeditions under estimated by his contemporaries and by historians.] generations did not over-estimate the results of his British campaigns. The well-known line of Lucan--

Territa quaesitis ostendit terga Britannis[1416]--

is only worth quoting as an instance of the poet’s animosity; but the impression left by the various passages which refer to Caesar’s expeditions is, that public expectation, having been wrought up to a high pitch, had suffered disappointment.[1417] Everybody knew that Caesar had not incurred the vast expense of his second expedition merely for plunder or to deter the Britons from aiding the Gauls: they gathered from his own book that he had aimed at conquest; and they could see no more than that he had failed. Tacitus came nearest to the truth when he said that ‘Julius, though by a successful engagement he struck terror into the inhabitants and gained possession of the coast, must be regarded as having indicated rather than transmitted the acquisition to posterity’.[1418] But even this judgement was based upon imperfect knowledge; and the tendency of modern historians, including the greatest scholar of them all, has been to underrate the importance of what Caesar had achieved.

For although Caesar had failed to achieve his aim, he had opened a new world to his countrymen; had proved the facility with which it could be conquered; and had done all that opportunity permitted to pave the way for the conquest. He directed the course of British history into a new channel. He forced the most civilized peoples of the island to acknowledge the supremacy of Rome, and made it clear to those of them who could read the signs of the times that the enforcement of that supremacy would not be long delayed. He impressed upon them such respect for the Roman power that the avowed object with which he had invaded the country was effectually gained:--the Britons ceased to abet the resistance of their kinsmen on the other side of the Channel. He showed that the key to the conquest was to take advantage of the jealousy between the family of Cassivellaunus and their rivals. In the presence of these facts, the question whether the tribute which he imposed was ever actually paid is merely academical; but the great scholar who required us to believe that ‘it is certain that the stipulated tribute was never paid’[1419] made an assertion which is not only improbable but is opposed to such evidence as we possess. Mommsen did not fully appreciate the severity of the punishment which had been inflicted upon Cassivellaunus, or the hold over him which Caesar could exert through his hostages. It is probable indeed that Diodorus,[1420] when he said that Caesar forced the Britons to pay tribute, was only putting his own construction upon Caesar’s words: but what is certain is that the Britons, although in the reign of Augustus they were not required to pay tribute, were obliged to pay duties at the Gallic harbours upon the goods which they exported to and imported from Gaul; and it is not unreasonable to conjecture that these charges may have been imposed as an equivalent for a tribute which could no longer have been collected except by an irresistible army.[1421] But the influence which Caesar exercised upon the destinies of Britain was communicated chiefly through Gaul. In the three years which followed his departure the Britons saw the conquest of Gaul completed: while the civil war ran its course they saw that Gaul made no effort to throw off the Roman yoke; and as time passed and the provinces settled down in the grasp of Augustus, they saw that Gaul was incorporated in the Roman Empire. Meanwhile in Britain the history of Gaul was being enacted over again. In the earlier half of the first century before our era Roman traders, settled in Gallic towns, had prepared the way for the legions of Julius: in the later half Roman or Romanized traders who found it profitable to deal with Britain prepared the way for the legions of Claudius.

[Sidenote: Development of British commerce.]

In Strabo’s time the Britons still imported ornaments of various kinds from the Continent, vases of amber and glass, gold necklets, and ivory for the decoration of horse trappings. Among their exports were slaves, which shows that intertribal warfare was still rife, and, if Strabo’s statement is to be taken literally, corn, cattle, and iron.[1422] Representations of horned cattle, sheep, and pigs are found so often upon British coins[1423] that we can easily understand how the graziers should have been able to spare of their abundance; but, although ears of corn are figured on some of Cunobeline’s coins,[1424] it requires more faith to believe that the population by whose density Caesar was amazed grew enough corn to satisfy not only their own requirements, but those of their continental neighbours, and that the Gauls, whose resources were sufficient to enable them to feed Caesar’s army, were obliged to import grain. One would have supposed too that the output of the Gallic iron mines, which Caesar mentions, would not have required to be supplemented from Britain; and that the iron-workers of the Weald had enough to do in supplying the wants of their own countrymen. But, though Britain was not as opulent as Gaul, it would seem that some of the chiefs in the southern and eastern districts amassed a considerable amount of wealth. Tacitus[1425] tells us that Prasutagus, who was king of the Iceni about 60 A.D., was renowned for his riches; and, like Dumnorix the Aeduan, he may have acquired them in part from tolls. It has been maintained that the tin trade, which had once been so flourishing, and which certainly flourished during the later period of the Roman occupation, ceased about the beginning of the Christian era, and was suspended for the next two hundred years: but the mere absence of ingots of tin bearing the Roman stamp is hardly sufficient to establish a theory which, intrinsically, is so improbable; and it seems more reasonable to conclude that the mines were continuously worked, but not until the third century under Roman control.[1426]

[Sidenote: The British inscribed coinage and its historical value.]

But the notices of Britain which appear in the writings of Strabo and Diodorus are the least important sources of our knowledge. More valuable is the systematic classification of British coins which has been accomplished during the last fifty years. They show how thoroughly Roman ideas had permeated British civilization before the legions returned to the island, and enable us to trace in outline the course of British political history during the century that elapsed between the departure of Julius and the invasion of Claudius Caesar. Soon after the former event the numismatic art of Britain entered upon its second period. Coins of silver, copper, bronze, and tin were now coming into use;[1427] and the need that was beginning to be felt for small change testifies to an advance in material civilization. On the site of Verulamium have been found gold coins of two values, silver of one, and bronze of three.[1428] Perhaps we must also regard as a sign of progress increased ingenuity in fraud: at all events besides the authorized mints there were forgers, who made a living by passing coins of base metal thinly plated with gold.[1429] Uninscribed coins were still struck, especially in the remoter districts,[1430] and remained in circulation in the time of Claudius;[1431] but from about 30 B.C. the greater number of new coins bore the name either of the prince or of the tribe in whose territories they were minted, and in some cases also the name of the town in which the mint was situated. This evidence shows that Verulamium and Camulodunum were the chief political centres of Southern Britain;[1432] and it is remarkable that the name of Londinium, although it may even then have been the chief commercial town, as it certainly was from the very beginning of the Roman occupation,[1433] does not appear upon any British coin which has yet come to light.[1434] The earliest of the inscribed coins naturally belonged to the south-eastern parts of the country:[1435] the northern tribe of the Brigantes were the last to adopt them;[1436] and not a single specimen has been discovered which can be assigned to the Durotriges.[1437] Of the course of events in the northern and western regions history tells us nothing, and coins but little: indeed there is no evidence that the tribes of Scotland, Wales, Northumberland, Durham, Cumberland, Westmorland, Shropshire, Devonshire, and Cornwall even now had coins at all;[1438] and it was not until some time after Caesar’s departure that the inhabitants of Gloucestershire, northern Wiltshire, and Somersetshire began to use them.[1439] Probably the iron bars which have been already described were still current[1440] in the midlands and the west; and Solinus affirmed that in his time the people of the Scilly Islands refused money and traded by barter.[1441] Coins bearing the simple inscription, CATTI, which has been assumed to be that of a tribe, have been found in Worcestershire, Monmouthshire, Somersetshire, Devonshire, and Cornwall;[1442] and it has been hastily concluded that some of the remoter British tribes, like many of those of Gaul, had expelled their kings.[1443] But our most experienced numismatist thinks that the inscription represents the name of the prince by whom the coins were minted;[1444] and one would be inclined to believe that the more backward north and west were then, as they were sixteen centuries later, the strongholds of conservatism.[1445] The evidence which relates to Southern Britain is less flimsy; and it points to the conclusion that the course of events in that part of the country was leading inevitably to the Roman conquest.

[Sidenote: The dynasties of Cassivellaunus and Commius.]

The history of Southern Britain in this period, if we disregard Dorsetshire, Devonshire, and Cornwall, is the history of two dynasties,--that of Caesar’s old antagonist, Cassivellaunus, and that of his old ally, Commius. Of the later life of Cassivellaunus nothing is known; but it would seem probable that the recollection of the punishment which the legions had inflicted upon him and the knowledge that his hostages were in Caesar’s power were sufficient to induce him to obey Caesar’s last injunction and to leave the Trinovantes [Sidenote: Tasciovanus.] and their king, Mandubracius, unmolested. About 30 B.C., or perhaps a few years earlier, he was succeeded by his son, Tasciovanus.[1446] The earlier coins of this prince were purely British in character; but those of later date are adorned with the figures of Pegasus and centaurs, while one of them is imitated from a coin of Augustus, which was first struck in 13 B.C.;[1447] and their number and variety are so great that the reign of Tasciovanus must have extended over a long period,--not improbably until about A.D. 5.[1448] His dominions, which were perhaps originally confined to the country of the Catuvellauni, in whose capital, Verulamium, most of his coins were struck, ultimately included, it should seem, not only those of the Trinovantes, but also of the [Sidenote: Epaticcus and Cunobeline.] Segontiaci and parts of Northamptonshire.[1449] He left several sons, among whom were Epaticcus and Cunobeline. The coins of the former, which bear the abbreviated Latin inscription TASC. FIL.--‘son of Tasciovanus’--have all been found either in the western part of Surrey or the east of Wiltshire; and it has been inferred that he either succeeded to the western portion of his father’s dominions or conquered territory which had never been subject to him.[1450] Epaticcus was, however, completely overshadowed by his brother, who, under the name of Cymbeline, has been immortalized by Shakespeare. There may perhaps be a kernel of truth in the statement of Geoffrey of Monmouth, that he was [Sidenote: Cunobeline’s coins prove growth of Roman influence in Britain.] educated by Augustus:[1451] at all events his silver and copper coins bear witness to the growing influence of Roman culture; and many of them must have been designed either by Romans or by artists who had received Roman training. One of his silver coins, in the opinion of the highest authority, is characterized by exquisite workmanship, ‘worthy of a Greek artist;’[1452] and some of them suggest that not long after the commencement of the Christian era the worship of Hercules had been introduced into Britain.[1453] Not one of the coins bearing his name which have so far been discovered was struck at the mint of Verulamium, from which, as we have seen, those of his father had mainly issued: the name of Camulodunum appears upon them all; and the conclusion seems warranted that he inherited the eastern part of his [Sidenote: His conquests.] father’s dominions, and extended them by subduing the Trinovantes,--the hereditary enemies of his family.[1454] It is not improbable that he had begun to reign about 5 B.C., while his father was still alive; and that he conquered the Trinovantes before his father died.[1455] The area which was under his immediate rule when he was at the height of his power included perhaps, besides their country and that of the Catuvellauni, a part of that of the Dobuni, who inhabited what is now Gloucestershire;[1456] but it would seem that he also exercised a general supremacy over the whole of the south-eastern part of the island.[1457] Suetonius was so impressed by the fame of his power that he described him as Britannorum rex,--‘King of the Britons.’[1458]

[Sidenote: Flight of Dubnovellaunus and Tincommius(?), the son of Commius, to Rome.]

Cunobeline’s conquest of the Trinovantes appears to have been one of the causes which led to the flight, briefly chronicled by Augustus on the monument of Ancyra,[1459] of two British princes who sought for Roman aid. Their names, as recorded on the stone, were DVMNOBELLAV[nus], and, if we are to accept the testimony of Chishull,[1460] an antiquary of a past generation, TIM.... The name of the former, as it is spelled on British coins, was Dubnovellaunos. Those of his coins which appear to have been circulated earliest have been found only in Kent, which he probably at one time ruled.[1461] His later coins tend to show that he afterwards annexed the territory of the Trinovantes, from which he was in his turn expelled by Cunobeline.[1462] But who was the prince who with him undertook the long journey to Rome? The letters TIM, if indeed M was really graven upon the monument, were of course only the first three of another name; and it is possible that Chishull may have mistaken one or perhaps two broken letters for M, or, since M and N were often confused, that the engraver may have been misled by his copy.[1463] Be this as it may, there is only one known name with which TIM ... can be identified,--that of Tincommius, who called himself on some of his coins TINCOM[mios] COMMI FILI[us] REX[1464]--‘King Tincommius, son of Commius.’ In order to understand the history of Tincommius, we must trace the later career of the Commius who was, beyond all reasonable doubt, his father,[1465]--the king of the Atrebates who had accompanied Caesar to Britain.

[Sidenote: The later adventures of Commius.]

Commius had of course been liberally rewarded for his services: but in the great Gallic insurrection of 52 B.C. he had thrown in his lot with Vercingetorix; and he was one of the four generals to whose joint direction was entrusted the command of the Pan-Gallic host which marched to relieve the latter when he was beleaguered in Alesia. ‘Caesar,’ we read in the seventh Commentary, ‘had found Commius a loyal and serviceable agent in former years in Britain; and, in acknowledgement of these services, he had granted his tribe immunity from forced contributions, restored to it its rights and laws, and placed the Morini under his authority. Yet so intense was the unanimous determination of the entire Gallic people to vindicate their liberty and recover their ancient military renown, that no favours, no recollection of former friendship, had any influence with them, but all devoted their energies and resources to the prosecution of the war.’[1466] Patriotism, however, was not the only motive of Commius: he had a reason for the bitterness of his hostility, which Caesar does not mention, but which we learn from Caesar’s friend, Aulus Hirtius, who wrote the last of the Commentaries on the Gallic War. In the winter of 53-52 B.C., while Caesar was absent in Cisalpine Gaul, Commius took an active part in forming the nucleus of the coalition of which Vercingetorix was destined to be the leader; and Labienus, who found out his designs, commissioned the tribune Volusenus to assassinate him. Commius escaped with a severe wound; and in the year which followed the overthrow of Vercingetorix he formed, in conjunction with a chief of the Bellovaci, a fresh coalition against Caesar, who was obliged to exert all his strength in order to subdue it. For some time Commius led the life of a brigand chief, and succeeded in capturing several convoys which were on their way to Caesar’s winter camp in the country of the Atrebates. He made himself so formidable that Mark Antony sent Volusenus to make a second attempt to kill him; and although he again escaped, he ultimately surrendered on the express condition that he should never again be brought face to face with any Roman.

[Sidenote: His conquests in Britain.]

When and why Commius took up his abode in Britain is not known; but some probability may be claimed for the conjecture that his motive was to check the encroachments of the Catuvellauni.[1467] No coins have been found which can with absolute certainty be ascribed to him:[1468] but it is admitted that he issued coins before Tasciovanus, who, as we have seen, began to reign at least as early as 30 B.C.;[1469] and before his death he became overlord of the maritime tribes of South-Eastern Britain on the right bank of the Thames.[1470] He [Sidenote: Tincommius, Verica, and Eppillus.] left three sons, Tincommius, Verica, and Eppillus; and almost all their coins have been found in Kent, Sussex, Surrey, and Hampshire.[1471] Each of these sons described himself on his coins as REX, and each of them appears to have had a kingdom of his own, Tincommius ruling the Regni, who inhabited Sussex, Eppillus the Cantii, and Verica the Atrebates.[1472] The dominions of Verica cannot, however, be certainly defined. There is some reason to suppose that he held sway over the Atrebates of Belgium as well as over those of Britain; for certain coins found in the north of France, and closely resembling others that are common in the south-eastern counties of England, are inscribed with a monogram which appears to denote the abbreviation VE.[1473] It should seem that Eppillus, at some time, was king of the Atrebates, for some of his coins have the legend CALLEV,--an abbreviated form of Calleva, the chief town of that tribe.[1474] Certain coins, however, exist which apparently bear the names of all the three brothers, a fact which can only be explained on the theory that at one time they exercised a joint sovereignty over the dominions which had belonged to their father;[1475] while others are inscribed with the names of Verica and Eppillus only.[1476] It has been assumed that these coins were not struck until after the death of Tincommius;[1477] but another explanation seems possible. Why did Tincommius, alone of the three brothers, solicit the protection of Augustus, and why did he undertake the journey to Rome in conjunction with Dubnovellaunus? Numismatic evidence has led to the belief that Dubnovellaunus had once ruled over the Cantii;[1478] and if so, Eppillus, who afterwards acquired dominion over the same tribe, probably dispossessed him. Dubnovellaunus, as we have already seen, appears to have once ruled over the Trinovantes as well, and to have been expelled from their country by Cunobeline. These successive reverses may have been the motive for the journey which he undertook to Rome; and when we consider that certain coins bear the names of Eppillus and Verica, without that of Tincommius, which on others appears side by side with theirs, it seems possible that Tincommius, finding that his brothers were leagued together against him, threw in his lot with another prince who had been as unfortunate as himself. This conjecture is perhaps somewhat strengthened by the fact that one of the coins of Tincommius bears, along with TIN--the abbreviated form of his name--the inscription DV,[1479] which has baffled the acumen of numismatists, but which, on the analogy of TC--one of the abbreviations of TINCOMMIOS[1480]--may possibly stand for DUBNOVELLAUNOS.[1481]

How the fugitives were received we are not told; but it is certain that Augustus did not grant them armed assistance; nor is there any evidence that they ever recovered power. [Sidenote: Augustus contemplates an invasion of Britain.] As early as 34 B.C. Augustus had marched into Gaul with the intention, as was generally believed, of invading Britain; but, owing to an insurrection in Dalmatia, he was compelled to abandon his resolve.[1482] For several years, however, it was expected that he would sooner or later complete the work which his adoptive father had begun; and this expectation was voiced in the poetry of the time. About the year 30 B.C. Vergil[1483] prayed that ‘far off Thule’ might obey Augustus; and Horace, in odes which seem to have been officially inspired, called upon Fortune to preserve him in his expedition against the Britons, ‘remotest inhabitants of the world,’[1484] and foretold that when they and the Parthians were brought under the imperial sway he would be hailed a god upon earth.[1485] In 27 and again in 26 B.C. Augustus marched into Gaul with the ostensible purpose of invading Britain, but again without result.[1486] But the latest of these dates was earlier than the flight of Tincommius and Dubnovellaunus; and thenceforward Augustus abandoned all thought of [Sidenote: Why he abandoned his intention.] invading Britain.[1487] The cause of his inaction is discernible in two passages of Strabo’s Geography,[1488] which give the official explanation of the imperial policy. The conquest of Britain would be very costly; and it was unlikely that the revenue would be more than sufficient to defray the expense of the garrison and the administration: the duties levied at the Gallic harbours on goods imported from and exported to Britain were more productive than any tribute; besides, Britain was too weak to be dangerous, and its conquest was therefore unnecessary. Possibly we may gather from the prominence which is given in the monument of Ancyra to the petition of Tincommius and Dubnovellaunus that it was officially interpreted as a sign of the virtual submission of the Britons.

[Sidenote: Continued growth of Roman influence in Britain.]

This confidence indeed is not difficult to understand. The conjecture that at the courts of Commius, of Tasciovanus, and of Cunobeline Latin was the official speech[1489] may perhaps be somewhat rash: but at all events Latin was the language of the mint; and perhaps it is not unreasonable to suppose that, as some Pannonian Celts were versed in Latin literature,[1490] a Briton here and there was equally accomplished. Roman silver coins were already eagerly accepted, on account of their purity, in Southern Britain.[1491] And if Rufina, the young British wife of a Roman, whose praises Martial sang,[1492] could hold her own in Italian society, we may realize that before the Roman conquest Britain had begun to be Romanized.

[Sidenote: Cessation of British coinage in certain districts which had belonged to the sons of Commius.]

With the sons of Commius the British coinage in the districts which they had ruled, with the sole exception of Kent, came to an end.[1493] It may be that the inhabitants had begun, like the Gauls with whom they traded, to use only Roman money; but, as the coinage of Kent continued, the more probable explanation would seem to be that they were no longer able to make head against the King of the Catuvellauni.[1494]

Tincommius and Dubnovellaunus were not the only British [Sidenote: Relations of Cunobeline with Rome.] princes who paid their respects to the emperor. ‘In our time,’ says Strabo, ‘various British chieftains gained the friendship of Augustus Caesar by sending embassies and performing services; placed votive offerings in the Capitol; and made almost the whole island familiar to the Romans.’[1495] Among them, we can hardly doubt, was Cunobeline, whose coins, like those of his father, testify that Roman mythology had already taken root on British soil,[1496] and who, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth,[1497] voluntarily paid tribute to Rome. If there is any truth in Geoffrey’s statement, the tribute must have been the price paid for moral support. During the reign of Tiberius, who adhered to the conservative and moderate policy of his stepfather, the relations of Cunobeline and of Britain with Rome apparently remained unchanged: history only relates that some soldiers of Germanicus, who had been shipwrecked on the British coast, were sent back by British princes.[1498] It can hardly be doubted, however, that the conquest of Britain was contemplated by Roman statesmen as inevitable: to leave independent the Celtic island which was so near the conquered Celtic mainland [Sidenote: His exiled son, Adminius, takes refuge with Caligula.] was unnatural, and could not be permanently safe.[1499] The latter part of Cunobeline’s reign was clouded by domestic quarrels; and in A.D. 40, when he was an old man, his son Adminius,[1500] whom he had driven into exile, threw himself on the mercy of Caligula, who was at the time in Gaul, and offered to surrender his father’s kingdom. The feather-pated emperor sent messengers to Rome, who were charged to announce to the Senate in the temple of Mars the submission of the whole island;[1501] but the magniloquent and mendacious message testifies not only to his vanity but to the fame of Cunobeline.

[Sidenote: Death of Cunobeline.]

Within the next three years the great king died, leaving, besides Adminius, three other sons who still remained in Britain,--Caratacus, Togodumnus, and, as we may conjecture, one Bericus, who fled over sea. Caratacus, whose name is more familiar under the erroneous form Caractacus, was the prince who in later years opposed a desperate resistance to the Roman conquest of Western Britain. After Cunobeline’s death he and Togodumnus assumed royal power, and perhaps combined to exclude Bericus from any share in the [Sidenote: Unpopularity of his dynasty intensified on the accession of his sons, Caratacus and Togodumnus.] inheritance of their father’s dominions.[1502] It is possible that Bericus had some influence with the Iceni, who were bitterly hostile to the dynasty of Cassivellaunus and his successors, and were prepared to join the Romans if they should invade the island. But another explanation has been proposed. There are late coins of the Iceni which bear the name of a prince named Antedrigus, who later still issued coins which have been found in the territory of the Dobuni. It has been suggested that, like the Treveran Indutiomarus and his enemy Cingetorix,[1503] Antedrigus and Bericus were the leaders of rival factions of the Iceni; that Antedrigus prevailed; that Bericus thereupon determined to seek Roman aid; and that Antedrigus, when the Iceni joined the Romans, sought an asylum among the Dobuni.[1504] Anyhow Bericus fled to Rome.[1505] It would seem that Caratacus and Togodumnus took offence when he and Adminius were not sent back, and even committed, or threatened to commit, some act of violence against the Roman power;[1506] and it may be that their attitude, combined with the information which Bericus gave about the internal politics of his country, was [Sidenote: Invasion of Britain by Aulus Plautius.] among the motives that induced Claudius to dispatch the force which, under Aulus Plautius, was to begin the Roman conquest of Britain.[1507]

[Sidenote: Review of British history from 54 B.C. to A.D. 43.]

Amid many uncertainties the facts of British history which stand out prominently are these. The invasions of Caesar, supported by his conquest of Gaul, stimulated trade between the Britons and the Romanized Gauls, and thereby brought Britain within the sphere of Roman influence; encouraged those British princes who needed protection or support to turn to Rome, and made them all look up to the Emperor as a patron, who might eventually be their sovereign lord. In the island itself Commius and his sons made themselves supreme in the eastern districts south of the Thames; but their power was overmatched and perhaps finally absorbed by that of the family of Cassivellaunus, who steadily augmented their dominion by conquest until under Cunobeline it extended from the coast of Essex to the estuary of the Severn, and from the Midlands to the English Channel. [Sidenote: The Roman conquest and its results.] But the jealousy and the fear which this ambitious dynasty aroused led directly to the Roman invasion, by which the influences that had already begun were so developed that the upper classes and the townspeople of Britain learned to speak Latin[1508] and to adopt Roman customs, and in the end came, like their Gallic neighbours, to regard themselves as Romans; that the Late Celtic art which had flourished for centuries gave way to that of Rome, and even in cottages and remote hamlets Samian pottery and rude hypocausts were to be found;[1509] that by the fourth century a British church had been fully developed, which continued to flourish after the Roman administration had ceased, while even in the sixth century the forsaken Britons gloried in the name of Romani;[1510] and that, in a word, Britain, becoming completely Romanized, received an impress which has not yet wholly faded away.[1511]

[Sidenote: Permanence in English history of prehistoric and Celtic elements.]

But when the Roman had gone, when the Saxon, the Dane, and the Norman had come, the descendants of neolithic aboriginals, of bronze-using immigrants, and of Celts still lived on; and their composite influence has ever since been helping to form the British character and to determine the course of British history. The roads on which we travel, the flocks and herds that feed us, the corn that grows in our fields, the implements which we use,--all our industrial arts are inseparably connected with theirs. Not only do their beliefs still survive, tinging the faith which their successors have been taught, but their spirit has lived again in the men who have done the deeds of which our nation may be proud.

And perhaps the story which this book has told may lead a few to become less self-complacent and to think more of those primitive ancestors. In some things we have sunk below their level: in what have we risen? Riches, luxury, the security that tends to make self-reliance weak, the softening of manners, rapidity of communication, the development of engines of destruction, medicine, and surgery--all that appertains to material civilization--herein we have made giant strides. But such improvements hardly enable men to bear up under burdens which are ever increasing. The tourist in a Pulman car is not happier than those who travelled in stage-coach or wagon, and speed deprives him of as much as it bestows; machinery has but substituted fresh evils for those which it destroyed. New superstitions, less gross but not less false, have been engrafted upon the old; but ‘pure religion and undefiled,’--how far has it strengthened its hold upon the hearts of men? We have professed indeed to teach inferior races the gospel of love; but in Australasia our mission has been not so much to evangelize as to exterminate. Apart from the extirpation of the coarser forms of inhumanity and from those other civilizing influences which may operate even in a decadent society, the progress of which we may not unreasonably boast has been in knowledge, which to the vast majority is unattainable, and, in this island, unheeded or contemptuously rejected by most of the few who have it within reach.

THE ETHNOLOGY OF ANCIENT BRITAIN

I. INTRODUCTION

The ethnology of ancient Britain has been studied from many points of view. Writers of a past generation relied simply upon the notices which are to be found in the works of Caesar, Strabo, Tacitus, and other ancient writers. In the last century the science, if it may now be so called, of physical anthropology came into being. The barrows in which our prehistoric ancestors had buried their dead were opened; and the skeletons which had been left in them by earlier explorers were systematically measured. The physical characters of the living population were noted as far as possible in the hope that they might help to solve the problems of the past. Archaeologists collected the pottery, the tools, the weapons, and the ornaments which were found beneath the soil, in the beds of rivers, in barrows, cairns, caves, earthworks, and elsewhere, described them, classified them, and compared them with those of other countries. Philologists studied the forms of the Celtic dialects, and endeavoured to discover in them traces of dialects older still. Finally, folk-lorists formed an association, and joined the army of inquirers. The united efforts of all these seekers after truth have stored up a huge mass of information; and those who may read this article will, I believe, agree with me that there is no reason to expect that any additional facts which may be ascertained will throw much new light upon the questions which we are about to consider:[1512] but no serious attempt has yet been made to co-ordinate the materials which exist. To do this is the aim of the present article. If the problems of British ethnology can be solved, history, physical anthropology, archaeology, and philology must combine.

II. THE METHODS OF ANTHROPOLOGY

A lay reader who takes up a treatise on ethnology ought to understand the methods by which anthropologists differentiate the various human types. I may be allowed to reproduce a paragraph which I wrote a few years ago in another volume, and to which I shall have something to add.

‘Anthropologists are obliged to make use of technical terms, more or less uncouth; and they are guided in their observations by very precise and minute rules, framed with the object of eliminating, as far as possible, the chance of error. But it is unnecessary for my purpose to trouble the reader with more than a few of these things. What I shall have to say about stature, complexion, hair and eyes, will need no explanation; and in regard to the skull I shall, as a rule, only have to deal with that measurement which fixes the proportion between its length and its breadth. In this measurement the length is represented by 100; and the proportion which the breadth bears to the length is called the cephalic index. Thus, if the breadth is four-fifths of the length, the index is 80. According to the system formulated by the great French anthropologist, Paul Broca,[1513] skulls are grouped, according to the cephalic index, in five classes. Skulls whose index exceeds 83·33 are brachycephalic; those whose index falls between 83·33 and 80 are sub-brachycephalic; those between 80 and 77·77 mesaticephalic; those between 77·77 and 75 sub-dolichocephalic; and those below 75 dolichocephalic ... it is necessary to bear in mind that measurements of living heads invariably yield a higher cephalic index--the average difference being as much as 2--than those of skulls[1514] [of the same form]. Another important character of the skull or head is gnathism, that is to say, the degree of projection of the upper jaw. The word orthognathous denotes that this projection is comparatively slight; for absolute orthognathism does not exist. The remaining technical terms which it is necessary for general readers to understand are those which describe the structure of the nasal skeleton. Platyrrhinian means that it is wide, mesorrhinian intermediate, and leptorrhinian narrow.’[1515] I should have added that the orbital index, which is important, denotes the relation of the breadth of the orbit to its length; and, since we are dealing with the ethnology of Britain, it will be convenient to adopt for cephalic indices the notation which is prevalent in this country, and according to which skulls whose indices exceed 80 are called brachycephalic, those between 80 and 75 mesaticephalic, and those under 75 dolichocephalic.

The value of the cephalic index was for many years taken for granted in all ethnological treatises; and many anthropologists still lay great stress upon it.[1516] But there has lately been a reaction.[1517] Professor Sergi[1518] scoffs at ‘the old and discredited method of the cephalic index, which only indicates artificial and conventional distinctions’, and tells us that ‘it is the forms alone that we have to take into consideration’,[1519] and that ‘indices may serve to approximate the most diverse forms and to separate the most homogeneous’.[1520] This last remark is unquestionably true; as Huxley said, ‘in nine cases out of ten you may diagnose an Australian skull [among other dolichocephalic skulls] with certainty.’[1521] Nevertheless the cephalic index, used with discrimination, retains the value which Broca, Beddoe, Collignon, Turner, and other anthropologists ascribe to it; and those who are familiar with Sergi’s writings will not be surprised to learn that, when it suits his purpose, he lays great stress upon the distinction between dolichocephalic and brachycephalic skulls.[1522] He considerably modifies his view when he affirms the truism that ‘we cannot accept the evidence of the cephalic index when that evidence is contradicted by other important facts’;[1523] but if any one who has a taste for ethnology will spend a few days in walking through the department of Jura or the mountainous parts of Auvergne, the contrast between the round heads which he will see everywhere and the totally different type which he has been accustomed to in his own country will convince him that the cephalic index has been ‘discredited’ in vain.[1524] Anthropologists are, however, becoming convinced that the labour which has been spent upon calculating the averages of tables of widely different indices has borne little fruit.[1525]

When we consider the cranial forms, apart from measurements, we find the same lack of unanimity. According to Sergi,[1526] ‘the norma verticalis, or view from above,’ is ‘the most important of all’. According to Rolleston,[1527] ‘the norma lateralis, or profile view of a skull is the most important.’ The present tendency, however, of British anthropologists is to follow the Italian professor.

The evidence of skulls will often mislead unless it is used with caution and discernment, reinforced by collateral knowledge. Certain British brachycephalic skulls of the Bronze Age closely resemble in many respects those of the Maoris.[1528] Rolleston, remarking on the likeness between a dolichocephalic skull of the Bronze Age from Weaverthorpe and the famous Engis skull, observes that ‘resemblances so strong ... should, as they are also so widely scattered over the globe, make us careful not to speak as to the ethnological affinities of any skulls, until we have a very considerable number of representatives of both objects of comparison to place alongside of each other; and it may be added until we have also succeeded in bringing other lines of evidence to bear upon the question’.[1529]

Besides the various characters of the skull and face, and, when they can be ascertained, the complexion, and the colour of the hair and eyes, ethnologists have to take account of stature, because, although it partly depends upon food and social environment,[1530] it unquestionably varies in different races. Now the stature of prehistoric men, when their skeletons are found, can only be estimated by calculating the relations between the lengths of certain bones and the actual height of the individual; and since these relations are obviously variable, the calculation can only lead to approximately true results. The error would no doubt be insignificant if the average relations were certain; but various anthropologists have adopted various methods of calculation, which have led to widely different results.[1531] The most satisfactory, for our purpose,[1532] appears to be that of Dr. Beddoe,--‘I take away from the length of the femur [or thigh-bone] one-quarter of the excess over 13 inches up to 19, and thereafter only one-eighth, and then multiply by four’.[1533]

III. EOLITHIC MAN(?)

Much controversy was excited in the last decade of the nineteenth century by the announcement that stone implements, ruder than the rudest of the Palaeolithic Age, had been discovered on the plateau between the Medway and Caterham valleys: but even if it were possible to convince sceptics that some of these flints were wrought by men’s hands, the proof would not affect the present inquiry; for we should have no means of ascertaining to what race (supposing that it differed from that of the earlier palaeolithic hunters) those men belonged.[1534]

IV. PALAEOLITHIC MAN

1. The people who inhabited this island in the Old Stone Age appear to have been confined to the south; for no palaeolithic implement has yet been found further north than Lincoln, or, as some maintain, the East Riding of Yorkshire.[1535] An attempt has indeed been made to prove that such tools were used in Scotland;[1536] but the best judges are unanimously of opinion that the contention has not been established.[1537]

Little direct evidence exists as to the physical type of the palaeolithic inhabitants of Britain. Only four human skulls have been found in England which can be referred to that period,--one at Galley Hill, near Swanscombe,[1538] one at Westley, near Bury St. Edmunds,[1539] and two in the Cattedown cave near Plymouth:[1540] but it is not certain that the first was contemporaneous with the beds which contained it:[1541] of the second only fragments remained from which it was impossible to determine the contour;[1542] and the others could not be removed entire. Almost all the older palaeolithic skulls, however, which have been discovered in Western Europe belong apparently to the same race,[1543] which may have been represented among the hunters who entered Britain when it still formed part of the Continent. Indeed the Galley Hill skull, whether it belonged to a palaeolithic man or not, has certain characteristics of the most famous representative of the race,--the Neanderthal skull, which was discovered about the middle of the last century in the valley of the Neander in Rhenish Prussia.[1544] The skulls of this type are extraordinarily dolichocephalic; and the people to whom they belonged had extremely low and retreating foreheads, heavy and projecting lower jaws, and amazingly prominent brow ridges, and were short, big-boned, and muscular.[1545]

But what if the Neanderthal skull was not human? If that poor creature had but known how famous he, or it, was to become! His broken cranium has a bibliography of its own. Virchow, who, however, late in life changed his mind, at one time regarded it as abnormal,--pathological. Huxley and Broca vigorously defended its respectability; and at the end of the nineteenth century the most eminent anthropologists of Europe and America accepted it as the type of the most ancient of the known races of men. But in 1901 a German anthropologist, Dr. G. Schwalbe, wrote an article of appalling length,[1546] which disturbed settled convictions. Huxley had pronounced the Neanderthal to be the most ape-like of all known human skulls: Schwalbe refused to regard it as human, in the accepted sense, at all. For him it represents a distinct species, intermediate between the Pithecanthropus of Java--the famous ‘missing link’, whose remains were discovered a few years ago by Dr. Dubois--and man himself. In the same class Schwalbe places the skulls of Spy, which have always been grouped along with that of Neanderthal; and he insists that all the human palaeolithic skulls of Europe, however closely they may appear to resemble these, are in reality different.[1547] ‘In the Neanderthal skull,’ says Dr. Laloy, in a lucid summary of Schwalbe’s article, which will satisfy all who are not specialists, ‘the greatest length coincides with the “inio-glabellar” diameter,’ that is to say, the diameter measured from the space between the supraciliary, or brow, ridges and the sinus at the back of the neck: this, he adds, is never the case in man. No, not in man as we know him. But what sense are we to attach to the word ‘human’? Was there ever a creature of whom it could be affirmed that he was the first man?[1548]

Ten or twelve skulls, which, in dolichocephaly and prominence of the supraciliary ridges, resemble those of the Neanderthal type, but, unlike them, have high foreheads, and are said to have belonged to tall men, have lately been found associated with tools of Mousterian form,[1549] at Krapina in Northern Croatia.[1550] Fourteen skeletons, which may evidently be assigned to the same group, have been found at Předmost in Moravia,[1551] and another at its capital, Bruenn.[1552]

But the Palaeolithic Age, in Britain as in other parts of Europe, was of such immense duration that it would be absurd to assume that it had no other representatives than men of the Neanderthal type; and the ‘artists’ of the latest period, whose creations have been discovered in the caves of La Madelaine and Les Eyzies,[1553] belonged to a different race, represented by skulls discovered at Laugerie-Basse and Chancelade in the valley of the Lozère. While these skulls are hardly less dolichocephalic than those of the Neanderthal type, they are in other respects strikingly different, being much more capacious, and having high and broad foreheads, and brow ridges which are hardly perceptible.[1554] Although no skulls of this kind have been found in our own country, it is not improbable that men of the stock to which they belonged penetrated into Britain; for in one of the caves of Creswell Crags in Derbyshire there has been found a bone engraved with the figure of a horse’s head,[1555] which reminds one of the spirited designs of the artists of the Dordogne, and was associated with implements of the kind which have been found in the caves of La Madelaine and Les Eyzies and others of the Dordogne basin.[1556]

The recent systematic exploration of the Baoussé-Roussé caves near Mentone is of the highest importance because it has demonstrated an intimate connexion between palaeolithic and neolithic races in Southern France. All the interments have been proved to be palaeolithic.[1557] The newest skeleton in the Grotte des Enfants approximates to the dolichocephalic type of the Neolithic Age.[1558] Beneath it, 5 metres 15 millimetres lower down, lay a gigantic skeleton, closely resembling but far older than that of the famous ‘old man’ of Cro-Magnon, which is commonly assigned to the earliest neolithic times, but may possibly be as old as the period that in France is recognized as transitional.[1559] This skeleton has certain negroid characteristics,[1560] which, however, are more pronounced in the two most ancient skeletons of the Grotte des Enfants, discovered 70 millimetres lower still and associated with the bones of a rhinoceros.[1561] M. Verneau argues that the prognathism which appears in certain skeletons of Western Europe of the early Bronze Age was connected by atavism with these primitive denizens of the Riviera.[1562]

2. Professor Boyd Dawkins draws a sharp distinction between ‘the River-drift men’ and ‘the Cave-men’. I must remark that the term ‘Cave-men’ is not happily chosen; for the professor himself assures us that ‘the Cave-men did not always use caves’, and that ‘the habit of camping in the open air must have been the rule ... because caverns and rock-shelters are only met with in very limited areas’;[1563] while on the other hand he points out that ‘River-drift men’ often lived in caves.[1564] By ‘the Cave-men’ he means those who made implements of what he terms ‘the higher types’, that is, the types which are called after the caves of Le Moustier, Solutré, and La Madelaine. Observing that there were ‘Cave-men’ not only in our own country and in France, but also in Belgium, Switzerland, and Germany, he argues that ‘from this distribution of the implements it is evident that the Cave-man belongs neither to the southern group of the Pleistocene animals nor to the temperate which found its way over the mountain barriers into Spain, Italy, and Greece. On the other hand,’ he continues, ‘the River-drift man must be considered as a member either of the temperate or southern fauna of Europe, because his remains are met with in the regions of the Mediterranean, north [and also south] of those mountain barriers.’[1565]

Granting that no implements of the higher types have been discovered in caves south of the ‘mountain barriers’, it is hardly safe to conclude that the ‘Cave-men’ did not belong either to the southern or the temperate group of mammals.[1566] The question is whether the implements to which the professor refers were characteristic of one palaeolithic race to the exclusion of others. Assuming that such implements do not exist outside the area in which they have been found--a very rash assumption--it does not follow that the men who made them belonged to a race different from their contemporaries whose tools have been discovered in the drift. Only one interment of the Late Celtic Period has been found in Scotland, and that quite recently;[1567] yet there were numerous Celts then in North as well as in South Britain.

The professor also insists[1568] that ‘the absence of the higher types of implement in the camping-places of the River-drift men cannot be accounted for on the ground that they are smaller or ... more perishable’; for, he says, ‘camping-places of the Cave-men have been met with in France [for instance at Solutré] ... in which the implements are associated in the same manner as in the caves’.

I reply, first, that it is begging the question to say that the men who encamped at Solutré were ‘Cave-men’ as distinct from ‘River-drift men’; secondly, that implements of Le Moustier type, which were characteristic of the earliest French ‘Cave-men’,[1569] are common both in France and Britain in the river-drift;[1570] and thirdly, with due deference to the professor, that the absence ‘of the higher types of implement’ from the river-drift is as easily explicable as the absence of implements of bone or wood:--partly they were more perishable and would be more difficult to find, and partly they were less likely to be used in the field.[1571] Besides, is it not possible that none of the very few palaeolithic ‘camping-places’ that have been found in this country belonged to the Solutrean period? As we have seen, the professor himself affirms that ‘the Cave-men’ encamped as a rule not in caves but in the open air: they, like ‘the River-drift men’ were, as he himself assures us, hunters: why then have hardly any of their ‘higher types of implement’ been found in this country in the field? Simply for the reasons which I have given. And since ‘the Cave-men’, like ‘the River-drift men’, lived commonly in the open air, how could the latter, even if they belonged to a different race, have escaped the influence of the former or have failed to acquire their culture? And how could the two races have escaped amalgamating?

The ‘Cave-men’, as Professor Boyd Dawkins himself admits,[1572] undoubtedly used certain implements of river-drift type as well as ‘the higher types’; nor is there any reason to suppose that the ‘River-drift men’ did not use implements of ‘the higher types’ as well as implements of river-drift type, except the fact, easily accounted for, that the former are not found in the drift. Professor Boyd Dawkins himself strenuously maintains that ‘River-drift men’ as well as ‘Cave-men’ lived in caves.[1573] How then can he prove that the two sets of occupants were ethnologically different? He insists that ‘the river-drift implements in the Caves of Creswell Crags, of Kent’s Hole, and of the Grotte de l’Église, are found in the strata below those with the implements of the Cave-men, and consequently that the River-drift men lived in Britain and France before the Cave-men.’[1574] But on his own showing the owners of both sets of implements did live in caves; and so far nothing is proved except that those who used one set were more ancient than those who used the other. ‘Some caves also,’ he adds, ‘were inhabited by River-drift men, who have left behind their implements without any trace of the higher types of the Cave-men.’[1575] But here again nothing is proved save that these particular ‘River-drift men’ had not yet learned to make ‘the higher types’. The professor might have a good case if he could say, River-drift implements have been found in the lower strata of caves: in the upper strata none have been found, but only ‘the higher types’; consequently the men who used the higher types were quite different from those of the later Palaeolithic Age whose implements have been recovered from river-drift. But this he could not truly say; for implements of river-drift type have been found, although rarely, in the highest strata of caves.[1576] Lastly, I would ask the professor, who insists that ‘the Cave-men’ were ‘northern mammals’, and that they did not enter Europe until long after the appearance of ‘the River-drift men’, to tell us whence they came.

3. Are we to count the palaeolithic inhabitants of Britain among our ancestors? ‘I do not consider,’ says Dr. Garson, ‘that there is any evidence of the existence of the direct descendants of Palaeolithic man among the osteological remains of Neolithic or subsequent date in Britain.’[1577] On the other hand, Dr. Beddoe[1578] thinks that the oldest inhabitants of this country may have left descendants, whom he is inclined to identify with ‘some Mongoloid race’, traces of which, he believes, are discernible in the population of the west of England; while two distinguished French anthropologists, MM. de Quatrefages and Hamy, affirm that the Neanderthal race ‘has left a permanent imprint on the population of the three kingdoms’,[1579] and refer to various skulls of the Neolithic and later periods which resemble more or less closely that of Neanderthal.[1580] Moreover, it is generally admitted that even at the present day a few individuals here and there belong to the same type.[1581] But it does not follow that these persons or those to whom Dr. Beddoe and M. Hamy refer were descended from men who lived in Britain in the Palaeolithic Age. That palaeolithic man left no descendants in any part of the world is of course not maintained even by the most ardent supporters of the theory of the ‘Hiatus’: somewhere or other there must have been a link; but Sir John Evans, as I have observed in the first part of this book,[1582] argues from the supposed absence of intermediate forms of implements that it did not exist in this country; and Dr. Keane[1583] thinks that ‘the few scattered palaeolithic hunters could scarcely have lived through the last ice-age in a contracted region at one time reduced by subsidence to a mere cluster of islets’, &c. The answer is, first that there is no reason to believe that in ‘the last ice-age’ or at any time between the dawn of the latest palaeolithic period and the arrival of neolithic man Britain was ‘a mere cluster of islets’;[1584] and secondly that, as Professor Boyd Dawkins assures us, out of forty-eight species of mammalian fauna living in Britain in the Palaeolithic, thirty-one survived in the Neolithic Age.[1585] Professor Boyd Dawkins, however, insists that ‘the mere contrast between the Palaeolithic and wild Neolithic faunas implies a zoological break of the first magnitude’.[1586] I take leave to say that it implies no break at all, seeing that thirty-one of the older species confessedly lived on: it implies no more than is implied by the disappearance of the urus, the wolf, the wild boar, and many other animals which were living in this island at a time since which it has been continuously inhabited by man. The professor triumphantly points out that in those caves which were successively used as dwellings by palaeolithic and neolithic people ‘the remains of the domestic animals are found alone in the upper Prehistoric [or neolithic] strata.’[1587] Undoubtedly. But what then? The fact does not prove that palaeolithic man had become extinct when neolithic man arrived: it merely proves that the latter had domestic animals, and that the former had not. Arab horses, Siamese cats, and many other animals have been introduced into this country since the Christian era: yet the people who were here before their introduction did not become extinct. And if ‘in a great many cases the lower Palaeolithic strata [in caves] are sealed down, and mapped off from the Neolithic, by a layer of stalagmite’,[1588] that only proves ‘a break of continuity between the two periods’ as far as those caves are concerned. The Palaeolithic Age, says the professor, ‘was continental, the Neolithic insular in North-Western Europe.’[1589] He means that in the Palaeolithic Age Great Britain was an outlying part of the Continent, and that the neolithic invaders had to sail across the Channel.[1590] But why should the formation of the Channel have extinguished the palaeolithic race? ‘There is obviously,’ continues the professor, ‘a great gulf fixed between the rude hunter civilisation of the one and the agricultural and pastoral civilisation of the other.’ Obviously. But the gulf is not more obvious than that which separated the civilization of the Red Indians from the civilization of the Pilgrim Fathers. Yet the Red Indians still lived on.

It is true that if the professor has failed to show that the Palaeolithic Age in Britain was abruptly terminated, he has no difficulty in disposing of certain arguments which have been adduced to show that it was not. When, for instance, Mr. Allen Brown points to the implements of palaeolithic type which were found in the refuse heaps of the neolithic settlement at Cissbury in Sussex, he replies that ‘in the vast accumulation of refuse, representing every style in the chipping, from the rough block of flint ... to the highly finished axe, broken ... by an unhappy blow, it is obvious that there must be some which would represent well-known Palaeolithic types.’[1591] Nevertheless it remains true that not one of the facts which he has stated is inconsistent with the hypothesis that men may have lived on in Britain in the palaeolithic stage of culture until the time when the first neolithic immigrants arrived. What his opponents suggest is that certain types of palaeolithic implements survived into the Neolithic Age;[1592] in other words, that implements of those types continued to be manufactured or used then. That this was the case in Ireland is certain;[1593] and, since there is no evidence of a Palaeolithic Age in Ireland, it seems not unreasonable to conjecture that they were made by descendants of palaeolithic refugees from Britain or Gaul. Mr. Allen Brown may be wrong in maintaining that implements which he has found ‘at or near the surface’ at East Dean in Sussex are ‘mesolithic’, that is, belong to a period of transition;[1594] but Sir John Evans himself says[1595] of some of the implements, usually classed as palaeolithic, which have been found in the cave earth of the famous Kent’s Cavern in a position which authorizes us to assume that the people to whom they belonged were not separated by any ‘hiatus’ from the palaeolithic race whose remains were found immediately underneath, that ‘so far as form is concerned, there is little or nothing to distinguish them from the analogous implements of the Neolithic Period’. Is it not possible that these and some of the ruder implements which have hitherto been classed as neolithic may have been fabricated not by neolithic immigrants but, after their immigration, by descendants of the palaeolithic race?[1596] Those who deny that mesolithic implements have been found in Britain deny also that they have been found anywhere else. Granted for the sake of argument. But if their general absence does not weaken the certainty that the supposed hiatus was not universal, how can their absence in Britain prove that there was a hiatus here? In Part I I have shown that it is impossible to frame any theory which shall account satisfactorily for the assumed disappearance of British palaeolithic man. Professor Boyd Dawkins asks us to believe that the ‘Cave-men’ fled in terror before the neolithic invaders and eventually settled in Greenland, where they became the ancestors of the Eskimos; and in support of this theory he assures us that ‘Palaeolithic man appeared in Europe with the arctic mammalia, lived in Europe along with them, and disappeared with them’; that the gloves of the ‘Cave-men’ were ‘similar to those now used by the Eskimos’; that their implements ‘are of the same kind as those of the Eskimos’; that, like the Eskimos, they did not take the trouble to bury their dead; and that ‘the most astonishing bond of union between the Cave-men and the Eskimos is the art of representing animals’.[1597] Judging from the specimens of Eskimo art which the professor gives, I confess that what I find astonishing is its inferiority to that of the Cave-men;[1598] there is no evidence that the Cave-men of Britain wore gloves; and if they did, may not the reason have been, not that there was any connexion between them and the Eskimos, but that their hands were cold? Is the professor sure that ‘the River-drift men’ did not also wear gloves? We do not know whether palaeolithic man appeared in Europe with the arctic mammalia: he certainly did not accompany them from the north; and it is an article of faith with French anthropologists that he did not disappear with them, but became the ancestor of neolithic man. There is a general resemblance between the palaeolithic drift implements of all countries; and in the earlier part of this volume many facts have been noted which show how cautious one should be in inferring identity of race from similarity in implements, weapons, or ornaments. There is not the slightest evidence that ‘the Cave-men’ did not bury their dead; and there is irrefragable evidence, as we have seen, that cave-men in the Riviera and in Croatia did.[1599] Again, since the professor differentiates the ‘Cave-men’ from the ‘River-drift men’ of Britain, can he prove that the latter did bury their dead? If not, what becomes of his argument? Finally, the theory that the Eskimos are descendants of ‘the Cave-men’ of Western Europe has been rejected by every recent inquirer.[1600]

How does Professor Boyd Dawkins account for the disappearance, which he assumes, of palaeolithic man? ‘Simply,’ he says, ‘by assuming that at the close of the Pleistocene age, when they came into contact with Neolithic invaders, there were the same feelings between them as existed in Hearne’s times between the Eskimos and the Red Indian, terror and defenceless hatred being, on the one side, met by ruthless extermination on the other. In this way the Cave-men would be gradually driven from Europe.’[1601] That men who were ruthlessly exterminated should have survived to become the ancestors of the Eskimos is certainly remarkable. But seriously I would ask the professor whether he has really succeeded in persuading himself that ‘the Cave-men’ were one and all either exterminated or driven out of Europe. Did none remain? He assures us that ‘the Cave-men’ migrated eastward; and he still insists, in defiance of all French craniologists, that ‘neither of the two races of Palaeolithic man have left behind any marks in the existing population of Europe’.[1602] How they contrived to make their slow progress across the Continent without leaving one descendant is a problem which he does not attempt to solve. And since he himself admits, or rather affirms, that they ‘came into contact with Neolithic invaders’, it is difficult to see how he can maintain the existence of a hiatus.

The professor has asserted that there is ‘no evidence in any part of the world of a continuity between the Palaeolithic and Neolithic ages’.[1603] Yet he of course admits that it must have existed somewhere. Good reasons have been given for believing that it existed in France.[1604] Why not also in Britain?[1605]

Such are the reasons by which I endeavour to justify myself in refusing to believe that neolithic man, when he entered Britain, found none to welcome or to oppose him save the thirty-one species of mammalian fauna which Professor Boyd Dawkins has spared.

V. THE PYGMIES (?)

British pygmies are the creation of Celtic imagination. The evidence on which we are required to believe that they existed is this. Professor Rhys[1606] suggests that the name of the Coritani, a tribe mentioned by Ptolemy,[1607] who inhabited the country between the Trent and the Nen, is related to the word cor, a dwarf. ‘Then,’ the professor concludes, ‘we should have accordingly to suppose the old race to have survived so long and in such numbers that the Celtic lords of Southern Britain called the people of that area by a name meaning dwarfs.’ Afterwards, referring to various articles by Mr. David MacRitchie, he observes that in certain parts of Wales and Scotland there are mounds enclosing cells, which are ‘frequently so small as to prove beyond doubt that those who inhabited them were of remarkably small stature’;[1608] and he finds in Welsh, Irish, and Scotch folk-lore traditions which confirm him in the belief that these cells were inhabited by dwarfs, whom he calls ‘the Mound Folk’. ‘This strange people,’ he tells us, ‘seems to have exercised on the Celts ... a sort of permanent spell of mysteriousness and awe stretching to the verge of adoration ... the Celt’s faculty of exaggeration, combined with his incapacity to comprehend the weird and uncanny population of the mounds and caves ... has enabled him ... to bequeath to the great literatures of Western Europe a motley train of dwarfs,’[1609] &c. The professor’s conclusion[1610] is that the earliest people who inhabited these islands [apparently after the Palaeolithic Age] were ‘the mound folk, consisting of the short swarthy people variously caricatured by our fairy tales’; and that they were conquered by neolithic invaders, who, he tells us, ‘made slaves and drudges of the mound-haunting race.’

‘These,’ the professor warns us, perhaps superfluously, ‘are conjectures which I cannot establish; but possibly somebody else may.’

I venture to hint a doubt. Not only is the derivation of Coritani utterly uncertain,[1611] but it is safe to assume that the Celtic tribe who undoubtedly conquered the country which belonged in Ptolemy’s time to the Coritani would not have called its population, themselves included, by a name which described not even the people whom they found in possession, but the ‘slaves and drudges’ of that people, or rather of their neolithic predecessors! The professor indeed argued in Celtic Folk-Lore[1612] that the Coritanian dwarfs ‘may be conjectured to have had quiet from invaders from the Continent because of the inaccessible nature of their fens’. How then did they themselves and the non-dwarfish invaders of the Bronze Age get there? It is almost superfluous to remark that in the year before and in the year after the publication of Celtic Folk-Lore the professor counted the Coritani among the Brythonic ‘invaders from the Continent’.[1613] The ‘mound-dwellings’ which Mr. MacRitchie describes[1614] belong to the class of structures which are popularly known as ‘Picts’ houses’, ‘Earth-houses’, or ‘Weems’, and are immeasurably later than the period to which Professor Rhys’s theory would compel him to assign them. The mere fact, indeed, that many of them have been shown by excavation to have been occupied in Roman times does not prove that they were not constructed earlier; but I can find no evidence that any of them belong even to the Neolithic Age. Mr. MacRitchie himself assures us that one which was opened at Crichton in Mid-Lothian ‘was proved to have been built not earlier than 80 A.D.’;[1615] and he assigns the ‘mound-dwellings’ in general not to a pre-neolithic race but to the Picts of historic times.[1616] He also says that one which was explored in 1855 contained four chambers, of which the largest was ‘6 feet 2 inches long, 4 feet 6 inches in height, and 2 feet 6 inches wide’, and, with a fascinating lack of humour, he adds that ‘while the size of the stones used in its construction is evidence of great personal strength on the part of the builders, the small and narrow rooms seem to indicate a diminutive race.’[1617] When the reader is invited to believe that ‘those who inhabited’ these ‘rooms’, which were only built by the exertion of ‘great personal strength’, ‘were of remarkably short stature’, he falls to calculating whether even a race of Tom Thumbs, each of whom possessed the muscular power of a Sandow, would not have used their strength to make their rooms a little more comfortable.[1618] Mr. MacRitchie shows more acumen when, after remarking that ‘two alleged Fairy Knowes in Shetland’ proved on investigation to be natural hillocks, and that another in Stirlingshire ‘was only a sepulchral mound’, he concludes that these instances are ‘sufficient to show the unreliable nature of popular tradition’.[1619] If it was ‘the Celt’s faculty of exaggeration’ that ‘enabled him to bequeath to the great literatures of Western Europe a motley train of dwarfs’, why should he not have exercised his faculty upon the comparatively short neolithic population rather than upon the imaginary pygmies whom Professor Rhys has appointed as their ‘slaves and drudges’?[1620] And if the imagination which created ‘a motley train of dwarfs’ had pygmies for its basis of fact, will the professor tell us who were the originals of the ‘motley train’ of giants whom the imaginations of various European peoples associated with the dwarfs?[1621] I am aware that Professor Kollmann[1622] claims to have proved that pygmies existed in prehistoric times in France, Germany, Switzerland, and other European countries; but the fact remains that no evidence has been produced that a race of pre-neolithic or even prehistoric pygmies existed in this country save only that which is furnished by ‘the Celt’s faculty of exaggeration’.

VI. NEOLITHIC MAN

The remains of neolithic man have been discovered in caves, in cairns, in submerged forests, and in barrows in Essex, Wiltshire, Gloucestershire, Somersetshire, Derbyshire, Staffordshire, Yorkshire, Caermarthenshire, Denbighshire, the Isle of Man,[1623] Argyllshire and the island of Arran, Caithness, and the Orkney Islands.[1624] The neolithic population, however, it need hardly be said, were scattered over many other parts of Britain in which their skeletons have not come to light. Many anthropologists consider that all of them belong to one race; but at all events the great majority represent men of medium stature with long skulls; and it is a generally accepted article of faith that no long barrow has ever yielded any article of metal in association with a primary interment, and that no skull whose cephalic index exceeded 79, belonging to a primary interment, has ever been found in a long barrow since the time when anthropologists first began to measure skulls in this country.[1625] According to a table[1626] published by Dr. Beddoe in 1894, the value of which has been confirmed by later measurements,[1627] the cephalic indices of 87 skulls belonging to the Neolithic Age ranged from 63 to 79; and, as Dr. Thurnam points out,[1628] some of them are more dolichocephalic than those of any modern European people.

When we come to examine the stature of the neolithic Britons, we find that, according to Thurnam’s latest estimate,[1629] the average height of 25 male skeletons found by him in long barrows was 5 feet 5·4 inches,[1630] or 1 metre 661: but Dr. Beddoe gives good reasons, to which I have already called attention,[1631] for believing this estimate to be too low; and his own is 5 feet 6.7 inches, or 1 metre 694.[1632] Recent measurements (although they include those of individuals under 5 feet) do not invalidate the evidence of these figures;[1633] and the few Scottish skeletons which undoubtedly belong to the Neolithic Age have yielded practically the same results.[1634]

Dr. Garson, describing the dolichocephalic Long Barrow skulls, with which anthropologists agree in associating those that have been found in the ‘horned cairns’ of Caithness,[1635] in the neolithic cairns of the isle of Arran,[1636] and in the caves of Oban,[1637] says that ‘the superciliary ridges and glabella [the surface between the superciliary ridges] are moderately or even feebly developed ... the malar [or cheek] bones are never prominent ... there is no tendency to prognathism ... as a whole the face is oval in form; the jaws are small and fine ... the facial characters are mild and without exaggerated development in any direction’.[1638] It may be added that the Long Barrow skulls, as Thurnam pointed out, are ‘more or less depressed--platycephalic’,[1639] and that the nose is usually aquiline.

The general truth of the foregoing descriptions will be apparent to any one who examines the plates in Crania Britannica; but we must take account of exceptions. As Dr. Davis pointed out,[1640] a skull found in the Long Lowe barrow, near Wetton in Staffordshire, is very different from another dolichocephalic skull from a chambered long barrow at Uley in Gloucestershire.[1641] In the latter the brow ridges are strongly marked, and the chin is comparatively broad and square.[1642] Of another skull, found in a barrow near Littleton Drew in North Wiltshire, Thurnam observes that the lower jaw is ‘thick and heavy’.[1643] A third, taken from a barrow at West Kennet in North Wiltshire, has an amazingly angular and square lower jaw, which, as Thurnam truly says, ‘deviates considerably from the normal type.’[1644]

Again, while the average stature of the Long Barrow skeletons which Thurnam examined was, according to the higher estimate of Dr. Beddoe, only 5 feet 6·7 inches,[1645] and Rolleston affirmed that he had ‘never found the stature to exceed 5 feet 6 inches ... in any skeleton from a barrow which was undoubtedly of the stone and bone period’,[1646] a skeleton found in the West Kennet barrow had a thigh bone 20 inches long;[1647] and its possessor would therefore have stood 6 feet high, or nearly 1 metre 830, on the lowest computation, and, according to the estimate of Dr. Beddoe, 6 feet 1½ inch or 1 metre 867. Not less remarkable is a dolichocephalic skeleton of almost identical dimensions,[1648] described by Dr. Garson, which, although it was found in a round barrow, undoubtedly belonged to the Neolithic Age.[1649]

It is evident, therefore, that although not one of the people, so far as we can tell, who buried their dead in long barrows was brachycephalic in index, yet not only was there a very wide range in their indices, but some of them were strikingly different, both in form of skull and feature and in stature, from the normal type. Were they the result of crossing between individuals of the Long Barrow race and tall brachycephalic invaders who will be noticed later? Thurnam himself pointed out that a male skull, whose cephalic index was 79, found in a primary interment in the long barrow of Charlton Abbot’s in Wiltshire, was ‘unquestionably brachycephalous’.[1650] The mere fact that its index was below the conventional limit did not blind him to its true character.

Let us now see how far those skulls of the Neolithic Age which have been found in other surroundings resemble the type which is associated with long barrows.

Putting aside the Scottish skulls which have been already mentioned, they comprise specimens found in the caves of Perthi-Chwareu in Denbighshire and Cefn, near St. Asaph; in a chambered cairn at Tyddyn Bleiddyn, near Cefn; in caves at Rhosdigre and Llandebie, and at Uphill in Somersetshire;[1651] in the East Ham Marshes, along with two ‘chipped celts’, fifteen feet below the surface;[1652] in the bed of the Trent at Muskham;[1653] and in a submarine forest, thirty feet below the level of the sea, near the Land’s End.[1654] Skulls found in tumuli at Keiss in Caithness,[1655] in a tumulus at Towyn-y-Capel in Anglesey,[1656] and in ‘what seems to be an alluvial deposit formed by the river Dove’, near Ledbury Hall in Derbyshire,[1657] may be added doubtfully to the list;[1658] but, as we shall afterwards see,[1659] there need be no doubt that certain brachycephalic skulls of the type which is commonly associated with the round barrows belonged to the Neolithic Age.

Professor Ripley[1660] holds that the Long Barrow people were ‘quite similar to’ those whose remains have been found in caves, if ‘somewhat less extreme in physical type’; and Huxley[1661] thought that all the dolichocephalic and mesaticephalic British skulls of the Neolithic Age belonged to the same race. Similarly Dr. Garson[1662] identifies the river-bed type, represented in Britain by the Muskham skull, with that of the long barrows; while, according to Professor Boyd Dawkins, the skulls from the Welsh caves and from Tyddyn Bleiddyn ‘agree in shape ... with some of those given in Tables i. and ii. of the “Crania Britannica” as “ancient British”’,[1663] and ‘belong to that type which Professor Huxley terms the river-bed skull’,[1664] and which, according to him, was identical ‘in general characters’ with the Long Barrow type.[1665] Dr. Beddoe,[1666] on the contrary, says that both they and the Caithness skulls ‘depart considerably from the typical long-barrow cranium’, and is inclined to regard them as belonging to a distinct mesaticephalic race.[1667] The cephalic indices of the Welsh skulls, which range from 74·3 to 80,[1668] are considerably higher than those of the Long Barrow skulls in general; and (though this may be unimportant) the average height of the men to whom they belonged was ‘little more than 5 feet’,[1669] or considerably below the average height of the Long Barrow people. In my opinion neither they nor the Land’s End skull, which resembles them,[1670] are pure specimens of the Long Barrow type;[1671] and the same may be said of the East Ham and Muskham skulls. The one from Towyn-y-Capel, on the other hand, might be supposed to have come from a long barrow. The cephalic indices of the Caithness skulls range from 73 to 78. Four of them[1672] might, I think, pass muster as Long Barrow skulls; but the remaining two[1673] appear to me different. Of the Ledbury skull, the cephalic index of which is 77, Huxley himself says that ‘a little flattening and elongation, with a rather greater development of the supraciliary ridges would convert this into the nearest likeness to the Neanderthal skull which has yet been discovered’.[1674] It may be that there was some infusion of the blood of the Long Barrow race in all the people to whom these skulls belonged; but I have little doubt that if, with the few exceptions which I have noted, they were placed on a table among those of the long barrows, a skilled craniologist could pick out every one of them. The difference is easily accounted for when it is remembered that the long barrows were almost certainly erected late in the Neolithic Age,[1675] and that there were neolithic men in Scotland when the estuary of the Forth extended 8 or 10 miles west of Stirling, and when the sea relatively to the west coast was 25 feet higher than it is now.[1676]

A female skull, belonging apparently to the Neolithic Age, was discovered about the year 1891 ‘on the Batten promontory, near Plymouth Sound’.[1677] According to the report of the discovery, it ‘approaches dolichocephaly’. A photograph of this skull[1678] reminded me of some of the illustrations of round skulls in Crania Britannica. To quote from the report,[1679] ‘the most striking features of the face are the great size of the orbits, the strongly marked superciliary ridge, the lowness of the retreating forehead’; and all these features are characteristic of some of the most typical Bronze Age skulls.

A few years ago Professor Macalister said that he had not recognized any skulls of the Long Barrow type in Ireland,[1680] where no such barrows exist; but several specimens have since been found.[1681]

There is, as we have seen, reason to believe that the neolithic population of Britain were not homogeneous; but, with the qualifications that have been already noted, it may be truly said that the people of the long barrows present a uniform type. Whence did they come, and what were their affinities? The view which may be said to hold the field, although it is not universally accepted,[1682] is that they belonged to the so-called ‘Iberian’ race. Before we discuss this theory, it may be well to warn the reader that among those who hold it are writers who have absolutely no knowledge of ‘the Iberian question’ except on the side of physical anthropology. The word ‘Iberian’, as used by ethnologists, is not always confined to the Iberians of history, that is, the inhabitants of the Spanish peninsula and of Southern Gaul between the Pyrenees and the Rhône:[1683] it is often loosely applied to a people, possessing certain common physical features, who inhabited various parts of the Mediterranean basin, and, according to some writers, notably Sergi,[1684] penetrated in late quaternary and neolithic times into almost every country of Europe. And when it is applied by ethnologists to the Iberians of history, it is not applied to all of them, for the Iberians of history were of course a mixed people: the ethnologists are thinking only of those Iberians who belonged to the dolichocephalic Mediterranean stock.

The arguments which have been brought forward in favour of the theory that the Long Barrow race belonged to the Iberian branch of the Mediterranean stock may be summarized as follows:--First, according to Tacitus,[1685] the Silures, a British tribe which in his time inhabited what is now Monmouthshire, Glamorganshire, and Herefordshire, were dark and had curly hair, from which fact, as well as from their geographical position, he inferred that Iberians, that is inhabitants of the Spanish peninsula, had migrated into Britain.[1686] But if the dolichocephalic Iberians were dark, so were the brachycephalic people who settled in Gaul in the Neolithic Age: Tacitus’s geographical argument was based upon the notion, prevalent among the ancient geographers,[1687] that Spain was ‘opposite’ and near Britain; and it is of course incredible that people should have sailed in the Neolithic Age from Spain to our island.

Secondly, much stress has been laid upon the alleged resemblance of the Long Barrow skulls to those of the Basques, the assumption being that the latter were Iberians, properly so called. Dr. Garson affirms that there is ‘a strong similarity between Basque skulls and those of the Neolithic people of Britain’;[1688] while Thurnam[1689] points out that the skulls of the Basques are very ‘similar in many respects to the skulls from chambered long barrows of South-West Britain’, and that the Long Barrow skulls in general closely resemble ‘sixty Basque skulls lately added to the collection of the Anthropological Society of Paris’.[1690] Moreover, Dr. Beddoe[1691] says, ‘Many photographs of Basques ... are recognized, both by myself and by an observant Welsh anthropologist to whom I have submitted them, as being in no respect different from some of the ordinary types of feature in South Wales.’

Now, as I have shown elsewhere,[1692] the investigations which have been made regarding the cranial characters of the Basques have led to widely different results; and Dr. Garson does not say to what group of Basque skulls he refers. Both the Spanish and the French Basques, according to Dr. Collignon,[1693] differ in certain respects from all other European peoples; but they also differ from each other, the former being generally dolichocephalic, while the latter are (according to Broca’s notation)[1694] sub-brachycephalic, and their cranial capacity is considerably less than that of their Spanish brethren. Dr. Collignon is inclined to assimilate the Basques generally to the Kabyle type.[1695] Assuming that the Long Barrow race resembled the Spanish Basques in certain respects, the resemblance only tends to show that the ancestors of the Long Barrow race came from the south. The ancestors, or rather some of the ancestors of the Basques were undoubtedly Iberians,--in one sense of the word: but the French Basque type which Dr. Collignon has described, and which he regards as original,[1696] is in many respects different from that of the long barrows, which ethnologists call Iberian; and, as I have shown elsewhere,[1697] the purest French Basques are generally fair, the Spanish Basques are less dark than other Spaniards, and the Long Barrow race were undoubtedly dark. Moreover, many ethnologists overlook the fact that the language of the so-called Iberian inscriptions, which have been found scattered over the territory that belonged to the Iberians, cannot be interpreted by the aid of Basque,[1698] and shows no trace of kinship with Basque.

Thirdly, Sergi, affirming that the Long Barrow people belonged to the Iberian branch of the stock which he has taught ethnologists to call Mediterranean, says,[1699] ‘I have compared the forms of the skulls from British graves with ancient.... Mediterranean skulls, and have found those characteristic of Spain, of Portugal ... of Greece, of Hissarlik, and of East Africa.’ The fact is undeniable; but obviously it does not tend to prove that the Long Barrow race belonged to the Iberian rather than to the Ligurian branch, which, according to Sergi,[1700] ‘extends from the Iberian peninsula as far as Italy,’ or to any other branch of the Mediterranean stock. Moreover, when Sergi affirms[1701] that ‘wherever the Mediterranean stock established itself, it preserved its primitive burial custom of inhumation’, and that ‘incineration was of absolutely Aryan [that is to say, on his theory, Asiatic] origin’,[1702] he weakens his argument, for it is certain that incineration was practised by many of the Long Barrow people.[1703] Furthermore, Sergi tells us that skeletons of ‘the Mediterranean type’ are characterized by ‘slender and delicate forms’,[1704] and doubtless most of the skeletons which have been found in long barrows answer to this description; but thirteen skeletons found in a chambered long barrow at Rodmarton, Gloucestershire, were distinguished by ‘powerful and vigorous frames’.[1705]

I conclude that there is not sufficient evidence for referring the Long Barrow people to the Iberian rather than to some other branch of the Mediterranean stock.

It is generally admitted that the Long Barrow race closely resembled in cranial characteristics, and to a lesser degree in stature, the dolichocephalic neolithic population of Gaul, of whom the people whose remains have been discovered in the caverns of l’Homme Mort[1706] and Baumes-Chaudes[1707] were perhaps the most typical representatives; and this resemblance confirms the truth of the theory that the Long Barrow people were a branch of the ‘Mediterranean’ stock. But one argument, upon which Thurnam[1708] laid great stress, should warn us to be cautious in drawing conclusions from the skeletal characters of prehistoric peoples of whose other characters we are necessarily ignorant. About the middle of the nineteenth century several skeletons were discovered in a neolithic barrow at Fontenay, near Caen. Their skulls resembled those of the long barrows; and the height of the tallest, according to Thurnam’s system of measurement, would not have exceeded 5 feet 1 inch, or 1 metre 550. This, he triumphantly remarks, confirms the opinion that the peoples who erected the sepulchral chambers at Fontenay and in the south-west of England belonged to the same race. But the average height of the Long Barrow people, according to Thurnam, was 5 feet 5·4 inches,[1709] and the average height of the brachycephalic Round Barrow people 5 feet 8·4 inches.[1710] This difference of 3 inches is one of the facts upon which he relies to prove the distinction--a distinction which is of course as certain as it is universally admitted--between the Long Barrow people and the brachycephalic Round Barrow people. Yet he regards the difference of 4·4 inches between the average height of the Long Barrow people and the tallest of the men who were buried at Fontenay as sufficient to prove the racial identity of the latter with the former!

Dr. Keane[1711] maintains that the route followed by the people who introduced the neolithic culture into the British Isles is indicated by the dolmens which abound in many parts of Northern Africa, and are scattered along the western side of the Spanish peninsula and over nearly the whole area of France. This is also the opinion of Professor Flinders Petrie, who affirms that ‘the dolmens belong to one continuous series, passing from Syria, along North Africa, and up Spain to Western Europe’,[1712] of Montelius,[1713] Sophus Müller,[1714] and Sergi.[1715] Penka, on the other hand (I quote from Mr. J. L. Myres’s exposition of his views), ‘reads the series the other way,’ because ‘while on the north these monuments go back into the Stone Age, in France and the south they belong to the Bronze Age’. He observes that ‘the discovery of dolmens in North Africa and Syria ... has proceeded pari passu with the discovery both of actual survival of a tall blond dolichocephalic race in the same areas, and of evidence in Egyptian portraiture of its wider extension in the second millennium B.C.’ He maintains therefore that the earliest dolmen-builders were dolichocephalic blonds, speaking an Aryan language, in Southern Scandinavia and Denmark.[1716]

Now the ethnological problem presented by the distribution of the dolmens is exceedingly difficult; and it is not certain that either of the above-mentioned views is right. Dolmens are found not only in the countries which have been already mentioned, but also in Japan, India, Persia, Arabia, Syria, Palestine, Moab, Asia Minor, the Crimea, the Netherlands, Northern Germany, and the Balearic Islands;[1717] and it is possible that in certain other countries their non-existence may be due simply to lack of the necessary stones.[1718] In the territory which corresponds with ancient Gaul there are no dolmens east of the line formed by the Jura and the Vosges;[1719] while the departments in which they are most numerous form a band extending obliquely from Finistère to Gard, that is, from the Channel to the Mediterranean.[1720] The single department of the Morbihan contains more megalithic monuments, including menhirs, or single standing stones, than all the other departments put together; but in the list of dolmens it ranks below Aveyron and Ardèche.[1721] In the Spanish peninsula almost all the dolmens are concentrated in Portugal, the north-eastern corner of Spain, and the southern and eastern seaboard: in Southern Britain they are found in Cornwall, Devonshire, Dorsetshire, Somersetshire, Wiltshire, Oxfordshire, Berkshire, Kent, Derbyshire, Staffordshire, and Northumberland, in Monmouthshire,[1722] Herefordshire, and Wales;[1723] while in Scotland they are represented by the horned cairns of Caithness and the chambered cairns of Orkney, Inverness, Argyllshire, Arran, and other islands.[1724] In Ireland they are everywhere, but most numerous in the west.[1725]

There is a striking resemblance, which, in certain cases, amounts to almost complete identity of form, between many of the dolmens of Western Europe and some even of the Caucasus and India; although, as might have been expected, local peculiarities exist everywhere.[1726] Thus the chambered long barrow of West Kennet in Wiltshire is identical in construction with the Hünebedden, or ‘Giants’ Graves’, of Brandenburg, Mecklenburg, and Hanover;[1727] and close resemblances have been noted between certain dolmens in Wales and others in Brittany and Portugal,[1728] between some in Antrim and others in Denmark,[1729] and between certain Irish dolmens and the peculiar ship-shaped monuments of the Balearic Isles.[1730] It is of course true that in sepulchres of such rude and simple construction general resemblance is inevitable, and does not necessarily imply community of origin: but when we find that in the Caucasus, in Syria and India, and in every European country in which dolmens exist some few have one of their stones pierced with a hole;[1731] that the covering-stones of certain dolmens in Portugal, Ireland, Cornwall, Sweden, and elsewhere are indented with small circular depressions,[1732] and that the sepulchral customs discernible in the dolmens of widely separated countries are virtually identical,[1733] it must be admitted that there is ground for the opinion that the custom of dolmen-building originated with some one people.[1734] On the other hand, it is easily conceivable that these coincidences originated in customs and beliefs which may have been common property before the first dolmen was set up, or which may have been handed on at a later time from tribe to tribe. De Mortillet argued that dolmens were not the exclusive creation of any one race because in France skeletons of widely different races have been found within them.[1735] But this fact only proves that an intruding race buried their dead in dolmens built by others, or else adopted the custom of dolmen-building from their predecessors. It has also been argued that the differences in detail which are noticeable in the dolmens of the various countries of Western Europe prove that they were not the work of one migratory people but of various settled tribes; and that this conclusion is borne out by the similarity between the culture of the dolmen-builders of widely separated countries such as France and Denmark.[1736] What is certain is that if the dolmens had been erected successively by peoples who migrated westward from Syria or even North Africa, and whose descendants moved on northward to the British Isles, we should expect to find that the British dolmens belonged to a period very much later than those of the Mediterranean. But the oldest dolmens of North Africa are assigned by General Faidherbe to the very end of the Neolithic and the commencement of the Bronze Age.[1737] The arguments of Penka, whatever value they may have in regard to the origin of dolmen-building, certainly do not prove that the Long Barrow race were descended from Scandinavian ancestors: for their skulls are easily distinguishable from those of Scandinavia;[1738] the neolithic pottery of Britain is utterly different from that of the north;[1739] and the distribution of the dolmens in the British Isles, where they are most numerous in Western Britain and in Ireland, is hardly consistent with the theory that the people who erected them came from the north-east. Moreover, the remains which have been found in the oldest Scandinavian dolmens indicate that the culture which they represent was more advanced than that which is manifested in similar tombs in Gaul or the British Isles.[1740]

On the question of the origin of dolmens I offer no opinion. But in regard to those of Western Europe the least improbable theory appears to be that which was first tentatively propounded by M. Cazalis de Fondonce,[1741] and developed by Mr. Borlase,[1742] namely, that a dolichocephalic people who were erecting dolmens in France and the Spanish peninsula, where these monuments may have been evolved from sepulchral caves,[1743] were forced westward by the brachycephalic ‘Grenelle’ race who invaded those countries in the Neolithic Age;[1744] that some of them migrated into the British Isles, and others into Holland and Northern Germany,[1745] whence the custom of dolmen-building would have spread to Denmark and Scandinavia; and that others [perhaps] moved southward into Africa. The earlier neolithic dolmen-builders of Gaul, like the Long Barrow people of Britain, belonged to the ‘Mediterranean’ type; and on the theory which I have stated their ancestors might have migrated into Spain and Gaul from Africa long before the first African dolmen was erected.

Lastly, linguistic arguments have been adduced to prove the African origin of the Long Barrow race.[1746] Professor Morris Jones[1747] endeavours to show that the Celtic language was modified, after it had been introduced into Britain, by the language or languages which it encountered;[1748] and he claims to have established the syntactical similarity of the modern Celtic dialects to Egyptian and to the Hamitic dialects generally, and to have demonstrated that ‘neo-Celtic syntax agrees with Hamitic in almost every point where it differs from Aryan’.[1749] This, he concludes, is ‘the linguistic complement of the anthropological evidence, and the strongest corroboration of the theory of the kinship of the early inhabitants of Britain to the North African white race’.

I would not, however, venture to commit myself to the theory of Sergi, that the cradle of the ‘Iberian’ race, or of the ‘Mediterranean’ race of which it was an offshoot, was in Northern Africa or Somaliland.[1750] Professor Boyd Dawkins infers ‘from their range as far north as Scotland, and at least as far to the east as Belgium, that they travelled by the same paths that the Celtic, Belgic, and Germanic tribes travelled ... coming from the East, and pushing their way to the West; and that another [group] mastered Northern Africa’; and he argues that this view ‘is confirmed by the examination of the domestic animals which they possessed. The short-horned ox, the sheep, and the goat, are derived from wild stocks that are now to be found only in Central Asia.... None of these animals were known in Europe before the Neolithic Age.’[1751] But any one who has read so far will have seen that the range of the ‘Iberian’ race ‘as far north as Scotland’ lends no support to the theory that it originated in Asia. In regard to the argument which the professor derives from the examination of the domestic animals, Rolleston[1752] inclined to the view that ‘though coming in the ultimate resort from the east, [they] ... did not reach the north of the Alps directly from the East, but only ... from the Greek and Italian peninsulas’. But the truth is that we do not know whether the earliest neolithic invaders of the British Isles or of Western Europe possessed short-horned oxen, sheep, or goats.[1753] Supposing that these animals came from the East, is it not possible that they were introduced into Europe not by the ‘Mediterranean’ race but by brachycephalic neolithic immigrants? Moreover, Professor Boyd Dawkins has himself admitted that ‘the common domestic hog, descended from the wild boar, may have been originally tamed in Europe’,[1754] and that the vegetables possessed by the Swiss lake-dwellers may have been ‘derived from Southern Europe’;[1755] and it is now generally held that the domestic animals of the neolithic inhabitants of Europe were of European origin, and that there is no evidence that their plants and cereals were derived from Asia.[1756]

On the whole the evidence shows that the neolithic inhabitants of Britain, or at all events a large proportion of them, were descended from ancestors who lived in the Mediterranean basin. But it does not follow that they were more intimately related to the people whom the ancient writers called Iberians than to some other branch of the Mediterranean stock. It is certain that before the Romans entered the Spanish peninsula two languages at least besides Celtic were spoken there,--Basque and the language of the so-called Iberian inscriptions.[1757] The latter has not yet been deciphered: but, as we have seen,[1758] all attempts to explain it by means of Basque have failed; and, as Professor Morris Jones admits, all attempts to discover traces of Basque influence in the Celtic dialects have been equally unsuccessful.[1759]

Therefore it should be distinctly understood that if the term ‘Iberian’ is to be applied to the neolithic inhabitants of Britain, it must be taken in a purely conventional sense.[1760]

M. d’Arbois de Jubainville[1761] adduces various British place-names, for example, Sabrina (the Severn), Isca (the Exe), Albion, and Cantium (Kent), which he chooses to call Ligurian; but I am not aware that he has made any converts. Little or nothing is known about the Ligurian tongue;[1762] and even if M. d’Arbois’s conjectures could be verified their ethnological value would be comparatively slight; for, as I have shown elsewhere,[1763] there is some reason to believe that the Ligurians, like the Iberians, belonged to the ‘Mediterranean’ stock.

It is perhaps hardly necessary now to insist upon the fact that the Long Barrow race is not extinct. Not only have their remains been found, as we shall presently see, in graves of the Bronze Age and the Late Celtic period,[1764] but men of the same type, but little modified, are still numerous.[1765]

It is often taken for granted that no round barrows were erected in Britain before the close of the Neolithic Age, and that the earliest of the brachycephalic invaders whose remains have been found in them landed with bronze weapons in their hands.[1766] But these assumptions are made in spite of conclusive evidence. There is not the slightest doubt that most if not all of the circular chambered cairns of Argyllshire, Caithness, Orkney, and Derbyshire were erected before the Bronze Age in those parts began.[1767] Dr. Garson, speaking of brachycephalic skulls which have been found in round barrows in Orkney, says that ‘the fact that no metals of any kind were found, and that all the implements were of the most primitive manufacture, points to the people belonging to the unpolished stone period’, and concludes that ‘we probably post-date the existence of the people who buried in the round barrows of Orkney if we attribute them with (sic) the same antiquity as those of the round barrows of England’.[1768] Dr. Garson has also shown that the round barrow of Howe Hill in Yorkshire was erected in the Neolithic Age, and that the skeletons found in it belong to the Long Barrow type.[1769] The round-headed people who introduced drinking-cups into our island brought no bronze with them. According to Barnard Davis, a skull from a chambered round barrow at Parsley Hay Low in Derbyshire, which had a cephalic index of 81, ‘without doubt belongs to the early “stone-period”’;[1770] and he assigns to the same epoch another skull, the cephalic index of which was the same, from Green Gate Hill barrow, Pickering, Yorkshire.[1771] Canon Greenwell suggests that some of the round barrows ‘belong to an age before bronze was discovered’; and it is certain that the round barrows of this country were connected by evolution with the earlier long barrows.[1772] Finally, if Sergi[1773] is right in maintaining that ‘the new burial custom of cremation’ was introduced into Europe by brachycephalic immigrants, it follows that they invaded Britain in the Neolithic Age; for in this country, as in Gaul, cremation was then practised.[1774]

VII. THE ‘PICTISH QUESTION’

A view which has become fashionable of late years, owing to the influence of Professor Rhys and Professor Zimmer, is that the [dolichocephalic] neolithic people of this country were identical with the Picts,[1775] whose name first occurs in the panegyric addressed about A.D. 296 to Constantius Caesar.[1776] To clear the ground, I should say, first, that it is universally admitted that descendants of the neolithic race survived not only in the part of Scotland which was inhabited by the Picts but in most parts of Britain. The question is whether the Picts represented that race in a special sense, and still spoke the neolithic non-Aryan language. As we shall see, Professor Rhys himself, who maintains that they did, emphatically affirms that among the medley of tribes who were known as Picts some were Celtic and spoke a Celtic tongue. Secondly, it may be well to state certain elementary facts of Celtic phonology (although I dare say that to most of those who may read these pages they are already familiar), without a knowledge of which parts of the following discussion and of the later section on the Celts would be unintelligible. The ancient Gauls, for the most part,[1777] and the Brythons, from whose dialect modern Welsh is descended, are commonly called the P Celts; while the Goidels, whose dialect was the ancestor of Gaelic, Irish, and Manx, are known as the Q Celts. The reason of this distinction is that the Gauls and Brythons changed the original sound qu into p, while the Goidels retained it, and in the sixth century of our era modified it into c.[1778] It has been affirmed, however, on the evidence of the formularies of Marcellus of Bordeaux, that some of the Western Gauls in the fourth century spoke a dialect which was akin to Goidelic;[1779] and Professor Rhys and Mr. Nicholson[1780] regard the words Sequani and Sequana (the Gallic name of the Seine) as proving that this dialect was not confined to the west: but M. d’Arbois de Jubainville refuses to admit that these names are Celtic,[1781] and contemptuously denies that the formularies are to be taken seriously.[1782] Professor Rhys[1783] and Mr. Nicholson[1784] also infer from certain inscriptions found in the departments of the Ain and Deux-Sèvres, which probably belong respectively to the first and the fourth century of our era, that a dialect akin to Goidelic was spoken in those localities: but here again M. d’Arbois dissents;[1785] and he remarks that an inscription found at Géligneux in the department of the Ain contains a word, petru-decametos,[1786] which belongs to the language of the P Celts. Professor Rhys urges that ‘the presence of monuments in the language occupying the subordinate position may be taken as evidence presumptive of its being the vernacular in the immediate neighbourhood’:[1787] but, as we shall see hereafter,[1788] a pillar, bearing a Goidelic inscription, has been found at Silchester, where the vernacular was undoubtedly Brythonic; and the obvious explanation is that the inscription was the work of a stranger. M. d’Arbois,[1789] moreover, unlike Professor Rhys, maintains that when the Celts first invaded Britain, the Celtic language everywhere was one and the same: according to him, none of the Celts had then changed q into p, but that change was made at a later date by the Celts who conquered Gaul, and some of whose descendants afterwards conquered Britain. Until near the end of the nineteenth century Celtic scholars unanimously believed that all the Celtic dialects had rejected ‘Indo-European p’, except, as Mr. Nicholson says,[1790] ‘in borrowed words or in certain combinations of consonants’; in other words, that wherever the Indo-European or Aryan tongue from which Celtic was descended had the sound of p the Celtic dialects had all lost it: but Professor Rhys holds that Mr. Nicholson has proved from the above-mentioned inscriptions, found in the departments of the Ain and Deux Sèvres, that it was retained by the Sequani and the Pictones.[1791] M. d’Arbois de Jubainville of course rejects this conclusion; and he reminds his opponents that p is absent from all Ogam inscriptions.[1792]

1. In 296, when the panegyric addressed to Constantius was written, the Picts to whom the writer referred were confined to the part of Scotland which extends northward from the firths of Forth and Clyde; but Professor Rhys and Professor Zimmer maintain that the habitat of the Pictish people was once much more extensive. ‘Irish literature,’ says Professor Rhys,[1793] ‘alludes to Picts here and there in Ireland ... in such a way as to favour the belief that they were survivals of a race holding possession at one time of the whole country.’ That the Picts once inhabited the whole of Britain is proved, in the opinion not only of the two professors but also of M. d’Arbois de Jubainville, who differs from them on the question of Pictish ethnology, by the following linguistic facts.[1794] The Irish name of the Picts was Cruthni.[1795] Britain has, since the Middle Ages, been called in Welsh ynys Prydein: Prydein is the Welsh equivalent of Cruthni; and ynys Prydein means ‘the island of the Picts’. Now, as Professor Rhys remarks,[1796] Prydein, with its cognate forms, Prydain, Prydyn, and Pryden, represents an old Welsh word Priten; and accordingly, the Brythonic or the Gaulish name of the Picts, when it reached the ears of the Greeks, would have been written by them Πρετανοί. It must of course be borne in mind that Cruthni, Prydain, and Priten did not appear in literature until long after Caesar’s time; but the etymology which connects Πρετανοί and Πρεταν(ν)ικαὶ (νῆσοι)--the name by which Ptolemy and other Greek writers call the British Isles[1797]--with Priten is accepted by Celtic scholars who, on the question of the ethnology of the Picts, differ widely among themselves. M. d’Arbois de Jubainville[1798] concludes that in the time of Pytheas the masters of Britain were the Picts; while Professor Rhys holds that when, shortly before that epoch, the Brythons first landed in Britain,[1799] not the Picts but the Goidelic Celts were the dominant race. In other words, he believes that the Goidelic Celts called the island which they conquered by ‘some such a Goidelic name as Inis Chruithni, “Island of the Picts”’.[1800] M. d’Arbois identifies the Picts of the time of Pytheas with the ancestors of the Goidelic Celts: like Professor Rhys he regards the word Pretani as simply the Brythonic, or Gaulish form of a Goidelic word Qrtanoi, of which Cruthni was the later Irish equivalent;[1801] but he holds that no Brythons had set foot in Britain until after the time of Pytheas, and that the word Pretani was learned by Pytheas not in Britain but in Gaul.

Both the views that have just been stated seem to involve difficulties. If Professor Rhys is right in believing that the pre-Roman Goidelic invaders of Britain (whose very existence, as we shall afterwards see, is not universally admitted) called the people whom they found in possession by some such name as Chruithni or Cruthni, the name which, transformed by Brythons into Pretanoi, was applied by Pytheas to the inhabitants of Britain generally, it would appear either that the Goidelic invaders had no name of their own or that it was suppressed.[1802] Moreover, Professor Rhys does not explain how it happened that Pytheas never learned the name by which, as he tells us, the Brythons called themselves, namely, Brittones. On the other hand, M. d’Arbois’s view would compel us either to assign the first Brythonic invasion to a date a century later than that which is now generally accepted,[1803] or to assume that Pytheas, although he visited Britain, learned nothing there of the name of its inhabitants. I confess that I cannot suggest any satisfactory solution.

It remains to be inquired whether the Picts of history did really, in a special sense, represent the neolithic population, and whether they spoke a non-Aryan language.

2. Was the word Pict, in its original form, pre-Aryan or Celtic? The answers that have been given to this question only serve to amuse the ignorant scoffer, and to illustrate the truth that even if the labours of Zeuss placed the study of the ancient Celtic languages upon a scientific basis, Celtic scholars still know very little about them. When we inquire of Professor Rhys, we are perplexed by the quick changes of front to which his most devoted disciples have by this time become accustomed. In the second edition of his Celtic Britain[1804] he said that ‘neither the Picts nor the Scotti probably owned these names, the former of which is to be traced to Roman authors’; and he described the theory which ‘connected the Pict with the Gaulish Pictones’ as a ‘clumsy invention’.[1805] In his Rhind Lectures he assured us that ‘the principal non-Aryan name of the inhabitants of both islands [Great Britain and Ireland] was some prototype of the word Pict’,[1806] and gave reasons, which are now generally accepted, for believing that that name was not connected with the Latin pictus.[1807] At the same time he definitely committed himself to the view which he had previously derided as a ‘clumsy invention’, and affirmed that ‘the word Pict ... is hardly to be severed from the Pictones of ancient Gaul’. In The Welsh People, which first appeared in 1900, and in a later edition of the same work, dated 1902,[1808] he argued that ‘Ictis [the name of an island mentioned by Diodorus Siculus[1809]] and Icht [the old Irish name of the English Channel] represent possibly a Celtic pronunciation of the same Aboriginal word which the Romans made into Pictus ... we must’, he added, ‘suppose it an early name which the Aborigines adopted, while the Celts ... applied another name Qṷrtani, Pretani, Cruithni,’ &c. But in the same year in which the first edition of The Welsh People appeared he told the members of the British Association that ‘pictos was a Celtican word of the same etymology, and approximately, doubtless, of the same meaning as the Latin pictus; that the Celticans had applied it at an early date to the Picts on account of their ... tattooing themselves; and that the Picts had accepted it’.[1810] It is not absolutely clear whether by ‘the Celticans’ he means only those people of Gaul who spoke a language akin to Goidelic or the first Celtic invaders of Britain. As, however, we are told that the Picts accepted their name from ‘the Celticans’, it would seem that those ‘Celticans’ were, or at all events included, the British Goidels; and we ask ourselves in bewilderment why, if the ‘Celticans’ applied the name pictos to the Picts, they also applied the name Qṷrtani.[1811] But when we open the latest edition of Celtic Britain,[1812] we find that the professor’s views are still in process of development, or of flux. He now reverts to the theory that ‘the native name which suggested the Latin [Pictus] was not of Celtic origin either, though only found treated as Celtic’. He adds that ‘the term Pictones, as occurring in Gaul in Caesar’s time, makes it probable that it was also a name of long standing in Britain’; and finally he avows with characteristic candour that ‘we know not from what language it comes’. Turning to our other authorities, we learn from Zimmer that Picti is obviously a Latin translation of the name [the ancestor of Prydain] which the Romans learned from the Britons.[1813] In other words, the German savant holds that the word Pictos [if it ever existed except as a Latin accusative plural] was neither aboriginal in Britain, nor Celtican. It has been suggested[1814] that Picti is connected with the old Irish word cicht,[1815] a carver or engraver, and is the Cymric form of a Goidelic word Qicti;[1816] while Mr. Nicholson, who insists that Picti is not Cymric but Goidelic, claims to have ‘fully shown that this name is ... from the root peik- “tattoo”, with Ind.-Eur. p preserved’.[1817]

The one absolutely certain conclusion to which the student of ethnology can come is that the name of the Picts has not been proved to be of pre-Aryan origin.

3. Still, Professors Rhys and Zimmer will have it that the Picts must have been a non-Aryan people. Caesar,[1818] in a well-known passage, states that among the Britons groups of ten or twelve men had wives in common; in other words, that one of the British customs was polyandry. It has generally been assumed that he meant to say that the custom was prevalent among the Britons generally; but Zimmer, after reviewing the whole chapter in which the passage occurs, concludes that it refers only to interiores--the Britons of the interior[1819]--whom Caesar contrasts with maritimi,--the descendants of the Belgic invaders. The latter, he argues, according to Caesar’s express statement, differed but slightly in their customs from the Gauls:[1820] therefore the words in which Caesar describes the British custom of polyandry cannot refer to them, but must refer to interiores.[1821] The two professors agree in thinking that Caesar, owing to his ‘inability to realize a state of society exclusively based on birth’,[1822] misunderstood the institution which he tried to describe; in other words, that that institution was not polyandry but matriarchy,--the rule of succession by which rank and property are transmitted in the female line; a king, for example, being succeeded not by his own son but by the son of one of his sisters.[1823] Zimmer, referring to Schrader’s Prehistoric Antiquities of the Aryan Peoples,[1824] remarks that among all Aryan-speaking peoples and among the primitive Aryans the custom by which a father is succeeded by his own son (das Vaterrecht) was the foundation of social ordinance.[1825] Professor Rhys,[1826] indeed, thinks that this generalization cannot be proved, and refers to a well-known passage in the 20th chapter of the Germania of Tacitus,--‘Sisters’ sons are held in as much esteem by their uncles as by their fathers: indeed, some regard the relation as even more sacred and binding’,[1827] &c. (Sororum filiis idem apud avunculum qui apud patrem honor: quidam sanctiorem artioremque hunc nexum sanguinis arbitrantur); but he suggests that the tribe of which Tacitus speaks may have been mixed with some ‘aboriginal race practising the same institution as the aborigines of the British Isles’. And I suggest that the Picts were Celts mixed with aborigines who practised this same institution, and consequently that if it prevailed among the Picts, its prevalence does not prove that they were in any special sense representatives of the aborigines, or that they spoke a non-Aryan language.[1828]

Having corrected Caesar’s narrative to his own satisfaction, Professor Rhys sets himself to prove that matriarchy was a Pictish institution. He observes[1829] that ‘a Pictish king [during the later period of the Roman occupation and afterwards] could not be succeeded by a son of his own, but usually by a sister’s son. The succession,’ he continues, ‘was through the mother, and it points back to a state of society which, previous to the conversion of the Picts to Christianity, was probably based on matriarchy as distinguished from marriage and marital custom.’ To show that matriarchy had formerly prevailed in Britain outside the territory within which the Picts of history were confined, he adds[1830] that ‘the ancient literature of Ireland abounds in allusions to heroes who are usually described with the aid of the mother’s name’, and that ‘this kind of nomenclature implies the Pictish succession as its origin’. Again, he quotes an inscription found at Colchester, which ends with the words

DONVM. LOSSIO. VEDA. DE SVO POSVIT. NEPOS. VEPOGENI. CALEDO.

(‘This gift has been dedicated at his own expense by Lossio Veda, the son of the sister [?] of Vepogen, a Caledonian’), and remarks that when Lossio calls himself a Caledonian, that ‘is for our purpose much the same as if he had called himself a Pict’, and that, moreover, both Veda and Vepogeni ‘may be said to occur in the list of Pictish kings’, where the latter is ‘written Vipoig’. Vepogeni, indeed, is a Celtic word, borrowed, the professor assures us, in accordance with Pictish custom; but ‘the reduction of Vepogen to Vepog, which is what underlies Vipoig, is impossible on Celtic ground ... while Pictish offers a simple and natural explanation’.[1831]

Professor Morris Jones remarks, in support of Professor Rhys’s argument, that ‘the Pictish succession’ has ‘come down to our own times among the Berbers’[1832] (or rather Kabyles), who, he says, have been shown, on craniological grounds, to be akin to our neolithic race.

Apparently Professor Rhys does not regard the custom of reckoning descent ‘by birth alone’ as confined in these islands to the Picts, or to the pre-Aryan aborigines: if, as he is inclined, like Professor Zimmer, to believe, it was non-Aryan, ‘it must,’ he says, ‘have been accepted by the Goidelic Celts from the aborigines.’[1833]

Now, in regard to this last observation, the comment suggests itself that what Professor Rhys has not yet proved is that those aborigines were Picts. The Picts, as we shall presently see, were, according to some Celtic scholars, themselves Goidelic Celts (mixed of course with aborigines whom they had subdued and Celticized); according to others, their speech was akin to Brythonic.[1834] And if, as Professor Rhys insists, matriarchy may have been accepted by the Celts from the aborigines, it is perhaps not incredible that, as Mr. Sidney Hartland suggests, the Celts themselves, in prehistoric times, may have passed through the matriarchal stage,[1835] and that the survival of matriarchy among the Picts is not necessarily attributable to pre-Aryan ancestry.[1836] But, be that as it may, the survival of matriarchy among the Picts proves nothing more than that among the Picts, as among every other British people, the substratum of the population was pre-Aryan: it does not prove that the dominant element among them was pre-Aryan, or that they spoke a non-Aryan language.

As for Professor Morris Jones’s argument, it may perhaps raise a probability that the ‘Pictish succession’ prevailed among the neolithic race, although, if the argument is worth anything, the professor ought to be able to show that the same institution belonged to the ‘Iberians’ of Spain, of Gaul, and of other countries who have also been shown ‘on craniological grounds’ to be akin to the Kabyles: but at all events it lends no support to the theory that the Picts were, in any special sense, descendants of the neolithic aborigines; for, assuming that they were Celts, they might have accepted the Pictish succession from them. There remains Professor Rhys’s statement that ‘the reduction of Vepogen to Vepog, which is what underlies Vipoig, is impossible on Celtic ground’. Is the professor quite sure? A few years ago he would certainly have said that the retention of ‘Indo-European p’ was ‘impossible on Celtic ground’; but in 1900 he announced that the ‘Celtican language’ which was spoken in the country of the Sequani ‘preserves intact the Aryan consonant p’.[1837] He has himself assured us that both the Celtic dialects spoken in the British Isles were greatly modified by a pre-Aryan language.[1838] Assuming, for the sake of argument, that the Pictish language was Celtic, is he prepared to deny that it could have been so far modified by a non-Aryan tongue that ‘the reduction of Vepogen to Vepog’ would still have been ‘impossible on Celtic ground’?[1839] Finally, when he tells us that Lossio’s description of himself as a Caledonian ‘is for our purpose much the same as if he had called himself a Pict’, we cannot help recalling his own statement[1840] that ‘the Caledonians were, as we understand their history, Goidels’; though, to be sure, in the latest edition of Celtic Britain[1841] he expunges this compromising sentence, and substitutes for it ‘the Caledonians were Picts’.

For my part I accept the professor’s emendation unreservedly. Picts the Caledonians certainly were; for does not the author of the panegyric addressed to Constantine speak of ‘the Caledonians and other Picts’?[1842] But for me the Picts were a mixed people, comprising descendants of the neolithic aborigines, of the Round Barrow race, and of the Celtic invaders,--a mixed people who spoke a Celtic dialect. And what puzzles me is that the professor should not have been struck by the anthropological facts that are fatal to the theory that the Caledonians were Picts in the sense which he attaches to the word,--that is, pure survivors of the neolithic aborigines, who spoke a non-Aryan language. For the neolithic aborigines, as we have seen, were, speaking generally, small dark men of the ‘Iberian’ type: the Caledonians were big fair or red-haired men. Doubtless there were, as I have said, ‘Iberian’ survivors among them; but who will deny that the powerful race whom Tacitus describes were predominant, or that their Aryan tongue had prevailed?[1843]

4. It is usually inferred from statements in Claudian[1844] and Herodian[1845] that the Picts tattooed themselves; and their testimony is supposed to be strengthened by the etymology of the names by which the Picts were known to the Irish and Welsh respectively,--Cruthni and Prydain. The former is said to be derived from cruth,[1846] the Gaelic word for ‘form’ or ‘shape’; and the latter from its Welsh equivalent, pryd.[1847] Thus Cruthni and Prydain would mean ‘the people whose bodies were decorated with figures’; and, as we have seen, Zimmer has no doubt that the Roman name for the Picts--Picti, or ‘painted men’--was simply a translation of Prydain or its older equivalent. Professor Rhys, who, in one of his many and diverse utterances on the subject, affirmed that pictos was a Celtican word,[1848] drew this conclusion from the fact, pointed out by Mr. Nicholson,[1849] that a coin of the Gallic tribe of the Pictones[1850] bears on the obverse a tattooed face; and he supposes that the reason why the Celticans applied this word to the Picts was that the latter tattooed themselves. ‘The Picts of Britain and Ireland,’ he remarks, ‘are found also called Pictones’; and ‘ancient Egyptian monuments represent the Libyans of North Africa with their bodies tattooed’.[1851]

Now what does this community of custom prove about the ethnology of the Picts? The inhabitants of the Tonga and Society Islands and of New Guinea tattoo themselves: so do the Burmese, the Shans, the Maoris, and the people of British East Africa;[1852] so do very many Englishmen. All the available evidence tends to show that among the ancient inhabitants of the British Isles tattooing was not confined to the Picts. Herodian does not mention the Picts at all: he merely says that the Britons tattooed themselves. Professor Rhys admits, or rather strenuously maintains, that in the territory inhabited by the Picts in Scotland there were also numerous Celts;[1853] and he would hardly deny that they were included among the people whom Herodian describes. He himself remarks that ‘the Scotti (that is to say the Goidels)’[1854] practised tattooing.[1855] Mr. Nicholson, to whom he appeals, argues from the evidence of coins that tattooing was customary not only among the Pictones, but also among several other tribes of Gaul,--the Ambiani, the Baiocasses, the Caletes, the Coriosopites, the Osismi, the Sequani, and the Unelli. All these peoples were undoubtedly Celtic; that is to say, they were Celtic-speaking tribes among whom the Celtic element, ethnologically speaking, was, I do not say numerically, but politically predominant. Professor Rhys would certainly not argue that they were Picts: yet if he admits, as he does, that they were Celtic, the argument which he bases on the practice of tattooing collapses.

5. Some years ago Professor Rhys attempted to prove that the Pictish language was related to Basque;[1856] ‘but,’ he says, ‘whether it is related or not, my attempt to prove that it is has been pronounced, and doubtless justly pronounced, a failure.’[1857] At the same time, however, pointing to a famous ogam inscription, he wrote, ‘my challenge still remains, that if Pictish resembled Gaelic or Welsh, or in fact any Aryan language, those who think so should make good their opinion by giving us a translation of such an inscription, for instance, as the following from Lunasting, in Shetland:--Xttocuhetts : ahehhttmnnn : hccvvevv : nehhtonn.’[1858]

The lay reader will perhaps mentally endorse the comment of another Celtic scholar, Dr. Alexander Macbain, who disposes of the cacophonous puzzle by observing that ‘it is neither Welsh nor any other language’.[1859] For the present, at all events, it is safe to say that Dr. Macbain is as likely to be right as Mr. Nicholson, who, having boldly accepted Professor Rhys’s challenge, first judiciously reconstructed the text of the inscription, and then made an heroic attempt to translate his own version. It is Goidelic, so he assures us; and it means

‘Place of O’ Cuhetts his place within: CUAIBH of Nehton’.[1860]

On the other hand, the translation which Professor Rhys ‘provisionally’ offers of his text runs

‘“Kin--Ahehhtmnnn King Nechtan”.

That is to say, King Nechtan of the kin of Ahehhtmnnn’.[1861]

Perhaps it shows a slight lack of humour to attempt, even ‘provisionally’, to translate an inscription assumed to be written in a language the very existence of which is doubtful. Still it is conceivable that Professor Rhys’s text means what he says. But, supposing that it resembles neither Gaelic, nor Welsh, nor any Aryan language, what does it prove? Not that the Picts represented the neolithic aborigines, but simply that in the remotest of the British isles there still survived the non-Aryan language which, as every scholar admits, was once spoken in Britain.

But the truth is that the so-called Pictish inscriptions, even in the hands of the philologist, are so intractable that for ethnology they are practically useless. ‘I can hardly do more,’ says Professor Rhys,[1862] ‘than pick from previous attempts by others and by myself what seems to me the most probable reading.’ This is only one of numerous instances in his well-known article on the inscriptions which show how impossible it is to construct the text with any approach towards certainty.

Professor Rhys remarks, further,[1863] that ‘we have indications in Adamnan’s Life of Columba that [in the sixth century of our era] the language of the aborigines was still a living tongue’. The indications are that when Columba, who spoke Goidelic, visited the province of the Picts, he preached ‘to peasants or plebeians by interpreter’. To those who hold, with Dr. Whitley Stokes and Dr. Macbain, that the Pictish dialect was akin to Brythonic, the fact on which Professor Rhys lays stress presents of course no difficulty. M. d’Arbois de Jubainville, however, while he agrees with Dr. Macbain,[1864] makes a reply to Professor Rhys which might be used by those who hold, with Mr. Nicholson, that Pictish was akin to Goidelic. He tells a story of a Breton priest of the diocese of Quimper who assured him that he himself could not understand the Breton dialect of a woman who belonged to the diocese of Vannes.[1865]

Mr. Nicholson[1866] says that ‘we have abundant materials for deciding whether Pictish was or was not (1) Aryan, (2) Keltic, (3) Goidelic, in (a) the place-names recorded by ancient geographers and one or two mediaeval documents, (b) the person-names given by one or two ancient historians and in mediaeval chronicles, (c) the inscriptions’. From these materials Mr. Nicholson undertakes to demonstrate that Pictish was Goidelic, and that ‘it stands to Highland Gaelic in exactly the same relation in which Anglo-Saxon stands to modern English’;[1867] while Dr. Whitley Stokes[1868] and Dr. Macbain[1869] undertake with equal confidence to demonstrate that it was related to Brythonic. According to Bede,[1870] the place which marked the western termination of the wall of Severus was called in Pictish Peanfahel. Pean is commonly identified with the Welsh word penn, ‘a head’; and accordingly it has been inferred that Pictish was ‘a Kymric or semi-Kymric dialect’.[1871] Mr. Nicholson, on the other hand, claims to have shown that Pean is ‘a Goidelic borrowing from the Latin penna or pinna’. Professor Rhys[1872] formerly clung to the view that Peanfahel was a Brythonic name, but was not in the least disconcerted thereby; for, he explained, ‘the Picts must have learnt it ... from the Verturian Brythons.’ On the question of etymology he has now become a convert to Mr. Nicholson’s view:[1873] but on the question of ethnology he retains his own opinion; for, he explains, ‘The non-Celtic Picts, when we find them coming southwards, seem to have been fast adopting the idioms of their neighbours.’[1874] Mr. Nicholson[1875] analyses with laborious ingenuity a large number of names in Adamnan’s Life of Columba, of place-names in the Pictish Chronicle, of Pictish historical names, and of words which occur in the ‘Pictish inscriptions’, and insists that they are Goidelic: Dr. Whitley Stokes[1876] and Dr. Macbain[1877] produce words from the same sources, from Ptolemy’s Geography, and from Dion Cassius, and insist that they are Brythonic. Dr. Stokes’s authority is so great that his verdict is worth quoting:--‘The foregoing list of names and other words contains much that is still obscure; but on the whole it shows that Pictish, so far as regards its vocabulary, is an Indo-European and especially Celtic speech. Its phonetics, so far as we can ascertain them, resemble those of Welsh rather than of Irish.’[1878]

But the arguments for Brythonic, on the one hand, and for Goidelic, on the other, leave Professor Rhys unmoved. Prove as many Pictish words as you please to have been Goidelic, as many as you please to have been Brythonic: he will regard them with serene indifference.[1879] For, he tells you,[1880] ‘the Pictish language would seem to have been rapidly becoming overloaded with loan-words from Goidelic or Brythonic when we first hear anything about it. So, failing to recognize this borrowing of words by the Picts, some have been led to regard Pictish as a kind of Gaelic, and some as a dialect akin to Welsh. The point to have been decided, however, was not whether Gaelic or Welsh explains certain words said to have been in use among the Picts, but whether there does not remain a residue to which neither Gaelic nor Welsh, nor, indeed, any Aryan tongue whatever can supply any sort of key.’ The professor is still thinking of that outlandish inscription which, according to Mr. Nicholson, is Goidelic, and the professor’s reading of which, according to Dr. Macbain, is no language at all. But, admitting provisionally the existence of ‘a residue’ to which no Aryan language ‘can supply any sort of key’, we should, I must repeat, only have to conclude that in certain remote parts of the extensive territory occupied by the Picts a non-Aryan language survived into the Christian era, just as in a remote part of France a non-Aryan language survives at this day: we should not have to conclude that that language was spoken by the Picts in general. ‘La question,’ says M. d’Arbois de Jubainville, in a notice of Professor Rhys’s article on the Pictish inscriptions,[1881] ‘la question est de savoir si cette population [the pre-Aryan population] est restée dominante. Les noms de peuples tels que Smertae ... des noms d’hommes tels que celui du Calédonien Argentocoxos ... me semblent décisifs.’ It is absolutely certain, and is insisted upon by Professor Rhys himself, that in Roman times many of the tribes which were included under the general designation of Picts bore Celtic names, and that many of the geographical names in the country which they inhabited were Celtic also. On the other hand, not a single Pictish name, tribal, or geographical, or personal, not a single Pictish word which has been preserved by Ptolemy or by our other authorities, has been proved to be non-Celtic; and if, as Professor Rhys maintains, Pictish was a non-Aryan language overlain by loan-words from the two Celtic dialects, it was so buried beneath them as to be no longer discernible. Argentocoxos,[1882] as the professor says, was a Pict, and one of the many Picts whose names were Celtic: if the Picts had spoken a non-Celtic language, however much overloaded with Celtic loan-words, would not their own names have been non-Aryan? As their names were Celtic, it is reasonable to infer that their language was Celtic also. The professor, it is true, points out that ‘in Wales many a man has the English name John Jones, though he cannot speak English’.[1883] Yes, but the Welsh are a conquered or, let us say, absorbed people, whereas the professor himself assures us[1884] that before the time of Ptolemy ‘the Goidels and the Picto-Brythons [of the North] had come under the power of the more purely non-Celtic tribes beyond them’.[1885] But this is of course a pure assertion. The professor fails to prove that any Celtic people in Britain came under the power of non-Celtic tribes. Many centuries before the time of Pytheas the neolithic population had for the most part been reduced to subjection; and, although remote clans may possibly have retained their individuality, in many parts of the island the descendants of the aborigines had become intermingled, first with the ‘Round Barrow’ invaders, the earlier of whom at all events, as I shall presently show,[1886] were not Celts, and secondly with the Celts themselves. Professor Rhys[1887] himself admits that the name of the Picts ‘was never, perhaps, distinctive of race, as Brythons and Goidels seem to have been sometimes included under it’; and, although he goes on to say that ‘the term probably applied most strictly at all times’ to ‘the non-Celtic natives’, it is not likely that the name of non-Celtic natives should have prevailed over that of the Celts.

For all these reasons it appears to me infinitely more probable that in Pictland as, according to Professor Rhys himself, in the rest of Britain,[1888] the non-Aryan language should have been absorbed by Celtic than that Celtic should have been absorbed by the non-Aryan language.

There is probably this grain of truth in Professor Rhys’s theory, that the non-Celtic natives continued to exist in greater purity in the country which was occupied by a group of tribes who, during the latter part of the Roman occupation and afterwards, were called Picts, than in any other part of Britain. But I doubt whether this eminent scholar could have spent his time less profitably than in striving to demonstrate, first, that the language of the Picts was related to Basque, and, when he was forced to abandon this attempt, in clinging to the theory that it was a non-Aryan tongue.

VIII. THE ROUND-HEADS

There is, as we have already seen,[1889] sufficient evidence that round-headed immigrants had begun to appear in Britain towards the end of the Neolithic Age; but the majority of the prehistoric skulls of this kind undoubtedly belong to the Age of Bronze. Men of the same type were living in England at the time of the Saxon invasion;[1890] and their descendants may be recognized here and there at the present day.[1891] The prehistoric skeletons have been found not only in the round barrows of Yorkshire, Derbyshire, Staffordshire, Wiltshire, Dorsetshire, Denbighshire, Man, and Orkney, and in secondary interments in long barrows, but also in Welsh caverns and graves and in the short cists of Scotland.[1892] The range of this people in Britain was, however, it need hardly be said, far wider than that which the discovery of a few skeletons has indicated.

The round-headed invaders are commonly described as physically finer men than the neolithic population whom in most parts of Britain they subdued;[1893] but the truth is that, both in respect of stature and of cranial form, they belonged to two utterly different groups, though, as might be expected, some exhibit characteristics of both.[1894] The average height of 17 brachycephalic men whose skeletons had been found in round barrows before 1865 would have been, according to Dr. Beddoe’s estimate, 5 feet 9 inches, or almost 1 metre 753; while the average height of 27 men of various cephalic indices, including the 17 just mentioned, whose skeletons (described in Crania Britannica) have been found in round barrows, would, according to the same authority, have reached 5 feet 9⅖ inches,[1895] or approximately 1 metre 763. Measurements of skeletons which have been discovered since the publication of Crania Britannica have yielded results virtually the same.[1896] On the other hand two groups of skeletons have recently been described which belonged to a much shorter race. Four, taken from round barrows in Glamorganshire, showed, according to Dr. Beddoe’s method, an average height of about 5 feet 5¾ inches;[1897] while 7 male skeletons, found in short cists in and near Aberdeenshire, ranged, according to Mr. Alexander Low, between 5 feet and 5 feet 7 inches, the average being only 5 feet 3 inches.[1898] The skulls of these skeletons will be presently described.

The cephalic indices of 103 male skulls, found before the year 1894 in round barrows or in other interments of the Bronze Age,[1899] ranged from 70 to 88, 55 of them exceeding 80; while those of 19 skeletons from round barrows in which no bronze was found ranged from 68 to 88, six of them exceeding 80.[1900] In both series a large proportion of the skulls whose indices fell short of 80 belonged, wholly or in part, to the Long Barrow race. Other skulls, however, which have since been described and of the characteristics of which Dr. Beddoe, the compiler of this list, may have been ignorant, yielded indices higher still.[1901]

But it is not enough to describe the invaders of the Bronze Age as brachycephalic: they shared that characteristic with peoples who were otherwise markedly different from them. Let us first consider those which belong to the so-called characteristic type, which, until a recent date, received more than its share of attention,--that which is seen only in the taller skeletons. Their foreheads, says Rolleston, were ‘sometimes ... especially in cases where the whole skull and skeleton are marked by great strength and even ruggedness, markedly sloping’.[1902] Their supraciliary ridges were often extraordinarily prominent. ‘The eyebrows,’ says the same authority, ‘must have given a beetling and probably even formidable appearance to the upper part of the face, whilst the boldly outstanding and heavy cheek bones must have produced an impression of raw and rough strength.... Overhung at its root, the nose must have projected boldly forward.’[1903] These men were, in some instances, extremely prognathous:[1904] their teeth were often extraordinarily large;[1905] and, to quote Thurnam, ‘the prominence of the large incisor and canine teeth is so great as to give an almost bestial expression to the skull.’[1906] The reader who scans the illustrations in Crania Britannica and in Canon Greenwell’s British Barrows will, however, see that the brachycephalic skulls even of the taller skeletons are not all of the same type. Moreover, some few of the Round Barrow skulls combine the contour of the characteristic brachycephalic skull of the British Bronze Age with dolichocephaly;[1907] and this is one of the facts which tend to prove that in certain parts of England the brachycephalic invaders intermarried with the people whom they found in possession. In the East Riding of Yorkshire, indeed, it would seem that the old race and the new were as completely intermingled as the modern population. Dr. William Wright tells us that in a collection of 80 skulls, taken from round barrows and preserved in the Mortimer Museum at Driffield, ‘almost all the varieties of cranial shape met with in Europe are represented.’ Their cephalic indices ranged from 69 to 92; and, says Dr. Wright, ‘it is doubtful if it is possible to find a materially more mixed series of skulls in a community of to-day.’[1908] Dr. Wright, however, does not believe that the skulls of apparently hybrid form prove intermarriage between the invaders and the old neolithic population, or that the former were purely brachycephalic. ‘To grant this,’ he argues, ‘one must believe that a pure round-headed race could have made its tardy progress across Europe unmixed,--an assumption which to my mind is incredible.’[1909] Has the doctor forgotten that ten male skulls, found in short cists in and near Aberdeenshire and evidently assignable to the end of the Neolithic or the beginning of the Bronze Age,[1910] were all brachycephalic, and that nine of them belonged to the same pure type.[1911] Has he forgotten that the round barrow skulls of Wiltshire were mainly brachycephalic? Has he ever walked over the mountains of Auvergne? Very likely the round-headed race which he has in mind did not make its way across Europe unmixed; but the mixture did not greatly diminish the roundness. Very likely when it reached Britain it included a few long-heads; but the contrast between the uniformity in Wiltshire and the diversity in East Yorkshire suffices to disprove the doctor’s theory.

Some of Dr. Wright’s brachycephalic specimens belonged to a type which is quite different from the ‘characteristic’ Round Barrow type, and is also common to almost all the short Welsh and Scottish skeletons mentioned above.[1912] These skulls are generally broader than those of the other kind. The ten found in Aberdeenshire and its neighbourhood ranged between 80·8 and 92·3, their average index being 85·39;[1913] while those of Glamorganshire ranged between 81·7 and 86, and yielded an average of 84·2.[1914] Not one of these skulls is prognathous:[1915] all are high as well as round and broad: the supraciliary ridges are only slightly developed: the cheek bones are not prominent: the face is both broad and short; and the lower jaw is small.[1916]

Who were the brachycephalic people of the round barrows and the short cists, and whence did they come? Those who have attempted to solve these problems have generally had in mind only the tall round-heads, whether their skulls belonged to the characteristic type or showed signs of crossing with the other. Wherever the short people came from, their ethnical affinities are certain: they belonged to the so-called Alpine type of Central Europe, of which the French Grenelle race were a branch. Let us for the present confine our attention to the others. To the questions which I have asked at least six different answers have been given:--that they were Goidelic Celts; that they were Belgae; that they were Finns; that they came from Denmark or the Scandinavian peninsula; that their original home was Dalmatia; and, lastly, that they may be traced back to the valley of the Rhine.[1917] But the view which has been repeated by almost every recent writer is that they were Goidels.[1918]

1-2. The Goidelic theory and the Belgic (which I ought perhaps to apologize for noticing) may be considered together; for if any argument tells in favour of the latter, it tells as much or more in favour of the former.

Thurnam, who does not trouble himself about the distinction between Goidelic and Brythonic Celts, points out that ‘extremely brachycephalic skulls have been exhumed from many of the French chambered tumuli’;[1919] that seven skulls with cephalic indices of 80 and upwards from a dolmen near Senlis, which is in the territory that was occupied by the Belgae, ‘have much resemblance to those from the round barrows’;[1920] and that three skulls with indices of 80, 80, and 85 respectively from a sepulchral grotto in the Belgic department of the Oise are ‘very similar in general character to the short skulls from the round barrows’.[1921] He argues that of the cranial types represented by the peoples of the long barrows and the round barrows respectively ‘one at least must be Celtic’:[1922] he points out that in the cremation interments which have been discovered in round barrows ‘the appearances are consistent with what we are told of the funerals of the Gauls ... by Caesar and Pomponius Mela’;[1923] and his general conclusion is that the Round Barrow people were ‘an offshoot through the Belgic Gauls from the great brachycephalic stock of Central and North-Eastern Europe’.[1924] Finally, Professor Rhys maintained in 1890[1925] (it would be rash to assume that his opinion is unchanged) that the Round Barrow race belonged to the Brythonic group, who, he asserted, being comparatively broad-headed, were less pure than the Goidels.

According to Professor Boyd Dawkins, the Round Barrow race must have been Goidels, and not Wends, Finns, or Slaves, because the latter would not have subsequently retreated eastward ‘against the current of the Celtic, Belgian, and German invasions’;[1926] while the late Canon Isaac Taylor[1927] affirmed that the skulls of the well-known ‘Sion type’, which by some anthropologists are believed to have belonged to the Celtic Helvetii, resembled those of the round barrows.

Now the view that the tall brachycephalic people of the round barrows were the Belgae is so utterly absurd that it is difficult to conceive how writers who posed as authorities on ethnology could ever have entertained it.[1928] If some benighted classical scholar had ascribed the Copernican system to Ptolemy, one may imagine how he would have been derided by scientists; yet such a blunder would not have been different in degree from that which Thurnam committed and Huxley approved. For the Belgic invasion began, at the earliest, in the third, and, as Professor Rhys himself maintains,[1929] in the second century before the Christian era; and the first invaders of the Round Barrow race landed in Britain, at the latest, about 1400 B.C.,[1930] and probably several centuries earlier. The argument which Thurnam bases upon the alleged similarity between Round Barrow skulls and some which have been exhumed from French dolmens has no weight. To begin with, the theory that any Celtic-speaking people invaded Gaul in the Neolithic Age is contrary to historical and archaeological evidence;[1931] and, assuming that they did, the resemblance between the skulls to which Thurnam refers and most of those of the tall Round Barrow skeletons is purely superficial. Any one may convince himself of this who will take the trouble to compare the illustrations of Round Barrow skulls in Crania Britannica with those in Crania Ethnica; and Thurnam himself in more than one passage[1932] admits, indeed emphasizes, the distinction. Even Broca[1933] denied that there was any physical affinity between the tall brachycephali of the round barrows and the [so-called] ‘real Celts of Gaul’; and, as we shall see presently, by the latter he simply meant the brachycephalic people, descended from neolithic ancestors, that formed the substratum of the population whom Caesar called Celtae. Similarly Dr. Beddoe truly says that the [characteristic] Round Barrow skulls resemble those of Borreby in the Danish island of Falster, rather than those of Broca’s Celtae.[1934] It is true indeed, as we have seen, that some of the Round Barrow skulls resemble some of the neolithic French skulls; but, speaking generally, the former are far more rugged and in every way more strongly marked than the latter.[1935]

More striking, however, than the contrast between the skulls of the characteristic Round Barrow skeletons and those of the French brachycephalic neolithic race is the discrepancy in stature. The average height of the former was, as we have seen, on the lowest computation, 5 feet 8⅖ inches; that of the latter was very little over 5 feet.[1936] Moreover, while the brachycephalic Finns and Danes and the few modern brachycephalic inhabitants of England are generally tall or moderately tall and fair, those of France and Central Europe are generally not only short but dark.[1937]

The argument that since the Long Barrow skulls were pre-Aryan, those of the round barrows must have been Celtic, begs the question. As we shall see presently, there are other skulls in museums, which belong to neither type, and which undoubtedly are Celtic. What reason is there to deny that the earlier brachycephalic invaders who were buried in round barrows may, as Mr. C. H. Read[1938] reasonably suggests, have been pre-Aryan? The British Celts of the later Bronze Age were doubtless cremated; and therefore their skulls are not forthcoming. And if the resemblance between the cremation interments of the round barrows and those described by Caesar proved that the former were all Celtic, it would also prove that they were Greek![1939]

In answer to Professor Boyd Dawkins it may be said that if the tall Round Barrow race were not Finns or Slaves, it does not follow that they were Goidels. And supposing that they were Finns or Slaves, why should it be necessary to assume that they ‘subsequently retreated eastward against the current of the Celtic, Belgian, and German invasions’? Or that they retreated eastward at all? The ‘Iberian’ immigrants certainly did not retreat ‘against the current’ of the Round Barrow invaders: they retreated, if at all, to the remoter parts of Britain. The argument that the Round Barrow skulls resemble those of the Sion type is disposed of by merely comparing the measurements and the illustrations of the two series. The Sion type, as Rolleston[1940] says, ‘corresponds to many of our long-barrow skulls,’ and is not brachycephalic but dolichocephalic or mesaticephalic:[1941] there is no proof that it was that of the Helvetii;[1942] and, as I have pointed out elsewhere,[1943] there is strong reason to believe that the Helvetii did not appear in Switzerland before the Iron Age.

So much for the arguments which have been adduced in favour of the popular theory. There are facts which absolutely disprove it. First, there is no evidence that the brachycephalic people who built round barrows ever reached Ireland, at least in appreciable numbers; for not a single skull of the characteristic Round Barrow type has ever been found there, and only four brachycephalic skulls which can be referred to prehistoric times.[1944] Yet it is needless to say that since a time long anterior to the Roman invasion of Britain Ireland has been one of the principal abodes of the Goidelic stock. Secondly, it is, as we have seen, in the highest degree probable, if not certain, that the Round Barrow race first invaded Britain in the Neolithic Age. Let us, however, for the sake of argument, accept Professor Boyd Dawkins’s assumption that their advent synchronized with the beginning of the British Bronze Age. Now, according to Professor Montelius, the Bronze Age in this country began about 2000 B.C.; according to Sir John Evans,[1945] six centuries later. It is impossible to fix with certainty the date of the earliest Celtic invasion of Britain; but such historical evidence as we possess points to the conclusion that it was not earlier than the seventh century before the Christian era.[1946] M. Salomon Reinach has argued that a Celtic-speaking people appeared in North-Western Gaul in the ninth century,--the earliest date which has ever been proposed by any scholar; but his view is based on the mere conjecture that κασσίτερος, the Greek word for tin, which occurs in Homer, is of Celtic derivation.[1947] M. d’Arbois de Jubainville, indeed, who adopts this conjecture,[1948] supposes that the Celts actually landed in Britain as early as the ninth century before Christ; but even if we accept his chronology, we are confronted with the fact that the very earliest date that has been assigned on historical or linguistic grounds for the first Celtic invasion[1949] is four or five centuries later than the latest, ten or eleven centuries later than the earliest date which has been assigned by archaeologists for the commencement of the Bronze Age in Britain. Yet anthropologists and antiquaries will go on repeating the dogma that the builders of the round barrows, who, at the latest, began to arrive in Britain at the commencement of the Bronze Age, were Goidelic Celts. The moral is that anthropologists and antiquaries would not be worse equipped if they enlarged the sphere of their studies.

Again, the view that a Celtic-speaking people invaded Britain at the close of the Neolithic or the beginning of the Bronze Age implies that Celtic and Latin, the nearest of kin in the Aryan family of languages, had become differentiated long before the Neolithic Age came to its end. Would any philologist who knew the rudiments of archaeology sanction a theory so preposterous?[1950]

The foregoing arguments apply equally to the short men whose remains have been found in the greatest purity in North-Eastern Scotland. The race to which they belonged began to arrive in Gaul very early in the Neolithic Age:[1951] they themselves landed in Britain before its close. Whoever they may have been, they were neither Goidels nor Belgae nor Brythons of any tribe.

Finally, although I am aware that I am about to tread upon thorny ground, I affirm that there is not the slightest reason to doubt that the Celtic invaders of Britain, in so far as they were descended from the Celtic-speaking people who conquered Gaul, were not a brachycephalic but a dolichocephalic or mesaticephalic people. I have already argued in favour of this thesis in a dissertation on ‘the Ethnology of Gaul’,[1952] and I will now adduce fresh evidence in its favour. But first let me make my meaning perfectly clear. I do not mean that the Celtic invaders of Britain were all of the same type. On the contrary, I assume that the dominant race had intermixed and intermarried, before they embarked from the Continent, with descendants of the neolithic stocks. I do not mean that even the invaders who introduced the Celtic language into Gaul, even those who beat the Romans on the Allia, were homogeneous. Dr. Beddoe, as I have remarked elsewhere,[1953] warns us not to believe that there was ever a period when, for example, all the Caledonians were red-haired. I only mean that among the Celtic-speaking conquerors of Britain dolichocephaly, as well as tallness and fairness, was a prevailing characteristic.

Thurnam[1954] asserted that ‘we may ask in vain for a series of ancient dolichocephalic skulls which, on satisfactory archaeological grounds, can be assigned to the immediately pre-Roman, and therefore to the Celtic period, either in England or in France’. Let us consider England first. Now it happens that the skulls of the ‘Late Celtic’ period, or Early Iron Age, which have been found in this country are almost all either dolichocephalic or mesaticephalic.[1955] Canon Greenwell,[1956] it is true, explains this fact by the assumption that ‘the intruding round-headed people ... were gradually absorbed by the earlier and more numerous [Long Barrow] race’. ‘In this way,’ he says, ‘it appears to me that we may account for the skull type of the Early Iron Age without the necessity of requiring any immigration into Britain or its conquest after the time of the presumed occupation by the bronze-using round-headed people,’ &c. But that necessity is imperative. Had Canon Greenwell momentarily forgotten his Caesar? The immigration of the Belgae took place, at the earliest, in the third century B.C., many centuries after the ‘occupation by the bronze-using round-headed people’. It is true that some of the British skulls which belong to the Late Celtic period are of the same type as those of the Long Barrow race:[1957] but this only proves that the Long Barrow race survived; and others are of a type which, as Rolleston says, is ‘entirely wanting ... in the series from the long barrows’.[1958] Unfortunately, however, the Late Celtic skulls which have been found in Britain are comparatively few;[1959] and hardly any of them can be assigned with certainty to the Brythonic invaders.

In France, on the other hand, the skulls of the corresponding period are very numerous; but few of them have been measured. Those few, however, confirm my argument. They belonged with very few exceptions to tall mesaticephalic or dolichocephalic men; and two of them may be seen in Salles IX and X of the Musée de St. Germain, near Paris, the former having been buried with his war-chariot, iron helmet, and long iron sword. The mean index of twenty-seven adult male skulls of this type, found in tumuli of the Early Iron Age in the department of the Marne, was 78·49; but Broca, who has described them, maintains that the index of skulls of the purest ‘Kymric’ (or, to use the term which is now in vogue, ‘Galatic’) type would be considerably lower; for, he argues, as the Gauls of the Marne lived very near the frontier of the Celtae, they must have intermarried with the brachycephalic people who formed the great majority of that group of tribes.[1960]

Again, in a recent article on tumuli of the Early Iron Age in the department of the Côte-d’Or, Dr. Hamy points to the noteworthy fact that two brachycephalic skulls, belonging to descendants of an earlier race, were found ‘among the dolichocephali who predominated in that population’;[1961] and in a paper which he has just published on the earliest Gallic invaders of the Iron Age he shows that the cephalic indices of the available skulls from the Châtillonnais and the arrondissement of Beaune range between 73·1 and 76·59, while the average stature was 1 metre 75·7, or just over 5 feet 9⅛ inches.[1962]

The prevalent view in this country is, I am aware, that the Celts were a brachycephalic people; but it is begotten of sheer confusion of thought. Professor Ripley[1963] remarks that ‘there is practically to-day a complete unanimity of opinion among physical anthropologists, that the term Celt, if used at all, belongs to the brachycephalic darkish population of the Alpine highlands’; and he adds that the only dissentient is M. G. de Lapouge.[1964] But Dr. Beddoe,[1965] whom he counts among the professors of the orthodox faith, has emphatically recorded his opinion that, at the time of the Roman conquest, the Celtic-speaking people of Southern Britain ‘partook more of the tall blond stock of Northern Europe than of the thick-set, broad-headed dark stock which Broca has called Celtic’; and the ‘unanimity’ (which is far from being ‘complete’) upon which Professor Ripley pins his faith is due partly to misunderstanding or misinterpretation of Broca’s famous essay, Qu’est-ce que les Celtes, partly to the desire of establishing a uniform connotation, and partly to the fact that some physical anthropologists have neglected to supplement their scientific researches by the study of classical texts. Broca found the term ‘Celt’ used in a multiplicity of senses, and he attempted to put an end to confusion by attaching to it one limited, conventional, and, as we shall see, misleading signification. When, in the essay to which I have just referred, he endeavoured to prove that the Celts were a dark brachycephalic people, he expressly limited the term ‘Celts’ to the population of that part of Gaul which, according to Caesar,[1966] was inhabited by ‘a people who call themselves Celts and whom we [the Romans] call Gauls’. ‘There is no proof,’ he insists, ‘that the existence in the British Isles of a people bearing the name of Celts has ever been authoritatively affirmed’:[1967] according to him, the invaders of Britain who spoke the so-called Celtic languages were the Belgae,[1968] for he knew nothing about Goidels or pre-Belgic Brythons; and, although he allowed himself to be persuaded that the tall Round Barrow race spoke Celtic, he denied ‘that there is any other affinity except that of language between the brachycephali of the round barrows and the real Celts of Gaul’.[1969] When he insisted that ‘the Celts’ were a dark brachycephalic people, he did not mean that darkness and brachycephaly were characteristic of the conquerors who introduced the Celtic language into Gaul: he meant that they were characteristic of the great mass of the mixed population whom Caesar called Celtae,[1970] who were in the main descended from neolithic invaders, and whose uppermost stratum, so to speak, consisted of invaders whom Broca, speaking as a physical anthropologist rather than a philologist, called ‘Kimris’.[1971] That the name Celtae did not belong to the people of Gaul until it was introduced by these Celtic-speaking ‘Kimris’ is evident from the fact that it belongs to the Celtic tongue:[1972] in other words, the Celts, anthropologically speaking, were originally identical with the invaders who introduced the Celtic language first into Germany and then into Gaul.[1973] These invaders were tall and mesaticephalic or dolichocephalic; and the Celtic-speaking conquerors of Britain belonged to the same stock.

‘The radical errors in Broca’s definition of the “Celts of history” [so I wrote some years ago[1974]] are these:--first, he calmly assumes that no classical writer’s testimony, except Caesar’s, is of any value; and secondly, he fails to see that Caesar, by saying that the people who called themselves “Celts” were called by the Romans “Gauls”, makes it as clear as noon-day that for him and for his countrymen, as for Polybius and Pausanias, the words “Celt” and “Gaul” were synonymous. Broca admits that the older population of Gallia Celtica was conquered by men of the same race as the Gauls or Celts who captured Rome. Therefore it is absolutely certain that the Celtae of Transalpine Gaul were called after their conquerors. The truth is that Broca, while he aimed at putting an end to confusion, only made confusion worse confounded. Moreover, throughout his discussion, he simply ignores the Helvetii, who, according to Caesar, were included among the Celtae.’

Since the foregoing paragraph was written, I have lighted upon a passage[1975] in which Broca himself justifies my argument and uses the word ‘Celt’ in the sense which I attach to it. The Celtae of Gaul, he remarks, ‘were already mixed before the arrival of the Kimris [or Gallo-Brythonic invaders], since the name [Celtae] under which they appeared for the first time in history had been imposed upon them by the conquering race of the Celts properly so called, which, like the Kimris and the Germans, came from the east, and, like them, was dolichocephalic.’[1976]

Professor Ripley appeals to the German ethnologist, Johannes Ranke,[1977] whose arguments, he insists, are ‘decisive’. But any one who will take the trouble to read the chapter which Ranke devotes to the Celts will see that his argument does not support Professor Ripley’s contention. Virchow, he reminds us, has pointed out that wherever the Celts are known to have penetrated dark peoples are now to be found. But, as he fully admits, Virchow himself said, ‘I am not on that account inclined to assume that the original Celts were ... dark,’ and reminded his readers that the ancient writers described the Celts as fair. Ranke points out, further, that wherever the Celts originally dwelled in Central Europe we now find the people not only dark but also brachycephalic; but at the same time he warns us to bear in mind that in certain Celtic districts of Britain dolichocephaly is unmistakable, and that there is evidence that on the Continent the Celtic invaders found a dark brachycephalic people in possession. In other words, Ranke does not commit himself to any theory as to the physical characters of the Celts properly so called,--the invaders who introduced the Celtic dialects into Germany, Gaul, Britain, and other countries which they subdued. The reader will also bear in mind that the writers who identify the tall brachycephalic Round Barrow race with the Goidelic Celts unanimously maintain that they were fair.

That the Celtic-speaking invaders of Gaul and Britain were commonly dolichocephalic or mesaticephalic is not only attested by the skulls of warriors of the Iron Age, but is either attested or at least not disproved by the results of modern observations of existing Celtic-speaking peoples[1978] and of the country which was formerly inhabited by the Gallic Belgae.[1979] When Sergi[1980] tells us that the Gauls who captured Rome were ‘composed of brunet Celts and blond Teutons’, he makes an assertion which, as it is absolutely unsupported by any evidence, calls for no refutation; and it would be useless to ask him who were the ‘blond Teutons’ who were the ancestors of the red-haired Gauls of the Perthshire Highlands.[1981] As Dr. Beddoe[1982] puts it, the Gauls of Scotland are probably descended from ‘Iberians’ crossed with ‘a long-faced, harsh-featured, red-haired race, who contributed the language and much of the character’.[1983]

3. The late Mr. Charles Elton,[1984] referring to Professor A. H. Sayce’s Science of Language,[1985] affirmed that ‘a Finnish idiom has been traced in several of the British languages’, and inferred that the tall builders of the round barrows were Finns. The idiom in question may, for aught that I know, have been traced by some philologist who had determined to find it, but not by Professor Sayce nor by any one to whom Professor Sayce refers. Mr. Elton’s argument is as obsolete as that which Professor Rhys founded upon his imaginary tracing of Basque in the language of the Picts.

4. Much may be said for the theory of the late Professor Rolleston, that the tall people of the round barrows came from Denmark or some of the adjoining islands, if it be duly modified. On the coast near Flamborough Head are remains of earthworks, which, as has been demonstrated by General Pitt-Rivers, who excavated them, were erected by invaders fighting their way inland; and, as he remarks, ‘it is unlikely that any but Northmen should have landed in this spot.’[1986] Thurnam himself admits that there is ‘a great resemblance’ between the characteristic Round Barrow skulls and those from ‘the Giants’ Chamber at Borreby [in the island of Falster], and from other Scandinavian megalithic tombs’;[1987] and his testimony is confirmed by Rolleston[1988] and Dr. Beddoe.[1989]

Dr. A. H. Keane[1990] argues, in opposition to Rolleston’s view, that if any of the Round Barrow invaders had come from Scandinavia, ‘they must have spoken some Low German dialect, of which there are no clear traces in the tribal and place-names of the Bronze Age.’ The answer is, first, that, as Mr. C. H. Read[1991] suggests, they may have spoken not a Low German but a pre-Aryan dialect; and, secondly, that we know absolutely nothing about either the tribal or the place-names of Britain in the Bronze Age. Assuming that Low German tribal or place-names existed in Britain before the Celtic invasion, they would for the most part have been superseded by Celtic names, just as the Celtic invaders of Gaul generally substituted their own tribal and place-names for those of their predecessors, and just as in certain parts of Scotland Celtic names of rivers gave place to Norse names.[1992]

5. Messrs. J. Gray and J. F. Tocher infer from their observations of the physical characteristics of the population of West Aberdeenshire that ‘a tall, broad-headed, dark-haired, light-eyed people’, whom they regard as ‘the descendants of the men of the Bronze Age’, formerly inhabited Aberdeenshire, but were driven inland by later blond immigrants, who were shorter and had narrower heads, and whom they identify with North Germans.[1993] The resemblance of the tall dark people to modern Dalmatians[1994] is, they say, ‘significant when taken in conjunction with the fact that bronze first came into the British Isles from South-East Europe.’

‘The fact!’ But is it the fact? Archaeology has certainly shown that Britain, in the Bronze Age, was commercially connected with Northern France, which, as Mr. C. H. Read[1995] says, was ‘supplied to a certain extent from Italy’. But no archaeologist supposes that bronze was carried all the way from Italy, still less from Dalmatia, into Britain or even into Northern France by Italians or Dalmatians. It came through the methods of primitive commerce. Moreover, as we have already seen,[1996] ‘the men of the Bronze Age,’ by whom Messrs. Gray and Tocher mean the tall brachycephalic people of the round barrows, were still in their Stone Age when they began to invade Britain. A direct immigration from the coasts of the Adriatic into West Aberdeenshire or even Southern Britain is inconceivable; and if it had taken place gradually across the Continent, we should find that the immigrants had left traces of their presence on the way, which is not the case. Notwithstanding the thoroughness with which Messrs. Gray and Tocher conducted their investigation, I fear that it throws no new light upon the ethnology of Ancient Britain. After the successive invasions and immigrations, the internal migrations, and the intermarriages of 3,000 years, it is utterly impossible to establish by dint of even the most elaborate census of a living population the fact that the people of the Bronze Age even in West Aberdeenshire were ‘tall, broad-headed, dark-haired, and light-eyed’; and if they were, why only in West Aberdeenshire?

6. The Honourable John Abercromby maintains that the brachycephalic invaders, or some of them, came at the beginning of the Bronze Age or in the period of transition between the Neolithic Age and the Bronze Age from the neighbourhood of the middle Rhine or from some intermediate district between it and Britain.[1997] Remarking[1998] that ‘the recorded finds of the last hundred years are sufficient to establish the fact that the beaker [or drinking-cup] is the oldest form of fictilia in the Bronze Age of this country’, he argues that the immigrants who introduced the oldest drinking-cups of the kind which Thurnam designated as ‘type β’ must have belonged to a tribe who at one time lived in the valley of the Rhine, because between British and Rhenish specimens of this type ‘there is a substantial agreement’ both in form and ornament, which ‘seems too great to be the result of pure accident’; and he points out[1999] that ‘the type exists not only in the central Rhine, but also near its mouth’, though the intermediate stages cannot be traced. The Rhenish cups belong to the Neolithic Age; and it seems impossible to prove that the earliest British examples were not made before any objects of bronze were manufactured in or introduced into Britain:[2000] but Mr. Abercromby has certainly established a very strong probability in favour of the locality to which he refers their origin.[2001]

The great mistake that has been made in discussing the question is the not uncommon assumption that the brachycephalic immigrants who buried their dead in round barrows arrived in Britain at one time and came from one place. Some of them certainly appeared before the end of the Neolithic Age: others may have introduced bronze implements or ornaments; others doubtless came, in successive hordes, during the course of the Bronze Age. Some of those who belonged to the Grenelle race, who certainly came from Eastern Europe and possibly from Asia,[2002] and whose centre of dispersion was the Alpine region,[2003] may have started from Gaul;[2004] others could have traced their origin to some Rhenish tribe; and I am inclined to believe that those who belonged to the characteristic rugged Round Barrow type crossed over, for the most part, from Denmark or the outlying islands. That the first Celtic-speaking invaders landed in Britain before the end of the Bronze Age I do not deny; and if they came from that part of Gaul which was inhabited by the Celtae, I have no doubt that many of them were brachycephalic. But it is nevertheless certain that among these invaders the dominant element, who were Celtic in blood as well as in speech, and whose physical type was that described by the ancient writers, were not brachycephalic but mesaticephalic or dolichocephalic. And if I am asked where the Celtic skulls of the later British Bronze Age are to be found, I answer, Nowhere: they were reduced to ashes by cremation.[2005]

It is interesting to find that, according to Huxley, of the skeletons that were found in the famous Heathery Burn Cave, near Durham, which was inhabited in the closing period of the Bronze Age, not one belonged to either of the brachycephalic types, but all to ‘the same race of rather small and lightly-made men with prominent superciliary ridges and projecting nasal bones’[2006] which is represented by the river-bed skulls of England and Ireland.[2007]

IX. THE CELTS

1. Little can be added to what has been said in the previous section about the physical characteristics of the Celtic invaders of Britain. Some Celtic scholars, as we shall presently see,[2008] deny that any Goidels reached this country before the Roman conquest; but, assuming that some did so, there is no reason to suppose that they differed much physically from the Brythons. If Strabo[2009] was right in saying that the Britons generally were less fair-haired than the Gauls, the inference would seem to be that the Celtic invaders of Britain had intermarried more freely than those of Gaul with the descendants of the aborigines; nor would this inference be weakened by the fact that, according to the same authority,[2010] they were conspicuously taller than their Gallic kinsmen.[2011] I believe, however, that Strabo’s statements were based upon nothing more than his own observation of the few Britons whom he says that he himself saw in Rome, supplemented perhaps by hearsay evidence derived from Roman soldiers or traders who were not trained observers; and that his testimony is worth neither more nor less than that of Lucan, who speaks of ‘the fair-haired Britons’.[2012] Dr. Beddoe[2013] has concluded, from his observation of the modern inhabitants of ‘those parts of Scotland and the north of England where Kymric blood may well be supposed to remain in large proportion,’ that the Belgae who invaded Britain as well as those of Gaul were on the whole somewhat dark: but his arguments, which I have examined fully elsewhere,[2014] do not prove that the dominant Celts among the Belgae were dark, but simply that, before they invaded Britain, they had become largely intermixed with an older dark population, and that, since they reached this country, they and their descendants have intermarried with people darker than themselves.[2015]

2. Professor Rhys has more than once changed his opinion about the Celtic invaders of Britain since he began to handle the subject. In the second edition of his Lectures on Welsh Philology[2016] he argued that they were not ‘two distinct nationalities, speaking two distinct languages’; in other words, he maintained that the Goidelic and Brythonic dialects had been evolved within the British Isles after the Celts had entered them. In the preface to Celtic Britain, however, which was written in January, 1884, he recanted; and his old view is now obsolete. For many years past he has maintained that the earliest invaders were Goidels, or, as he now prefers to call them, Celticans;[2017] and that the later comers were Brythons. But whereas until a recent date he held that the only Brythonic invasion was that of the Belgae, and that Pytheas, who visited Britain towards the end of the fourth century B.C., ‘is not likely to have found any Brythons here,’[2018] he now holds, or at all events held a few weeks before the time when I am writing, that the first Brythonic invaders ‘appear to have settled here before the middle of the fourth century B.C., for Pytheas ... gives indirect evidence to their presence’.[2019] To this view I hope he will firmly adhere. There is, indeed, no direct evidence that any Brythonic immigrants landed in Britain before the Belgae. But indirect evidence there is; and that of two kinds. The first has been already noticed in the section on the Picts. There are good grounds for believing that the authority whom Diodorus Siculus followed in his notices of Britain was Pytheas.[2020] Diodorus speaks of the British Isles as Πρετ(τ)ανικαὶ νῆσοι;[2021] and the P in Πρετ(τ)ανικαί (if that reading is certain), shows that Pytheas learned the word from lips which spoke a Brythonic, or Gaulish dialect. M. d’Arbois de Jubainville asserts that his informants were Gauls:[2022] but that is simply his opinion; it is open to any one to argue that Pytheas probably learned the name of the Britons as well as the facts which he reported about them and their country in Britain, and not in Gaul. Be this, however, as it may, it is, as we shall presently see, certain that during the earlier period of the Roman occupation, the greater part of England and a considerable part of Scotland were inhabited by Brythons; and, as we shall also see, it is extremely improbable that they were all of Belgic origin. The question of the chronological order of the various Celtic invasions is, according to Professor Rhys,[2023] answered by the present geographical distribution of the Celtic-speaking peoples of the British Isles: ‘it may be regarded,’ he says, ‘as fairly certain that those who are found driven furthest to the west were the earliest comers.’ The argument might be sound enough (though the word ‘driven’ begs the question) if we were considering the British Isles as a whole, and not merely Britain;[2024] and even those who maintain that there were no people of Goidelic descent in Britain in the time of Caesar could hardly answer Professor Rhys unless they assumed that the Goidelic invaders of Ireland came from Spain, or that they dared not risk a contest with the Southern Britons; for otherwise it is hard to believe that they would not have directed their immigration towards Britain, the nearer country.

Professor Rhys, in his Celtic Britain,[2025] endeavours to trace the distribution of the Brythonic and Goidelic peoples, as he believes it to have existed at the time of the coming of the Romans; and in so doing he uses materials on which he founds another argument to show that there were Goidels in Britain at that time. These materials are Goidelic inscriptions which have been found in North Wales, in Cornwall, and in Devonshire:[2026] but not one of them belongs to an earlier date than the fifth century of our era. With the exception of the districts in which they occur, of the greater part of Somersetshire and Dorsetshire, of South Wales and the adjoining parts of England which lie between the Severn and the Teme, and of Cumberland, part of Westmorland, the Isle of Man, Dumfries, Kirkcudbright, Wigtown, Ayrshire, Renfrew, and part of Lanarkshire, the professor regards the whole of Britain south of the Firths of Clyde and Forth as Brythonic; and he prints a list of proper names, most of which are certainly Brythonic, in support of this conclusion.[2027] The northern part of the island he divides, for reasons which have been already examined, between Goidels and aboriginal tribes, whom he identifies with the Picts properly so called.[2028] It will, however, of course be understood that when he speaks of Goidelic and Brythonic tribes, he means tribes who spoke the Goidelic and Brythonic dialects. The former he regards as mingled largely with the aborigines, and the latter with both Goidels and aborigines. But it is difficult to understand how he has been able to maintain that the Dumnonii of Cornwall and Devonshire were Goidels in the face of the fact that most of the British emigrants who invaded Brittany came from the Cornish peninsula,[2029] bringing the name Dumnonii with them, and that he himself formerly insisted that the Dumnonii who inhabited what is now Renfrew and Ayrshire were Brythons.[2030] I say ‘formerly’, because this is one of the many opinions which the professor has felt obliged to discard: ‘the southern portion’ of the Scottish Dumnonii have just been transformed by a stroke of the pen into ‘Goidels who adopted Brythonic speech’.[2031] However, as M. d’Arbois de Jubainville says, referring to the inscriptions upon which Professor Rhys relies, ‘To conclude from the fact that five Goidels were buried, during the period which elapsed from about 400 to about 700 A.D., in the territory of the Dumnonii, that the entire population of that territory was Goidelic seems extremely rash;’[2032] and, he asks,[2033] ‘if they were Goidels, how came it that they brought a Brythonic dialect into Brittany?’ Further, he asks why Professor Rhys maintains that the Novantae of Galloway were Goidels when he admits that the Trinovantes of Essex were Brythons;[2034] and the only answer which the professor vouchsafes to this question is that the name Novantae was ‘given them probably by Brythons’.[2035] What are the grounds of his opinion, he does not say. I may add that while he explains[2036] that ‘the consonantal combination of cs or x’ is Gaulish, that is to say, Gallo-Brythonic, he says[2037] that it is ‘remarkable’ that ‘most of the early names with x belong to districts which have before been pointed out as non-Brythonic’. When we look for these districts, we find[2038] that they were those of the Taexali, the Vacomagi, the Scottish Dumnonii, the Selgovae, and Cumberland. When we ask on what grounds the inhabitants of these districts had been ‘pointed out as non-Brythonic’, we find[2039] that the Taexali and the Vacomagi were Pictish, that is to say ‘no doubt’ aboriginal; that the Dumnonii, according to the professor himself,[2040] were ‘undoubtedly Brythons’, and remained so until, discovering perhaps that he had inadvertently given his case away, he changed them by his enchanter’s wand into ‘Goidels who adopted Brythonic speech’;[2041] and that the Selgovae are asserted to have been, like the Novantae, ‘in a great measure ... most likely a remnant of the aboriginial inhabitants.’[2042] Why? Because they were afterwards included under the name Atecotti, which ‘appears to have meant old or ancient’, and was ‘possibly given to them by the Brythons’.[2043] Doubtless they were ‘in a great measure’ aboriginal, as were doubtless all the British tribes; but seeing that Uxellon, the name of a town in their country, is Gaulish, the natural conclusion is that their Celtic masters were not Goidels but Brythons.

3. Professor Kuno Meyer holds that ‘no Gael ever set his foot on British soil save on a vessel that had put out from Ireland’;[2044] and his words are echoed by Dr. Macbain.[2045] Professor Meyer points out that ‘we have the concurrent testimony of Irish and Welsh tradition that from the second century of our era till the sixth a series of partial conquests of Britain took place’.[2046] Dr. Beddoe[2047] has indeed argued that it is extremely improbable that ‘the Romans would have allowed the Irish Gael to acquire by violence possession of a large portion of one of their provinces’; and Professor Meyer, who admits the difficulty, says that he will not attempt to explain it away. He might have noted that the author of the panegyric which was addressed A.D. 296 to Constantius Chlorus[2048] expressly affirms that such invasions did take place. Professor Meyer also points out that the Gaelic inscriptions which have been found in Southern Britain belong almost exclusively to South Wales, the quarter to which the invasions may be assumed to have been directed, very few having come to light in North Wales, Devonshire, and Cornwall.[2049] On the other hand, it will be admitted that the record of these invasions is no proof that Goidels had not settled in Britain in pre-Roman times.

4. M. d’Arbois de Jubainville holds, as we have already seen,[2050] that Goidels, or rather a people who spoke ‘the Celtic dialect from which Goidelic was evolved’,[2051] were masters of the British Isles in the time of Pytheas, and that between his time and that of Caesar Britain was conquered by the Cymric Brittones. So far he is substantially in agreement with the view which, until a recent date, commended itself to Professor Rhys,[2052] who, as the reader knows, now believes that there were two successive Brythonic invasions.[2053] The more important differences between the two scholars lie partly in their views, which have been already examined, of the Pictish question; partly in the fact that M. d’Arbois is unable to accept the evidence which satisfies Professor Rhys that in Caesar’s time and later Goidelic tribes still remained in Western and Northern Britain. He holds that many of them had been driven by the Belgae into Ireland, and that in Britain they only survived as a vanquished people who had been forced to adopt the language of their Gaulish conquerors.[2054] I am inclined to believe, from the analogy of Gaul,[2055] that in Caesar’s time Goidelic was still spoken in remoter parts of the island.

5. Mr. Nicholson has recently attempted to prove that all his predecessors are entirely mistaken even on the few points on which they are agreed. According to him, the earliest Celtic invaders of the British Isles were Brythons, whom, however, he prefers to call Kymri; after them came a horde of Goidels; in the third century before Christ the Picts, who were also Goidels, invaded Scotland; and finally came the Belgae, who were Goidels too! The result was that ‘apparently the great majority of the tribes inhabiting Roman Britain were Goidels’,[2056] although ‘of the later Kymric recovery and victory in Wales and some other parts there is no manner of doubt’.[2057] It will, at all events, be admitted that a victory, however late, gained by a small minority, was no mean achievement.

How does Mr. Nicholson set about proving this revolutionary theory? He tells us that ‘on the map of Roman Britain’ he can only see one ‘certainly Kymric geographical name’[2058]--Pennocrucium (now Penkridge) in Staffordshire. The long lists of Cymric names which have been drawn up by Professor Rhys, Dr. Whitley Stokes, M. d’Arbois de Jubainville, and Dr. Macbain do not move him at all. When he is confronted with geographical, tribal, or personal names belonging to Pictland--names such as Argentocoxos, Epidii, Gartnait, the Ochil Hills, and the prefixes aber and pet--he either ignores them or, as his opponents would say, explains them away.[2059] Professor Rhys’s list[2060] is disposed of with the same breezy self-confidence. Corstopiton, Epeiacon, (Mons) Graupius, Leucopibia, Maponi, Parisi, Petuaria, Prasutagos, Rutupiae, Toliapis,--these names are either left out of account or explained as Goidelic by the simple method of affirming or ‘suspecting’ that the p in each case is ‘Indo-European’.[2061] The reader will form his own opinion if he can; only he will bear in mind that the weight of authority is all on one side. When doctors disagree, the patient must decide for himself which is the quack.

So much for the assertion that the Goidels, who, according to Professor Kuno Meyer and Dr. Macbain, were non-existent in Britain at the time when the Roman conquest began, formed then ‘the great majority’ of the population. What is the evidence for the theory that they came later than the Brythons?

There is no doubt that the Celts who first entered Gaul were Goidels[2062] (assuming that Goidelic was then a distinct dialect[2063]), and that the latest Celtic invaders of Gaul as of Britain were Belgae.[2064] If the Belgae had been Goidels, we should then have to admit that Gaul was invaded first by Goidels, then by ‘Cymri’, and finally by Goidels again. Is this likely? And is it not likely that if Goidels were the first Celts who invaded Gaul, they were also the first who invaded Britain?

Mr. Nicholson offers the following arguments in favour of his theory. Remarking that the Menapii were a Belgic tribe, he says[2065] that ‘the Isle of Man(n) [which Caesar calls Mona] is called Monapia by Pliny (iv, 103)’; and that the Gaelic dialect which is spoken in the island is evidence that its inhabitants in Pliny’s time were Goidels.

Now I ask, first, is it certain that Pliny’s Monapia, rather than Caesar’s Mona, was the name by which the Isle of Man was known to its own inhabitants? Is it not probable that the name Monapia, which is, at all events presumably, Brythonic, came to Pliny from a Brythonic source?[2066] Secondly, assuming that the names Monapia and Menapii are etymologically connected, does it necessarily follow that Monapia was a name peculiar to the Belgae, seeing that the tribal name Ceutrones occurs not only in Belgic Gaul but in the Alps?[2067] Thirdly, is Mr. Nicholson prepared to prove that the Isle of Man was not colonized by Goidels after it had received the name Monapia from Brythons? Lastly, since Mr. Nicholson himself affirms[2068] that although the name Aremorici is ‘certainly Kymric’, it nevertheless ‘is no proof that the Aremoricans were Kymric’, why does he insist that the fact, if it is a fact, that Monapia was Goidelic proves that the Belgae were Goidels?

Again, he says that the Parisi, who lived near the mouth of the Humber, were Belgae,[2069] and he believes that ‘their name preserves Indo-European p’.[2070] But Caesar did not include the Gallic Parisii among the Belgae, and did include them among the Celtae.[2071] Mr. Nicholson’s belief, that the p in their name is Indo-European, is not shared by any other Celtic scholar.

Thirdly, he argues that the Atrebates, who were certainly Belgae, were Goidels; for, he says,[2072] ‘With one exception, no ogam-inscription has ever been found in these isles outside territory which is known to have been once in Goidelic occupation. The single exception is that of the stone found at Calleva Atrebatum (Silchester).’ But, according to Mr. Nicholson himself, ‘the great majority’ of the British tribes were Goidelic: yet in only a small minority of their territories are ogam inscriptions forthcoming; and that minority, with the possible exception of the Atrebates, is in the west of England. What then is proved by the solitary inscription at Silchester? The individual who erected it was doubtless a Goidel:[2073] but if it is to be regarded as a proof that the Atrebates were Goidels, then the existence of synagogues in Great Britain proves the truth of that widespread delusion which Professor Tylor[2074] has described as ‘abject nonsense’,--the ‘Anglo-Israel theory’.[2075]

Fourthly, Mr. Nicholson remarks[2076] that between the Parisi and the Iceni, the name of whose king, Prasutagus,[2077] he regards ‘as containing Ind.-Eur. p’, while all other Celtic scholars regard it as Brythonic, dwelled the Coritani.[2078] ‘From their position on the coast,’ he says, ‘they should belong to the same Picto-Belgic family, and I submit that their name is simply Qṛtanoi, Cruitni.’ In other words, Mr. Nicholson submits that a single tribe, which he assumes to have been Belgic, called itself by the same name which, on his own showing,[2079] had been given to the entire population of Great Britain[2080] long before the Belgae set foot in the land!

6. I have set down the gist of the linguistic evidence which has been offered in support of the various theories about the Goidels and the Brythons in order that the reader may be able to form an independent judgement about its value. It goes without saying that on any particular question of Celtic etymology no opinion except that of a competent Celtic scholar is worth listening to: on most of the questions that concern us competent Celtic scholars differ widely among themselves: Professor Rhys differs from himself; and Mr. Nicholson, whose competence I neither affirm nor deny, differs from everybody. Even the lay reader who has studied the writings of Dr. Windisch, of Professor Rhys, of Dr. Whitley Stokes, of Dr. Macbain, of Mr. Nicholson, and of M. d’Arbois de Jubainville, and who has made much use of Alfred Holder’s Alt-celtischer Sprachschatz cannot but see how few of the etymologies that relate to ethnology are to be accepted as certain. It would of course be absurd to sneer at the services which philology has rendered to ethnology and history; nevertheless the fact remains that on almost all the fundamental questions of Celtic ethnology the philologists agree to differ. And, at the risk of appearing flippant, I cannot help saying that when I read some of Mr. Nicholson’s pages, when I see how M. Salomon Reinach demonstrates, with the approval of M. d’Arbois de Jubainville and of Professor Rhys, who for once find themselves in agreement, that κασσίτερος, the Greek word for tin, must be of Celtic derivation because the root cassi- is found in numerous Celtic names,[2081] I ask myself whether some future philologist will not adduce the similarity between Tamesis and Tamesi, the name of a Mexican river, as a proof that the Celts once colonized Central America; whether he will not compare the name of Admiral Togo with that of the British prince, Togo-dumnos, and prove that ‘the Japanese Nelson’ was of Celtic extraction.[2082]

7. Caesar, in a familiar passage, states that ‘the maritime districts [of Britain are inhabited] by people who crossed over from Belgium to plunder and attack [the aborigines], almost all of them being called after the tribes from whom the invaders were an offshoot’.[2083] It is, however, impossible to define the limits of the region which, in Caesar’s time and during the period that elapsed between the date of his departure and that of the Claudian conquest, was occupied by the Belgae. The only tribal names that indicate their presence are those of the Catuvellauni,[2084] who, about the commencement of the Christian era, occupied a territory of uncertain area round Verulamium, or St. Albans, which included Hertfordshire, Middlesex, and probably parts of Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, and Northamptonshire; the Atrebates, who possessed parts of Hampshire and Berkshire; and the Belgae, whose chief towns, according to Ptolemy,[2085] were Aquae Calidae, or Bath, and Venta, or Winchester.[2086] Caesar’s words would certainly lead us to believe that the Cantii, the Trinovantes, and the Regni were also Belgic peoples, although their names do not occur in the list of the Belgic tribes of Gaul.[2087] Professor Rhys indeed affirmed in the second edition of Celtic Britain[2088] that ‘there is no evidence that the Cantii ... should be considered Belgic’; and this statement is repeated in the edition which has recently been published: one feels therefore that the evolution of the professor’s views is quite normal when one reads in an intermediate volume, published two years ago,[2089] that the earliest Belgic invaders of Britain were probably the Brittani,[2090] and that the Brittani were probably the Cantii.

8. Finally, Dr. Macalister regards certain skeletons which have been found in the War Ditches of Cambridgeshire below layers that contained traces of late Roman occupation as Anglian[2091]; and it may be that they testify to a pre-Roman immigration from Northern Germany.

X. CONCLUSION

For the sake of clearness I shall summarize the results which this inquiry has attained. No human remains, except those of Bury St. Edmunds and Cattedown, which can be certainly attributed to the Quaternary Period have been found in Britain; but it is probable that the earlier inhabitants belonged in part to the Neanderthal stock, and that towards the close of the Palaeolithic Age they were joined by immigrants akin to the Chancelade people of the Lozère valley. There is no conclusive evidence that the earliest neolithic invaders found this island inhabited; but it has not been demonstrated that even here there was a ‘hiatus’ between the Old and the New Stone Age. The source of the first neolithic influx was probably in France, in the southern parts of which at all events the latest palaeolithic and the earliest neolithic inhabitants were akin. The neolithic invaders who built the long barrows of Southern Britain and the chambered cairns of Scotland, and many of whom built round barrows also, were a branch of the ‘Mediterranean’ race, and likewise came from France, perhaps in some cases originally from the Spanish peninsula; but if they are to be called ‘Iberian’ the term must be regarded as conventional. There is no evidence that they were related more nearly to the Basques than to some other branch of the Mediterranean stock.[2092] They certainly spoke a non-Aryan language; and so probably did the earlier brachycephalic invaders, of whom the first comers landed in Britain before the end of the Neolithic Age. These invaders--the principal builders of the round barrows and the short cists--continued to arrive in successive hordes during the earlier part of the Bronze Age, some probably from Gaul, some from the Low Countries and the valley of the Rhine, and others, who settled in Yorkshire and Northumberland and perhaps in Derbyshire, from Denmark or Danish islands and possibly also from the Scandinavian peninsula. The brachycephalic Round Barrow skulls fall under two different types. Some resemble those of the French Grenelle race--in other words, the so-called Alpine race of Central Europe--and, like them, belonged to individuals of low stature; although the general superiority of the Bronze Age Britons in this respect is so great as to preclude the supposition that men of the pure Grenelle type invaded Britain in considerable numbers: others illustrate the rugged and, in some cases, almost brutal type which Thurnam and Rolleston have so forcibly described; and some of those of Yorkshire, especially Rudstone, and Northumberland exhibit these characteristics in such a degree that they may almost be grouped apart. The majority would seem to show that people of the two types intermarried, as they certainly did with the dolichocephalic neolithic population. The first Celtic invaders were Goidels, who certainly reached Ireland in the Bronze Age, and who may be supposed to have settled in Britain also before the time of Pytheas. The first Brythonic immigrants probably inaugurated the Iron Age in this country, and began to arrive a short time before the visit of Pytheas. They were succeeded by the Belgae, who, like them, came in successive hordes, the first probably in the third century before Christ. The Belgae and the other Brythons spread over the greater part of Southern Britain and many parts of Scotland. Both they and the Goidels were doubtless mixed with people of the ‘Iberian’ and Grenelle races with whom they had intermarried before they left the Continent; but the purer representatives of the two Celtic stocks--the descendants of the invaders who had introduced the Celtic languages into Gaul and of their continental kinsmen--belonged to a type different from both of the Round Barrow types, being not only tall and generally fair but dolichocephalic or mesaticephalic. A people characterized by dolichocephaly and low stature, who apparently were not descended from the Long Barrow race, but whose affinities are doubtful, were settled in the Early Iron Age in East Yorkshire, and, it would seem, nowhere else in Britain. The Picts of Romano-British history were a medley of tribes, among whom Celts were, as everywhere, predominant, but who probably included a greater proportion of the descendants of the neolithic and other pre-Aryan peoples than any other British group. It is possible that in the remoter parts of Pictland a non-Aryan dialect was still spoken when the Romans invaded Britain; but the pre-Aryan Picts as a whole had been Celticized, and the Celtic language had prevailed, although it had been largely modified by the speech with which it had come in contact. Everywhere in Britain the pre-Roman stocks have, in greater or less proportions, survived.[2093] Few Englishmen, Welshmen, or Scotsmen, if their pedigrees could be traced back far enough, would not be found to count among their ancestors men of the type who were buried in long barrows, sturdy warriors of the Bronze Age, and Celts who fought against Caesar or were subdued by Agricola.

* * * * *

The study of ethnology is as fascinating to its votaries, partly by reason of its very difficulty, as the attempt to determine the distances of the less remote stars must have been to Bessel, Henderson, and Struve; but I can sympathize with those to whom, in both cases, the quest of knowledge for its own sake appears equally unprofitable. They may well ask the ethnologist why he does not proceed to deduce from what he knows conclusions that would interest all students of history and of human nature. ‘There are few fields,’ says Professor Bury,[2094] ‘where more work is to be done or where labourers are more needed than the Celtic civilisations of Western Europe. In tracing from its origins the course of western history in the Middle Ages, we are pulled up on the threshold by the uncertainties and obscurities which brood over the Celtic world. And for the purpose of prosecuting that most difficult of all inquiries, the ethnical problem, the part played by race in the developement of peoples and the effects of race blendings, it must be remembered that the Celtic world commands one of the chief portals of ingress into that mysterious prae-Aryan foreworld, from which it may well be that we modern Europeans have inherited far more than we dream.’ But when we have entered the ‘prae-Aryan foreworld’, how shall we map out its various provinces, and what clue shall we have gained to the solution of ‘the ethnical problem’? That is as complex as the problem, which theoretically may not be insoluble, of forecasting remote meteorological as accurately as astronomical phenomena; and its solution is more hopeless still. We want to know what contributions the various British races which we have identified made to the formation of the British character, which is so obviously different from that of any other nation, and which is, so to speak, the generalized manifestation of the characters of the English, Scottish, and Welsh peoples, and, descending the scale, of the characters of the inhabitants of every district, and finally of every man.[2095] Again, we want to trace the manifold sources from which the ‘Celtic’ character, with the idiosyncrasies of which we are all more or less familiar, is derived. But the Celtic character is not everywhere the same. Study it in Wales, in Man, in the Scottish Highlands, in Ireland, in Cornwall, in France, and you will find that while it is Celtic everywhere, everywhere it is different;[2096] that everywhere it has become what it is because it is compounded, in different degrees, not only of Celtic, not only of pre-Celtic and pre-Aryan, but also of post-Celtic elements. And all these elements have been modified and moulded by different geographical and climatic influences and by adventitious circumstances too numerous to be particularized and too elusive to be estimated.[2097] Those who know Ireland well have observed that the character of Anglo-Irishmen, whose blood is neither more nor less Celtic than that of many Englishmen, has acquired a quasi-Irish tinge, which is discernible in their children even when they have been born and bred in England; and this sets us thinking, though we think in vain. We all know the passage in which Mommsen compares the Gauls to the modern Irish: the ethnologist knows enough to see that it is as misleading as it is brilliant; but he knows too little to attempt to rewrite it. Anthropologically speaking, the Gauls (I use the word in its most comprehensive sense) were very different from the modern and indeed from the ancient Irish; and if Mommsen’s analogy were more than superficial, we should be forced to conclude that the character of the Gauls, as it is revealed in ancient writings, was that of the dominant Celts, perhaps mostly Gallo-Brythonic, alone; and that the character of the Irish is simply that of Celts, mostly Goidelic, who were once but have long ceased to be dominant. Who will attempt to differentiate the respective shares of the pre-Aryan Long Barrow race, of the few representatives of the pre-Aryan Grenelle race who settled in this land, of the tall harsh-featured Round Barrow people, of the Goidels, and finally of the Brythons in building up the character which was to be further modified by the Roman, the Saxon, the Dane, the Norman, the Fleming, and aliens of every nationality, who each and all contributed something to a result which, influenced by the Continent, by the Far West, and now by the Far East, is still in process of evolution?

THE NAMES ΠΡΕΤΑΝΙΚΑΙ ΝΗΣΟΙ, BRITANNI AND BRITANNIA

Πρεττανοί, which (written with a single τ) is supposed to represent the Brythonic or the Gaulish equivalent of a Goidelic word Qrtanoi--the assumed progenitor of the Irish Cruthni[2098]--is found in certain manuscripts of Strabo[2099] instead of the more usual Βρεττανοί: Diodorus Siculus[2100] (who derived part of his information about the British Isles indirectly from Pytheas[2101]) Strabo, Ptolemy,[2102] and Marcian,[2103] appear to have described them as Πρετανικαὶ νῆσοι, for perhaps they were not responsible for the ττ which appears in manuscripts; and Stephanus of Byzantium speaks of Πρετανίας and Πρετανίδες.[2104] According to Professor Rhys[2105] and M. d’Arbois de Jubainville,[2106] the form Βρεττανικαὶ (νῆσοι), which occurs in most of the manuscripts, is to be accounted for by the fact that Brittani, the Goidelic name of the Brythonic invaders of Britain, which had no connexion with Πρετανοί, was eventually confounded with it: ‘the confusion,’ says Professor Rhys, ‘is to be detected in the ττ of Πρεττανική;’[2107] and he attributes it to scribes. The questions connected with all these names are very difficult. The first puzzle is this:--if, as the professor says,[2108] Πρετανικαὶ νῆσοι, ‘under the influence of the name of the Brythons, Βρεττανοί, became at last Βρεττανικαὶ νῆσοι, that is to say “Brythonic isles”,’ why did Diodorus Siculus, Ptolemy, and Marcian persist in calling them Πρετανικαὶ νῆσοι? Again, the professor’s views about the Brittani, who, he tells us, called themselves Brittones, have lately undergone a sweeping change. In 1902[2109] he regarded ‘the first of the Belgic peoples to cross over to this country’ as an offshoot of ‘the Brittani or Brittones whom Pliny seems to have found so called in the valley of the Somme’ (and whom, by the way, Pliny,[2110] whatever he may have found them called, called neither Brittani nor Brittones, but Britanni); and he considered that their name, ‘from being exclusively that of the first settlers, came to be extended to the successive hordes, so that at the last it actually denoted all the settlers here of Belgic descent.’ But the Britanni who are mentioned by Pliny were a Belgic tribe of such small importance that Caesar either ignored or had never heard of them; and, granting that some of them invaded Britain, of which there is no evidence, it is to the last degree improbable that they rather than the Belgae, of whom they would only have formed an item, should have imposed their name upon the people of the whole island. In 1902 Professor Rhys maintained that the Brythonic invaders of Britain were all Belgae. In 1904[2111] he distinguished the Belgae from the other Brythons, maintained that they were the second group of Brythonic invaders, and gave the name Brittones not only to them but also to their predecessors. Whether or not he still holds that these two groups of Brittones derived their name from Pliny’s Britanni, I cannot say. If so, it is somewhat puzzling that one tribe of the so-called Brittones were the Belgae, who presumably called themselves after the Gallic group of tribes which, as a whole, was designated by that name: the professor’s theory would lead to the startling conclusion that while a single horde of the second group of Brythonic invaders were called Belgae after the entire nation of which they were an offshoot, the two Brythonic groups of invaders, Belgic and non-Belgic alike, were conjointly called after the most obscure tribe of the second group! He explains the name Brittones as connected with the Welsh breithyn, cloth, and concludes that ‘the word Brython and its congeners meant a clothed or cloth-clad people’, and that ‘the race with which the Brythons contrasted themselves to their own satisfaction, when they began to give themselves that name, was probably some of the aboriginal tribes whose home they invaded on the Continent’.[2112] But if so, it seems wellnigh inexplicable that none of the Continental Belgae, none of the other Gauls, were called either Brittones or Brittani, and that only one petty Belgic tribe, which was unknown to or unnoticed by Caesar, was even called Britanni. As Windisch says,[2113] Professor Rhys’s etymology has to contend with serious difficulties; and it must, I think, be admitted that if the Brythons were called either Brittani or Brittones, the mention by Pliny of the Belgic Britanni throws no light upon the origin of the name. It is perhaps conceivable that, as Dr. Macbain[2114] has suggested, ‘the tribe on the Somme were some returned emigrants from Britain.’

Britain, says Professor Rhys, is traceable to Britannia, and Britannia to Britanni,--‘the Latin name of the people’. He observes that the Greek form of Britanni was Βρεττανοί, and he adds that ‘the practical identity between the Latin and Greek forms makes it probable that it was from or through the Greeks of Marseilles that the Romans first heard of these islands. This,’ he continues, ‘is not all, for the Latin Brittanni, and especially the Greek Βρεττανοί, have their exact counterpart in the Medieval Irish plurals Bretain, genitive Bretan, which had at times to function as the name both of the Brythons and of the island. It is to be noticed that neither Βρεττανοί or Britanni, nor the Irish Bretain has anything corresponding to it in the dialects of the Brythons themselves. From whom, then, did the Greeks hear the word which served as the basis of their names for Britain and its people? It cannot have been from the Brythonic peoples of the south-east of the island, or any, perhaps, of the Gauls of the Continent: it was probably from the natives of the south-west who brought their tin to market, and in whose country the only Celtic speech in use was as yet Goidelic. When, however, the Romans came to Britain they learnt the name which the Brythons gave themselves in the south-east of the island, and this was not Britanni, or Brettani, but Brĭttŏnes.’[2115] On the other hand, Dr. Macbain[2116] suggests that the ‘Greek form Prettania [or rather Pretania, the form which is assumed to have been derived from Priten or its older equivalent, and indirectly from Qrtanoi] gave rise to the name Britain,--a bad Latin pronunciation’. Mr. Nicholson objects that ‘in neither Greek nor Latin is p known to pass into b’.[2117] Is it possible that the Latin pronunciation, if it was bad, may have been traceable to a bad Greek pronunciation, which gave rise to Polybius’s[2118] Βρεττανικαί (νῆσοι), and which was itself due to a defect not in pronunciation but in hearing?

THE BIRTHDAY OF RELIGION

Those who, like Professor Tylor, reject the theory that certain savage tribes have no religious belief would probably accept the evidence which Lord Avebury[2119] adduces in its favour: only they attach to the word Religion a meaning different from his. Indeed he himself, in one passage,[2120] uses the word in Professor Tylor’s sense; for he remarks that ‘one of the lowest forms of religion is that presented by the Australians, which consists of a mere unreasoning belief in the existence of mysterious beings’; and he admits that religion, in this sense, ‘is general to the human race.’[2121] Dr. Frazer, however, would apparently refuse to make even this concession. He is, or was, inclined to believe that ‘faith in magic is probably older than a belief in spirits’;[2122] for ‘magic is nothing but a mistaken application of the very simplest ... processes of the mind, namely, the association of ideas by virtue of resemblance or contiguity’, while ‘religion assumes the operation of conscious or personal agents, superior to man, behind the visible screen of nature. Obviously,’ he continues, ‘the conception of personal agents is more complex than a simple recognition of the similarity or contiguity of ideas.’[2123] I can only say that to me this is not obvious; the fancy of a primitive savage that fire, running water--everything that moves--is alive, is doubtless a less rudimentary mental act than the fear of a horse that a traction-engine is a formidable monster, but the difference is only one of degree.[2124] And Dr. Frazer’s definition of magic is singularly narrow: magic and religion were rooted in the same soil; and their branches intertwined.[2125]

To M. Salomon Reinach also ‘it appears evident that the true primitive savage ... does not believe himself to be surrounded by spirits; he is in the state which Herbert Spencer calls passive atheism.... The most backward primitive savages whom we know are in the neolithic age.... The superstition (δεισιδαιμονία, dread of demons) which dominates their whole existence ... is ... the outcome of a long evolution.’[2126] But did not the process begin when the primitive savage, conscious of life, fancied that sun and stars, flood and fire were also alive? And how can M. Reinach make it ‘evident’ that there ever was a savage so primitive that he had no such fancy? It is not true that the most backward savages whom we know, or at least have known, are in the Neolithic Age. The Tasmanians, a hundred years ago, were in their Palaeolithic Age, but they believed themselves to be surrounded by spirits.[2127] Lord Avebury indeed affirms that ‘some races entirely disbelieve in the survival of the soul after the death of the body’;[2128] nevertheless, if they believe in spiritual beings, they have the germ of religion.

For M. Reinach[2129] religion was born at the moment when man, finding himself constrained to do what he feared might offend malignant spirits, began to devise means of conciliating them. But may it not be said with equal truth that the birthday of religion was when man began to form the conception, on which religion, in the ordinary sense, is based, that spiritual beings exist?

M. Reinach has recently pronounced that ‘fire-worship preceded the use of fire, just as the worship of cereals preceded and prepared the way for their cultivation’.[2130] One must infer that the ‘true primitive savage’, who, according to M. Reinach, was in a state of ‘passive atheism’, and therefore had not begun to worship fire, had not found out how to produce it. If M. Reinach is right, the ‘passive atheist’ must have been primitive indeed.

Professor Robertson Smith held that ‘religion in the only true sense of the word’ began ‘not with a vague fear of unknown powers, but with a loving reverence for known gods who are knit to their worshippers by strong bonds of kinship’.[2131] But it was in the ‘vague fear’ that the ‘loving reverence’ had its germ.

Dr. J. G. Frazer, in a recent article[2132], argues that the Australian aborigines have no religion: but by religion he means ‘a propitiation or conciliation of the higher powers’;[2133] and he admits that some Australian tribes ‘have a notion of spiritual beings who can help or injure them’.[2134] In other words, their belief fulfils Professor Tylor’s ‘minimum definition of religion’; and Professor A. C. Haddon justly remarks that ‘it is doubtful whether more than a few anthropologists of repute would deny the term religion to the beliefs and practices of the Arunta’ of Central Australia.[2135]

DUMBUCK, LANGBANK, DUNBUIE

I have said nothing in the first part of this book about the famous ‘crannogs’, or pile-dwellings (so called), which were discovered a few years ago at Dumbuck and Langbank in the estuary of the Clyde, the hill-fort of Dunbuie by Dumbarton Castle, and the remarkable objects which they contained, because it is admitted that they belong to a period several centuries later than the Roman conquest of Britain; but, for a reason which will presently be apparent, they must not be ignored. Everything worth reading that has been written upon the subject is included in two recent books--Archaeology and False Antiquities, in which Dr. Robert Munro contends that the disputed objects are spurious, and the Clyde Mystery, in which Mr. Andrew Lang endeavours to show that the difficulty of regarding them as forgeries is at least as great as the difficulty of maintaining their authenticity, and that, if they are genuine, they prove the survival of ritual and magical ideas that must have belonged to the Stone Age.

It may be premised that Professor Boyd Dawkins,[2136] after a careful examination of certain engraved oyster shells, which were a part of the finds at Dunbuie, reported that he ‘had satisfied himself that two of the shells were American blue points’, and, as he somewhat superfluously added, ‘consequently of very modern date.’ Mr. Lang, admitting this, suggests that, as Dunbuie was left unguarded for several months, the shells were introduced by some local wag.[2137] At the same time he argues that if the disputed objects were not genuine, either the forger must have been a man of extraordinary erudition, who had studied the archaeology of England, America, France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and Australia, or, by a coincidence which is incredible, he produced objects which are found in all those countries. I would suggest, however, that he may himself have been a person of quite ordinary education, who was either employed by an archaeologist with a peculiar sense of humour or learned what was necessary for his purpose from some one more erudite than himself. Mr. Lang reminds us, further, that if the disputed objects have been found in Britain only in the basin of the Clyde, certain painted pebbles, similar to those of Mas d’Azil, which have been found in Scottish brochs, are also unique in Britain, and yet are disputed by nobody; and he might have said the same of the strange objects of Mycenaean type which were found in a barrow on Folkton Wold.[2138]

Dr. Munro, on the other hand, can see no resemblance whatever between the disputed objects and the genuine productions of Australia or certain other questionable ‘antiquities’ that recently startled the explorers of a Portuguese dolmen.[2139] The reader, as Mr. Lang says, must decide for himself; and I doubt whether he will see eye to eye with Dr. Munro.

The doctor also insists that if the Scottish objects are survivals, ‘we ought to find, at least somewhere in Britain, decided and undisputed evidence of the existence of a phase of culture in the Stone Age in which the prototypes ... would be the prevailing forms in general use. But,’ he adds, ‘of such archaic remains there is not a vestige.’[2140] No; but the earth has not yet given up all the vestiges of the Stone Age: the first discovery of a Scottish interment of the Early Iron Age has been made within the present century,[2141] and the doctor will admit that it is probably not unique; besides, do not the brochs and Folkton Wold suggest an answer to his argument?

Mr. Lang, concluding that at present the only position which the impartial savant can reasonably assume is a seat upon the proverbial fence, admits that ‘the very strong point against authenticity is this: numbers of the disputed objects were found in sites of the early Iron Age. Now,’ he continues, ‘such objects, save for a few examples, are only known--and that in non-British lands--in Neolithic sites. The theory of survival may be thought not to cover the number of the disputed objects.’[2142] May it not also be said that as an ignorant or sportive forger undoubtedly carved the oyster shells, so the disputed objects may have been smuggled into the sites by a forger who was well informed?[2143]

INHUMATION AND CREMATION

Dr. R. Munro[2144] says, on what authority I do not know, that the object of cremation was ‘to liberate the spirit more quickly’. Is it then to be concluded that in cases where inhumation and cremation were practised simultaneously in the same barrow,[2145] it was intended that certain spirits should be liberated quickly and others slowly?

Mr. W. C. Borlase[2146] remarks that ‘the transformation which would have taken place when incineration was introduced ... would ... have ... been from a cult which was probably filthy and material to one which was pure and spiritual’. We have seen that the ‘probably filthy’ and the ‘spiritual’ cult were practised simultaneously by the same people; are we to assume that when inhumation was reintroduced in the Early Iron Age filth and materialism were revived?

Professor Boyd Dawkins[2147] insists that cremation was introduced into Britain by ‘the bronze-using Celtic tribes’; and Dr. Munro[2148] apparently agrees with him. Putting aside the fact that most of the tribes to which the professor refers were not Celtic,[2149] there is no evidence that cremation was first introduced by bronze-using tribes: if it was, the long barrows in which primary cremation interments have been found must have been erected in the British Bronze Age! It may or may not be true that, as Canon Greenwell suggests,[2150] some of the Yorkshire round barrows were erected in the Stone Age; but at all events they were later than the long barrows of the same county. Those long barrows, according to Dr. Munro and Professor Boyd Dawkins, must have been erected after a bronze-using people had introduced cremation into Britain. How then would the professor and the doctor explain the fact that in the round barrows of the Yorkshire Wolds there was a reaction in favour of inhumation, seeing that Canon Greenwell[2151] found in them 301 interments of unburnt and only 78 of burnt bones?

Dr. Munro[2152] remarks further that, ‘so far as available evidence has been adduced, it would appear that the only sepulchral remains, proved to have been older than the custom of cremation, are the chambered cairns in the south-west of England. When, however, the analogous cairns of Argyllshire, Caithness, and the Orkney Islands were constructed, the religious wave had already enveloped Northern Britain. Hence, though generally destitute of bronze relics, these structures were generally contemporary with the Bronze Age burials elsewhere in Britain.... The explanation ... is that in out-of-the-way localities ... the Stone Age civilisation lingered longer than in those on the main routes of commercial intercourse.’ Certainly; but no sepulchral remains in Britain are ‘proved to have been older than the custom of cremation’. Inhumation preceded cremation in Cornwall;[2153] but there is no evidence that when inhumation was first practised there cremation was not practised in other parts of Britain. Though cremation was very rare in the chambered long barrows of Gloucestershire and Wiltshire, it was not unknown:[2154] it was almost universal in the unchambered long barrows of Yorkshire; and it cannot be proved that they were later than the chambered long barrows of Wiltshire and Gloucestershire.[2155] The chambered cairns of Scotland were not only ‘generally’ but absolutely ‘destitute of bronze relics’. Very likely some of them may have been erected after the Bronze Age had commenced in Southern Britain; but even this can hardly be proved. What has been proved is that even in the Palaeolithic Age in the caves near Mentone cremation was already practised side by side with inhumation.[2156]

[Since the rough draft of this note was written Professor Boyd Dawkins[2157] has asserted that the long chambered barrow of Stoney Littleton belonged to the Bronze Age, while he admits, apparently because it did not contain cremated interments, that the long chambered barrow of Rodmarton was neolithic.[2158]]

Professor Ridgeway’s views, which are expounded in his well-known chapter, ‘Cremation, Inhumation, and the Soul,’ have been noticed in the first part of this book. In regard to Western usage he blunders in a way which makes me hesitate to accept his statements about archaeological details that I have not myself studied. He says that ‘in Dorsetshire ... the extended position seems to be the prevalent one’,[2159] a remark which I have already noted[2160] as an instance of the danger of relying upon second-hand evidence; he implies that the invaders who ‘conquered Dorset, Wiltshire, and Cornwall’ in the Bronze Age were Belgae;[2161] and he states that ‘in France inhumation was universal before the age of metal’,[2162] which, as I have shown,[2163] is contrary to fact.

SEPULCHRAL POTTERY

Some antiquaries have maintained that drinking-cups, food-vessels, incense-cups, and urns were not specially made for sepulchral purposes, but were merely ordinary domestic vessels.[2164] On the other hand, it has been urged that most of them were too fragile to stand rough usage; that many are so contracted at the bottom that they would have been ill adapted to serve as table or culinary ware; that the food-vessels and the drinking-cups were too porous to hold fluid long, while the shape of most of them would have made them inconvenient for any ordinary purpose; and that all are wholly unlike the domestic pottery which has actually been found in hut-circles, forts, barrows, and the Heathery Burn Cave.[2165] Mr. J. R. Mortimer[2166] replies that drinking-cups and food-vessels were quite strong enough for domestic use; that ‘the form of the typical drinking-cup is well chosen for the purpose its name implies, and most of the food-vessels are the prototypes of our ... porringers, jars’, &c. It may be admitted that some few food-vessels, for instance the one figured by Thurnam in Archaeologia, xliii, 381, are, apart from their decoration, not unlike domestic bowls; but what about incense-cups? The truth perhaps lies between the opposing views; for drinking-cups and food-vessels have been exhumed from pit-dwellings near Taplow;[2167] and Pitt-Rivers,[2168] speaking of an urn which was found on the bottom of the ditch of the camp in South Lodge Park in his estate, observes that ‘it is more probable that the urn would be found in the ditch thrown away as refuse if it was in ordinary use, than if it were only fabricated for ceremonial purposes’. He remarks further that ‘the large quantities of pottery of the same quality ... afterwards found in different parts of the Camp, confirms this opinion [that sepulchral pottery was used for domestic purposes], as it could not all have been used for funeral urns’.[2169] Moreover, fragments of ornamental pottery of the drinking-cup type were found by Pitt-Rivers in a pit in Martin Down Camp.[2170] Still, the fact remains that only a very small proportion of the pottery which is commonly called sepulchral has been found outside sepulchres; and even it may have been intended for sepulchral use.

STONEHENGE

Stonehenge has exercised the minds of many generations of antiquaries. An exhaustive bibliography, filling 169 pages and containing the titles of 947 books and articles, was published in the Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine for 1901: but nearly all the works therein enumerated are obsolete; and any one who wishes to form an independent judgement will find all the necessary materials in the volumes which will be referred to in this article.

I. Modern opinion has for some time been tending to the conclusion that Stonehenge was erected, or at least began to be erected, in the Bronze Age. Excavation has proved that it did not exist before the use of copper or bronze, however uncommon it may have been, was known in this country;[2171] and the arguments of Rickman,[2172] James Fergusson,[2173] and others who contend for a Roman or post-Roman date have been or can be demolished. To refute them in the text of this article would be useless; for no competent archaeologist now regards them as worth discussion.[2174]

Dr. Arthur Evans maintains that Stonehenge was built in the earlier half of the third century before Christ, although some parts of it may be of later date; that ‘sun worship was at most a secondary object in its structure’; and that it was ‘one of a large series of primitive religious monuments that grew out of purely sepulchral architecture’. Let us first consider the question of date.

Dr. Evans has no difficulty in establishing, what has already been demonstrated in Part I of this book,[2175] that ‘Stonehenge was at least begun before the close of the Wiltshire “Round-Barrow” Period’.[2176] At the same time he holds that ‘its foundation belongs to the conclusion of this period’. He points out that ‘of 36 disk-shaped barrows [in the neighbourhood of Stonehenge] 35 contained cremation interments.... The number of glass beads contained in these barrows is also,’ he continues, ‘evidence of their comparatively late date[2177].... The general inference which we draw from the intimate structural connexion between Stonehenge and these disk-shaped barrows is, that the great stone circles themselves were erected towards the close of the Round-Barrow Period. The proportionately frequent occurrence of gold relics in barrows in the immediate neighbourhood of Stonehenge, 4 out of 5 such discoveries having been made within half-a-mile of this monument, points in the same direction.’ And if it should be argued that the barrows may have been built after the erection of Stonehenge, his answer would be that ‘the barrows themselves, with the exception of the two within its own area, are disposed without any reference to Stonehenge, and do not in any way cluster about it, as we might reasonably have expected them to do had the bulk of them been reared after the Stone Circle’. Dr. Evans then observes that an amber collar ‘found in one of the Lake barrows about two miles from Stonehenge ... is of a form and arrangement identical with the amber necklaces found in the great cemetery at Hallstatt, and from the similar character of the boring of the beads must in all probability have come from the same centre of manufacture’; and he endeavours to show that we may infer from recent discoveries that ‘a large proportion of the Hallstatt remains reach down to the period between the approximate dates of 450-300 B.C.’[2178] On the other hand, Late Celtic antiquities, which began to appear in Britain ‘at least as early as the second century B.C.’, are absent from the barrows of Wiltshire; and the latest date which can be assigned to these barrows is about 250 B.C. Dr. Evans concludes that ‘we may approximately refer the foundation of Stonehenge to the end of the fourth or beginning of the third century’.[2179]

Some of these arguments do not appear to have much weight. Dr. Evans himself admits that there is a great structural distinction between Stonehenge and the disk-shaped barrows:[2180] in the latter the surrounding ditch is inside the bank; in the Stonehenge vallum it is outside. Those barrows at all events in which chippings of the stones were found were later than Stonehenge;[2181] and whatever conclusion may be drawn from the arrangement of the barrows, their number is so great as to suggest the inference that many of them were erected there because Stonehenge was regarded as a holy place. In a recent article,[2182] however, Dr. Evans has reinforced his argument, pointing out that the circle called the Rollright Stones, which stands on a hill overlooking the valley of the Warwickshire Stour, also stands ‘in immediate relation to a large group of [disk-shaped] sepulchral barrows’, and giving additional and conclusive evidence as to the late date of these particular monuments. He would not, however, I believe, now assign to Stonehenge quite so early a date as the ‘beginning of the third century’; for the commencement of our Early Iron Age is commonly referred to about 400 B.C.[2183] Of the two barrows in which Hoare found chippings of the Stonehenge stones one was bell-shaped,[2184] the other belonged to the kind which he called ‘flat’,[2185] but which, as Thurnam points out,[2186] is simply a variety of the bowl-barrow; but Thurnam has given reasons for believing that many barrows of this form may not have been earlier than disk-shaped mounds.[2187]

In 1901 excavations were made at Stonehenge, but only in ‘a fraction of the whole site’, under the superintendence of Professor W. Gowland.[2188] The principal objects discovered were chippings from the ‘sarsens’ and ‘blue-stones’; more than one hundred stone implements, many of which were of flint, and had evidently been used for dressing the softer stones of the monument, while others consisted of ‘the hard quartzite variety of sarsen’; bones of domestic animals; ‘splinters of antlers of deer’; ‘a portion of a large antler with its lowest tine worn away,’ apparently from its having been used as a pick; and Roman coins, which, however, were only found in the superficial layers.[2189] ‘The layers of the excavations,’ says Professor Gowland, ‘in which the flint and stone tools were found was absolutely undisturbed ground’;[2190] and the chippings were found as far down as the surface of the bed rock. Only one trace of copper or bronze was visible, namely a stain, described by the formula CuCO₃, on a sarsen block, seven feet below the surface. The work of trimming the stones appears to have been done with stone implements only. The copper stain, however, proves that copper or bronze must have been in use at the time when the builders of Stonehenge were at work. Professor Gowland[2191] affirms that the stain ‘can only have been produced by prolonged contact with some very small object of copper or bronze or some material containing copper.... It may perhaps have been an ornament, but cannot possibly have been an implement.’ He argues, further, that ‘even if metal tools were of no use for this particular work, it is difficult to believe that, if the monument were of the Bronze Age, no bronze implement would have been lost in the course of its erection’.[2192] I, on the other hand, would remind him that no bronze has been found in the hut-circles of Dartmoor or in various cemeteries which undoubtedly belonged to the Bronze Age,[2193] and I suggest that if the workmen who built Stonehenge had no use for bronze tools when they were building it, they were not more likely to lose them on the site than the masons who built St. Paul’s Cathedral to drop their table knives within the area of the churchyard. However, Professor Gowland does not pin his faith upon this argument. He points out[2194] that many of the flint implements which he discovered at Stonehenge closely resemble those which were discovered by Canon Greenwell at Grime’s Graves, and which were attributed by him to the close of the Neolithic Age, or, at the latest, to a period when bronze had not come into general use.[2195] But nobody who has learned the ABC of archaeology needs to be told that stone implements were used long after the introduction of bronze;[2196] and no expert sees anything improbable in the theory that such tools were used in constructing Stonehenge towards the end of the Bronze Age. Besides, as Professor Gowland admits, Dr. Maskelyne has pointed out that ‘bronze tools would not work sarsens’;[2197] assuming, then, that Stonehenge was erected in the Bronze Age, how could the sarsens have been dressed except with implements of stone? But the discovery upon which Professor Gowland lays the most stress is that of the deer-horn pick. Similar picks were found in large numbers at Grime’s Graves. The one which Professor Gowland found, if it really was a pick, must have been used for excavating the pits in which the stones of Stonehenge were erected; and Professor Gowland argues that if bronze tools had been in use at the time, ‘it would seem not unreasonable to assume that they would have been employed, as they would have been so much more effective for such work than the picks of deer’s horn.’[2198] But no bronze pick has ever been found in this country; and deer-horn picks have been found in interments of the Bronze Age,[2199] and even in a Romano-British deposit in the village of Woodyates on Cranborne Chase.[2200] Professor Gowland provisionally assigns the date ‘about 2000-1800 B.C.’ for the erection of Stonehenge; and he adds that Sir Norman Lockyer’s astronomical calculation ‘gives an approximate date ... of 1680 B.C., with a margin of error ± 200 years’.

More than one attempt has been made to determine the date of Stonehenge from the orientation of its axis; and these attempts have been founded upon the assumption that one, at all events, of the objects which the builders had in view was the worship of the sun. ‘The chief evidence,’ as Sir Norman Lockyer and the late Mr. F. C. Penrose have observed, ‘lies in the fact that an “avenue” ... formed by two ancient earthen banks, extends for a considerable distance from the structure, in the general direction of the sunrise at the summer solstice.’[2201] On the avenue, 100 feet from the so-called Slaughter Stone, stands a large monolith, called the ‘Friar’s Heel’, or the ‘Heel Stone’. At one time it was generally assumed that on Midsummer Day, at the time when Stonehenge was built, an observer, standing on or behind the ‘Altar Stone’, could see the sun rising above the tip of the Heel Stone. At the present time, however, as Mr. Arthur Hinks points out, ‘the sun rises further south than it has done for the last ten thousand years’; and yet, from the point of view of an observer standing behind the Altar Stone, ‘it still rises north of the stone.’[2202] In fact ‘it is some seven days before or after midsummer day when it rises directly over the stone’.[2203] Moreover, as Professor Flinders Petrie[2204] says, the ‘skew position’ of the Altar Stone would seem to show that it is not now in its original position. Accordingly Sir Norman Lockyer felt obliged to leave the Friar’s Heel out of his calculations, and to confine himself to attempting to determine the orientation of the avenue.[2205] The method which he and his colleague adopted was to peg out as accurately as possible ‘the central line between the low and often mutilated banks’ of the avenue, and then to measure ‘the bearings of two sections of this line near the beginning and the end’.[2206] ‘The resulting observations,’ he tells us, ‘gave for the axis of the avenue nearest the commencement an azimuth of 49° 38′ 48″, and for that of the more distant 49° 32′ 54″.’[2207] But neither of these measurements was adopted by Sir Norman. He found, or thought that he found, that the mean between the two values which he had obtained, namely, 49° 35′ 51″, was ‘confirmed by the information, supplied by the Ordnance Survey, that from the centre of the temple [Stonehenge] the bearing of the principal bench mark on the ancient fortified hill, about eight miles distant, a well-known British encampment named.... Sidbury, is 49° 34′ 18″; and that the same line continued through Stonehenge to the south-west strikes another ancient fortification, namely, Grovely Castle, about six miles distant, and at practically the same azimuth, viz., 49° 35′ 51″. For the above reasons,’ he says, ‘49° 34′ 18″ has been adopted for the azimuth of the avenue.’[2208] Having regard to the rate of change in the obliquity of the ecliptic,[2209] he concluded that the date of the foundation of Stonehenge was 1680 B.C.; but he admits that this date ‘may possibly be in error by ±200 years’.[2210]

It would appear then that, if Sir Norman Lockyer’s calculations are well founded, Stonehenge was erected at some time between 1880 and 1480 B.C. Certainly the conclusion does not err on the side of excessive precision. But the foundation upon which the calculations rest has been shown by Mr. Hinks to be rotten. To begin with, the assumption that Sidbury Hill was connected with the erection of Stonehenge is absurd. Does Sir Norman Lockyer mean to suggest that the bench mark was prehistoric? ‘In our climate,’ says Mr. Hinks, ‘Sidbury is probably not visible from Stonehenge at sunrise once in twenty years.’[2211] In point of fact it is never so visible: only the trees on the top of the hill are to be seen. Furthermore, as Mr. Hinks points out, Sir Norman Lockyer has assumed that ‘for [the temple of] Karnak the moment of sunset was when the sun’s centre had just reached the horizon; for Stonehenge sunrise was the moment when the first tip of the sun appeared above the hill. It was necessary to adopt these precise yet different phases for the two cases, because any other assumptions would have led to results obviously absurd.’[2212] Finally, Sir Norman Lockyer is obliged to assume that the builders of Stonehenge could tell the exact day on which the midsummer solstice occurred. The utter improbability of this assumption must be apparent to any one who remembers that the astronomer who constructed the Julian calendar miscalculated the dates both of the summer and of the winter solstice.[2213]

Mr. E. J. Webb, whose brilliant article in the Edinburgh Review of October, 1894, demolished Sir Norman Lockyer’s theory as to the orientation of the Egyptian temples,[2214] has written me a letter in which the futility of attempting to determine the date of Stonehenge by astronomical reasoning is explained with a clearness which leaves nothing to be desired. ‘As,’ he writes, ‘the sun in our latitudes does not rise at right angles to the horizon, but with a considerable slant, it follows that the place where his upper rim begins to appear is appreciably further towards the north than the place where his centre appears, and this again than the place where he is first seen fully risen,--that is, where his lower edge touches the horizon.’ Now I think myself that, even if we could credit the builders with complete accuracy, attempts to get the date of the building astronomically would be vain, because (1) we do not know the exact place (if such there was) at which the observer’s eye was supposed to be placed. (Flinders Petrie does to some extent get over this difficulty by supposing that the observer took up a position from which the point of the Heel Stone appears exactly level with the horizon. I doubt, however, whether we have a right to be sure that the point is exactly where it was at first. Some of the stones have leaned over considerably, and why not this? But the difficulty is much greater for Lockyer, who takes no account of the Heel Stone.) (2) We do not know whether the ancients would have understood by the moment of sunrise the moment when the sun’s upper rim appears (A), or the moment when his centre appears (B), or the moment when his lower rim appears (C). (3) Even if we did know this, yet, as every one who has watched the sun rise must admit, it is practically quite impossible to be certain when any one of these moments occurs. Lockyer tacitly admits this when he arbitrarily takes as the moment of first appearance the time when 2′ (about 1/16) of the sun’s disc are risen.

‘It is clear that (A being assumed) when Stonehenge was built, an observer looking along Flinders Petrie’s line of sight would see the Friar’s Heel considerably to the south of the place of sunrise, inasmuch as, though that place has ever since been moving southwards, we see it slightly to the south even now. Lockyer therefore puts the Friar’s Heel out of his theory altogether, in the belief that a stone which did not exactly mark the place of the most northerly sunrise could be of no use. I think, on the other hand, that a stone placed a little too far south would probably suit what is likely to have been the purpose in view even better than one which exactly marked the solstitial sunrise. For if, instead of asserting that Stonehenge was roofed over, and a beam of light admitted at the moment of sunrise to its darkened sanctuary[2215]--all of which is pure guesswork--we suppose that the builders were contemplating merely such bonfires and rejoicings as, by Lockyer’s own admission, certainly have taken place in various parts of the world, may we not ask how people in those ancient days knew when these festivities were to be held. For the later days, of which we have knowledge, the answer is easy enough: then people had the Julian calendar, according to which St. John’s Day, or whatever day was selected, always recurred at the same place in the solar year, whether at, or before, or after the solstice. But we do not know whether in pre-Roman times the inhabitants of Wiltshire had any settled calendar at all; and if they had, it is probable that, as in almost all ancient calendars, the days of the month, and therefore most likely the festivals, were reckoned by the moon.[2216] The fifteenth, let us say, of a particular month meant the day when a particular moon was fifteen days old; and if this day should coincide in one year with the solstice, it would not coincide with it the next year, and could not have coincided with it the year before. How then could people tell when the Midsummer festival ought to be held? I answer that they might have very easily done so some time beforehand by the aid of a stone set up so as to mark, not the solstitial sunrise itself, but an earlier--and therefore of course also a later--one. If the Friar’s Heel stood, as on Lockyer’s theory it did, some little way to the south of the place of the midsummer sunrise, then the sun must have risen over it twice--first towards the end of his journey north, just before the solstice, and secondly on his return southward, just after the solstice. Now if the Stonehenge people looked out for the morning on which the sun first seemed to rise over the stone, and counted the days to a morning when he seemed to rise there again on his return journey, they could, by halving this number, obtain the time of the solstice with as much accuracy as they could have required. After doing this once, they could in following years always know, by watching the sun’s first approach to the Friar’s Heel, for what day to appoint the midsummer rejoicings. That these rejoicings took place at sunrise I do not assert. Bonfires, at least in these times, usually take place at night.... I do not think we have any right to say with certainty that any solstitial festival ever took place at Stonehenge or near it. For even granting that, as seems not unlikely, Stonehenge was orientated more or less closely to the solstitial sunrise, and that the Friar’s Heel was really used for the observation of the sun, it does not follow that Stonehenge was a “solar temple” any more than Milan Cathedral, which is orientated more or less closely to the equinoctial sunset, and has had a meridian line traced upon its pavement. And even if we knew that it was a solar temple, we should have no right to infer what kind of worship went on there.’[2217]

Although Dr. Evans’s arguments are not all equally strong, there can be little doubt that his view as to the date of the erection of Stonehenge is approximately correct. The stones were certainly not standing when round barrows were first erected on Salisbury Plain; for one is contained within the vallum, which, moreover, encroaches upon another.[2218] Mr. F. R. Coles has shown that ‘so far as direct evidence has been obtained by rightly conducted excavations, the outstanding feature of all the Scottish circles that have been investigated is the presence within them of interments of the Bronze Age’.[2219] That Stonehenge was erected before the close of this period, or at all events before the dawn of the Iron Age in Wiltshire, is certain; and, as it was the most elaborate and highly finished of all the stone circles of Great Britain, we may fairly infer that it was one of the latest of them all.

II. The most interesting pages of Dr. Evans’s article are those in which he attempts to trace the pedigree, so to speak, of Stonehenge, and to divine the purpose of its builders. He cites instances to show that ‘wherever the meaning of these great stone monuments has been clearly revealed to us, we find them connected either directly or indirectly with sepulchral usage’.[2220] He contends that in the most characteristic examples ‘the Circle is an enlarged version of the ring of stones placed round the grave-mound; the Dolmen represents the cist within it; the Avenue is merely the continuation of the underground gallery, which in our earliest barrows leads to the sepulchral chamber’.[2221] But is there any evidence that interments ever did take place within the precincts of Stonehenge? General Pitt-Rivers remarked that the question could be definitely settled by excavation;[2222] but scientific excavation, as we have seen, has hitherto been confined within a small area. The evidence amounts to this:--a vessel, which Dr. Evans calls an incense-cup, was discovered by Inigo Jones,[2223] and incense-cups have never been found except in association with interments;[2224] while the numerous bones of domestic animals which have been exhumed, along with charcoal and fragments of pottery, from the interior circle,[2225] point to the conclusion that Stonehenge was the scene of sepulchral rites such as we know to have been performed in barrows.[2226] Furthermore, the older monument of Avebury contains two smaller stone circles, within each of which are the remains of a stone chamber, which, Dr. Evans argues, ‘there can be little doubt once contained interments.’[2227] But Dr. Evans is at no great pains to argue that Stonehenge was itself a cemetery: it is on its connexion, close or distant, with sepulchral usage that he lays stress. While he points out that ‘in the case of the Chambered Barrows the [surrounding] stones may be said still to fulfil an original structural function’, he holds that ‘in the case of the Circles they bear a more purely ritual signification. In some cases,’ he adds, ‘we find transitional examples in which the stone circle is actually seen in the act as it were of separating itself from the earth barrows. Thus in the great monument of New Grange [in Ireland] the stone circle is separated by an interval of some twenty feet from the central mound.’ Then, going to the Far East for an illustration, he tells us that, while the stone circles and dolmens which are still erected by the Khasis of Assam ‘are in themselves non-sepulchral’, they ‘are reared as a propitiation either to the departed Spirits of their own ancestors or to any other Spirit’.[2228] But Dr. Evans does not deny that Stonehenge was also a solar temple: he admits, indeed, that its orientation ‘certainly seems to associate the Sun in the religion of the spot’.[2229] This theory is supported by observations made by Professor Gowland in Japan. ‘There,’ he tells us, ‘on the seashore at Futa-mi-gaura ... the orientation of the shrine of adoration is given by two gigantic rocks which rise from the sea as natural pillars. The sun, as it rises over the mountains of the distant shore, is observed between them, and the customary prayers and adorations made ... the point from which the sun is revered is marked by a structure of the form of a trilithon,’[2230] &c.

But although some evidence has been collected in support of the theory that certain stone circles in the British Isles and elsewhere were orientated more or less closely to the Midsummer sunrise, it does not necessarily follow that they were solar temples;[2231] and a scientifically conducted examination of the circles of Kincardineshire and Aberdeenshire has shown that their main diameters ‘are in scarcely any instance oriented (sic) to any point of the compass as we understand the term’;[2232] while Mr. W. C. Lukis, pointing out that on Dartmoor and in Cornwall circles are to be found in clusters, and that there are three circles quite close to one another at Stanton Drew, asks, ‘if they were temples, why should the worshippers have been gathered into separate congregations?’[2233] The only answer which I can suggest is that while each of these circles was probably erected either for sepulchral purposes or in honour of a dead ancestor, the rites which were from time to time solemnized within them may have been connected with the worship of the sun. There is no reason to believe that in any megalithic circle in the British Isles solar worship was more than incidental.

About forty years ago the late distinguished archaeologist, Professor Nilsson, wrote an article,[2234] the main object of which was to prove that Stonehenge was a temple of Phoenician origin, consecrated to the worship of Baal; but the evidence upon which he relied was so unsubstantial that no useful purpose would be served by summarizing his arguments, which, indeed, are virtually obsolete.

Professor Flinders Petrie[2235] argues that certain parts of Stonehenge are much later than others; and Dr. Evans, who agrees with him, remarks that ‘this is strongly shown by the fact that each of the Stone Circles as well as the Earth Circle has a different centre’.[2236] Dr. Evans also points out that, in the case of the circles which are still erected in the East, ‘the huge blocks are not all put up at one time but in batches of an equal number of stones at intervals of time.’

Professor Gowland has shown that the sarsen stones in the outer circle must have been erected before the trilithons, and the trilithons before the blue-stones.[2237] ‘That the stones,’ he remarks, ‘of the central trilithon were erected from the inside of the circle has been conclusively demonstrated by the excavations; hence the “blue-stones” in front cannot have been erected before them. Moreover, the “bluestone”, No. 68, the base of which was laid bare in Excavation V, was found to be set in the rubble which had been used to fill up the foundation of No. 56, and further, in a lower layer than its base, there were two ... blocks of sarsen with tooled surfaces.... If [the outer sarsens were set up] from the inside [of the circle], their erection must have preceded that of the trilithons and hence of the “bluestones”. On the other hand, should the outer sarsens have been reared from the outside, it would not be possible for the “bluestones” to have been placed in position before them, as they would then have seriously interfered with, if not altogether prevented the erecting operations.’ Mr. William Cunnington, however, observes that ‘the fact that specimens of all the varieties of rocks which constitute the inner circle of Stonehenge have been found in the mixed substance at the base of ... [the stump of one of the blue-stones] proves that they were all on the spot when the inner ellipse was erected’;[2238] and Professor Gowland, who confirms this view, concludes that ‘no long interval of time separated the erection of the sarsen and the “bluestone” monoliths, although the work must have occupied a considerable period’.

III. Unwarned by the Edinburgh Review and Mr. Hinks, Sir Norman Lockyer published in Nature[2239] a series of ‘Notes on Stonehenge’, which might be safely ignored if his authority had not made converts, even among archaeologists and men of science who happen to be ignorant of certain essential facts. He now maintains that the sarsens ‘and above all the trilithons of the magnificent naos represent a re-dedication and a re-construction of a much older temple’; and, further, that ‘the older temple dealt, primarily but not exclusively, with the May year’, while ‘the newer temple represented a change of cult, and was dedicated primarily to the solstitial year’. It is unnecessary to examine in detail the process by which he has endeavoured to establish these conclusions; but I shall give a few specimens of his work.

‘Acting,’ says Sir Norman, ‘on a very old tradition, the people from Salisbury and other surrounding places go to observe the sunrise on the longest day of the year at Stonehenge. We therefore,’ he concludes, ‘are perfectly justified in assuming that it was a solar temple.’[2240] Not improbably it was--from one point of view; but how old is the tradition? The earliest extant mention of Stonehenge is in the Historia Anglorum[2241] of Henry of Huntingdon, who lived in the twelfth century, but who does not refer to the tradition. Stonehenge, according to Sir Norman Lockyer, was rebuilt in 1680 B.C. It is therefore impossible to prove that the tradition originated even as early as two thousand nine hundred years after the alleged date of the alleged second dedication of Stonehenge. Tentatively I would suggest that it may have arisen after 1771, when the astronomical theory was anticipated by a Dr. John Smith.[2242]

Among the ‘considerations’ to which Sir Norman would ‘direct attention’ in support of his theory the fifth[2243] runs as follows:--‘It is quite possible that the rebuilding of the temple in 1680 B.C. was part of a very large general plan which could only have been undertaken by a large, powerful and comparatively civilized tribe or people under strict government, commanding the services of skilled mathematicians, for Stonehenge, Old Sarum, and Grovely Castle occupy the points of an equilateral triangle of exactly six miles in the sides, and the three sides are continuations of the entrances at Stonehenge and Old Sarum and of a ditch running through the centre of Grovely Castle, and the line Stonehenge--Old Sarum passes exactly through Salisbury Spire, which again is exactly two miles from Sarum. We ought to restore the old name, Solisbury.’

‘Skilled mathematicians’ on Salisbury Plain in 1680 B.C., a thousand years before the dawn of mathematics in Greece,[2244] busily engaged in forming, for some recondite religious purpose, gigantic equilateral triangles! Sir Norman italicized the word ‘exactly’. Evidently then he wished to impress upon us, in proof of the mathematicians’ skill, not only that they made their triangle equilateral, but that each side measured six miles,--no more and no less. Is it not a remarkable coincidence that the unit of measurement in the British Bronze Age was the English statute mile? I confess that I cannot grasp the significance of the prolongation of ‘the line Stonehenge--Old Sarum’ to Salisbury Spire, or of the fact that this additional section was ‘exactly two miles long’, unless the builders of Stonehenge were Christians as well as mathematicians and Salisbury Spire was standing in 1680 B.C. Nor indeed, it should seem, can Sir Norman himself: at all events in Stonehenge and other British Monuments Astronomically considered--a book which is, in the main, a reproduction of his ‘Notes’--the passage which I have quoted disappears: equilateral triangle and skilled mathematicians are left to the kindly obscurity of Nature. But if ‘the line Stonehenge--Old Sarum’ and the line Stonehenge--Grovely Castle have lost all significance, why persist in staking a hopeless case upon the imaginary importance of the line Stonehenge--Sidbury Hill?

Sir Norman Lockyer has not restricted his researches to Stonehenge, sun-worship, and the solstitial year. He has discovered instances in which stone circles have been used for the observation not of the sun but of the stars, and in which, ‘on account of the change in a star’s place due to precession,’ ‘the sight line has been changed in the Egyptian manner.’[2245] Among these astral temples were ‘the three circles of the Hurlers, near Liskeard’ and ‘the circles at Stanton Drew’. After an interesting calculation he announces that ‘we have the following declinations approximately:--

The Hurlers. Lat. 50° 31′ Stanton Drew. Lat. 51° 10′ Dec. N. 38½° Dec. N. 37° ” 38° ” 36½° ” 37°

Here then,’ he observes, ‘we have declinations to work on, but declinations of what star? Vega is ruled out as its declination is too high.’ He concludes that the star which ‘the astronomer-priests’ observed was Arcturus, and that ‘the approximate dates of the use of the three circles at the Hurlers’ are 1600 B.C. for the southern, 1500 for the central, and 1300 for the northern circle; and at Stanton Drew 1260 B.C. for the great circle and 1075 B.C. for the south-western circle.[2246]

Once more I am puzzled. Sir Norman remarks that all these circles are considerably older than Stonehenge.[2247] Stonehenge, he says, was in use as a solar temple in 1680 B.C. and a good deal earlier: none of the older circles began to be used as an astral temple until 1600 B.C. Why? Surely not because Arcturus, Capella, and Vega all refuse to fit in with ‘the sight lines’ which Sir Norman has discovered except at inconveniently late dates? Again, ‘Vega is ruled out as its declination is too high.’ But the present declination of Vega happens to be exactly 38½°. ‘In other words,’ as Mr. Webb writes to me, ‘there exists between the circle and one of the brightest stars in the sky a perfect correspondence, which is nevertheless, beyond all possibility of doubt, wholly accidental.’ Why did Sir Norman omit to mention this significant fact?

But second thoughts or kind friends have once more come to Sir Norman’s rescue. In his book ‘Vega is ruled out as its declination was too high’[2248] (the italics are mine). ‘He had become aware,’ remarks the lynx-eyed Mr. Webb, ‘of the damaging fact that the present declination of Vega actually is 38½° N., in other words that, on his own principles, we can prove that the Hurlers were set up to-day.’

THE CASSITERIDES, ICTIS, AND THE BRITISH TRADE IN TIN

I. THE CASSITERIDES

I. The identity of ‘the tin-islands’, which ancient writers called the Cassiterides, is still a matter of dispute. Professor Haverfield, indeed, has affirmed that ‘the recent researches of Usener [for which read Unger], Rhys, and others, have made it almost certain that the Cassiterides were off N.W. Spain’.[2249] Professor Rhys shall speak for himself. ‘M. Reinach,’ he says,[2250] ‘argues, convincingly as it seems to me, that the Cassiterides meant the Celtic islands, or, as I may call them, the British Isles.’ And, if anything relating to this question is certain, it is that the islands off North-Western Spain, which are supposed to have been the tin-islands, have never produced any tin at all.[2251]

One group of scholars insists that all the ancient writers who mentioned the Cassiterides associated them with Spain. But what if the ancient writers were misinformed, or misunderstood their informants? Another group insists that for the metallurgists of ancient Europe the sole source of tin was the British Isles; and with this pronouncement they would apply the closure to the debate. But the British Isles were not the sole source;[2252] and the debaters persist in wrangling. If the only question were, From what parts of Europe did the Greeks and Romans derive tin, it could be answered in a sentence:--from Galicia in Spain, Cornwall, and, possibly, the Scilly Islands.[2253] But this is not the only question. What we want to know is, Were the ancient writers misled into believing that the Cassiterides were islands? If they were not misled, were they all thinking of the same islands? Or did they attempt to indicate the position of the Cassiterides by simply guessing? If they were misled, was the district to which their informants alluded Galicia or Cornwall, or did they refer to both? Did the ancient writers fancy that islands used as depots for tin were the places in which the mines were situated? Did those who professed to inform them intentionally mislead them?

The theories which have recently held or still hold the field are, first, that the Cassiterides were a group of islets off the north-western coast of Spain; secondly, that they were headlands of the same coast; thirdly, that they were the Scilly Islands; fourthly, that they were Cornwall, which is supposed by some writers to have been regarded either as an island or as a group of islands, separated by estuaries, which were erroneously believed to be channels; and, lastly, that they were the British Isles.[2254]

II. Diodorus Siculus,[2255] after stating that tin was produced in Britain and in many parts of Iberia, goes on to say that there are many tin mines in the islands called Cassiterides, which are situated in the ocean, off the coast of Iberia and above the country of the Lusitani.[2256] Strabo mentions the Cassiterides four times. In the first passage[2257] he says that the extremity of the Pyrenees is opposite the western parts of Britain, and that the Cassiterides, which are situated in the same latitude as Britain, are in the open sea, opposite to and north of the Artabri. In the second[2258] he mentions both the Cassiterides and the British Isles, clearly distinguishing the two groups. In the third[2259] he says that, according to Posidonius, tin was produced in the country beyond [that is to say, north of] the Lusitani, and also in the Cassiterides; that tin was conveyed from the British Isles to Massilia, and that, according to the same authority, tin, silver, and gold were produced in the country of the Artabri, the most remote tribe of Lusitania, who face the north-west. In the fourth[2260] he says that the Cassiterides are ten in number and lie close together in the open sea, north of the harbour of the Artabri; that one of them is uninhabited; and that the inhabitants of the rest wear black robes reaching down to their feet, and walk about with staves in their hands, ‘like the Furies in tragedy.’ They are, he says, nomadic, and live upon flesh meat; and they barter tin and hides with merchants for pottery, salt, and articles of bronze. Formerly, he adds, the Phoenicians monopolized the trade from Gades, or Cadiz, with the islanders; and they kept the route a close secret, which, however, the Romans, after numerous attempts, succeeded in discovering. Finally, Publius Crassus sailed across (διαβάς) to the islands, ascertained that the tin lay near the surface, and indicated the route for the benefit of traders, ‘although the passage was longer than that [from the continent] to Britain.’ In another passage[2261] Strabo says that the Artabri dwell in the neighbourhood of the north-western promontory of Iberia, which he identifies with the Nerian promontory.[2262] Pomponius Mela,[2263] himself a Spaniard, immediately after speaking of Baetica and Lusitania, and immediately before mentioning the island of Sena, which was off the coast of Brittany, states that the Cassiterides are situated in Celticis. Pliny[2264] says that the Cassiterides, so called from the abundance of tin which they produce, are situated over against Celtiberia, and that opposite the promontory of the Arrotrebae are ‘the six islands of the Gods’, which some call ‘the Fortunate Isles’. In another passage[2265] he says that tin was first fetched from ‘the island Cassiteris’ (or from ‘the tin island’) by Midacritus, whom M. d’Arbois de Jubainville,[2266] wrongly, according to M. Salomon Reinach,[2267] identifies with ‘Melkarth, who personified the Phoenician race’. In a third passage[2268] Pliny says that tin has been fabulously reported to have been obtained from islands in the Atlantic. ‘Now,’ he continues, ‘it is certainly known to be produced in Lusitania and Galicia.’ By ‘islands in the Atlantic’ Pliny certainly did not, as Professor Ridgeway supposes,[2269] consciously mean the British Isles; for in his geographical system the northern limit of the Atlantic was marked by the north-western promontory of Spain.[2270] Ptolemy[2271] says that the Cassiterides are ten in number, and are situated in the western Ocean. Finally, Dionysius Periegetes[2272] says that ‘the western isles’, which produce tin, and are situated below the Sacred Promontory, or Cape St. Vincent, are inhabited by Iberians.

From a comparison of these statements it is clear, first, that the ancient geographers who mentioned the Cassiterides regarded them as distinct from the British Isles; secondly, that they believed them to be situated somewhere off the coast of Spain (although, as we shall presently see, the words of Strabo are not inconsistent with the theory that he identified them with the Scilly Islands, or even, unconsciously, with the British Isles); thirdly, that of those who attempted to define their position one associated them with the south-western, the others with the north-western coast; fourthly, that one writer mentioned an island, Cassiteris, from which tin was fetched; and, lastly, that this same writer, having affirmed that the tin islands were opposite Celtiberia, nevertheless denied that any islands in the Ocean which extended as far north as the north-western promontory of Spain produced tin.

III. Assume, for the sake of argument, that the Cassiterides were off the north-western coast of Spain. What, then, are the islands with which they are to be identified?

1. Unger[2273] remarks that it may be inferred from Ptolemy’s statement that they were south of the Nerian promontory and off the western coast of Galicia. Strabo, it is true, places them northward of the northern coast: but, says Unger,[2274] Strabo is wrong; for on the northern coast there are no islands distant more than one German mile [or between four and five English miles] from the shore, whereas Strabo himself says that the Cassiterides were further from the continent than Britain. Dionysius Periegetes was, by common consent, mistaken. Let us see then what islands we can find off North-Western Spain. The coast between Cape Ortegal and the mouth of the Douro is broken by several inlets or fiords, which are called Rias. East of Cape Finisterre, in the Ria de Corcubion, are three very small islands; and off the south-eastern entrance of this Ria, by Cape Minarzo, are six tiny islets. About 20 miles south-east of Cape Finisterre is the Ria of Muros and Noya: on the west of Mount Louro, which dominates the entrance of this fiord on its northern side, are the four small islands of Bruyos; and there are others within the fiord itself and south of it. Unger[2275] remarks that the small size of all these islands harmonizes with the word νησῖδες, or ‘islets’, which Diodorus applies to the Cassiterides; and that the smallest of them may have been left out of account when the number was given as ten. Off Pontevedra Bay, which is north of Vigo Bay, are the islands of Ons and Orcela.

Strabo says that the harbour of the Artabri, north of which he places the Cassiterides, was formed by a gulf on which were situated numerous cities.[2276] Mela[2277] describes a gulf in the country of the Artabri as having a narrow entrance and a wide circuit, and adds that four streams flowed into it; and Ptolemy,[2278] having first mentioned a harbour of the Artabri, immediately south of the Nerian promontory, speaks, in the next section but one, of ‘the Great Harbour’, on the shore of which he places Brigantium. The gulf mentioned by Mela and Ptolemy’s ‘Great Harbour’ correspond with the Ria of Betanzos and Ferrol, which is between Cape Finisterre and Cape Ortegal; but there are no islands north of this harbour. The identification of the harbour of the Artabri which Ptolemy places immediately south of the Nerian promontory depends of course upon the identification of the promontory itself. The latter is generally identified with Cape Finisterre; and if this view is correct, the harbour must have been the Ria de Corcubion. Unger, however, identifies the Nerian promontory with the bluff of land, between Cape Finisterre and Corunna, from which project the headlands of Punta del Roncudo, Punta de Nariga, and Cape de S. Adrian;[2279] and if he is right, Ptolemy’s harbour was the Ria of Corme and Lagos. But, as Unger points out, there are no islands off this harbour or north of it.[2280] It is clear, then, that if the Cassiterides really lay in Spanish waters and on the north of a harbour of the Artabri, that harbour must be looked for further south. Now Unger[2281] observes that Posidonius, as quoted by Strabo,[2282] makes the territory of the Artabri extend southward as far as the river Douro; for he says that their territory produced gold; and, says Unger, in the country of the Artabri, in the narrower sense, there are no auriferous streams. Accordingly, Unger identifies the harbour for which he has been searching with the Puerto de Bayona,--the southernmost inlet north of the Douro; and from this harbour he maintains that Crassus sailed to the Cassiterides, which he identifies with the islands of Bruyos. He points out that the distance from the northern entrance of the harbour, opposite the island of Bayona, to the islands of Bruyos is eight German miles. This distance exceeds that of the shortest passage between Britain and the continent; and accordingly Unger insists that it harmonizes with the statement of Strabo. But the point which he most strenuously labours is that ‘in this case only is explicable the circumstance, strikingly calculated to cause such a mistake as Strabo made, that Crassus sailed northward from a harbour on the west coast [of Galicia], and yet sailed in the open sea’.[2283]

Mr. Cecil Torr,[2284] on the other hand, insists that ‘unless it can be shown that there were tin mines on the islands [near Vigo], the story [of the voyage of Crassus] cannot be used to show that Crassus visited those islands’. Strabo, he adds, states precisely that the Cassiterides ‘lay to the north of Ἀρτάβρων λιμήν’, which ‘is obviously the gulf that now holds Ferrol and Corunna’. Here, as we have seen, there are, in Spanish waters, no islands; and Mr. Torr argues that ‘Strabo is so very accurate in his description of this part of Spain that his account of the Cassiterides cannot be explained away as an inaccurate description of the islands at Vigo.... It must be a bit of downright fiction repeated in good faith.’[2285] To this latter argument it might be replied, first, that just as Strabo was mistaken in supposing that the direction of the Pyrenees was from north to south, so he may have been mistaken in supposing that the Cassiterides were on the north of Spain; and, secondly, that the other writers whose testimony has been quoted place them off the west coast. No other reply, indeed, could be made by those who hold, like Unger, that the Cassiterides were in Spanish waters. But, for reasons which shall presently be given, I agree with Mr. Torr that Ἀρτάβρων λιμήν must have been ‘the gulf that now holds Ferrol and Corunna’, and also that Strabo’s ‘account of the Cassiterides cannot be explained away as an inaccurate description of the islands at [or rather near] Vigo’. Only I believe that he is wrong in regarding that account as ‘fiction’. Strabo’s Cassiterides were not in Spanish waters at all: they were, as he says, in the open sea, and far to the north of Corunna. Mr. Torr’s other objection rests upon the fact that tin was never produced in any island off the coast of Spain, except, possibly, in Ons,[2286] which, for reasons obvious to any one who consults the map of Spain, Unger does not include among the Cassiterides. The only possible answer to this objection has been already suggested in this article: it is that the islands may have served as depots to which the tin was conveyed from the mainland opposite, and that they may have been confounded with the districts in which the tin was actually produced. This suggestion, however, leaves unexplained the definite statement of Strabo, that Crassus sailed across to the islands and found that the islanders worked the tin easily because it lay near the surface. There remain three other objections, which, unless Strabo’s authority is to be absolutely discarded, appear insuperable. First, Strabo, I repeat, distinctly states that the islands were ‘in the open sea’ (πελαγιαι); and of the islands which Unger identifies with the Cassiterides not one is more than four statute miles from the mainland, while the nearest is not more than two. Secondly, as they are all within sight of land, their situation could never have been kept secret. Lastly, since it was unnecessary for those who desired to reach them to sail from the harbour of Vigo, and easy to sail across from the neighbouring Ria of Muros and Noya, it is difficult to understand why Strabo should have said that the distance which separated them from the mainland was greater than the distance from Gaul to Britain. It is true that the islanders, according to Strabo, dressed in black, and that, according to the same authority,[2287] the inhabitants of Lusitania did likewise; but any one who regards this as an argument for identifying the Cassiterides with the islands near Vigo must make up his mind to reject nearly all the details which are given by Strabo, and to pin his faith to the undoubted fact that the Cassiterides are placed by most of the ancient authorities off the coast of Spain. M. Salomon Reinach, however, with whom I agree, argues that ‘the fact that numerous [ancient] writers place the Cassiterides in geographical connexion with Spain only proves--what we knew before--that Phoenician Spain had commercial relations with those islands’.[2288]

2. M. Hans Hildebrand[2289] thinks that the Cassiterides were headlands of the Galician coast. He argues that if they are to be located ‘in England’, the name Cassiterides must be applied to headlands in Cornwall; accordingly, he says, ‘je demande la même concession pour ma théorie espagnole, savoir que ce nom désigne des caps.’[2290] But Cornwall is part of an island which is itself one of a group of islands: Spain is not an island at all. M. Hildebrand’s theory can by no ingenuity be defended except on the assumption that the ancient writers were misled by the fact that in the language of the Phoenicians, from whom the earliest notions about the Cassiterides may be supposed to have been derived, there was no word which specially denoted islands; and if it is accepted, not only must all the statements of those writers which relate to the situation of the islands, their number, their inhabitants, the mode in which the tin was extracted, and the voyage of Crassus, be rejected as absolutely fictitious, but it is utterly impossible to conceive how they should have originated.[2291]

3. The old-fashioned view, which identified the Cassiterides with the Scilly Islands, has even of late years had adherents of high reputation, such as Dr. von Gutschmid,[2292] Emil Hübner,[2293] and Mommsen.[2294] Although the bulk of the tin which supplied the wants of ancient Europe came from Cornwall and Spain, it is nevertheless not improbable that some came from the Scilly Islands.[2295] If so, the real Cassiterides were the Scilly Islands and ‘the adjacent island’ of Great Britain. But of the ancient writers there were only two of whom it can be maintained that when they referred to the Cassiterides they were thinking either of the Scilly Islands or of Cornwall,--Festus Avienus and Strabo.

Festus Avienus was a writer of the fourth century, whose Ora maritima was based either upon a Greek version of the Carthaginian account of the voyage of Himilco,[2296] or, as seems more probable, upon a Greek poem, which had itself been compiled from two distinct Greek narratives of different dates, the latter being assignable to the period between 240 and 150 B.C.[2297] After describing the rocky peninsula, Oestrymnis, he says that in the gulf formed by it lie the islands called Oestrymnides, which are widely scattered and rich in tin.[2298] He does not mention the Cassiterides at all. The Oestrymnides, however, are generally, and, if Festus was right in saying that they produced tin, necessarily identified with the Cassiterides: the peninsula is rightly identified with Brittany,[2299] or, more strictly speaking, with the promontory formed by Finistère; and therefore the gulf is either the Bay of Biscay, or the gulf in which lie the Channel Islands. After describing the Oestrymnides, Festus goes on to say that ‘from here it is two days’ sail to the Sacred Island’, that is to say, Ireland (hinc duobus in sacram sic insulam Dixere prisci solibus cursus rati est[2300]); and then, remarking that ‘the island of the Albiones’, or Britain, is near, he says that the Tartesii used to resort for trade to the Oestrymnides, and that the Carthaginians also used to sail ‘these seas’.[2301]

The question of the identity of the gulf is discussed by Friedrich Marx in an article on the Ora maritima,[2302] of which a summary has been given by Mr. W. H. Stevenson.[2303] Marx, says Mr. Stevenson, ‘explains the sub vertice [of the promontory or peninsula, Oestrymnis] of Avienus[2304] as referring to the maps of antiquity, and as having the sense of “northwards of”, so that the Tin Islands are conceived of as north of the promontory of Finistère.... The Tin Islands must therefore be the mainland of Britain and the Isle of Wight (which Marx considers to be included among the laxe iacentes insulae of Avienus), and cannot be explained as the Scilly Islands, which have nothing beyond their insular nature to favour the identification.’ But why ‘therefore’? What has the Isle of Wight beyond its ‘insular nature’ to ‘favour the identification’? If Marx is right in his interpretation of sub vertice, the gulf (sinus) lay north of ‘the promontory of Finistère’; and since it can hardly be maintained that this gulf was the English Channel, it must have been the gulf in which lie the Channel Islands. If it was the English Channel, Marx can hardly venture to argue that ‘the mainland of Britain’ is in the Channel. If any conclusion can be drawn from the words of Festus, it must be either that the laxe iacentes insulae were the Channel Islands and the sinus the gulf in which they are situated, or that the sinus was the Bay of Biscay and the insulae Ushant and the adjacent islets. But I agree with Mr. Stevenson that ‘the Tin Islands [of Avienus] ... cannot be explained as the Scilly Islands’, unless the indications which Avienus gives of their situation are utterly misleading.

Strabo, as we have seen, says that the Cassiterides were in the open sea northward from the harbour of the Artabri; and Mr. H. F. Tozer[2305] argues that, according to Strabo’s ‘idea of the relative position of these countries [Spain and Britain] this would place them a great distance to the west of the Scilly Islands’. This objection, however, assumes that Strabo was aware that the Scilly Islands were comparatively close to the Land’s End. Strabo imagined that the direction of the Pyrenees was from north to south; that the coast of Gaul extended in a straight line from the northern extremity of the Pyrenees to the mouth of the Rhine; and that the southern coast of Britain extended from a point nearly opposite and close to the northern extremity of the Pyrenees, parallel with the coast of Gaul.[2306] He expressly states that the Cassiterides were in the same latitude as Britain; and therefore, if he had intended to identify the Cassiterides with the Scilly Islands, it would have been quite natural for him to say that they lay north of the harbour of the Artabri.[2307] Müllenhoff[2308] indeed dismisses the claims of the Scilly Islands with contempt; but all that he has to say against them is that they never produced tin, and that they are small. The former objection is, as we have seen, unfounded; the latter is irrelevant, for small islands may contain mines, and the islands off the coast of Spain are smaller still.

But I am not concerned to argue that the sailors from whom the ancient writers, directly or indirectly, derived their information intended to convey that the Cassiterides were the Scilly Islands and the Scilly Islands alone; for, although the Scilly Islands did produce some tin, by far the greater part of the British supply of that metal doubtless came from Cornwall. Professor von Gutschmid indeed explains that ‘the tin was supposed [by the ancient writers] to be produced where it was exchanged,--a very common case’;[2309] and although the place where the Cornish tin was exchanged by the merchants who used the overland route was Ictis, or St. Michael’s Mount,[2310] the Phoenicians may possibly have found it convenient to occupy one of the Scilly Islands.[2311] But it seems to me safer to conclude that the Scilly Islands may have been originally included with Britain under the designation, Cassiterides.

The late distinguished geographer, H. Kiepert, maintained that although the name, Cassiterides, had been originally used by the Greeks to denote the tin-producing districts of Britain, it was erroneously applied by Strabo to the Scilly Islands. ‘Only to this group’, he insists, ‘can Strabo’s account of the discovery of the ten small Cassiterides-islands on the north of Hispania by ... Publius Crassus refer, as there are no other islands in this part of the ocean.’[2312]

4. George Smith, for whom the Cassiterides represented simply the Cornish peninsula,[2313] observed, anticipating a similar argument of Mr. Cecil Torr,[2314] that ‘the Hebrew, Phoenician, and cognate languages had no terms which distinctly specified islands, peninsulas, &c.; one word being used to signify islands, sea-coasts, and even remote countries. In these languages the whole coast of Cornwall and Devonshire might be termed island or islands.’ It may be objected that the very same argument might be used to show that the name, Cassiterides, really denoted the headlands on the coast of Galicia.[2315] But it is easier to conceive how the misconception should have arisen in the case of Cornwall, part of a remote island in the northern ocean and close to the Scilly Islands, than in the case of Galicia; and, moreover, the Galician theory leaves the story of Crassus’s voyage unexplained. But the problem of the Cassiterides cannot be satisfactorily solved by the simple statement that they were Cornwall.

5. Müllenhoff,[2316] M. Salomon Reinach, and various other writers identify the Cassiterides with the British Isles. According to M. Reinach,[2317] ‘the whole question resolves itself into this:--what islands in western Europe produce tin? The British Isles alone fulfil this condition; therefore we must recognize in them the archipelago of the Cassiterides.’ ‘If,’ he adds, ‘Strabo does not identify them with the British Isles, though he mentions both the one group and the other, this is because in the different chapters [of his work] he follows different authorities, some of whom allude to the Cassiterides from hearsay evidence collected in Spain, while the others describe the British Isles from experience derived on the spot.’ Then, remarking that the alleged derivation of κασσίτερος (the Greek word meaning ‘tin’) from a Sumerian word and from an Assyrian word have been proved to be fanciful, he argues that κασσίτερος did not, as most ancient and modern writers have supposed, give its name to the Cassiterides, but on the contrary derived its name from theirs. Similarly, he points out, at least four names of metals have been derived from the names of places which produced them, namely, copper from Cyprus; silver (in Gothic silubr) from the town of Salybe in Pontus;[2318] bronze from Brundisium; and Kalay, the Turkish word for tin, from Kalah in the peninsula of Malacca. M. Reinach goes on to argue that as the Greeks derived their knowledge of the Cassiterides from the Phoenicians, the termination ιδες must have been added by them. There remains therefore cassiteros, of which the first part is found in numerous Celtic words, for example, Cassi, Cassi-vellaunus, Velio-casses, &c. M. Reinach gives reasons, which appear to me unsatisfactory, for the conjecture that Cassiterides means the same as insulae extimae (‘the remotest isles’); and he holds that the name was given to the British Isles by the Celts of Western Gaul.[2319]

Whatever M. Reinach’s argument may be worth, he and Müllenhoff are unquestionably right in one sense: the British Isles, taken as a whole, were the only islands from which the ancients derived tin. But this truism did not require demonstration. The question is, whether the identification of the Cassiterides with the British Isles can be reconciled with what was written about them by the ancient geographers.

IV. The story which Strabo tells about Publius Crassus presents some difficulty. As we have seen, he says that after the Romans had discovered the route to the Cassiterides in spite of the efforts which the Phoenicians made to conceal it, Crassus sailed across to the islands, ascertained that the tin lay near the surface, and indicated the new route for the benefit of traders. The first question is, who was Crassus? Unger[2320] maintains that he was the consul of 95 B.C. who conquered the Lusitanians. If so, he must have sailed from the mainland to the islands near Vigo which Unger identifies with the Cassiterides. But, as I have already pointed out, these islands are quite close to the coast: their distance from the mainland is not greater, but many times less than the distance of Britain from the Continent; their whereabouts could never have been kept secret; and they have never produced tin. Therefore, if Publius Crassus was the consul of 95 B.C., Strabo’s story is utterly untrustworthy. Mommsen[2321] holds that Crassus was Caesar’s lieutenant of that name, and that he sailed from Gaul to the Scilly Islands before Caesar’s first invasion of Britain.[2322] How then are we to account for the ignorance of Caesar, who tells us that tin was produced ‘in the midlands’ (in mediterraneis regionibus[2323]) of Britain? Professor Ridgeway, who believes that the Cassiterides were the islands near Vigo, also identifies Crassus with Caesar’s lieutenant, who, as he reminds us, invaded Aquitania--the south-western division of Gaul--in 56 B.C. ‘He is all the more likely,’ writes Professor Ridgeway,[2324] ‘to have passed into Northern Spain, inasmuch as the people of that region had given great assistance to the Aquitani ... (B. G., iii, 23). Without doubt he was fully aware of the mineral wealth of that country, as is shown by Caesar’s remark (iii, 21) on their skill in defending cities, in consequence of their having numerous copper mines and other works in that region. As is plain from Strabo’s words, the Romans already knew how to reach the tin islands by sea, coasting round from the Mediterranean and up from Gades on the old Phoenician track. Crassus, then, by opening up a far shorter route, that of a short sea voyage from the Cassiterides to the coast of Gaul (possibly to the Garonne), at once developed this trade. The ore lay near the surface. The distance by sea was greater than that across the English Channel, but the readiness with which the tin was obtained, combined with the shorter land transit, more than compensated this. Strabo is evidently contrasting the rival tin-producing regions when he introduces the allusion to Britain.... From this achievement of Crassus and its results we can now understand in its proper light the famous expression of Pytheas, that “the northern parts of Iberia are more accessible towards Keltiké than for those who sail by the ocean”.... He found, as Publius Crassus found three centuries later, that the mineral regions and islands of North-Western Spain were far more accessible for the Massaliotes by a land journey across Gaul and a short sea voyage than by the long and perilous route round by Gibraltar.’ But Professor Ridgeway mistranslates ‘the famous expression of Pytheas’,--τὰ προσαρκτικὰ μέρη τῆς Ἰβηρίας εὐπαροδώτερα εἶναι [τοῖς] πρὸς τὴν Κελτικὴν ἢ κατὰ τὸν ὠκεανὸν πλέουσι.[2325] He fails to see that the word πλέουσι refers to πρὸς τὴν Κελτικήν as well as to κατὰ τὸν ὠκεανόν. The passage simply means that it is easier to sail along the northern coast of Iberia (Spain) from west to east in the direction of Keltiké (Gaul) than to sail along the southern coast from east to west in the direction of the Atlantic.[2326] This, as Müllenhoff[2327] observes, is perfectly true, owing to the set of the current and the prevalence of westerly winds. Moreover, Professor Ridgeway does not seem to be aware that there are no ‘tin islands’ off the coast of Spain: he does not explain how Crassus could have found time in 56 B.C. to make the ‘short sea voyage’ of five hundred miles or more from the mouth of the Garonne to the neighbourhood of Vigo, when he was campaigning in Aquitania until the approach of winter;[2328] nor, finally, does he explain how the Massaliotes would have gained by conveying tin five hundred miles from the neighbourhood of Vigo to the mouth of the Garonne, and then considerably more than three hundred miles across Gaul to Massilia, instead of overland across Spain. Mr. Tozer[2329] disposes of the difficulty by simply discrediting Strabo’s account. ‘There is no reason,’ he says, ‘to doubt that Crassus made such an expedition; but whatever the place was to which he went, his account is quite untrustworthy, because he represents the Cassiterides as producing tin, whereas that metal is not found in any of the groups of islands which lie off the coasts of Gaul, or Britain, or Spain. The explicit character of his statements, however, seems to have deceived his contemporaries, and Strabo among them.’ But what theory can Mr. Tozer frame to account for the gratuitous mendacity which he imputes to Crassus, who, by the way, was not Strabo’s contemporary?[2330] Strabo’s story is, in any case, obviously inaccurate:[2331] but I agree with Mr. Tozer that it contains a kernel of truth; and I can only suppose that Crassus, when he was in Brittany in 57-56 B.C.,[2332] was directed by Caesar to visit and report upon the tin-producing districts of the British Isles.[2333] And if I am asked how I account for the mistake which Caesar made when he said that tin was produced in the interior of Britain, I offer the following suggestion. Crassus may have contented himself with landing on the coast, perhaps at or near St. Michael’s Mount, where the tin was delivered to the merchants:[2334] if so, he was doubtless informed that the tin was actually won in the interior, as, in literal truth, it of course was;[2335] and Caesar may have hastily concluded from his report that the tin mines were far from the coast. As to the details with which Strabo embellished his story, it would be idle to conjecture from what source they were obtained. We may be sure that he did not invent them; but he may have confused items of information furnished by different authorities.[2336]

V. The conclusion of the matter is this. The statements of Strabo are most satisfactorily explained on the hypothesis that those from whom he, directly or indirectly, derived his information referred to the Scilly Isles and probably also the Cornish peninsula, or (which is less probable) to islands off the coast of Brittany, at which trading vessels may have touched on the voyage. All the other ancient writers, except perhaps Polybius, undoubtedly associated the Cassiterides with Spain. In so doing they were mistaken; for no islands in Spanish waters, except Ons, which is out of the question, have ever produced tin. The real Cassiterides--the ‘tin islands’ which were known to the mariners from whom the ancient writers ultimately derived their notions--were, speaking generally, the British Isles, and particularly, the tin-producing districts of Cornwall and perhaps also the Scilly Islands. It is possible that Polybius[2337] may have held this view; for he does not mention the Cassiterides, and names the British Isles as the source of tin.

How the ancients came to entertain such vague notions about the Cassiterides, is not difficult to conceive. Evidently, when they first heard of them, all that they could learn was that they were somewhere in the western ocean. Knowing that Gades was the centre of the tin trade, they would naturally assume that they were in Spanish waters[2338]; and even when they learned that tin came from Britain and from Galicia, they would cling to the idea that it came also from islands, the geographical position of which the crafty Phoenicians had striven to keep secret. Mr. Tozer[2339] may possibly be right in suggesting that ‘when the nations about the Mediterranean obtained more accurate information concerning the north-western coasts of Europe, it was natural that they should affix the name to one or other of the groups of islands with which they found the trade to be associated’. ‘Thus,’ he continues, ‘by some writers it may have been attached to the Oestrymnides, by others to the islands of the Galician coast, and even the Scillies may in some cases have been intended.’ But is it not likely that the writers in question, when they attempted to locate the Cassiterides, were not identifying them with any group of islands the existence of which was certainly known to them, and the whereabouts of which they knew? M. Salomon Reinach puts the matter well, though he fails to perceive that Strabo was not referring to islands in Spanish waters. ‘There were two traditions,’ he says, ‘relating to the tin islands,--one Phoenician, of which the starting-point was Southern Spain; the other Greek, which originated at Marseilles. With that respect for the written word which characterized them, the ancients accepted the two traditions side by side.... Even after the expedition of Crassus ... Pliny dared not reject the geographical legend which connected the islands with Spain; and a century later Ptolemy persisted in the same error.’[2340]

Mr. W. H. Stevenson explains that Müllenhoff, of whose conclusions respecting the Cassiterides he gives a lucid summary, holds that they ‘were marked by guess-work on the early Greek maps ... off the north-west coast of Spain ... and that they there remained on the maps (much like the mythical island of Brazil in fifteenth-century maps), although they had been known since the time of Pytheas, under the names of Britannia, Albion, Ierne, &c., without their identity being suspected. In a precisely similar manner the Electridae, which had been put into the maps by guess-work, were retained long after it was known that amber came from the shores of the Baltic, and not from islands in the North Sea.’[2341]

Thus the important point to bear in mind is that the name Cassiterides, which must, as Kiepert says, have been originally applied to the British Isles, was afterwards misapplied to imaginary islands, and applied by Strabo, not perhaps without some foundation in fact, to the Scilly group.

II. ICTIS AND THE BRITISH TRADE IN TIN

Let us now consider the British trade in tin.

I. Diodorus Siculus[2342] states, on the authority of Timaeus, who derived his information on this matter from Pytheas,[2343] that tin was conveyed by the people of Belerium (the Land’s End) in wagons at low tide from the British mainland to an island called Ictis; purchased there by merchants from the natives; carried to Gaul; and transported on pack-horses to the mouth of the Rhône,[2344] the overland journey lasting thirty days. In another chapter[2345] he says, following Posidonius, that tin was carried from Britain to Gaul, and then conveyed on horseback to Massilia and to Narbo. Pliny[2346] states, quoting Timaeus as his authority, that there was an island called Mictis, six days’ sail from Britain, which produced tin, and to which the Britons sailed in coracles. Strabo tells us that Corbilo in the estuary of the Loire[2347] ‘was formerly an emporium’; and, as we learn from Polybius, who couples it with Narbo and Massilia, that in the time of Scipio Aemilianus it was one of the principal towns of Gaul,[2348] it is probable that it was at one period the Gallic port to which British tin, destined for the Mediterranean markets, was conveyed.[2349]

II. Now the first thing to do is to identify Ictis or Mictis; for it is admitted that they were the same.[2350] According to Elton[2351] and Professor Rhys,[2352] Ictis was the Isle of Thanet. ‘The important point’, says Elton, ‘remains that the tin ... was stored at some place, which was supposed to have lain at six days’ voyage from the mineral district; and it seems reasonable to identify it with the Isle of Thanet, at which the marts were established from which the merchants made the shortest passage to Gaul.’ But there is no evidence that ‘the marts were established’ in the Isle of Thanet, or that ‘the merchants made the shortest passage to Gaul’; nor is there one word in Pliny (whose statement shall be considered presently) to justify Elton in stating as a ‘fact’ that the tin was ‘stored at some place which was supposed to have lain at six days’ voyage from the mineral district’.[2353] The view that Ictis was the Isle of Thanet is absolutely untenable. ‘If,’ says Professor Ridgeway,[2354] ‘it was Thanet, it follows that the tin was brought all the way from Devon, which was impossible, as the great forest of Anderida stretched right from Hampshire into Kent.’ Formerly the professor held that ‘the only difficulty in identifying Ictis with the Isle of Wight is the statement of Diodorus ... that the tin was conveyed across to the island at low water’; for ‘geologists maintain that Wight could not have been joined to the mainland in historic times’. Geologists, however, as we shall presently see, have changed their minds; and accordingly Professor Ridgeway has changed his. I shall therefore only take account of those parts of his argument which are not obsolete. ‘Mr. Elton,’ he observes, ‘seems to forget that if the Britons brought the tin a six days’ voyage from Cornwall to Thanet, there would be no need to bring it overland by waggons across the estuary at low water.... Diodorus and Timaeus are substantially agreed that there was an island where the tin came to market, and that its name was Ictis or Mictis.... The tin could not be carried overland on account of the forests, and they certainly would not convey it all round the south and south-east coasts to the Straits, and then round the coast of Gaul to Corbilo, if it was at all possible to get across at a nearer point. The passage from the Isle of Wight to the Channel Islands, and thence to Armorica and Corbilo, would best attain this object.’ Professor Ridgeway then invokes numismatic evidence. He states that Gallic coins of a peculiar type have been found in the southern and western parts of England, in the Channel Islands, and in the territories of the Turones, Pictones, Redones, Namnetes, all the tribes of the Armorican peninsula, and the Volcae Tectosages. ‘Follow the peoples enumerated above on the map,’ he says, ‘and we shall find them all lying in the basins of the Garonne and Loire.... This evidence, then, points unmistakably to a route direct from Armorica to the southern coast of Britain, or, in other words, supports strongly the doctrine that the Isle of Wight was the island called Ictis.’[2355]

Professor Ridgeway’s arguments, as directed against the theory of Elton and Professor Rhys, are conclusive. Ictis was certainly not Thanet. But the argument which he adduces from numismatic evidence in favour of its identification with the Isle of Wight rests upon the assumption that the coins in question could not have found their way to the Channel Islands except in the course of the tin trade. The Dumnonii, in whose country the tin was produced, had no coinage of their own, and apparently made little use of money:[2356] the coins to which Professor Ridgeway alludes were far later than the time of Pytheas; and the professor himself affirms that in the time of Posidonius, whom he wrongly regards as Diodorus’s authority for the description of Ictis, the route from Ictis to Corbilo had been abandoned. Nor is it easy to understand why the traders who conveyed tin from Cornwall to Marseilles should have needlessly added between 300 and 400 miles to the length and a corresponding amount to the expense of the journey. Professor Ridgeway has himself made use of this very argument to prove that Ictis was not the Isle of Thanet: can he not see that it tells with equal force against his own theory, that Ictis was the Isle of Wight?[2357]

Mr. Alfred Tylor[2358] insists that ‘St. Michael’s Mount’, which was formerly identified with Ictis, ‘is a steep rock, and does not form a harbour at all.’ What if it is a steep rock? Does not Thucydides[2359] tell us that the Phoenicians ‘fortified headlands on the sea-coast [of Sicily], and settled in the small islands adjacent, for the sake of trading with the Sicels’?[2360] Nobody who knows St. Michael’s Mount will contend that there would have been the slightest difficulty in conveying tin on to the small plain on its landward side,[2361] or in loading with tin vessels moored beneath it. Diodorus Siculus does not mention any harbour in connexion with Ictis; but, as a writer who knew every inch of the Cornish coast long ago pointed out, St. Michael’s Mount afforded perfect shelter for shipping.[2362] ‘It still,’ says Sir Charles Lyell,[2363] ‘affords a good port, daily frequented by vessels, where cargoes of tin are sometimes taken on board, after having been transported, as in the olden time, at low tide across the isthmus.[2364] Colliers of 500 tons’ burden can now enter the harbour, which is on the landward or sheltered side of the Mount.’

But the Isle of Wight has recently found a new champion,--the eminent geologist, Mr. Clement Reid.[2365] He affirms that at the time when tin was shipped at Ictis, ‘St. Michael’s Mount must have been an isolated rock rising out of a swampy wood.’ By an interesting process of reasoning, based upon evidence which he collected while revising ‘the geological map of the northern part of the Isle of Wight’, and afterwards while mapping ‘the whole of the adjacent parts of the mainland’, he arrives at the conclusion that about 100 B.C. a limestone causeway, over which wagons could pass at low tide, extended from the western side of the river Yar to the coast of Hampshire opposite Pennington Marshes. He explains that the tin was transported by this causeway to the Isle of Wight instead of being shipped in one of the Hampshire harbours because the latter ‘are all more or less exposed to the prevalent south-west wind, and are sheltered by no high land’, and, moreover, ‘the harbours outside the Solent were probably always rendered dangerous by bars of sand and shingle.’ Finally, he contends that the identification of Ictis with the Isle of Wight shows that ‘the ancient writers can be literally depended on, and that their descriptions are thoroughly in keeping with each other’. Pliny was right in saying that Mictis ‘is distant inwards from Britain six days’ voyage’, for ‘six days’ coasting from the mouth of the Exe would amply suffice to bring boats to the Isle of Wight’; and since ‘a coasting trade of this sort would go direct to the Isle of Wight side of the Solent’, Pliny’s account, which is based on Timaeus, naturally makes ‘no mention of the causeway alluded to by Diodorus, writing at a later date’. (Mr. Reid presumably means, not that Diodorus wrote later than Pliny, but that Posidonius, whom he assumes to have been Diodorus’s authority, wrote later than Timaeus.) Caesar is right in saying that tin was found in the interior, ‘for he refers to the British part of the trade-route,’ that is to say, the (assumed) overland journey from Cornwall to the Hampshire coast. Diodorus is right because the limestone causeway answers to his description.

I submit that whoever is right, Mr. Clement Reid is wrong, because the only equipment which he brings to the discussion is the special knowledge of the geologist. Doubtless he has proved the former existence of a causeway between Hampshire and the Isle of Wight; but it does not follow that the Isle of Wight was Ictis unless it can be proved that ‘St. Michael’s Mount must have been an isolated rock rising out of a swampy wood’.

Can this be proved? I have searched all the relevant geological and geographical literature, and have failed to find any evidence in support of Mr. Reid’s assertion. The testimony of geologists, except Mr. Reid, is all the other way. Sir Charles Lyell,[2366] Mr. Pengelley,[2367] and Mr. Ussher[2368] of the Geological Survey all hold that since the time when tin was shipped at Ictis, St. Michael’s Mount has undergone no sensible change. But Mr. Reid has recently been revising the old geological survey of Cornwall; and he tells me that he reached his conclusion by calculating the rate at which the sea washed away alluvium which once connected St. Michael’s Mount with the mainland. Moreover, although he does not actually rely upon the hoary fable, demolished by Max Müller, of ‘the Hoar Rock in the Wood’, he laid stress in conversation with me upon the prevalence in Cornwall of a tradition which supported his conclusion,--a tradition which, Max Müller’s readers know, is simply worthless.[2369]

Now I would ask geologists whether it is not dangerous to strive after chronological precision in geological inquiries by reasoning which assumes that nature worked during a long period of remote time at a uniform rate of speed. The calculations by which Sir Archibald Geikie laboured years ago to estimate the time which the Thames occupied in excavating its valley,[2370] the calculations which geologists have made as to the time required for the deposition of the layers of stalagmite in caves,[2371] have been proved to be futile. This much at all events is certain: if Mr. Reid’s calculation is accurate, it stultifies the testimony of the ancient authors to whom he appeals.

For I would ask Mr. Reid how he proposes to reconcile his own statement, ‘that the ancient writers can be literally depended on,’ with the assumption, which he admits that he is compelled to make in order to show ‘the perfect consistency of the accounts’, that ‘Mictis and Ictis were the same island as Vectis’. Is he not aware that in Pliny’s Natural History[2372] [M]ictis and Vectis are distinguished? If he had studied Müllenhoff’s great work, he would not have attempted to reconcile Pliny’s account of the six days’ voyage to [M]ictis with Diodorus’s account, which ‘mentions only the causeway to Ictis’, by assuming that the writer whom Diodorus followed lived two centuries later than Timaeus. For Diodorus’s account was not, as Mr. Reid fancies, based upon Posidonius; he also, like Pliny, derived his information immediately from Timaeus, ultimately from Pytheas. Not less hopeless is Mr. Reid’s attempt to explain Pliny’s account of the voyage to [M]ictis. How could the Isle of Wight be described as ‘distant inwards from Britain six days’ voyage’? Because, says Mr. Reid, ‘the Isle of Wight and more easterly parts of the south of England were politically part of Gaul perhaps even at that early date [300 B.C.]; the tin-producing “Britain” was apparently outside the dominion of the Belgae, and must have been Devon and Cornwall.’ This argument rests upon a doubtful ‘perhaps’, an obscure ‘apparently’, a desperate ‘must have been’, and the baseless assumption that the Belgae had established dominion in Britain in the time of Pytheas: it leaves the word ‘inwards’ unexplained; and it is pulverized by the mere fact that in the very chapter from which Mr. Reid is quoting and everywhere else Pliny uses the word Britain not in the sense of ‘Devon and Cornwall’, but simply in the sense of Britain. To any man who is not obliged to distort the plain meaning of words it is clear that, from Pliny’s point of view, Ictis was six days’ sail from Britain, and that by ‘inwards’ he meant, speaking from the standpoint of an Italian, ‘northward.’ Thus London might be intelligibly described as fifty-two miles ‘inwards’ from Brighton; but to say that Brighton is a day’s sail ‘inwards’ from Portsmouth would be gibberish. As Müllenhoff has pointed out, Pliny confounded the distance of Ictis from Britain with that of Thule.[2373]

Enough of Mr. Reid’s attempt to reconcile the irreconcilable. Like Professor Ridgeway, he does not explain why men of business preferred to pay the cost of the long voyage from the Isle of Wight to the mouth of the Loire, when they need only have paid for the shorter voyage from Cornwall, or why they chose to saddle themselves with the cost of the overland transport from Cornwall to Hampshire. Nor does he explain why this imaginary and expensive overland transport was substituted for the imaginary coasting voyage. Nor again does he explain how wagons, loaded with tin (for Diodorus does not speak of pack-horses except in connexion with the journey across Gaul), were able to travel two hundred miles along unmetalled trackways. The rate at which they crawled, the numerous breaks down, the curses of the drivers, and the wear and tear of the cattle I leave to Mr. Reid’s imagination. The eminent archaeologist, Mr. C. H. Read, who accepts Mr. Reid’s conclusions, assures us that a voyage from St. Michael’s Mount to the mouth of the Loire is not to be thought of, for it would have involved a ‘long and dangerous sea passage’.[2374] Is he serious? This long sea passage was far shorter than the passage from the Isle of Wight: why it was more dangerous than a passage which involved navigation in the neighbourhood of the Channel Islands as well as of Ushant no seaman will be able to understand. The passage which seems so terrible to Mr. Read was made by Pytheas.[2375] The passage from Italy to Sardinia was longer: several times longer was the passage from Britain to Iceland, which was made long before the invention of the compass;[2376] as long or longer the passage from Scandinavia to Britain, which was made, according to Mr. Read himself,[2377] in the Bronze Age. That the Veneti should have been quite willing to sail from the Isle of Wight to the Loire, but so afraid of sailing in their stout ships from Cornwall that they deliberately added more than a hundred miles to the length of their voyage, is a mystery which Mr. Read must be left to explain.

But Mr. Reid, in the conversation which passed between us, urged reasons in favour of his theory which are omitted in his paper and to which I shall endeavour to do justice. Archaeological evidence, he remarked, shows that the people of Cornwall were far more uncivilized than those of Hampshire: even supposing that St. Michael’s Mount was an island, it had no real harbour; and it would have been very dangerous for mariners to attempt to get there especially in a fog or a south-westerly gale. I reply that it would also have been dangerous in such weather to attempt to fetch the coast of the Isle of Wight, as the ship would have incurred the risk of running a-tilt against the limestone causeway; that in a fog the skipper would have anchored; and that, notwithstanding the lack of a proper harbour, the ship would have lain snugly in sheltered water under the lee of St. Michael’s Mount. The comparative barbarism of the people of Cornwall is irrelevant: as they wanted to sell their tin, there was no danger that they would molest their customers. Besides, Mr. Reid seems to forget that the people who produced the tin delivered it to the traders at Ictis. The traders transacted business directly with them; and, assuming that Ictis was the Isle of Wight, they were as barbarous when they had crossed the limestone causeway as they had been when they left the tin mines. Mr. Reid’s argument compels him once more to throw overboard the ancient authority, who, as he insists, ‘can be literally depended on’; for Diodorus distinctly states that the tin-mining inhabitants of Belerium were friendly to strangers, and from their intercourse with foreign merchants had become comparatively civilized.[2378] This passage proves that, according to Diodorus, Ictis was in the territory of Belerium, and by itself demolishes Mr. Reid’s theory. For how could the inhabitants have become civilized by their commercial dealings if the merchants never came near Belerium, and the only inhabitants who came in contact with them were wagoners or boatmen?

It is clear then that the case for the Isle of Wight rests upon the geological evidence, such as it is, that at the time when Ictis was a trading station, St. Michael’s Mount was ‘an isolated rock rising out of a swampy wood’. Common sense and the historical evidence are all on the other side. If St. Michael’s Mount had not been available, there would have been nothing to prevent the traders from shipping the tin at Falmouth or in Plymouth Sound; and acceptance of Mr. Reid’s theory involves, besides other insuperable difficulties, the assumption that the tin-merchants were ignorant of the first principles of business.

III. We now come to the question, When did the overland trade in tin between Corbilo and Massilia begin, and how long did it last? That it existed before the time of Pytheas--that is to say, at least as early as the fourth century before Christ--is certain;[2379] for, as we have seen, Pliny and Diodorus Siculus derived their information about Ictis ultimately from him.[2380] Müllenhoff,[2381] indeed, contends for a still earlier date. Only on this hypothesis, he argues, can we explain the remarkable fact that the great Celtic immigration at the beginning of the fourth century B.C. not only did no harm to Massilia but actually increased its prosperity, the profits of the trade being appreciated by the Celts themselves. Still, there is no evidence that it existed (except in the form of intertribal barter) before the foundation of Massilia, or even that it had begun long before Pytheas visited Britain.

Professor Ridgeway insists that it is ‘obvious that when the Belgic tribes ... made permanent settlements on the south-east coast of Britain, the course of trade would pass regularly from Kent into Northern France, and that the old route by Armorica, Corbilo, and the Loire would fall into disuse’.[2382] If anything is ‘obvious’, it is that the course of trade would continue to follow the most convenient route, and that merchants would not saddle themselves with the expense of conveying tin, destined for Mediterranean markets, all the way from Cornwall to Kent. Besides, how was it to be conveyed thither? Certainly not by land; for Professor Ridgeway tells us himself that the barrier interposed by the great forest of Anderida would have rendered this impossible.[2383] Certainly not by sea; for, unless the merchants had taken leave of their senses, why should they have paid for the voyage from Cornwall to Kent, then for the voyage from Kent to Boulogne, and then for the long overland journey to Marseilles, when, by taking the route which led from St. Michael’s Mount to the mouth of the Loire, both the voyage and the land journey would have been considerably shortened? If Caesar does not expressly mention Corbilo, neither does he expressly mention any other commercial port; and he does imply that the Veneti had the lion’s share of the carrying trade with Britain.[2384] Possibly Corbilo had lost its importance by the time of Caesar; but the estuary of the Loire still formed one of the two most important harbours in the west of Gaul, and Strabo mentions it as one of the four principal Gallic ports from which ships bound for Britain set sail.[2385] The argument based upon the fact that the overland journey lasted thirty days implies that the merchants would have deliberately preferred a longer to a shorter route; and as the distance from the mouth of the Loire to Massilia was about four hundred and eighty miles in a straight line, it does not seem incredible that the journey should have lasted thirty days. But what puzzles me most in Professor Ridgeway’s argument is that, while it is partly based upon the testimony of Diodorus, it sets that testimony at defiance. The professor holds that the authority whom Diodorus followed was Posidonius. If so, Posidonius stated that in his time British tin was shipped for the Continent at Ictis. Now Professor Ridgeway identifies Ictis with the Isle of Wight. I have shown that Ictis was St. Michael’s Mount. But, according to Professor Ridgeway, British tin was shipped, in the time of Posidonius, neither at the Isle of Wight, nor at St. Michael’s Mount, but in Kent.[2386] The train of thought which led to this conclusion is one which my poor brain is powerless to follow.[2387]

Professor Haverfield[2388] affirms that the Roman annexation of Gallia Narbonensis ‘secured that trade route by which Diodorus Siculus tells us that British tin reached the Mediterranean, that is the route from Narbo by the “pass of Carcassonne” and Toulouse to Bordeaux’; but I cannot find any evidence that this was the route to which Diodorus referred.

Professor Rhys[2389] has constructed a theory about the course of the tin trade during the maritime supremacy of the Veneti which is even more remarkable than that of Professor Ridgeway. He tells us that ‘at one time they probably landed British tin at the mouth of [the Loire] ... and they fetched some of it at any rate from the south-east of Britain’. In other words, the tin was conveyed at heavy cost by the Britons three hundred miles from Cornwall to the south-east of Britain, in order that the Veneti might add at least two hundred miles to the voyage which they would have undertaken if they had fetched it direct from Cornwall; and this was done although, as Professor Rhys himself assures us, there was ‘communication between the Dumnonii [of Cornwall] and the nearest part of Gaul during the Venetic period’. The professor adds that ‘whatever direct trade in tin there may have been between the tin districts of Britain and the Loire, it must have been utterly unknown to Caesar’. I reply that if, as Professor Rhys holds, there was trade in tin by way of South-Eastern Britain between the tin districts of Britain and the Loire, this trade also must, on Professor Rhys’s theory, have been unknown to Caesar, for he mentions neither the one nor the other; but that the voyage which Crassus made to the tin-producing districts of Cornwall, and about which Caesar is equally silent, shows that Caesar was not ignorant, but merely reticent.

But Professor Ridgeway would assign a different reason for Caesar’s silence. Remarking that ‘when Strabo, writing as a contemporary, is describing the exports from Britain, he omits the mention of tin, whilst from the extract from Posidonius, quoted alike by him and Diodorus, it is plain that when the Stoic explorer visited North-Western Europe, the British tin trade was still of importance’, the professor suggests that in the time of Caesar Britain ceased to export tin.[2390] But did not Strabo write long after Caesar died? Professor Haverfield, on the other hand, has given reasons for the view that ‘the early Cornish tin trade, which Posidonius and Caesar knew, died out about the beginning of our era’; and he suggests that it may have done so because the Romans had just discovered ‘the real site of the Cassiterides in N.W. Spain’.[2391] ‘Very little,’ he remarks, ‘has been found west of Exeter which can be connected with the first two centuries of the Roman Empire.... Plainly the Romans of the conquest period did not care to advance beyond Exeter.... Yet if the tin trade had then been flourishing they would hardly have stopped. We must put the halt at Exeter beside the silence of the writers after Caesar, and suppose that for some reason the tin trade had ceased in Cornwall. Perhaps as iron took the place of bronze in many lands tin was no longer in such demand; perhaps the Spanish ore was cheaper than the Cornish; perhaps the accessible Cornish tin streams seemed exhausted. Whatever the reason, the Cornish tin trade vanished before A.D. 50. It reappears two centuries later.’[2392]

Now the evidence that Professor Haverfield offers of its having reappeared is simply the discovery of one inscribed ingot of Cornish tin, which belonged to the fourth century; and if no inscribed ingots of an earlier date have been found, their absence hardly proves that the Romans had not worked the mines before. This Professor Haverfield admits; but, he insists, ‘it does prove that we have no right to say that mining was going on.’[2393] Possibly: but if so, the absence of inscribed ingots of tin in Spain[2394] equally proves that we have no right to say that mining was going on there. Yet, if it was suspended in Cornwall, it must have been contemporaneously active in Spain. It is true that no Roman antiquities of earlier date than the third century have been found in Cornwall, except some Samian ware and coins of Trajan and Vespasian;[2395] and it may be true that, as the professor says, these discoveries ‘prove no Roman influence or occupation’:[2396] but, on the other hand, Cornwall has very few Roman antiquities even of the third and fourth centuries,[2397] and no Roman or Romanized towns or villas.[2398] Is it not then possible that, as Professor Gowland suggests, the mines were worked throughout the whole period of the Roman occupation of Britain, but not under Roman control?[2399] He points out that ‘the stamps had been impressed [upon the solitary ingot] when the metal was cold, and hence not necessarily at the mine, but very probably by a Roman trader or officer at the coast’.[2400] Professor Haverfield indeed states that the ingot was found not more than a mile and a half from ‘an old working’, which has yielded Roman coins:[2401] but Professor Gowland supports his own view by the argument that ‘at the Roman lead mines in Britain the inscriptions were always cast on the ingots of lead when they were made, and at the copper mines were stamped on the cakes of copper while they were red hot’. ‘The real site of the Cassiterides’ was not, as Professor Haverfield thinks, ‘in N.W. Spain,’ but in the British Isles. ‘The silence of the writers after Caesar’ in regard to the British trade in tin, on which he lays stress, really resolves itself into the silence of Strabo; for although the professor is quite right in saying that ‘later authors [namely, Diodorus, Strabo, and Pliny] merely include it in quotations from earlier literature’, those who are familiar with their writings will admit that there was no reason why any of them, except Strabo, should have expressly added to those quotations the information that the British tin trade continued in their own time. We should certainly have expected that Strabo would have included tin in his list of British exports if it had been exported in his time; and I will not attempt to explain away his silence: but can it outweigh the extreme improbability that for two centuries the civilized world should have been entirely cut off from one of the two sources from which its supply of tin had previously been derived? And when Professor Haverfield suggests that ‘as iron took the place of bronze in many lands, tin was no longer in such demand’, does he not momentarily forget that not only in the lands round the Mediterranean but also in those of Northern and Western Europe iron had taken the place of bronze for many purposes several centuries before the Christian era, and that, on the other hand, those implements and ornaments which were still made wholly or in part of bronze were probably in greater demand than before?

IV. We have now to deal with the Phoenicians. Sir George Cornewall Lewis[2402] and various other writers have endeavoured to prove that the Phoenicians (including the Carthaginians) never traded directly with Britain for tin; and in 1896 Dr. Arthur Evans remarked that ‘the days are gone past when it could be seriously maintained that the Phoenician merchant landed on the coast of Cornwall’.[2403]

Now Dr. Evans’s distinguished father, who holds that the Cassiterides ‘are rightly identified with Britain’, observes that ‘the traces of Phoenician influence in this country are ... at present imperceptible. But,’ he continues, ‘it may well be that their system of commerce or barter was such as intentionally left the barbarian tribes with whom they traded in much the same stage of civilization as that in which they found them, always assuming that they dealt directly with Britain and not through the intervention of Gaulish merchants.’[2404]

Some merchants certainly landed, if not on the coast of Cornwall at all events on that of Ictis: is there any reason in the nature of things why Phoenician merchants should not have done so? To the old-fashioned view there are only two objections worth considering, namely, first, that ‘the tin trade was carried on overland through Gaul’,[2405] and, secondly, that the tin which was shipped to Gades may have come not from Britain but from the mines of North-Western Spain. But, as we have seen, there is no evidence that the overland trade had begun before 600 B.C.,--the approximate date of the foundation of Massilia; nor is there any evidence that the Phoenicians took part in it. From Gades to Cornwall the voyage, as George Smith observes, was shorter than the voyages ‘from Tyre to Malta, Carthage, or Sicily, which they were performing continuously’.[2406] If Desjardins[2407] is right in affirming that ‘the name Corbilo unquestionably looks Phoenician’, and that a Phoenician inscription has been found near Guérande, it may be inferred that the carrying trade between Britain and Corbilo was at one time either wholly or partly in Phoenician or Carthaginian hands. That tin was obtained in ancient times from the mines of North-Western Spain must be admitted: not only is the fact attested by the statements of Strabo and Pliny,[2408] but it has been proved by the researches of Mr. W. C. Borlase.[2409] But there is some evidence that tin also came from Cornwall to Gades. Festus Avienus[2410] tells us, ultimately, it may be assumed, on the authority of the Carthaginian traveller, Himilco, that both the Carthaginians and the people of Gades used to sail to the British seas.[2411] Sir George Cornewall Lewis,[2412] indeed, argues that ‘if the date of the voyages of Hanno and Himilco is correctly fixed, it follows that at a period subsequent to the expedition of Xerxes, the Carthaginians ... had not carried their navigation far along the coasts of the Atlantic; and that they sent out two voyages of discovery--one to the south, the other to the north--at the public expense’. All that we know about the date of Himilco’s voyage is that it was not later than the fifth, probably in the sixth century B.C.,[2413] and, according to Pliny,[2414] its object was ‘to explore the outer parts of Europe’. Anyhow the evidence remains that after Himilco’s time, if not before, the Carthaginians traded by sea with Britain.[2415] Dr. Arthur Evans, I know, warns us that ‘a truer view of primitive trade as passing on by inter-tribal barter has superseded the idea of a direct commerce between remote localities’.[2416] But the testimony of Diodorus, that is to say of Pytheas, proves that traders purchased tin off the Cornish coast from the natives who had prepared it for market, carried it across the Channel, and unloaded it on the coast of Gaul, whence it was conveyed overland to the mouth of the Rhône. If this was not ‘direct commerce’, what was? That there was ‘inter-tribal barter’ in ancient times, no well-informed person would deny; but that there was also ‘direct commerce between remote localities’ is as well attested as any fact of ancient history can be.

Mr. C. T. Newton indeed argues that ‘if the Phoenicians frequented any portion of the British coast, it is probable that they would have given names to the more important harbours and promontories, as they did in Africa and Spain’.[2417] But is it not also probable that they found it sufficient to hold, or even to occupy temporarily, as occasion required, one or more of the Scilly Islands, or perhaps St. Michael’s Mount, and that they may have given names to these places, although the names have not survived.[2418] Their settlements in Africa and Spain were not temporary but permanent.

I freely admit that the testimony of Festus Avienus is not conclusive; but I see no reason for rejecting the statement of Strabo that the Phoenicians traded directly for tin with the Cassiterides--that is to say, the British Isles--and that they originally monopolized the trade.

M. Salomon Reinach,[2419] who supports the view that the Phoenicians traded directly with Cornwall, insists, referring to a well-known passage in Thucydides,[2420] that the overland route must have been earlier than the maritime. ‘Corinth,’ says Thucydides, ‘being seated on an isthmus, was naturally from the first a centre of commerce; for the Hellenes within and without the Peloponnese, in the old days when they communicated chiefly by land, had to pass through her territory in order to reach one another.’[2421] M. Reinach argues that ‘nothing could have suggested to the Phoenicians the idea of going with their ships in search of tin if they had not already known the existence not only of the metal but also of the distant country which produced it ... the Phoenicians of Spain no more discovered the Cassiterides and tin than the Portuguese discovered India and spices’. This may be freely admitted. But the Phoenicians may well have acquired the knowledge upon which they acted long before the direct overland trade which Diodorus describes began. Tin was probably conveyed in very early times from Cornwall to Gaul for the use of tribes who inhabited that country before the immigration of the Celtic-speaking invaders; and, since Gaul was in communication with Britain from the beginning of the Bronze Age,[2422] the knowledge that tin was to be obtained in Britain might have reached Phoenician ears even before Gades was founded.

But the most striking contribution which M. Reinach has made to the literature of this subject is the suggestion that the traders who first sailed from the Mediterranean into the English Channel were not Phoenicians but Phrygians. Speaking of the well-known passage, which I have already quoted, in which Pliny says that Midacritus was the first who imported tin from ‘the tin island’,[2423] he argues that the generally accepted identification of Midacritus with the Phoenician Melcarth is erroneous. He points out that in Pliny’s list of discoverers all except the most famous names are accompanied by a complementary designation, for example (Toxius), Caeli filius[2424]. Therefore, even if, as has been supposed, what Pliny wrote was not Midacritus but Melicertus (Melcarth), that unfamiliar name would have been followed by some explanatory addition. M. Reinach then quotes two passages from Hyginus[2425] and Cassiodorus[2426] respectively. In the former we read that ‘King Midas, the Phrygian, son of Cybele, was the first to discover lead and tin’ (Midas rex Cybeles filius Phryx plumbum album et nigrum primus invenit); in the latter, that ‘Midas, the ruler of Phrygia, discovered tin’ ([Aes enim Ionos Thessaliae rex], plumbum Midas regnator Phrygiae reppererunt). It is clear then, says M. Reinach, that, as the Jesuit scholar, Hardouin, perceived more than two centuries ago, for Midacritus in the MSS. of Pliny we ought to read Midas Phryx. He adds that from a fragment of the Seventh Book of Diodorus, preserved in the Chronicle of Eusebius, we learn that the maritime supremacy of the Phrygians began about 903 B.C., and that of the Phoenicians in 824.[2427]

DENE-HOLES

Of the various theories which have been published as to the object of dene-holes three only are worth considering, namely, that they were granaries; that they were refuges; and that they were sunk in order to obtain chalk.

Subterranean granaries have of course been used in many countries;[2428] but it is said that no grain has ever been found in any dene-hole,[2429] whereas grain has been found in shallow pits and on numerous other prehistoric sites in Britain.[2430] On the other hand, a thorough exploration of the famous group of dene-holes in Hangman’s Wood, Essex, revealed fragments of two millstones.[2431] The Reverend E. H. Goddard remarks that ‘very similar places’ in Brittany were used by ‘the peasant armies during the war in La Vendée’ as refuges and lairs, and argues that dene-holes served a similar purpose.[2432] Perhaps, though it would have gone hard with the fugitives if their lairs had been discovered; but, seeing that strongholds were available, it is difficult to admit that they were dug with that object. The theory that they were shafts sunk for the extraction of chalk rests mainly upon the evidence of Pliny, who states that chalk was obtained in Britain for manure ‘by means of pits sunk like wells with narrow mouths to the depth commonly of one hundred feet, where they branch out like the veins of mines’ ([creta] petitur ex alto, in centenos actis plerumque puteis, ore angustis, intus ut in metallis spatiante vena[2433]). Messrs. T. V. Holmes and W. Cole, who superintended the exploration of the dene-holes in Hangman’s Wood, argue that ‘the above account could not have been given to Pliny by any man who had ever descended into one of our [Essex] ... dene-holes, which are entered by ... narrow shafts, but whose lofty symmetrical chambers cannot be described as “branching out like the veins of mines”.’[2434] I think, on the contrary, that, allowing for the natural inaccuracy of a writer who gave his own version of information supplied by one who had perhaps himself not descended into a dene-hole, Pliny’s description was remarkably correct: the chambers which open out at the bottom of the shafts in Hangman’s Wood are arranged in the shape of a star-fish; the only material error with which Pliny can be charged is that he compared them to the veins of mines; and that he was alluding to them I have no doubt. Messrs. Holmes and Cole are, however, on firm ground when they point out that his informant may have wrongly assumed that the shafts were sunk in order to obtain chalk because the chalk that was extracted from them was utilized. ‘And,’ they continue, ‘a foreigner accidentally discovering secret pits--and our surface trenches showed our dene-holes to have been secret excavations--would almost necessarily be deceived as to their use by natives.’ But is it not possible that Pliny’s informant may have been a Briton? And, assuming that he was deceived as to the purpose of the dene-holes, why was he allowed to learn the existence and arrangement of the chambers, and, approximately, the depth of the shaft?

Nevertheless, Messrs. Holmes and Cole are undoubtedly right in the main. It has been argued that dene-holes are situated in places which must always have been uncultivated, whereas the tracts in which chalk lay near the surface may have been already occupied; that chalk has been obtained in Wiltshire in modern times by mining although it was to be had near the surface; and that the labour of sinking the shafts may have been compensated by saving the cost of transporting chalk from distant parts, where it was the surface rock.[2435] But, as Messrs. Holmes and Cole observe, ‘there is plenty of bare chalk within a mile’ of Hangman’s Wood; and, as they pertinently ask, if the dene-holes were sunk for chalk, why was their position so carefully kept secret?[2436] Again, Mr. Spurrell, who admits that where chalk lay very deep shafts may have been sunk merely in order to obtain it, remarks that ‘it is evident that where the land is white with chalk the pits of great depth so often found there could not have been dug for manure, and the natives of Kent in such situations scout the idea as absurd’.[2437] Messrs. T. E. and R. H. Forster contend that the elaborate design of the chambers in Hangman’s Wood is ‘in reality a strong confirmation’ of the truth of ‘the chalk-quarry theory’; for ‘the star-fish-shaped pit ... enables the miner to win more chalk at one sinking; and if no examples of it were known, it would be necessary to postulate its existence in order to supply the missing link between the primitive bell-pit and the pillared and galleried mine of the kind seen at Chislehurst’.[2438] But is the ‘bell-pit’ primitive, and is there a link, missing or otherwise? Anyhow it is incredible that the people of Essex, if they had undertaken the prodigious labour of sinking 70 shafts simply in order to obtain better chalk than what they could have found hard by at the surface, would have contented themselves, after boring through 60 feet of sand and gravel, with ‘the very uppermost [and therefore worst] chalk’.[2439] As Mr. Holmes remarks,[2440] ‘it must be obvious that the course which would commend itself to all seekers after superior chalk would be to begin operations where chalk is at the surface, make a shaft 10 to 20 feet deep, and procure chalk lying at that depth’; and, while he freely admits that ‘a farmer might naturally prefer to get chalk at a depth of 60 to 80 feet on his own land rather than ... from some one else’s pit a mile or two away’, he emphasizes the absurdity of supposing that ‘any people ... concentrated their pits where they got the least return for their labour, and where there was no counterbalancing advantage ... as they must have done at Hangman’s Wood and Bexley on the Chalk-pit hypothesis’.[2441]

Charred wood, bones of animals, and large quantities of coarse pottery have been found in a dene-hole near Dunstable,[2442] which is sufficient evidence that some dene-holes were occasionally inhabited.

I conclude that dene-holes were intended to serve as granaries; that they may have been used occasionally as places of concealment; and that the chalk which was taken out of them was used, if it was wanted, for manure. It is significant that their name means ‘Dane-holes’, that is, hiding-places from the Danes.[2443]

The ‘bell-pits’ which have been already mentioned, and which are sometimes confounded with dene-holes, were undoubtedly made for the sake of the chalk; and, unlike dene-holes, they were made broad in order that a large amount of material might be taken out of them at each haul.[2444]

Some of the Kentish dene-holes, if Mr. Goddard is rightly informed, contained bronze implements;[2445] and those of Essex are almost certainly post-neolithic.[2446] Some bell-pits are ancient, but I doubt whether it could be proved that any were pre-Roman: Pitt-Rivers[2447] indeed believed that it was from the Romans that the Britons learned to use chalk as top-dressing.

THE COAST BETWEEN CALAIS AND THE SOMME IN THE TIME OF CAESAR

The question of the period during which the gulf of St. Omer existed has given rise to much discussion. According to Reclus,[2448] Desjardins,[2449] and many other writers,[2450] even in the time of Caesar this so-called gulf, which was really a shallow salt-water ‘mere’, covered the lowlands north-east of the hills of Artois between Sangatte and Dunkirk, and extended inland to within a short distance of St. Omer. No evidence, however, has been adduced to show that it existed at that time;[2451] and it has been proved by M. J. Gosselet that it did not exist before the latter part of the third century of our era, for Gallo-Roman remains, including 2,354 coins, some of which belong to the time of Postumus, have been found in the area. As M. Gosselet says,[2452] the Sinus Itius is a mere invention of writers of the seventeenth century.

The ancient topography of Wissant, of the estuary of the Liane, and of the headlands of Blancnez, Grisnez, and Alprech, is discussed in the article on the Portus Itius.[2453]

The inland extension of the bay formed by the estuary of the Canche has steadily diminished since the time of Caesar; and whereas, during the last century at all events, the headland on its southern side has gained considerably on the sea, the ‘Pointe de Lornel’ on the north and the neighbouring sand-dunes have suffered continual erosion.[2454]

The country which lies between the hills of Artois and the sea, from the mouth of the Canche to the mouth of the Somme, is, as Reclus[2455] remarks, of recent formation; and, as late as the ninth century, the environs of the town of Rue, which is now about six miles from the sea, were covered by a vast shallow lake, 20,000 hectares, or about 78 square miles, in extent.

THE CONFIGURATION OF THE COAST OF KENT IN THE TIME OF CAESAR

This volume is not a treatise upon the physical geography of Ancient Britain; and I am only concerned with geographical questions in so far as they are essential to a right understanding of the history. It is impossible to understand the narrative of Caesar’s invasions of Britain without considering how far the physical geography of that part of the island which was the theatre of his operations differed from what it is now.

I. BETWEEN RAMSGATE AND SANDOWN CASTLE

Thanet, as everybody knows, was an island in Caesar’s time; and Bede[2456] says that it was separated from the mainland by an estuary three furlongs broad: but the late George Dowker[2457] concluded from ‘an attentive examination of the estuary’ that it was ‘much shallower and narrower than is generally supposed’.

John Lewis,[2458] a well-known antiquary of the eighteenth century, and William Boys,[2459] the historian of Sandwich, maintained that an estuary, in which was included the harbour of Richborough, known to the Romans as Portus Ritupis, had extended from the cliffs of Ramsgate southward to Walmer, covering the sites of Stonar and Sandwich and indeed the whole of the low ground between Sandwich and Deal, and washing the shore of an island on which stood Richborough Castle. A recent writer, Mr. H. Sharpe,[2460] who endorses this opinion, argues that the Roman road from Canterbury to Richborough harbour (ad portum Ritupis[2461]) terminated at Each End. The road ‘cannot’, he insists, ‘have run to Sandwich in Roman times. Montagu Burrows ... Cinque Ports, 1888, p. 30,[2462] says--“Sandwich and Stonar are wholly English. No Roman remains have been found at either” ... there is good reason to suppose that the land upon which it [Sandwich] stands and the land over which the Sandwich end of the road runs were not formed when the Romans were here.’[2463] And again, ‘There is another reason for supposing that Each End was ... the place where the boats left the mainland for the island [of Richborough]. [The road running northward from Dover] is marked on the Ordnance map[2464] as a Roman road, and if complete would run to Each End, not to Richborough Castle or to Sandwich ... the last mile from [Woodnesborough] to Each End, is missing.’[2465]

Now, in regard to Stonar, Professor Burrows, as we shall presently see, is mistaken; and, granting that the Roman road from Dover would, if complete, run to Each End, how can Mr. Sharpe prove that it did not run further? The late George Dowker stated, in a paper which was published after his death, that he had himself ‘traced the Roman road to Woodnesborough, and thence by Each End to near the Richborough Island’;[2466] and the views of Lewis and Boys, which Mr. Sharpe endorses, as to the wide extent of the estuary at the time of the Roman conquest of Britain have been stultified by discoveries to which Mr. Sharpe does not allude. Roach Smith affirms that ‘Roman remains, indicative of habitations, have been discovered in the sand-hills considerably to the north of Sandown Castle’, and that ‘coins have been found at Stonar, opposite to Richborough’; and from these facts he infers that ‘the recession of the sea from the low land between Thanet and Walmer probably commenced at a period much earlier than has been commonly supposed’.[2467]

That the hill on which Richborough Castle stood was nearly if not quite insulated is generally admitted;[2468] but Mr. George E. Fox remarks that it ‘was probably not washed by the open sea, though a broad channel may have flowed close beside it, forming one of the southern mouths of the strait, while a narrow strip of salt-marsh and sand-bank lay between it and the open sea’. It would be more correct to say that the island, on its eastern side, was separated by a channel from Stonar Beach, the southern extremity of which lay east by north of the site of Sandwich: the sand-hills were on the south-eastern side of this beach, from which they were divided by a narrow channel. Mr. Fox goes on to say that ‘a large extent of what is now marshland, lying to the west of the hill, may then have ... formed the haven,[2469] making of the camp hill an island’. He argues, however, that, on the eastern side, the channel ‘could not have hugged the hill very closely, as at no great distance to the south of the station on this same side, and in the low ground presumably near the shore, fragments of a Roman house were discovered in 1846’.[2470]

In the year 1876 Dowker affirmed that ‘the low shore and sand hills’ which now extend from the Deal beach to the latitude of Sandwich ‘extended [in the time of Caesar] much less than at present’;[2471] and in a map which accompanied his paper[2472] he contrasted the low-water line between Walmer and Sandwich, as he believed it to have existed in 55 B.C., with the low-water line as it existed at the time when he wrote. In the latitude of Sandwich the modern low-water line is traced on this map a mile and a half east of the hypothetical ancient line, which distance gradually diminishes to three-quarters of a mile in the latitude of Worth and about one furlong in the latitude of Deal. I find a difficulty in reconciling this map with Dowker’s own statement that ‘Roman pottery, coins and traces of the Roman occupation have been found in the sand-hills--and indeed below the sand-hills considerably northward of Deal, beyond Sandown Castle’;[2473] and from the fact which this statement records it follows that, in the time of the Roman occupation of Britain, the shore-line at the place where the discoveries in question were made cannot have been widely different from what it is now.

II. BETWEEN SANDOWN CASTLE AND WALMER CASTLE

When we endeavour to trace the shore-line, as it existed in Caesar’s time, opposite Deal and Walmer, we find that the writers who have dealt with the question differ widely among themselves; while Dowker again shows himself a most troublesome witness. Unfortunately this meritorious geologist, who laboured hard to elucidate the geographical questions connected with the ancient history of East Kent, was a bad writer, and sometimes failed to make his meaning clear.

Major Rennell, who was in his day ‘the acknowledged head of British geographers’,[2474] believed that Caesar landed at Deal. ‘Of course,’ he says, ‘the margin of the ancient beach, on which Caesar landed, must now be very far within land, as well as very considerably raised.’[2475] The words ‘of course’ prepare us for the discovery that Rennell quotes no authority and gives no reasons.

Professor Montagu Burrows,[2476] also without giving either authority or reason, tells us that Deal ‘probably had once a haven, which was choked up in very early times’. But choked up it was not unless it existed; and observe that its existence is only ‘probable’. As a matter of fact, the so-called probability is unsupported by any evidence.[2477] The professor goes on to say that ‘the old town [of Deal] was already separated from the sea by a considerable interval when Henry [the Eighth] built the three castles of Deal, Sandown, and Walmer for the protection of the coast, which had now become a continuous stretch of steep shingly beach’. Now if, in the time of Henry the Eighth, ‘the old town was already separated from the sea by a considerable interval,’ the inference is that it had once been quite close to the sea; and of this there is no evidence. Was the professor thinking of Leland,[2478] who describes ‘Deale’ as ‘half a Myle fro the Shore of the Se, a Fisshcher Village iii. Myles or more above Sandwic’? If so, why should he assume that because Deal in the time of Leland, that is to say, of Henry the Eighth, was half a mile from the sea, it had once been on the sea? The only conceivable reply to this question would be that as Upper Deal is now more than half a mile from the sea,[2479] and as, according to Leland, it was only half a mile from the sea in the time of Henry, it may once have been actually on the seashore. But Deal Castle was built by Henry; and the sea was therefore at least as far from Upper Deal in his time as it is now. The truth is that Leland’s ‘Myles’ were sometimes very long: he tells us that Sandwich was ‘iii. Myles’ from Deal, and it is really six.

Dowker, in the paper which he published in 1876,[2480] maintained that ‘Deal probably did not exist in Roman times’, and that, when Caesar landed in Britain, ‘the coast was cut back behind Deal’:[2481] that is to say, he virtually committed himself to agreement with the view, already stated, of Major Rennell. In the same paper he affirmed that ‘the present town of Deal is situated on a comparatively recent beach’, and went on to say, in proof of his assertion, ‘I have evidence of the beach at the back of Deal containing mediaeval remains.’[2482] What the evidence was, he did not say; and what he meant by ‘the beach at the back of Deal’, I do not know. In 1887 another paper[2483] was published, containing a report of his views. Herein I find that there is ‘no evidence’ of ‘a shore-line cutting far back beyond the Deal beach’. No evidence in 1887, though in 1876 the evidence was irrefragable.[2484]

The opinion of Stukeley,[2485] who believed that Caesar had landed between Walmer Castle and Deal, was diametrically opposed to that of Rennell. He maintained that Caesar’s camps must have been ‘absorpt by the ocean, which has so long been ... wasting the land away’. ‘Even since Henry the VIII^{ths} time,’ he continued, ‘it has carried off the seaward esplanade of the three castles’ [of Walmer, Deal, and Sandown].[2486] But it does not follow that in the interval which separated the time of Caesar from the time of Henry the Eighth the sea in the neighbourhood of Deal had been continuously gaining upon the land. It would appear that in the last four centuries it has alternately advanced a little and receded.[2487] In 1615, 1626, and 1627 the waves were wearing away the walls which had been erected for the protection of the castles of Walmer and Deal.[2488] During the latter half of the eighteenth century, however, shingle was being rapidly thrown up along the coast between St. Margaret’s Bay and a point which, as Mr. Elvin[2489] says, was ‘considerably to the north of Sandown Castle’; and, although during the first thirty years of the nineteenth century the sea was again encroaching, at all events at Walmer, the bank of shingle between the Rifle Range at Kingsdown and Walmer then began again to increase, while northward of Deal as far as Sandown Castle the sea was simultaneously gaining ground. In 1885 shingle was still accumulating at Walmer Castle and also at Deal, although it was recognized that at the latter place its movements were variable. For some years previously, however, the shingle which formerly protected the cliffs between St. Margaret’s and Kingsdown had been travelling northwards past Walmer to Deal; and during the fourteen years that followed 1885 the same process was going on: I daresay it is going on still. At Deal, wrote Dowker in 1899,[2490] ‘the shore line has been nearly stationary until we approach the north end of Deal, where the ... sea had washed most of the beach away and carried it past the Castle.’ Finally, it must be borne in mind that from various places between Walmer and the North Foreland a great deal of shingle has been abstracted.[2491] Still, if The North West View of Walmer Castle, by S. and N. Buck, which was published in 1735, was approximately accurate, the sea was a good deal nearer the castle then than it is now; and the observations that were made between 1741 and 1884 show that while in that period the sea at Sandown Castle gained 200 feet upon the land, off Deal Castle the increase of shingle amounted to 120 feet, and off Walmer Castle to no less than 385.

The Reverend Beale Poste, a well-known antiquary of the nineteenth century, maintained[2492] that the bank of beach upon which Deal stands must have existed in the time of Caesar, ‘since numerous Roman coins are found at neap tides at low water on the chalk at the edge of the beach.’ He added that ‘when the piles for the pier were driven into the beach in 1842, it was found in a highly concrete state, almost like rock, denoting great antiquity’. The former statement, if it is correct,[2493] would seem to prove that the shore-line has receded, in other words, that the sea has on the whole gained upon the land since the days of Caesar; the argument based upon the condition of the beach into which the piles were driven only tends to show that the lower stratum of the beach was old.

Quite recently a discovery has been made which ought to set the question at rest. Romano-British interments have been unearthed about seven hundred yards north of Walmer Castle, ‘on the low ground ... adjoining, and only on a slightly higher level than the Castle meadows.’[2494] The spot where they lay is about two hundred and fifty feet west of the high-water mark of ordinary tides. The discovery, as Mr. Cumberland Woodruff remarks,[2495] proves that ‘the shore lands [between Walmer and Deal] were protected then as now, though probably [or rather certainly] by a much thinner line of shingle’.[2496]

The conclusion appears to be this. There is no reason to suppose that the coast-line between Sandown Castle and Walmer Castle was very different in Caesar’s time from that which is depicted on the Ordnance Map; and there is positive proof that between Walmer Castle and Deal Castle, at some period of the Roman occupation, it was nearly the same. On the other hand, it is certain that since Caesar landed a great deal of shingle has accumulated along this part of the coast, especially at Walmer; and it may be inferred that the beach was less steep then than it is now.

III. THE GOODWIN SANDS

Before we attempt to inquire what was the condition of the Goodwin Sands in the time of Caesar, it will be well to state the relevant facts which have been ascertained since exact observations began to be recorded.

‘The north-eastern part of the North Goodwin,’ says the author of the Channel Pilot,[2497] ‘dries in places 7 feet at low water; the South Goodwin not more than 4 or 5 feet at any part.’

The form of the sands is altered periodically by the tides. Beale Poste argued in 1857 that the Goodwin Sands were still growing, as ‘Kingsdown Mark, a pile ... built in the reign of Elizabeth to show the South Sand head, is ... of no use, the sand having now extended itself a mile further to the southward’. Moreover, he says, it was stated in the Report of the Commission of the Harbours of Refuge for 1845 that ‘the Brake Sand, a branch of the Goodwin Sands in the Small Downs, had moved bodily inwards towards the shore seven hundred yards within the last fifty years’. This, he maintains, can only mean that ‘a deposit has taken place on the inward side of the sand ... while the outward side has been eroded by the winds and tides’.[2498] In 1885 it was found that ‘the former Bunthead shoal’ had ‘entirely disappeared’,[2499] and that ‘the whole body of the South Calliper’ had ‘moved about a mile north-eastward’. Again, it was ascertained by ‘a re-survey of the Downs, Goodwin Sands, and adjacent coast’, executed in 1896, that since 1887 considerable changes had taken place. ‘The Goodwin Sand,’ we learn from this source, ‘has continued its general movement towards the coast, and the area of drying sand has largely increased.’[2500]

The results of borings carried out at various times in the Goodwin Sands have shown that blue clay, resting on chalk, was found at the depths of 7, 15, 57, and 78 feet.[2501] From these data Sir Charles Lyell[2502] concludes that the Goodwins ‘are a remnant of land, and not “a mere accumulation of sea sand”;’ and, referring to the destructive storm mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle[2503] as having occurred in 1099, he conjectures that ‘the last remains of an island, consisting, like Sheppey, of clay, may perhaps have been carried away about that time’.

Dr. Guest[2504] holds that in Caesar’s time the Goodwin Sands did not exist. He reminds us that, according to Somner,[2505] it was the opinion of ‘several men of judgement’ that they had not appeared until after the time of Earl Godwin, and, remarking that this was also the view of Sir Thomas More, he argues that ‘we may infer that such at that period was the opinion of educated men who had local knowledge’. Leland,[2506] he goes on to say, ‘attributed the decay of Sandwich to the Goodwin Sands, and as Sandwich was a flourishing port in the fourteenth century, we may infer that it was not till the fifteenth that the sands attained those formidable dimensions which produced so much mischief.’ Immediately north of Sandown Castle there is, he observes, a tract of land covered with low sand-hills, which, in Philipot’s map of Kent, are called the ‘smale downs’,[2507] and upon which the sea has long been encroaching. He accounts for the name given to the roadstead by assuming that it once formed part of the ‘smale downs’, and affirms his belief that ‘the flats round Sandwich once projected into the sea as a low ness or foreland,--probably divided into islands, of which Lomea [an island which John Twine asserted to have formerly existed about four miles from Thanet] was the easternmost’. He assumes that as Lomea is not mentioned in Domesday Book, it perished by some natural convulsion before the end of the eleventh century, and goes on to say that ‘After the destruction of this island, the Goodwin Sands may have been gradually accumulated, not necessarily on the site of the island, but near it, and the Downs just as gradually excavated’.[2508] Beale Poste[2509] also affirms that in 1098 ‘an island named Lomea was overflowed, on which occasion the sands are said to have been formed. This is mentioned by Giraldus Cambrensis, and from him by Twine.... But Earl Goodwin (sic) died in ... 1053, and Domesday-book negatives that any extensive tract of land was overflowed and lost, in this direction.’

Now John Twine[2510] (or Twyne) merely says that he has read about Lomea in the works of ‘certain writers’. It was once, he says, a low fertile island, which was submerged in consequence of a great storm, and covered with sand, and it is now the Goodwin Sands. As for Giraldus Cambrensis, I have searched his writings diligently, and I can find no mention whatever therein either of Lomea[2511] or of the Goodwin Sands. The name ‘Downs’ is easily accounted for. ‘The DOWNS,’ says the author of the Channel Pilot,[2512] ‘in a general sense, implies the numerous banks lying immediately off the coast between the South and North Forelands ... that [anchorage] which is commonly ... known as the Downs is off the town of Deal between Walmer Castle and the northern part of the town,’ &c. I see no reason to doubt that the name of the roadstead is derived from the aforesaid banks and from the sand-dunes on the shore.

Somner,[2513] remarking that, according to the common opinion, Lomea was submerged in 1097, observes that there is no notice of such an island either in Domesday Book or in ‘any Author whether foreign or domestick, of any antiquity, that ever I could meet with’.

The late C. H. Pearson[2514] inferred from ‘the legend of their formation’[2515] that the sands were ‘first remarked about the end of the eleventh century’, and that they were ‘probably formed by bank-currents gradually depositing sand about a shoal’.

On the other hand, S. Pritchard,[2516] the historian, so called, of Deal, argues that the sands must have existed ‘from all time’ as otherwise Deal and the adjoining country would inevitably have been inundated. Why? The island, the former existence of which is assumed by Sir Charles Lyell, would have been as good a protection as the sands; and in the time, which was certainly anterior to the Roman invasion of Britain, when the shingle bank had not accumulated to a sufficient height,[2517] the very small area in the neighbourhood of Deal which is below high-water mark may have been inundated, unless, as Dowker[2518] and Mr. Spurrell[2519] believe, the level of the land has been depressed since the Roman occupation.

The reader has doubtless already concluded that it is impossible to affirm either that the Goodwin Sands existed in the time of Caesar, or that they had not then accumulated to such a degree as to attract attention, or that their place was occupied by an island. If the silence of Domesday Book and, as it should seem, the absence of any other positive testimony constitutes an argument against the hypothesis of Sir Charles Lyell,[2520] the same argument may be advanced to show that before the Norman Conquest the sands had not begun to appear. Yet, as we shall see in a subsequent article, there is some reason to believe that either sands or an island were there when Caesar invaded Britain.[2521] Tradition, vague as it is, combined with Lyell’s authority, disposes me to accept tentatively the latter alternative.

IV. THE SOUTH FORELAND AND THE DOVER CLIFFS

Professor Montagu Burrows[2522] affirms that ‘the space over which the tides travel [in the Straits of Dover] must be at least two miles wider than it was some 2,000 years ago’. This is one of the ex cathedra statements in which the professor’s work abounds, and for proof of which his amazed readers search his pages in vain. Dowker’s estimate is more moderate: he only bids us ‘assume the Straits are now one mile wider than when Caesar visited our shores’;[2523] but, like Professor Burrows, he requires us to make this assumption in the dark.

In M. Vivien de St.-Martin’s great work it is stated that Cape Grisnez ‘perd en moyenne 25 centim. par an; autrement dit, il recule 25 m. par siècle’.[2524] Assuming the accuracy of this statement, and assuming, further, that the rate of erosion has been constant since the invasion of Caesar, Cape Grisnez then projected seaward 489 metres, or about 534 yards further than it does now. I take for granted that the statement is based upon exact and prolonged observation; but when did that observation begin?[2525]

As for the South Foreland, it is certain that, as Dowker says,[2526] it is (or at all events was in 1885 and for some years previously) ‘being gradually undermined by the sea’; but it would be a great mistake to leap to the conclusion that this erosion has been going on continuously since the time of Caesar. In 1850 Captain K. B. Martin, who was harbour-master of Ramsgate, affirmed that the cliff between Dover and the South Foreland, being protected by ‘an inclined plane of shingle’ from the sea, had ‘preserved its contour from time immemorial’.[2527] The phrase is somewhat vague: but the captain was a careful observer; and we may believe him when he tells us that since his boyhood, fifty years before the time when he wrote, there had been no change.[2528] Why, then, were the Dover cliffs and the South Foreland being gradually eaten away in 1876, when Dowker wrote, and in 1884? Simply because the supply of shingle had, from various causes, been cut off.[2529] The erosion, said Mr. E. R. N. Druce, Engineer to the Government pier at Dover, takes place ‘at no particular rate, but falls of cliff at the points above named have taken place at intervals for some years past ... since they have lost the protection of the shingle at their base’. He added that the loss was ‘confined to areas bare of shingle’, and that, so far as he could ascertain, there existed no ‘data for determining the rate of erosion from early maps or other documents’.[2530] It would appear, then, that Professor Burrows’s assertion is based upon pure imagination.

When the subsidence which had taken place in the Neolithic Age was virtually complete the sea was bordered by a narrow plain, to which the high ground descended gradually. Erosion was at first rapid while the waters were devouring loose talus; but when beaches had had time to form it was of course retarded.[2531] How slow it is where the rocks are hard is proved by the fact that the contour of a prehistoric camp near Hastings shows that the seaward defence was formed not by an artificial rampart but by the East Cliff.[2532] Yet Professor Burrows asks us to believe that erosion has been as rapid in the chalk of the South Foreland as in the soft cliffs between Flamborough Head and the Thames.[2533] Generally speaking, as erosion proceeds, cliffs become higher;[2534] and it is obvious that if the Channel had been two miles wider in Caesar’s time, the Dover cliffs, if they had existed, would have been insignificant. But since Caesar described them as ‘precipitous heights’,[2535] and Cicero as ‘astonishing masses of cliff’,[2536] they were evidently little lower then than now. Let the reader ponder these things, and he will realize how monstrously exaggerated is the estimate which assigns to the Straits of Caesar’s time a breadth two miles less than our modern maps show.[2537]

V. DOVER HARBOUR

That a natural harbour existed at Dover in the time of Caesar is beyond dispute. It is mentioned under the name of Portus Dubris in the Itinerary of Antonine;[2538] and it was connected by a Roman road with Canterbury and London, and also with Richborough. Napoleon the Third[2539] affirms that it was entirely choked up about 950 A.D.; but this is a blunder, for the harbour is mentioned in Domesday Book.[2540] Even as late as 1582 it was stated by an engineer, named Thomas Digges, that ‘Before the peere was builte out, there are men alyue can remember that was no banckes or shelues of beache to be seene before Douer,[2541] but all cleane sea betwene Arteclif [Archcliff] tower and the castle clyffe’.[2542] Captain Martin[2543] holds that the remains of anchors which have been dug up out of meadows in the valley prove that the estuary was navigable as far as Crabble;[2544] and he believes that it actually extended to Water’s End,[2545] and covered the sites of the villages of Charlton and Buckland. Canon Puckle, however, argues that ‘the primitive haven’ covered a space which extended barely a quarter of a mile inland, ‘bounded by the lower half of St. James’ Street, Dolphin Lane, and Russell Street, and the east end of Dolphin Lane,’[2546] and he states that when this area was ‘partly uncovered in excavating for the new Russell Street gas works, quays and hawser-rings were brought to light’. Captain Martin’s estimate, which is based upon very uncertain data, must be regarded as an exaggeration: the estuary may possibly have extended up to Crabble, but was certainly not navigable so far except perhaps by coracles. Many years ago the remains of a Roman bath were discovered on the site of St. Mary’s church,[2547] and in 1887 a statue belonging to the period of the Roman occupation was found ‘during excavations for the foundation of the Carlton Club, in the Market Place’.[2548] These discoveries help to define approximately the western limit of the harbour; and I believe that Planche 17 of the Atlas accompanying Napoleon’s Histoire de Jules César[2549] represents it with tolerable accuracy.

VI. BETWEEN DOVER AND SANDGATE

During the last three centuries, at all events, the coast between Sandgate and Dover has undergone considerable changes. Large quantities of stone have been removed from the Folkestone cliffs; and landslips have occurred at Shakespeare’s Cliff, between Folkestone and Sandgate, and behind East Wear Bay.[2550] It would be useless, however, for our purpose, to describe these changes in detail; for they do not affect the topographical questions that belong to the history of Caesar’s invasions of Britain. Excepting the disappearance of the little haven that once existed at Folkestone, the general character of this section of the coast was much the same in 55 B.C. as to-day. It may be, however, that the aspect of the high ground above East Wear Bay was different. Between the cliffs and the heights which rise about a quarter of a mile to the north of them there is a wild and broken plateau, called the Warren, through which the railway runs. Referring to this, William Phillips, a geologist of some repute, wrote in 1821, ‘The cliff, bounding this ruin towards the sea, is, from its position, not in situ; and it is equally clear that the enormous masses of which it is composed, have fallen forward [probably by ‘repeated falls’] from near the summit of the cliff in situ.’[2551] When these convulsions began to transform the landscape cannot, as far as I know, be ascertained.

VII. ROMNEY MARSH

Between Hythe and Dungeness, on the other hand, there has been complete transformation. There, within the brief span of historical time, wind, tide, and river, and finally the labour of man, have wrought changes as remarkable as those that in other regions required the lapse of ages which the imagination fails to conceive. The antiquary who walks from Westenhanger Station to the brow of Lympne Hill, and looks out over the vast field of shingle that extends seaward, and, on his left, towards Hythe, and then over the broad level of the marsh that stretches away on his right between the Wealden upland and Dymchurch Wall, will easily picture to himself the scene that once was there.

1. Before we attempt to construct a map which may represent the coast-line between Sandgate and Dungeness, as it was in the time of Caesar, it will be well to state those relevant facts which are accepted by all geographers. There was a time when the area of Romney Marsh was covered by a bay. At a later epoch the marsh was fringed by a bar of shingle, which extended from Winchelsea to a point nearly opposite Shorncliffe. Between West Hythe and Shorncliffe streams flowed down from the hills, gradually forced an opening in the shingle opposite Hythe, through which the sea entered, and thus formed Hythe harbour, which, after remaining open for many centuries, was finally choked up about 300 years ago. For some time after the marsh became habitable the shingle protected it from the sea on the south, but gradually was so diminished that it became necessary to construct a sea wall. The river Rother debouched at some point within the area of Romney Marsh. During the Roman occupation of Britain there was a harbour called the Portus Lemanis, which has been located by one writer at Romney and by others at Lympne, while some have identified it with Hythe Haven. West of West Hythe Oaks, the marsh ‘is a rich mould ... while all to the east, as far as Sandgate, is (with the exception of a narrow strip to the south and east of Hythe, between the sea-beach and the hills) one vast bed of shingle’.[2552]

2. The whole of Romney Marsh, properly so called,[2553] is even now below the level of high water at spring tides. The hills which form its northern boundary have themselves changed since the time when the waves broke against their base. In the course of ages they have lost their original sharpness of outline, and, as we learn from the geologist who has described the formation of the Weald, have been ‘worn down into undulating ground’;[2554] and nearly 200 years ago a local observer described how, after an unusually wet season, Lympne Hill had been completely transformed, in a single night, by a landslip.[2555] But these changes are insignificant in comparison with that by which the old Bay of Appledore has become a fertile pasture. Of what material is this land composed? According to the late Thomas Lewin, it is ‘absolutely and exclusively a sea deposit’; and, in proof of this assertion, he pointed to ‘the marine shells which pervade the whole mass’.[2556] But it needs little acumen to see that the presence of marine shells in the marsh does not justify Lewin in using the words ‘absolutely and exclusively’; and the late Colonel George Greenwood maintained that the marsh had been formed by material brought down from the Weald by ‘the aqueous erosion of the Rother’.[2557] As a matter of fact, it was formed by the combined action of river and sea.[2558] But unless and until a series of borings are systematically made, it will be impossible to describe the recent strata with precision.[2559]

According to Topley, ‘The cause of the original formation of Romney Marsh is altogether unknown. It is usually attributed to “the meeting of the tides”; but as this takes place over a rather wide area, and as shingle beaches and alluvial flats occur where no tides meet, the explanation is not altogether satisfactory.’[2560] The well-known geologist, F. Drew, explains that as soon as the bay had become so shallow from the accumulation of silt that its bed was exposed at low water, the sediment carried down by the Rother began to be deposited on the surface. Like Topley, he confesses that how the silt had accumulated is ‘not quite clear’; and he thinks that ‘the newly formed surface’ may have been ‘actually upheaved by oscillation of level, forming a plain well raised above the level of the sea’,[2561] which, however, before the historic period, must have suffered a subsidence.[2562] This supposition was based upon the fact that trees are found near Appledore a few feet below the surface, which, if they are in situ, must have grown at a time when the marsh was above the level of the sea, and were perhaps contemporaneous with the submerged forests of Devonshire and Cornwall.[2563] Some authorities, however, as we shall presently see, hold[2564] that they were drifted into their present position.

The late James Elliott, who in the middle of the nineteenth century was engineer of Dymchurch Wall, diligently investigated the history of the marsh, and added much to our knowledge. While the marsh was being formed it was gradually closed by a bar of shingle, composed of pebbles which had been partly broken off from the cliffs on the south-west, partly carried down by rivers,[2565] and had been driven up the Channel by the prevailing winds.[2566] Elliott remarks that ‘the result of such a protection from the open sea would be, that all matter brought down by the hills would rest nearly where it was first deposited, and, in process of time, dry land, at certain states of the tide, would appear’; and that, on the ebb of every tide, ‘all the water in the bay gradually receded towards the hills, and ... made its exit at the eastern end of the shingle bank.’[2567] He concludes that the shingle extended rapidly until it reached the eastern end of what is now Dymchurch Wall, but that its progress thenceforward was extremely slow. Meanwhile the sediment deposited by the sea was gradually raising the surface of the marsh.[2568] Elliott, whose statements and opinions were incorporated by Lewin in his book on the invasions of Caesar, affirms that the advancing shingle spit was ‘intersected only by a channel between Lydd and Romney’, which was ‘the mouth of the estuary which lay behind the shingle’;[2569] but Lewin, in a later article on the Portus Lemanis,[2570] appears to have abandoned this view, for he there implies that the spit was continuous. At some period which preceded the erection of the Rhee Wall, that is to say, the first enclosure or ‘inning’ of the marsh, it would appear to have reached the foot of the hills at West Hythe Oaks.[2571] The result, according to Lewin, was that the marsh was temporarily enclosed. But, he says, ‘this bar to the exit of waters from the marsh could not long continue, for, though the sea was excluded, the Limen [that is to say, the Rother] ... and twenty smaller streams were continually increasing the volume of water within the marsh, and ... the shingle spit was burst asunder between Romney and Lydd.’ Thus, if Lewin’s final view is correct, the sea again found an entrance on the west of Romney, and continued to overflow the marsh at high tide until it was finally shut out by the erection of the Rhee Wall. West Hythe Oaks was not the final goal of the shingle spit. For a long period, as Lewin remarks, ‘the shingle from the west continued to advance ... and for a time without again touching the hills;’ but at length the advancing spit ‘was again wrested aside and dashed against the hills at Hythe, between the present barracks and the more eastern of the two Hythe bridges over the canal’. According to Elliott, however, whose view was adopted by Lewin in the Appendix to his book on the invasion of Britain by Caesar, the shingle was not ‘dashed against the hills at Hythe’, but opposite Shorncliffe. Anyhow the final result was that from the eastern end of what is now Dymchurch Wall to a point nearly opposite Shorncliffe there extended an irregular tract of shingle, broken only opposite Hythe by an opening, which led to a narrow harbour extending along the foot of the hills. This opening was due to the streams which flowed down from the hills and found a vent by bursting the barrier of shingle, and the scour of which kept the harbour open until, about three hundred years ago, it was finally choked up. According to Elliott, the western extremity of this harbour was at West Hythe Oaks; according to Lewin’s final view at Hythe itself. Between Dymchurch and Hythe the shingle formed a broad field; but the section between Hythe and Shorncliffe, which formed the southern boundary of Hythe harbour, was long and narrow. The whole tract was ‘perfectly flat and above high-water mark’; and Elliott argues that it extended much further seaward in Caesar’s time than it does now, because, while the supply of shingle drifted from the south-west was cut off by the gradual elongation of Dungeness, the eastward movement of the shingle along the fringe of the marsh still went on.[2572] This argument he supports by a comparison of the Ordnance Survey map executed in 1817 with an old map of the marsh, probably made about the year 1550, which is in the Cottonian MSS.[2573] at the British Museum. Assuming the accuracy of the old map, it would appear that in the 267 years the shingle had receded about two furlongs; and Elliott concluded that in Caesar’s time the coast line at Hythe must have been nearly a mile from the hills. Having had considerable experience in the handling of old maps, I so far differ from Elliott that I am rather disposed to assume the inaccuracy of the one on which he relies; but he is quite justified in concluding that the coast line was much further from the Hythe hills in 55 B.C. than now.[2574]

Elliott’s account of the formation of the Marsh has, however, been recently disputed in a paper by George Dowker,[2575] which, although it swarms with bibliographical and historical mistakes,[2576] cannot safely be ignored. The author begins by endeavouring to show that the Rother originally entered the sea at Romney; that it gradually raised both its bed and its banks by depositing sediment; and that ‘the Rhee Wall was, in the first place, a natural river-bank’--the bank of the Rother--‘subsequently raised and altered by the Barons of the Cinque Port of Romney’,[2577] but (if I have grasped his meaning, which is often obscure) only between Snargate and Warehorn.[2578] He tells us that ‘The sequence of changes in the Marsh may be summarized as follows:--Firstly, a shallow bay existed in a depression in the underlying rocks. Into this bay the waters of the Rother, Tillingham, and Brede, on their way to their outlet near Romney, deposited their silt, so that the northern half of the Marsh had become dry land previous to the time of the Romans. Around this bay were formed sand-hills. In time of flood the waters of the river that ran out at Romney overflowed, and, depositing silt, raised the banks on either side. A slight depression of the land commenced, and has continued. Beaches accumulated, especially between Romney and Hythe, and between Romney and Winchelsea. Romney probably formed a promontory near Dymchurch, near where the ancient river, then called the Limen, discharged its waters.’[2579] He explains that originally the sea was excluded from the marsh by sand-hills, and that ‘the sand-hills appear to have been formed at a period before the accumulation of the beaches had commenced, since the beach effectually stops the formation of sand-hills’.[2580] No sand-hills now exist in the marsh, except between Rye and Lydd, near New Romney, and near West Hythe; but, says Dowker, ‘We may connect these sand-hills by a hypothetical line extending from Rye to Hythe.’[2581] The reason which he gives for believing that there has been a depression of the land since the time of the Romans is that he has found evidences of post-Roman subsidence in ‘the neighbourhood of Richborough, Reculvers, and the Swale marshes of Sittingbourne’.[2582]

Now Dowker gives no sufficient reason for refusing to accept Elliott’s view (which he travesties) that the sea once found its way over the marsh through a gap between the advancing shingle and the hills, and also through a break in the shingle spit,--in other words, for maintaining that the marsh had become dry land before the shingle beach was formed. The notion that the Rhee Wall was, ‘in the first place, a natural river-bank’ is simply fantastic. To begin with, its direction is almost a straight line, whereas it is well known that in open plains, where the slope is slight, rivers invariably pursue tortuous courses.[2583] Along what is now called the Rhee Wall runs the high road from Appledore to New Romney. It occupies what was formerly a channel embanked on either side; and this channel provided an outlet for the waters of the Rother, whose actual mouth was at Appledore.[2584] As Elliott says, ‘In erecting this wall it became necessary to provide some exit for the waters from the hills as well as for the drainage of the land enclosed. This was done by cutting a channel parallel with the wall from the pool or lake at the embouchure of the river Limene at Appledore to the sea at Romney ... the wall was necessary to be continued across this lake until it met the high land at Appledore.’[2585] Again, I cannot understand why, if Romney Marsh Proper became dry land before the time of the Romans without being artificially enclosed, Walland Marsh and Guildford Marsh, which lie west and south of the Rhee Wall, should still have been periodically overflowed by the sea; nor is it clear how in that case the Rother could have excavated its hypothetical channel along the line of the Rhee Wall. Lastly, it is impossible, on Dowker’s theory, to locate the Portus Lemanis. He denies that it was at Lympne: it could not, on his theory, have been at Hythe or at West Hythe, for he implies that the shingle beach, behind which lay the historic Hythe Haven, did not yet exist;[2586] and Romney--the only other possible site--is, as I shall afterwards show, out of the question.

I am not concerned to dispute Dowker’s theory that the sea was excluded from the marsh on the south by sand-hills before the shingle beach was formed, though the mere presence of patches of blown sand near West Hythe and near Romney does not justify him in connecting them by ‘a hypothetical line extending from Rye to Hythe’; nor does he offer any theory to account for the disappearance of this hypothetical line after it began to be protected by a barrier of shingle. The important point is that the fact of the erection of the Rhee Wall proves that before it existed Romney Marsh Proper was liable to be flooded by high tides.

3. It has long been a vexed question where, in the time of Caesar, and during the Roman occupation of Britain, the Rother discharged itself. Hasted[2587] affirms that the bed of the river ‘may yet very easily be traced ... under the hills from West Hythe to Appledore’. Beale Poste,[2588] who agrees with him, says that, according to the Itinerary of Antonine, the port of the river Lemanis, which he identifies with the Rother, was the Portus Lemanis; that, according to Somner, ancient records mention ‘the Lymne branch of the Rother as still in existence in ... 820 at ... Warehorne, at about ... three miles from the bend of our river towards Lymne’; and that ‘we find the name Portus Limneus in Ethelwerd’s Chronicle, iv, 3, in his annals of ... 893, which seems to imply the “Port of the river Lemanis”.’ Holloway,[2589] the historian of Romney Marsh, after saying, like Hasted, that ‘traces of the ancient bed of a river are still visible under the foot of the Kentish cliffs’, adds that ‘our ancient chroniclers, according to Lambarde, called this same place “Limene Mouthe”, and which is interpreted by Leland to betoken the mouth of the river Rother’. Drew[2590] holds that the river Limen, or, as it is called by the anonymous geographer of Ravenna, Lemana,[2591] must in the ninth century have flowed past Sandtun, ‘the patch of Blown Sand between West Hythe and Butter’s (or Botolph’s) Bridge,’ because in a charter of the year 833 allusion is made to ‘a piece of land at Sandtun that was bounded on the south by the river Limen’. Finally, Mr. F. P. Gulliver thinks it probable that the Rother had, a thousand years ago, two ‘main distributaries’, one of which flowed out ‘through an inlet in the bar south-west of Hythe’.[2592]

Hasted’s statement is quite incorrect. Elliott, who knew every inch of Romney Marsh, positively affirms that ‘between Lymne and Appledore ... not the slightest trace of any river remains’;[2593] and his statement is confirmed by Topley.[2594] Dowker[2595] also observes that if the Rother had ever flowed out near Hythe, ‘it must have occupied the space where the Military Canal exists, in which case it has left no historical or other trace behind, and against such a river the Ree Wall could have been no protection.’ Moreover, if there is any force in the argument of Drew, the river flowed south of the blown sand near Butter’s Bridge, that is to say, a good mile from the hills.[2596] Elliott accounts for the belief that the river entered the sea near Lympne by the fact that a depression exists along the foot of the hills, ‘many taking that to be the river which in truth was only an estuary ... and which would only assume something of the character of a river at low water.’[2597] In reply to Beale Poste, it is sufficient to remark that the Itinerary does not say that the port of the river Lemanis (or rather Lemana) was the Portus Lemanis, nor does it even mention the river: it simply gives the distance of the Portus Lemanis from Durovernum, or Canterbury.[2598] Beale Poste misquotes Somner, who does not say a single word about ‘the Lymne branch of the Rother’.[2599] It is quite true that we find the words portu Limneo in the Chronicle of Ethelwerd;[2600] but it is not easy to see how these words convey any more information about the geographical position of the port than the words portus Lemanis. As to Holloway’s argument, all that Lambarde[2601] says is that Robert Talbot,[2602] ‘a man of our time,’ was of opinion that Shipway, near West Hythe, was so called ‘because it lay in the way to the Haven where the ships were woont to ride.[2603] And that haven,’ adds Lambarde, ‘taketh hee to be the same which ... is called ... of Antoninus Limanis, of our chroniclers Limene Mouth, and interpreted by Leland to betoken the mouth of the river of Rother.’ The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle states distinctly that the mouth of the Limen was at Appledore;[2604] and Leland was far too acute to be duped by the notion that it had ever been at Lympne: ‘where the Ryver Limene should be,’ he says, ‘I can not tel, except yt should be that that cummeth above Appledor ... and that ys Cowrs ys now changed.’[2605] With regard to Drew’s argument, allusion is made in two charters[2606] to ‘a piece of land at Sandtun, that was bounded on the south by the river Limen’, namely, a charter of King Aethilberht of Kent, dated February 20, 732, and a charter of King Ecgberht of Kent, dated 833. In the latter it is stated that there were salt-pans ‘in the same place’, namely at Sandtun;[2607] and in both the boundaries of the land are defined in almost identical terms,--‘the boundaries of this piece of land are, on the east the King’s land; on the south the river called the Limen; on the west and on the north the Hudan Fleot.’[2608] That Sandtun was the patch of blown sand between West Hythe and Botolph’s Bridge is a pure assumption on the part of Drew. Furthermore, he would have found it difficult to indicate the position of ‘the King’s land’ on the east, seeing that on the east, if the Limen debouched opposite Lympne, there was only shingle or sea. Finally, it is certain that before 833 Romney Marsh Proper had been enclosed; and how a river could have flowed along the north of the marsh across the Rhee Wall, or how, if it had worked this miracle, it should have subsequently disappeared without leaving any trace of its existence, is more than I can understand.[2609] At all events the level of the marsh, which is 6 feet 6 inches lower at Appledore Dowles than at West Hythe Oaks, proves that, even assuming the former existence of such a river, centuries must have elapsed from the time when it ceased to flow beneath the hills to the time when the shingle closed the marsh at West Hythe Oaks.[2610]

Elliott[2611] concluded, ‘from several careful surveys of the whole district,’ that the mouth of the Limen was at Appledore, where it entered the estuary; and, as Roach Smith[2612] truly remarks, this conclusion is confirmed by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. ‘We now,’ says Elliott,[2613] ‘find the whole country about the mouth of the Limene, at Appledore, in a circuit of about a mile (and at no other part), at a few feet under the present surface, covered with trees of the oak, alder, and birch ... evidently, from their position, having been drifted from a distance, and deposited where now found.’ Lewin[2614] points out that this ‘is the very lowest part of the marsh’; and he holds that ‘the presence of oak trees ... decides that the trees are not in situ,[2615] for ... there is something in the Marsh mould uncongenial to the oak’. The course of the river, Elliott tells us, is ‘still traceable between Appledore and the Isle of Oxney, and thence into the estuary, about half a mile south of Appledore’. Once, as we have seen, according to Elliott, the estuary found an exit opposite Lympne: when this was closed, there remained only the channel between Romney and Lydd.[2616]

4. It is now necessary to inquire what was the geographical position of the Portus Lemanis. The reader will, of course, see that this question is quite distinct from that which he has just been considering. Whether the Rother ever flowed along the north of the marsh or not, everybody admits that the sea once had access there even at low tide; and the question is whether the Portus Lemanis was this estuary, or rather that part of it which lay below Lympne Hill. This is the generally accepted view.[2617] In support of it Appach[2618] argues as follows:--First, the name ‘Lympne’ is obviously a corruption of Lemanis, and Leland found a tradition existing that Lympne had once been a port. Secondly, at Lympne, Stone Street, the Roman road from Canterbury, ‘terminates abruptly,’ and ‘no trace whatever of its continuance southward into the marsh can be discovered’. ‘For what reason,’ asks Appach, ‘could this road have been made if Lympne was not then a port?’ He goes on to observe that, according to the Itinerary of Antonine, ‘Portus Lemanis was one stage distant from Canterbury;’ that, besides Stone Street, the only Roman roads which converged at Canterbury were those which led to Reculver, Richborough, and Dover; and therefore that the Portus Lemanis must have been situated on Stone Street, and obviously at its termination. Thirdly, according to the Itinerary, the distance from Canterbury to the Portus Lemanis was 16 Roman miles, or about 25,872 yards;[2619] and the actual distance from ‘the margin of the marsh below Lympne measured along the Stone Street to the point where all the Roman roads at Canterbury would converge, if produced, is fifteen statute miles’, or 26,400 yards.[2620] Fourthly, the existence of Stutfall Castle proves that the Portus Lemanis was at Lympne; and, moreover, the castle ‘had no southern wall because the sea came up to the foot of the fortifications’. Fifthly, in the Table of Peutinger, Lemanis is ‘marked with a castle, like Richborough and Dover’.

These arguments may, at first sight, appear conclusive: in reality they are worthless. (1) Leland[2621] does not mention any tradition about the port: he simply asserts that ‘Lymme Hill or Lyme was sumtyme a famose Haven, and good for Shyppes that might cum to the Foote of the Hille’. Lambarde,[2622] it is true, says that there was in his time a tradition that Shipway was so called because ‘it lay in the way to the Haven where the ships were woont to ride’; and he calls this tradition ‘the report of the countrie people, who hold faste the same opinion which they have by tradition receaved from their Elders’. Also he himself asserts that ‘at the first, ships were accustomed to discharge at Lymme’. But Shipway ‘lay in the way’ to West Hythe, not to Lympne. As for the alleged tradition, everything depends upon the date of its origin; and this cannot be ascertained. The name ‘Lympne’ may be connected with Lemanis; but this does not prove that the Portus Lemanis was at the foot of the heights on which Lympne stands: if it had been east of Stutfall Castle, and the nearest town in Roman times or later had been on the site of Lympne, the origin of the name would be perfectly clear. (2) Appach insists that Stone Street ‘terminates abruptly’ at Lympne; but, as a matter of fact, a road diverges to the right from the straight course of Stone Street at New Inn Green, and terminates just north of Stutfall Castle.[2623] Mr. Thurston of Ashford points out that if the course of Stone Street were continued in a straight line from New Inn Green, it ‘would point to the Shipway [or Shepway] Cross, and continue down the present roadway which descends the hill to West Hythe; and’, he adds, ‘this is the only place along the hill where a roadway could possibly descend it in a straight line, and I believe it was naturally selected as the road to the ships or port.’[2624] (3) As for the argument based upon the distance given in the Itinerary from Canterbury to the Portus Lemanis, a moment’s reflection will convince any reader who uses his map that it holds good for the theory that the Portus Lemanis was at West Hythe as well as for the view which Appach defends. (4) The situation of Stutfall Castle may no doubt be used as an argument to prove that the Portus Lemanis was at Lympne: but the castle is barely a mile and a half from West Hythe Oaks, which, as we shall presently see, was in all probability the western end of the port; and, although it was believed when Appach wrote that the castle had no southern wall, excavation has since proved that it had.[2625] Appach’s last argument depends, like the one which precedes it, upon the assumption that Stutfall Castle would have been useless unless it had stood in immediate proximity to the Portus Lemanis. What if Lemanis was ‘marked with a castle’? Why should not the castle have protected the neighbouring part of ‘the Saxon shore’ and a harbour at West Hythe?

The late antiquary, W. H. Black,[2626] remarked further, that the discovery of a Roman altar in Stutfall Castle, erected by the ‘admiral of the British fleet’ (praefectus classis Britannicae), proves that the Portus Lemanis was at Lympne; and, observing that ‘the Saxon Chronicle tells us of the arrival of a fleet of Danes at “Limene mouth”’, he argues that ‘it is impossible to deny the identity of Lymne with that name’. But, whatever may be the etymological connexion between Lympne and Limene, it has been shown already that according to the very chronicle which Black cites, the mouth of the Limen was at Appledore;[2627] and the discovery of the Roman altar is perfectly consistent with the view that the harbour which was the admiral’s naval base was near West Hythe.

Elliott originally held that the Portus Lemanis was the estuary at Lympne;[2628] and his opinion was quoted by superficial writers in support of this view several years after he had himself discarded it. For he finally came to the conclusion that, even as early as Caesar’s time, there was no harbour at Lympne.[2629] He tells us that ‘recent investigations in taking a series of levels over the whole of Romney Marsh have established the fact that the estuary must have been closed at the eastern extremity (where the Portus Lemanis is commonly looked for) many centuries before the sea was shut out from ... Romney Marsh Proper; for at the extreme eastern end of Romney Marsh, by Hythe Oaks, the surface of the land is 18 inches higher than it is a mile westward, a state of things that could not have existed had there been any outlet towards the east after the closing of the Marsh westward. The inset and outset of the tides twice a day to and from the estuary would have counteracted the silting, and produced not an elevation, but a depression of the surface. There is ... a regular and continuous fall of the land next the hills, from Hythe Oaks into Appledore Dowles ... the lowest part of the Marsh being 6 feet 6 inches lower than the land at Hythe Oaks. There could have been no silting after the inclosure of the Marsh, and the present level is such as it was when the Marsh was reclaimed.... The barrier which sealed up the eastern mouth of the estuary was the accumulation of shingle from the west, and (sic) which long before the historic period had reached the hills at Hythe Oaks. If Romney Marsh, at the foot of the castrum [Stutfall Castle], was dry land at that time [A.D. 368-9, when Theodosius[2630] was in Britain] and occupied by the Romans (as we know to have been the case), Stutfall could not have been the “Portus Lemanis” ... as it was not accessible from the sea, and lay a mile and a half at least from it. The sea could not have flowed there without putting the whole of Romney Marsh Proper under water to the depth of eight or ten feet every springtide.’ Similarly, Lewin[2631] states, on the authority of Elliott, that ‘the greater elevation of the soil towards the east of Romney Marsh Proper can be only accounted for by the fact that when the shingle “full” had been thrown quite across the Marsh at West Oaks ... the sea still entered from the west, and that, thenceforth, the process of silting went on for many centuries ... most rapidly towards the east, where the water was tranquil, and less rapidly towards the [site of the subsequently erected] Rhee Wall, in which direction was the scour of the current’.

‘Many centuries’ is a vague expression; but for ‘many’ substitute ‘three’, and, even for the time of Caesar, the argument still holds good,--unless Elliott’s theory of the formation of the marsh is to be rejected.

But there are writers whom Elliott’s reasoning (if indeed they have considered it) leaves unconvinced. According to Mr. George E. Fox, it has been proved by excavation that the existing castellum at Stutfall is not earlier than the time of Constantine;[2632] but Sir Victor Horsley, while confirming this statement, tells us that he has himself found ‘in the foundation of the chief gate an altar ... marked with barnacles, having been clearly at one time under the sea’; and from this he infers that an earlier fort was ‘overwhelmed by an incursion of the sea over Romney level’. Sir Victor also tells us that he has found ‘in the concrete boulder formation of the south wall ... a coin of Maximinus, who flourished 237 A.D.’, and ‘at the foot of the wall on the inner side, a Gaulish coin of Tetricus the elder, of a date about 260, and finally in the black soil of the camp, i.e. in the most recent and superficial layers, numerous coins of the Constantine family’.[2633]

I do not know whether Sir Victor Horsley concludes from these discoveries that there was a harbour at Lympne when the earlier hypothetical castellum at Stutfall was destroyed; but at all events that is the opinion of Mr. Fox. But the ‘incursion of the sea’ which Sir Victor Horsley believes to have overwhelmed the original fort, if it was not caused by an abnormally high tide rushing in between Romney and Lydd before the erection of the Rhee Wall, may have been due to a similar tide which burst the bar of shingle between Dymchurch and West Hythe. Even after the marsh had been artificially enclosed, such floods occurred. Stukeley[2634] tells us that ‘George Hunt, an old man, living in the farm-house ... says, once the sea-bank broke, and his house with all the adjacent marshes was floated’,[2635] &c.

Lewin maintained that the Portus Lemanis was neither at Lympne nor at West Hythe, but at Hythe. This, it should be noted, was the conclusion at which he finally arrived:[2636] when he wrote his book on the invasion of Julius Caesar, he held that in 55 B.C. there was a port at Lympne, although in the Appendix to that book he discarded this view, and argued that the only port was a pool harbour extending behind a shingle spit from West Hythe Oaks to a point opposite Shorncliffe. His final view, as we have already seen,[2637] was that this harbour extended no further westward than Hythe itself: but in giving utterance to this opinion he did not explain why he had abandoned the one which preceded it, and indeed made no allusion to it at all.

He states that ‘in the course of ages’, after the shingle had reached West Hythe Oaks, it ‘was again wrested aside and dashed against the hills at Hythe, between the present barracks and the more eastern of the two Hythe bridges over the canal’. He goes on to say that ‘the part between Hythe Oaks and Hythe (now Duck Marsh) was thus barred from the sea, and became a lake into which flowed the rivulet called Slabrook and other springs, and these waters accumulating forced their way back at Hythe Oaks, and there opened a way for themselves ... into the estuary in the west; but, as the flood was not considerable, the outlet was of no great breadth. The shingle spit ... was again carried along eastward until it reached Shorncliffe.... Between Hythe and Shorncliffe, however, was left behind (i.e. north of) the spit, a triangular space, into which flowed two streams ... one from Saltwood and the other called Seabrook, and the waters within this spit were gradually swollen, until they forced a passage through the shingle, at a point near the end of the elm avenue at Hythe.’ The change which his opinion underwent will be at once apparent to any one who compares the map which Elliott constructed for The Invasion of Britain by Julius Caesar (facing page liii) with that which accompanies the article in the fortieth volume of Archaeologia[2638] (facing page 369). Lewin argues that it was so easy to exclude the sea from Duck Marsh that ‘probably the inclosure was made by the Britons before the arrival of the Romans. On the south-east,’ he explains, ‘the shingle bank was continuous up to the hills ... on the west the sea entered only from the marsh at the foot of the hills by a narrow channel; and all that was required was a short dam at this point between the shingle bed and the hills.’ The remains of this dam, Lewin observes, are ‘still distinguishable ... at Hythe Oaks, but the part next the hills has been swept away by the military canal. This partial inclosure, prior to the inclosure of Romney Marsh, accounts for a fact otherwise inexplicable, viz. that Duck Marsh is not within the jurisdiction of Romney Marsh.’[2639]

Perhaps. But the date of the construction of the dam is not known. May it not have been made after, or simultaneously with, the erection of the Rhee Wall, to secure Romney Marsh against all possibility of inundation, not to protect Duck Marsh, which, according to Lewin’s earlier view, was originally overflowed by Hythe harbour? In other words, is it not possible that when the dam was made Hythe harbour extended westward as far as West Hythe Oaks? This, as I have already said, was not merely Lewin’s original view: it was also the view which Elliott, his friend and adviser, retained after the publication of the article in Archaeologia. At all events this view finds expression in a map which Elliott prepared for Furley’s History of the Weald of Kent, which was not published until 1871, five years after the appearance of Lewin’s article. That being the case, and considering that Lewin did not explain the reasons which led him to change his opinion, I am unable to follow him.

In support of the theory that the Portus Lemanis was at Hythe Lewin argues, first, that Stone Street terminated at West Hythe; secondly, that the port could not have been at West Hythe; otherwise ‘the whole of West Hythe ... would have been deluged’. ‘The very name,’ he adds, ‘shows that Hythe was the principal town, and West Hythe an accretion to it.’ Thirdly, he affirms that Roman remains have been found at Hythe; and, fourthly, that a branch from Stone Street led to Hythe. He also bases an argument upon the itinerary of Richard of Cirencester, which, as every scholar now knows, is a forgery.[2640]

Stone Street does terminate, as Lewin says, at West Hythe; but the fact goes to prove that it gave access to a harbour which was at West Hythe.[2641] Granting that West Hythe would have been ‘deluged’ if the port had been there, what then? Why should it not have been? Lewin does not explain what he means by ‘the whole of West Hythe’; and, in default of this explanation, it is impossible to understand his argument.[2642] He himself, as we have seen, in his book on the invasion of Britain by Julius Caesar makes the port extend westward as far as West Hythe Oaks; and Black shows that, so far from its being true that West Hythe is merely an ‘accretion’ of Hythe, Hythe is merely East Hythe, and that it is so called in Ogilby’s Britannia.[2643] The discovery of Roman remains at Hythe does not prove that Hythe was the Portus Lemanis any more than the discovery of Roman remains at Dymchurch proves that the Portus Lemanis was there. Or rather, the discovery does not prove that the Portus Lemanis extended no further westward than Hythe; for I freely admit that it extended in front of and to the east of it. It is not proved that a branch from Stone Street led to Hythe;[2644] and if there was such a branch, the fact does not prove that the harbour did not extend as far as West Hythe Oaks. Finally, Black points out that, whereas the distance of Lympne (and, he might have added, of West Hythe) from Canterbury corresponds with that of the Portus Lemanis from Durovernum, as given in the Itinerary of Antonine, the distance of Hythe by road from the same place is two miles further.[2645]

5. The first step taken for the enclosure of Romney Marsh was the erection of the Rhee Wall. By whom and at what date this work was executed is not certainly known. It is generally attributed to the Romans; but Lewin[2646] assures us that Mr. Smiles, in his Lives of the Engineers, ‘expresses an opinion that the Marsh was reclaimed by the Belgae.’ What Mr. Smiles[2647] really says is that ‘the reclamation of this tract is supposed to be due to the Frisians’; and he does not tell us by whom the supposition is entertained, or on what grounds it is based. Lewin himself, asking whether [Appledore] ‘Dowles’ is not derived from the Celtic word dol, says that ‘if a part of Romney Marsh was named by the Ancient Britons, the marsh itself must have been reclaimed by them’.[2648] From the same word Appach[2649] draws precisely the opposite inference. ‘Apuldore Dowles,’ he says, ‘appears to be allied to the Welsh dol, a bend. If so, it would mean a bend or curve, and so a recess or bay; and Apuldore Dowles would mean the bay of Apuldore.’ Whatever may be the value of this argument, the name ‘Apuldore Dowles,’ does not go to prove that Romney Marsh was ‘inned’ by the Britons; for, as Appach[2650] truly remarks, there is no other local name in Romney Marsh Proper which shows any trace of a Celtic derivation.

Mr. W. A. S. Robertson,[2651] on the other hand, states, on the authority of Professor Skeat, that ‘Rumenea’, the name by which, according to Lambarde,[2652] Romney was known to the Saxons, is compounded of the Gaelic word ruimen (marsh) and the Saxon affix ea (river); and he concludes that ‘before the Roman occupation there was in this great estuary sufficient land, uncovered by water, to be denominated ... Rum or Ruimen’. Again, arguing that the καινος λιμην, or ‘new harbour’, mentioned by Ptolemy,[2653] was at Romney, he says that ‘if it was called into existence by ... the Rhee Wall, it follows that the Rhee Wall’ was ‘probably formed at least as early as the first century of the Christian era’.

If the ‘new harbour’ was at Romney! There is not the slightest evidence that it was there.[2654] As for the word ruimen, how can Mr. Robertson prove that it was applied to Romney Marsh ‘before the Roman occupation’? Moreover, supposing that the marsh was not embanked by the Britons, there was ‘sufficient land uncovered by water to be denominated Ruimen’ twice every day, when the tide was low, before the Rhee Wall was made; and the name lends no support to Mr. Robertson’s theory.

I do not attach much importance to the argument, first propounded by Sir W. Dugdale[2655] and often repeated since, that because the Britons, according to Tacitus[2656]--or rather, according to a speech put by Tacitus into the mouth of a British chief--were employed by the Romans in draining and embanking marshes, therefore the Romans enclosed this particular marsh. But, considering that Roman remains have frequently been discovered in that part of the marsh which lies on the east of the Rhee Wall,[2657] it is surely inexplicable that if the wall was built by the Britons, no Celtic remains have ever been found there.

Appach[2658] not only rejects the theory that the Britons built the Rhee Wall, but denies that Romney Marsh Proper was enclosed during the Roman occupation. He maintains that, in Caesar’s time, ‘the northern portion, at all events, and possibly the whole of the interval between the island of Romney and the high ground of Kent was open sea.’ For, he argues, ‘Lympne was the ancient Portus Lemanis ... that place could not have been a port unless there had been free access to it from the Channel, and it is clear from the manner in which the marsh and shingle were deposited, that there was always open sea between Lympne and the Channel until the interval between the ancient island at Romney and the high ground of Kent had been closed by the gradual growth of the marsh and shingle.’

The assumption upon which this argument rests has been already disproved: the Portus Lemanis was not at Lympne. Appach’s theory forces him to assume that the sediment which formed the marsh was deposited at an incredibly rapid rate. He maintains[2659] that ‘the upper portion of Romney Marsh, for a depth of thirty feet ... below its present surface (which would give sufficient water for the heaviest of Caesar’s ships at the lowest Spring tides) might very well have been deposited’ in ‘about five hundred years’. But, according to Elliott,[2660] the average rate at which the silt was deposited was not more than about one-eighth of an inch per annum.

Dowker, on the other hand, although he once regarded it as ‘evident that at the period of Caesar’s invasion the marsh was little better than a swamp, great part being under water at high tide’, maintained that the discovery of Roman pottery on the west of Dymchurch disproved Appach’s theory.[2661] But he did not take account of dates. Appach himself[2662] noted the discoveries which had been made near Dymchurch; but he observed that while some of the objects discovered had been pronounced by the Society of Antiquaries to be ‘decidedly Roman’, others had been attributed by the same body to subsequent periods; and he concluded that the marsh had not been enclosed before the middle of the fifth century.

This theory is pulverized by one fact which Appach ignores. Dymchurch is not the only place in Romney Marsh Proper where Roman remains have been found: they have been discovered in Eastbridge, at Newchurch, at Ivychurch, and indeed over the whole area.[2663] On the other hand, Welland Marsh, Guildford Marsh, and Denge Marsh--those parts of Romney Marsh, popularly so called, which extend westward of the Rhee Wall--have yielded none.[2664] The inference is certain: Romney Marsh Proper was enclosed during the Roman occupation of Britain.

6. The conclusions which we have now reached are, first, that the Rother did not, in the time of Caesar, enter the sea at Lympne, but debouched into the estuary near Appledore; secondly, that the marsh was then closed at West Hythe Oaks, and therefore that there was no harbour at Lympne; thirdly, that the Rhee Wall had not then been built, and therefore that the marsh was still flooded at spring tides by the inrush of the sea between Romney and Lydd; fourthly, that the Portus Lemanis was a pool harbour extending from West Hythe to a point nearly opposite Shorncliffe; and, lastly, that the Rhee Wall was built in Roman times.

But, as the reader will hereafter see, if these conclusions are erroneous, the error will not lead us astray when we have to determine the place where Caesar landed in Britain.

PORTUS ITIUS

I. REVIEW OF THE CONTROVERSY

The greater part of the vast literature which has accumulated on the question of the identity of the Portus Itius is obsolete;[2665] and it is now sometimes taken for granted that the choice is restricted to Wissant and Boulogne. Nevertheless, as I am determined to set the question at rest, I shall examine the claims of three other ports, which, in recent times, have found advocates whose names command respect,--the estuary of the Somme, Ambleteuse, and Calais.

The question began to be seriously discussed in the fifteenth century. The Italian geographer, Raymond de Marliano, identified the Portus Itius with Calais;[2666] and in the following century the famous Ortelius[2667] did the same. Chifflet[2668] and other scholars, well known in their day, chose St. Omer, situated, as they believed, at the head of a wide and shallow gulf, which was erroneously assumed to have covered the low-lying lands between Sangatte and Dunkirk.[2669] Adrien de Valois[2670] declared for Étaples; and numerous other absurd suggestions were defended with more or less ingenuity. From Dieppe to Ghent there was not a harbour, a roadstead, or a fishing port, which had not its champion. But the controversy soon began to centre itself between Wissant and Boulogne. Camden[2671] was the first to declare for Wissant. Du Fresne[2672] (commonly called Du Cange), one of the most illustrious French scholars of the seventeenth century, defended its claims against Sanson; and d’Anville,[2673] Henry,[2674] Walckenaer,[2675] and Sir Richard Colt Hoare[2676] followed his example. Cluver[2677] wrote briefly but effectively on the other side; and Scaliger[2678] characteristically exclaimed that those who did not, like himself, decide for Boulogne, were lunatics. During the last half-century, although Wissant has not lacked able defenders, the case for Boulogne has been tending to prevail. But the arguments of Haigneré, of Napoleon the Third, of Desjardins, and finally of Rudolf Schneider failed to silence opposition. Men so able as George Long, Dr. Guest, Dean Merivale, Dr. Hodgkin, Karl Müller, and Alphonse Wauters remained unconvinced: Freeman[2679] roundly asserted that ‘since Dr. Guest’s exposition of the matter it is hardly necessary to say that “Portus Itius” or “Iccius” is not Boulogne’: Professor Ridgeway and Mr. H. E. Malden, in their animated controversy[2680] on the question of Caesar’s landing-place, agreed in identifying the harbour from which he sailed with Wissant: more recently Dr. Emil Hübner[2681] has done the same; and the well-known Caesarian scholar, Professor H. J. Heller, at the close of a pungent criticism[2682] of Schneider’s dissertation, concluded that the identity of the Portus Itius was still an open question. Mr. H. F. Tozer,[2683] indeed, has recently pronounced the question to be insoluble; and Mommsen,[2684] who in 1889 still adhered to his old belief, that ‘among the many possibilities most may perhaps be said in favour of the view that the Itian port ... is to be sought near Ambleteuse’, nevertheless remained convinced that ‘it requires the implicit faith of local topographers to proceed to the determination of the locality with such data’.

Evidently, then, unless the problem is to be abandoned in despair, there is room for another treatise. But this treatise must justify its existence. I have not ‘the implicit faith of local topographers’: but there are more data than Mommsen had leisure to examine; and the locality can be determined with absolute certainty.

There is indeed a summary way of dealing with the question which has long since satisfied practical men: doubt is confined to the minds of scholars and of those who look to them for guidance. Men who are familiar with war and who have a sufficient knowledge of the conditions of navigation in the Straits of Dover know that there was only one port on the north-eastern coast of Gaul which would have answered all Caesar’s requirements, and that Caesar would not have made a foolish choice. Accordingly the greatest of modern soldiers affirmed without hesitation that the greatest soldier of Rome had sailed to Britain from Boulogne. But this reasoning, perhaps because of its simplicity, has not seemed conclusive to the learned world.

II. THE DATA FURNISHED BY CAESAR, STRABO, AND PTOLEMY

Caesar says that, before his first expedition to Britain, he sent Gaius Volusenus to reconnoitre the British coast and ascertain what harbours were capable of accommodating a large fleet, and that he himself marched with his whole force for the country of the Morini, ‘because the shortest passage to Britain was from their country’ (quod inde erat brevissimus in Britanniam traiectus); and he goes on to say that he ordered ships from the neighbouring districts, and likewise the fleet which he had built in the previous summer for the war with the Veneti, to assemble there. He set sail soon after midnight with about 80 transports, some ships of war, and some small fast-sailing vessels (speculatoria navigia) from a port which he does not name, and sent his cavalry to ‘a further port’ (in ulteriorem portum) about 8 Roman miles off, with orders to embark there in eighteen transports, which had been prevented by contrary winds from reaching the port whence he himself sailed, and to follow him. In another chapter he speaks of the ulterior portus as superior portus; and it is admitted that this port was either north or east of the one from which he himself sailed. On the fourth day after he landed in Britain (the day of landing being doubtless reckoned as the first day[2685]) the eighteen transports set sail. They were getting close to Britain and were descried from the Roman camp when a storm suddenly arose, and none of them could keep on its course, but some were carried back to the place from which they had started, that is to say, to the superior portus; while the rest were driven down ‘in great peril to the lower and more westerly part of the island’ (ad inferiorem partem insulae, quae est propius solis occasum magno suo cum periculo deicerentur), whence, after anchoring for a time and shipping a quantity of water, they were compelled to stand out to sea, and ran for the Continent. When Caesar returned to Gaul, two of his ships were unable to reach ‘the same ports’ (eosdem portus) as the rest of the fleet, and were carried ‘a little further down’ (paulo infra). Before his second expedition he assembled a fleet of about 540 transports and 28 ships of war at the Portus Itius, ‘from which port he had ascertained that the passage to Britain was most convenient,[2686] being about 30 [Roman] miles from the Continent’ (quo ex portu commodissimum in Britanniam traiectum esse cognoverat, circiter milium passuum XXX transmissum a continenti). His entire flotilla amounted to more than 800 sail, as it included privately owned vessels. The transports were of small draught and comparatively broad, and were constructed for rowing as well as sailing. Caesar was delayed at the Portus Itius for about 25 days by north-westerly winds.[2687] His entire army, which was with him all that time, amounted to 8 legions and 4000 cavalry. He set sail about sunset, accompanied by 5 legions and 2000 cavalry, with a light south-westerly wind, or, to speak more accurately, the wind called Africus, which may have blown from any quarter between south-west and W. by S. ⅓ S. Labienus was left behind with 3 legions and 2000 cavalry ‘to protect the ports’ (ut portus tueretur), which implies that on the second expedition, as on the first, Caesar thought it necessary to keep more than one port under his control; and during his absence Labienus built 60 ships.[2688]

Strabo,[2689] evidently referring to Caesar’s first expedition, says that he sailed from ‘the Itian’ [naval station?] (τὸ Ἴτιον), and that the length of his voyage to the point which he reached ‘about the fourth hour’ was 320 stades, which is equivalent to 40 Roman miles.

Ptolemy[2690] mentions the Itian promontory. Its longitude, he says, was 22° 15′, and its latitude 53° 30′; and he places it on the west of Gesoriacum, or Boulogne. The longitude of Gesoriacum, he says, was 22° 30′, and its latitude 53° 30′.

III. CAESAR SAILED FROM THE PORTUS ITIUS ON BOTH HIS EXPEDITIONS

It is necessary to inquire whether Caesar sailed from the same port on both his expeditions; for he mentions the ulterior portus only in connexion with the first; and if on that occasion he sailed from the Portus Itius, the search for the Portus Itius is conditioned by the existence of the ulterior portus. Drumann,[2691] remarking that Caesar chose the Portus Itius in 54 B.C. because he had ascertained that the passage from it to the island was the most convenient, argues that ‘before it was consequently unknown to him’, and that ‘at first he sought the shortest passage’. Long,[2692] on the other hand, insists that when Caesar says that he had ascertained that the passage from the Portus Itius was the most convenient, he apparently means ‘that he had by his first voyage found out that this was the best place to sail from’. ‘His first voyage,’ Long continues, ‘was very lucky, and there was no reason to change his place of embarkation, particularly as he intended to land, and did land, at the place where he had landed before. Besides this, when he speaks (v. 8) of his landing-place on the second voyage, he says, “qua optimum esse egressum superiore aestate cognoverat”; the same form of expression that he uses in speaking of the place of embarkation (v. 2), except that he does not there use the words “superiore aestate”.’ I may observe that it is not quite true that Caesar in 54 B.C. ‘intended to land, and did land, at the place where he had landed before’.[2693] On the other hand, Mr. H. E. Malden has remarked (though he has since abandoned the conclusion to which his remarks led him) that Caesar ‘names the second [port] and does not name the first ... he especially mentions that he disembarked on both occasions at the same place, he gives himself every opportunity for saying that he sailed from the same port, if he did so, but yet he never says it’.[2694] Strabo admittedly implies that in the first expedition Caesar’s point of departure was the Portus Itius: but his testimony does not settle the question; for he may only have been putting his own construction on Caesar’s words. Rudolf Schneider[2695] concludes that it is impossible to prove that the Portus Itius was the starting-point of both voyages, but that it most probably was, because Caesar, before his first expedition, had stayed long enough in the country of the Morini to find out the most convenient harbour. I go further, and shall prove, in the course of this discussion, that, on his first as on his second expedition, Caesar sailed from the Portus Itius.[2696]

IV. THE VALUE OF CAESAR’S ESTIMATE OF THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THE PORTUS ITIUS AND BRITAIN

Rudolf Schneider[2697] insists that it is idle to lay stress on Caesar’s estimate of the distance from the Portus Itius to Britain, first, because he had no means of making an accurate calculation, and, secondly, because we cannot tell whether he reckoned the distance to the nearest point of Britain or to his own landing-place. As regards correspondence with Caesar’s estimate, Schneider continues, there is nothing to choose between Boulogne, Wissant, and Calais: Dover is 34 Roman miles from Boulogne, 25 from Wissant, 28 from Calais. It might perhaps be argued that, if Caesar took his own landing-place as the terminus, it would be hardly safe to ignore his estimate. For Wissant is 27 Roman miles from Deal, and Boulogne 39; and, assuming that Caesar landed near Hythe, Wissant is 32 Roman miles from that port, and Boulogne 37. It appears, however, to me almost certain that Caesar’s estimate referred to the distance from the Portus Itius to the nearest frequented port of Britain;[2698] and it must not be forgotten that the ancient writers generally overestimated the distance from one port to another.[2699] Moreover, it is not absolutely certain that Caesar estimated the distance of the Portus Itius from Britain at 30 Roman miles. XXX is indeed found in all the extant MSS.;[2700] but as Strabo unquestionably used the Commentaries when he wrote his notice of Caesar’s voyage, and estimated its length as 320 stades, it is not improbable that he found in his copy the number XXXX.[2701] Schneider, however, points out that Strabo’s estimate of the length of the south coast of Britain differs from Caesar’s; and the accuracy of the MSS., as regards the number XXX, may perhaps, as he says, be supported by a comparison of Pliny with Caesar. Pliny[2702] says that the shortest passage between Ireland and Britain is 30 miles, and Caesar[2703] says that the passage from Ireland to Britain is equal in length to the passage from Britain to Gaul. On the whole, we may conclude that Caesar’s estimate of the distance between the Portus Itius and Britain does not help us to decide whether the Portus Itius is to be identified with Wissant or with Boulogne. But, in considering the arguments for the identity of the Portus Itius with the mouth of the Somme, Caesar’s estimate must obviously be taken into account.[2704]

V. THE ESTUARY OF THE SOMME

The advocate of the Somme was the late Astronomer-Royal, Sir George Airy. His arguments shall be considered for the benefit of those who are influenced by his great reputation; but one fact, which he ignores, is alone sufficient to wreck his theory. If Caesar sailed from the mouth of the Somme, the superior portus, from which his cavalry transports sailed was, as Airy of course maintains, the mouth of the Authie, and the place where he landed in Britain was, as Airy likewise maintains, Pevensey. Therefore, on Airy’s theory, the cavalry transports, when they were approaching Britain and were seen in the offing from Caesar’s camp, were approaching Pevensey; and the gale which prevented them from reaching their destination and drove some of them ‘in great peril’ (magno cum periculo) westward down the coast, carried the others back to the mouth of the Authie.[2705] But, as the harbour-master of Dover remarked to me, and as any one may see for himself who has the most rudimentary knowledge of seamanship, it would have been utterly impossible for them to fetch the mouth of that river.

But to timid reasoners this may appear too summary a method of disposing of Airy’s theory. Let us then hear what he has to say.

First, Airy maintains that Caesar, when he says that he ‘set out for the country of the Morini’ (in Morinos proficiscitur), merely implies that he arrived ‘near it or close to it’, not necessarily that he actually entered it. He insists that in every instance in which Caesar ‘uses the inflexions or derivatives of “proficiscor”’ ‘another sentence or another clause is required to denote arrival at the journey’s end’.[2706]

Now Caesar uses proficisci with in thirty-five times. If the reader will turn to the lists of those passages in Meusel’s Lexicon Caesarianum (ii, 96, 1240), he will find that in almost every instance in which Caesar says that he himself or any one else ‘started for’ or was about to ‘start for’ this or that place, the context proves that the place was reached. Of course the proof is generally furnished by ‘another sentence or another clause’, or by more than one other sentence. But this is not always the case.[2707] And for the passage in question similar proof is forthcoming. Immediately after telling us that he marched for the country of the Morini, Caesar goes on to say that he ordered his fleet to assemble there.[2708] As Long sensibly remarks,[2709] ‘when a man says that he “marches for” or “towards the country of the Morini because the passage from there to Britain was the shortest”; that he ordered all his ships to come there; and that while he was waiting “in these parts” (in his locis[2710]) to get his ships ready, ambassadors from a large part of the Morini came to him, there is only one conclusion, which is, that he was in the country of the Morini and sailed from it.’ If Caesar had removed his ships from the country where he had assembled them and had sailed from some other place, he would surely have said something to warn his readers against drawing the conclusion which, to every one except Airy, has always appeared inevitable.

Secondly, Airy points to the passage[2711] in which Caesar relates that while he was collecting ships for the first expedition envoys came to him from the Morini: ‘the visit of the ambassadors,’ he argues, ‘without any mention of hostile occupation, seems to imply that neither Caesar nor any part of his army was in the country of the Morini at the time of preparing the naval expedition, and appears to render it most improbable that he had passed through their country.’[2712]

No unbiassed reader would assent to this conclusion. The Morini naturally sent ambassadors to Caesar because they wished to deprecate his wrath. Similarly in 53 B.C. the Ubii sent envoys to him when he was in their country, not as an enemy but as a friend.[2713] Besides, Airy, not having a really intimate knowledge of the Commentaries, overlooked another important point:--the Morini did not act as one undivided state; some only of their pagi, or sub-divisional communities, sent ambassadors: others sent none.[2714]

Thirdly, Airy refers to Caesar’s statement, that, on returning to the Portus Itius from his second expedition, he directed Gaius Fabius to winter in the country of the Morini with one legion.[2715] ‘It appears to me,’ he says, ‘that the order (after his second return) for legions to march from the Portus Itius[2716] “in Morinos” makes it certain that he was not in their country.’[2717]

The words ‘from the Portus Itius’ beg the question. One legion (not ‘legions’) was sent into the country of the Morini, not from the Portus Itius but from Samarobriva, in the country of the Ambiani, where, as the context shows, all the legions were temporarily assembled.[2718] Similarly in the following year, 53 B.C., Caesar concentrated all his legions at Durocortorum, or Reims, immediately before distributing them in their respective quarters for the winter.[2719]

Fourthly, Airy refers to the well-known passage in which Strabo[2720] says that ‘the Itian’ [naval station?] is παρὰ (τοῖς Μορινοῖς). Παρά, he seriously affirms, means ‘near to’, not ‘in’ (the country of the Morini[2721]).

If Airy’s sense of humour had not been dormant, it would surely have occurred to him that, in a matter of pure scholarship, it was unlikely that all Greek scholars should be wrong while he alone was right. Dr. Guest took the trouble to refute him;[2722] and if he had referred to other passages in Strabo,[2723] he would have seen for himself that παρ’ οἷς means ‘in whose country’.

Airy was far too vigilant a controversialist not to see that there were well-grounded objections to his theory; and he attempted to anticipate them. Caesar, as we have seen, states that when his fleet was returning to Gaul after the first expedition, two of the ships failed to make the same harbours as the rest, and ‘were carried a little lower down’ (duae [naves] eosdem quos reliqui portus capere non potuerunt et paulo infra delatae sunt[2724]); and he goes on to say that the troops who landed from these two ships were attacked by the Morini while they were marching from the place where they had disembarked to his own camp. The words paulo infra delatae sunt are interpreted by almost every commentator except Airy[2725] as meaning that the two ships were carried a little further down the coast than the other ships; and if this interpretation is correct, it is obvious that the harbours in which the other ships came to land were in the country of the Morini. But Airy is unmoved by this consensus of opinion. ‘The word “delatae”,’ he says, ‘is repeatedly used by Caesar for “drifted”, and “infra delatae” is “drifted down”, the word “down” apparently relating not to any geographical direction, but to the force of the wind.’[2726]

As a matter of fact, Caesar uses the past participle of defero in the sense of ‘drifted’ four times,[2727] namely, in the passage which we are now considering and in B. G., v, 8, § 2 (longius delatus aestu orta luce sub sinistra Britanniam relictam conspexit), B. C., iii, 14, § 2 (una ex his [navibus] ... delata Oricum atque a Bibulo expugnata est), and B. C., iii, 30, § 1 (praetervectas Apolloniam Dyrrachiumque naves viderant ... sed quo essent eae delatae ... ignorabant). None of these passages lends the slightest support to Airy’s theory; and the other three passages in which he uses the adverb infra[2728] in a local sense, namely, B. G., vi, 35, § 6 (transeunt Rhenum ... XXX milibus passuum infra eum locum ubi pons erat perfectus[2729]), B. G., vii, 61, § 3 (nuntiatur ... magnum ire agmen adverso flumine sonitumque remorum in eadem parte exaudiri et paulo infra milites navibus transportari[2730]), and B. C., i, 64, § 6 (reliquas legiones expeditas educit magnoque numero iumentorum in flumine supra atque infra constituto traducit exercitum[2731]), are fatal to it.

Again, the passage in which Caesar says that the distance from the Portus Itius to Britain is about 30 [Roman] miles,[2732] assuming that it is genuine, might well have disconcerted a less resourceful reasoner; for the distance from the mouth of the Somme to St. Leonards, off which place Airy maintains that Caesar anchored on his first voyage,[2733] is about 65 Roman miles; and to Pevensey Level, where he makes Caesar land, a little more. But Airy confidently grapples with the difficulty. ‘I conceive,’ he remarks, ‘that the sentence has been mistranslated. The Portus Itius and the continent are placed in contradistinction. The convenient passage was from the Portus Itius, the distance of 30 miles was from the continent.’[2734]

Read the sentence again,--portum Itium ... quo ex portu commodissimum in Britanniam traiectum esse cognoverat, circiter milium passuum XXX transmissum a continenti. Classical scholars are agreed that these words can only mean what Airy insists that they do not mean, namely, that the distance from the Portus Itius to Britain was about 30 Roman miles. If not from the Portus Itius, from what port? What would have been the good of specifying the distance if Caesar had been thinking of some other port which he did not use?[2735]

Furthermore, the distance from the mouth of the Somme to Pevensey Level is about twice the distance from Boulogne to Dover, to Hythe, or to Lympne; and Caesar says that the reason why he marched for the country of the Morini was that the passage from their country to Britain was the shortest.

But it would seem that Airy was not quite convinced of the soundness of his own reasoning. ‘If,’ he says, ‘any reader thinks that the reasons for excluding the Portus Itius from the land of the Morini are not sufficiently cogent, the whole is easily reconciled with the hypothesis that the Portus Itius was the mouth of the Somme by supposing that in the time of Caesar the Morini stretched south-west of the Somme ... the geography which limits their territory to the north of the Somme is 120 years later. Any one who reflects on the change of boundary of Russia, of Prussia, of Turkey, and of other European States, within a period of much less than 120 years, will find no difficulty in admitting this change in the limits of the Morini.’[2736]

It is sufficient to answer that there is no analogy between the political history of Europe in the earlier half of the nineteenth century and that of Gaul in the 120 years that followed the invasion of Britain by Caesar. The Gallic peoples during that period were not at war with one another; and there is not the slightest reason to suppose that the Morini possessed a wider seaboard in Caesar’s time than 120 years later. Lewin’s reply to Airy is worth quoting[2737]:--‘He offers, as a solution of the difficulty, that in the time of Caesar the Morini stretched south-west of the Somme. If so, then the Somme itself, from which Caesar sailed, and to which he returned, was, according to the Astronomer-Royal, in the country of the Morini; and yet, a few lines before, the Astronomer-Royal had stated that the order (after Caesar’s second return) for legions to march into the country of the Morini made it certain that he was not in their country! Thus to avoid Scylla, it is laid down, as certain that Caesar did not sail from the Morini; and then, to avoid Charybdis, the reader is invited to assume that the place of embarkation was amongst the Morini.’

Finally, Airy affirms that the mouth of the Somme was by far the best harbour which Caesar could have selected, and that its capability for his purpose ‘is proved by the ... experience of William of Normandy, who at one tide floated out of it 1400 ships’.[2738]

Now William the Conqueror assembled his fleet and embarked his army not in the mouth of the Somme but in the mouth of the Dive:[2739] he was merely obliged, as Lewin says,[2740] ‘to take temporary shelter ... at the mouth of the Somme.’ But this blunder is of no great consequence. The Somme might have served Caesar’s purpose if only it had not been twice as far from that part of Britain to which he intended to go as Boulogne.

VI. AMBLETEUSE

The Commission de la Topographie des Gaules[2741] identify the Portus Itius with Ambleteuse; and Mommsen[2742] is disposed to agree with them. They argue that Strabo[2743] affirms the existence of two ports in the country of the Morini; that one of the two was evidently Gesoriacum; and that the Portus Itius was therefore something different. The passage in Strabo to which the commission refers will be most conveniently examined in a later section.[2744] Meanwhile it is enough to say that if it proves that the Portus Itius was not Gesoriacum, it does not prove that the Portus Itius was Ambleteuse.

General Creuly[2745] decides for Ambleteuse on the ground that its distance from Wissant corresponds with Caesar’s statement of the distance which separated his own port of embarkation from the ulterior portus, and that the intervention of Cape Grisnez between Ambleteuse and Wissant would have justified Caesar in describing the latter as the ulterior portus. He remarks that if the Portus Itius is identified with Boulogne, the ulterior portus must have been Ambleteuse. But, referring to Vergil’s well-known line--tendebantque manus ripae ulterioris amore[2746]--he argues that the word ulterior implies the intervention between the Portus Itius and the ulterior portus of an ‘objet disjonctif’, such as a promontory; and he insists that no such ‘objet’ intervenes between Boulogne and Ambleteuse. But Heller[2747] observes that a passage in the Germania[2748] of Tacitus--(Gerunt et ferarum pelles), proximi ripae negligenter, ulteriores exquisitius--would seem to show that ulterior means much the same as longinquior.[2749] Besides, if the distance from Ambleteuse to Wissant justifies us in identifying Ambleteuse with the Portus Itius and Wissant with the ulterior portus, the distance from Boulogne to Ambleteuse, as I shall presently show, equally justifies us in identifying Boulogne with the Portus Itius and Ambleteuse with the ulterior portus.[2750]

Not a single valid argument ever has been or can be adduced in favour of Ambleteuse. The harbour is far too small to have contained Caesar’s fleet; and the merest tiro in his army could have decided at a glance between its merits and those of Boulogne.[2751]

VII. CALAIS

I only consider the claims of Calais because their one modern advocate, General von Göler,[2752] was a distinguished Caesarian scholar. There is no evidence that Calais was ever used as a harbour in, or for twelve centuries after, the time of Caesar. If Caesar started from the Portus Itius on his first expedition, it is impossible, on the theory that Calais was the Portus Itius, to find the ulterior portus. Moreover, it would have been impossible for Caesar to sail, on his second expedition, from Calais to any point of the Kentish coast between Walmer and Sandwich.[2753] For, as the wind was from the south-west, he would have had to sail within seven points and a half of the wind on a flood tide, which would have tended to carry him into the North Sea, and with shallow flat-bottomed vessels which made excessive lee-way.[2754] Finally, Calais Harbour is not natural but artificial; and it is certain that it did not exist in the time of Caesar.[2755]

VIII. WISSANT

Wissant is between Cape Grisnez and Cape Blancnez, both of which, in Caesar’s time, projected somewhat further out to sea than they do now.[2756] Dr. Guest argues that the sandy waste, more than two miles long and varying in breadth from a quarter to half a mile, which lies between the uplands and the sand-hills, was once covered by the sea;[2757] and he conjectures that the ‘pool-harbour’ thus formed communicated with the English Channel by ‘the gap through which flows the Rieu des Aiguilles’, a rivulet which crosses the sandy plain. At the same time he admits that it is very difficult to say what the limits of the ancient harbour were.[2758]

Dr. Guest’s theory, which was regarded by Mr. Freeman and Dean Merivale as conclusive, is a theory and nothing more. Mariette, the famous Egyptologist, states that the dunes themselves (without which Dr. Guest’s harbour could not have been) were not formed before the time of Edward the Third;[2759] and M. H. Rigaux concludes, from a recent minute exploration of the coast between Cape Grisnez and Sangatte, that the dune which extends from the ‘ruisseau de Guiptun’, near Tardinghem, to the ‘ruisseau d’Herlan’ at Wissant did not exist in Caesar’s day.[2760] Moreover, pottery, pre-Roman and Roman, has been found in the sand behind the dunes between Wissant and Tardinghem as well as east of Wissant;[2761] numerous finds have proved that the coast between Sangatte and Dunkirk has undergone subsidence and extended further seaward in Roman times than now;[2762] and it may be concluded that the sandy plain at Wissant was not then covered by the sea. It would appear, then, that Dr. Guest’s pool-harbour was imaginary. Haigneré,[2763] moreover, remarks that if there ever had been such a harbour, it must have been speedily choked up by sand blown from the very dunes which ex hypothesi formed it; and this argument is confirmed by the fact that irruptions of blown sand, before the dunes were ‘fixed’ by being planted with coarse grass, engulfed many buildings at Wissant.[2764] It has, however, been pointed out by Mr. E. C. H. Day[2765] that ‘a shoal having less than a fathom of water on it at the lowest tides, extends from Cape Grisnez, in a north-easterly direction, in such a manner as to cut off a channel about half a mile in width, and having a depth of from two to three fathoms of water in it, directly abreast of Wissant. The shoal,’ he adds, ‘during the course of centuries of exposure to the heavy seas that break upon the coast, must have undergone some considerable amount of destruction. Formerly, therefore, this shoal must have formed a natural breakwater, and have rendered the channel within it a convenient harbour.’ But, assuming the correctness of Mr. Day’s deduction, this ‘harbour’ would have been exposed to the fury both of the west and of the north-east wind. M. Léon Lejeal,[2766] who tells us that a French engineer, M. J. Voisin, supposes that the shoal was once connected with the mainland, and thus formed a partially-sheltered harbour, concludes that there is nothing to show that it was large enough to shelter the fleet ‘que voulut y ancrer l’imagination d’une archéologie en délire’;[2767] and M. Leblanc, who in the year 1863 was engineer of the port of Calais and was intimately acquainted with the geology of Wissant, ridicules such a notion. ‘Toutes les fois,’ he remarks, ‘que j’allais de Calais au Gris-Nez ... je traversais Wissant, en étudiant cette question, et je me disais à moi-même: quelle preuve peut on avoir d’une pareille absurdité?’[2768] Hariulf, a chronicler who lived in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, described the harbour of Wissant as an ‘inlet’ (ingressum maris),[2769] which would seem to imply that it was simply a creek formed by one of the rivulets which meander across the sand. Henry, the historian of Boulogne, who was bent upon proving the identity of Wissant with the Portus Itius, would certainly have anticipated Guest’s theory if he could have done so with truth; but, after a careful examination of the site, he came to the conclusion that Caesar’s ships must have been drawn up on an exposed beach.[2770]

1. Long[2771] argues that the distance of Wissant from Sangatte corresponds with the distance between the port from which Caesar started on his first expedition and the superior portus; that its distance from the English coast agrees ‘at least as well as any other place’ with Caesar’s estimate of the distance from the Portus Itius to Britain; that its name, which [according to Michel Baudrand,[2772] a writer of the seventeenth, century] French sailors used to call Esseu and the Flemings Isten, ‘is near enough to Itius to add to the probability of the identity of the two places’; that there are traces of a Roman road from Wissant to Thérouanne; that in the neighbourhood of Wissant ‘fresh water was abundant, the soil rich, and the beach the best that there could be for such ships as Caesar’s’; and that, if Wissant was not, strictly speaking, a port at all, ‘Caesar did not want a port in the modern sense of the word. He wanted his ships at the nearest place to Britain.... His vessels would be hauled up on the beach till the wind was fair. He had no port on the British coast, and he hauled up all his ships after they were damaged by a storm.’ ‘This long sandy beach,’ he says, ‘was the best place along all this coast for Caesar’s purpose.’[2773]

Of these arguments the first, mutatis mutandis, is equally applicable to Boulogne. The argument from nomenclature is worthless:[2774] ‘Wissant’ is not derived from ‘Itius’; it is said to be merely a corruption of ‘Weiss-sand’ (Whitesand).[2775] There is no evidence for the alleged Roman road. The Roman road which, according to Henry,[2776] led from Thérouanne to Wissant, really led to Sangatte.[2777] Dr. Guest, who carefully explored Wissant and its neighbourhood, found that the soil, which Long calls ‘rich’, is ‘notoriously barren’.[2778] And, in reply to the last of Long’s arguments, it is sufficient to say that, although Caesar did perforce beach his ships on the coast of Britain, yet he suffered heavily from not having a port; and the mere fact that he sent Volusenus to ascertain what ports on the British coast were capable of accommodating a large fleet proves that his original intention was to land in a port, and not on an open beach. Long’s assertion, that the beach at Wissant ‘was the best place along all this coast for Caesar’s purpose’, Dr. Guest, who agrees with him in identifying the Portus Itius with Wissant, treats with utter scorn; but his criticism is founded upon the groundless assumption that the sand-dune between Wissant and Tardinghem then existed.[2779] However, Long admits that ‘it would not be possible now to draw up a fleet like Caesar’s on the beach’. ‘But,’ he persists, ‘if there have been such great changes on this coast that Dr. Guest’s huge harbour is filled up, why may not my beach have undergone some change also?’[2780] The reply is obvious. What Long calls ‘my beach’ may have undergone changes: but, unless it can be proved not only that ships could have been hauled up on the beach of Wissant in Caesar’s time, but also that there then existed at Wissant a harbour large enough to accommodate Caesar’s fleet, the claim of Wissant to be identified with the Portus Itius cannot be admitted.

But Long is not the only writer who maintains that the Portus Itius was not a port properly so called; and this question is so important that we must fairly examine the arguments that have been adduced in support of Long’s view.

Heller argues that since Caesar beached his ships on his return from the second expedition, we may conclude that the Portus Itius was not a harbour in the strict sense, as, if the shelter of a harbour had been available, he would not have taken the trouble to draw them up on shore.[2781]

But Heller forgets that the ancients never left their ships at anchor for any lengthened period, but invariably laid them up high and dry for the winter.[2782] Moreover, if eight hundred ships had been beached at Wissant, would it not have been necessary, in order to protect them from storm-driven spring tides, to construct an enormous naval camp, the earth necessary for which did not exist?

Professor Ridgeway insists that, if Strabo is to be believed, the Portus Itius can only be identified with Wissant.[2783] Strabo[2784] calls Caesar’s place of embarkation το Ιτιον. This word, the professor observes, is obviously an adjective, and, as it agrees with a neuter word understood, it cannot agree with λιμήν or κόλπος (a harbour), but must agree with ἄκρον or ἀκρωτήριον (a headland). Evidently, then, Strabo’s το Ιτιον is the same as Ptolemy’s Ἴτιον ἄκρον. Similarly Strabo[2785] speaks of Cape Finisterre as Νέριον, while Ptolemy[2786] calls it Νέριον ἀκρωτήριον. Now Strabo does not call το Ἴτιον a harbour, but only a roadstead ναύσταθμον, a term which Thucydides[2787] applies to Cape Malea. Thus, if Strabo was right, the Portus Itius was the roadstead sheltered by the Itian promontory.

The professor’s argument is not convincing. Granted that Ιτιον must agree with ἄκρον, on him lies the burden of proving that the headland in question was not Cap d’Alprech, which shelters the estuary of the Liane, and the geographical position of which corresponds closely enough with that which Ptolemy assigns to Ιτιον ἄκρον.[2788] When the professor remarks[2789] that ‘the advocates of both Wissant and Boulogne support the claim of Grisnez’ against Alprech he is mistaken. Desjardins is only one of many French writers who ‘support the claim’ of Alprech against Grisnez. Moreover, supposing that the professor is right in identifying the Itian promontory with Grisnez, he is wrong in assuming that the word ναύσταθμον necessarily excludes the idea of a harbour. Sometimes it is used to denote a port already described as a λιμήν, or harbour properly so called, in order to draw attention to the fact that that harbour was a naval station. Thus Strabo,[2790] immediately after mentioning the Piraeus and the other two harbours of Athens, says that the ναύσταθμον was capable of accommodating the four hundred ships which composed the Athenian fleet. And Pausanias,[2791] speaking of Nauplia, the port of Argos, which, according to Strabo,[2792] was the ναύσταθμον of the Argives, says, ‘there are harbours in Nauplia’ (λιμένες εἰσὶν ἐν Ναυπλίᾳ).[2793] To anybody who knows anything about ancient navigation, the suggestion that Caesar would have kept 800 ships riding at anchor for several weeks in an open roadstead, exposed to the fury of the north-west wind, while, a few miles off in the Liane, there was an ample sheltered harbour available, must appear simply ridiculous. And, assuming that Strabo did intend to convey that το Ιτιον was merely a roadstead, the answer is that Strabo is refuted by Caesar, who says that his ships assembled ad portum Itium,[2794]--‘in the Itian harbour.’ The Portus Itius must have been a port, properly so called; and the more discerning advocates of Wissant naturally accept this view.[2795]

Long maintains, further, that, although Caesar does not say directly that the passage from the Portus Itius to Britain was actually the shortest, yet he does so indirectly; for he tells us that he went to the country of the Morini ‘because the shortest passage to Britain was from their country’; and the port in their country which he selected was the Portus Itius.[2796] But, as all who are familiar with the Commentaries will admit, Long throws an undue strain upon Caesar’s language. Caesar tells us, in general terms, that the shortest passage to Britain was from the country of the Morini: but it is bad logic to conclude from this statement that the passage from the Portus Itius must have been actually the shortest as the crow flies. Caesar would never have chosen the passage which was in this sense the shortest if it had been on other grounds objectionable: obviously what he meant to say was that of the regular passages to Britain that from the country of the Morini was the shortest; and the passage from the Portus Itius being, as he says, ‘the most convenient,’ was, for all practical purposes, the shortest.

It is clear, then, that Long failed to establish the identity of the Portus Itius with Wissant. Let us see what better informed advocates of the same theory have to say.

2. Not to mention the arguments which are common to him and Long, Dr. Guest gives the following reasons for his belief:--that the (assumed) harbour of Wissant was large enough to hold Caesar’s fleet; that it lay beneath Cape Grisnez, which he identifies with the Itian promontory; and that William of Poitiers, a chronicler of the eleventh century, called it ‘Portus Icius’.[2797] He will not admit that William was simply stating his own opinion: ‘I think,’ he says, ‘this name may have been handed down to him by the Romanised Gauls, inasmuch as the name of Ician seems to have been long kept afloat in the recollection of the Celtic population of these islands’; and he points out that ‘the old Irish name for the English Channel is Muir n’ Icht’, or ‘the Itian sea’. But the fact on which he lays most stress is the proximity of Wissant to Cape Grisnez. He freely admits, indeed, that Cap d’Alprech may, in Caesar’s time, have been a more considerable promontory than it is at present;[2798] but he cannot conceive that the promontory which Ptolemy selected for especial mention should have been any other than the famous cape which is and must always have been the most conspicuous feature of the north-eastern coast of France, and which marks the point where the coast, making a sharp angle, begins to trend towards the east. ‘Cape Grisnez,’ he concludes, ‘there can hardly be a doubt, was the Ician promontory, and if so, the great port which lay beneath it must have been the Ician Port.’[2799]

‘The great port which lay beneath it,’--these words, Dr. Guest, beg the whole question. That the harbour of Wissant was large enough to hold Caesar’s fleet would be true, if Dr. Guest’s conjectural tracing of its outline were correct: but the fact, if it were a fact, would simply remove one of the objections which have been brought against Wissant; it would not prove that Wissant was the Portus Itius. For the harbour of Boulogne was also large enough, and was also, as will presently appear, in other respects far more convenient. The argument that William of Poitiers called Wissant the Portus Itius has no weight. Maistre Wace, who wrote about a century after William of Poitiers, believed that Caesar had sailed from Boulogne.[2800] Moreover, Hericus, a monk of the ninth century,[2801] identified Bibracte with Autun; but it is now universally admitted, and it is certain, that Hericus was wrong.[2802] It may be admitted that a priori it would seem much more likely that the Itian promontory was Cape Grisnez than that it was Cap d’Alprech; but if the former identification is to be accepted, it is necessary to assume that Ptolemy made a gross blunder. It is of course quite true, as Dr. Guest says,[2803] that Ptolemy did make mistakes; but still the fact remains that the geographical position which he assigns to the Itian promontory is, allowing for a slight error in longitude, that of Cap d’Alprech. As Mr. Peskett puts it, ‘Ptolemy, proceeding northward, places the headland between the Somme and Boulogne’;[2804] and I may add that if you only know Cap d’Alprech by the map, you will be surprised, when you actually see it, to find how bold a headland it is. Moreover, even if Ptolemy was mistaken, it does not follow that the Itian harbour was Wissant. Professor Rhys, who believes that the Gauls as well as the Irish called the Channel ‘the sea of Icht’, remarks that ‘in that case Portus Ictius would designate Caesar’s place of embarcation, somewhat in the same way that Dover might in English be termed the Channel Harbour. The former probably had a Gaulish name of its own, which may have become the Latin one also as soon as the Romans began to be a little more at home in the north of Gaul; so that it would be labour in vain to try to detect Ictius in any place-name still current on the French coast.’[2805] Let us, however, assume, for the sake of argument, that Professor Rhys is mistaken. Even then it does not follow that the Portus Itius was Wissant. For it will not be denied that Boulogne was, in Caesar’s time as in the time of the emperors, a frequented harbour; and it is certain that Wissant was not a harbour capable of containing Caesar’s fleet. Therefore Boulogne, which is only nine statute miles south of Cape Grisnez, was obviously the nearest important harbour to that promontory. Why, then, if Cape Grisnez was the Itian promontory, should Boulogne not have been called the Itian harbour? Even on the desperate theory that when Caesar spoke of a harbour, he did not mean a harbour but only a roadstead, that roadstead was not at Wissant; for if Caesar’s ships had waited there, either at anchor or on the beach, exposed to the north-west winds for twenty-five days, they would have been in extreme peril.

Dr. Guest admits of course that Boulogne, not Wissant, was the permanent harbour of the Romans in North-Eastern Gaul under the empire; but in this fact he sees no objection to his theory. He believes that the Romans, when they had to choose a permanent harbour, rejected Wissant and chose Boulogne because of the sterility of the country in the neighbourhood of the former. ‘Wissant,’ he remarks, ‘or rather the port adjacent to Wissant, may have answered Caesar’s purpose, when he had hundreds of ships to supply the wants of his commissariat; but when a port was to be provided to meet the ordinary purposes of traffic, it was necessary to select one that possessed local resources.’[2806]

The reason which Dr. Guest gives for the choice of Boulogne is sound enough as far as it goes; but what support does it lend to the theory that Caesar used Wissant as a temporary harbour? The sterility of the neighbourhood would hardly have recommended it. It must have had some great advantage to compensate for this defect if it was really to be preferred, even as a temporary harbour, to Boulogne. But it is impossible to point out one single advantage which Wissant could have had, for Caesar’s purpose, over Boulogne, save only that, as the crow flies, it was a little nearer to Britain.

Dr. Guest, indeed, assures us that ‘Caesar had no time for weighing the comparative merits of the ports north and south of him, and for determining which of them was “the most convenient”’.[2807] No time! Had he not five days to spare for Volusenus’s reconnaissance? A single day would have sufficed to ride along the coast from Wissant to Boulogne; a few minutes spent at each of those places would have sufficed ‘for determining which of them was “the most convenient”’: but the greatest general of Rome could not spare even one day for a duty which the worst would not have neglected; so he pitched upon Wissant, because, as Dr. Guest tells us, ‘it afforded him the shortest passage’! So argued the man who, according to Freeman, ‘settled the whole matter,’ the man who, from Freeman’s point of view, appeared to stand, side by side with Stubbs, ‘at the head of living students of English history.’[2808]

3. Heller is not as ardent an advocate of Wissant as Guest; but he has written some very ingenious papers in defence of Guest’s view. Many of his reasons are virtually identical with those of the English scholar; but from Caesar’s narrative of his second voyage he deduces a fresh argument, which deserves special attention. Caesar, as we have seen, set sail about sunset with a light south-westerly wind. About midnight the wind dropped: the fleet, borne by the tide, drifted out of its course;[2809] and ‘at daybreak Caesar saw Britain lying behind on the port quarter’ (orta luce sub sinistra Britanniam relictam conspexit[2810]). From the last statement Heller infers that Caesar’s ship must have drifted to some point off the North Foreland: otherwise, he argues, the word relictam would be meaningless. For, he remarks, Caesar believed that one side of Britain faced the north. Therefore it must be assumed that he had no knowledge of that part of the coast which trends northward beyond the mouth of the Thames: he must have thought that the coast, at the North Foreland, turned sharply towards the west. Otherwise he could not have believed that he had left Britain behind; nor could he have believed this unless he had drifted to some point off the North Foreland. Now Caesar started on his voyage about the 6th of July.[2811] On that day the sun set about 8.16; and on the following morning it rose about 3.54. There must have been light enough to show the British coast as early as 3.15 or 3.20. Heller maintains that Caesar could by daybreak have reached a point about 2 German [or 9½ English] miles south-east of the North Foreland, not quite as far north as the latitude of Ramsgate, if he had sailed from Wissant; but he insists that if he had sailed from Boulogne, he could not have drifted further northward than the latitude of Deal, in which case he could not have said that he ‘saw Britain left behind on the port quarter’.[2812]

This argument rests upon a strained interpretation of the word relictam. It is probably true that Caesar could not have drifted as far north as the latitude of Ramsgate if he had sailed from Boulogne;[2813] but even if he had only drifted as far north as the latitude of Walmer, he would have been perfectly justified in using the word relictam. For that word does not imply that Caesar believed himself to have left the northern coast of Britain behind: it simply implies that, as the current was carrying him in a north-easterly direction[2814] and therefore sweeping him every minute further and further away from Britain, ‘he saw Britain lying behind on the port quarter.’ There is a parallel passage in the twenty-first chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, which shows that this was his meaning. In the second and third verses of that chapter the writer, after describing the voyage of himself and St. Paul from Ephesus by way of Cos and Rhodes to Patara, says, ‘Having found a ship crossing over unto Phoenicia, we went aboard, and set sail. And when we had come in sight of Cyprus, leaving it on the left hand, we sailed unto Syria, and landed at Tyre’ (καὶ εὑρόντες πλοῖον διαπερῶν εἰς Φοινίκην ἐπιβάντες ἀνήχθημεν, ἀναφάναντες δὲ τὴν Κύπρον καὶ καταλιπόντες αὐτὴν εὐώνυμον ἐπλέομεν εἰς Συρίαν καὶ κατήλθομεν εἰς Τύρον). If the reader will look at his map, he will see that the writer of the Acts, when he came in sight of Cyprus and left it on the left hand, was in precisely the same position with regard to Cyprus as Caesar would have been in with regard to Britain if, drifting in a north-easterly direction, he had descried the coast of Britain from some point in the latitude of Deal.[2815] And if Heller will use his common sense he will see that if a ship about the latitude of Deal were drifting away from Britain, that ship would have left Britain behind just as really as if it had passed Cape Wrath and were drifting towards Iceland.

Lastly, even if Heller’s explanation of the word relictam were correct, the argument which he builds upon it would be unsound; for obviously that argument would only hold good if Caesar had drifted north of the latitude of the North Foreland. Heller himself admits that he had hardly drifted so far north as the latitude of Ramsgate; and at this point, on Heller’s own theory, he could no more have said that he had left the northern coast of Britain behind than if he had been in the latitude of Deal.

Both Heller[2816] and Guest[2817] deduce an argument in favour of Wissant from a well-known passage of Strabo.[2818] It runs as follows:--‘There are four regular passages from the Continent to the island, namely, from the mouths of the Rhine, the Seine, the Loire, and the Garonne. People who cross from the country near the Rhine do not sail from the mouth of that river, but from the country of the Morini ... and in their country is the Itian (harbour), which Caesar used as his naval station, when he was crossing to the island’ (τέτταρα δ’ ἐστὶ διάρματα, οἷς χρῶνται συνήθως ἐπὶ τὴν νῆσον ἐκ τῆς ἠπείρου, τὰ ἀπὸ τῶν ἐκβολῶν τῶν ποταμῶν, τοῦ τε Ῥήνου καὶ τοῦ Σηκοάνα καὶ τοῦ Λείγηρος καὶ τοῦ Γαρούνα. τοῖς δ’ ἀπὸ τῶν περὶ τὸν Ῥῆνον τόπων ἀναγομένοις οὐκ ἀπ’ αὐτῶν τῶν ἐκβολῶν ὁ πλοῦς ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ ἀπὸ τῶν ὁμορούντων τοῖς Μεναπίοις Μορινῶν, παρ’ οἷς ἐστι καὶ τὸ Ἴτιον, ᾧ ἐχρήσατο ναυστάθμῳ Καῖσαρ ὁ θεός, διαίρων εἰς τὴν νῆσον). I have italicized the word and, because the meaning of καί has been disputed. Dr. Guest argues that the port from which the inhabitants of the country near the Rhine sailed must have been Boulogne; and, he continues, ‘every unprejudiced reader ... will be of opinion that he (Strabo) distinguishes it from his “Itium”.’ In other words, Guest would translate the doubtful clause by ‘in whose country there is also the Itian (harbour)’.

I, for one, fully agree with Dr. Guest; but some scholars are unable to do so. Long,[2819] remarking that a similar use of καί, particularly in clauses which begin with a relative, as παρ’ οἷς, is common in Strabo and also in Thucydides, affirms that ‘the purpose of καί, when it is so used, is to mark emphatically some thing or circumstance in addition to one which has been mentioned’. Guest[2820] retorts that Xylander, in his Latin version of Strabo, first published in Casaubon’s edition of 1597, and revised by Siebenkees, who did not alter Xylander’s translation of the passage in question, and Groskurd, in his German version of 1831--‘the most careful and conscientious translation of Strabo that has yet appeared’--both render και by ‘also’. This array of authorities does not disconcert Long. He remarks[2821] that the old Latin versions of Strabo and other Greek writers, although they were very useful in their day, ‘are not of much value when there is any great difficulty.’ Groskurd’s translation--‘wo auch der Hafen Ition ist’--he regards as ambiguous. Had Groskurd desired to express, in his translation, that Strabo meant to affirm the existence of another harbour, besides those which he had just mentioned, he would have written, not ‘wo auch’, but ‘wo ebenfalls’ (der Hafen Ition ist). But, says Long, ‘Strabo mentions four usual points of transit from Gallia to Britain, and if in this passage he means that there was another besides the Itius, then there would be five points of transit instead of four, and Strabo would contradict himself.’[2822] Long then quotes two passages in support of his interpretation of και. ‘Strabo,’ he remarks, ‘says that Sinuessa is in the gulf of Setia, and adds αφ ου και το ονομα.[2823] Groskurd translates και by “auch”, which has no meaning here.... Again, Strabo, speaking of the high Alps, says περι ὁ δη και συνισταντο οι λησται;[2824] which Groskurd translates, “die Gipfel, um welche denn auch die Räuber sassen.” Xylander simply says “ubi degebant latrones”, which I prefer to Groskurd’s version, though Xylander’s version is not quite exact.’

To these arguments Guest made no reply; but Heller[2825] did so. He admits that Thucydides, in relative sentences, often did use καί in the sense which Long claims for it; but this sense, he maintains, is restricted to phrases of which the meaning is unmistakable.

If Strabo did really mean to say that the Itian port was different from that port of the Morini which was commonly used as the point of departure for Britain, then I can only say that I believe, with Rudolf Schneider,[2826] that Strabo was mistaken. As Caesar was the only other ancient writer who mentioned the Portus Itius, and as he did not say exactly where it was, it would have been quite natural for Strabo to suppose that the Portus Itius was not the same as the well-known port of the Morini.

4. Finally, it has been affirmed by Henry[2827] and many other writers that the so-called ‘Camp de César’ and the various hillocks known as ‘mottes’ which are to be found in the neighbourhood of Wissant were defensive works erected by Caesar or his lieutenants for the protection of the Portus Itius; and de Saulcy tells us that an inhabitant of Wissant, whose trustworthiness he had proved, informed him that about two kilometres north-east of the village, at Haute-Sombre, there existed a camp several hectares in extent, in which, he says, ‘il faudra reconnaître le camp des trois légions et des deux mille cavaliers de Labienus.’[2828]

All these allegations have been disproved. The so-called tradition which ascribed the ‘Camp de César’ to the invader of Britain originated in the eighteenth century:[2829] at all events it is not mentioned by any of the earlier advocates of Wissant; and the camp has been proved to be of post-Roman date.[2830] Moreover, its area is not more than 50 ares 30 centiares, or 6,016 square yards, less than one acre and a quarter, which would not have sufficed to accommodate more than 500 men.[2831] As for the ‘mottes’, they have been excavated, and have been proved to be simply tumuli, which contained skeletons, flint implements, and bone pins. And the Abbé Haigneré[2832] has shown, in an amusing paragraph, that the so-called camp of Labienus, which, needless to say, is not marked on the Carte de l’État-Major, is purely imaginary.

Every argument which has been adduced in favour of Wissant has now been examined; and if I could have accepted them or any one of them, I would gladly have done so, for I myself once argued that the Portus Itius was at Wissant. But my knowledge was then imperfect. It is not possible to prove that the Portus Itius was at Wissant: it is possible to prove that it was not.

1. Although Wissant is nearer to England than Boulogne, yet Caesar would have gained nothing, even in regard to his mere voyage, by making Wissant his place of departure. Captain Iron, the harbour-master of Dover, unhesitatingly affirmed, after we had studied the chart together, that the fleet would have ‘made a better run’ from Boulogne than from Wissant. The reader will have no difficulty in understanding this if he will consult the Admiralty Chart (Dungeness to the Thames), and the Atlas entitled Tidal Streams in the English and Irish Channels. It must be remembered that both in 55 and in 54 B.C. Caesar started from Gaul when the tide was running down the Channel; and that on his first voyage the tide turned north-eastward between 4.30 and 5 a.m., when he had been three or four hours at sea, and on his second about 9.30 p.m., two hours or so after he had set sail. Thus, on each occasion, the latter and greater portion of the voyage was made on the flood tide.[2833]

Wauters does indeed succeed in proving that, in the middle ages, Wissant was very frequently used as a place of embarkation by travellers, merchants, and even troops sailing for the opposite coast;[2834] and the point of his argument is that if, in the middle ages, a large army could embark at Wissant, Caesar’s army could have done the same; and that if Wissant was a convenient point of departure for a voyage to Britain in the middle ages, it was not less convenient in the time of Caesar. Haigneré[2835] retorts, truly enough, that the quantity of merchandise which passed through the port at any one time was very small, and that, as a rule, not more than two or three vessels left the port simultaneously; but when he affirms[2836] that the largest army which ever sailed from Wissant was a force of 2,000 men, which John of Hainault led in 1327 to assist Edward the Third against the Scots,[2837] he lays himself open to criticism. Wauters[2838] replies that the force with which the Earl of Leicester sailed from Wissant in 1173 must have been very large; for in the battle of Fornham, in which the earl suffered defeat soon after he had landed in Suffolk, 10,000 of his men were killed. This statement, which was accepted by the late Bishop of Oxford,[2839] was made on the authority of Benedict of Peterborough,[2840] who also describes the army of the Earl of Leicester as infinitus exercitus. But (if we are to accept the statement of a mediaeval monk as to the number of men who were killed in a battle) Benedict does not say that the army set sail from Wissant, while Ralph de Diceto[2841] merely says that the Earl of Leicester embarked in a ship at Wissant, accompanied by a numerous band (venit apud Witsant, ubi ... plurima comitante caterva, navem ascendit); and, assuming that the troops all embarked at Wissant, there is no evidence that all the transports which carried them sailed together. It is generally admitted even by the partisans of Wissant (though not by Dr. Guest) that the mediaeval port was merely the creek formed by the Rieu d’Herlan, otherwise called Rieu de Sombre; and if it is true that an army which lost 10,000 men in a single battle embarked at Wissant in 1173, the bulk of the ships which carried it must have been anchored in the roadstead. The frequency with which Wissant was used as a place of embarkation in the middle ages undoubtedly proves that it was convenient, and this fact has been slurred over by the advocates of Boulogne; but it nevertheless remains certain that Caesar would not have found it convenient to sail from Wissant when the greater part of his voyage would have to be made upon the eastward stream, and with a south-west wind. At the same time I admit that we do not know from what quarter the wind was blowing in his first voyage: we only know that when he set sail it was favourable.[2842]

2. There is another objection to Wissant, which Dr. Guest, if he had been consistent, would have been the first to urge. Like all the other advocates of Wissant, he identifies the superior portus with Sangatte. Yet he tells us himself that it is hard to see how there could ever have been a harbour at Sangatte.[2843] Similarly, H. L. Long, himself an advocate of Wissant, who was well acquainted with the coast between Boulogne and Calais, observes that ‘as a port, in our acceptation of the term, Sangatte has fewer pretensions ... than even Wissant; but still it is, and always has been a small station’.[2844] The theory that it was a naval station is no doubt supported by the fact that it was the terminus of a Roman road: but Caesar speaks of a portus; and when Dr. Guest has to confute George Long, he is most emphatic in insisting that portus means ‘a harbour’ in the strictest sense of the word.[2845]

Let us, however, assume that Sangatte may conceivably have possessed a harbour in Caesar’s time. Even so, it is impossible to admit that Sangatte can have been the superior portus. For, if the eighteen ships which carried the cavalry had started from Sangatte, the conditions of wind and tide which would have rendered a voyage from Wissant to Kent less favourable than from Boulogne would obviously have been more unfavourable still.

3. There is one passage in Caesar’s narrative which, to a sailor, would be alone sufficient to prove that Wissant was not the port from which Caesar sailed in 55 B.C. We have seen that the gale which drove some of the cavalry transports from the point where they were first sighted westward down the coast carried the others back to the port from which they had started. I will assume that the latter were laid to on the port tack:[2846] if they could not work to windward, a glance at the map will show that they could not have returned to any point east of Wissant. The gale must obviously have blown from some point between the east and the north; and, if Caesar sailed from Wissant, the place from which the transports started must, as we have seen, have been Sangatte. Now it is absolutely incredible that a gale which drove some of these ships from a point near the South Foreland[2847] westward down the coast should have carried the others back to Sangatte. Caesar says that the former were ‘in great peril’, and that, when they anchored, the waves broke over them. A sailor would at once understand what their peril was. They were in no danger of being driven ashore; for while the gale was at its height they stood out to sea.[2848] They ran before the wind; and they were in danger either of broaching to or, possibly, of being ‘pooped’.[2849] From this we should conclude that the wind, when it struck the ships somewhere east or north-east of the South Foreland,[2850] blew from about the north-east: indeed, as the waves broke over the ships, it may have blown from north-east by east; for, if it had blown from the north-east or north-east by north, the ships, if they anchored close in shore, west of Folkestone, would have been in a sheltered position.[2851] The most easterly point at which they can be assumed to have been when they were caught by the gale is NW. 4° N. of Sangatte. Therefore if the wind had blown from the north-east, the ships that were carried back to the port from which they had started would have had to sail within less than eight points and a half of it in order to reach Sangatte. But, as Falconer[2852] says, a ship laid to in a gale makes from 5½ to 6½ points of lee-way. Reduce this estimate to four, and you will see that the transports would have had to lie within less than four points and a half of the wind in order to make Sangatte. No ancient ship could have done this. Close-hauled and under short canvas, as they would necessarily have been, the transports, as Commander Richmond remarked to me, would ‘just have sagged to leeward’. It may be objected that the tide would have helped them if it was running up the Channel. But the flood tide is almost neutralized by a north-easterly gale, and simply makes the sea more vicious: the ships would have moved so slowly that they could not have crossed the Channel in one tide; and when it turned and began to sweep them westward, their prospect of reaching Sangatte would have been more hopeless than ever. With a north-easterly gale, or even one which blew from north-east by north, it would have been absolutely impossible, so Commander Richmond and the harbour-master of Dover have separately and independently affirmed, for the vessels to fetch that anchorage.[2853]

4. Desjardins[2854] shows that, whereas four Roman roads, meeting at Gesoriacum, are mentioned in the itineraries,[2855] not a single Roman road led to Wissant. The advocates of Wissant have, indeed, replied that this proves nothing, since, in Caesar’s time, there were no Roman roads in any part of Gaul.[2856] But this reply is nugatory. Since no Roman roads led to Wissant, it is clear that if Wissant was the Portus Itius, this harbour, which Caesar had ascertained to be ‘the most convenient’ port of departure for Britain, was regarded by his successors as useless. Such a hypothesis is not tenable.

5. The mention of roads suggests another objection to Wissant. We have seen that Caesar’s army, consisting of five legions and 2,000 cavalry, remained weatherbound at the Portus Itius in 54 B.C. for about twenty-five days; and that with them were three other legions and 2,000 cavalry, who were left behind under the command of Labienus to guard the ports during Caesar’s absence.[2857] Thus for twenty-five days a force amounting to at least 32,000 men and 4,000 horses had to be fed; and of these not less than 12,500 men and 2,000 horses for about ten weeks more.[2858] No calculation is needed to show that these multitudes could not possibly have been supplied by the country in the neighbourhood of Wissant, even if it were as fertile as (according to Dr. Guest himself) it is ‘notoriously barren’.[2859] Their food must have come from a distance; and to transport it to Wissant without roads would have been a task of extreme difficulty. Dr. Guest assumes that Caesar’s fleet would have supplied his wants.[2860] But the fleet could only have procured grain from a port. Surely, then, Caesar would have found it most convenient to start from a port which was in communication by road or by river with the interior. Such a port was Boulogne, which enjoyed both these means of transit. What would have been gained by abandoning it for the isolated Wissant?

Again, it will be remembered that Labienus built sixty ships during Caesar’s absence in Britain;[2861] and we have seen that most of the modern advocates of Wissant admit that there was no harbour there, except the tiny creek formed by the ruisseau d’Herlan, or possibly a roadstead which may have been partially sheltered by the Banc de Laine. Not one of them has attempted to explain how Labienus could have found the means of building sixty ships upon an exposed beach. But let us admit that his genius could have improvised dockyards.[2862] Let us even admit that the harbour of Dr. Guest’s imagination did really exist. Still, sixty ships cannot be built without timber. How was all this timber to be brought to Wissant without roads and without a river? Even assuming that there was a Gallic road, it is doubtful whether Labienus could have impressed the amount of carriage necessary to transport the timber from the forests. But a few miles off at Boulogne the difficulty would have disappeared.[2863]

6. Another objection is so obvious that it must impress every candid inquirer. If Wissant was the Portus Itius, why was Wissant never once mentioned during the first millennium of our era? There is no evidence worthy of the name that it was used as a port before the year 1013.[2864] It is surely inexplicable that the port which Caesar regarded as the most convenient for his purpose should have been found so inconvenient or so superfluous by his successors that during the imperial epoch it fell into entire disuse. Wauters indeed retorts that if Wissant was eclipsed by Gesoriacum under the Empire, so was the Gallic town of Bibracte by the Gallo-Roman Augustodunum, and that, although the naval station was Gesoriacum, Wissant may have been a great commercial port.[2865] But he omits to explain how a great commercial port could have been left unnoticed by history, or how it could have existed without a river and roads to connect it with the interior. Nor is there any analogy between Wissant and Bibracte. The hill-fort of Bibracte gradually fell into disuse because when Gaul settled down under the Roman dominion it was no longer required.[2866]

7. Finally, Mariette[2867] argues that the mere name of Wissant, which, like the names of many other villages in the Boulonnais, is of German origin, proves that it was not founded before the fifth century, and consequently that there could have been no frequented harbour there in Caesar’s time.

It has now been demonstrated that Caesar did not sail from Wissant. That it was the point of departure of his first expedition is out of the question; for in that case the portus ulterior, from which the cavalry transports set sail, must have been Sangatte; and we have seen that they could not have returned to Sangatte when they were dispersed by the gale. The portus ulterior can only have been Ambleteuse; and therefore Caesar sailed in 55 B.C. from Boulogne. But nobody will believe that, having had experience of the advantages of Boulogne, he would have discarded it in favour of a place which, for his purpose, was in all respects inferior.

Nevertheless, to satisfy doubters, I shall state the case for and against Boulogne.

IX. BOULOGNE

The reasons which point to the identification of the Portus Itius with Boulogne are, speaking generally, that Boulogne, and Boulogne only, satisfies all the requirements of Caesar’s narrative.

To begin with, the passage for sailing-vessels from Boulogne to the south-eastern part of Britain is, and always has been, in circumstances such as Caesar described, not only very convenient but by far the most convenient. This is the testimony of seafaring men, both English and French, who have practical experience of the winds and the currents in the Channel: it was admitted, or rather strenuously maintained, by Henry,[2868] who advocated the claims of Wissant; and any man who studies the Admiralty Chart--Dungeness to the Thames--the Channel Pilot, and the Atlas, published by the Admiralty, which is entitled Tidal Streams in the English and Irish Channels, may convince himself of its truth. Captain Pollet, the harbour-master of Calais and Boulogne, furnished information to Ernest de Saulcy, who was determined, by hook or by crook, to make out a plausible case in support of Wissant; but he avowed his own opinion that Caesar must have sailed from Boulogne.[2869] Captain Iron, the harbour-master of Dover, in conversation with me, has done the same.

Secondly, the whole of Caesar’s fleet could easily have assembled in the port of Boulogne; and they certainly could not have assembled in any other port, properly so-called, on the coast of the Morini,[2870] except the mouth of the Canche, which was several miles further from Britain than Boulogne, and was in no respect more convenient. Desjardins[2871] has shown that the estuary of the Liane was much broader and deeper in Caesar’s time than it was in the nineteenth century before the harbour was modernized, and that, as the headland which sheltered it has suffered greatly from erosion, it extended further seaward; and not only was it ample in extent, but it was the only port protected from every wind.[2872] No one has described its merits more eloquently than Henry, the advocate of Wissant; and no one was more competent to form an opinion. He describes Gesoriacum as ‘le havre le plus commode et le mieux situé de toute la Gaule-Belgique, pour le commerce, la construction et l’équipement des vaisseaux’.[2873] But, although it is certain that there would have been ample room in the Liane for Caesar’s 800 small vessels,[2874] Airy insists that it would have been impossible for them to clear the harbour in a single tide.[2875] Now Caesar does not say that they did clear the harbour in a single tide; nor is it necessary to assume that they did. Captain Iron has, however, assured me that Caesar’s fleet of shallow vessels could have cleared the harbour in a single tide even if the depth of the water then had been no greater than in 1877. In that year the depth at low tide was 1 metre 60, or more than 5 feet[2876]; and it may be regarded as certain that the draught of Caesar’s vessels in the second expedition was much less than five feet.[2877] The estuary of the Liane has been silted up so much since Caesar’s time that it would hardly be an exaggeration to say that its depth then was three times as much as in 1877;[2878] and it has been ascertained from the sinking of artesian wells at the cement works of M. Demarle at Capécure[2879] that at that place the ancient bed of the river is 19 metres below the level of spring tides.[2880]

Thirdly, the distance of Ambleteuse from Boulogne corresponds closely enough with Caesar’s estimate of the distance of the ulterior portus from the Portus Itius. This does not prove the identity of the Portus Itius with Boulogne: but, if it is not a fact, the Portus Itius was not Boulogne; and it is therefore necessary to examine the arguments of those who have denied it. ‘On measuring,’ says Airy,[2881] ‘upon the beautiful Admiralty Chart the distance between the centre of the entrance to Boulogne and the centre of the entrance to Ambleteuse, I find it to be not quite 4½ nautical miles, or 5½ Roman miles; instead of the 8 miles given by Caesar.’ This estimate is accurate; but it is also irrelevant; for Airy measures the distance by sea; and Caesar must have meant the distance by land. ‘It was quite immaterial,’ says Lewin,[2882] ‘what was the distance by sea, for the eighteen transports were windbound, and could not reach him; but, as he could not dispense with the vessels, he had to consider what portion of his force could be most conveniently despatched thither, and as the transports lay eight miles off, he thought it best, in order to save time, to send thither his cavalry ... by the nearest road from the port of Boulogne, through Wimille and Slacq to the church at Ambleteuse, the distance is twelve kilometres.’[2883] It is amusing to find that Airy, who lays so much stress upon the accuracy of Caesar’s (assumed) estimate of the distance by sea from the Portus Itius to the ulterior portus, maintains on the preceding page (Essays on the Invasion of Britain, &c., p. 27) that Caesar’s estimates of distances by sea were valueless.

Fourthly, Caesar’s narrative of the adventures of his cavalry transports is easily comprehensible on the hypothesis that the port from which he himself sailed was Boulogne, but on no other.[2884] As we have seen, the storm of the 30th of August, 55 B.C., which prevented them from making the Kentish coast near Caesar’s camp, drove some of them westward to a point on the south coast, and carried the rest back to the point whence they had started, namely, the ulterior portus. That port, if Caesar sailed from Boulogne, was Ambleteuse; and there is no difficulty in believing, nor has it ever been denied, that the wind, before which some of the ships ran from the neighbourhood of the South Foreland[2885] in the direction of Dungeness, would have carried the others, which were laid to, back to Ambleteuse.

Fifthly, Caesar, as we have seen, sailed from the Portus Itius with a south-westerly wind;[2886] and it is needless to tell any one who will consult the map that to sail with a south-westerly wind, especially with flat-bottomed vessels which made a great deal of lee-way, and on the easterly going stream, from Boulogne either to Sandwich, Deal, Walmer, Hythe, or Lympne, would have been easier than to sail from Wissant.

Sixthly, it is universally admitted that Boulogne, which Pliny[2887] calls the portus Morinorum Britannicus, was the permanent naval station of the Romans in the imperial epoch, and that it was the harbour from which they habitually sailed for the coast of Kent.[2888] An inscription preserved in the Boulogne museum[2889] proves that this station was established at least as early as the reign of Claudius, while Suetonius[2890] tells us that Claudius embarked at Gesoriacum for Britain. Indeed there is indirect evidence that the station existed in the time of Augustus; for the road which ran from Mediolanum (Milan) past Lugdunum (Lyons), Durocortorum (Reims), and Ambiani (Amiens), to Gesoriacum[2891] was constructed by Agrippa. It has been argued that, although Gesoriacum was the recognized harbour from the time of Augustus, the fact does not prove that it was the harbour from which Caesar sailed. But to those who admit that it has been proved that no other port existed which would have served Caesar’s purpose the fact will appear conclusive.[2892]

Seventhly, Desjardins[2893] has pointed out that Gallic ports were always either in the mouths of rivers or otherwise sheltered from storms. Such a port was Gesoriacum; and if Wissant was a Gallic harbour at all, it was a solitary exception to the rule.

Lastly, Rudolf Schneider[2894] lays great stress upon the fact that, according to Pomponius Mela,[2895] no harbour on the northern coast of Gaul was better known than Gesoriacum; and he reminds us that Pliny[2896] mentioned no other harbour in the country of the Morini. Unless, he argues, the Portus Itius was identical with Gesoriacum, Mela, Pliny, and the later writers must have forgotten its existence. Now nothing would be easier than to make a dialectical reply to this argument,--Is it not equally remarkable that none of these writers even hints that Gesoriacum was the Portus Itius? This was the reply which I made myself on another occasion. But the reply was sophistical. Schneider’s argument depends upon the assumption that the Portus Itius was one of the great harbours of Gaul; and considering that it could accommodate 800 vessels, this assumption is certainly reasonable. At all events it is impossible to suggest any other explanation of the fact that after Strabo no writer mentioned the Portus Itius for more than a thousand years, except this,--that the Portus Itius and Gesoriacum were one.

It would be waste of time to repeat the arguments, which have already been stated by implication in the section on Wissant, based upon the unique advantages that Boulogne possessed in being connected with the interior by river and road.[2897]

It remains only to consider the objections which have been made to the identification of the Portus Itius with Boulogne.

1. The very fact that Boulogne was called Gesoriacum is regarded by Long[2898] as presumptive evidence that it was not called Portus Itius.

Desjardins,[2899] who evidently regards this as a serious objection, has taken great pains to remove it. He argues that the Portus Itius was not exactly the same as the imperial harbour of Gesoriacum, but that it comprised that part of the estuary of the Liane which lies between Bréquerecque and Isques; and, he triumphantly remarks, the name ‘Isques’ is derived from Itius. But ‘Isques’ cannot have been derived from Itius: the names ‘Ausques’,‘Quesques’, ‘Clerques’, ‘Setques’, and ‘Wisques’ are derived from Alciacum, Kessiacum, Quertliacum, Sethiacum, and Wiciacum; and the inference is that not Itius but Isiacum would have been transformed into ‘Isques’.[2900] Rudolf Schneider,[2901] who is too honest and too hard-headed to be deluded by Desjardins’s attempt to draw a distinction between Gesoriacum and Portus Itius, frankly admits that the unrecorded change of name has not been explained. But is there anything to explain? ‘Portus Itius’ is not, properly speaking, a name at all: it does not designate a town; it means simply ‘the Itian harbour’. Long saw nothing inexplicable in the fact that Gesoriacum was called by Pliny portus [Morinorum] Britannicus: why, then, should he have found it impossible to believe that its harbour was called by Caesar portus Itius?[2902] Was not the port of Athens called the Piraeus?

2. Long, after making the amazing remark that ‘such a port as Boulogne would have been quite useless in Caesar’s second expedition’, says that ‘the Romans estimated the distance from Boulogne to the British coast at fifty Roman miles; but this is too much.... However, they were right in making the distance more than the distance from Itius to the nearest point of the British coast; and the conclusion is that Gesoriacum and Itius were different places.’[2903]

The conclusion is simply that, assuming the identity of Gesoriacum with the Portus Itius, Caesar’s estimate of the distance from Gesoriacum to Britain was different from that of later writers. Besides, the only one of ‘the Romans’, as far as we know, who ‘estimated the distance from Boulogne to the British coast at fifty Roman miles’ was Pliny;[2904] and it may be presumed that by ‘the British coast’ he meant Rutupiae, or Richborough, which was a port, if not the chief port, of arrival in his day. For he estimated the shortest passage at fifty Roman miles: according to Dion Cassius,[2905] the shortest passage was 450 stades; and this, according to the Itinerary of Antonine,[2906] was precisely the length of the passage from Boulogne to Richborough.

Long goes on to say that in the Itinerary of Antonine the distance from Boulogne to Richborough ‘was estimated at 450 stadia; and, if we follow d’Anville in estimating this maritime stadium at ten to the Roman mile, the distance is fairly given. So if we take the 320 stadia which Strabo gives as the length of Caesar’s voyages, we have thirty-two Roman miles; or, if we take the reading which Eustathius, copying Strabo, has in his commentary on Dionysius, 300 stadia, we have exactly thirty Roman miles, as in Caesar’s text. The conclusion is that, in addition to the fact of Boulogne (Gesoriacum) and Ouissant (Itius) having different names, the ancient authorities place them at different distances from the British coast.’[2907]

Again Long’s conclusion is at fault. To begin with, Strabo did not estimate the maritime stadium at ten, but at eight to the Roman mile.[2908] Assuming, however, that he did estimate it at one-tenth of a Roman mile, there is no reason to suppose that when Caesar estimated the distance from the Portus Itius to Britain, he meant the distance to Richborough; and the only conclusion that can be drawn from Long’s data is that ‘the ancient authorities’ reckoned the length of Caesar’s voyage less than the distance between Richborough and Boulogne. And when Long says that the estimated distance, 450 stadia, from Boulogne to Richborough ‘is fairly given’, it is amusing to find him admitting that Caesar’s estimate of 30 miles ‘exceeds the distance from Wissant to the nearest part of the English coast, and it is about the true distance from Boulogne to the same part of the English coast’. Thus, on Long’s own showing, Caesar’s estimate of the distance from the Portus Itius to the British coast corresponds with the actual distance from Boulogne to the same, and the estimate of the Itinerary is equally true. The reader who has followed him so far will hardly be surprised by his remark, that ‘even a real good harbour would have been useless to Caesar’.[2909]

3. Heller,[2910] after quoting the statement of Pliny as to the length of the shortest passage from Boulogne to Britain, and the statement of the Itinerary of Antonine as to the distance from Boulogne to Richborough, argues (a) that, as they overestimated the distance from Gaul to Britain, Caesar probably did the same; (b) that if Pliny had identified Boulogne with the Portus Itius, he would not have estimated the distance of Boulogne from the nearest point of Britain at 50 miles, but would have followed Caesar and written ‘about 30’; (c) that if Caesar had started from Boulogne, he would, according to the usual tendency of the ancients, have overestimated the distance from Boulogne to Britain, and would therefore have reckoned it at considerably more than ‘about 30 miles’, seeing that the actual distance from Boulogne to Dover is 33.

The first of these arguments, if it had come from a tiro, might have been passed over with a smile; but one would hardly have expected it from Heller. The third is based upon a misleading statement;[2911] and even if we could be sure that Caesar overestimated the length of his voyage, it would be inconclusive, for, as we have seen,[2912] it is not improbable that he estimated it at 40 Roman miles. And as for Pliny, ‘the shortest passage,’ which he estimated at 50 miles, was probably, I repeat, the passage from Boulogne to Richborough.

4. H. L. Long,[2913] if I do not misunderstand him, argues that there could have been no port at Ambleteuse in the days of Caesar. Speaking of ‘the immense irruption of blown sand’, he maintains that ‘this dune ... acts as a dam to the drainage of the valley; an interruption which must have produced swamps in former days, and is now but imperfectly corrected by an artificial channel, the embouchure of which forms the little harbour of Ambleteuse’.

This argument obviously depends upon the untenable assumption that the sand-dune existed in Caesar’s time; and it is shaken by the fact that Roman antiquities have been discovered at Ambleteuse.[2914] Moreover, according to the writer of the article Ambleteuse in M. Vivien de Saint-Martin’s Nouveau Dictionnaire de Géographie Universelle (i, 1879, p. 115), Ambleteuse, under the rule of the English, had an excellent harbour,[2915] and was not choked up by the accumulation of sand until after 1549.[2916]

5. General Creuly,[2917] referring to the attack made by 6,000 of the Morini upon the Roman soldiers who disembarked from the two ships which failed to make the harbours in 55 B.C. and were carried ‘a little further down’, insists that Caesar’s account of this episode[2918] is incompatible with the view that the Portus Itius was Boulogne. For, he argues, the 6,000 Morini could not have belonged to the pagus Gesoriacus, that is to say, the district of Boulogne, since the inhabitants of this region had submitted to Caesar, and, moreover, it was so sparsely populated that 6,000 men could not have assembled on the spur of the moment. He also reminds us that on the day following the attack Labienus marched against the rebellious Morini, and soon subdued them, as, owing to a drought, they were unable to take refuge in the marshes which had served them as an asylum in the preceding year;[2919] and he denies that there were any marshes in the pagus Gesoriacus large enough to serve such a purpose.

Creuly can only make a show of sustaining these objections by resorting to Airy’s fantastic theory,[2920]--that Caesar, when he said that two of his ships were carried ‘a little further down’, meant not ‘down the coast’ but ‘in the direction of the wind’. If the inhabitants of the district of Boulogne had submitted, why should they not have rebelled? The Aduatuci submitted and afterwards rebelled:[2921] the Nervii submitted and afterwards rebelled;[2922] the Britons submitted and afterwards rebelled:[2923]--but it is needless to multiply examples. For Caesar expressly states that the Morini who attacked his soldiers had submitted to him before he sailed for Britain.[2924] I am not concerned to defend the accuracy of his statement, that their number was 6,000: but Creuly admits that 6,000 Morini did assemble somewhere in their own country; and how can he prove that the district of Boulogne was more sparsely populated than any other? As to the marshes, there is no evidence that they were in the immediate neighbourhood of the spot where the soldiers were attacked; but if they were, what is there to prevent us from identifying them with the marshes south of Boulogne, between Camiers and Dannes?[2925]

6. Heller’s objection,[2926] that if Caesar had sailed from Boulogne in 54 B.C. it would have been impossible for his ship to drift so far by daybreak on the following morning as to justify him in saying that he ‘saw Britain lying behind on the port quarter’ (sub sinistra Britanniam relictam conspexit[2927]), has been already answered.

7. Caesar, describing his return to Gaul in 54 B.C., says that ‘at daybreak he reached land’ (prima luce terram attigit), and that his ‘ships were hauled up on the shore’ (subductis navibus[2928]). It has been argued that ‘both of these expressions point to the conclusion that he did not enter the mouth of a river’, and that ‘if the Portus Itius was in the estuary of the Liane, to haul up the ships over the banks on to the meadows would surely have been a difficult operation’.[2929] The author of this argument forgot that the ships need not have been hauled up on to the meadows at all unless they had gone far up the river, and that they may have been docked. But an expert whom he has since consulted assures him that, even if it had been necessary to haul up the ships over the banks on to the meadows, the operation would have involved no serious difficulty.

If this inquiry had merely established the probability of the identification of the Portus Itius with the harbour of Boulogne, it would not be possible to justify the labour which has been expended upon it except on the ground that it will save those who may wish to inform themselves a vast amount of research, and provide them with complete equipment for arriving at an independent conclusion. But that conclusion, if it is reached conscientiously by an unbiassed mind, can only be one.

THE PLACE OF CAESAR’S LANDING IN BRITAIN

I. INTRODUCTION

After I had completed the researches which I undertook for the purpose of writing this article, I saw that if an able soldier, or even an intelligent civilian, who had a sufficient knowledge of ancient warfare, were to ask himself where Caesar landed in Britain, he could solve the problem after a brief inspection of the Ordnance Map. He would perceive that there was only one part of the Kentish coast on which Caesar could have expected to land, in the face of an enemy, and then to march into the interior, without incurring unnecessary loss. If he were told that a study of the tides had proved that Caesar must have landed elsewhere, he would reply, ‘There must be something wrong in your calculations. Perhaps you have neglected to allow for the influence which strong winds and other causes exert upon the tidal currents. Perhaps you have misinterpreted or unduly strained certain parts of Caesar’s narrative. It is even possible that Caesar himself may, from lapse of memory, have mis-stated the day on which he first landed. Any one of these suppositions is credible: but it is incredible that the experienced officer whom he sent to reconnoitre the British coast should have advised him to land below a range of hills when open country was more easily accessible; still more that he should have accepted the advice. It is absolutely certain that Caesar did not commit an act of folly which any general who knew his business would have avoided.’

But such a summary mode of treating the question would not convince the scholars who must be convinced before it can be set at rest; and the conclusion at which they have arrived is that it is insoluble. So said Mommsen:[2930] so say Mr. Warde Fowler,[2931] Mr. Tozer,[2932] and, apparently, Dr. Hodgkin;[2933] so said the late eminent geographer, H. Kiepert, according to whom the numerous attempts which have been made to determine Caesar’s landing-place ‘have, because of the vagueness of many expressions of the principal source [the Commentaries of Caesar], not attained more than a hypothetical value, even after three centuries of learned quarrels’.[2934] Not because of the vagueness of Caesar’s expressions, but because those who have commented upon them have not taken the trouble to inform themselves. The indications which Caesar gives are sufficient to enable any attentive reader to determine the place where he landed with such certainty that every doubt shall be removed,--if he knows how to use them; if, that is to say, he possesses sufficient collateral knowledge to enable him to understand what he reads. It is not enough to be a Latin scholar. It is necessary also to study the ancient geography of the coast of Kent; to be acquainted with the tidal phenomena of the English Channel; to have at least an elementary knowledge of seamanship; to know Caesar’s writings intimately, and not merely read the Fourth and Fifth Books for the occasion; and, above all, to gain that understanding of the principles of ancient warfare which can only be acquired by one who has studied the history of modern campaigns, and has learned, by experience or from intercourse with practical men, how things actually happen. No genius is needed; only industry, backed by common sense and by some intelligence and acumen; but such industry as may, perhaps, be thought disproportionate with the object. Not even Mommsen, with his colossal power of work, could spare the necessary time.

II. THE DATA FURNISHED BY CAESAR AND OTHER ANCIENT WRITERS

The data which we find in the Commentaries are the following. Before starting on his first voyage, Caesar sent a military tribune, named Volusenus, whom he believed to possess the necessary qualifications, in a ship of war, to make a thorough reconnaissance of the British coast, and to ascertain what harbours were capable of accommodating a large flotilla.[2935] Volusenus returned to Gaul four days after his departure, having made all the observations that it was possible for him to make without landing; for he had not ventured to put himself in the power of the natives. Caesar himself marched his army into the country of the Morini, as the shortest passage to Britain was from their coast. The fleet which he ordered to assemble consisted of about 100 country-built merchant vessels, collected from the neighbouring districts, as well as some ships of war and small fast-sailing vessels, called speculatoria navigia, or ‘scouts’. His intention had been made known in Britain by traders; and while his ships were assembling, envoys sent by several British tribes presented themselves before him, and promised to give him hostages, and to submit to the Roman People. On their return they were accompanied by Commius, a Gallic chieftain, who acted as Caesar’s political agent and who took with him about thirty of his own horsemen. Of the merchant vessels eighteen had assembled in a harbour 8 Roman miles ‘beyond’ that which sheltered the rest of the fleet,[2936] and were prevented by contrary winds from joining them. Caesar set sail ‘about the third watch’ (tertia fere vigilia) in favourable weather, having ordered the cavalry to march to the ‘further’ port, embark there on the eighteen transports, and follow him. Their movements, however, were somewhat dilatory. ‘About the fourth hour’ (hora circiter diei quarta) the leading division of the fleet had approached so close to the British coast that Caesar could see an armed force of the enemy drawn up ‘on all the heights’ (in omnibus collibus). ‘The formation of the ground,’ he says, ‘was peculiar, the sea being so closely walled in by precipitous heights that it was possible to throw a missile from the ground above on to the shore.’[2937] Regarding the place as unsuitable for landing, he waited at anchor ‘till the ninth hour’ (ad horam nonam) for the arrival of the rest of the fleet. Meanwhile he assembled his generals and military tribunes, communicated to them the report which he had received from Volusenus, and gave them all necessary instructions. They returned to their respective vessels; and, ‘getting wind and tide simultaneously in his favour,’ Caesar weighed anchor, sailed on (progressus) about 7 Roman miles, and ran the ships aground ‘on an open and evenly shelving shore’ (aperto ac plano litore).[2938]

The natives, divining his intention, had sent on ahead their cavalry and charioteers, who were followed by the rest of the forces. The important points in Caesar’s description of the disembarkation are as follows:--some of the enemy, in opposing it, threw missiles from the shore; others advanced a little way into the water, riding or driving their horses. The transports, on account of their relatively considerable draught, had necessarily grounded in deep water; and on this account the Roman soldiers hesitated before jumping into the sea to wade ashore. During the conflict Caesar made some of his war-galleys sheer off a little from the transports, and take up a position on the enemy’s exposed flank; and later on, when legionaries who had just dropped into the sea and gathered in small groups were being hard pressed, he manned the small fast-sailing craft and the small boats belonging to the galleys, and sent them to the rescue. The enemy derived an advantage from their knowledge of the places where the water was shallow. Caesar concludes his description of the landing by saying that it was impossible to pursue the enemy far, because ‘the cavalry had not been able to keep their course and make the island’.

On the fourth day after the landing (the day of the landing being doubtless reckoned as the first day)[2939] the eighteen transports that carried the cavalry again set sail from the ‘further’ harbour with a light wind. They were approaching the British coast and were visible from Caesar’s camp, when a sudden storm came on with the result that some of them were carried back to the harbour whence they had started, while the others ‘were driven down in great peril to the lower and more westerly part of the island’ (ad inferiorem partem insulae, quae est propius solis occasum, magno suo cum periculo deicerentur). They anchored: but the waves broke over them; and they were obliged to stand out to sea in the face of night[2940] and make for the Continent.

On the same night there was a full moon; and Caesar remarks that full moon causes extraordinarily high tides in the ocean. Owing to the high tide and the gale, the ships of war, which had been drawn up on the shore, were waterlogged, and many of the transports, which were riding at anchor, were driven ashore and wrecked. A few days later one of the legions was sent out in the ordinary course to cut corn. Presently Caesar was informed by the troops on guard in front of the camp that an unusual quantity of dust was visible in the direction in which the legion had gone. When he had advanced ‘some little distance’ (paulo longius) from the camp, he saw that his troops were in difficulties; and he tells us that the place to which they had gone was the only [accessible] spot in which the corn had not been cut, and that there were woods close by. In repelling an attack which was made upon his camp just before his departure, he made use of Commius’s small troop of cavalry, and immediately afterwards he ‘burned all the buildings far and wide’ (omnibus longe lateque aedificiis incensis). On his return voyage he set sail soon after midnight.

The flotilla with which he sailed for Britain in the following year consisted of more than 800 vessels. Of these over 540 were transports and 28 war-galleys, while the rest belonged to individuals.[2941] Some of the vessels used in the former expedition had been repaired: the rest were built and rigged by Caesar’s troops during the winter of 55-54 B.C., and the following spring. The transports drew very little water, and were adapted for rowing as well as sailing; and, to provide room for troop-horses and stores, they were made proportionately broader than the trading vessels used by the Italians in the Mediterranean. Carrying five legions and 2,000 cavalry, they sailed from the Portus Itius ‘about sunset’(ad solis occasum), with a light south-westerly breeze. About midnight the wind dropped: the fleet was carried far out of its course by the tidal stream; and at daybreak Caesar ‘descried Britain lying behind on the left’ (Britanniam sub sinistra relictam conspexit). He then followed the turn of the tide, and, as he tells us, ‘rowed hard to gain the part of the island where, as he had learned in the preceding summer, it was best to land’ (remis contendit ut eam partem insulae caperet qua optimum esse egressum superiore aestate cognoverat). He remarks that the soldiers who rowed the heavily-laden transports deserved great credit for their unremitting labour, which enabled them to keep up with the war-galleys. The whole fleet had reached the coast by about noon. No enemy was to be seen; and Caesar learned afterwards from prisoners that large forces had collected at the landing-place, but that, panic-stricken by the sight of 800 vessels, they had abandoned the shore and retreated to ‘higher ground’ (superiora loca).

After the disembarkation Caesar selected a suitable spot for his camp. ‘About the third watch’ (de tertia vigilia) he marched to encounter the enemy, whose whereabouts he had ascertained from prisoners. He left the ships riding at anchor in charge of ten cohorts and 300 cavalry; and he describes the anchorage as on ‘a nice open shore’[2942] (litore molli atque aperto). The force which accompanied him consisted of four legions and 1,700 horse. After a march of about 12 Roman miles he descried the enemy. They advanced with their cavalry and chariots ‘from the higher ground’ (ex loco superiore)[2943] to the banks of a stream, and attempted to prevent the Romans from crossing. Repulsed by Caesar’s cavalry, they took refuge in a stronghold in the neighbouring woods, which is described by Caesar as ‘a well-fortified post of great natural strength’ (locum egregie et natura et opere munitum).

In a storm which occurred on the following night most of the ships were driven ashore, about 40 being totally wrecked; and in order to prevent a repetition of this disaster, the ships were all hauled up on dry land and ‘connected with the camp by one entrenchment’ (cum castris una munitione coniungi).

In his general description of Britain Caesar says that neither the beech nor the fir grow in the island.[2944] He describes it as triangular, and says that one of its sides faces Gaul, and that ‘one corner of this side, by Kent--the part which almost all ships from Gaul make for--has an easterly, and the lower one a southerly outlook’. Of the other two sides one, he says, ‘trends westward towards Spain’ (alterum vergit ad Hispaniam atque occidentem solem); while the other has a northerly aspect, and ‘its corner looks if anything in the direction of Germany’ (eius angulus lateris maxime ad Germaniam spectat).

The territories of Cassivellaunus were ‘separated from those of the maritime tribes by a river called the Thames, about 80 [Roman] miles from the sea’.

On the second of the two voyages by which the troops were transported back to Gaul in 54 B.C., the ships started in a dead calm (summa tranquillitate) at the beginning of the second watch, and reached harbour at daybreak.[2945]

The only piece of evidence worth quoting which is not in the Commentaries is the statement of Dion,[2946] that Caesar, in sailing from his anchorage to his landing-place in 55 B.C., rounded a promontory. Some commentators, however, believe that important additional evidence is furnished by Plutarch and Valerius Maximus; and the statements in question will be considered in subsequent sections of this article.

III. THE DAY ON WHICH CAESAR LANDED IN 55 B.C.

It is absolutely certain, and is universally admitted, that the full moon which Caesar mentions occurred on the night of August 30-1, 55 B.C.:[2947] to speak more precisely, it occurred at 3 h. 33 m. a.m. on the 31st.[2948] Now, with one or two exceptions, which shall be presently considered, the commentators have concluded that Caesar landed on the fourth day before the full moon, that is to say, on the 27th of August. But any one who has read this article with close attention will have seen that their conclusion rests upon a careless interpretation of Caesar’s narrative. Caesar says that the eighteen cavalry transports sailed from Gaul on the fourth day after he landed in Britain; that when they were approaching the island they were prevented from keeping their course by a storm; that some of them were driven westward down the coast and anchored, but were obliged to run back, in the face of night, for the Continent; and that on the same night there was a full moon.[2949] Whereupon the commentators leap to the conclusion that the day on which Caesar landed was the fourth before the full moon. They forget that what Caesar said was, not that the transports approached the British coast on the fourth day after he landed, but that on that day they started from Gaul. The distinction is important. The transports may have weighed anchor in the night. On all his four voyages Caesar set sail at night; and Strabo says that for vessels sailing from Gaul this was the regular practice.[2950] Let us assume that Caesar landed on the 26th of August. Then, if we adopt, as almost all the commentators have done, the inclusive mode of reckoning, the transports may have sailed from Gaul on the night of the 29th.[2951] On the 30th, in the morning, they would have been approaching Britain. Then came on the storm. On the following night--the night of August 30-1--occurred the full moon.

It may be objected that if Caesar had landed in Britain on the 26th of August, and if his transports had set sail on the night of the 29th, but after midnight--say between 2 and 3 a.m.--he would have said that they set sail not on the fourth but on the fifth day after his landing. I will take note of this objection, but I doubt whether it is valid. In the thirty-third chapter of the Second Book of the Commentaries, after describing the sortie made by the Aduatuci, which took place in the third watch of the night, that is to say after midnight, and their repulse, he goes on to say that ‘on the following day the gates were broken open’ (postridie eius diei refractis portis &c.); in other words, he loosely reckoned the third watch of the night as part of the day that preceded the one which he calls postridie eius diei. It is therefore at least possible, I think it probable, that he landed on the fifth day before the moon which he described as full.

But it has been argued that Caesar may have made a mistake in describing the moon as full. He remarks, as we have seen, that the full moon produces very high tides in the Channel; and he states that on the night of this particular full moon many of his ships were waterlogged by an extraordinarily high tide. But the strongest spring tides, in the eastern part of the Channel, between Dungeness and Beachy Head, occur, not at the time of full moon, but a day and a half later, and east of Dungeness two days later.[2952] Airy,[2953] premising that ‘it is impossible to judge precisely of the day of full moon, either from the appearance of the moon’s diameter ... or from the time of moon-rising’, argues that the moon which Caesar described as full was probably, as a matter of fact, that which produced the spring tide. Accordingly he assumes that Caesar landed on the third day before the full moon.

Airy’s argument, however, is unsound. No well-informed man needs to be told that, long before Caesar’s time, astronomers were able to predict the phases of the moon with sufficient accuracy for all ordinary purposes. Livy records that in 168 B.C. a tribune in the army of Aemilius Paullus told his men that a lunar eclipse would occur on the following night.[2954] It is therefore at least not unlikely that Caesar should have known on what night the full moon which followed his landing occurred. The fact that the extraordinarily high tide occurred on the night which he calls the night of the full moon, presents no difficulty. The tide on the night of the full moon, even though, in normal circumstances, it would not have risen as high as a spring tide, properly so called, would in any case have been unusually high; and under the influence of the gale which Caesar mentions, its height would of course have been increased. Extraordinarily high tides, indeed, have occurred in such circumstances even at neaps;[2955] and it would be just as reasonable to argue that Caesar ante-dated the day in question as that he post-dated it. For, as Airy himself assures us, the moon would have appeared full on the night before it really was so, that is to say, on the night of August 29-30; and if, as Airy assumes, full moon had occurred on the night before that to which Caesar assigned it, he would surely have noticed that the moon appeared full on the two successive nights which preceded what, on Airy’s hypothesis, he called the night of the full moon.

The conclusion is that it is not possible to say with absolute certainty on what day Caesar landed. It is morally certain that he adopted the inclusive method of reckoning.[2956] It is, as we have seen, probable that he landed on the fifth, but he may have landed on the fourth day before the moon which he described as full. It is highly probable that he fixed the day of the full moon correctly; but we cannot be perfectly sure. Accordingly it seems to me probable that he landed on the 26th of August: but he may have landed on the 27th, or possibly even on the 25th.

Nevertheless, I assure the reader that this uncertainty matters nothing. If he will bear with me to the end, he will see that we shall be able, notwithstanding, to determine the place of landing.

IV. DID CAESAR LAND AT THE SAME PLACE IN BOTH HIS EXPEDITIONS?

It remains to inquire whether, in both his expeditions, Caesar landed at the same place. The commentators are virtually unanimous in holding that he did; and Napoleon, whose view is an exception to the rule, believes that the landing-place of 54 B.C. was only a few kilometres north of that of the preceding year.[2957] He and von Göler[2958] both rely on the express statement of Dion Cassius[2959]; but Dr. F. Vogel,[2960] who attaches no importance to Dion’s testimony on matters of this kind, reminds us that Caesar ‘speaks only of the place which he had ascertained in the preceding year to be the best for landing’,[2961] and does not say that he had actually landed there. I agree with Vogel that Dion’s statement proves nothing; for there is no reason to suppose that it represents anything but his own interpretation of Caesar’s words. Nevertheless, it is certain that Caesar did land in the same ‘part of the island’[2962] in 54 B.C. and in 55. For, as we shall subsequently see, if he landed on both occasions in East Kent, the coast which answers to the requirements of his narrative lies within the extreme limits of Walmer and Sandwich: if in 55 B.C. he landed at any point west of the South Foreland, it is not possible to suggest any reason why he should have chosen in the following year a new landing-place also on the west of that promontory but in a different ‘part of the island’; and not only has it never been suggested, but it is incredible that he should have landed in 55 B.C. on one side, and in 54 on the other side of the South Foreland.

It is hardly necessary to add that before his fleet hove in sight in 54 B.C. the Britons assembled in great force to oppose his landing: in other words, they felt sure that he would attempt to land at or near the place where he had landed the year before.

V. THE VARIOUS THEORIES ABOUT CAESAR’S PLACE OF LANDING

Not less than a dozen different theories have been formed regarding the place of Caesar’s landing. It has been identified with Weybourne on the coast of Norfolk; with Richborough; with the neighbourhood of Sandwich; with Deal, or, to speak more correctly, the coast between Deal Castle and Walmer Castle; with Dover, Folkestone, Hythe, Lympne, Hurst on the northern fringe of Romney Marsh, Bonnington near Appledore, Rye, Bulverhythe, and Pevensey. Most of these theories, however, obviously fall into groups. Richborough, Sandwich, and Deal; Hythe, Lympne, Hurst, and Bonnington; Bulverhythe and Pevensey,--these three groups represent three main theories, each of which has undergone modification in detail. The rest may be summarily dismissed. The absurd suggestion that Caesar landed in Norfolk was elaborated in two successive pamphlets;[2963] and, what is still more amazing, a zealous antiquary thought it necessary to devote a third[2964] to its refutation. Neither Folkestone nor Rye has now any advocates; and the absurdity of their pretensions must be self-evident to every intelligent reader of the Commentaries. The theory that Caesar landed at Dover is only worth mentioning because it was seriously maintained by the eminent geographer, Konrad Mannert;[2965] and perhaps Heller underestimated the acumen of his readers when he took the trouble to confute it.[2966] The claim of Bonnington was maintained with considerable ingenuity by a professional advocate in a book[2967] which George Long,[2968] who dissented from its conclusions, commended as ‘a work of real value’; and it would not be safe to ignore it. Even the view that Caesar landed at Pevensey demands consideration. It was first put forward in 1852 by the late Astronomer Royal, who defended it against a series of attacks with equal ability and vivacity: a few years ago it was resuscitated by Professor Ridgeway: Mr. Warde Fowler[2969] observes that ‘much can be said in favour of this opinion’; and the late Camden Professor of Ancient History in the University of Oxford[2970] was inclined to accept it. But the controversies which have attracted most attention have been centred between the advocates of Lympne or Hythe on the one side and of Deal or Sandwich on the other. And, although there are many collateral questions, the chief point at issue is this,--when Caesar sailed with wind and tide in his favour from the place where he anchored on the morning of his first voyage, and steered for the place where he landed, was the tidal stream running up or down the Channel? Among those who have recently approached the subject the prevailing belief would appear to be that it has been proved that he sailed down. ‘The old belief,’ writes Mr. Warde Fowler,[2971] ‘that he turned eastwards and landed at Deal cannot, in the present state of our knowledge of the tides, be any longer maintained.’ I engage to convince every reader who will give me his attention that the so-called proof is no proof at all.

VI. THE QUESTION OF THE TIDES

Before we attempt to construct a tide-table for the 26th and 27th of August, 55 B.C., we must first satisfy ourselves whether in that year, at any given period of the moon’s age, the tidal stream in the eastern part of the English Channel began to flow and to ebb at precisely the same time as it does in similar circumstances now. On this point there has been much divergence of opinion. Dr. Guest, the late geologist George Dowker, and Professor Montagu Burrows have all argued that the changes which have taken place in the configuration of the coast[2972] must have produced changes in the tidal currents. The points on which Dr. Guest laid special stress were, that in Caesar’s time Thanet was an island; that Dungeness did not then exist; that Romney Marsh was covered at high tide by an estuary 50,000 acres in extent; and that the estuary of the Thames was far wider than it is now.[2973] Dowker called attention to the great changes which, since Caesar’s time, must have taken place in the Goodwin Sands: ‘would no effect,’ he asked, ‘be felt by the tides if the Goodwins were now an island?’ Again, observing that Drew ‘points out how the beach formerly near Rye had been swept away, and re-deposited in a different direction’, he concluded that ‘geological changes of outline have altered the direction and velocity of the currents’.[2974] Some years later he returned to the subject. ‘If,’ he wrote,[2975] ‘we assume the Straits are now one mile wider than when Caesar visited our shores,[2976] the tide which runs with a velocity of about three miles an hour up Channel, would carry more water into the German Ocean than a river a mile wide and 15 feet deep.... There are other changes also that have taken place in the German Ocean, which must have exerted immense influence on the tides when we remember that a north-east wind will materially heighten the tidal lever by forcing up the water of the North Sea. The travelling of beach in an eastward direction shows that the set of the tide is more strong in that direction now on some part of the coast than formerly.’ Finally, Professor Montagu Burrows remarks[2977] that ‘Not only may the depth of the Channel have largely varied, but the space over which the tides travel must be at least two miles wider than it was some 2,000 years ago,[2978] and therefore the point of meeting of the North and South tide-streams cannot possibly be exactly the same’.

On the other hand, Airy says, ‘I express my opinion without hesitation that no conceivable changes in the coast within historical times can have produced any sensible change in the relation of the tidal currents to the moon’s age.’[2979]

I have submitted these remarks to Sir George Darwin, the author of the articles on the tides in the Ninth Edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica and the Supplement to that edition. ‘In my opinion,’ he replies, ‘Airy is absolutely right and Burrows and the others wrong. A channel from Sandwich to Reculver could not have made any sensible change, and so also it would be impossible to detect the difference if Goodwin Sands were an island. All the phenomena now observed must have occurred at the same times within, say, a minute, and with an intensity measurably identical in the days of Caesar. Even if you were in a position to indicate exactly the nature of the changes in the channel since that time, it would be impossible to compute the nature of the excessively minute changes in the currents.’

This decisive answer will not be seriously gainsaid. Evidently the divergence of opinion is between those who are not and those who are qualified to judge.

Airy says that ‘on the day of Caesar’s landing the tide off Dover turned to the west about 1 h. in the afternoon, and at 3 h. it would be running with a strong stream to the west’.[2980] Airy, as we have seen,[2981] supposes that the day of Caesar’s landing was the 28th of August; but if the statement which I have just quoted is accurate, it follows that even on the 26th the tide at 3 p.m. was running westward. Again, in 1866, the Admiralty Hydrographer affirmed that on the 27th of August, 55 B.C., the current ran westward until 6.30 p.m.;[2982] and if he is right, it must on the previous day, unless the circumstances were abnormal, have continued flowing in the same direction until 5 p.m. or later. Lewin,[2983] relying upon a table compiled by a Mr. Barton of Dover, and based upon observations made by ‘some experienced pilot or fisherman’, and upon another table filled up from actual observation ‘on every day of July, 1862’, states that ‘with high water ... at 7.31 a.m., the tide could not turn eastward at the earliest until 4.26 p.m., and at the latest not until 5.21 p.m.’ Nevertheless, he admits[2984] that, with high tide at 7.31 a.m., the tide might possibly have turned eastward at 4 p.m. Finally, Mr. H. E. Malden tells us that ‘at any time that afternoon between two o’clock and seven, in any part of the Channel between Dunge Ness and Dover, the tidal current was running westward ... when Sir George Airy, the greatest authority of the century upon the tides, says that they were the same then as now, cadit quaestio. We are lifted out of the uncertainties of historical topography into the certainties of scientific knowledge.’[2985]

This pronouncement is certainly calculated to overawe the timid inquirer. Nevertheless, I venture to suggest that a man who knows little or nothing about the tides should refrain from patting on the back one who knew a great deal, but who did not think it necessary for his purpose to tell all that he knew.

Airy may have been the greatest authority of the century upon the tides: but, apart from his asseveration that they were the same then as now, in the contribution which he made to the solution of the problem which we are investigating he relied upon authorities which are accessible to everybody. Those authorities (I will mention a few besides those which Airy used) are the Nautical Almanac; Tide Tables for the British and Irish Ports (published by order of the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty); the Channel Pilot; Tidal Streams, English and Irish Channels (an Atlas of 12 charts published at the Admiralty in 1899); Captain Usborne Moore’s Report on Observations ... in the Straits of Dover (also published at the Admiralty in 1899); an article by Admiral Sir F. W. Beechey published in Philosophical Transactions, volume cxli, 1851, pages 703-18; and an article published in Archaeologia, volume xxxix, 1863, pages 277-302. The last-named article includes a report of observations on the tidal streams in the Straits of Dover, made in 1862 under the superintendence of E. K. Calver, R.N. These observations were made for the purpose of settling the question whether the stream with which Caesar sailed from his anchorage ran up or down the Channel. They were made ‘in comparatively still weather’ on the 21st of August, the 4th and 5th of September, and the 4th of October, 1862, at eleven distinct stations within a space extending to one mile and a half from the shore, and from the South Foreland to Shakespeare’s Cliff. The days on which they were made were, reckoning inclusively, respectively the fifth before the new moon, and the fifth, the fourth, and the fourth before the full moon. ‘From the average of these observations,’ says Calver, ‘it appears that, when high water at Dover occurs about 7 h. 30 m. a.m., the inshore flood or easterly-going stream ... turns 4 h. 48 m. after it is high water upon the shore. Taking then, for example, a 7 h. 31 m. a.m. high water, and assuming that the ebb or westerly-going stream runs on the average for 6¼ hours, it follows that the flood or easterly-going stream on that day would turn off Dover at 12 h. 19 m., and the succeeding ebb ... would run to the westward until 6 h. 34 m. p.m.[2986]’ Vice-Admiral W. H. Smyth, summing up the results of the observations, remarked that the tide turned westward ‘soonest near the beach and latest in the offing’, and that ‘the turn is sooner to the east of Dover than to the west, still not differing more than one hour’.[2987]

So far as we have yet examined them, the results of these observations fully bear out what Airy and Lewin maintain,--if it is assumed that high tide at Dover on the day of Caesar’s landing must have occurred about 7.30 a.m. But if we scrutinize the tables more closely, and give due weight to certain other facts emphasized by our authorities, we shall see that the dogmatism of Airy and Lewin is unjustifiable. They and their followers make no allowance for the great influence which winds exert upon the tidal streams in the Channel.[2988] Moreover, it is useless to base conclusions upon the average of the results obtained in Surveyor Calver’s observations. If we scan the tables which give those results in detail, we shall find that although, on the average, the stream turned westward 4 h. 48 m. after high water at Dover, yet on the 21st of August it turned only 3 h. 40 m. after high water.[2989] We shall also find that the duration of the flood, as observed by Calver, varied from 4 to 7 hours; and although the duration of the ebb was only observed twice,[2990] it may actually have varied as much. On the first of the two occasions on which it was observed it was 6 hours, 10 minutes; on the second, only 5 hours, 53 minutes;[2991] and, according to the Channel Pilot,[2992] it is occasionally only 4 hours. Therefore it is possible that if on the day of Caesar’s landing high water occurred at Dover at 7.31 a.m., the tide may have turned westward as early as 11.11 a.m., and may have continued to run westward for a period not longer than 5 hours, 53 minutes, that is to say, until 5.4 p.m.

But this is not all. It is desirable that the reader should become acquainted with Lewin’s methods of reasoning. Lewin himself, after studying the Admiralty Tide Tables for the year 1859, admits that ‘on January 14th, being the fourth day before the full moon, high water at Dover is at 5.31 a.m.’, and that it may possibly have occurred as early on the day of Caesar’s landing. This admission throws a breaking strain upon his theory; but by dint of dexterous manipulation of the facts he is just able to make a show of saving it from ignominious collapse. ‘As’ he says, ‘the stream turns at four hours after high water, and continues for seven hours, it turns at the earliest at 9.31 a.m. and runs till 4.31 p.m.... In no case, therefore, would the tide be running east at 3 p.m.’ But Lewin is here compelled to ignore observations of which, in another part of his book, he makes free use. As we have already seen, he admits[2993] that on a day when high tide occurred at 7.31 a.m. the stream might turn eastward at 4.26 or even at 4 p.m. If he is right, it follows that on a day when high tide occurred at 5.31 a.m. the stream might turn eastward at 2.26 or even at 2 p.m. To make this admission, from which, if he had been confronted with his own words, he could by no subtlety have escaped, would have been to throw up his case; and such candour would have been too much to expect from a professional advocate. Let him, however, shift his ground, if he pleases, and rely upon Calver’s observations. They will not avail him. We have just seen that, according to Calver, the stream turned westward on the 21st of August, 1862, 3 h. 40 m. after high water; and the duration of the westward stream, on one of the two occasions on which he observed it, was only 5 h. 53 m.[2994] According to these data, if, on the day of Caesar’s landing, high tide had occurred at 5.31 a.m., the westward stream might have ceased at 3.4 p.m. It would have been impossible for Lewin, if he had been required to take account of this statement, to deny it. But to admit it would have been to sign the death-warrant of his own theory.

So far I have only been concerned to show that Lewin’s whole train of reasoning, examined in the light of the evidence which he himself adduces, is radically unsound. I have argued on his hypothesis--that high tide at Dover, on the day of Caesar’s landing, may have occurred at the earliest time at which it can possibly occur on the fourth day before the full moon. Neither Lewin nor Airy nor any other commentator has attempted to determine, by the aid of lunar tables, the hour at which, on the day in question, high tide did actually occur.[2995] Nevertheless, if the problem which we intend to solve is to be attacked in a scientific spirit, the hour ought to be determined. Messrs. John A. Sprigge, William Fraser Doak, M.A., F.R.A.S., and T. Charlton Hudson, B.A., F.R.A.S., all of the Nautical Almanac Office, have been so kind as to determine it for me. Their calculations are preserved; and at the end of this article, on page 665, will be found a memorandum, in which they have described the method on which they worked. It will be sufficient here to state the results, the error in which, as they point out, is probably insignificant. On the 26th of August, 55 B.C., the Greenwich mean time of high water at Dover was 6.21 a.m.; on the 27th, 7.42 a.m.; and on the 28th, 8.44 a.m.[2996] Thus it turns out that on the day of Caesar’s landing high water did not occur at all early. This fact, however, will not sustain the theory of Airy and Lewin. Since high water at Dover on the 26th of August occurred at 6.21 a.m., and since the tidal stream, according to one of Calver’s observations, turned 3 hours, 40 minutes after high water, the stream may have turned westward at 10.1 a.m. Assuming that the duration of the westward stream was 5 hours, 53 minutes--the same as that recorded on one occasion by Calver--the stream would have ceased at 3.54 p.m. But Calver’s observations were made ‘in comparatively still weather’;[2997] and, to quote Admiral Beechey, ‘winds greatly affect the time of turn of the stream.’[2998] Now Caesar sailed from his anchorage with wind as well as tide in his favour; and the wind which carried him to his landing-place may have accelerated the turn of the stream. It is clear, therefore, that on the day of Caesar’s landing the stream may have turned eastward earlier than 3.54 p.m.; and if it turned twenty-five minutes earlier, it turned in ‘the ninth hour’.

But, it will be objected, Caesar may have landed on the 27th of August; and in that case the stream could not have turned eastward before the close of the ninth hour. Certainly it could not have done so unless it had turned westward unusually early, or unless its westward duration had but little exceeded four hours; and although this has been shown to be within the bounds of possibility,[2999] it is to the last degree improbable. But if he landed on the 26th of August, an assumption which has been proved to be not inconsistent with his narrative,[3000] it is not improbable that the stream may have turned eastward in the ninth hour; and this is all that I am concerned at present to show.

It may be said that, in order to refute the dogma of Airy and Lewin, I have supposed an extreme case. I can only say that I did not start with the intention either of refuting or defending that dogma: I merely examined it, and found that it would not bear examination. And I am justified in supposing an extreme, or rather an exceptional, case because Airy and Lewin have both affirmed that it is absolutely impossible that in the ninth hour on the day of Caesar’s first landing in Britain the tidal stream can have been running towards the east. But, supposing that it did not turn eastward until after the ninth hour, still the theory that Caesar must have sailed in the opposite direction will not stand. For the reader, if he has patience to bear with me to the end, will convince himself, from Caesar’s own words, that Caesar did not stir from his anchorage until after the ninth hour had passed.

VII. THE THEORY THAT CAESAR LANDED AT PEVENSEY

The two distinguished advocates of the theory that Caesar landed at Pevensey are not in complete accord. Airy holds that he sailed both in 55 and in 54 B.C. from the mouth of the Somme;[3001] Professor Ridgeway from Wissant.[3002] It has been proved in my article on the Portus Itius that he started from Boulogne; and whoever accepts that proof will, perhaps, skip this section. I am willing, however, for the sake of argument, to accept in turn both Airy’s identification of the Portus Itius and that of Professor Ridgeway: but I may remark that when Airy wrote he had forgotten that in Caesar’s time there was a natural harbour at Pevensey;[3003] and if Caesar had landed in a harbour he would not have left the fact unnoticed.

If we are to accept the premiss on which Airy himself lays so much stress, namely, that in 55 B.C. the tidal currents in the Channel, at any given period of the moon’s age, were the same as they are now, Caesar did not land at Pevensey. Airy, as we have seen, assumes that Caesar landed, in 55 B.C., on the third day before the full moon, and, appealing to the authority of Sir F. W. Beechey, he affirms that, off Hastings, the current turns westward five miles from the coast two hours later than it does close inshore. ‘If,’ he concludes, ‘we suppose Caesar to have first attempted the neighbourhood of St. Leonards, the tide, which a few miles from shore had turned to the west at 11 h., was, at 3 h., running in full stream to the west.’[3004] But, in order to prop up his theory, Airy is forced to place Caesar’s anchorage at five nautical or nearly six statute miles from the shore. To prove that such an assumption is absurd, it is only necessary to say that, at a distance of five nautical miles, Caesar could not have seen the armed men who, as he tells us,[3005] were swarming upon the cliffs, without the assistance of a powerful telescope.[3006] Lewin[3007] rightly concludes that Caesar must have anchored within a mile from the shore, at the outside, and probably within half a mile. Now high water at Dover on the 27th of August, 55 B.C., occurred at 7.42, and therefore at Hastings at 7.23 a.m.[3008] But off Hastings, within a mile from the shore, the current turns westward about the time of high tide,[3009] runs westward for about six hours and a half, and then runs eastward for about six hours. At 3 p.m., therefore, on the 27th of August, the tide off Hastings would have been running eastward, and would have continued to do so until about 7.50 p.m. And on the 28th of August, which Airy wrongly assumes to have been the day of Caesar’s landing, the tide off Hastings would have turned eastward about 2.53 p.m., and would have continued to run in that direction until about 8.53. Consequently, on the theory of the tides which Airy himself so strenuously maintains, it would have been impossible for Caesar to sail with the tide from Hastings or from St. Leonards to Pevensey.[3010] Even on Airy’s assumption that Caesar anchored five nautical miles from the shore, his theory cannot stand: he can only make a show of propping it up by assuming that Caesar landed on the 28th of August. On the 27th, the stream would have turned westward at about 9.30 a.m., and would have ceased running westward about 4 p.m. Therefore, even supposing that Caesar started on his seven miles’ sail in the ninth hour,[3011] he would have done so on the very last of the tidal stream, when it was barely moving; and it would have turned against him before he had half finished his voyage.

Very wisely, from his own point of view--for his silence has hitherto passed unnoticed--Airy ignored Caesar’s account of the voyage of his cavalry transports. Some of them, as we have seen, were ‘swept down in great peril’ (magno suo cum periculo deicerentur[3012]), evidently running before the gale, ‘to the lower and more westerly part of the island’ (ad inferiorem partem insulac quae est propius solis occasum[3013]): the others were carried back to the port from which they had started. That port, according to Airy, was the mouth of the Authie. The gale evidently blew from about the north-east; but, in order to give Airy the fullest latitude, I will assume that it was from the north-north-east, although in either case the ships which ran before the wind, once they had got under the lee of Beachy Head, would have been in smooth water! The course which the transports would have had to steer for the Authie, if they had been sighted off Pevensey, would have been SE. by E. 2° S., or within less than nine points of the wind. But in the gale they could hardly have made less than four points of lee-way.[3014] Therefore, in order to reach their supposed destination, they would have been obliged to lie within less than five points of the wind, which they could not have done.[3015] ‘No!’ said the harbour-master of Dover to me, after he had studied the chart, ‘No! they would have fetched Dieppe.’[3016] I have assumed that they could work to windward: if they could not, it is self-evident that they could not have returned to the mouth of the Authie.

But if any one is not convinced, let him hear Airy plead his own cause.

1. Airy argues that Volusenus would never have recommended Caesar to land under the cliffs of Dover, or at any point under the cliffs between Folkestone and Hythe. ‘No commander,’ he says, ‘would steer ships to a mural cliff three hundred feet high, with the intention of landing in order to invade the country; nor would any defenders station themselves there to repel an invasion; nor could a “telum” be thrown with any aim. But a daring officer might steer to a less perpendicular cliff, ten to thirty feet high, with the intention of forcing a landing.... Such are the cliffs between Hastings and Pevensey; and I conclude that they answer exactly to Caesar’s description.’ Assuming that the cliffs off which Caesar anchored, when he first approached the British coast, were in the neighbourhood of St. Leonards, Airy affirms that ‘the run of eight[3017] miles would bring him to the beach of Pevensey, answering perfectly to his description’.[3018]

Now whether Caesar did or did not steer towards ‘a mural cliff three hundred feet high’, he certainly anchored off cliffs which he calls ‘precipitous heights’ (angusti montes); and Airy makes too great a demand upon our credulity when he requires us to believe that Caesar described by the words angusti montes a ‘cliff ten to thirty feet high’. So much for the theory that Caesar anchored off the clifflets of St. Leonards:[3019] the argument that he could not have anchored off the cliffs of Dover shall be considered in its proper place. The reader has of course already observed that Volusenus, being a sane man, would never have recommended Caesar to ‘force a landing’ under any cliffs, great or small.

2. Airy argues that the Britons would naturally have assembled at Pevensey in order to oppose Caesar’s landing, because ‘Pevensey was the weakest point of Britain’.[3020] No! replies Lewin, Pevensey was not then the weakest point; for it was ‘backed by the Andred Forest’.[3021] Airy[3022] triumphantly observes that William the Conqueror landed there; but Lewin[3023] rejoins that when William landed the forest presented less difficulty to an invader than in Caesar’s time, as the Romans and the Saxons must have made clearances. Be this as it may, it is certain that William did not attempt to march northward through the forest. He returned, immediately after his victory, to Hastings: from Hastings he marched eastward to Romney, and from Romney to Dover.[3024] He had his own reasons for landing at Pevensey: but Caesar, for reasons equally good, chose the shortest passage; and although, as I have shown,[3025] these words are not to be taken in an absolutely literal sense, they alone exclude the notion that Caesar landed in Sussex. Obviously it is in the last degree improbable that Volusenus would have reconnoitred the coast so far westward as Pevensey; nor could the Britons have expected that Caesar would be so foolish as to double the length of his voyage in order to land there.[3026]

3. Airy argued that, except on the hypothesis that Caesar landed at Pevensey, it is impossible to account for the long duration of his first voyage. His rate of sailing, said Airy, if, as Dr. Guest maintained, he had started from Wissant and anchored off the Dover cliffs, would not have exceeded two miles an hour. ‘When in Shetland,’ he adds, ‘I have sailed in one of the ordinary fishing-boats of the country, hoisting a single lug-sail ... with a pleasant, easy breeze (sometimes dying away), from Lerwick to the head of Balta Sound, in Unst, in about eight hours. The distance, as measured on the Admiralty Chart, exceeds forty nautical miles.’[3027]

This was one of Airy’s more plausible arguments; and it demands consideration. To begin with, it must be pointed out that Caesar did not, as Dr. Guest believed, sail from Wissant, but from Boulogne, which is more than seven nautical miles further from Dover. Airy assumed[3028] that Caesar’s first voyage lasted from midnight till 10 a.m. But it is impossible to say how long it lasted. Caesar does not say that he started at midnight: he says that he started ‘about the third watch’ (tertia fere vigilia); and the third watch lasted, on the night of the 25th-26th of August, from midnight till 2.32 a.m., on the night of the 26th-27th till 2.33 a.m.[3029] Nor does he say that he reached Britain at 10 a.m.; he says that he reached it ‘about the fourth hour of the day’, which lasted on the 26th of August from 8.33 to 9.42.[3030] As Mr. Peskett says, ‘the possible duration of the voyage lies between the extreme limits of 9 h. 40′ and 6 hours.’[3031] Split the difference, and you will find that the average rate of sailing would have been about three knots and a half per hour. The answer to Airy’s argument is that Caesar’s narrative is quite consistent with the view that his ships may have remained for some time anchored off the Gallic coast in the expectation that the cavalry transports would sail out of Ambleteuse harbour to join them; and, further, that the wind may have shifted to an unfavourable quarter before the voyage was at an end.[3032]

4. Airy[3033] maintains that a river corresponding with Caesar’s description of the one on the banks of which he defeated the Britons on the day after his second landing,[3034] is to be found in the neighbourhood of Pevensey, and of Pevensey only. That river, he says, was the Rother, and the scene of the victory was Robertsbridge. He produces evidence to show that if Rye Sluice were broken, ‘the whole valley at Robertsbridge would now become a great tidal morass.’ This, he continues, ‘was its state in the age of Caesar, and it must have been a very formidable defence against an army advancing from the coast.’

Undoubtedly; so formidable that it would have been absolutely impassable. How Caesar’s cavalry succeeded in forcing their way over this ‘great tidal morass’ Airy omits to explain. If he had studied Caesar’s description[3035] of the much less formidable morass over which his ablest marshal, Labienus, tried in vain to construct a causeway, and from which he was obliged to retreat, he would hardly have made Caesar attempt to cross ‘a great tidal morass’ in the face of an enemy.

Caesar, as we have seen, descried at daybreak, on his second voyage, the coast of Britain ‘lying behind on the left’;[3036] and if these words mean, as all commentators except Airy and Professor Ridgeway maintain, that he had drifted to some point east or north-east of the South Foreland, they alone dispose of Airy’s theory. Airy of course saw this; and accordingly he put his own construction upon the passage. ‘I cannot conceive,’ he says,[3037] ‘that the expression refers to any direction but to that of the drift; it asserts that, in reference to the direction of tidal current, the coast was on the left hand. It is therefore indecisive as to place.’

Lewin, in his reply,[3038] overlooked one consideration, which by itself overthrows Airy’s interpretation. If, as Airy would have us believe, Caesar’s vessel had not drifted as far east as Dover, she was, owing to the direction of the current, moving parallel with the British coast.[3039] How, then, could Caesar, in the case supposed by Airy, have said that he saw Britain ‘lying behind on the left’ (sub sinistra relictam)?

The theory that Caesar landed at Pevensey is irreconcilable with the fact that the four chieftains who attacked his naval camp in 54 B.C. belonged not to Sussex but to Kent.[3040] Airy endeavoured to answer this objection by the remark that the men of Kent were more numerous than those of Sussex, and would therefore have gone to the assistance of their countrymen.[3041] But, replied Lewin,[3042] ‘as the men of Kent were distinct from the Regni, or men of Sussex, the natural inference to be drawn from the assault of the camp by the men of Kent surely is that the camp was in Kent.’ I may point out further that, considering the state of internecine war in which the Britons habitually lived, and which was only suspended for the time under the pressure of a common danger,[3043] it is not credible that the men of Kent would have consented to make a long march away from their own territory in order to undertake an operation which would have properly devolved upon another tribe, and unlikely that they would have been sufficiently well organized to feed their army during a march of such duration.

The distance between the mouth of the Somme, which Airy identifies with the Portus Itius, and St. Leonards, where he maintains that Caesar first reached Britain, is, as he himself says,[3044] ‘about 52 nautical miles,’ that is to say, rather more than 65 Roman miles: the distance between the Portus Itius and Britain, according to Caesar’s estimate,[3045] was about 30 Roman miles. To say nothing of this glaring discrepancy, Caesar’s account of his return voyage from Britain to Gaul in 54 B.C. presents a difficulty which taxed all Airy’s ingenuity to explain away. Caesar[3046] tells us that he started in the second watch in a dead calm (summa tranquillitate), and reached Gaul at daybreak. Naturally the opponents of Airy’s theory insist that to cross from Pevensey to the mouth of the Somme in this time would have been impossible.

But Airy is never so confident as when he has to defend an untenable position. He roundly asserts that his critics do not understand Caesar’s language. Summa tranquillitas, he tells them, does not mean ‘a dead calm’: it means ‘a stiff north-west wind’. Professor Thompson, he informs us, assured him that a favourable wind ‘is compatible with a “tranquillum mare”’; and he refers, in support of this view, to a passage in one of Cicero’s letters,[3047]--‘I am forced to wait for fair weather owing to the open ships ... of the Rhodians’ (Nos Rhodiorum aphractis ceterisque longis navibus tranquillitates aucupaturi eramus). He also appeals to two passages in Vergil:--

_placidi straverunt aequora venti, Creber et adspirans rursus vocat Auster in altum,_[3048]

and

_postquam alta quierunt Aequora, tendit iter velis portumque relinquit._[3049]

‘It appears to me,’ he observes, ‘that Virgil’s idea of circumstances favourable to navigation always implied the co-existence of brisk wind and smooth water.’ The idea that Caesar’s fleet was rowed across the Channel he scouts as ridiculous. ‘If,’ he adds, ‘with smooth water there had been a brisk breeze, the steerage would have been good ... the voyage would have been easy ... we have only to suppose a stiff north-west wind, capable of carrying the ships 7 or 8 miles an hour.’[3050]

Now as to the first of these passages, the context shows that Cicero had been weatherbound by the violence of the trade winds; and he uses the word tranquillitates in the sense of ‘fine weather’ in contrast with these.[3051] His vessels were undecked; and therefore he could not venture to set sail in a rough sea. It can hardly be inferred from this passage, which Airy does not understand, that summa tranquillitas means ‘a stiff north-west wind’. The first passage quoted from Vergil simply says that gentle winds (placidi venti--an expression by no means identical with summa tranquillitas) stilled the sea, and that then a southerly wind invited Aeneas to set sail: the second tells us that Aeneas set sail after the cessation of a storm. If Cicero does not imply that summa tranquillitas means ‘a stiff north-west wind’, neither does Vergil. If Airy had really known his authorities, he would have called to mind the passage in which Cicero[3052] relates, in language virtually identical with that of Caesar, that he was prevented from sailing by ‘an astonishingly dead calm’ (mirae tranquillitates). And if he had known his Caesar, he would have thought of the passage[3053] which tells how the ships of the Veneti were becalmed in their fight with Decimus Brutus,--‘suddenly there was a dead calm, and they could not stir’ (tanta subito malacia ac tranquillitas exstitit ut se ex loco commovere non possent). If tanta tranquillitas means ‘such a dead calm’, as it assuredly does, it is not easy to see how summa tranquillitas can mean ‘a stiff north-west wind’. If these passages do not fix the meaning of summa tranquillitas, we may dispense with further research.[3054]

I confess that I do not know whether more to admire the audacity and resource which Airy displayed in controversy, or the sublime lack of humour which permitted him to translate summa tranquillitas by ‘a stiff north-west wind’.

So much for the late Astronomer Royal. If I do not ignore the arguments of Professor Ridgeway, it is because I am unwilling to appear wanting in due respect for his reputation. But I would ask him to explain one little difficulty which he has left unnoticed,--namely, how Caesar’s cavalry transports could have contrived to return, as, on his theory, they must have done, from a point near Pevensey to Sangatte, that is to say, to steer E. 9° N. in the teeth of a gale which unquestionably blew from some point east of north? Let the professor consult any seafaring man, and he will learn that such a feat would have been absolutely, absurdly impossible.

1. Professor Ridgeway labours to show that the distance of Pevensey from Wissant corresponds with the distance, as stated by Caesar, of Britain from the Portus Itius. He assures us that, according to certain MSS. (which, however, he does not specify), that distance was not ‘about thirty’, but ‘about forty miles’ (circiter milium passuum XXXX....a continenti[3055]).

It is surprising that so distinguished a scholar should have committed himself to a statement which five minutes’ search in any critical edition of the Commentaries would have shown to be unfounded. The MSS. to which he appeals have no existence; or, if they exist, they have never come to light.[3056] But, as I have already shown, on other grounds,[3057] Caesar may have written XXXX; so let Professor Ridgeway have the benefit of the doubt, though I need hardly say that the distance of Pevensey, and even of Bexhill, from Wissant is much more than forty Roman miles.

2. The professor then invokes the authority of Dion Cassius. ‘If,’ he argues, ‘Caesar, on coming into the land of the Morini, found, as Dio says, that all the landing places opposite the continent were held by Britons, by which he evidently means the landing places in the narrow part of the Channel, would Caesar obstinately persist in crossing at the narrowest spot, or like a wise general seek for a more suitable, although more distant landing place?’ This view, he pleads, is supported by the fact that Caesar describes the passage from the Portus Itius not as the shortest, but simply as the most convenient (commodissimus).[3058]

Mr. H. E. Malden makes the obvious reply that Caesar did not, in point of fact, avoid the landing-places in question for the reason suggested by Professor Ridgeway; for ‘he landed in the teeth of a British army’.[3059] Moreover, as we have already seen, Caesar tells us that he sailed from the coast of the Morini ‘because the shortest passage to Britain was from their country’.

3. The professor contends that his theory is supported by Caesar’s account of his voyage in 54 B.C. Mr. Malden[3060] told him that Caesar could not have sailed from Wissant [or, as he ought to have said, from Boulogne] to Pevensey with a south-west wind;[3061] and that, since the tide must have carried him in 54 B.C. at least as far as the South Foreland,[3062] it would have been impossible for his men to row to Pevensey--a distance of fifty-five miles--between dawn and noon, that is to say in less than nine hours. The professor replied to the former objection that Caesar ‘evidently sailed, not direct for Pevensey, but rather across Channel’.[3063] The reply was as true as it was futile; but it was true only because Caesar was bound, not for Pevensey but for East Kent. Mr. Malden’s second objection the professor endeavoured to rebut by the following arguments:--First, that as Caesar’s men began to row at 3 a.m.,[3064] continued rowing till noon, and had the tide in their favour for the first six hours, they could, if necessary, have rowed fifty-five miles in nine hours. Secondly, that fifty-five miles is an excessive estimate; and that the actual distance was not more than thirty-nine; for accessum est ad Britanniam[3065] [the words by which Caesar describes the arrival of his fleet] ‘seems to denote nothing more than what he expressed by the words Britanniam attigit[3066] in the story of the former voyage. But,’ continues the professor, ‘he did not land at all at the place where he Britanniam attigit, but dropped down with the tide seven miles further. Moreover, Caesar does not say that he made for the very spot where he had landed before, but simply remis contendit ut eam partem insulae caperet qua optimum esse egressum superiore aestate cognoverat[3067] [“rowed hard to gain the part of the island where, as he had learned in the preceding summer, it was best to land”]. The high cliffs formed his landmark.’ The professor is presumably referring to the cliffs eight miles east of Pevensey, which, as Airy points out, are ‘from ten to thirty feet high’: these cliffs would evidently have made a most conspicuous ‘landmark’. However, the professor contrives to reduce the length of the voyage by eight miles at one end: he curtails it at the other by simply denying, like Airy, that when Caesar ‘saw Britain lying behind on the left’, he had drifted past the South Foreland. He insists that Caesar ‘might use the word relictam [‘left behind’] when, instead of finding himself close to the shore of Britain, he discovered that, between the course he had sailed and the way he had drifted, he had moved away from Britain’.[3068] This remark only shows that the professor did not know what was the direction of the flood tide. Unless Caesar had got past the South Foreland by the time when he ‘saw Britain lying behind on the left’, the tide had not carried him ‘away from Britain’.

The professor’s argument comes to this. He says that Caesar’s men rowed as hard as they could; that they could have rowed fifty-five miles in nine hours, but that they only did row thirty-nine! He asks us to believe that they rowed fifty-five miles in nine hours, though, on his own showing, the tide was against them for one-third of that time![3069] Finally, when he argues that because Caesar did not land in 55 B.C. at the point where he Britanniam attigit, therefore he did not land in 54 B.C. at the point where accessum est ad Britanniam, he forgets two things:--first, that Caesar distinctly says that in 55 B.C. he sailed on seven miles from the point where he first Britanniam attigit, whereas all commentators except Professor Ridgeway have drawn from Caesar’s narrative the inevitable inference that in 54 B.C. he landed at the point where accessum est ad Britanniam; secondly, that the Britons expected him to land in 54 B.C. at the point where accessum est ad Britanniam, for ‘large forces had assembled there’ (magnae manus eo convenissent). Does the professor seriously mean to argue that if Caesar had landed elsewhere, he would not have said so?[3070]

Not a single argument of the least weight has been or can be adduced to show that Caesar landed at Pevensey or anywhere on the coast of Sussex.[3071] On the other hand, there is not a single objection which has here been brought against that theory which is not alone sufficient to overthrow it. The truth is that Airy, with all his scientific knowledge and controversial skill, was not adequately equipped to discuss the question: his classical scholarship left much to be desired; and, having once committed himself to the preposterous theory that the Portus Itius was in the estuary of the Somme, he was forced to look for Caesar’s landing-place far to the west of that part of Britain in which Caesar’s narrative inevitably places it. To that part of Britain our inquiry must henceforth be confined. Whether Caesar landed east or west of the cliffs of Dover, he landed in Kent.

VIII. THE THEORY THAT CAESAR LANDED AT LYMPNE OR HYTHE