The Grove of Ashtaroth by John Buchan
We were sitting around the camp fire, some thirty miles north of a
place called Taqui, when Lawson announced his intention of finding a
home. He had spoken little the last day or two, and I had guessed that
he had struck a vein of private reflection. I thought it might be a new
mine or irrigation scheme, and I was surprised to find that it was a
'I don't think I shall go back to England,' he said, kicking a
sputtering log into place. 'I don't see why I should. For business
purposes I am far more useful to the firm in South Africa than in
Throgmorton Street. I have no relations left except a third cousin, and
I have never cared a rush for living in town. That beastly house of
mine in Hill Street will fetch what I gave for it,--Isaacson cabled
about it the other day, offering for furniture and all. I don't want to
go into Parliament, and I hate shooting little birds and tame deer. I
am one of those fellows who are born Colonial at heart, and I don't see
why I shouldn't arrange my life as I please. Besides, for ten years I
have been falling in love with this country, and now I am up to the
He flung himself back in the camp-chair till the canvas creaked, and
looked at me below his eyelids. I remember glancing at the lines of
him, and thinking what a fine make of a man he was. In his untanned,
field-boots, breeches, and grey shirt he looked the born
wilderness-hunter, though less than two months before he had been
driving down to the City every morning in the sombre regimentals of his
class. Being a fair man, he was gloriously tanned, and there was a
clear line at his shirt-collar to mark the limits of his sunburn. I had
first known him years ago, when he was a broker's clerk working on half
commission. Then he had gone to South Africa, and soon I heard he was a
partner in a mining house which was doing wonders with some gold areas
in the North. The next step was his return to London as the new
millionaire--young, good-looking, wholesome in mind and body, and much
sought after by the mothers of marriageable girls. We played polo
together, and hunted a little in the season, but there were signs that
he did not propose to become the conventional English gentleman. He
refused to buy a place in the country, though half the Homes of England
were at his disposal. He was a very busy man, he declared, and had not
time to be a squire. Besides, every few months he used to rush out to
South Africa. I saw that he was restless, for he was always badgering
me to go big-game hunting with him in some remote part of the earth.
There was that in his eyes, too, which marked him out from the ordinary
blonde type of our countrymen. They were large and brown and
mysterious, and the light of another race was in their odd depths.
To hint such a thing would have meant a breach of friendship, for
Lawson was very proud of his birth. When he first made his fortune he
had gone to the Heralds to discover his family, and those obliging
gentlemen had provided a pedigree. It appeared that he was a scion of
the house of Lowson or Lowieson, an ancient and rather disreputable
clan on the Scottish side of the Border. He took a shooting in
Teviotdale on the strength of it, and used to commit lengthy Border
ballads to memory. But I had known his father, a financial journalist
who never quite succeeded, and I had heard of a grandfather who sold
antiques in a back street at Brighton. The latter, I think, had not
changed his name, and still frequented the synagogue. The father was a
progressive Christian, and the mother had been a blonde Saxon from the
Midlands. In my mind there was no doubt, as I caught Lawson's
heavy-lidded eyes fixed on me. My friend was of a more ancient race
than the Lowsons of the Border.
'Where are you thinking of looking for your house?' I asked. 'In
Natal or in the Cape Peninsula? You might get the Fishers' place if you
paid a price.'
'The Fishers' place be hanged!' he said crossly. 'I don't want any
stuccoed overgrown Dutch farm. I might as well be at Roehampton as in
He got up and walked to the far side of the fire, where a lane ran
down through thornscrub to a gully of the hills. The moon was silvering
the bush of the plains, forty miles off and three thousand feet below
'I am going to live somewhere hereabouts,' he answered at last.
I whistled. 'Then you've got to put your hand in your pocket, old
man. You'll have to make everything, including a map of the
'I know,' he said; 'that's where the fun comes in. Hang it all, why
shouldn't I indulge my fancy? I'm uncommonly well off, and I haven't
chick or child to leave it to. Supposing I'm a hundred miles from a
railhead, what about it? I'll make a motor-road and fix up a telephone.
I'll grow most of my supplies, and starta colony to provide labour.
When you come and stay with me, you'll get the best food and drink on
earth, and sport that will make your mouth water. I'll put Lochleven
trout in these streams--at 6000 feet you can do anything. We'll have a
pack of hounds, too, and we can drive pig in the woods, and if we want
big game there are the Mangwe flats at our feet. I tell you I'll make
such a country-house as nobody ever dreamed of. A man will come plumb
out of stark savagery into lawns and rose-gardens.' Lawson flung
himself into his chair again and smiled dreamily at the fire.
But why here, of all places?' I persisted. I was not feeling very
well and did not care for the country.
'I can't quite explain. I think it's the sort of land I have always
been looking for. I always fancied a house on a green plateau in a
decent climate looking down on the tropics. I like heat and colour, you
know, but I like hills too, and greenery, and the things that bring
back Scotland. Give me a cross between Teviotdale and the Orinoco, and,
by Gad! I think I've got it here.'
I watched my friend curiously, as with bright eyes and eager voice
he talked of his new fad. The two races were very clear in him--the one
desiring gorgeousness, the other athirst for the soothing spaces of the
North. He began to plan out the house. He would get Adamson to design
it, and it was to grow out of the landscape like a stone on the
hillside. There would be wide verandahs and cool halls, but great
fireplaces against winter time. It would all be very simple and
fresh--'clean as morning' was his odd phrase; but then another idea
supervened, and he talked of bringing the Tintorets from Hill Street.
'I want it to be a civilised house, you know. No silly luxury, but the
best pictures and china and books...I'll have all the furniture made
after the old plain English models out of native woods. I don't want
second-hand sticks in a new country. Yes, by Jove, the Tintorets are a
great idea, and all those Ming pots I bought. I had meant to sell them,
but I'll have them out here.'
He talked for a good hour of what he would do, and his dream grew
richer as he talked, till by the time we went to bed he had sketched
something liker a palace than a country-house. Lawson was by no means a
luxurious man. At present he was well content with a Wolseley valise,
and shaved cheerfully out of a tin mug. It struck me as odd that a man
so simple in his habits should have so sumptuous a taste in
bric-à-brac. I told myself, as I turned in, that the Saxon
mother from the Midlands had done little to dilute the strong wine of
It drizzled next morning when we inspanned, and I mounted my horse
in a bad temper. I had some fever on me, I think, and I hated this lush
yet frigid table-land, where all the winds on earth lay in wait for
one's marrow. Lawson was, as usual, in great spirits. We were not
hunting, but shifting our hunting-ground, so all morning we travelled
fast to the north along the rim of the uplands.
At midday it cleared, and the afternoon was a pageant of pure
colour. The wind sank to a low breeze; the sun lit the infinite green
spaces, and kindled the wet forest to a jewelled coronal. Lawson
gaspingly admired it all, as he cantered bareheaded up a bracken-clad
slope. 'God's country,' he said twenty times. 'I've found it.' Take a
piece of Saxon downland; put a stream in every hollow and a patch of
wood; and at the edge, where the cliffs at home would fall to the sea,
put a cloak of forest muffling the scarp and dropping thousands of feet
to the blue plains. Take the diamond air of the Görnergrat, and
the riot of colour which you get by a West Highland lochside in late
September. Put flowers everywhere, the things we grow in hothouses,
geraniums like sun-shades and arums like trumpets. That will give you a
notion of the countryside we were in. I began to see that after all it
was out of the common.
And just before sunset we came over a ridge and found something
better. It was a shallow glen, half a mile wide, down which ran a
blue-grey stream in linns like the Spean, till at the edge of the
plateau it leaped into the dim forest in a snowy cascade. The opposite
side ran up in gentle slopes to a rocky knoll, from which the eye had a
noble prospect of the plains. All down the glen were little copses,
half moons of green edging some silvery shore of the burn, or delicate
clusters of tall trees nodding on the hill brow. The place so satisfied
the eye that for the sheer wonder of its perfection we stopped and
stared in silence for many minutes.
Then 'The House,' I said, and Lawson replied softly, 'The
We rode slowly into the glen in the mulberry gloaming. Our transport
waggons were half an hour behind, so we had time to explore. Lawson
dismounted and plucked handfuls of flowers from the water-meadows. He
was singing to himself all the time--an old French catch about Cadet
Rousselle and his trois maisons.
'Who owns it?' I asked.
'My firm, as like as not. We have miles of land about here. But
whoever the man is, he has got to sell. Here I build my tabernacle, old
man. Here, and nowhere else!'
In the very centre of the glen, in a loop of the stream, was one
copse which even in that half light struck me as different from the
others. It was of tall, slim, fairy-like trees, the kind of wood the
monks painted in old missals. No, I rejected the thought. It was no
Christian wood. It was not a copse, but a 'grove,'--one such as Diana
may have flitted through in the moonlight. It was small, forty or fifty
yards in diameter, and there was a dark something at the heart of it
which for a second I thought was a house.
We turned between the slender trees, and--was it fancy?--an odd
tremor went through me. I felt as if I were penetrating the temenos of
some strange and lovely divinity, the goddess of this pleasant vale.
There was a spell in the air, it seemed, and an odd dead silence.
Suddenly my horse started at a flutter of light wings. A flock of
doves rose from the branches, and I saw the burnished green of their
plumes against the opal sky. Lawson did not seem to notice them. I saw
his keen eyes staring at the centre of the grove and what stood
It was a little conical tower, ancient and lichened, but, so far as
I could judge, quite flawless. You know the famous, Conical Temple at
Zimbabwe, of which prints are in every guide-book. This was of the same
type, but a thousand-fold more perfect. It stood about thirty feet
high, of solid masonry, without door or window or cranny, as shapely as
when it first came from the hands of the old builders. Again I had the
sense of breaking in on a sanctuary. 'What right had I, a common vulgar
modern, to be looking at this fair thing, among these delicate trees,
which some white goddess had once taken for her shrine?
Lawson broke in on my absorption. 'Let's get out of this,' he said
hoarsely, and he took my horse's bridle (he had left his own beast at
the edge) and led him back to the open. But I noticed that his eyes
were always turning back, and that his hand trembled.
'That settles it,' I said after supper. 'What do you want with your
mediaeval Venetians and your Chinese pots now? You will have the finest
antique in the world in your garden--a temple as old as time, and in a
land which they say has no history. You had the right inspiration this
I think I have said that Lawson had hungry eyes. In his enthusiasm
they used to glow and brighten; but now, as he sat looking down at the
olive shades of the glen, they seemed ravenous in their fire. He had
hardly spoken a word since we left the wood.
'Where can I read about those things?' he asked, and I gave him the
names of books.
Then, an hour later, he asked me who were the builders. I told him
the little I knew about Phoenician and Sabaean wanderings, and the
ritual of Sidon and Tyre. He repeated some names to himself and went
soon to bed.
As I turned in, I had one last look over the glen, which lay ivory
and black in the moon. I seemed to hear a faint echo of wings, and to
see over the little grove a cloud of light visitants. 'The Doves of
Ashtaroth have come back,' I said to myself. 'It is a good omen. They
accept the new tenant.' But as I fell asleep I had a sudden thought
that I was saying something rather terrible.
Three years later, pretty nearly to a day, I came back to see what
Lawson had made of his hobby. He had bidden me often to Welgevonden, as
he chose to call it--though I do not know why he should have fixed a
Dutch name to a countryside where Boer never trod. At the last there
had been some confusion about dates, and I wired the time of my
arrival, and set off without an answer. A motor met me at the queer
little wayside station of Taqui, and after many miles on a doubtful
highway I came to the gates of the park, and a road on which it was a
delight to move. Three years had wrought little difference in the
landscape. Lawson had done some planting,--conifers and flowering
shrubs and such-like--but wisely he had resolved that Nature had for
the most part forestalled him. All the same, he must have spent a mint
of money. The drive could not have been beaten in England, and fringes
of mown turf on either hand had been pared out of the lush meadows.
When we came over the edge of the hill and looked down on the secret
glen, I could not repress a cry of pleasure. The house stood on the
farther ridge, the view-point of the whole neighbourhood; and its brown
timbers and white rough-cast walls melted into the hillside as if it
had been there from the beginning of things. The vale below was ordered
in lawns and gardens. A blue lake received the rapids of the stream,
and its banks were a maze of green shades and glorious masses of
blossom. I noticed, too, that the little grove we had explored on our
first visit stood alone in a big stretch of lawn, so that its
perfection might be clearly seen. Lawson had excellent taste, or he had
had the best advice.
The butler told me that his master was expected home shortly, and
took me into the library for tea. Lawson had left his Tintorets and
Ming pots at home after all. It was a long, low room, panelled in teak
half-way up the walls, and the shelves held a multitude of fine
bindings. There were good rugs on the parquet floor, but no ornaments
anywhere, save three. On the carved mantelpiece stood two of the old
soapstone birds which they used to find at Zimbabwe, and between, on an
ebony stand, a half moon of alabaster, curiously carvedwith zodiacal
figures. My host had altered his scheme of furnishing, but I approved
He came in about half-past six, after I had consumed two cigars and
all but fallen asleep. Three years make a difference in most men, but I
was not prepared for the change in Lawson. For one thing, he had grown
fat. In place of the lean young man I had known, I saw a heavy, flaccid
being, who shuffled in his gait, and seemed tired and listless. His
sunburn had gone, and his face was as pasty as a city clerk's. He had
been walking, and wore shapeless flannel clothes, which hung loose even
on his enlarged figure. And the worst of it was, that he did not seem
over-pleased to see me. He murmured something about my journey, and
then flung himself into an arm-chair and looked out of the window.
I asked him if he had been ill.
'Ill! No!' he said crossly. 'Nothing of the kind. I'm perfectly
well.' 'You don't look as fit as this place should make you. What do
you do with yourself? Is the shooting as good as you hoped?'
He did not answer, but I thought of heard him mutter something like
'shooting be damned.'
Then I tried the subject of the house. I praised it extravagantly,
but with conviction. 'There can be no place like it in the world,' I
said. He turned his eyes on me at last, and I saw that they were as
deep and restless as ever. With his pallid face they made him look
curiously Semitic. I had been right in my theory about his
'Yes,' he said slowly, 'there is no place like it--in the
Then he pulled himself to his feet. 'I'm going to change,' he said.
'Dinner is at eight. Ring for Travers, and he'll show you your
I dressed in a noble bedroom, with an outlook over the garden-vale
and the escarpment to the far line of the plains, now blue and saffron
in the sunset. I dressed in an ill temper, for I was seriously offended
with Lawson, and also seriously alarmed. He was either very unwell or
going out of his mind, and it was clear, too, that he would resent any
anxiety on his account. I ransacked my memory for rumours, but found
none. I had heard nothing of him except that he had been
extraordinarily successful in his speculations, and that from his
hill-top he directed his firm's operations with uncommon skill. If
Lawson was sick or mad, nobody knew of it.
Dinner was a trying ceremony. Lawson, who used to be rather
particular in his dress, appeared in a kind of smoking suit with a
flannel collar. He spoke scarcely a word to me, but cursed the servants
with a brutality which left me aghast. A wretched footman in his
nervousness spilt some sauce over his sleeve. Lawson dashed the dish
from his hand, and volleyed abuse with a sort of epileptic fury. Also
he, who had been the most abstemious of men, swallowed disgusting
quantities of champagne and old brandy.
He had given up smoking, and half an hour after we left the
dining-room he announced his intention of going to bed. I watched him
as he waddled upstairs with a feeling of angry bewilderment. Then I
went to the library and lit a pipe. I would leave first thing in the
morning--on that I was determined. But as I sat gazing at the moon of
alabaster and the soapstone birds my anger evaporated, and concern took
its place. I remembered what a fine fellow Lawson had been, what good
times we had had together. I remembered especially that evening when we
had found this valley and given rein to our fancies. What horrid
alchemy in the place had turned a gentleman into a brute? I thought of
drink and drugs and madness and insomnia, but I could fit none of them
into my conception of my friend. I did not consciously rescind my
resolve to depart, but I had a notion that I would not act on it.
The sleepy butler met me as I went to bed. 'Mr. Lawson's room is at
the end of your corridor, sir,' he said. 'He don't sleep over well, so
you may hear him stirring in the night. At what hour would you like
breakfast, sir? Mr. Lawson mostly has his in bed.'
My room opened from the great corridor, which ran the full length of
the front of the house. So far as I could make out, Lawson was three
rooms off, a vacant bedroom and his servant's room being between us. I
felt tired and cross, and tumbled into bed as fast as possible. Usually
I sleep well, but now I was soon conscious that my drowsiness was
wearing off and that I was in for a restless night. I got up and laved
my face, turned the pillows, thought of sheep coming over a hill and
clouds crossing the sky; but none of the old devices were any use.
After about an hour of make-believe I surrendered myself to facts, and,
lying on my back, stared at the white ceiling and the patches of
moonshine on the walls.
It certainly was an amazing night. I got up, put on a dressing-gown,
and drew a chair to the window. The moon was almost at its full, and
the whole plateau swam in a radiance of ivory and silver. The banks of
the stream were black, but the lake had a great belt of light athwart
it, which made it seem like a horizon, and the rim of land beyond it
like a contorted cloud. Far to the right I saw the delicate outlines of
the little wood which I had come to think of as the Grove of Ashtaroth.
I listened. There was not a sound in the air. The land seemed to sleep
peacefully beneath the moon, and yet I had a sense that the peace was
an illusion. The place was feverishly restless.
I could have given no reason for my impression, but there it was.
Something was stirring in the wide moonlit landscape under its deep
mask of silence. I felt as I had felt on the evening three years ago
when I had ridden into the grove. I did not think that the influence,
whatever it was, was maleficent. I only knew that it was very strange,
and kept me wakeful.
By-and-by I bethought me of a book. There was no lamp in the
corridor save the moon, but the whole house was bright as I slipped
down the great staircase and over the hall to the library. I switched
on the lights and then switched them off. They seemed a profanation,
and I did not need them.
I found a French novel, but the place held me and I stayed. I sat
down in an arm-chair before the fireplace and the stone birds. Very odd
those gawky things, like prehistoric Great Auks, looked in the
moonlight. I remember that the alabaster moon shimmered like
translucent pearl, and I fell to wondering about its history. Had the
old Sabaeans used such a jewel in their rites in the Grove of
Then I heard footsteps pass the window. A great house like this
would have a watchman, but these quick shuffling footsteps were surely
not the dull plod of a servant. They passed on to the grass and died
away. I began to think of getting back to my room.
In the corridor I noticed that Lawson's door was ajar, and that a
light had been left burning. I had the unpardonable curiosity to peep
in. The room was empty, and the bed had not been slept in. Now I knew
whose were the footsteps outside the library window.
I lit a reading-lamp and tried to interest myself in 'La Cruelle
Enigme.' But my wits were restless, and I could not keep my eyes on the
page. I flung the book aside and sat down again by the window. The
feeling came over me that I was sitting in a box at some play. The glen
was a huge stage, and at any moment the players might appear on it. My
attention was strung as high as if I had been waiting for the advent of
some world-famous actress. But nothing came. Only the shadows shifted
and lengthened as the moon moved across the sky.
Then quite suddenly the restlessness left me, and at the same moment
the silence was broken by the crow of a cock and the rustling of trees
in a light wind. I felt very sleepy, and was turning to bed when again
I heard footsteps without. From the window I could see a figure moving
across the garden towards the house. It was Lawson, got up in the sort
of towel dressing-gown that one wears on board ship. He was walking
slowly and painfully, as if very weary. I did not see his face, but the
man's whole air was that of extreme fatigue and dejection.
I tumbled into bed and slept profoundly till long after
The man who valeted me was Lawson's own servant. As he was laying
out my clothes I asked after the health of his master, and was told
that he had slept ill and would not rise till late. Then the man, an
anxious-faced Englishman, gave me some information on his own account.
Mr. Lawson was having one of his bad turns. It would pass away in a day
or two, but till it had gone he was fit for nothing. He advised me to
see Mr. Jobson, the factor, who would look to my entertainment in his
Jobson arrived before luncheon, and the sight of him was the first
satisfactory thing about Welgevonden. He was a big, gruff Scot from
Roxburghshire, engaged, no doubt, by Lawson as a duty to his Border
ancestry. He had short grizzled whiskers, a weatherworn face, and a
shrewd, calm blue eye. I knew now why the place was in such perfect
We began with sport, and Jobson explained what I could have in the
way of fishing and shooting. His exposition was brief and
business-like, and all the while I could see his eye searching me. It
was clear that he had much to say on other matters than sport.
I told him that I had come here with Lawson three years before, when
he chose the site. Jobson continued to regard me curiously. 'I've heard
tell of ye from Mr. Lawson. Ye're an old friend of his, I
'The oldest,' I said. 'And I am sorry to find that the place does
not agree with him. Why it doesn't I cannot imagine, for you look fit
enough. Has he been seedy for long?'
'It comes and goes,' said Mr. Jobson. 'Maybe once a month he has a
bad turn. But on the whole it agrees with him badly. He's no' the man
he was when I first came here.'
Jobson was looking at me very seriously and frankly. I risked a
'What do you suppose is the matter?'
He did not reply at once, but leaned forward and tapped my knee.
'I think it's something that doctors canna cure. Look at me, sir.
I've always been counted a sensible man, but if I told you what was in
my head you would think me daft. But I have one word for you. Bide till
to-night is past and then speir your question. Maybe you and me will be
The factor rose to go. As he left the room he flung me back a remark
over his shoulder--'Read the eleventh chapter of the First Book of
After luncheon I went for a walk. First I mounted to the crown of
the hill and feasted my eyes on the unequalled loveliness of the view.
I saw the far hills in Portuguese territory, a hundred miles away,
lifting up thin blue fingers into the sky. The wind blew light and
fresh, and the place was fragrant with a thousand delicate scents. Then
I descended to the vale, and followed the stream up through the garden.
Poinsettias and oleanders were blazing in coverts, and there was a
paradise of tinted water-lilies in the slacker reaches. I saw good
trout rise at the fly, but I did not think about fishing. I was
searching my memory for a recollection which would not come. By-and-by
I found myself beyond the garden, where the lawns ran to the fringe of
It was like something I remembered in an old Italian picture. Only,
as my memory drew it, it should have been peopled with strange figures
--nymphs dancing on the sward, and a prick-eared faun peeping from the
covert. In the warm afternoon sunlight it stood, ineffably gracious and
beautiful, tantalising with a sense of some deep hidden loveliness.
Very reverently I walked between the slim trees, to where the little
conical tower stood half in sun and half in shadow. Then I noticed
something new. Round the tower ran a narrow path, worn in the grass by
human feet. There had been no such path on my first visit, for I
remembered the grass growing tall to the edge of the stone. Had the
Kaffirs made a shrine of it, or were there other and stranger
When I returned to the house I found Travers with a message for me.
Mr. Lawson was still in bed, but he would like me to go to him. I found
my friend sitting up and drinking strong tea--a bad thing, I should
have thought, for a man in his condition. I remember that I looked over
the room for some sign of the pernicious habit of which I believed him
a victim. But the place was fresh and clean, with the windows wide
open, and, though I could not have given my reasons, I was convinced
that drugs or drink had nothing to do with the sickness.
He received me more civilly, but I was shocked by his looks. There
were great bags below his eyes, and his skin had the wrinkled puffy
appearance of a man in dropsy. His voice, too, was reedy and thin. Only
his great eyes burned with some feverish life.
'I am a shocking bad host,' he said, 'but I'm going to be still more
inhospitable. I want you to go away. I hate anybody here when I'm off
'Nonsense,' I said; 'you want looking after. I want to know about
this sickness. Have you had a doctor?'
He smiled wearily. 'Doctors are no earthly use to me. There's
nothing much the matter, I tell you. I'll be all right in a day or two,
and then you can come back. I want you to go off with Jobson and hunt
in the plains till the end of the week. It will be better fun for you,
and I'll feel less guilty.'
Of course I pooh-poohed the idea, and Lawson got angry. 'Damn it,
man,' he cried, 'why do you force yourself on me when I don't want you?
I tell you your presence here makes me worse. In a week I'll be as
right as the mail, and then I'll be thankful for you. But get away now;
get away, I tell you.'
I saw that he was fretting himself into a passion. 'All right,' I
said soothingly; Jobson and I will go off hunting. But I am horribly
anxious about you, old man.'
He lay back on his pillows. 'You needn't trouble. I only want a
little rest. Jobson will make all arrangements, and Travers will get
you anything you want. Good-bye.'
I saw it was useless to stay longer, so I left the room. Outside I
found the anxious-faced servant. 'Look here,' I said, 'Mr. Lawson
thinks I ought to go, but I mean to stay. Tell him I'm gone if he asks
you. And for Heaven's sake keep him in bed.'
The man promised, and I thought I saw some relief in his face.
I went to the library, and on the way remembered Jobson's remark
about 1st Kings. With some searching I found a Bible and turned up the
passage. It was a long screed about the misdeeds of Solomon, and I read
it through without enlightenment. I began to re-read it, and a word
suddenly caught my attention--
'For Solomon went after Ashtaroth, the goddess of the
That was all, but it was like a key to a cipher. Instantly there
flashed over my mind all that I had heard or read of that strange
ritual which seduced Israel to sin. I saw a sunburnt land and a people
vowed to the stern service of Jehovah. But I saw, too, eyes turning
from the austere sacrifice to lonely hill-top groves and towers and
images, where dwelt some subtle and evil mystery. I saw the fierce
prophets, scourging the votaries with rods, and a nation penitent
before the Lord; but always the backsliding again, and the hankering
after forbidden joys. Ashtaroth was the old goddess of the East. Was it
not possible that in all Semitic blood there remained, transmitted
through the dim generations, some craving for her spell? I thought of
the grandfather in the back street at Brighton and of those burning
As I sat and mused my glance fell on the inscrutable stone birds.
They knew all those old secrets of joy and terror. And that moon of
alabaster! Some dark priest had worn it on his forehead when he
worshipped, like Ahab, 'all the host of Heaven.' And then I honestly
began to be afraid. I a prosaic, modern Christian gentleman, a
half-believer in casual faiths, was in the presence of some hoary
mystery of sin far older than creeds or Christendom. There was fear in
my heart,--a kind of uneasy disgust, and above all a nervous eerie
disquiet. Now I wanted to go away, and yet I was ashamed of the
cowardly thought. I pictured Ashtaroth's Grove with sheer horror. What
tragedy was in the air? what secret awaited twilight? For the night was
coming, the night of the Full Moon, the season of ecstasy and
I do not know how I got through that evening. I was disinclined for
dinner, so I had a cutlet in the library and sat smoking till my tongue
ached. But as the hours passed a more manly resolution grew up in my
mind. I owed it to old friendship to stand by Lawson in this extremity.
I could not interfere,--God knows, his reason seemed already
rocking,--but I could be at hand in case my chance came. I determined
not to undress, but to watch through the night. I had a bath, and
changed into light flannels and slippers. Then I took up my position in
a corner of the library close to the window, so that I could not fail
to hear Lawson's footsteps if he passed.
Fortunately I left the lights unlit, for as I waited I grew drowsy,
and fell asleep. When I woke the moon had risen, and I knew from the
feel of the air that the hour was late. I sat very still, straining my
ears, and as I listened I caught the sound of steps. They were crossing
the hall stealthily, and nearing the library door. I huddled into my
corner as Lawson entered.
He wore the same towel dressing-gown, and he moved swiftly and
silently as if in a trance. I watched him take the alabaster moon from
the mantelpiece and drop it in his pocket. A glimpse of white skin
showed that the gown was his only clothing. Then he moved past me to
the window, opened it, and went out.
Without any conscious purpose I rose and followed, kicking off my
slippers that I might go quietly. He was running, running fast, across
the lawns in the direction of the grove--an odd shapeless antic in the
moonlight. I stopped, for there was no cover, and I feared for his
reason if he saw me. When I looked again he had disappeared among the
I saw nothing for it but to crawl, so on my belly I wormed my way
over the dripping sward. There was a ridiculous suggestion of
deer-stalking about the game which tickled me and dispelled my
uneasiness. Almost I persuaded myself I was tracking an ordinary
sleep-walker. The lawns were broader than I imagined, and it seemed an
age before I reached the edge of the grove. The world was so still that
I appeared to be making a most ghastly amount of noise. I remember that
once I heard a rustling in the air, and looked up to see the green
doves circling about the treetops.
There was no sign of Lawson. On the edge of the grove I think that
all my assurance vanished. I could see between the trunks to the little
tower, but it was quiet as the grave, save for the wings above. Once
more there came over me the unbearable sense of anticipation I had felt
the night before. My nerves tingled with mingled expectation and dread.
I did not think that any harm would come to me, for the powers of the
air seemed not malignant. But I knew them for powers, and felt awed and
abased. I was in the presence of the 'host of Heaven,' and I was no
stern Israelitish prophet to prevail against them.
I must have lain for hours waiting in that spectral place, my eyes
riveted on the tower and its golden cap of moonshine. I remember that
my head felt void and light, as if my spirit were becoming disembodied
and leaving its dew-drenched sheath far below. But the most curious
sensation was of something drawing me to the tower, something mild and
kindly and rather feeble, for there was some other and stronger force
keeping me back. I yearned to move nearer, but I could not drag my
limbs an inch. There was a spell somewhere which I could not break. I
do not think I was in any way frightened now. The starry influence was
playing tricks with me, but my mind was half asleep. Only I never took
my eyes from the little tower. I think I could not, if I had wanted
Then suddenly from the shadows came Lawson. He was stark-naked, and
he wore, bound across his brow, the half moon of alabaster. He had
something, too, in his hand--something which glittered.
He ran round the tower, crooning to himself, and flinging wild arms
to the skies. Sometimes the crooning changed to a shrill cry of
passion, such as a maenad may have uttered in the train of Bacchus. I
could make out no words, but the sound told its own tale. He was
absorbed in some infernal ecstasy. And as he ran, he drew his right
hand across his breast and arms, and I saw that it held a knife.
I grew sick with disgust--not terror, but honest physical loathing.
Lawson, gashing his fat body, affected me with an overpowering
repugnance. I wanted to go forward and stop him, and I wanted, too, to
be a hundred miles away. And the result was that I stayed still. I
believe my own will held me there, but I doubt if in any case I could
have moved my legs.
The dance grew swifter and fiercer. I saw the blood dripping from
Lawson's body, and his face ghastly white above his scarred breast. And
then suddenly the horror left me; my head swam; and for one second--one
brief second--I seemed to peer into a new world. A strange passion
surged up in my heart. I seemed to see the earth peopled with
forms--not human, scarcely divine, but more desirable than man or god.
The calm face of Nature broke up for me into wrinkles of wild
knowledge. I saw the things which brush against the soul in dreams, and
found them lovely. There seemed no cruelty in the knife or the blood.
It was a delicate mystery of worship, as wholesome as the morning song
of birds. I do not know how the Semites found Ashtaroth's ritual; to
them it may well have been more rapt and passionate than it seemed to
me. For I saw in it only the sweet simplicity of Nature, and all
riddles of lust and terror soothed away as a child's nightmares are
calmed by a mother. I found my legs able to move, and I think I took
two steps through the dusk towards the tower.
And then it all ended. A cock crew, and the homely noises of earth
were renewed. While I stood dazed and shivering, Lawson plunged through
the Grove towards me. The impetus carried him to the edge, and he fell
fainting just outside the shade.
My wits and common-sense came back to me with my bodily strength. I
got my friend on my back, and staggered with him towards the house. I
was afraid in real earnest now, and what frightened me most was the
thought that I had not been afraid sooner. I had come very near the
'abomination of the Zidonians.'
At the door I found the scared valet waiting. He had apparently done
this sort of thing before.
'Your master has been sleep-walking, and has had a fall,' I said.
'We must get him to bed at once.'
We bathed the wounds as he lay in a deep stupor, and I dressed them
as well as I could. The only danger lay in his utter exhaustion, for
happily the gashes were not serious, and no artery had been touched.
Sleep and rest would make him well, for he had the constitution of a
strong man. I was leaving the room when he opened his eyes and spoke.
He did not recognise me, but I noticed that his face had lost its
strangeness, and was once more that of the friend I had known. Then I
suddenly bethought me of an old hunting remedy which he and I always
carried on our expeditions. It is a pill made up from an ancient
Portuguese prescription. One is an excellent specific for fever. Two
are invaluable if you are lost in the bush, for they send a man for
many hours into a deep sleep, which prevents suffering and madness,
till help comes. Three give a painless death. I went to my room and
found the little box in my jewel-case. Lawson swallowed two, and turned
wearily on his side. I bade his man let him sleep till he woke, and
went off in search of food.
I had business on hand which would not wait. By seven, Jobson, who
had been sent for, was waiting for me in the library. I knew by his
grim face that here I had a very good substitute for a prophet of the
'You were right,' I said. 'I have read the 11th chapter of 1st
Kings, and I have spent such a night as I pray God I shall never spend
'I thought you would,' he replied. 'I've had the same experience
'The Grove?' I said.
'Ay, the wud,' was the answer in broad Scots.
I wanted to see how much he understood.
'Mr. Lawson's family is from the Scotch Border?'
'Ay. I understand they come off Borthwick Water side,' he replied,
but I saw by his eyes that he knew what I meant.
'Mr. Lawson is my oldest friend,' I went on, 'and I am going to take
measures to cure him. For what I am going to do I take the sole
responsibility. I will make that plain to your master. But if I am to
succeed I want your help. Will you give it to me? It sounds like
madness, and you are a sensible man and may like to keep out of it. I
leave it to your discretion.'
Jobson looked me straight in the face. 'Have no fear for me,' he
said; 'there is an unholy thing in that place, and if I have the
strength in me I will destroy it. He has been a good master to me, and
forbye, I am a believing Christian. So say on, sir.'
There was no mistaking the air. I had found my Tishbite. 'I want
men,' I said,--'as many as we can get.'
Jobson mused. 'The Kaffirs will no' gang near the place, but there's
some thirty white men on the tobacco farm. They'll do your will, if you
give them an indemnity in writing.'
'Good,' said I. 'Then we will take our instructions from the only
authority which meets the case. We will follow the example of King
Josiah.' I turned up the 23rd Chapter of 2nd Kings, and read;
And the high places that were before Jerusalem, which were on the right
hand of the Mount of Corruption, which Solomon the king of Israel had
builded for Ashtaroth the abomination of the Zidonians...did the king
And he brake in pieces the images, and cut down the groves, and filled
their places with the bones of men.
Moreover the altar that was at Beth-el, and the high place which
Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin, had made, both that
altar and the high place he brake down, and burned the high place, and
stamped it small to powder, and burned the grove.
Jobson nodded. 'It'll need dinnymite. But I've plenty of yon down at
the workshops. I'll be off to collect the lads.'
Before nine the men had assembled at Jobson's house. They were a
hardy lot of young farmers from home, who took their instructions
docilely from the masterful factor. On my orders they had brought their
shot-guns. We armed them with spades and woodmen's axes, and one man
wheeled some coils of rope in a hand-cart.
In the clear, windless air of morning the Grove, set amid its lawns,
looked too innocent and exquisite for ill. I had a pang of regret that
a thing so fair should suffer; nay, if I had come alone, I think I
might have repented. But the men were there, and the grim-faced Jobson
was waiting for orders. I placed the guns, and sent beaters to the far
side. I told them that every dove must be shot.
It was only a small flock, and we killed fifteen at the first drive.
The poor birds flew over the glen to another spinney, but we brought
them back over the guns and seven fell. Four more were got in the
trees, and the last I killed myself with a long shot. In half an hour
there was a pile of little green bodies on the sward.
Then we went to work to cut down the trees. The slim stems were an
easy task to a good woodman, and one after another they toppled to the
ground. And meantime, as I watched, I became conscious of a strange
It was as if someone were pleading with me. A gentle voice, not
threatening, but pleading--something too fine for the sensual ear, but
touching inner chords of the spirit. So tenuous it was and distant that
I could think of no personality behind it. Rather it was the viewless,
bodiless grace of this delectable vale, some old exquisite divinity of
the groves. There was the heart of all sorrow in it, and the soul of
all loveliness. It seemed a woman's voice, some lost lady who had
brought nothing but goodness unrepaid to the world. And what the voice
told me was that I was destroying her last shelter.
That was the pathos of it--the voice was homeless. As the axes
flashed in the sunlight and the wood grew thin, that gentle spirit was
pleading with me for mercy and a brief respite. It seemed to be telling
of a world for centuries grown coarse and pitiless, of long sad
wanderings, of hardly won shelter, and a peace which was the little all
she sought from men. There was nothing terrible in it, no thought of
wrongdoing. The spell which to Semitic blood held the mystery of evil,
was to me, of the Northern race, only delicate and rare and beautiful.
Jobson and the rest did not feel it, I with my finer senses caught
nothing but the hopeless sadness of it. That which had stirred the
passion in Lawson was only wringing my heart. It was almost too pitiful
to bear. As the trees crashed down and the men wiped the sweat from
their brows, I seemed to myself like the murderer of fair women and
innocent children. I remember that the tears were running over my
cheeks. More than once I opened my mouth to countermand the work, but
the face of Jobson, that grim Tishbite, held me back. I knew now what
gave the Prophets of the Lord their mastery, and I knew also why the
people sometimes stoned them.
The last tree fell, and the little tower stood like a ravished
shrine, stripped of all defence against the world. I heard Jobson's
voice speaking. 'We'd better blast that stane thing now. We'll trench
on four sides and lay the dinnymite. Ye're no' looking weel, sir. Ye'd
better go and sit down on the brae-face.'
I went up the hillside and lay down. Below me, in the waste of shorn
trunks, men were running about, and I saw the mining begin. It all
seemed like an aimless dream in which I had no part. The voice of that
homeless goddess was still pleading. It was the innocence of it that
tortured me. Even so must a merciful Inquisitor have suffered from the
plea of some fair girl with the aureole of death on her hair. I knew I
was killing rare and unrecoverable beauty. As I sat dazed and
heartsick, the whole loveliness of Nature seemed to plead for its
divinity. The sun in the heavens, the mellow lines of upland, the blue
mystery of the far plains, were all part of that soft voice. I felt
bitter scorn for myself. I was guilty of blood; nay, I was guilty of
the sin against light which knows no forgiveness. I was murdering
innocent gentleness, and there would be no peace on earth for me. Yet I
sat helpless. The power of a sterner will constrained me. And all the
while the voice was growing fainter and dying away into unutterable
Suddenly a great flame sprang to heaven, and a pall of smoke. I
heard men crying out, and fragments of stone fell around the ruins of
the grove. When the air cleared, the little tower had gone out of
The voice had ceased and there seemed to me to be a bereaved silence
in the world. The shock moved me to my feet, and I ran down the slope
to where Jobson stood rubbing his eyes.
'That's done the job. Now we maun get up the tree-roots. We've no
time to howk. We'll just dinnymite the feck o' them.'
The work of destruction went on, but I was coming back to my senses.
I forced myself to be practical and reasonable. I thought of the
night's experience and Lawson's haggard eyes, and I screwed myself into
a determination to see the thing through. I had done the deed; it was
my business to make it complete. A text in Jeremiah came into my head:
'Their children remember their altars and their groves by the green
trees upon the high hills.' I would see to it that this grove should be
We blasted the tree roots, and, yoking oxen, dragged the debris into
a great heap. Then the men set to work with their spades, and roughly
levelled the ground. I was getting back to my old self, and Jobson's
spirit was becoming mine.
'There is one thing more,' I told him. 'Get ready a couple of
ploughs. We will improve upon King Josiah.' My brain was a medley of
Scripture precedents, and I was determined that no safeguard should be
We yoked the oxen again and drove the ploughs over the site of the
grove. It was rough ploughing, for the place was thick with bits of
stone from the tower, but the slow Afrikander oxen plodded on, and
sometime in the afternoon the work was finished. Then I sent down to
the farm for bags of rock-salt, such as they use for cattle. Jobson and
I took a sack apiece, and walked up and down the furrows, sowing them
The last act was to set fire to the pile of tree-trunks. They burned
well, and on the top we flung the bodies of the green doves. The birds
of Ashtaroth had an honourable pyre.
Then I dismissed the much-perplexed men, and gravely shook hands
with Jobson. Black with dust and smoke I went back to the house, where
I bade Travers pack my bags and order the motor. I found Lawson's
servant, and heard from him that his master was sleeping peacefully. I
gave some directions, and then went to wash and change.
Before I left I wrote a line to Lawson. I began by transcribing the
verses from the 23rd Chapter of 2nd Kings. I told him what I had done,
and my reason. 'I take the whole responsibility upon myself,' I wrote.
'No man in the place had anything to do with it but me. I acted as I
did for the sake of our old friendship, and you will believe it was no
easy task for me. I hope you will understand. Whenever you are able to
see me send me word, and I will come back and settle with you. But I
think you will realise that I have saved your soul.'
The afternoon was merging into twilight as I left the house on the
road to Taqui. The great fire, where the grove had been, was still
blazing fiercely, and the smoke made a cloud over the upper glen, and
filled all the air with a soft violet haze. I knew that I had done well
for my friend, and that he would come to his senses and be grateful. My
mind was at ease on that score, and in something like comfort I faced
the future. But as the car reached the ridge I looked back to the vale
I had outraged. The moon was rising and silvering the smoke, and
through the gaps I could see the tongues of fire. Somehow, I know not
why, the lake, the stream, the garden-coverts, even the green slopes of
hill, wore an air of loneliness and desecration.
And then my heartache returned, and I knew that I had driven
something lovely and adorable from its last refuge on earth.