Part 1
Transcriber's Notes:
When italics were used in the original book, the corresponding text has been surrounded by _underscores_.
Some presumed printer's errors have been corrected. In particular, punctuation has been normalized and entries in the List of Illustrations and in the Index were altered to match the main text. Further, a single entry in the original List of Illustrations which referred to two distinct maps was split into two entries (SCOTLAND and ENGLAND AND WALES).
Other corrections are listed below with the original text (top) and the replacement text (bottom):
p. 40 many quaint timbered house many quaint timbered houses
p. 95 employe employee
p. 249 Wordsworh Wordsworth
p. 212 Fort Williams Fort William
p. 311 appoach approach
p. 350 July 5, 1585 July 5, 1685
ON OLD-WORLD HIGHWAYS
_By the Same Author_
British Highways and Byways from a Motor Car THIRD IMPRESSION WITH FORTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS AND TWO MAPS Sixteen Reproductions in Color, and Thirty-two Duogravures 320 Pages, 8vo, Decorated Cloth Price (Boxed), $3.00
In Unfamiliar England With a Motor Car SECOND IMPRESSION WITH SIXTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS AND TWO MAPS Sixteen Reproductions in Color and Forty-eight Duogravures 400 Pages, 8vo, Decorated Cloth Price (Boxed), $3.00
Three Wonderlands of the American West SECOND IMPRESSION WITH FORTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS AND TWO MAPS Sixteen Reproductions in Color and Thirty-two Duogravures 180 Pages, Tall 8vo, Decorated Cloth Price (Boxed) $3.00 Net
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY BOSTON
ON OLD-WORLD HIGHWAYS
A Book of Motor Rambles in France and Germany and the Record of a Pilgrimage from Land's End to John O'Groats in Britain.
BY THOS. D. MURPHY
AUTHOR OF "THREE WONDERLANDS OF THE AMERICAN WEST," "BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS FROM A MOTOR CAR" AND "IN UNFAMILIAR ENGLAND WITH A MOTOR CAR."
WITH SIXTEEN REPRODUCTIONS IN COLORS FROM ORIGINAL PAINTINGS BY EMINENT ARTISTS AND FORTY DUOGRAVURES FROM PHOTOGRAPHS. ALSO MAPS SHOWING ROUTES OF AUTHOR.
BOSTON L. C. PAGE & COMPANY PUBLISHERS MDCCCCXIV
_Copyright, 1914_ BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, January, 1914
Preface
I know that of making books of travel there is no limit--they come from the press in a never-ending stream; but no one can say that any one of these is superfluous if it finds appreciative readers, even though they be but few.
My chief excuse for the present volume is the success of my previous books of motor travel, which have run through several fair-sized editions. I have had many warmly appreciative letters concerning these from native Englishmen and the books were commended by the Royal Automobile Club Journal as accurate and readable. So I take it that my point of view from the wheel of a motor car interests some people, and I shall feel justified in writing such books so long as this is the case.
I know that in some instances I have had to deal with hackneyed subjects; but I have striven for a different viewpoint and I hope I have contributed something worth while in describing even well-known places. On the other hand, I know that I have discovered many delightful nooks and corners in Britain that even the guide-books have overlooked.
Besides, I am sure that books of travel have ample justification in the fact that travel itself is one of the greatest of educators and civilizers. It teaches us that we are not the only people--that wisdom shall not die with us alone. It shows us that in some things other people may do better than we are doing and it may enable us to avoid mistakes that others make. In short, it widens our horizon and tones down our self-conceit--or it should do all of this if we keep ears and eyes open when abroad.
I make no apology for the fact that the greater bulk of the present volume deals with the Motherland, even if its title does not so indicate. Her romantic charm is as limitless as the sea that encircles her. Even now, after our long journeyings in every corner of the Island, I would not undertake to say to what extent we might still carry our exploration in historic and picturesque Britain. Should one delight in ivy-covered castles, rambling old manors, ruined abbeys, romantic country-seats, haunted houses, great cathedrals and storied churches past numbering, I know not where the limit may be. But I do know that the little party upon whose experiences this book is founded is still far from being satisfied after nearly twenty thousand miles of motoring in the Kingdom, and if I fail to make plain why we still think of the highways and byways of Britain with an undiminished longing, the fault is mine rather than that of my subject.
In this book, as in my previous ones, the illustrations play a principal part. The color plates are from originals by distinguished artists and the photographs have been carefully selected and perfectly reproduced. The maps will also be of assistance in following the text. I hope that these valuable adjuncts may make amends for the many literary shortcomings of my text.
THOMAS D. MURPHY
Red Oak, Iowa, January 1, 1914.
CONTENTS Page I BOULOGNE TO ROUEN 1
II THE CHATEAU DISTRICT 29
III ORLEANS TO THE GERMAN BORDER 45
IV COLMAR TO OBERAMMERGAU 59
V BAVARIA AND THE RHINE 77
VI THE CAPTAIN'S STORY 104
VII A FLIGHT THROUGH THE NORTH 125
VIII THE MOTHERLAND ONCE MORE 145
IX OLD WHITBY 157
X SCOTT COUNTRY AND HEART OF HIGHLANDS 173
XI IN SUTHERLAND AND CAITHNESS 191
XII DOWN THE GREAT GLEN 210
XIII ALONG THE WEST COAST 224
XIV ODD CORNERS OF LAKELAND 246
XV WE DISCOVER DENBIGH 262
XVI CONWAY 279
XVII THE HARDY COUNTRY AND BERRY POMEROY 298
XVIII POLPERRO AND THE SOUTH CORNISH COAST 320
XIX LAND'S END TO LONDON 336
XX THE ENGLISH AND THEIR INSTITUTIONS 355
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
COLOR PLATES
Page THE MOUNTAIN MEADOWS, BAVARIAN TYROL Frontispiece
SUNSET IN TOURAINE 1
WOODS IN BRITTANY 26
PIER LANE, WHITBY 164
HARVEST TIME, STRATHTAY 180
A HIGHLAND LOCH 188
ACKERGILL HARBOUR, CAITHNESS 204
GLEN AFFRICK, NEAR INVERNESS 208
THE GREAT GLEN, SUNSET 210
"THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT" 236
THE FALLEN GIANT--A HIGHLAND STUDY 240
CONWAY CASTLE, NORTH WALES 280
"THE NEW ARRIVAL" 282
KYNANCE COVE, CORNWALL 334
SUNSET NEAR LAND'S END, CORNWALL 336
"A DISTANT VIEW OF THE TOWERS OF WINDSOR" 355
DUOGRAVURES
ST. LO FROM THE RIVER 18
A STREET IN ST. MALO 24
CHENONCEAUX--THE ORIENTAL FRONT 32
AMBOISE FROM ACROSS THE LOIRE 34
GRAND STAIRWAY OF FRANCIS I. AT BLOIS 36
PORT DU CROUX--A MEDIEVAL WATCHTOWER AT NEVERS 46
CASTLE AT FUSSEN 66
OBERAMMERGAU 70
ULM AND THE CATHEDRAL 82
GOETHE'S HOUSE--FRANKFORT 86
BINGEN ON THE RHINE 88
CASTLE RHEINSTEIN 90
EHRENFELS ON THE RHINE 92
RUINS OF CASTLE RHEINFELS 94
LUXEMBURG--GENERAL VIEW 102
ST. WULFRAM'S CHURCH--GRANTHAM 150
OLD PEEL TOWER AT DARNICK, NEAR ABBOTSFORD 178
HOTEL, JOHN O'GROATS 200
URQUHART CASTLE, LOCH NESS 214
THE MACDONALD MONUMENT, GLENCOE 220
"McCAIG'S FOLLY," OBAN 224
GLENLUCE ABBEY 242
SWEETHEART ABBEY 244
WORDSWORTH'S BIRTHPLACE--COCKERMOUTH 250
CALDER ABBEY, CUMBERLAND 252
KENDAL CASTLE 258
KENDAL PARISH CHURCH 260
DENBIGH CASTLE--THE ENTRANCE AND KEEP 266
ST. HILARY'S CHURCH, DENBIGH 272
GATE TOWERS RHUDDLAN CASTLE, NORTH WALES 276
PLAS MAWR, CONWAY, HOME OF ROYAL CAMBRIAN ACADEMY 284
INNER COURT, PLAS MAWR, CONWAY 286
CONWAY CASTLE--THE OUTER WALL 292
BERRY POMEROY CASTLE, ENTRANCE TOWERS 312
BERRY POMEROY CASTLE--WALL OF INNER COURT 316
A STREET IN EAST LOOE--CORNWALL 322
POLPERRO, CORNWALL--LOOKING TOWARD THE SEA 324
LANSALLOS CHURCH, POLPERRO 326
A STREET IN FOWEY--CORNWALL 330
PROBUS CHURCH TOWER, CORNWALL 332
MAPS
FRANCE AND GERMANY 380
SCOTLAND 388
ENGLAND AND WALES 388
Through Summer France and The Fatherland
On Old-World Highways
I
BOULOGNE TO ROUEN
Our three summer pilgrimages in Britain have left few unexplored corners in the tight little island--we are thinking of new worlds to conquer. Beyond the narrow channel the green hills of France offer the nearest and most attractive field. Certainly it is the most accessible of foreign countries for the motorist in England and every year increasing numbers of English-speaking tourists are seen in the neighboring republic. The service of the Royal Automobile Club, with its usual enterprise and thoroughness, leaves little to be desired in arranging the details of a trip and supplies complete information as to route. An associate membership was accorded me on behalf of the Automobile Club of America, whose card I presented and which serves an American many useful ends in European motordom. Mr. Maroney, the genial touring secretary, at once interested himself in our proposed tour. He undertook to outline a route, to arrange for transportation of our car across the Channel, to provide for duties and licenses and, lastly, to secure a courier-guide familiar with the countries we proposed to invade and proficient in the French and German languages. The necessary guide-books and road-maps are carried in stock by the club and the only charge made is for these. Our proposed route was traced on the map, a typewritten list of towns and distances was made and a day or two later I was advised that a guide had been engaged. Mr Maroney expressed regret that the young men who serve the club regularly in this capacity were already employed, but he had investigated the man secured for us and found him competent and reliable.
"Still," said Mr. Maroney with characteristic British caution, "we would feel better satisfied with one of our own men on the job; but it is the best we can do for you under the circumstances."
We learned that our guide was a young Englishman of good family, at present in somewhat straitened circumstances, which made him willing to accept any position for which his talents might fit him. He had previously piloted motor parties through France and Italy and spoke four languages with perfect fluency. He had done a lot of knocking about, having recently been in a shipwreck off the coast of South America and having held a captain's commission in the South African War. We therefore called him "the Captain," and I may as well adopt that designation in referring to him in these pages, since his real name would interest no one. He was able to drive the car and declared willingness to do a chauffeur's part in caring for it. The only doubt expressed by Mr. Maroney was that the Captain might "forget his place"--that of a servant--and before long consider himself a member of our party, and with characteristic frankness the touring secretary cautioned our guide in my presence against any such presumption.
It is a fine May afternoon when we drive from London to Folkestone to be on hand in time to attend to the formalities for crossing the Channel on the following day. Police traps, we are warned, abound along the road and we proceed quite soberly, taking some four hours for the seventy-five miles including the slow work of getting out of London. The Royal Pavilion Hotel on low ground near the docks is strictly first-class and its rates prove more moderate than we found at its competitors on the cliff.
Our car is left at the dock, arrangements for its transport having been made beforehand by the Royal Automobile Club; but we saunter down in the morning to see it loaded. We need not worry about this, for it goes "at the company's risk," a provision which costs us ten shillings extra. It is pushed upon a large platform and a steam crane soon swings it high in the air preparatory to depositing it on the steamer deck.
"She's an airship now," said an old salt as the car reached its highest point. "We did fetch over a sure-enough airship last week--belonged to that fellow Paulhan and he's a decentish chap, too; you'd never think he was a Frenchman!"--which would seem to indicate that the entente cordiale had not entirely cleared away prejudice from the mind of our sailor-friend.
Our crossing was as comfortable as any Channel crossing could be--which in our case is not saying much, for that green, rushing streak of salt water, the English Channel, always gives us a squeamish feeling, no matter how "smooth" it may be. We are only too glad to get on terra firma in Boulogne and to see our car almost immediately swung to the dock.
I had read in a recently published book by a motor tourist of the dreadful ordeal he underwent in securing his license to drive; a stern official sat beside him and put him through all his paces to ascertain if he was competent to pilot a car in France. I was expecting to be compelled to give a similar exhibit, when the Captain came out of the station with driving licenses for both himself and me and announced that we would be ready to proceed as soon as he attached a pair of very indistinct number plates.
"But the examination 'pour competence,'" I said.
"O," he replied, "I just explained to his nobs that we were in a great hurry and couldn't wait for an examination--and a five-franc piece did the rest." A piece of diplomacy which no doubt left the honest official feeling happier than if I had given him a joy-ride over the cobbles of Boulogne.
Filling our tank with "essence," which we learn, after translating some jargon concerning "litres" and "francs," will cost about thirty-five cents per gallon--we strike out on the road to Montreuil. It proves a typical French highway and our first impressions are confirmed later on. The road is broad, with perfect contour and easy grades, running straight away for miles--or should I say kilometers?--and showing every evidence of engineering skill and careful construction. But it is old-fashioned macadam without any binding material. The motor car has torn up the surface and scattered it in loose dust which rises in clouds from our wheels or has been swept away by the wind, leaving the roadbed bare but rough and jagged--a perfect grindstone on rubber tires. The same description applies to nearly all the roads we traversed in France, and no doubt the vast preponderance of them are still in the same state or worse. A movement for re-surfacing the main highways is now in progress and in a few years France will again be at the front, though at this time she is far behind England in the matter of modern automobile roads. The long straight stretches and the absence of police traps in the country make fast time possible--if one is willing to pay the tire bill. Thirty miles an hour is an easy jog and though we left Boulogne after three, we find we have covered one hundred and ten miles at nightfall, including a stop for luncheon. At Montreuil we strike the first and only serious grade, a long, steep hill up which winds the cobble-paved main street of the town--our first experience with the cobble pavement of the provincial towns, of which more anon.
A few miles beyond Montreuil the Captain steers us into a narrow byroad which leads into the quaint little fisher town of Berck-sur-Mer and, indeed, the much-abused "quaint" is not misapplied here. The old buildings straggle along the single street, quite devoid of any touch of the picturesque and thronged by people of all degrees. We see many queer four-wheeled vehicles--not much larger than toy wagons--drawn by ponies and donkeys, the drivers lying at full length on their backs, staring at the sky or asleep, their motive power wandering along at its own sweet will. It is indeed ridiculous to see full-grown men riding in such a primitive fashion, but the sight is not unusual. We meet a troop of prawn fishers coming in from the sea--as miserable specimens of humanity as we ever beheld--ragged, bedraggled, bare-headed and bare-footed creatures; many old women among them, prancing along like animated rag-bags.
Swinging back into the main highway, we soon reach Abbeville, whose roughly paved streets wind between bare, unattractive buildings. In places malodorous streams run along the streets--practically open sewers, if the smell is any indication. Abbeville affords an example of the terrible cobblestone pavement that we found in nearly all French cities of the second class. The round, uneven stones--in the States we call them "niggerheads"--have probably lain undisturbed for centuries. Besides the natural roughness of such a pavement, there are numerous chuck-holes. No matter how slowly we drive, we bounce and jump over these stones, which strike the tires with sledge-hammer force, sending a series of shivers throughout the car. It is no wonder that such pavements and the grindstone roads often limit the life of tires to a few hundred miles.
Out of Abbeville we "hit up" pretty strongly, for it is nearly dark and we plan to reach Rouen for the night. The straight fine road offers temptation to speed, under the circumstances, and our odometer does not vary much from forty miles--when we are suddenly treated to a surprise that makes us more cautious about speeding on French roads at dusk. In a little hollow we strike a ditch six inches deep by two or three feet in width--a "canivau," as they designate it in France--with a terrific jolt which almost threatens the car with destruction. The frame strikes the axles with fearful force; it seems impossible that nothing should be broken. A careful search fails to reveal any apparent damage, though a fractured axle-rod a short time later is undoubtedly a result of the violent blow. It seems strange that an important main road should have such a dangerous defect, though we find many similar cases later; but as we travel no more after dusk, and generally at much more moderate speed, we have no further mishap of the kind. We light our lamps and proceed at a more sober pace to Neufchatel, where we decide to stop for the night at the rather unattractive-looking Lion d'Or. We have reason to congratulate ourselves, for the wayside inn is really preferable to the Angleterre at Rouen and the rates are scarcely half so much. It is a rambling old house, partly surrounding a stable-yard court where the motor is stored for the night. The regular meal time is past, but a plain supper is prepared for us. We are tired enough not to be too critical of our accommodations and the rooms and beds are clean and fairly comfortable. We have breakfast at a long table where the guests all sit together and the fare, while plain, is good.
There is nothing of interest in Neufchatel, though its cheese has given it a world-wide fame. It is a market town of four or five thousand people, depending largely on the prosperous country surrounding it.
We are early away for Rouen and in course of an hour we come in sight of the cathedral spire, the highest in all France, rising nearly five hundred feet and overtopping Salisbury, the loftiest in England, by almost one hundred feet. At the Captain's recommendation we seek the Hotel Angleterre--which means the Hotel England--a bid, no doubt, for the patronage of the numerous English-speaking tourists who visit the city. There is a deal of dickering before we get settled, for the rates are unreasonably high; but after considerable parley a bargain is made. We enter the diminutive "lift," which holds two persons by a little crowding, but after the first trip we use the stairway to save time.
One could not "do" Rouen in the guide-book sense in less than a week--but such is not the object of our present tour. If one brings a motor to France he can hardly afford to let it stand idle to spend several days in any city. We shall see what we can of Rouen in a day and take the road again in the morning.