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THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
I f TO DRIVE THROl UH AS A THICKLY
|, ol ,, LATED n NNEI.
THE
SOUTH-BOUND CAR
BY
OWEN LLEWELLYN
AND
L. RAVEN-HILL
Willi EIGHTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
First Published in iqoy
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
The Road to Spain i
CHAPTER II
To the Mediterranean 35
CHAPTER III
The Water-bound Car .... 7 1
CHAPTER IV
At Barcelona i°°
CHAPTER V
Along the Mediterranean Shore . . .127
CHAPTER VI
The Rail-pound Car '55
CHAPTER VII
Toledo and Madrid 1S2
81
vi THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
CHAPTER VIII
PAGE
The Road of the North Star . . -. .198
CHAPTER IX
On Biarritz 220
CHAPTER X
Thrown in 253
Index 279
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN THE TEXT
PAGE
" Seats three comfortably " . . ... 3
The potboy escaped, and with most of his cargo . . . 8
"Odin" . , . . ... 10
" Le chasse au Renard," according to Lcs Sports Moderties . 12
At Pont-Remy, right in the middle of the houses, lurks a canivcau 14
On occasions like this it is best to be quite ignorant of the French
language . . . . . . 15
We contrived to inspect the function . . . . 21
Table d'hote at Sens . . . ... 25
The two horses pretended they were afraid, and each took one
side of the nearest tree . . ... 27
Explained that he was not really as large as he looked . . 31
The " Gloire de Dijon" . . . 33
lie slowly wriggled down the tablecloth . . • • 37
Touch and go . . • • • 39
A cloud-gun — a machine like a sky-hailing gramophone . . 40
My pelerine . . . ... 45
The mysterious stranger . . ... 46
Laden with all manner of experiments . . 47
A note by the way . . . ... 49
I posed as an early Christian . . ... 51
A neat thing in bed-warmers . . 59
We thought at one time of having a whip each . • • 77
Our gorgeous beds . . . ... 83
None but the brave . . . ... 84
A brigand-looking gentleman . . ... 88
The revellers . . . 95
viii THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
PAGE
A little blue-chinned monkey . . .
112
Pretty girls and fat duennas . . .
132
El Capitan . . . .
137
On guard ......
138
Off duty ......
138
At Tortosa ... .
142
The garage at Tortosa . . .
145
The Artist's trousers .....
153
A study in Valencia .....
161
We crossed the river Jacur by a fearful wooden bridge
. 165
That there was a tram behind made no difference .
174
Madrid post-box .....
175
Our complimentary statue . . .
. 176
The retired bull-fighter . . .
. 177
The Gateway of Toledo . . .
. 183
Venus and Mars. A sketch at Toledo .
. 187
The Puerta del Sol, Toledo . . . .
. 191
They nearly came to blows on the subject
203
Marketing at Valladolid . . . .
206
"ConDios" .....
. 208
A little trouble at Bilbao . . . .
214
A roadside sketch .....
219
The Scribe wastes his substance at petits chevaux .
■ 223
A sketch at the Casino . . .
. 225
At the Casino .....
. 226
A Teuton ......
227
A pelota player .....
• 230
A fisherman at Biarritz . . .
• 232
To be or not to be?
240
LIST OF PLATES
"About as easy to drive through as a thickly-populated
tunnel" ....
The speed-lover's paradise
Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
• 13
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ix
The Cathedral, Sens .
Through the snow
The garage at Vienne
The Roman amphitheatre at Nimes
The fish nets at Agde and their guardian angel
"And behind that rampart of snow was Spain "
A little alarmed, but never annoyed
Traces of civilisation
Bezalu
Crossing the Tordera
St. Pol de Mer
" Words have failed me to describe those roads"
The Guardia Civile — "His dignity ami bearing defy all
tions"
' ' The genuine article "
What we missed
" How can I stick you when you will not charge? '
" Pardon me — my move "
Not according to Cocker
" The pet of all the fair "
" Willing to wound and yet afraid to strike 1
The "Corniche" of Spain
The streets are narrow, even for Spain
" Most of the mules shied at the stranded car "
" No other car had ever been through Algem£si."
is entirely fictitious)
Jehu rushed the car at the obstacle
The Posada at Almansa
In the shadow of the Cathedral, Burgos
"Bacarat"
A wine shop
mita
{My attitude
PACING PAGE
24
2S
44
54
56
65
72
74
So
89
96
98
108
no
114
116
11S
11S
11S
122
129
I42
I48
»59
169
170
208
226
264
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.
The Winter s Talc
THE SOUTH-BOUND GAR
CHAPTER I
THE ROAD TO SPAIN
. . . Ah, hitter chill it was !
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ;
The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass,
Anil silent was the flock in woolly fold.
The Eve of St. Agnes
THE road to Spain is down Piccadilly, through
St. James's Park, and over Westminster
Bridge. That is to say, if you start from the Auto-
mobile Club motor-house, as we did.
But another time, and with a less powerful car
than a 30-40 Daimler, there should be other and less
spectacular routes. And the reason is this. There
were (and still are) four of us, all men of more or
less large proportions. By the mercy of Providence,
two of our wives, who were to have taken the place
of one of us, Jarge to wit, relinquished the idea. To
get at the full meaning of this sentence it should be
read backwards, and to get at the full meaning of
what our wives escaped they had only to look at the
2 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
car as we emerged out of the club motor-cellar, fully
loaded.
For the benefit of those who may be tempted to
follow our example, I take this opportunity of
cataloguing our chief accoutrements : —
Four kit-bags.
Two spare Dunlop covers (studded).
Four spare Dunlop tubes.
One spare pump (water).
Two spare chains.
One spare coil.
Two spare sets of accumulators.
Two sets Parsons' chains.
Twelve feet copper piping, and
A never-to-be-forgotten jack.
Not
wanted
on
voyage.
Innumerable spare plugs, wires, bolts, nuts, butter-
flies, washers, tools, levers, spanners and such like,
most of which were only carried in order to intimi-
date the car into not requiring them, and to help fill
the tonneau. Also a joy for ever in the shape of six
Parsons' sparklet inflators, which allowed us the
freedom of the tyre-pump during the whole journey.
Consequently two tons would not have been in the
same street with what we totalled up.
I had nearly forgotten the cameras. Now the
Artist came without one, and mine was hardly un-
packed all the time, but Jehu, which is a nice short
name for the hero who drove the car and generally
THE ROAD TO SPAIN 3
kept us up to our work, not only had a machine
which elongated itself in the middle till it looked
like a large black caterpillar in mourning, but also
owned a set of old-fashioned sliding legs, and a tin
box with eight corners containing plates. We grew
to hate that box almost as much as anything could
Seats three comfortably
be loathed. Jarge, who never takes a photograph
without writing down a mystic prescription about it,
brought, in addition to his ordinary camera, a thing
called a " Panoram." When this fearsome-looking
beast is set in motion there is a sound like the strip-
ping of a gear-wheel, and if one happens to be in the
line of fire a vicious-looking little black snout can be
seen, moving around like a ferret looking out of
4 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
a rabbit -hole. Then there were medicine-chests,
three rugs, and three spare coats. I came without
one of the latter, but the purchase of my " Pelerine "
later may be the dawn of a new fashion for England,
and so more, perhaps, anon on this.
Now it would seem that a good deal of this could
be stored under the back seat of what, in spite of
side-entrances and other modern embellishments, is
still called the tonneau; but here, Jehu, assisted by
the talent of all the Royal Automobile Club, memo-
ries of the Herkomer Trophy, and other experts, had
installed a spare tank to hold about fourteen gallons
of petrol. To anticipate events, I may remark that
we filled this up at Boulogne, and used it in coming
out of Spain, so the car and tyres had the additional
pleasure of lugging well over a hundred pounds extra
weight for nearly a couple of thousand miles. Even
Jehu grew to realise this at length, and the thought
of the extra room its absence would have given us
quite saddened me at times, especially as we could
have always packed the space with bidons when an
extra long petrol drought was anticipated. So let
this be a warning to others, and if I do not refer to
it again it will be because I have forgiven — I can
never forget. Two items more, and we are off.
We had a Cape-cart hood, and though it never
rained, except once for eight minutes at Barcelona,
we found it most useful for packing things in. I
have never seen this important function mentioned
THE ROAD TO SPAIN 5
in the advertisements of such things, but I make a
present of the suggestion to those whom it may con-
cern. The other item was a young chest of drawers,
fastened beneath the step on the off-side. It con-
tained many useful and elegant objets de voyage, but,
as every snow-drift caught in it, and every river filled
it with water and sand, we soon transferred its seat
of usefulness to the top side of the footboard. Cars
which are intended for snow-ploughs on French
mountains, and mud - larking in Spanish rivers,
should be without such impedimenta beneath the
level of the engines. Not that it stopped the car —
she came along in spite of it.
A few words here as to our intentions. When
I first mooted the idea of Spain to the others, we
decided that it was necessary to dine together to dis-
cuss the route and other details. I sent a message
to the club cook that I should be glad if he would
prepare a dinner with any Spanish dishes he might
know of. But when he replied that beyond garlic
and onions he knew of no special delicacies from
that country, I told him that perhaps it would be
better to stick to English food. And even then
I resolved that I would make it impossible for such
ignorance to prevail again, and would bring new
delights to the notice of the gourmets of our native
land, which the reader will see I have managed to
do, though our sauces of hunger and hard work may
have had something to do with our enjoyment of
6 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
them. So we dined ordinarily, and after the meal
was over I produced the Times Atlas. First of all,
I turned up France, and with a lordly sweep of the
hand reached the shores of the tideless Mediter-
ranean in three days. After this magnificent run
I informed the others that we might abate our pace,
and that a quiet jog of a hundred odd miles each
morning should be succeeded by a quiet afternoon
stroll in the southern towns. We would leave
Barcelona about a week after our start, and visiting
the sea-coast cities, our next real stop should be at
Granada in Andalusia, where — as the proverb has it
— all the men are brave and the women beautiful.
Thence, by a road that even the touring department
of the R.A.C. had doubts of, we should cross the
Sierras and reach Seville. We might possibly visit
Gibraltar, and even get across to Morocco for a
couple of days, but at any rate we could see Cadiz
and at Jerez quaff the national wine of the
country in its native home. We would then turn
north for Madrid along the famous non-stop road
of romance, touching at Cordova and Toledo.
Thence by Valladolid, Burgos, and Biarritz we
would leave Spain, and the splendid roads of France
would bear us homeward easily within our allotted
time. I had it all written down, with a little sketch
map showing the various places where we should
spend the nights, and how long we could allow our-
selves to seethose of much interest. I alsohad prepared
THE ROAD TO SPAIN 7
an outside estimate of expenses, which contemplated
every conceivable contingency. I do not now know
which was the more absolutely incorrect document.
At the conclusion of my statement I think we
should all have given three cheers for Spain if there
had not been other people in the smoking-room who
might have been annoyed. Then we parted, each
full of hope and information as to his own share of
the preliminary items. We used to come together
sometimes to procure passports, circular notes, and
to impart to each other any new information we
might have gathered concerning the voyage ; but our
paths in life lay far apart, and our ordinary workaday
orbits did not often coincide. So when we did all
meet together again in the aforesaid motor garage,
we were bursting to tell each other of our newly
acquired knowledge.
If any of our party, or our wives, expected a
crowd to see us off, they were disappointed, and we
might have been mere county councillors going to
visit a farm colony for all the interest we excited on
the fashionable side of the Thames. On the other
side we became a little more an object of interest,
for Jehu, in his anxiety to test the new speed in-
dicator, nearly fouled a potboy who was casually
strolling across the Borough Road with three foam-
ing mugs of beer in each hand. Certainly he
escaped, and with most of his cargo ; but often,
when far away on the snowy heights of the Cote
8 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
d'Or, or the wind-swept barren plateau of Old
Castile, the memory of the incident would come
back to my mind like the miner's dream of home.
And it seems to have made an even greater impres-
sion on the Artist.
On the journey to Folkestone there is no need to
dilate. The snow (have I said it was February 2nd,
1907?) lay on the road in glistening sheets, frozen
and hard, and if there is one condition that can trap
The potboy escaped, and with most of his cargo
non-skidding tyres that are not true to their descrip-
tion, this is it. But our studded Dunlops cared for
none of these things, and we arrived at the boat's
side before the appointed time. This gave us a
couple of hours to spare, and we promptly adjourned
for our first meal to the Pavilion Hotel. And be-
cause I happened to meet an uncle and an aunt here,
I was told by Jarge that we were doomed to failure,
as it was the most unlucky thing that could happen
to anybody. After lunch we all went and purchased
THE ROAD TO SPAIN 9
tins of Keating's, because Jehu had been told we
were bound to be eaten alive wherever we might
stop south of the Pyrenees. The Artist filled up
with tobacco, stowing it about his figure with a laud-
able idea to economy. There being no other local
cause for excitement, we shook the mud and snow of
our native land off our boots and gazed open-
mouthed at the car twiddling in the air before it
was landed on the deck of the Invicta for the
voyage.
The Channel steamer folk have brought the hand-
ling of motors to a fine art, and one does not feel
the qualms usual to such occasions, when less accus-
tomed folk are playing seesaw with the joy of your
existence. Though Folkestone was dull and gloomy,
the sea was calm, and so there was that much to be
thankful for. Over £4 for less than thirty miles is a
large sum to pay for the transhipping of a car across
to France, and the question as to alternative cheaper
and more attractive routes is one that should invite
attention.
The only things that called for remark on the
voyage, and at the buffet afterwards, were the travel-
ling caps that made their appearance. One man
especially took our fancy, being the personification
of the Norse god Odin, and the Artist was moved to
record his appearance.
We reached Boulogne after dark, put the car into
a garage which demanded five francs for the privi-
io THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
lege, and stowed ourselves at Bayly's Hotel for the
night. Comfortable and warm, but nothing special,
our record of accounts shows it to be the most ex-
pensive caravanserai we abode in during the whole of
our trip. But perhaps we were charged extra for
the society of our landlord all the evening. There
was a notice hanging up in the hall of the hotel
which shows the sporting nature of the French. It
related to a " Grand concours International de Chiens
Ratters," which, I suppose, means "dog show."
After describing the list of prizes, it gave par-
ticulars of a " Grand match sensational 25 rats par
chien, entre le Champion R. I. P. du Terrier Club
Abbevillois et le chien X du Ratier Club Boulon-
nais, le defi sera de 500 frs." and concluded with the
startling announcement that, for the first time in
Boulogne, " The society has made the necessary pre-
THE ROAD TO SPAIN n
parations to obtain, if possible, two foxes, which will
be destroyed by the dogs of the society " ! Where's
your bull-fighting now ?
After this, the following yarn can be quite easily
swallowed. It appears that there is a rising young
place called Le Touquet, not very far off, and one
filled with a desire to be very English. So a fox-
hunt was arranged and, after the meet, a line was
hit off, and all were speedily in full pursuit. Now, a
certain real Englishman was about, and perhaps a
little sceptical as to the ability of the scratch pack to
kill a French fox and return for the dejeuner that
was even then awaiting the field. So he mentioned
his doubt to one of the principal retainers, and this
is the satisfactory reply he got : " Aha ! we have
taken our precautions ; he was shot at eight o'clock
this morning," and sure enough, there he was, hang-
ing up in the kitchen. What the dickens it was the
hounds and hunters were on to over the hills and far
away history telleth not ; but one cannot but admire
the noble spirit that takes no risk of disappointment,
and, greater than Fortius, not only deserves success,
but commands it as well.
The picture Our Artist has drawn here of the dig-
ging out of a fearful fox is the result of his prowling
about in a French stationer's shop, and gives a very
good idea of what goes on behind the scenes in
French fox-hunting. I think the instrument that
the wretched animal has round his neck is specially
12 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
designed for the purpose, while the man with the
gun, which, by the way, should have a strap on it, is
undoubtedly the dernier ressort in case of accidents.
Boulogne was under snow and a hard frost when
" Le chasse au Renard," according to Lcs Sports Modcrnes
we left next morning for Versailles. As we rose
above the town and on to the high inland plateau
the cold grew more intense, and our first excitement
was the complete freezing up of the lubricators.
Hot rags and a handy blow-lamp soon thawed them
out, and, armed with this one experience, we avoided
this contretemps again. And so we ran over the long,
lonely white roads to Pont-Rcmy. Though I had
THE ROAD TO SPAIN 13
motored in other parts of the Continent, it was my
first experience of the really straight roads, framed
in an avenue of trees, that make France the speed -
lover's Paradise. The echo of the swish of the fast-
moving car as it comes on each side off every tree,
and the never-ending vista in front, converging like a
perspective nightmare on the horizon, combine to
make it monotonous, and indeed, save for the feeling
of pace, which is a delight in itself to the hardened
motorist, the only real satisfaction lies in the fact
that every hour is bringing one sixty miles nearer to
the sun, and to the south that is the goal of the
journey. Motors are evidently not objects of
interest to the inhabitants of the little villages here-
abouts, and the dogs and fowls also tarry not to
inspect them. Here and there a little town collects
the straight lines of the roads, and for a while tangles
them with many turns, but in less than no time the
car is out again, and in for another straight twenty
miles of humming speed.
But winter or summer this part of France is very
uninteresting compared with the rest of the land we
went through. The parts of England it most re-
sembles are the arable districts just off the Thames
valley and the weary wolds of Lincolnshire, though
the far greater distances between inhabited places
tend to magnify its dreariness to a much greater
extent.
I mentioned Pont-Remy just now, but if it had not
i 4 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
been for the snow the name would have been as one
of the many other little villages we found and left
behind. But here, right in the middle of the houses,
lurks a caniveau % the first we were to make the ac-
quaintance of. Now, Jehu, once upon a time, nearly-
won a race ; in fact, he came in second in the Isle of
Man, and it has been his undoing, since he is usually
described in the motoring press as " of Tourist Trophy
At Pont-Remy, right in the middle of the houses, lurks a canivcau
fame," which requires living up to. So, the street
being wide and empty, he pursued the more or less
even tenour of his way, and the caniveati, being full of
snow, lured the unsuspecting car into its fearful
embrace. Now a caniveau, for the benefit of those
who know them not, is the bed of a young stream
that wanders across the road and, in a civilised land
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THE ROAD TO SPAIN 17
like England, would be roofed in to let the world roll
by. But on the Continent they have a different idea
as to their sphere of usefulness, and perhaps they
have good reasons for keeping them open. At all
events a knowledge of their imminence must have a
wonderful effect in reducing the rate of speed of pass-
ing motors ; and I think that I am not sure if I dwelt
in certain villages in England, I should not agitate
for one each side of my abode. The Artist and I
were busy looking out a place for lunch on the map,
and first became aware of the local phenomenon by
being shot up into the air, with everything else in the
tonneau, hit on the head by the till-then-folded-up
Cape hood, and violently bumped down again as we
were. There was also a crash of glass. Jehu pulled
up, and we all got out. I had brought some elegant
Selvyt lamp protectors, and if they had been in their
proper places they would have prevented one of our
lamps being jumped off by the shock and run over by
the car. But the Artist, weary of being hit in the
ankle by the spare pump — which we never needed —
had diverted the said cover to the base use of pro-
tecting his leg from the said assault, and so the lamp
suffered ; though, marvellous to relate, beyond being
horribly dented, its use was not in the least impaired.
While we thus looked for possible damages the local
policeman arrived, fresh from his Sunday cUjeuner.
He was in the very height of officialdom, demanded
all our papers, licences, and even our passports, and
c
iS THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
wrote volubly in his note-book. When some one dis-
covered the shock had also smashed the Cape hood, I
thought we should all be haled off to prison, and I really
think that if the car had utterly collapsed — and it is
a marvellous testimonial that it survived unhurt — the
local guillotine would have been promptly erected,
and four more martyrs to progress have been there
and then created. But amid direful glances and
satirical " an revoirs " from the collected mob, we
managed at length to be allowed to depart, and soon
after pulled up at Beauvais for a late lunch. Per-
sonally, I should have liked to have seen Abbeville
with its glorious cathedral, but after all Spain was
our objective, and the cathedral may still be there
when I come again.
We discussed that canivcau while lunching at the
Hotel de France et dAngleterre at Beauvais, and
Jarge gave it as his opinion that a house near it
would command a very high rent. The Artist thought
that a policeman might combine amusement with
promotion by simply sitting in ambush near it till
motors came by. I misquoted Swinburne —
It waits for each and other,
It waits for all men born ;
* * * *
And gathers all things mortal
With cold, immortal hands.
Jehu said little, but appeared full of thought.
I often wonder when I remember that lunch at
THE ROAD TO SPAIN 19
Beauvais — not that it was in any way better than the
usual run of such meals all through France — what sort
of welcome and food we should have got under similar
circumstances, two o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, in
England? Blank looks, cold beef, a musty coffee-
room, and a big bill, I expect ; instead of which we
found a neat, clean lunch, vin comprh } beginning with
hors d'esuvres and ending with coffee, at about half a
crown a head. And almost everywhere else in
France we found as good.
At the next table to us was a party consisting of a
well-to-do-looking father and mother, and their boys,
who were evidently doing their military training in
the town. The younger children were there as well,
and when I thought of the bleak road over the
snowy hills waiting for us, I envied their happy
lot. And then once more into our leathern jackets,
big coats, and off again. Now, Jehu had so im-
pressed us with his absolute familiarity with the
roads of this part of France that we rather neglected
the map, and the consequence was that, instead
of arriving at Versailles at five o'clock, we got into
Paris from the north-east over leagues of pavi after
dark. This was one of the most dismal runs we had.
A dull grey mist had settled down on everything,
and all roads and directions seemed alike. Nearly
every one makes the same mistake coming out of
Beauvais as we did, and the attempt, when we did
discover our mistake, to correct it by taking a short
20 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
cut was fatal ; and I rather think that certain folk
of whom we inquired the way took a malicious
pleasure in putting us wrong. At the same time,
perhaps, the hand of Providence was in it ; for on
arrival we found a serious crack, caused either by the
pave or the caniveau, which needed careful attention.
This it got at a moderate price, and with no delay,
at the establishment of Courcelles- Automobile, 8 Rue
de Chazelles, to which we were directed by courtesy
of Major Lloyd, the Paris representative of the
R. A. C. Firms such as this one are rare abroad and
none too common at home.
We left Paris in a snowstorm. The cab-horses
were sliding and slipping all over the place, salt was
being hurled about by the ton, and all was beastly.
After picking up petrol outside the octroi — a pro-
cedure which saves a large sum — we ran to Versailles
over a well-swept road. I wonder if it is because
they are more used to snow in this part of France
that they trouble to sweep the roads. For miles
on roads without a single inhabitant the snow, which
had only just ceased to fall, was neatly swept away
— a proceeding highway authorities in England
would regard as a sheer waste of time and trouble.
When we got near the Palais the sun was out and
the sky blue, so of course our camera brigade pro-
ceeded to attack it. And then on to Melun, where
we lunched, and so to Sens. The road to Sens was
a pleasant change from those we had experienced so
We contrived to inspect the function
THE ROAD TO SPAIN 23
far. Very little snow was lying on it, and after
Montereau it ran beside the winding river Yonne,
while for once in a way the sun deigned to come out
and the wind dropped ; but for all this, when I visit
France again in the winter, I shall land the car
at Havre or Bordeaux, and keep this part of the
country for a more seasonable time of year. I do
not recommend this route as a rule, but in those
days we invariably relied on other people's advice.
Later on we absolutely refused to believe any one as
to roads or anything connected with them. Our
reasons will soon be very apparent.
We stopped at the Hotel de l'Ecu, at Sens. The
reason we stopped there was because it was the
nearest hotel to the motor when Jehu had finished
pulling up on viewing the hotel we intended to
occupy ; but we do not regret our choice.
It was a delightful old place. The great towers
of the cathedral looked right down into the court-
yard, and the neighbourhood contained a more varied
collection of striking clocks than there is in the
whole of England put together. Long rows of big
windows opened all round, and countless rooms
creaked through the night at the memories of the
olden days when all Europe stayed here on its way
to the South. For Sens was on one of the arteries
of the world, and its aristocratic-looking buildings
still manage to keep up their appearance of its
ancient glory. But downstairs at the Hotel de l'Ecu
24 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
there was no note of sadness. There had been a
wedding that day, and the consequent ball was being
held in the big room over the barn where the car was
stabled. About eleven o'clock we discovered there
was a healthy coke furnace not three feet from the
Daimler's bonnet. As there were at least twenty
gallons of petrol on board the car, the festivities
might easily have been far more exciting than they
were. Being full of insatiable curiosity, and not
wishing to deprive our readers of any valuable in-
formation, the Artist and I contrived to inspect the
function. The music was from a piano, and the
actual dancing couples came to three. Also there
were two small children, several middle-aged ladies
and three elderly men with tight white gloves, en
tout cas dress clothes, and well-combed beards. No-
thing very exciting, and how they managed — as they
did by the sound — to keep it going till at least
midnight, I cannot imagine.
The mention of beards leads me to regret that
Mr. Frank Richardson does not live in France — or
indeed anywhere on the Continent. The only quarry
he pursues is so rare in England that every man
who wears whiskers there must be finding the joke
a little hairy by this time. But even in a small place
like Sens the humorist could, as it were, begin to
live over again, and new definitions and descriptions
could take the place of the moth-eaten "face-fin" sally.
In the restaurant that night there were half a dozen
' '•r
i
i
''nl BFl
|
I III CATHEDRAL, SENS
TIIK ROAD TO SPAIN
25
kinds among the diners, any pair of which would
supply him with at least a page of copy. Personally
I do without them, but undoubtedly they command
respect ; and many an otherwise ordinary Civil Ser-
vant is listened to with rapt attention, simply because
he wears them in conjunction with a turn-down
collar, blue serge suit, and cloth spats. Years ago
Table d'/h'fc at Sens
I remember one of the senior branches of the junior
division of the Board of Agriculture came to the
opinion that they looked too young. So they held
a meeting, and determined that they would grow
what are called " Charlies," that is, tufts beneath the
lower lip — e.g. Sir Thomas Lipton. But in spite
of best intentions, habit was too strong for them all,
and one second of early-morning forgetfulness kept
26 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
on ruining — like a May frost — the fruits of a fort-
night's endeavour. As the poet has it —
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state,
One hour may lay it low !
But the moral of the story and the morale of the
appendages is as true as ever.
But let us return to our hotel. Jarge and I played,
or rather began to play, a game of French billiards
in the cafe, but after five minutes of it we mutually
gave each other the game and read the papers.
Now, barring certain daily prints, which look like the
catalogue of a forced sale at a bulb farm, the French-
man only reads comic papers, and these he reads
over and over again. I was immensely struck by
an economical dodge of one of these journals. The
jokes were printed in French and Italian, side by
side, under the accompanying pictures. The idea
is excellent, for at one stroke the circulation is
doubled and the amount of " copy " halved. I com-
mend this to the notice of some of our English
papers who deal in the same class of humour, and
further suggest that translations of slang and allusion
should be added as well. This would make them
more intelligible, and would be very unlikely to
crowd out any priceless gems of humour.
The run from Sens to Dijon, through Saint Floren-
tin, Tonnere, Montbard, and over the hills by Cour-
ceaux was the coldest and most exciting day we had
in France at all.
THE ROAD TO SPAIN
27
To begin with, we overtook a bold cavalryman,
riding one horse and leading another. We slowed
down to a walking pace in the most polite manner,
The two horses pretended they were afraid, and each took one side
of the nearest tree
but the two horses saw their opportunity for a bit of
diversion. Accordingly they began to pretend they
were afraid, and as this road, like every other in
France, had trees on each side of it, they each took
one side of the nearest. The rider held on as long
28 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
as he could, but in the end he had to let go, and the
last we saw of the three was an animated little game
of animal grab, at which the loose horse was easily
the more proficient.
After this interlude there was nothing out of the
ordinary, barring the bitter wind and skiddy surface.
At the same time, I cannot help thinking we should
have done better if we had kept to roads that lay
along the sides of rivers, even though the route might
have been a little longer, for it was only on the very
high and deserted country we came across very serious
obstacles. I commend this idea to motorists who are
mapping out winter tours abroad, and it is very seldom
that a safer and more pleasant alternative route
cannot be found. When we had left Darcey behind
us, and rose on to the mountains, we put the Daimler
to a pretty severe test. Time after time the snow
had been blown into smooth drifts out of the track of
the wind, and as we had no possible means of judg-
ing their depth, we did the only possible thing, and
let her rip at them. Even with the tool-drawers
fastened below the step, she made light of the job,
and great masses of snow flew round and over us, as
she hurtled through. Occasionally she almost floated
on the snow, and only then was there much loss of
pace. Our studded Dunlop tyres behaved nobly,
and the last resource for snow, which we had
brought in the shape of Parsons' non - skids, we
managed to do without. But it was a weary coun-
'
:?**&
[ HE SNOW
THE ROAD TO SPAIN 29
try, white and almost treeless, while towards evening
a dense fog added to the fun. Every now and then
we dropped down steep inclines, through the stunted
forests that clothed the hillside, into some quaint,
old-world, white town, only to rise up the looped
roads on the other side to another expanse of misty
blankness.
They seem to go in for huge forests in this part of
France. For miles we ran along a road bounded on
each side by brushwood copses that appeared never
to have an end. When I was young I remember
being presented with a book called The Young
Franc-Tircurs, which dealt with the wildly exciting
adventures of certain patriotic French youths who
harassed the German invaders for months in this
same country, but I never realised how easy it
would be to hide- successfully in forests until I came
to see these. Even the little towns we passed
through were but interludes or clearings in them,
and no sooner had we left them behind us than we
were in the midst of the woods again. Perhaps this
is why English children are rather apt to scoff at
stories in which the heroes and heroines get lost in
the forest, and, only judging by the kinds they know
themselves, put them down as undoubtedly jolly asses.
Darkness came on us miles from Dijon, but here
there were marks of horse traffic, and so about seven
in the evening we got to near where we would be.
And then, as we entered the city feeling like the
30 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
remnants of the gallant Six Hundred, a man had the
impudence to call out to a gendarme that we had no
lights, and cramped, frozen, and stiff as we were,
we had to get out, fumble for matches, dig out
the snow-bound lamps and melt the congealed oil
till it thought fit to burn. The Artist told that man
what we thought of him until he fled as if from a
lunatic, and after another mile we found peace at
last. Few people there believed us when we told
of our route, and we were proud to feel that we had
done it on an English car with English tyres, for we
could see that the Frenchmen esteemed the feat to a
far greater extent than we did.
Considering France is par excellence the land of
automobiles (or was), it was extraordinary how few
we had met, except of course in Paris, between
Boulogne and Dijon. Not more than four, and none
of these open ones, can I call to mind ; and even
south of this they were very rare.
By the way, while we were on one of the bleakest
hills, we saw a wolf cross our path. I said it was a
fox, but general opinion was against me, and I was
badly outvoted. At the same time, it displayed no
ferocity, legging it as hard as it could, nor did we
hear it howl. My argument was that if it were a
wolf there would be a pack in the vicinity, and very
soon they would be pursuing us. In which case it
would be necessary, after throwing the spare tyres to
them, to sacrifice one of our number. This is always
THE ROAD TO SPAIN
3i
done, and I think the Artist got quite nervous, as he
explained that he was not really as large as he looked,
owing to the number of coats and leathern garments
he was enveloped in. As a fact, that very morning,
while he donned his cloth ear-flapper and pulled his
Balaclava helmet over his face until only the tip of
Explained that he was not really as large as he looked
his nose was visible beneath his goggles, he had
jocularly remarked that " The professor will now eat
an orange under water," and if we had not all been
more or less similarly swaddled, we should have
laughed more than we did. At any rate, the sacri-
fice was not needed, for we saw no more of the wild
animals ; but it is sad so to have one's early illusions
destroyed.
32 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
Dijon is a busy but uninteresting town. Most
towns that are busy are uninteresting. We stopped
at the Hotel Bourgoyne, which is very comfortable,
and has a nice garage next door to the kitchen.
Now this kitchen is more like a pantomime kitchen
than any I have ever seen, and as we filled the radi-
ators with hot water, stewed the lubricating oil-tins,
and otherwise generally made use of it, we had
plenty of time for making a close inspection. Added
to which, Jehu broke off the sector while trying to
see how much it would bend. The repairing of it
took an hour, and I inspected all the post-card shops
in the neighbourhood. French post-cards are even
more silly and vacuous than English ones — I am
not speaking of views — and I have come to the con-
clusion that French people are even more easily
amused than English. The only wonder to me
is who buys the things. I suppose they will die a
natural death some day, though it will be hard on
the Inland Revenue people, or their equivalent in
France. And the class of actress who figures on
post-cards there is very different in appearance from
the ladies who are thus immortalised at home, and
it was quite refreshing to come across a whole row
of the smiling faces made so familiar by every shop
window throughout England. These, at any rate,
were not vulgar, which is more than one can say of
the local products. While I waited there was another
feature which interested me greatly. I noticed every
THE ROAD TO SPAIN
33
one walked and drove about in fur coats — coats, as
Hiawatha would put it : —
lie, to get the fur side outside,
Put the inside, skin-side inside.
What skins they were I know not, but for length
of hair and general shagginess they surpassed any
The "Gloirede Dijon"
animal I have ever come across outside Barnum's. I
expect there is great rivalry amongst their posses-
sors, and cold weather is even welcome to some of
them. All the dummies in the shop windows were
attired in coats that fairly out-Hoggenheimered Hog-
genheimer. And the prices were most moderate,
34 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
insomuch that, perhaps, had there existed one spare
extra inch of room in the car, I might have put
down the top price, 75 frs., become the envy of the
South of France and possibly shot as an outlying
Polar bear in the Pyrenees. At any rate, the return
of the breakdown gang with the repaired sector
called me back to the car, and we slid down to the
banks of the Saone into sunshine and the first sight
of France without her winter garment of snow and
ice. But the human fur coats grew bigger and shag-
gier than ever.
CHAPTER II
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN
O the blue below the little fisher huts. — Rudyard Kipling
I THINK the thing that made the greatest impres-
sion on all of us at Dijon was the way one
of the waiters laid the big table for dejeuner, while
we were eating our seven o'clock breakfast in the
half-dark. He wore carpet slippers — henceforward
we eot used to them — and sat on his heels on the
tablecloth and slowly wriggled backwards down its
centre as he set out the various requirements. In
the same room was a work of art in the shape of a
placid-looking cow's head with fierce stag antlers.
There was no doubt of this, because we all went and
examined the masterpiece carefully before naming
the result " The Passive Resister."
Our road that morning lay through the Burgundy
country, and the car tore along the straight, fiat road
by Beaune and Macon. My bugle — did I mention
1 had brought one ? — came in very useful here, for
where the grunt of the horn produced no effect on a
cart, a few bars of the " Post Horn Galop " cleared
35
36 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the way like magic, and scored a bull's eye a mile
away. At the same time bugle-playing at fifty
miles an hour wants watching. Baron Munchausen
relates that when he was travelling in his coach one
winter the cold was so intense that the notes froze
inside the horn, and woke up the hotel where they
lay the night as they thawed on the mantelpiece.
Now I used to look on that as an exaggeration, but
I have come to think that there may have been a
certain amount of truth in the yarn, for when after
playing "Lights out" or "Officers' wives" at some
distant obstruction, I happened to put down the
instrument for ten minutes, when I came to use
it again I found the mouthpiece frozen solid with the
combined effects of the cold and the vacuum in the
tonneau, and it took a lot of hard work to set it in
order again, But about Beaune, much to the secret
delight of Jarge, a high note and a young caniveau
managed to split my lip, and I was silent for several
days. Jarge, I may explain, sat just in front of me.
One little incident made three of us smile, and also
the other, until he found out whose bag it was.
Now, Jehu's kit-bag was strapped with the Parsons'
tyre-inflators on the nearside footboard. Also, Jehu
knows to an inch how much room he can miss things
by. One cart whisked round as we passed it; there
was a ripping, tearing sound, and a very mild shock.
We were moving fast at the time, and while Jehu
was pulling up I looked round. The cart was
4d
o
o
■s
In
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 39
pursuing the even tenour of its way, but on the spot
where we had passed it was a confused heap lying in
the middle of the road. We walked back, and found
half a dozen sparklets and most of the belongings
of Jehu in picturesque confusion. An aluminium
soap-box was unrecognisable, the bag was ripped all
along, the tin sprocket cover was bent double, but
the heavily charged sparklets got the best advertise-
-j&*^££^^4Z^r-
Touch and go
ment of their lives, and came up smiling and unin-
jured. Now these sparklets were not the little black
bullets you buy in boxes for the purpose of aerating
waters or blowing the coal out of the grate, but long,
thick glass bottles filled under terrific pressure with
carbonic acid gas to save manual labour and time
when we wanted to blow up a tyre, and thus alter
weary labour into a pleasurable experience. Folks
had told us that they were very dangerous, that
the Spanish police would take them for bombs, and
4 o THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
all sorts of romances, but here was a proof that even
a collision at fifty miles an hour had absolutely
no effect upon them. When we had collected the
debris and put the damaged bag inside the already
overcrowded tonneau, we moved off again and ran
past big vineyards all the day. Every mile or so
there was a machine among the vines, like a sky-
^r*^
A cloud-gun — a machine like a sky-hailing gramophone
hailing gramophone or gigantic cake-crusher. Curi-
osity made us examine one of these, and we found it
to be a cloud-gun of sorts for the purpose of shooting
thunderstorms before they burst and ruin the crops.
I should like to see one of them in action. A vine-
yard in the winter is a depressing-looking object.
We passed but little else for many a hundred miles,
and if I were a teetotaler it would be very depress-
ing to see the whole land given up entirely to the
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 41
production of drink ; but as I never saw a drunken
person after I left England, I presume they know
when they have had enough, or else take no pleasure
in taking too much. At every meal during our trip,
save at Madrid, Barcelona, and Biarritz, the local
wine was put on the table gratis, and though it
varied in colour and thickness, it was never nasty ;
and we began to think ourselves somewhat of con-
noisseurs by the time we got home again. I offer
the suggestion of " beer included " to some of our
English landlords, except that they would probably
get into trouble at the licensing sessions for their
generosity.
We stopped for lunch at Macon, and had an al
fresco meal on the embankment that runs by the side
of the big river. It was lucky we did, for we found
a thin stream of gear oil pouring out from under the
car where a screw had shaken out on the frozen roads,
and we should certainly have seized up some of our
interior economy if we had not made the discovery
in time. There was a big market going on all round
us, and for some unknown reason we seem to have
created a great impression. Personally I think it was
because the Artist would talk Spanish to every one,
for fear he should forget all he had learnt before he
got to Spain. We inspected some of the stalls,
mostly piled with eatables and wearing apparel, but
their owners seemed much more interested in us than
we in them. It was here we started the fashion of using
42 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the bonnet of the car as a dining-table, though Jehu
and Jarge took most of their sausage lying on their
backs under the gear-box, trying to find a screw to
take the place of the lost plug. When they had
made a satisfactory job of it we moved on, and ran
along very perfect roads, past frozen-up barges and
frozen-out washerwomen. The Saone here is a
mighty river, and was full of great floes of ice, which
quarrelled, snarled, and fought with the bridges at
every town that had such things. Further down a
much smaller river, called the Rhone, chips into this
majestic stream, and has the impudence to christen
the combined results after itself, much as if the
Thames called itself the Wey after Weybridge. The
Saone has my deepest sympathies. Long before
motors were ever heard of, an uncle of mine sought
the shores of the Mediterranean by much the same
route we were journeying on. He had bought in Eng-
land a craft that was a cross between a Nile steamer
and a Thames house-boat, and christened it the
Sunmaid. Yachting in it on the south coast of
England was a fearful joy, and the days it dared the
open sea were rare. But one year, harbour by harbour,
she came east from Dartmouth, till on a fine autumn
day she crossed the Channel and came to Havre.
Thence up the Seine to Paris was easy, and by very
short stages she steamed slowly through the canals
in the midst of the grape-harvest. The excitement
she created was enormous, the motive power in those
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 43
parts for boats being, as in England, a horse. She
was fitted with a siren, and I have heard that a few
moans of it caused all work to be knocked off in the
neighbourhood for hours. There was always a crowd
of the natives walking alongside of the boat, and at
bridges three or four enterprising youths invariably
boarded her as she passed under. And some of these
uninvited visitors went so far as to bring their
dinners with them, while — I am told — one even
arrived with his rug and announced his intention of
passing the night on the deck. After the canals
came the canalised Saone, and then the great Rhone
took charge and brought the little boat to Marseilles,
where I believe she still lies. Barring the sea part of
the voyage, it would be considerably more soothing
a journey than occasional bursts of sixty miles an
hour ever gave to us.
Before we got to Lyons, alternative routes presented
themselves, and, of course, we took the wrong one.
So once more we were up among the hills and the
snow, until we got on tramlines and dropped down
into the big, uninteresting manufacturing town. We
got through without stopping, except to profess
utter and hopeless ignorance of any language to the
octroi officials at the entrance, and came in the sunset
to Viennes, a delightfully old-fashioned and pictu-
resque town on the banks of the now-termed Rhone.
I forget the name of the hotel that did us very well,
but I remember the garage was also the wash-house
44 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
for two charming, but chatty, old blancJiisseuses. We
had a good deal of work to do there, adjusting the
brakes and filling up the depleted gear-box, so we saw
and heard a good deal of these ladies. Jarge went and
dropped their soap into about four feet of ice-cold
water, but they only smiled, and one produced a
trident, which must have come off a statue, and soon
gaffed it up again. The worst point about the
garage was that the station horse had his stable the
other end, and was for ever walking in and out at the
most critical moments. Of course there was electric
light in here — I expect the rat-holes have their own
installation — and luxury even went so far as to pro-
vide inspection lamps attached to about twenty yards
of wiring. While Jehu and Jarge adjusted things
and generally mucked about the engine, the Artist
held the light where it was wanted, and invariably
at the critical moment of tackling washers, split
pins, and the like, the horse, or les blanchisseuses, or
the ostler, would trip up over the spare yards, tear the
lamp out of the holder's hands and start a torrent of
profanity in three languages. Also another car came
in with a typical French chauffeur in charge. These
folks go in for high-speed work in garages, and this
one only slowed up when he smashed his biggest
plate-glass window with the corner of our Cape hood.
Our Artist, who learnt his French in the Ouartier
Latin, says that he seemed seriously annoyed. Later
on yet another motor arrived, with four Americans in
I III GARAGE AT VIENNE
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 45
it, who were immensely relieved to find an interpreter,
as they spoke nothing but pure Cahoose, and had not
exchanged a word with their hired chauffeur since they
left a place they called Die-John. The curious thing
about their automobile was that it contained a large
My pelerine
quantity of mistletoe. What on earth they were going
to do with it (seeing that the last Sunday was Sexa-
gesima) I am still wondering, and I got nothing but
a grin out of the chauffeur when I asked him to ex-
plain the inward meaning of this petit morccau de
Noil.
46 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
Perhaps the most important incident that hap-
pened at Viennes was the purchase of my pelerine
(dark blue cloth, with hood, 13 frs.), for I am con-
vinced that my assumption of this national garb has
done more for the entente cordiale than anything else
The mysterious stranger
which happened on our cruise. The Artist also bought
a string bag here, for roadside lunches, and he always
looked very home-like as he came carwards, laden
with all manner of experiments, including villainous-
looking sausages that tasted even worse. 1
1 Most excellent sausages ; Jarge liked them, too. — The Artist.
He would ! — The Sciibe.
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 47
The next day's run by the side of the Rhone, all
the way to Avignon, was one of the prettiest we had
during the whole journey. Numberless caniveaux all
along under the mountains gave us time to look about
us. Here and there on a bluff overhanging the river
Laden with all manner of experiments
the ruins of some old castle stood up black against
the snowy heights above, while dark forests fringed
the ice-bound banks of the swiftly flowing stream.
The Artist said it reminded him of the Rhine, and
I replied that I was afraid he would say that. I
never yet saw a river that ran between hills that
48 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
was not said to be like the Rhine, nor — for the matter
of that — did anything ever happen that did not
remind our Artist of something else. For instance,
when I praised the size of the road at Versailles,
he said it was like the Grand Trunk Road in India.
He told us the Pyrenees reminded him of the
country round Simla, that Toledo was like Delhi,
and that the Royal Road to Barcelona put him in
mind of riding a camel at Port Said. I told him
that life to him must be like looking at bound
volumes of old picture papers, and he retorted that
he agreed he had heard no new jokes since we
started. So we returned to the inspection of the
scenery. After a foggy morning the clouds drifted
apart and the sun shone out of a deep blue sky.
This sounds charming, but all the time the Mistral,
which is a northerly gale off the snowy mountain
tops by the feel of it, and cold as concentrated ice-
bergs, was howling along with us, and every native
was muffled up within an inch of his life. I can
quite understand why they loathe this wind. At
Orange there is a very humorous kind of death-trap.
The road apparently runs straight into the town
through a magnificent Roman archway, but just
before you get to it a flight of about six steps into
a Dutch garden that surrounds the relic informs you
that it is better to go round. We escaped, because
Jehu had been there before, but I expect there would
be plenty of incidents to record if one had time to
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 49
wait for them. The Artist and I went to get some
lunch while we filled up with petrol, and found the
baker we patronised very short of clothes, and his
hands so covered with dough that we had to get our
own change out of his till. I think he was satisfied
.--^
A note by the way
for he did nothing but laugh and scratch his head
till his hair was like an enormous muffin. The wine
we bought here was most excellent.
We were now near enough to Spain to hear the
first reports as to the passes over the Pyrenees.
These were never true, but served to either cheer or
50 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
depress us at the time. Here they said that if the
frost continued the snow was too deep to let us
through ; and if it thawed the rivers would make the
roads impassable. This doleful tale made a sad im-
pression on us, but later on we used to be profuse in
our thanks for any information, and pay not the
slightest regard to it. Take it from me, right here,
that no one, from the R.A.C. of G.B. and I. (Touring
Department) to the local goatherd, knows a single
thing about any road in Spain that deals with its
condition more than a mile off at the time when you
ask the question. We knew in February about some,
but who knows how they are now ? Quien sabe ?
(My first Spanish !) Round about every one seemed
very busy working in the vineyards, and all the
carts were so laden that the horse or mule in the
shafts was completely out of sight under the cargo
of hay or straw. This made the passing of them both
a hard and a soft job, and we collected numerous
samples in the tonneau. Fur coats continued to be
worn, and heads completely tied up. This is where the
Prince — not the fruit — comes from, and we inspected
the wonderful old Roman amphitheatre, still used by
the inhabitants to entertain wandering companies of
trick cyclists and the like.
Though the sun was shining the Mistral still was
with us, and as the Artist's costume was so reminis-
cent of a bear, I suffered myself to pose as an early
Christian, and so appear to have been sketched in
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 51
the arena. Then on through picturesque villages,
our first realisation of the South, to Avignon. Olive
trees and cypresses were by the roadside now ; there
was no snow to be seen except on the tops of the
mountains to the west, and so we felt that Spain
could not be far away. Avignon is a delightfully
cheery spot, full of good shops, wide streets, and
having a really comfortable hotel, which took in the
Mil
I posed as an early Christian
Daily Mail. One of the modern statues in the
public garden is, so the Artist says, a masterpiece,
and represents the critical moment in a wrestling
match. As he stood by it a long time, and bought
two post-cards, I suppose it is a group which should
not be passed over. There is a high, white, battle-
mented wall all round Avignon, and the huge palace
of the Popes dominates the town ; for once upon a
time this was a famous city, and the river used to
bring all sorts of kings and emperors and car-
52 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
dinals to its gates. I can imagine no place more
fitted for imposing ceremonial and display, and it
wants but little effort to call to mind the scene so
curiously mindful of Tennyson's verse : —
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad ;
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot.
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
Even nowadays, in spite of all modern improve-
ments — and they have them here with a vengeance —
one cannot get away from the feeling of apology for
living in such a commonplace age and desecrating
the old squares and streets with a motor-car.
I am rather under the impression that I have
let Avignon off a bit too cheap for such a perfectly
marvellous and unique place. I mentioned this after
our return to the Artist, and told him that I intended
making a great deal of this mediaeval home of
romance, and should bring all my finest powers of
description into play. All he said was, " Avignon ?
Avignon ? Oh, I know ; that beastly place where
I broke my pipe!" It is perfectly true that he did so,
and also that he never ceased regretting it for the rest
of the trip ; but I merely mention this to show that
I am not entirely to blame if this work does not
treat the places visited in the spirit it should. It is
hard to be the only really artistic member of a party !
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 53
There are two bridges over the Rhone out of
Avignon, but only one is much used, for the other
ends abruptly in the middle, and is only valuable for
photographic purposes. Our road wound up and up,
till cultivated land gave way to rocky scrub, cypresses,
and olives. The air was clear, and we got a splendid
view for miles all round. Then down and across
another river by a bridge so much under repair that
there was a notice up that it was even an offence to
smoke. The flooring was constructed of loose
boards, which jumped as the heavily loaded car
passed over them, and occasionally fell in the water
below, giving us to think we had smashed something
important. Then we got to Nimes, where is the
most perfect Roman arena that exists. It is in
splendid preservation, and was going to be used that
evening for some performing bulls and a gymnastic
exhibition. All the original stone seats were num-
bered, and, to add to the incongruity of the thing,
the drains were up. Jehu nearly fell into a deep,
dark pit while stepping back to photograph Jarge
and me smoking in the sunshine in the upper boxes.
By these tokens, I expect, though I cannot confirm
the idea, that sea pieces used to be represented here.
I remember, in the days when I studied the classics,
reading of something of the same sort happening
somewhere; and, after all, the London Hippodrome has
them now on a far smaller scale. I believe they have
a bull-fight here occasionally under modified rules.
54 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
We were now in carnival time, and all the town
was gay with flags, even to the trolley poles of the
tramcars. I think we had some special carnival
brand of vin ordinaire for lunch, as I suffered much
pain afterwards. Then through modern, but clean-
looking Montpellier, past highly-cultivated vineyards
and big farms to Cette ; and it was near here that
we got our first view of the Mediterranean, blue as
ever, and under the sky that is its own particular
tint, for one never seems to get anything quite like it
elsewhere.
All along this part of the Gulf of Lyons — as one
can see from the map — lagoons abound, in fact most
of the coast can almost be called double. The out-
side barrier, fiat, small, and sandy, is in many places
utilised by the railway, which has the effect of mak-
ing the stations not only a long way apart, but more
than usually unget-at-able. I am told that in rough
weather these land-locked seas are wonderful places for
wild-fowl, but though we ran by the side of them for
many miles we did not notice any particular quantity.
But they be must be grand places for sailing, for
however rough the sea might be outside the waves
could never be very large within. And the Gulf of
Lyons is one of the stormiest bits of the ocean that
exist — at any rate when I happen to be on it.
The north wind, as it came off the land, was
putting little white curls all over the surface, and it
was good to see once more the quaint-looking little
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 55
boats, with their table d'Adte-looking sails. We left
Cette, nestling all round its ancient fortress, between
us and the sea, and made for the little village of
Agde, pulling up at the Motel du Cheval Blanc in a
twilight like the background of an old Italian picture.
Agde is a bit off the road, and motors are few and
far between, so the landlord was very pleased to see
us, and, when he heard we would stay, rushed off to
pull in the nets that dipped up and down all day
long in the river outside the front door. It must be
an engrossing place for an idle man who takes an
interest in fishing or wants to bet, for all one has to
do is to sit still and smoke, and for ever some one is
pulling up one or other net to see if there is any-
thing in them. I reckon the Agde fishes must be
very foolish if there are any left, and by the look of
those we had for dinner that night they seem to have
cultivated bone at the expense of brain.
We put the motor to bed in what seemed to be a
combined cellar-coach-house-larder. It was a dark,
cavernous sort of Teniers interior, and I was not
surprised when they told me it was under the old
fortified city wall, which seems to form the front or
back of every house in that part of the town. The
landlord said the kitchens were the other side of the
wall from the hotel, and I had to tell him that I sup-
posed they were connected by a soup-turcenean
passage. I was sorry, especially as it wasn't even
original, but it amused Jarge.
56 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
Dinner that night was very great, and served in a
lordly manner, as befits one of the great eating-
places of the world. The aforesaid fish was termed
loup-de-mer, and they certainly looked like young
sharks. And then came in, whole, what was called
a poule cCeau, and while we were still wondering
whether it was a cormorant or a coot, it vanished.
Anyhow, when it appeared again, exquisitely carved,
it tasted more like an old, wet, dogskin glove than
anything else in the world, and so not to offend our
host, we quietly stripped the flesh off the bones and
burned it in the charcoal stove. When he came back
he seemed quite pleased to see how quickly we had
finished the delicacy, and at one time I feared he
would insist on bringing in another. Some delightful
little birds, Mandarin oranges, almonds and raisins,
and home-made nougat finished the eatables, but not
the drinkables, for the landlord kept on bringing in
odd bottles of wine of all sorts from his inner cellars.
We did our best, but only escaped in the end by
telling him and the fat, delightful waiter, who blew
down everybody's neck at once all through the meal,
that we had taken tickets at the Eldorado, which was
untrue, but having said so we had to go. And we
were punished. The man who took our money at
the entrance locked the door, rushed round behind,
and appeared in four different comic songs one after
another. He wore a little straw hat, and was an
American ; long whiskers, and was an Englishman ;
z
<
<
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 57
a blue chin, and was a Parisian ; a fair moustache, and
I couldn't gather what he was at all. The spectators
were a curiously mixed lot. In the stalls, where we
sat, most of them were intensely respectable, wore
gloves, and applauded in the right place. I have my
suspicions that entertainments such as this one are
rather rare in Agde. The pit behind us was quite
empty, but the gallery was crowded with a front row
of dark-red desperadoes. Probably they were honest
sons of toil, but the pirates in " Peter Pan " were a
tame-looking crew in comparison. Somebody at one
end of the seats had been so bored at a previous
performance that he had evidently leaned right over
and drawn a picture of a performer upside down !
It puzzled me a long time, and Our Artist, trying
to make it out, nearly stood on his head before the
truth struck him. Perhaps it was because we were
not allowed to smoke that we grew restive, and when,
between the turns, a procession of waiters, carrying a
table, chairs, and something in a champagne bottle
with glasses, passed down the aisle and handed the
goods on to the stage over the head of the orchestra
(one piano), Jarge grew quite unmannerly. After
an interval, which we spent entirely in arguing
whether we should clear out at once or not, the
orchestra played " selections." We bore it in the
hope of better things to come, until a fat soprano, in
what used to be called a " hug-me-tight " (I believe
the proper name is ^princesse gown), proved the last
58 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
straw, and we fled back to the " Cheval Blanc."
When we got there we found the proprietor, the waiter,
and the cook playing cards together in the happiest
manner, and I at once commissioned a full-sized
picture of them as " Libcrte, Egalite, et Fraternity
but the Artist appears to have lost it out of his sketch-
book. Our surprises were not over when we went to
our bedrooms. There is an old, familiar quotation : —
Laugh, and the world laughs with you ;
Snore, and you sleep alone !
and when Our Artist sought his lonely couch he at
once suspected that some one was playing tricks on
him, for his bed looked more like a tente d'Abri than
an ordinary or even French place of repose. His
first impulse was to jump on the suspected humorist ;
his next was more diplomatic, he went out on the
landing and called the roll. There were no absentees,
so he gathered us together, took his courage and the
bedclothes in both hands, and pulled. If you can
imagine an ostrich cage made of old lacrosse sticks
and snowshoes, with a huge red-hot charcoal-filled
spittoon in a state of suspension inside it, you can
picture the bed-warmer that was the cause of all this
excitement. 1 If he had jumped on it, as was his first
1 I have steadfastly tried not to find fault with the Artist's drawings,
but his idea of this bed-warmer is not strictly correct, and rather has
the effect of spoiling my pen-picture. It was really a much more
complicated arrangement than he has drawn, though I dare say his
notion might serve the purpose equally well. I think he has done this
on purpose. — The Scribe.
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 59
intention, he would have set the town on fire ; and if
he had got into bed without noticing its presence, he
would, without doubt, have perished like the Druidical
sacrifices at Stonehenge, in his native Wiltshire.
After all these many diversions we slept well, but
the many clocks and bells of Sunday morning in
Agde had us up early. Everybody who was not
A neat thing in bed-warmers
going to church seemed to be going shooting with
the most fearful collection of dogs that ever were.
Our early dcjauier was rather misunderstood, but I
think the reason we could only have wine was that the
milk-flock had not come round yet. We did our
best with the various foods, and I think pleased the
happy three, but it was very hard work.
Agde was getting ready for the carnival. Roulette
tents were being erected all over the place, and
every other kind of gambling machine. The dead
60 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
fowls were exquisitely be-ribboned, and live rabbits
by the hundred filled the big cages in the streets.
Our departure was witnessed by sorrowing thou-
sands, and Jehu had to exercise all his skill not to
run the car over the river wall, which was only
about twenty feet off the mouth of the garage cave.
And so we said good-bye to dear little, picturesque,
and original Agde, with its happy, primitive inhabi-
tants, and their even more original foods.
Because we came through this heart of the
wine country, I have taken a great interest in the
demonstrations and revolt which have been happen-
ing all through the early summer. The natives
we came across seemed to us such a pleasant,
happy lot — except when they made strong remarks
about the Mistral, which called for such — that
it seems hard to believe they could ever be in grim,
deadly earnest about their affairs. And having
seen nearly every little town we passed through,
either in a state of carnival or just about a-going to
begin it, I refuse to believe they ever processed or
demonstrated except in an apparently light-hearted
manner. Even the manufacture and handling of the
sham guillotines that have been paraded about in all
the old cities must have been a joy to those concerned,
while the opportunities for the display of mottoes
and illustrated post-cards of their leaders should have
made them perfectly happy. The rage for mottoes
in France is of longer standing than in England,
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 61
though I saw last winter in a shop window in some
depressing midland town some clay pipes with
" Play up Kidderminster!" printed on them. It was
years ago that, at a big fishing competition in the
Seine, several of the competitors arrived with ribbons
round their hats, on which was printed in gold,
" Mort aux gudgeons ! " The proceedings began with
one bugle blast and ended with another, and the
winner took the prize with a catch about the size of
a large sardine. I remember one unsuccessful com-
petitor was much annoyed because his " bag," which
consisted of a much-damaged graven image he had
hooked by the halo, was not given a prize. But, to
return to the wine-growers. I am told that the
fiercest and most brutal of all the mobs in the
Reign of Terror were those who came from this
soft and pleasant land, to the fierce strains of that
wonderful song which takes its name from its greatest
city.
And then to Beziers. Though I should not like
to have missed Agde, the seeker after comfort should
have come here. We arrived about midday on
Sunday ; the band was playing (several, to be exact)
in the Place, smart folk were walking up and down
in their Sunday best, people were sitting outside cafes
— we had only left snowdrifts behind three days ago
— and all seemed gay. But we, like wandering Jews,
had to push on, for clear before us now stretched the
Pyrenees, jagged and white in the blue southern sky,
62 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
and duty, the fulfilment of much boasting, gave us
no choice in the matter. We stopped on the bridge
to photograph the church and the fortress standing
side by side high over the town, with the distant
line of the snowy Cevennes behind them, and the
swollen river below, spanned by another and older
bridge, whereon a flock of goats kept on pretending
to be falling over.
As we were leaving Beziers, on our right the
jagged outline of the Cevennes showed clear in the
western sky. I said to the Artist that among those
mountains lay a most delightful country, and I
should like to go there some day with him, because
Stevenson had written about a tour he made in those
parts once upon a time. Will it be believed that
he asked who Stevenson was? What I hoped he
would ask was what book he had written on that
district, because then I should have replied with a
quiet smile, " Travels with a Donkey." Some people
are absolutely hopeless !
We lunched that day at Narbonne, which has a
fine cathedral (from the outside) and a big garrison ;
otherwise it appeared uninteresting, which is a sure
sign that it is a town doing well. And here — or rather
about a mile beyond — we had the misfortune to
burst a tyre alongside of a gipsy encampment. I
do not ever remember seeing such an absolutely
dirty, sore-eyed gang of ruffians in my life before,
and as the putting on of a new cover in those sur-
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 63
roundings would have been impossible, we turned the
car round, and Jehu and the Artist rolled slowly on
the rim back into the town. Jarge and I saved our
weight and followed on foot, visiting the local
cemetery on the way. Graveyards in this part of
France are extraordinarily tawdry and uninteresting,
and this one was no exception. If sorrowing rela-
tives must spend their money on expensive marbles,
they should go to Italy for copy and get something
worth having for their money. Although not of a
morbid disposition, I made a rule of never missing
campo santo when I was in that land, and I generally
was rewarded. There was one group at Genoa I
have never forgotten. It represented a whiskered
widower in dress clothes knocking at a marble door,
which a skeleton was opening and unmistakably
telling him to go away, while through a blue-glass
window could be discerned a wheelbarrow, some
besoms, spades, and the usual lot of tools necessary
for keeping the place in order. I suppose there was
another door, but the gentleman would have been
very surprised if he had obtained admittance. And
of course there were always heaps of inconsolable
widows. But at Narbonne it was all very dull and
cheap.
When we emerged from our inspection, the motor,
of course, was out of sight, but I called Jarge's atten-
tion to the wheelmarks and followed them up. The
motor appeared to have visited the lowest part of
64 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the town, and we were becoming quite weary when
we ran to earth a totally different car with both its
back tyres flat. So we had to make another cast,
and at length found the Daimler at the principal
garage in the main street. Jehu was superintending
the removal of the cover by a mechanician evidently
aroused from his Sunday afternoon sleep, and the
Artist had gone off to arrange a midday meal for
us all. We left the poor repairer wrestling with a
new tyre, and the others thoroughly enjoyed a very
sumptuous repast. But either loup-de-mer or poule
d'eau at Agde had been too much for me, and my
lunch consisted of two liqueur brandies and a bird
that looked like a lesser shrike. When they had
finished, we returned to the garage and found the
skilled workman had managed to nip two inner
tubes, and the job was no forrader than it had been
an hour ago. Jehu and Jarge fell to and worked like
niggers, but the Artist and I sat on the stone bridge
and watched the carnival go by in the sunlight to
the music of at least half a dozen bands. But sun-
light and carnivals do not mix very well, and the
gaiety was a trifle forced, though our replies to the
constant stream of badinage seemed to be very
mirth-provoking. Not that I did much in the matter.
I was still thinking of the " Cheval Blanc " at Agde, and
hoping I should not come to be buried in that melan-
choly cemetery I had so lately visited. Then the
car appeared again, and we ran past the big cathedral
I HUH
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 65
amid chattering soldiery all streaming toward the
gay carnival.
Perpignan, nestling under the northern spurs of
the Pyrenees, was our goal that evening, and as we
ran along the sea-coast the vines gave way to low
scrub, and the rocks showed up grey through the
thin, scratchy soil. Old border castles frowned from
every eminence — frowned is the only word that ex-
presses how they looked — each one as if every
tragedy that ever was had been hatched and carried
out within its gloomy walls. And then we climbed
up one long slope, and behold, in front of us the
great rampart of snow, stretching for miles each
way, and ever growing bigger as the eye looked
westward, till the confused mass of tumbled white
peaks mixed with the clouds that were gathering
round the setting sun. And those peaks were Spain
— Spain that we had come such a long way to see,
and now were so near.
And then another dozen miles across the flat on a
good road, the last one we were to see until we got to
Biarritz again after many trials and tribulations, and
we reached Perpignan. We stopped at the Grand
Hotel, a big, imposing place, and had a very good
dinner in an excessively cold and large room. We
stowed the Daimler at M, Sine's garage, and found
the proprietor a mine of information. There seemed
to be nothing he did not know about, and we came
away with the impression that he frequently ran to
F
66 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
Barcelona and back in the afternoon in one of his
cars.
As everywhere else, Carnival was supreme in
Perpignan, and we spent a very amusing evening
watching the very young folk, who went in for it
heart and soul. Some of the costumes were very
good, especially a black policeman in a white suit,
and, what was better, every one looked as if they
enjoyed it. I suppose they did, for they kept it up
all night, and next morning, taking an early walk, I
found a funeral procession almost blocked at one
place by the drift of confetti and paper streamers
that had accumulated there ! I should like to have
sketched it, only I do not think it would be quite
understood, and second-hand confetti is a very
difficult thing to draw really well.
We laid in all the petrol and oil we could find at
M. Sine's, for every one told us we were going to a
land where it was 6s. a gallon when you were able to
get it, and, as a rule, impossible to procure. But we
found out that this, like all other information as to
Spain, was a little incorrect. There was one English-
man in Perpignan, and he nearly wept as we
departed and left him alone. He told us a big
English ship had gone ashore about fifteen miles
away, and he was there to get it off, or draw the club
money or something, and we were the first English
people he had spoken to for a week. I hope he still
lives, but it is not a lively spot for a lonely sojourn.
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 67
About twenty kilometres of vine country, with aloe and
prickly pear hedges, strange-looking carts drawn by
strings of mules, and we were climbing up to the
village of Perth 11 s, where in the pass the frontiers of
Spain and France meet. The road twisted and rose
through cork woods and over bridges, till a few
houses and the worst road in France showed us we
were near the borderland. Now one of the greatest
international sports is for the Customs officers to let
a car run by out of their country without getting the
papers signed, so forfeiting the deposit. Hut we knew
all about this, and so we stopped outside the French
douane and got the required signatures. And then
on a little further and the Spanish Custom House
was ready for us.
Now here occurred a little contretemps — the last
endeavour of Fate to keep us out of the promised
land. Before we left England we had taken the
trouble to find out exactly what the cost would be to
enter a big car into Spain, and it was computed that
it would amount to about fifty-nine pounds odd.
But M. Sine at Perpignan assured us that it would
not be more than fifty, and of course we took it for
granted he knew, and made our arrangements ac-
cordingly. We were much surprised then to find
our original estimate was the correct one, and Jarge,
as treasurer, asked me if I had enough money to
make up the difference. I told him I had been care-
ful not to go into Spain with a lot of French money,
68 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
and passed him on to the Artist, who remarked the
same idea had struck him. It was no good trying
Jehu, for he had entrusted all his cash to Jarge, who
had spent it long ago. Therefore, when we added
up our odds and ends we found that, even if we sur-
rendered all we had, we should be about five pounds
short, and it certainly did not seem wise to enter a
foreign country without any visible means of sub-
sistence except Mr. Cook's coupon-books. The only
way of escape seemed to be to go back to Perpignan
and visit the bank once more. We tried to cajole the
douanier to let us through cheap, to allow us to send
him the amount from Barcelona, but, although
charming, he was adamant in three languages. I
wasted a packet of Log-Cabin on him which I had been
nursing in my pocket with a tin of cigarettes and
my revolver, but even that had no effect. Then the
marvellous fertility of Our Artist showed itself. He
asked what the little wires that ran by the road were
for, and if they possibly were telephone ones.
"Oui! Oui! Si! Si! O yas ! " said the bearded
officer, and off flew our little know-it-all, accom-
panied with the polyglot son of the agent, to the
telephone office. Jehu and Jarge and I amused
ourselves by taking photographs of the frontier
pillars and generally catechising the village as to
their unique position. All the babies were brought
out to inspect the English, and of course picture
post-cards of the Queen of Spain were submitted to
TO THE MEDITERRANEAN 69
us. The Spaniard end of the village seemed in-
tensely loyal and pleased with their monarchs, but
regretted that King Alfonso had never seen good to
come that way on his automobile. I told them I
would inform him as to what he had missed when we
got to Madrid, and they cheered up at the idea. It
was raining very slightly while we were waiting, and
as I happened to be prowling about inside the
douane, I was suddenly set on by some of the guardian
soldiers and conducted to a large and gloomy cellar.
I was not much frightened, because their faces were
by no means set and their wives and daughters
shrieking with glee, but I put on my most insouciant
air and wondered what on earth was about to
happen. I soon discovered. Why I mention it was
raining is because I had on my big Burberry motor
coat with thick camel-hair-fleece lining, and very
well-filled pockets. Now, as will be seen by the
accompanying illustrations, I am by no means small
in automobile costume, and my size evidently was
rather a rarity in these parts; consequently I soon
gathered that the reason of my arrest was merely
for them to have the pleasure of weighing me, and
though I have not the least idea how many libra I
balanced, I have reason to think I quite came up to
their expectations. Jehu thought we might all have
to pay duty on our avoirdupois, but I was let go
when they had scored the amount on the wall with a
bit of chalk. I added a picture of myself as I felt I
;o THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
looked, and their joy was complete. Then the rain
stopped, and the international village school came and
had a look at us. They were very pleasant children,
and well educated in at least two modern languages.
I was just receiving a lesson in the names of
Spanish coins, their value, and how to tell bad ones,
when I heard a British cheer, and the Artist came
running down the mountain.
He told us he had telephoned to M. Sine (the cause
of the delay), and that M. Sine had expressed his
woe, and telephoned to the agent — who was the
brother-in-law apparently of the upright douanier
— to lend us the money. So that was all right, and
as the agent was away, the aforesaid douanier lent
the money to the agent's son, who gave it to Jarge,
who gave it — in addition to the original amount —
back again to the douanier, and everybody concerned
was satisfied. After this performance the luggage
examination was merely formal, we all exchanged
cigarettes, got into the car, saluted the Spanish
obelisk, took off the side-brakes, and rolled down
into " Sunny Spain " without even starting the big
engine that had borne us so well and so unfalteringly
across the snow and ice of France, to this soft, warm
land of Manana. Perhaps if it had known what it was
in for, it might not have been quite so complaisant.
CHAPTER III
THE WATER-BOUND CAR
And we had to carry Carrie to the ferry,
And the ferry carried Carrie to the shore ;
And the reason that we had to carry Carrie
Was — that Carrie couldn't carry any more.
American National Son
6
FACILIS descensus Averni." Spain, then, is
in the opposite direction, for it is not long
after leaving Perthiis that one feels the genius who
presides over French roads has no influence beyond
his native land. Now, I am by no means an un-
reasonable person, and as we only met one pleasure-
carriage in the next hundred miles (and that one
following a hearse), I am bound to say I do not
know why good roads should be expected. It is
true that maps of Spain — May their makers be con-
demned to suffer as we did! — make no distinction
between their various qualities. With them a road
is a road, and a wide one a first-class one. And this
seems a fitting place for a disquisition on vehicular
traffic in Spain. Now, nine-tenths of it is drawn by
mules, who are harnessed in single file, never less
than three in a row, generally five. The driver
71
72 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
— excuse the word, which even now makes me
smile — is either asleep in the plaited-grass bottom
of the cart, or else chatting with his friends about
half a mile behind. This rule only admits of the
exception that in certain parts of the country a
mixture of the dolce far niente and siesta habit
provides a cart with a wooden box, like a wireless
rabbit-hutch, slung between the wheels, wherein the
driver takes his rest. When the Daimler came near,
aroused by the repeated honk-honks of the horn or
electrified by my bugle, a blue-chinned, smiling peon
used to emerge from its comfortable inside and take
steps to disentangle the team, which by that time
was either in echelon formation, four-in-hand, or
engaged in the grand chain of the lancers. I will
say, though sometimes a trifle alarmed, these un-
warrantably awoken folk were never annoyed with
us, and were always ready for a chat. So was the
Artist ; but as unfortunately he had learned Anda-
lusian Spanish, their Catalan patois prevented a great
deal of conversation. Still, he was always first to
jump out, and after securing the tangled animals,
ask how many leagues it was to the next town. The
answer generally came in hours, and we soon learned
how happy was this phraseology ; for there is only
one pace in most of Spain, whatever the motive
power.
Now, Our Artist had made a New Year's resolution
when he was learning Spanish to salute every one
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 73
he met in Spain in the approved manner. And he
began very well, saying, as he had been instructed,
con Dios to everybody we met. In fact his method
of sitting back and saluting was absolutely royal in
performance, and I had to caution him that he might
get run in as a Carlist Pretender if he did not
moderate his style a bit. But when one string of
mules had irretrievably tied themselves in a knot at
the sight of the car during the temporary absence
of their guide, the pleasant greeting seemed a little
out of place, and by the look of the recipient might
have been translated as " You do want looking after."
Yet he kept it up for several more miles in an inter-
mittent manner, and only finally gave it up alto-
gether when one small boy heaved a rock at the
car in reply to the salutation. But I do not wish
my readers to think that it is not usual to say it,
quite the contrary ; but what he found out was that
a motor car in motion is not the best of places to
utter it.
While on the subject of stone-throwing, it was a
curious fact that the only two stones that were shied
at the car came at one time, and on this very first
day in Spain. We told the nearest policeman of
the incident, and showed him the marks on the
paint. He expressed his horror, looked to his carbine,
and the last we saw of him was marching off
towards the scene of the outrage. I wish stone-
throwing in England was as rare as it is in Spain.
74 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
To return to the disquisition. There are no laws
in Spain as to width of wheels, so all carts have the
same one-inch tyres. As the fashion is not to drive,
but to sleep, the mules wander where they like in
the road, though how on earth the driver explains their
destination to them when they start, I know not.
Perhaps, like different-coloured omnibuses, they have
their defined routes and refuse all others.
As to the track, I suppose in the beginning one
team first went along the road where it was easiest,
and ever since then the rest have followed its lead.
But in some enlightened parts, further south, they
have a local authority to deal with, in the shape of a
man with red stripes down his legs and a cap with a
brass stencil plate on it, who defines the limit of his
power with planted bannerettes, such as distinguish
the different kinds of sandwiches at a Kensington
Cinderella. He comes along and says, " Hullo ! Bit
too much of a rut here ; one of these fine days a cart'll
get stuck in it. Let me see, suppose I give it a rest."
This he does by putting enormous rocks down in the
mule part of the track. The next mules that come
along feel a bit annoyed, decline to jump the
obstacles, and start a fresh track on the unimpeded
remainder, marking out a new course, which is
religiously followed by the rest of their kind, no
matter in which direction they are going. Presently
this track is similarly obstructed, and then the real
skill in motor-driving can be shown. Do not think
TRACES OF CIV! 1. 1/.'
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 75
because you know the roads in England that roads in
Spain are anything like them. Their only charac-
teristics in common are that they go from place to
place, are on the face of the earth, and have
boundaries on each side. Except near Biarritz, and
occasionally round Madrid, my experience is that
there are no other points in common. There is not a
steam-roller (I challenge contradiction — if there is, it
never coincided with our course — ), loose metal of
all sizes forms the ordinary surface — we came across
seven hundred miles of it, any one of which at home
would be described in the Autocar as "rendering
motor traffic impossible." And yet the car went
over it, and what is more, our original front pair of
non-skidding Dunlops came home as useful as ever,
with their original air inside them, though looking
almost indecent in their absolute freedom from rubber.
I believe that Spanish roads cannot even be trusted
with leather boots, which no doubt is the reason that
almost every one wears grass-soled slippers. But the
tyres did hold out, and deserve putting in a museum
with specimens of the road they traversed.
I trust by this time I have fully explained the
nature of these arteries of traffic, and I repeat that all
maps are quite unreliable as to whether the roads go
over the rivers or whether the rivers go over the
roads. Generally the latter, but it depends on the
time of year. Also no one knows anything about
the road more than a mile away. The questioned
76 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
one will invariably inform you, with his " courtly
Spanish grace," that everything is as you desire.
One great nobleman — to whom for many things we
were greatly indebted — remarked of one road we had
sad cause to remember when we met it : " Ccst an
salon." As a matter of fact it was more like a
skittle-alley with millions of skittles in it. But such
information used to cheer one up at the time.
And now let us return to our travels.
The road down the southern slope of the Pyrenees
was just what I pictured roads in Spain to be, but
unfortunately this particular sample did not last
more than ten miles. We could see and feel we had
come into quite a different country, hedges of aloes
and prickly pear giving it a most tropical look, to
say nothing of the mules. The olive harvest was
on — there seems to be always some kind of a harvest
in progress in Spain — and crowds of children were
busy picking up the fruit. We were wildly cheered,
and created such immense excitement that my
suspicions that motors were not quite so common on
this road as they told us was the case at Perpignan
began to be confirmed. And about here we came
across our first Spanish dogs. Of all the brutes that
exist I think a Spanish dog is about the worst.
Huge, neutral-tinted, and of no definite breed, he
seems the sort of beast that would run after a night-
mare, and devour Hounds of the Baskervilles for pure
fun. They never lay in the roads, but would dash
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 79
out at the car with fearful barks and dripping jowls.
We never ran over any (two French fowls on the first
day was our total bag during all our travels, and
nothing could have saved these from the conse-
quences of their folly), but it was not to their credit.
Every village had at least a hundred, and they would
rush along with, behind, and in front of the car in an
ecstasy of fury. We purchased a heavy whip at
Gerona that very night, and henceforward a new joy
was added to life. I think Jehu felt quite out of
it at the wheel as we three quarrelled for its posses-
sion. We at one time thought of having a whip
each, but decided that for our own safety's sake one
was enough. The natives looked on our dog-
whipping as the height of humour, and yelled with
laughter when our shots went home. I remember
one awful animal at Torquemada (where Thomas the
Inquisitor came from). First of all he barged into
the wheel, then I caught him round the neck, and the
last we saw of him was his owner breaking his best-
slippered toe over his ribs. I expect that dog is
a confirmed anti-motorist.
We were forbidden to go to Gerona by the usual
road owing to the fact that the river was in high
flood, so when we reached the curious old town of
Figueras, where the usual carnival was obstructing
traffic, we turned off due west for about fifteen miles
to Bezalu, crossed the river there, and came south-
east to Gerona. The road to Bezalu lay through the
So THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
best scenery that we saw in all our trip. Big black
woods, deep dark coombes, isolated crags with castles
perched over the little villages huddled together for
protection at their feet, and all the way the great
white mountains clear above and keeping them from
the cold north wind we had left behind in France.
Be^zalu itself stands out in my mind now as the most
perfect type of a really picturesque town. It was
getting too dark to photograph when we came to
it, there was no place to put up at there, and so
regretfully we came along the twenty miles between
there and Gerona. Our lightning Artist — who was
never tired of demonstrating how much quicker
and handier a pencil is than a camera — dashed off
a recollection of the church-crowned place, fortified
and battlemented to the water's edge far down in
the dark gorge that almost encircles it. We went
through a good many villages, but nowhere, save
perhaps in the Basque country, were the streets so
narrow as here. And the houses on each side, not
content with a paltry six-feet clearance on the
ground, must needs lean over towards each other, so
that, as every window owned a balcony, the " Royal
Road" through Bczalu was about as easy to drive
through as a thickly populated tunnel. Our financial
errors at La Perthus, in conjunction with the un-
avoidable dtHour, had delayed us so long that when
we left this lovely spot it was getting dark. Indeed,
the Artist, who, as I have previously remarked, was
THK WATER-BOUND CAR Si
not a hardened motorist, suggested our turning hack
and putting up with the discomfort of the only fonda
we had seen. I pointed out that I had noticed
chickens running in and out of the front door, and
oxen stalled in the entrance hall, but he waved my
objections aside and said that in Spain we must do
as the Spaniards do. But he was only one against
three, so we pushed ahead. At the next village
Jarge seemed rather vacillating as to going on, but
a native, who smattered a little French, told us there
was no hotel here either, and the road to Gerona was
magnificent. So on we went again, until the electric
lights of a town gave us to think that we had
arrived. But the result of more inquiries showed
we were wrong once more and, sick of a long day's
motoring, we set out again. This time we got on to
deep loose metal, and after about two miles of
torture we came through a fine old fortified city
gate into a maze of narrow streets. We caught a
young native and compelled him to come along with
us, and under his guidance we found a resting-place
for the car and ourselves. Now Gerona is a fine and
most interesting town, and because it was the first
Spanish town we had stopped at, our photographers
were very busy. The appearance of the cathedral
here gives one the idea that they stopped building
it in a hurry, but the external defacements that
convey this impression are probably due to the fact
that, in 1809, Alvarez with a small Spanish garrison,
82 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
and some English volunteers, held out for seven
months against thirty-five thousand Frenchmen, and
a huge number of guns, and only gave in when he
had no more ammunition or food. A very clever
group in the market-place commemorates this siege,
and our only regret is that there seems to have been
no room for the English volunteers in it.
We stopped at the Hotel Italianos, and most com-
fortable it was. In spite of our desire to show off
our Spanish it was a relief to have a French-speak-
ing landlord, and a positive joy to meet with an
English-speaking Spaniard after dinner. Perhaps it
was this polyglot assemblage that prevented our
surprise being too marked at the fact that the cook-
ing was excellent, the wine likewise, and our beds
and bedrooms above praise. Indeed, we were told
that Mr. Joseph Chamberlain once stayed there him-
self. My apartment was more like Richard Ill's
tent on Bosworth Field than anything else. My bed
was in a lace pavilion in one corner, and Jarge's was
like the cradle of a giant's heir in the other. The
flooring was of fancy tiling, and the ceiling heavily
decorated. Of course there was electric light. No
village or town in Spain is too small or poor to have
it. I verily believe the wires stick out of the earth
complete, for though we never saw any visible place
for its manufacture, it was always there, even in the
wash-houses, stables, and hanging up in the trees
outside. But I have rather anticipated events in my
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 83
description of this illuminated bedroom, for after
dinner the English-speaking Spaniard volunteered to
take us to a carnival ball. First of all we took our
Our gorgeous beds
coffee at the fashionable cafe. Three things struck
me : first, that each lump of sugar was wrapped up in
paper to score off the flies ; secondly, that dog-fights
are encouraged and immensely popular in cafes; and
thirdly, that if you order coffee you have a decanter
84 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
of liqueur brandy thrown in. But when I tasted this
gratis brandy I ceased to wonder quite so much at
this last trait. The carnival ball was at the theatre,
and we : as distinguished guests, were given a box.
None but the Brave
Like every one else, we purchased confetti and long
coils of coloured paper like cricket tape-measures,
which you hang on to one end and throw where you
list. Very soon the whole place is a web of stream-
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 85
ers of all shades, obstructing the fiddlers, tripping up
the dancers, and tickling the necks of the people
below. With the exception of this confetti-throwing,
everything was most decorous. Every one was nicely
dressed, and behaved with the reputed manners of
princes. There was no scene of wild gaiety or Bac-
chanalian revel. In fact, we could have done with
more life, for if it had not been for one gallant officer
in full (and beautiful) uniform, who came in with
about five pounds' worth of paper ammunition, and
indiscriminately hove it at all and general, to the
great delight of the scfwritas and the annoyance of
their ununiformed caballeros, we should have been
obliged to put down the proceedings as dull. And
so to our gorgeous beds.
My only complaint as to some of the hotels in
France and Spain is one that has a sufficient answer.
And it is that, for visitors who come to them in the
cold winter time, the tiled bedroom floors are rather
chilly. We had cut down our luggage as much as
possible, and so slippers as luxuries had been con-
demned. As a rule, the bedrooms were big, and a
little strip of matting by each bedside was all the
floor-covering supplied. This, I am told, lends itself
to cleaning — which is more than most hotel bed-
rooms at home do — and also is very hygienic. Like-
wise in the summer it helps to keep the rooms cool.
But in February this advantage does not count
for much, and progress to and from the basin and
86 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
bath took the form of huge leaps, or else feet that
refused to be comforted at the early morning stove-
side. But, after all, this is a very minor detail, and it
would be a good English hotel that possessed no
more serious fault than this one.
On the morrow came the photographing, and a
dearth of language to fit the occasion when the
inhabitants would pose in hundreds in front of any
bit that we wanted to take. In the end we had to
circumvent them by a feint. While I made huge
preparations for a picture in one direction, thereby
drawing off the populace, the required view was
quietly taken by the professors. We also inspected
the cathedral, which I am informed (but I will not
maintain if contradicted) has the biggest span of any
nave in Christendom. The effect is very fine, and
one perhaps may realise the splendour of size and
silence better here than in any other I have ever
visited. Famous piles such as St. Peter's at Rome,
Lincoln Cathedral, or even the gem of the world at
Burgos, do not in the least convey the same impres-
sion, for the first is always full of sightseers, the
second usually of carpenters, and the third almost
too much of a treasure-house of art. Properly to
visit a cathedral and enter into its meaning, one
should go alone from out of the noonday glare into
the cold quiet darkness between the great pillars,
where nothing breaks the stillness but the gliding of
dark forms across the empty spaces and the mono-
THE WATKR-BOUND CAR 87
tonous chanting of male voices out of sight in the
dim oaken seats of the coro. There is a verse of
Kipling's " Buddha at Kamakura" that always comes
to me at times like these : —
And down the loaded air there comes
The thunder of Thibetan drums,
And droned — Om mane fiadme oms
A world's width from Kamakura.
******
We did not hurry from Gerona, for maps and other
authorities told us our destination was not more than
sixty miles away. When we started we careered
gaily out of the town and along quite a fair road for
about thirty miles, until we entered the province of
Barcelona. We had been foolish enough to believe
that because Barcelona town was described as the
Manchester of Spain, its neighbourhood would be in
a highly civilised condition. Nothing could be
further from the truth. The boundary between the
provinces is high up amid cork woods and picturesque
scenery — I think a little stream, hardly worth slowing
down for, marks the division — but as soon as we
were across we began to realise how bad roads could
be. We encountered several of these splashes on the
road, and one seemed quite imposing enough to pose
the car in as a specimen of a Spanish obstacle. The
humour of this carefully thought-out picture was not
apparent till later. After emerging from the brook
we were assured by a pleasant-spoken native that
we were now right all the way for Barcelona, and we
88 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
pushed on. By the maps the road ran across the
river Tordera just beyond the first railway we en-
countered in Spain, but judge our surprise when
a mighty flood about sixty yards wide and full of
snow-broth barred our way. We stopped and held
A brigand-looking gentleman
a council of war. We inquired as to alternative routes,
the railway track, or as to fords higher up, but there
seemed to be no other wayexcept going back toGerona
and putting the car in the train. Several brigand-
looking gentlemen came up and offered to pull us
through with horses. " Oh, yes, this was frequently
.-•>
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 89
done, and four horses would be enough. It would be
40 pesetas " (about 30s.). Carts came through while
we were waiting, and by the height their wheels were
submerged we judged that the depth was not more
than three feet and a half at the most. So we con-
sented, let the engine cool down, removed the coil
and all spares from below the level of the floor-
boards, and waited amid an ever-growing crowd for
the horses. When they came three of them turned
out to be mules. Their picturesque owners removed
most of their garments, and hitched the animals to
the poor car. It took about half an hour to arrange
the various ropes, and meanwhile the local alcalde
(which is Spanish, according to the size of the village,
for the mayor or chairman of the Parish Council)
arrived with a friend, a gun, and about twenty weird-
looking dogs, who all promptly curled up where they
were and slept in yellow heaps. At last the team was
in order, and a start was imminent ; but fate, in the
shape of an ordinary green peewit, intervened. The
unfortunate bird flapped over the crowd, and the
alcalde, who had been flinging his gun about in the
most casual manner all the while, saw it, fired ; and,
wonderful to relate, killed it. Up jumped all the
dogs barking, and away in different directions went
the carefully-arranged mules. In another half-hour
the flag fell to quite a good start. The crowd, yelling
and swearing, accompanied the animals and Jehu,
who sat impassively at the wheel, across the river by
go THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the footbridge till about ten yards from the shore,
where we would be. Then the car stuck in deep
sand, and slowly began to settle. Hours passed,
more mules and ropes and whips were pressed into
the service, but of no avail, till we feared the gallant
Daimler would be for ever buried in the muddy
Tordera waters. The crowd grew bigger and bigger,
but not one of them would lend a helping hand.
I thought they expected wreckage on the next day,
but similar adventures afterwards showed us that
this is their usual habit, and the true reason that has
made a Spaniard (in Spain) the type of pure un-
adulterated laziness. Then we got logs of wood,
scotched the wheels behind as the mules pulled for-
ward, and prised up the axles. And so little by
little she emerged, and at last, with floor-boards
dripping, full of sand and grit, stood on the southern
bank. My previous experience of other brands of
cars in floods led me to think that it would be days
before she would start, but to our surprise no sooner
was the coil back and the float-chamber full of petrol
again, than off she went. Anything to get away
from the crowd, so littered up with baggage and
spares in the tonneau, Jehu ploughed on across half
a mile of shingle, leaving Jarge and me toiling in
the rear. He dared not stop for fear of sticking
again, and the climax came with another river not
wide or deep, but visibly shifting in sand. Jarge
splashed through somehow, but I went back to the
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 91
footbridge, which was about twenty feet high, and
crowded with Spaniards returning to the interrupted
carnival from the late water-frolic. Now the only
available end of the footbridge was about a quarter
of a mile back. So I made up my mind to climb
its pillars. About a quarter of a century ago I
should have thought nothing of it, but I had got
out of the practice of doing such things. How-
ever, in spite of nails, punctures, tears, and rust, I
stuck to it, and amid the hoarse cheers of the crowd,
which was laying heavily against me, succeeded. I
feel sure that Tordera's opinion of England was in-
creased by my feat, and so, though very sore and
bruised, I was well pleased with my performance.
We lunched about two miles away, after the most
energetic inhabitant had at last left us alone, on a
sausage, some cheese, and a bottle of local wine. We
did not know then that Jehu had potted meat for
dire necessities, as an emergency ration, in his spare
bag. That necessity arose about three days from the
end of our trip, and then only for fear of not using
it at all. Jehu always had a bit up his sleeve.
When we started again we put her head almost
due south for the top end of the big plain that divides
the sea from the mountains all down the east coast of
Spain. For the benefit of those who have forgotten
their geography, I mention that Spain may be com-
pared to a big soup-plate turned upside down. The
inverted rim is the highly cultivated sea-coast flatland,
92 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
and the upside-down business part of the plate is the
enormous plateau whereof Spain mainly consists.
The climate and seasons of the two parts are very-
distinct. This dissertation over, we will now resume
our travels. The road ran over countless caniveaux,
up and down hill through a picturesque region, which
the surface gave us plenty of time to admire. I
should think we crossed a young stream, or the bed
of one, every hundred yards, until once more we
viewed the Mediterranean. And even there they
exist, as I find they always do, where the mountains
are close to the coast. We now had the railway as a
companion, but where it ran through comfortable
level tunnels we climbed zig-zaggy tracks, and slid
down horrible gradients. We had given up hopes of
Barcelona that night, and as it was getting dark were
on the look out for the nearest respectable-looking
fonda. We reached one pretty little village and felt
sure that here we could rest, but were informed there
was no inn of any kind that could put us up. So in
the gathering gloom we made on for a place on the
map called Arenys. But fate had another surprise
for us. Right at the end of the village a river crosses
the road, and going under the railway disappears in
the sea. As a rule I expect it is merely a dry rambla,
but the Pyrenean melted snow was keeping it fairly
busy on that night. And in the darkness we got off
the track of the ordinary ford and again found our-
selves stuck in the yielding sand. Our driving-wheels
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 93
scooped deep trenches, hut all of no avail, and once
more a rope was heaved at us and the brawny arms
of fishermen pulled the car back to St. Pol de Mar.
We were just meditating whether we should have
another smack at the water or sleep in the motor,
when the Good Samaritan appeared in the shape of
a courtly Spaniard, who spoke perfect English with
an American accent. He would take no denial, nor,
as we soon found out, anything else. We were his
guests, had not Heaven sent us to him? I put it on
record that Heaven sent him to us. And so the car
was lodged in the Town Hall— we broke the municipal
notice-board using it as a ramp to run the car up the
step that raised the Council-chamber above the road
— our luggage was taken care of, and we were marched
up narrow streets to the home of Senor Melchior Valls-
Roura. Now this gentleman had been the senior
messenger to the Spanish Embassy in Washington,
and on him had the duty fallen when war was declared
to look after the Embassy. Quietly but sadly, after
dinner that night he told us his tale in the big room
that looked over the restless sea. Picture the position
of a man, one who loved his country, left alone in
the empty building which he had looked on as part
and parcel of Spain amid millions of his opponents.
He had said his farewell to the others, and seen them
drive away to the station en route for Canada and
home. And then the negro cab-drivers had come
back and demanded payment for the cabs from him.
94 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
No doubt they had been paid properly by the de-
parting staff, but here was their chance to make a bit
more, so, accompanied by a howling mob, they tried
it on. His words were : " I came out to them, gave
them a dollar each without a question, and as I turned
to go in again, a big stone hit me on the head, and I
don't remember any more till I found myself lying in
the hall in the dark." Luckily kind friends from
the other Embassies looked after him, and he
was soon none the worse for the blow. And now
he is taking a well-earned rest in his beloved native
village.
The dinner he gave us was of the best, everything,
he was proud to say, from the village itself — mutton,
sausages, fish, grapes, nuts, oranges, dates, cheese,
and wine. Happy village ! His two nephews, sail-
makers, dined with us, and we sat yarning till ten
o'clock, when Senor Valls-Roura announced his in-
tention of taking us to the two Shrove-Tuesday
carnival balls that were in progress. So we went,
danced, and enjoyed ourselves hugely in the jolliest
company I have ever come across. All sorts were
there, some in their everyday garments, some in
their best, and some in masks. But everybody was
equal, and everybody was happy. There was free
wine for those who wanted it, nothing to pay for "
admission, and all ages were present, but not a soul
was anything but courteous and well-mannered. " In
St. Pol," said our friend, " we know how to enjoy
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 95
ourselves; there was a man once here who used to
get drunk, but he was lonely, and has gone to live in
Barcelona — or very likely he is dead."
The Artist was very busy and, when he was not
The Revellers
being hustled off to dance, had his sketch-book out
and an admiring crowd all round him. All the mas-
queraders must be sketched. " Certainly." And the
dark, grinning Catalans, in the big red caps? "Of
course." And the little muchachas ? " Why, yes ! "
And their mothers too? " Let 'em all come." I think
96 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
he would never have got away as long as his book
lasted, if suddenly the big bell of the parish church
had not sounded out, clear and deep, its message that
Carnival was over and Lent had come. Once a year,
and on this night only, does that bell ring, and the
guitars and castanets stopped in the middle of the
tune, every cap was pulled off, and slowly and sadly
the merry-makers went home. And then to our
comfortable beds, though I fear our host and his
sisters put themselves sadly out for our entertain-
ment. Next morning, from my bedroom window,
I saw the sun rise out of the sea, which was dash-
ing against the rocks below the village, and I am
sure it shines on no neater, sweeter village in its
long round than St. Pol de Mar. After breakfast,
bunches of violets and roses, and a very difficult
grouping of our hosts before the camera, we boarded
the car again, waved farewells to most of the village
who had come to see us depart, and successfully
charged the river that had enabled us to say, as Jehu
put it, " We have learned a lesson here as to what
true hospitality is." For our friend had refused even
to allow us to refund the money he had spent at the
village store on our entertainment. But I am happy
to say we found a way to get level with him, though,
like the widow's mite, kindness such as his could
never be adequately rewarded.
As to the journey through Arenys, Mataro, Bada-
lona, to Barcelona, I prefer to be more or less silent.
.
J-/
;
>. -^>
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 97
We met thousands of mule-carts rocking about on
that awful road, which was even so bad that they
did not even pretend to shy at the car. Nobody can
possibly imagine how bad it was, though it might
have even been one degree more horrible if a smart
shower had not laid the dust as we entered upon it.
Badalona seems entirely given up to manufacture,
and, if it had not been for the picturesque hills on
our right, we could easily have imagined we were in
the Black Country near Walsall. Even the trams
had funked the road, and built a little track for
themselves on either side of it. After a very few
yards of crawling and bumping, the Artist and I got
out and walked with the object of saving the springs
and our bones. And to complete our discomfiture
the car, while occupying the up tram-line, suddenly
stopped. In haste we tried to find out the cause,
and after looking at everything else, found the tank
empty of petrol. By this time there were two tram-
cars behind us, and all our united efforts failed to
clear the road for them. But judge of our surprise
when the drivers smilingly put in their reverse, and
backing some half-mile to the cross track came past
us again on the other line. Courtesy such as this
came like a ray of joy to poor suffering us, and our
opinions of Spanish tram-drivers went up accord-
ingly. Fancy expecting such an act from a tram-
driver at home — he would probably lose his job if he
did such a thing. We had most of a bidon of petrol
H
9 8 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
left, and when we discovered what was wrong, we
were not long in putting it in the tank. But even
then the engine was sulky, and took about five
minutes to start. As the road had not improved in
the least, we two still walked while the others jolted
and bumped their weary way along. After about
another mile there was a slight improvement, and we
all got in again. But it was not till we turned at
rieht angles into Barcelona that it became at all
ordinary, and then delightful wood pavement and
wide streets were our lot all the way to the big
garage, where we left the car to get a much-
needed wash. Words have failed me to describe
those awful roads, and if I had I should not be
believed, so I have left it to the Artist to represent it.
What the car thought of them I know not, but, marvel-
lous to relate, nothing was broken. In conclusion I
can only warn Spain that unless I hear that this
road, and some others we traversed, have been
rendered a little more like ordinary carriage-ways,
I for one refuse ever again to enter Barcelona ex-
cept by rail. And Barcelona thinks it is a civilised
city !
The combined effects of two rivers, two carnival
balls and that road were too much for Jarge, and he
went to bed with a dose of fever as soon as we got
to the hotel. This gave the Artist a long-hoped-
for opportunity of opening his medicine chest, but
Jarge had got in front of him with his own store of
WORDS HAVE FAILED I
THE WATER-BOUND CAR 99
quinine, and this no doubt was the reason he was
himself again next day. But we all dreamt of that
awful road, and its only fit use would be to sentence
all scorchers to be allowed to use no other. And it
is called the Camino Real, or Royal Road ! God
save the King!
V
t f, ■••*■< r,"/,fr u |
CHAPTER IV
AT BARCELONA
BARCELONA is such a
pleasant town that I do
not want people to imagine that
the only road to it is the one
we came in by. There are
plenty of others, but when the
snow lies deep the pass via
Perthus is the only one avail-
able. Bourg-Madam is a much
finer and more picturesque en-
trance, but we were told at
Perpignan that there even the
telegraph poles were under
the snow. I don't know how
much of it was true, but that is
the reason we came as we did.
And Mr. Benjamin H. Ridgeley, the United States
IOO
AT BARCELONA 101
Consul-General — who was not only to us another
Good Samaritan, but also an angel in disguise and a
great motorist — knows of another. He simply puts
the car on the train to France. What the road is
like from Barcelona to Madrid I can only say in
the words of Miss Connie Ediss : "I'm sure I don't
know, but I guess.'' They make a car in Barce-
lona called the " Hispano-Suisse," also " Klein " tyres
are manufactured here ; so it is an up-to-date place,
though I do not think many cars trouble to go far
outside the city boundaries.
Barcelona is, as I said, a charming town. It re-
minded me of a mixture of Marseilles and Palermo,
though the inhabitants claim it to be far finer than
the former town. It is continually being insulted by
being termed the " Manchester of Spain." I know
what is intended, but the people who think they are
flattering it don't know Manchester as I do. Barce-
lona has the finest street in the world. Manchester
has not. I do not know all the world — few people
do — but unless the street is a South African one,
built so as to be able to turn a span of oxen in,
or a racing car without a differential, the Rambla is
wider. Picture a road two miles long, containing
three streets, each as broad as Pall Mall, and two
avenues of plane-trees, along each of which twenty
men can walk abreast, and do. Line each avenue
with flower stalls, bird stalls, and all sorts of other
kinds of stalls, and throw in a moving throng of well-
102 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
dressed, lounging people. Fine shops, huge cafes,
horse and motor omnibuses, automobiles, cabs, riders,
and innumerable funeral processions ; and almost
always a blue sky. Big fiats, hotels, theatres, music-
halls, and costly-looking private houses are on either
side, and now and then it opens into a big square full
of palm-trees.
Two of the most picturesque things in Barcelona
were to be found together in the Rambla. All along
the middle avenues of the enormous street — under
the plane-trees — was the flower market, and the word
flower seemed to include everything else that any one
had to sell. There were birds of all sorts and sizes,
though the recognised bird market is elsewhere and
reserved for the edible sort, and next door to the
birdsellers' stall was a place where you could buy
a cage to put your purchase in. Of course, there
were innumerable kiosks for the sale of cheap litera-
ture and French comic papers, and sandwiched be-
tween these were fruit and vegetable depots, lemonade
sellers, haberdashery stores, basket-work barrows,
and, with always a crowd surrounding, places where
the same sort of idiotic penny puzzles, toys, and
collar studs that live on the kerb at Ludgate Hill,
were doing a roaring trade. The Artist got quite
homesick when he saw them. Up and down, between
and on each side of these dealers, paraded the crowd,
chattering and laughing, while over their heads in
the plane-trees were busy municipal officials trim-
AT BARCELONA 103
ming off the top boughs. Every now and then one of
them would sag half-cut through, and come crashing
clown; but nobody seemed to mind in the least, until
once a sturdy piece of timber fell just in front of a
tram-car, and getting mixed up with the machinery,
effectually blocked the road. Then the driver and
conductor got very annoyed, and even went so far as
to try and shake the ladder up which the pruner was
balancing himself. But a gendarme interfered, and
persuaded them to try and clear the raffle and resume
their journey. This mention of trams and trees
brings me to the second picturesque feature of the
Rambla. In the British Islands, where there are
electric cars, the poles that keep the wires up are
designed with a view to utility, and, as a rule, they
are the reverse of elegant. But here the City Fathers
are of a different opinion, and the metal standards
are joys for ever. Jehu and Jarge both photographed
at them — though the results do not seem to have
been satisfactory — and the Artist nearly got under
a motor bus trying to sketch their elegance. With-
out exaggeration I put it on record that they abso-
lutely improved the street, which is more than can
be said of any others I know of elsewhere. And
nowhere were these things found in the middle of
the road ; for which, as a motorist, I am deeply
grateful.
Some of the houses in this great Rambla are
weird in the extreme. A pale-blue-fading-into-
104 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
smoked -violet -tiled house, with wiggly profiles to
every side and projection, built after the kidney-and-
squirm style of architecture that was responsible a
few years ago for Saxon clocks and coal-scuttles,
took the Artist's fancy, and he was a marked man
by the police as he almost lay down in the middle of
the road to sketch it. This house had several
imitators in other colours but, quaint as these were,
they did not approach the bizarre rocococity of the
original. And this had the audacity to be a private
dwelling !
Barcelona seems a great place for funerals, or else
it is correct for all corpses to be taken down the
Rambla for their last ride. The drivers of the hearses
all seemed — like every one else — to wear yachting
caps, and in company with the men in charge of the
mourning coaches and ordinary cabs, which made up
the procession, smoked cigarettes all the time.
I believe there are as many, or more, old buildings
and other antiquities to be seen in Barcelona as any-
where else in Spain, but the extraordinary modern
appearance of the town effectually hides them away.
I was always under the impression that it was origi-
nally a Phoenician settlement — which is a fairly safe
remark to hazard in these parts — and I was always
told that it was called after Hamilcar Barca. But it
seems I am incorrect in both surmises, and so shall
not give any historical details about the town, and
AT BARCELONA 105
confine myself to remarking that there is one cafe
where fifteen hundred people can sit down at once.
A huge statue of Christopher Columbus standing
on a pillar, which is dwarfed only by the effigy, is
at the end where the blue of the sea comes up to
the Rambla, and the other gives a glimpse of the
high mountains that keep the cold winds away from
the pleasure-loving city. And rising away from
the harbour is the Montjuich, a hill sloping up from
the harbour to the big fortress on the top, that keeps
a careful eye on a town that wants a good deal
of watching. I am told the English captured this
in 1705, and though it must have taken some doing,
I doubt if the attackers were in much more danger
than Jarge and I ran into when we visited it. It
was thiswise. We thought to survey Barcelona from
a height, and so hearing of a cafe at Mirama, which
place is near the top, we began our stroll. No
sooner had we surmounted an enormous flight of
steps than nothing less than a battle broke out just
above us. It sounded like independent volley-firing,
always beginning with two shots in quick succession,
and followed by the whole hill ringing with firing
for a couple of minutes. Being an officer in the
reserve forces as at present constituted, I was press-
ing forward to the firing line, when the descent of
a much-damaged pigeon close at hand gave away
the mystery. It appears that there is a pigeon-
shooting club up here (the high-class Spaniards
106 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
worship blood-sports), and most evenings there are
meetings. Now the ordinary Spaniard is just as
keen as his richer compatriots on killing things, and
if he can eat them afterwards so much the better.
So no sooner does the gilded sportsman loose off
and miss, than from every wall, road, roof, garden,
and allotment is heard the frequent gun, and the
pigeon that gets away unhurt may be considered
lucky. Of course, each gunner has a dog with him
— no particular sort — and every time a gun goes
off all the dogs bark and all the owners shout. So
one can easily imagine the noise. The gunners did
not seem particular in which direction they shot as
long as the bird was in sight, or how they flourished
their weapons (odd things, some of these) when there
were no birds about. I think the safest way to enjoy
the sport would be to get into a shot-proof barrel
and only fire upwards.
Talking of shooting, why is it only in England
that shot-guns have no straps, and are not worn
round the neck ? Personally I think a strap would
be a fearful nuisance at a hot corner or anywhere
else, and I think we may put it down that the reason
is that opportunities for shots abroad (except here)
are fewer and farther between than in England. I
remember, amid the much - irrigated vine country
between Narbonne and Perpignan, we met a lovely
sportsman. He grinned all over his face, his gun
was slung over his shoulder, and in his right hand
AT BARCELONA 107
he displayed, nicely tied up in string, a dead fox.
Also at Gerona there was a little boy at the bed
masque got up as President Roosevelt on the " out-
trail" ; his costume was perfect, and in his game-bag
were a dozen freshly slaughtered blue-tils. He was
very proud,
Darkness alone put an end to the pigeon-shoot,
and we left our cave of safety and passed to the
Miramar cafe, where we took our vermouth. The
vermouth habit grows on one in Spain ; as a matter
of fact it is about the only safe liquor at a moderate
price, and with soda-water — one should never drink
water in Spain — it is very good. We sat down by
the edge of a cliff above a road singing with tram-
cars, that in its turn hung over the sea. It was an
absolutely quiet evening. Below us tramp steamers
of all nations were sliding gently in and out of the
harbour, far out big Marseilles liners were blurring
the horizon with " trailed smoke along the sky," and
from the city beneath came up clear all the odd
notes that can never find their proper places in the
one deep chord of a city's hum. And behind us the
sun was setting over the snowy sierras that surround
quaint-looking Montserrat. And this is one reason
why I say that Barcelona is incorrectly described as
the Manchester of Spain. I suppose the Montjuich
in Manchester is Irlam-o'-th'-heights ?
And the other reason is " Bombs." When we
arrived in Barcelona a fortnight had elapsed since
10S THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the last explosion, and that is perhaps why the
octroi people had a good look at us, for a fortnight
without an outrage is well outside the average.
Folk were getting anxious, and we were par-
ticularly warned not to kick any old hats or oranges
that might be lying on the pavements or elsewhere,
as this was the usual mode of arranging these ex-
plosions. There were police everywhere, even mounted
ones with drawn swords, always in readiness. This
must be very annoying, worse than suffragettes, and
also it must be very difficult to arrest on suspicion,
for every one, except in the height of summer, wears
a cloak which he flings around his face in the most
approved transpontine style. Most folks, too, wear
soft, wide-brimmed hats, and slouch along the darkly-
lighted side streets, so it may truly be said in
Barcelona that a policeman's life is not a happy one.
Talking of police, a few words on Spanish ones.
The Guardia Civile is a splendid -looking fellow,
exquisitely clothed and mounted. His is a hereditary
and almost aristocratic calling, and his dignity and
bearing defy all imitation. All the time we were
in Spain on one occasion only did I see one become
at all human. He was watching our preparations
for departure after lunch somewhere, and Jehu was
running the engine softly — I forget what for — but
a sticking Trembler allowed about half a dozen
cylinderfuls of mixture to pass unchallenged and
then exploded them in the silencer. It is a thing
THE GUAR11IA CIVILE " HIS DIGXm AM. BEARING I > i: ! V All IMITATION*'
AT BARCELONA 109
one gets used to in adjusting a coil and such like,
but this Guardia Civile did not understand motors.
Anyhow, when he saw we took no notice of the
fearful bang, he smiled, but kept further back. In
parenthesis, I would remark that this trick is quite
easy of accomplishment, and will be often found
very useful.
The second kind of police — the municipal or local
type — is not nearly so high class, and always re-
minded me of supers in any costume-opera. Their
hats may be awe-inspiring, but they usually wear
straw slippers. All police carry rifles, and the Artist
and I once found the guardian of a small fish-market
walking up and down the central aisle armed to the
teeth with a large revolver.
The third kind of policeman is the Sereno, or
night-watchman, and he is absolutely unique. It is
his task to call out the hours of the night. I have
no objection to this, but when it comes to his taking
ten minutes each time in different parts of the same
street in wailing ont the quarter — " Ser-e-no-cn-ar-to-
y-me-di-a " — it gets a bit wearisome. I do not say he
does this in Barcelona — he would get bombs thrown
at him if he did — but in the old Spanish provincial
towns he is in his full glory. But he has a far more
useful job than this vocal one. Each Scretio carries
a lantern and a wide belt in which are stuck all the
keys of the houses on his beat. So no one carries a
latch-key, all you have to do is to go up to the
no THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
Sercno and ask him to let you into your own house,
and the thing's done. Simple, and yet, I am told, an
absolute preventative of burglary. The Sereno knows
who is in and what houses are empty. I commend
the idea to England. If nothing else, it would save
a lot of hard swearing.
We stayed at the Grand Hotel, which was very
pleasant, and once more we saw the English papers ;
and in the evening Mr. Ridgeley took us to see
Spanish dancing. If I say we were disappointed on
the whole, I shall be told that we ought to have gone
to Andalusia for the real thing — " where all the men
are brave, and all the women beautiful" — but my reply
is that the wealth of Barcelona is supposed to attract
all the talent of Spain, and we were informed that
nowhere else should we find so good. We certainly
did not at Madrid. Though the Spanish dancing
was a little disappointing, it was infinitely better in
quality and taste than the turns which formed nine-
tenths of the programme. These were, without
exception, the poorest stuff I have ever struck, and
most of them would be booed off an English pro-
vincial music-hall stage. Frenchwomen, excessively
undepressed, all enormous, and either very fat or
very scraggy, came on, sang the same kind of song
in French, and went off again without arousing,
except in two cases, any applause ; and one of these
cases only because the performer was very fat and
very vulgar, and the other because she was very
' l III GENUIM
AT BARCELONA in
pretty and still more vulgar. The run of singers
became quite monotonous, all of one kind ; and not
a single man, except a male dancer or two to help
out his female companions, ever came on the stage.
I believe these performances begin about nine and
end about two in the morning, but I never yet have
met any one who has been brave enough to be either
at the start or finish of one of them. To see Spanish
dancing at its best one need not leave London, for
the finest and most exquisite exponents, if they are
not quite without honour in their own country, at
any rate do not get half enough salary there to allow
themselves to perform.
But at a cheaper music-hall we came across the
real thing, though it was sandwiched among an, if
possible, inferior copy of the turns at the more ex-
pensive halls. We found it under the name of a
" concorso." A "concorso" consists of a troupe of
dancers representing different styles of the different
parts of Spain, and I cannot understand why some
enterprising music-hall proprietor has not brought
one of these bands to London. The curtain went
up and disclosed about a dozen young women and
one man. They were all dressed differently, stood
in a line, and made a heartbreaking noise with their
castanets. Then one of the end ones came forward
and began to dance in her particular style. When
she had finished the next girl stepped in and gave
her idea of how to do it. And so till nearly all
ii2 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the performers had shown the audience every variety
of movement, grave or gay, whirling or twirling, fast
or slow, seductive or otherwise, that could be im-
A little blue-chinned monkey
agined. Then it was the male dancer's turn and a
demure, crimson- clothed danseuse came out to help
him. The band put in the top speed and let go for
AT BARCELONA 113
all they were worth. The man, a little blue-chinned
monkey, who had been indolently clicking his
castanets during the first part of the show, and
grinning at his pals in front of the house, suddenly
seemed like one possessed. Me sprang up into the
air, twiddled round about fourteen revolutions a
second, bounced and dapped all over the place like
an india-rubber idiot on the spree. Then the
demure-looking damsel in red caught the infection
and apparently went mad also. Round and round, in
and out, under and over, they twisted and turned,
till through the haze of bad tobacco smoke, it was
impossible to make out any details of the revolving,
jumping mass of colour zigzagging all over the little
stage. Suddenly, with a big Bang — the music
stopped, and the two stood as petrified in the middle
of the stage. Then began frantic cheering and a
rain of cigars, which continued until a demand that
would take no refusal necessitated an encore. And
after that, time after time, the little blue man came
forward bowing and dripping, while the equally over-
heated lady stood still, feeling vainly for any hair-
pins that might possibly have withstood the late
hurricane. After this the rest of the show, which
was unfortunately not Spanish, seemed very dull,
and we left.
* And, of course, we had to see a bull-fight. I know
it is usual to apologise for this, and to put down the
necessity to some rotten and unavoidable reason
1
n 4 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
My excuse, then, is the old one about doing as the
Romans do. We went with impartial minds, for
there is no doubt that a spectacle that all through
the centuries has survived the attacks of many
Governments and the thunders of the Church, must
have something in it to attract. First of all, notice
I do not call it a " sport." Nor is it an " outdoor "
amusement, for though there is no roof overhead,
there are innumerable gateways to be got through
before the seats are reached.
The particular kind of bull-fight (the " fight " part
of the word is a poor translation, " baiting " would be
a better one) we saw had one merit, in that it was
what is called a " winter " one ; the performers were
young and apparently new to the game, the bulls
were only two-year-olds and, best of all, there were
no horses engaged. For this last relief much thanks,
for it is a truism that the most sickening part of the
spectacle is the disembowelling of the wretched,
frightened steeds that are present for no other
reason than the accomplishment of their unpleasant
deaths. First of all there is the procession of the
bull-fighters, which is a very stately affair, the side
assumed being never equalled by county cricketers,
and seldom surpassed by public-school ones. Then
the recession, leaving the ring with only a few of
these gaily dressed gentlemen in possession. Then
the speedy entrance of a bull, evidently hastened by
some unpleasant operation. He stops, then gallops
r
/#«
Lt&*V£0 • *"»/#,
UIIAI WE MISSED
AT BARCELONA 115
wildly after various of his highly-coloured enemies.
Then, as a rule— and we saw six bulls disposed of —
he trots back to the door of his late lair and moos
(not bellows) that he wants to go home, and looks
round for some one to show him the way. All he
gets from the safe spectators are hoots, pricks, and
kicks ; and so he goes after the bull-fighters again.
There are so many of these that it is easy for them
to transfer his attentions from one to the other, and
this goes on for about five minutes. It looks pretty,
but I should think there is more real risk in shoeing
young horses or taking beehives. Then, as there
are no horses for him to rip open, his torturers deem
that this running about has taken off his original
freshness, and they begin to worry him with ba7ide-
rillas. There is a special class of men in Spain who
are held in high esteem, and whose mission in life is
to stick painful darts in infuriated bulls without being
hurt. The baiiderillas we saw were mostly new to the
game, and in their anxiety to fight again another
day, as a rule, failed in their immediate object. One
of them in particular, " willing to wound, but yet
afraid to strike," was such a long time doing abso-
lutely nothing to a bull that was an adept at stealing
short runs, that the populace hooted him out of the
ring altogether, and pelted him with orange peel and
anything else they could find. I expect he has
another job now, but his face, through my glasses,
was a pitiable sight, with fear and terror looking out
n6 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
of both eyes, and legs that seemingly refused to
move in a forward direction. I cannot imagine what
he was doing in that gallery at all ; he would have
been much happier sitting, as I was, well out of
harm's way, or even doing Press-work.
By the way, there was an extraordinary likeness
between this crowd and the spectators at a football
or cricket match. A man from Mars would certainly
go away under the impression that all the audience
were past -grand -masters in bull -fighting, and the
only men that did not know their job were those in
the ring ; and I was always expecting to see a boy
coming out with a telegram to tell the head espada to
put on Brearley at the gas-works end, because they
were just going to stoke up the fires and spoil the
light.
During this part of the entertainment two unre-
hearsed incidents caused a great commotion. After
several of the professionals had tried their hands
without success in sticking in two banderillas at
once as the bull charged past, a youth, armed with
a pair of his own, vaulted the barrier and rushed into
the middle of the ring. The bull saw him and went
for him. He stood immovable at his full height,
realising the prescribed attitude till the animal was
but a foot off. Then he took one step to the right,
raised his wrists level with his face, and like nothing
so much as Ranjitsinhji gliding a straight high-
pitched ball to long leg, struck both his darts in the
^ifcO' "* "
H"U CAN 1 STICK YOU WHEN Y"l WILL NOT CHARGE?
AT BARCELONA 117
beast's shoulder as it thundered past. The gallery
rose at him and gave him the wildest cheers of the
day. The professionals were furious and yelled to
the police, who made a feeble attempt to arrest
him for his trespass as he bowed his way back to his
seat amid a shower of oranges and cigars, the usual
tributes of esteem. If the police had really wanted
to, they would not have been allowed, for the popular
hero was at once surrounded on all sides by his
admirers, and ran a very good chance of being spoiled
for life by their congratulations and kisses.
No sooner was this incident over than another with
a less glorious ending began. A boy, apparently
about fifteen, was seized with a desire to emulate the
last amateur, so with his coat off, holding a dirty
little more or less white handkerchief in his hand, he
jumped into the arena and dared the bull to come on.
When a young bull has been badgered and bullied by
a lot of highly-coloured strangers for a quarter of an
hour he loses all sense of discrimination, and this
youth seemed as good as any other. So he charged,
and before he got to his man the boy had tumbled
down. There was a dead silence all round, and I
thought it was all up with the young idiot. But here
the best point of the training of the professional
bull-fighters came in, for waving their cloaks in front
of the bull, they diverted the charge, and when we
looked to have seen the youth tossed and torn by the
lowered horns that were so near, we saw instead the
n8 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
bull after some one else and the boy kicked and
hoofed over the barrier by the ckuios, and haled off
to the deepest dungeons by the police amid the
laughter of the crowd. I wonder if even now he
realises how lucky he is to be alive?
Although I have not used the word " sport " as yet,
there was one feature that calls for it in the best
meaning it has. One of the principal bull-fighters
takes a leaping-pole and invites the attention of the
animal. As usual, it charges, and at the same time
the performer charges also and leaps. If he does
this at the exact moment, when the pole is quite per-
pendicular with the jumper at his highest the bull
knocks it away, and the man pitches on his feet in
the neighbourhood of the beast's tail to its enor-
mous mystification. To the head espadas credit,
he never failed to bring off this bit of gallery play,
and the consequent plaudits were enormous. The
other smart bits were not so successful.
I am by no means a sentimentalist and, though it
is not a job I care for, when occasion demanded have
done my own butchering ; likewise, with the excep-
tion of their outcry against hunting the carted deer,
I have a profound contempt for people who advertise
themselves as Humanitarians and talk consequent
rubbish. But I do say that the proceedings at a
bull-fight, after the preliminary teasing and acrobatic
performance are over, are disgusting. And not only
disgusting, but cowardly. And not only disgusting
I ' . I
. TVVC n , ~- /
\CCORDINl KEN
AT BARCELONA 119
and cowardly, but dull. Trumpets sound, a great
little man walks into the centre of the arena, and
turns to the presidential box, which was occupied on
this Sunday by a group of fat men who looked like
licensed victuallers. He bows and asks permission
to kill this " fearful monster," which is probably en-
gaged in wondering what particular part of hell he
has arrived at. Permission being granted, the espada,
with his red cloak, little pigtail and sword, assumes a
traditional attitude, sights his weapon at the animal
as if it were a new sort of gun, and invites applause.
Now, according to Cocker, the bull should charge,
and he, stepping back, should sheathe the bright
Toledo blade in its heart. The pierced animal should
then sink on its knees, utter one prolonged bellow,
and fall dead at the feet of the brave toreador.
This is what we had read of and I expected to
see ; but for the reality I will give extracts from my
note-book.
No. 1 BULL. — While asking permission, matador
(rather like poor Dan Leno) has to be taken care of,
but he proves himself nimble in escape. Puzzled
bull trots up to barrier to be patted : he gets hit
instead. He sights the cspaJa and charges : they both
miss each other, and the bull gets the sword in the
stomach. He bellows with pain, and, coughing up
blood, pursues the Hero. (How they would hiss him
at home for such a rotten shot!) An understrapper
kindly extracts sword from bull's inside and hands it
120 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
back to the owner, who has to straighten it over his
knee. Two more failures to stick the bull. Crowd
gets sarcastic at what we should call the " tailoring,"
which reminds me of a drunken man trying to put
his umbrella in a hat-rack that will not stand still.
My notes here seem to the effect that I would pay
^20 to see the bull get the man. The poor beast is
becoming tired, and losing quarts of blood. So,
though not owing to any further attacks, he lies down
alongside of the barrier. A spectator, evidently in
the butchering line, indicates a vital spot. The
haughty toreador — " Pet of all the fair " — avails
himself of the opportunity, sticks him, and reports
progress, while the horrid job is finished by a
puntillero, who jabs the poor beast in the neck with a
dagger. Then come in jangling mules, attended by
cheerful idiots, who drag out the corpse at one end
of the arena, while another doomed animal canters in
at the other. My notes on that bull conclude that if
I found a butcher killing my pigs like that I should
never employ him again.
No. 2 BULL. — This is the one that was the cause
of the aforementioned funky banderillero. When the
slaughterer got leave to do his worst, I note two
bad shots to begin with, one in his stomach and one
along his back. The sword in both cases has to be
extracted and handed back to the incorrect sticker.
This bull is rather timid, and continually appeals for
sympathy to the crowd as he edges all round the
AT BARCELONA 121
barrier trying to get rid of the various implements of
torture in his hide. He is not quite such an uncon-
scionable time in dying as some of the others.
No. 3 Bull. — The pole-jumper began on this one,
and I note that the bull nearly got a banderillerOy
who had to run as he never had before. This beast
was very plucky, but ever wanting to go back to his
stable. He raised one cheer on his own though,
when he pursued the crack espada round the ring and
only missed getting his horns into him by inches.
The espada, with sword and cloak flying, made a very
undignified picture as he disappeared, head down-
wards, over the garden wall into a crowd of scavengers
and other small fry. Then three bad shots, and the
end was bathos to all but the poor bull, for two
cows, with bells round their necks, had to be brought
in to attract his attention ; and then as he gazed the
brave toreador got behind him and tried to assassi-
nate him. But, even so, he missed, and the end only
came by some one holding down his horns as he lay
exhausted and allowing the hero to stab him on the
ground. Vive la chasse !
No. 4 BULL. — My notes begin with a wish that
each bull should go to the happy grazing grounds
above with a matador ox so to accompany him. The
stupidity of the poor beast who goes for a cloak-
before its owner arouses a feeling of pity, and he
compares as a sheer lunatic with the old grouse or
cock pheasant that swings back over the beaters with
122 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
a long chuckle to the guns who are waiting for him
in the opposite direction. This was the bull that
gave the amateurs their chances, but in the butchering
scene he seems to have been mis-struck as often as
any of the others. He was a " plucked 'un," but he
had no luck. Twice he ought to have got his man,
and ten times he was pinked in the wrong place. He
met his death on one knee, and I see my notes have
the reflection that the percentage of railway shunters
killed in their employment is greater than that of
bull-fighters. I also note that here the cloak play of
one espada was very fine, and that the best-looking
toreador was the biggest funk and left early. I
believe that accidents mostly happen when a per-
former has been so unsuccessful that, in sheer
defiance, he gets rash. And my remarks conclude
that the ancestors of the audience were the people
who kept the Inquisition going for so long.
The fifth bull presented no new feature of interest,
except that his death came a little swifter than to the
others, and we left the sixth bull lying down on the
ground bleeding hard and surrounded by most of the
audience, who were endeavouring to finish him off
with their sword-sticks. Have I mentioned that
nearly all Spaniards carry these weapons?
We escaped before the end, more saddened than
anything else that human creatures could evidently
find sport in such obviously unfair contests. I think
that without abolishing bull-fighting, I could (as long
y-\
• THE PET OF ALL 'I HE PAIR
'WILLING TO WOI ••!' AND VI l AFRAID '!<> STRIKE
AT BARCELONA 123
as I was not asked to perform) make a much more equal
and enjoyable combat out of the same materials.
These are my few and simple suggestions : —
1. One man, one bull.
2. An unsurmountable barrier (or none at all).
3. A smaller ring.
I submit these alterations would (1) increase the
excitement ; (2) give the bull a better chance ; and
(3) prevent overcrowding in a well-paid profession.
But even with my small knowledge of town-bred
Spaniards, I make bold to say that these amend-
ments would be opposed chiefly on the ground of
altering a fairly safe pastime to one involving a cer-
tain amount of risk.
I do not wish my readers to think that there is no
element of skill apparent. On the contrary, it must
require a deal of cleverness and surefootedness to
avoid the charges of the bulls. At the same time,
the word " pluck " is the wrong one, the quality
of " slimness," in the Boer sense, being the one most
in demand, the display of which meets with the
largest amount of bravoes, oranges, coppers, cigars,
and immortal fame on picture post-cards and cigar-
boxes. Personally, I have no desire to behold
another of these spectacles. I would far rather see
a good fight between two men who both wanted to
win and neither of whom would know when he was
beaten.
If we had had more time to spare here we should
i2 4 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
certainly have visited " The Montserrat." • In fact,
I moved that we should visit it in preference to
going to the bull-fight, but got badly out-voted. But
as this work is for the purpose of doing good to my
fellow-men, I may say I have been much blamed for
omitting it since my return home. So a few notes on
what we did not see will come as a pleasant change.
To begin with, it is not the seat of the lime-juice
trade, which is only called after the mountain because
the bottles are the same shape. Mr. Charles Dudley
Warner has written of it that "another mountain so
airy, grotesque, and flame-like does not exist," and
Mr. Baedeker says in his monumental work that " its
kernel consists of reddish clay slate, and superimposed
on this is a firm, calcareous conglomerate or pudding-
stone, water worn into fissures." There is a road, a
rack-and-pinion railway, and a monastery on the top.
It is also cleft into " profound crevices." When I
read this to my companions they appeared slightly
ashamed of themselves, and when I informed them
that Mr. Edmondo de Amicis (quite a Ciceronian
hang about this name) likens its jagged sky-line to
(i) a chain of slender triangles; (2) a royal crown
drawn out till its points resemble the teeth of a saw,
or (3) so many sugar loaves ranged in a row, they had
not a word to say for themselves. Mr. Baedeker also
says that the Germans in the Middle Ages located
Montserrat as the Castle of the Holy Grail. It will
now be understood what we missed.
AT BARCELONA 125
The Artist and I were always on the look out to
improve our minds, and at one village we stopped in
we paid a visit as Inspectors of Education. Jarge
and Jehu had gone off to photograph something that
took their fancy, and we two were left in charge of
the car. Of course we were surrounded by the usual
mob of children, most of whom were carrying what
seemed to be "Times Book Club" boxes. We
caught one particularly enterprising youth who,
having got tired of looking down the mouth of the
horn, was exploring the inside of the tonneau.
We opened his box for him, to the undisguised joy
of all his companions, and took out his books. They
seemed to be — as far as we could tell — for about the
same state of scholarship that the Artist had at-
tained, and were nicely printed with the same blocks
of rabbits and cows and such like that I myself was
grounded upon. We asked the boy to read some to
us, and he was delighted to oblige. What it was all
about I failed to gather, but the Artist said he
thought it was about a cat and a rat and some milk.
Of course all the other children produced their books
and submitted them for our inspection, and shrieked
with laughter at my rendering of them. A superior
person, who was not for all that above forming one
of the crowd, told us that all the children went to
school and could read and write and do arithmetic.
So when we talk of the Spanish as uneducated, we
greatly err, and child for child I expect they know as
126 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
much as the boys and girls we make such a fuss
about at home.
Talking of education, a short time after I had
come back I happened to be yarning to a "bargee" at
Banbury, who seemed rather down on his luck be-
cause his horse was sick, and he had to tie up there
for a fortnight without any pay. I asked him if his
boy (aged fourteen) had been going to school during
his enforced residence. He told me he did once, but
instead of being taught to read and write, he had
been put in the infants' class and given " a dab of
clay to muck about with." I told him that this was
evidently the latest idea of acquiring learning, but his
retort was absolutely unprintable — and he was evi-
dently under the impression he could have done that
on the tow-path to the same effect and with less
trouble. It is melancholy to me to reflect that these
illiterate folk will not see that of course the best
manner to begin educating a youth of fourteen is to
put him with children from three to five, and allow
him to enlarge his understanding by modelling wet
earth as his maiden fancy dictates. Especially when
— as in this case — he is in the habit of working every
day of his life for about twelve hours or so.
CHAPTER V
ALONG THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE
TIIK Hon. Benjamin H. Ridgeley, Consul-
General for the United States in Spain, is an
automobilist of the first water; and this is one of his
reasons for constituting himself our guide, guardian,
and friend, and also the cause of our enjoying
Barcelona as we did. His manifold kindnesses did
not end even within the limits of the town, for he
took the trouble to pilot us on to the road to Tortosa
by a way which avoided the bad main road. That
road must have been absolutely the worst in the
whole of Spain, to judge by the condition of its
superior alternative. If you picture a road that some
day is going to be a road to a row of staked-out
plots, which some day are going to be a street of
houses, you can get an idea of it. But only an idea.
Nothing can come up to the reality. We left the
naked newness of it at last, and found the usual
track, which we had got into the way of expecting.
The country on each side appeared very highly
cultivated indeed, for all the streams that come off
the mountains were promptly trapped into reservoirs
127
128 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
as soon as they got into the valleys, and used to
irrigate the land. When we had done with the plain
we ran along the edge of a high range of hills that
end only at the sea. And here the character of the
country changed, and, for a wonder, that of the road
also. We began winding up on a splendidly designed,
though not acted-up-to, highway cut out of the rock.
They tell me it is called the Corniche of Spain, and
indeed it is very like the big military road that runs
along the Cote d'Azur from Marseilles to Venti-
miglia. As usual, when we got by the sea the rail-
way kept us company, and as an engineering feat
that railway will take a lot of beating. The trains
are painfully slow, though they do say it is the best-
conducted line in Spain. Talking of railways,
Mr. Ridgeley fired off a yarn concerning them in
this land of Manana. It appears he was on a short
journey of a hundred miles or so, and towards even-
ing the train stopped with a jerk out in the wilder-
ness. Putting his head out of the window, he
inquired the reason of the delay, <>md was informed
it was a cow on the line. Towards morning the
train again stopped with another jerk, and he asked
the guard what was up now. The guard again
replied, " Cow on the line." Said Mr. Ridgeley,
" There seem to be a lot of cows on this line." " No,"
said the guard ; " same cow." I feel quite sure this
story is absolutely true, because the only truth we ever
got as to Spanish roads came from the same source.
V
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L
w
K
u
z
as
o
u
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 129
To return to the road. We enjoyed it to the full,
and I remember saying, as we once more viewed the
level cultivated plain ahead, that happiness such as
this never lasted long. The blue sea below, breaking
in white-edged lines against the rocks, the still bluer
sky above, the carpet of palmetto scrub, and the
wild flowers all around, made a paradise where one
would be content to linger all day. That is about
what I said, and immediately an obliging tyre
went at the valve seating. The Artist and I re-
marked we were off to look for copy, but Jehu and
Jarge would have none of it, and we had to assist in
the horrible, pitiless, broiling sunshine at the inser-
tion of a new inner tube. Then on over the curving
road to Sitges, where we lunched. As we were scud-
ding up one long hill we passed a village of trog-
lodytes, or cave-dwellers. We rather pitied this
particular tribe, for their fastness, situated amid a
grove of cork trees and above a rushing stream that
emptied itself into the sea close by, was being
insidiously invaded from below by a quarry belong-
ing to the railway ; so their primeval remoteness was
gone on all sides, firstly by the road, then the rail,
and now their very foundations were being sub-
tracted from beneath their feet. The disturbance of
vested interests is always grievous, and this par-
ticular underground village was by far the most
picturesque of any we saw.
Sitges is a charming village and, I believe, is a
K
i 3 o THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
very fashionable bathing resort during the summer.
The beach, thundered on by big breakers in the bright
sunshine, was backed by huge palms and picturesque
white houses, while supported on piles over the water
was a sumptuous bathing-shed. There is a statue
here to the Spanish artist known as " El Greco,"
because he once went to Greece. I wonder if our
Artist will ever be known as " The Spaniard " because
he visited the Prado Gallery in Madrid after closing-
time ? Muscatel wine is also made here, and the
whole place shows signs of great prosperity. We
were quite sorry to have to go, but the road all the
way to Tarragona was very good (for Spain), and full
of interesting villages and Roman remains. At
Vendrel the children of the village were charmed to
see us, and made it difficult work driving through the
very narrow streets ; but a crack in the exhaust pipe
providentially developed into a gap, and the big
Daimler engines without a silencer had rather a
frightening effect on the natives. We got it mended
at Tarragona, as the noise both prevented all dog-
sport and had fearful consequences with mules.
About six miles out from Tarragona, in an absolutely
perfect violet after-glow, amid Moorish-looking water-
wheels and dark cypresses, we passed through the
Portal de Bara, a Roman triumphal arch that seems
very lonely in such an out-of-the-way spot. And not
far away is the reputed tomb of the Scipios, which at
any rate, by its size and ornamentation, must have
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 131
commemorated some great man, if not those it
is called after. And so in the darkness we came to
the Hotel dc Paris at Tarragona. This is an excel-
lent house, next door to the barracks, and if you like
music you can ask for the bedroom our Artist occupied,
and listen to various members of the band practising
their special instruments at all hours. After dinner,
of which hot nuts and port formed the best part, we
took a walk round the town. It seemed very quiet,
and the only gaiety consisted in a cinematograph
exhibition. So we entered. The place was lit by
electric light as usual, but where this installation
differed from most was in that it was apparently run
direct from a gas engine on a hit-and-miss type of
governor. Cinematographs flicker at the best of
times, but the light here blinked even more between
the pictures than during them. I have noted that
one of the films was an English one, and brought in
an English policeman, and that it made us feel quite
homesick. Our bedrooms were again very gorgeous,
and all opened into a lounge landing, whereon were
a table and many high carven chairs. There was a
French party staying at the hotel when we arrived,
who were going off by a very early train, and
evidently had decided not to go to bed at all. So
they played some footling card game on the landing,
while we four tried to compose ourselves for sleep.
But their noise got on our nerves. One by one we
tried putting our boots outside our doors — no use.
i 3 2 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
Then our clothes to be brushed — no use. So in
desperation we called on each other in our pyjamas,
and I walked about in my pelerine with the hood up.
Pretty girls and fat duennas
This finished their game ; they fled, and we slept in
peace.
Next morning, as every one we had in Spain, was
perfect. Blown out of bed betimes by the barrack
bugles, the Artist and I paid an early visit to the
market. Pretty girls in mantillas were shopping
with their fat duennas, buying all sorts of horrors for
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 133
food. There were strings of red-legged partridges,
little birds, weird-looking fish — no two alike, except
when they were young octopi — unripe dates (the
sketcher bought some and had the utmost difficulty
in disposing of them), live fowls and rabbits, and
every kind of impossible things. The streets in the
old town are all built at extraordinary angles, and no
two are parallel. The exquisite cathedral, both in-
side and outside, is a jumble of all manner of styles,
the ancient cyclopean walls are pierced with new
windows ; half the town sit on the battlements and
spit across the dirty scattered railway station at the
perfect sea below, and dogs of all sorts and sizes
roam everywhere. All one morning innumerable
horses, ponies, and mules, were being rushed up and
down for the benefit of certain most villainous-look-
ing horsy Spaniards that ever were, and, of course,
all the officers who were propping up the barrack
gates had to appear interested in horseflesh, so alto-
gether the scene may be described as fairly animated.
An ordinary Spanish horse-dealer is about the most
villainous-looking gipsy-coper that can be imagined.
The Paseo de Santa Clara, which is the name of the
promenade on the battlements, is a fascinating place
whereon to loaf. At the end of it there is a statue
of an admiral in chain armour. I think this must be
a very unsafe uniform on board a small ship, but
Jarge expected he only wore it on shore. The new
part of Tarragona is below and to the east of the old
134 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
town, and of all the deadly, uninteresting places we
saw this was easily first, except only for the bodegas,
which were full of enormous wine barrels. For this,
as Jehu remarked, is the port where the vinegar
comes from.
Across the railway are the remains of old Moorish
mud forts, and some live Spanish ones still in work-
ing order. From the city wall the interior economy
of these can be inspected at leisure, though the
pictures would not assist recruiting if this was in
voluntary England.
By the way, all the walls, however comparatively
ancient they may be, are yet built from older ones,
Roman nowadays, though it is believed that even
they used materials from still earlier similar sources,
probably Phoenician. Many of the stones are carved
with figures and some with inscriptions. Mr. Baedeker
notes the tombstone of a young charioteer, with the
epitaph " that he would sooner have died in the
circus than of fever." I failed to find it myself, but
here is the bold original of that wonderful verse of
Swinburne's : —
Unto each man his fate ;
Unto each as he saith,
In whose fingers the weight
Of the world is as breath ;
Yet I would that in clamour of battle, mine hands had laid hold
upon Death.
This, however, is no place for gossip of this sort, and
we will return to more or less modern Tarragona.
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 135
The cloisters, next door to the cathedral, are very
perfect, and owing to their better surroundings are
almost more beautiful than those at Mon Reale, by
Palermo. All the towns in this part of Spain re-
minded me very much of Sicilian ones, which, after
all, is not to be surprised at, as the founders of every
place on the Mediterranean seaboard were, as Mr.
Kipling would call them, a " Pentecostal" crowd, and
probably just as much at home in one place as
another.
There is an extraordinary likeness between the
outsides of Spanish and Dutch cathedrals, which
is not to be wondered at, as very likely the same
builders and architects were in many cases respon-
sible for both. But whereas the Spanish cathedrals
are often hidden by buildings built close around
them, the Dutch go a step further and make use of
the kirke walls as part of the house itself. But in-
side the only point of similarity is that the dark
carved oaken coro is situated in about the same place
as the Dutch put their fearful, light-painted deal
pews, and both effectually manage to spoil anything
like the chance of a view of the whole at once. But
here the resemblance ends entirely, for where, in the
dim religious twilight of the southern fane, kneeling
forms and reverential worshippers keep the original
intention of its builders always present, in the Hol-
land churches the glare of plain-glassed windows is
reflected off acres of white-washed walls on to some
136 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
unshaven Dutchman with a cigar in his mouth and
an I.L.P. hat on the back of his head, teaching dull
hymn tunes to some bored pupil. And they use
their splendid towers for such odd purposes. I re-
member once at Haarlem, about five o'clock, suddenly
the steeple burst into many coloured flags. I called
the waiter, and asked him if it meant there was an
heir to the throne, or what ? He looked up at the
flags, and then pityingly down on me, and said, " Ach,
no, it is only that the band will not play this evening
in the park, because it is likely to rain." Fancy using
a church-tower for such a purpose as that ! Even in
England some parsons have been known to object to
the use of their weathercocks for secular purposes.
But in Spain they do not use weathercocks. Light-
ning conductors take their place, and the whole
country bristles with them.
There is a peculiarity in the roof waterspouts in
these parts. They stand out a good four feet from
the tiles, and when it does rain I imagine the middle
of the street gets all the benefit.
In Spanish cafes, as in Turkish baths, the attend-
ant is summoned by the clapping of hands. He
carries a purse like a Scotchman's sporran, and
invariably bites a wooden toothpick. He never
says "Thank you," but only because it is not the
fashion. Newspaper boys and beggars walk casually
about at their trades, and in the bigger cafes some
one often plays the piano uncommonly well. We
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 137
usually drank rum in the evenings. Spanish drinks
are too sweet for grown-ups, and the whisky one
gets in Spain is a fearful composition. We were
a little disappointed as to guitars ; about all those
we saw were in the hands of beggars, who had no
El Capitan
idea of ever playing them except as a very last
resource.
We should have left Tarragona earlier only we lost
Our Artist. He turned up smiling after an hour
or so, and explained he had been taken over the
barracks by some officers, who were amused at his
Spanish. He was anxious to know if the privates
138 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
slept on bare boards, because I had told him that
Boulanger owed his popularity in the French army
to his abolition of this custom. He also discovered
that all surplus rations were given to the poor, which
seems a very good idea to prevent waste. He nearly
On guard
Off duty
got shot at one gate because he went up and took
the rifle out of the sentry's hand and examined it.
(Have I said he is a great volunteer at home?)
When he had satisfied his curiosity he gave back the
rifle to the astonished guard, and asked him how
long before his slippers wore out. Please understand
he was not joking, but merely desirous of informa-
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 139
tion. Personally, I think the reason he was not
shot at sight was that the rifle of the sentry was not
loaded, and also the barrel was plugged with rag to
keep the dirt out.
We stayed two days at Tarragona, and they were
by far the most restful we spent during all our
tour. Though there is nothing special that one must
see, there are plenty of things to interest, pleasant
places to sit in the sun, and pretty things to look at.
But, except at Barcelona, one gets the Mariana
habit if one stays long anywhere in Spain, and as it
was necessary we should get on, we left the happy
spot.
The state of the road south from Tarragona was
too good to last. Indeed, we might have been back
in France for the first few miles out of the city, and
even when we got again among the mountains there
was little to complain of. As villages were few and far
between, traffic correspondingly fell off, and our
only adventure was with a charming man who was
taking two very good-looking young horses to the
Tarragona Tattersalls. We came on him in a pass
among the mountains, and motors being rare, the
animals were promptly all over the place. Our
Artist, ever on the alert to perform brave deeds, was
hanging on to the head of one almost before Jehu
pulled the car up, but they were only got past us by
being taken into a wood of olive trees and kept
there till we had turned the corner. We walked
i 4 o THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
back, and had a long chat with their owner, who
told us Tortosa was four miles on. We climbed
and wound up and down a wonderfully built military
road for the next five miles, putting up, amongst other
things from the palmetto scrub, a covey of partridges
and a flock of about two thousand sheep. Then we
came across a little village with more children than
any town ever had except Hamelin, and here the
Artist purchased food and wine. The latter was in
a bottle that had a " Household Ammonia" label on it,
and I do not think it was quite empty when they
put the wine in ; but he says he was far too busy
sketching the interior of the posada where he got it
to note. Glass bottles are current coin in these
parts. The man who sold us a fearful - looking
sausage told us that Tortosa was four miles off. So
we left the ever-growing crowd of infants and pushed
on. About two miles out we discussed our lunch.
The word " discuss " is the correct one here. Two
exquisite Guardia Civile who appeared, posed like
cardboard silhouettes on the white summit of the
hill against a turquoise background, informed us
that Tortosa was fourteen miles off, but that we
could cross the Ebro, the mouth of which lay below
us in the wide, green valley, in a boat, and so save
many leagues. " Oh, yes, automobiles frequently
did so " ; so we resumed, but when we got near the
river we found it was about two miles across, full of
snow-water, and the ferry-boat was merely a large
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 141
ordinary rowing one. Therefore we turned west to
cross it by the bridge at Tortosa, as did also out
friend the railway line.
This road is a strikingly beautiful one, though
jagged and rough. The peasants here were delight-
ful, and their costumes of dark blue linen, black silk
caps, bare legs, and slippers are most picturesque.
We had plenty of time to inspect their garb, for an
obliging tyre gave up the ghost, and the hour's delay
obliged us to stop that night at Tortosa, which,
actually, really, and truly, we found to be but seven
miles or so away.
This incident was very opportune, for it gave us
a chance of seeing how truly hospitable Spanish
peasants in these parts can be. No sooner had the
ever-passing string of mule -cart drivers found we
we were fixtures for half an hour or so, than they
proceeded to bring us out wine in flask and skins,
with glasses to drink it out of. And good it was too,
though the marks of the glasses were on the car's
bonnet for days after. Fancy English peasants (if
there are such folk) obliging foreign motorists like
this ! We gave one of the ringleaders a run into
Tortosa, and never was a man more delighted and
frightened at the same time. He wasted about fifty
matches trying to light his cigarette before all the
tobacco blew out of it — Spanish cigarettes are not
gummed, but rolled round and held together. He
yelled and waved at all his friends and acquaintances,
142 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
invited us all to drink sherry with him when he got
into the town, and then mysteriously disappeared.
Tortosa is a real old Spanish city, untouched with
modern improvements, except in the shape of hideous
iron bridges over the river which, owing to the melt-
At Tortosa
ing snow, was as big as the Thames at Richmond,
and running like a millrace.
The streets are narrow, even for Spain, and the
hotel, like most of them in the country, began on
the first floor. But it was nice and comfortable, and
during dinner we found it was correct to drink wine
out of the spout of the decanter at a foot from the
mouth. Now we know why most Spaniards have
' Ml S ' i NARROW— EVEN FOR SPAIN
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 14
such big mouths. But I wish they would not spit
quite so much at meals. The Scrcno has a rare time
here, and keeps the night lively with his prolonged
howling. When it began to get light a fearful
snoring woke us all up, and we wondered how such
a snorer could be allowed to live. After breakfast —
that is to say, coffee and a roll, for we could never
get the Spaniards to believe we wanted more — we
discovered the snorer was a well-rope over a wheel
that ran up a hole in a wall between our bedroom
walls. I see I have noted that there was a chamber-
maid here; as a rule a sloppy camercro brought us
the tiny jugs of agua calicnte for shaving. Baths
were unheard-of things, but as the floors were always
tiled and the spilling of water therefore of no conse-
quence, we usually managed to get a very fair and
useful imitation.
The cathedral suffers from being shut in on every
side, and it is hard to know when one has got to
it. It is very old ; indeed, it started life as a
mosque, but its cool, dark interior strikes a calming
note after the bustle and glare outside. The Artist
says it is very — oh, very — Spanish and characteristic,
and if reverence on the part of the worshippers
within is Spanish, then he is right. Cathedrals else-
where seem to be, as a rule, nothing but museums
and show places, but in Spain I always felt myself
to be an intruder, a heretic, and one who had no
business to invade the sanctuaries of a religion he
i 4 4 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
was not qualified to share in. Every minute of the
day in these big quiet temples some weary mortal
comes in to take a brief respite from the cares with-
out, and goes away again seemingly refreshed and
lightened. There never seemed to be any showing-
off, no perfunctory yawning through senseless shib-
boleths, only dark, kneeling figures scattered about
in the big aisles — worshippers in the best meaning
of the word. And this use of the cathedrals and
churches in Spain all day, and every day, gives one
to think as to why in England our places of worship
are, as a rule, for Sundays only, and then only if you
can afford " Sunday clothes." " Sunday clothes,"
indeed! I often think that "Sunday clothes "have
done as much to kill real religion in England as all
the educational questions put together. But this is
very much off the road. Let us resume our travels.
Jarge and I climbed a mountain and got to an old
fort, whence he was about to photograph the city
below, when a custodian rushed out and forbade him.
I suppose no soldier has used these battlements
for a hundred years, and Jarge has not a revolu-
tionary look by any means — he is more like a
suffragette. So he photographed goats — the whole
town was one tinkle of goats — and then we went
down and assisted Jehu to get the car out of the
stable into a street that was hardly as wide as the
car was long. He only did it by running the back
of it into the bishop's front door, and gradually
UpFj
The garage at Tortosa
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 147
working round the front wheels. We took in petrol
outside the octroi, which is a very economical way of
doing it. Each can contained about five gallons,
and was made square. The only way of getting the
petrol out was by punching a hole in the top of the
tin, and trusting to luck whether the benzina poured
out into the funnel or elsewhere. We upset pints,
and as all the Spaniards who crowded round were, of
course, smoking, there was a very good chance of
unlooked-for excitement.
We left Tortosa, most truly Spanish of towns, over
the ugly bridge, and bowled along (this is the last
time of using that word) a perfect road by a canal
for a few miles, then under the snow-capped moun-
tains and through a low pass to the sea plain once
more. And now we had got into the orange country
with a vengeance. For miles and miles on each side
there was nothing but orchards golden with fruit,
while the ground beneath was covered two deep
with them. Every cart, mule, driver, child, and dog for
leagues around seemed to have been brought to help.
The mules shied at the motor, and a cascade of oranges
poured out from the back of the cart. We offered
money for some,and the Daimler was filled for nothing.
Beautiful oranges they were, all the biggest, as we saw-
that night, destined to be wrapped up in paper with
English printing on it and sent to Liverpool. The
dogs were very fearful on this da)-. The road was
gradually getting worse and worse, so the car was
i 4 8 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
slowed down till any dog could keep up with us, and
we must have saved hundreds of their lives with our
whip as they made for certain death beneath our
wheels. We passed through Castellon, which did not
look interesting, and African-looking Villareal, which
did owing to the tall palms that stood above its flat
houses, and many another little village. About six
o'clock the fort-crowned hill of Sagunto came into
view, with that most ancient of cities lying beneath
its precipitous sides. The road improved, lying
parallel with the railway. We even dared race a
train, and we were just winning hands down when,
within a hundred yards of the town, a wide river
crossed the road. The maps and books all gave a
bridge — and assuredly they will be correct some day,
for a most elegant one is in course of construction —
but for us it was a case of going through it. Though
quite as wide as the river at Tordera it did not
appear as deep or rapid, so Jehu went at it, got
three-quarters of the way across, and stuck with a
slipping clutch. Nowadays the new Daimlers would
not be so troubled, but the old pattern fly-wheel was
rather low, and the water got on to the leather.
Darkness was falling, hundreds of laden carts were
crossing, and most of the mules shied in the water
at the stranded car. One was so frightened that he
made up-stream and began kicking at the cart, full
of his master's family. Then he reared, plunged,
and finally took a header into three feet of water,
- *** '-
'M0S1 OF i lit MULES SHIED AT THE STRANDED CAN'
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 149
broke the shafts, and lay still. Wild excitement
reigned. The women shrieked and were rescued by
other carts, but nothing would induce that mule to
save himself. In the end the horses that eventually
salved us drew him out like a dead crocodile on to
the farther bank. This was more exciting to the
populace even than the motor, and they seemed quite
sorry when the beast arose and, after making an
awesome series of coughs, calmly walked home.
Then I got on board another cart and asked the
driver to take me to confer with the marooned Jehu
and Jarge. He himself was delighted to oblige, but
nothing would induce the mule to go near the car.
In vain the driver swore and whacked him, then a
trace went, and after turning round three times as if
about to lie down, the beast bolted for deep water
and the other bank. So I came safe to land. With
the recollection of former situations, I rushed about
and borrowed ropes, horses, and mules, and we all
pushed and pulled, and after a bit out came the car.
Before unharnessing the nearest beast Jehu switched
on, and the engine started on its own after having
been an hour in the water. The horse also started.
Peace having been restored, we found our way to
the station hotel, put the car in an orange-packing
shed for the night, and went in to change our drip-
ping clothes and get some food. I expect the
Saguntines have a curious idea of the English folk
and their habits, as three of us appeared at dinner
150 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
like Toddles that night in our pyjamas and bedroom
slippers, while our workaday suits hung drying over
the charcoal pan where all the food was being pre-
pared. The heat and the dust and the wetting of
that day had done me no good, and I turned in early
with a dose of fever, or something like it. This was
the opportunity Jarge and the Artist had been wait-
ing for, and they came up and filled me full of all
sorts of drugs. But I was revenged by keeping
them awake most of the night with my consequent
awful groans and moans.
The next morning I rose later than my comrades,
and went alone across the yard to the railway
station to see if I could find anything to tempt
my jaded palate. A breakfast of liqueur brandy*
and dry biscuits among a small plantation of little
palms in pots made me feel better. So I went up
into the town to try and find my comrades. As in
every town in these parts, all the shops opened in one
big doorway on to the street, and within the dark, cool-
looking interior the shopkeepers were busy at their
trades. I rather fancy that middlemen are not very
prosperous hereabouts. Basket weavers, seemingly
using their toes as extra hands, were very common ;
but I halted not until 1 came to an artist in cork
decanters. And here I remained fascinated at the
rows of clean-looking brass-bound cork tubs, wine
flasks, and young barrels. I wanted to buy the lot,
but thought of the overcrowded car, and contented
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 151
myself with one that stood on four brass legs,
had four brass bands round it, and two brass necks
sticking out of the top. I paid for it, six pesetas I
think it was, and resumed my stroll. When I got
into the market-place, which was full of all manner
of wares, including a vast amount of crockery, I met
with Jehu. I was just about to show him my
treasure when I noticed he was carrying two of
the same breed. He remarked that great minds
evidently thought alike, and together we inspected
the lively scene. Most of the population seemed to
be either over seventy or under ten, and the thing
which attracted most attention was a cheap-jack
drug-seller, who wore a lion-skin on his head. There
was also a booth depicting, with horrible realism and
an enormous welter of gore, the life and sudden
death of some malefactor, presumably an anarchist,
by the number of explosions he managed to crowd
into his brief existence. The final execution scene
was a triumph of detail, and no doubt it all served to
point a very good moral. We were just wondering
if the Artist had gone up to inspect the remains of
the Roman theatre I had been impressing on him the
necessity of viewing, when he came out of a large
shed where the youth and beauty of Sagunto were
busy wrapping English labels on oranges and pack-
ing them in the familiar crates. lie was also carry-
ing an own brother to our wine vessels, and the only
remark he made was that it showed how precious
152 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
few things there were to buy in all the long way we
had come. So when we started again the presence
of four of these six-pointed awkward things in the
tonneau had to be felt properly to be appreciated,
and my only consolation came when one of them
was discovered to be missing. After a bit we packed
them in the Cape-cart hood with many other acces-
sories, including the tyre-pump, my pelerine, and all
the leather linings of our overcoats.
The Artist had a great longing for wine-skins. If
I had allowed him he would have bought a hollow
pig, tied up at the knees and neck, filled it with
liquor, and dangled it from the back of the car. But
I pointed out that this was only done in fiction or by
the very poor, for, as I understood, it takes several
generations of hard drinkers to get the original taste
of the animal out of the hide before it begins to
improve the vintage. This quieted him, though I
suspect he sent some home on the sly for his own
private use.
Sagunto, as every schoolboy knows, was a famous
place in history. Hannibal besieged it ineffectually
for months, and when at last he broke down the wall,
he found another behind it, and so on, like a cheap
Easter egg, for four times. And even after all this
he got cold comfort, for amid terrific street-fighting,
the town set itself on fire, and beyond his own great
losses he captured nothing but blackened corpses and
ruined buildings.
THE MEDITERRANEAN SHORE 153
Nowadays the inhabitants give themselves up
entirely to commerce, and the market in full swing
was far more like a fair or a north-country wake
than a weekly business.
The Artist's trousers
It would have been nice to have lingered longer in
this unspoiled old town, but the atrocious roads up-
set all our deep-laid plans and made one day's pro-
jected run into three. It was not the car's fault, nor
yet our own, but simply and solely owing to the
154 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
roads, which were steadily getting worse as we got
further south.
We had lightened our load as much as possible,
sending on our luggage to Madrid, and this is why
our pyjamas appeared at dinner at Sagunto. Mer-
cedes, the daughter of the house, dried the Artist's
trousers by ironing them the wrong way, which gave
him a humorous appearance, though I believe there
is a royal precedent for it. Now Mercedes, in spite
of her name, had never been in a motor, so Jarge
photographed a unique group, comprising the Artist
at the steering-wheel and Mercedes in the Daimler
by his side, both occupying their proud positions for
the first time.
And then we left for Valencia, which we reached at
midday, over roads even more impossible to describe
than ever.
CHAPTER VI
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR
With good intentions, wise men say, the road to hell is paved :
Then surely all the roads in Spain are used but l>y the saved.
Tirante el Blanco
THE road into Valencia is only not as bad as it
might be when it is compared with the road
out of it. I hope my readers are getting sick of
this mention of bad roads. If they are, my inten-
tion is being fulfilled, for it can more easily be
realised how much more sick we must have been.
All round Valencia, as indeed everywhere along this
sea-coast plain, we could not help being struck with
the strenuous manner in which agriculture is being
carried on. I have heard the Spaniards called lazy,
but no epithet could possibly be more unsuitable for
these tillers of the soil. Always at it, damming,
ploughing, pruning, ditching, irrigating and every
other kind of work, they were almost too busy to
turn their heads to look at a motor going where no
self-respecting motor ever ought to go. Their dogs
left them to pursue us — they took no notice ; their
mules stampeded in the snaggy, stumpy vineyards —
they only hauled them back again. Some of the
'55
156 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
bits the mules wore were sweet things, and permitted
of no trifling, and everywhere it seemed a case of a
"terrible lot to do to-day, to do to-day" — for here,
undoubtedly, to use Kipling's parody of "Atalanta
in Calydon,"
Life is a long-drawn question
Between a crop and a crop.
Talking of crops, Baedeker, who gets really poetical
in dealing with this neighbourhood, says that from
fourteen to seventeen crops of lucerne can be grown
on some land every year. That is oftener than I
have my hair cut. I expect the man who told him
that thought he wanted to buy the ground. But I
can quite believe in the enormous fertility of the
soil, and if this statement is exaggerated, it is not
from want of trying. Nothing seems to come amiss,
and the most diverse products jostle each other.
There is a sameness about the houses in these
dreary parts. Sometimes, where the hills run down
towards the road, there will be a bit of a ruined
castle or so on the top of one, but beyond this a
country residence is never seen. In the thickly
populated villages it seems almost the same, and one
has to go to the very big towns in order to find
where the owners of the big farms, factories, and
businesses live. It may work very well, but it gives
a monotonous dullness to the countryside, and un-
doubtedly is the real reason for the appalling state
of the highways.
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 157
We did not linger long in Valencia, the mo t
attractive part of which seems to be the big archway
l>y the bridge over which you enter from the north.
Then you get into modern streets, full of life and
animation. As I always had a family failing for
comparisons, I would liken Valencia to Bristol more
than any other English town I know of, and I believe
once upon a time there was a big trade done between
the two towns. Jarge liked the town because he
had both his boots cleaned at once by two very
amusing Murillo-looking boys. His boots — like all
of ours — had passed three nights and one river with-
out a revival, so the boys earned their money.
After lunch we departed south, having seen none
of the sights of the town. Now, originally, we had
arranged to go down south to Andalusia (which, by
the way, is called Andaluthia — the Spaniards not
pronouncing their s's very well), but the roads had
determined otherwise, and at Barcelona we had
limited the voyage to Elche. We had asked Mr.
Ridgeley of Barcelona, as to Elche. He said : " What
do you want to go there for? Believe me, boys,
there's nothing at Elche to see but four hundred acres
of con — demned palm trees." Yet, for all that, we
aimed that way, and hoped to see this little bit of
Africa in Europe. But the twenty miles of assorted
primeval brickbats out of Valencia were too much
for us ; we held a council of war, and unanimously
determined to push inland, our experience being that
158 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
hill roads were always better than plain ones — I
should say, less awful. I think the Artist was the
only one who was in any way sorry ; pace was not
his metier, and Jehu was only enjoyable to him on
bad roads. But Jarge and Jehu and I rejoiced, for
we had all a motorist's sympathy with his car and
the tyres. We used to get out and look at the
Daimler sometimes and threaten to get her canonised,
for her behaviour was simply marvellous. By every
right of rhyme and reason, by every Tourist's
Trophy, or " Reliability Trial " excuse, she should
have given up the ghost somehow or somewhere
long before. But she did not, and to anticipate
events, on her last day she put in almost the fastest
work of the whole course. She was English, and she
looked it, and she behaved in the English fashion
which is so annoying to others. It amuses me now to
read in the advertisement columns of the motor press
the accounts of what such and such a car has done,
and to compare it with what we put this one at and
emerged scratched, dented, and barged into, though
always triumphant. And so, out of sympathy for her,
the tyres, and ourselves, we turned her head west for
Madrid. Orange groves were as plentiful as ever, with
paddy-fields separating them. We stopped at one
farm where the prettiest children in the world came
out yelling, " Automovil ! Aatomovil /" and we asked
permission to be allowed to purchase some oranges.
The farmer smiled, filled the car, and would take
NO OTHER CAR HAD EVER BEEN THROI '.II ALGEMES1 BEFO] I
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 159
nothing, so we thought to take some of the children
for a little run. But it is as dangerous to allow a car
to stand still on these Valencian mads as on the
Goodwin Sands, and when we tried to start we found
we must have settled comfortably down through the
road, for there was a big bang, the fly-wheel case
knocked out a stone that weighed half a hundred-
weight, and we all wondered what had happened.
However, the car only whistled, and we ploughed on
to Algemesi.
Now we had never meant to stay the night here,
and, indeed, the first time we had ever heard of it
was when a boy told us it was the name of the
village we were stopped in by the dark. We pulled
up in the square and were surrounded by thousands.
The Artist was sent off to find a posada, and after
visiting three, each looking dirtier than the last,
discovered one that looked a cut cleaner than the
others, and possessing a yard where we could put
the motor up in peace. The crowd was thicker
than any we had seen in Spain, and soon after we
found out the reason. A T o other car had ever been
through Algemesi before. We felt like Nansens or
Stanleys, though we were conscious of an inward
voice that whispered, " More fools we for coming
then." Like Jordan's waters, the throng gave way in
front as we moved slowly down the street to the
Hotel Valencianos, and turned in through the arch-
way. On occasions like this only is there an excuse
160 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
for a "cut-out" to the exhaust, a fine thing to keep
people back. The crowd followed, marvelling ;
nothing could restrain them. The police themselves
were as bad as any, and as for certain young gentle-
men, who were freshly-drawn conscripts, their atten-
tions were quite embarrassing.
I think our hotel must have been a sort of palace
once upon a time, and the arrangements of all the
rooms were very quaint. There was a landlord, of
sorts, but the landlady was in command. She did
everything, with the assistance of a six-year-old
daughter called Lola. Every girl in Spain — that is
to say, those we met — seems to be called either Lola
or Mercedes. We had a good, but quaint, dinner — ■
fish last, as usual — and the landlord came in and ate
a sheep's head when we were discussing pqferos, which
are ordinary house-top sparrows. Then all his friends
came in and sat round, looking at the strange, wild
beasts who had come in the often-heard-of but never-
seen " automovil? The Artist engaged them in chat,
and drew pictures of them. Jehu showed them
conjuring tricks, and Jarge imitated birds. I talked
Esperanto to the landlord, who put me down as in-
toxicated. The coffee that night was excellent, all
in separate pots, but it was difficult to prevent our
hostess putting sugar in the cups from force of habit.
I think the fact that three of us took no sugar in
coffee aroused more searchings of heart in Spain
than any other peculiarity. And, after all, in Eng-
iptf-Q J,
A study in Valencia
M
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 163
land you get it read)- mixed up in your tea as
a matter of course at school-treats and harvest-
homes.
At the cafe afterwards we met a man who had
been to Liverpool once. He was very pleased to
see us, but had omitted to learn English during the
week he was there. Then we found a Frenchman,
who nearly fell on the Artist's neck and talked
nineteen to the dozen about things they had in
common. In this part of Spain, at that time of the
year, it is the fashion for every man and boy to carry
a rug round his neck. You never see any one with-
out one, and the dernier cri this season was either
a large Scotch tartan or else fearful spots on a con-
trasting ground. Anyhow, in the mass, the effect
was very fine. Higher up on the plateau they not
only carried them, but used them as well.
Now our landlord, who had chaperoned us to the
cafe, was very proud of being such a marked man,
and proceeded to get hopelessly drunk. So we made
divers excuses and went home without him, to the
great grief of all the town that had been able to get
inside the building. Next morning, over our early
chocolate and egg-in-a-wineglass, the landlady asked
us if we too had come home in the disgraceful con-
dition her husband had. When we said we had not,
she told us what she thought of her other half, and
from all I could make out he gets a pretty bad
time on occasions. All through that night fresh
i6 4 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
relays of folk came to see the car, and the horn was
honking away without intermission. We soon got
used to it and knew, in spite of the yarns we had
been primed with at home, that everything was quite
safe and sound, though very likely to have been in-
vestigated and smelt by a thousand curious, wonder-
ing folk. Our departure was witnessed by every-
body in the place, and we were followed well out of the
town by all the small boys, cheering at the top of
their voices. It is pleasant to be popular, but annoy-
ing to be the centre of attraction to too great an ex-
tent, and Algemesi was very pressing. After all, I
don't suppose the interest taken in us was much
greater than that motors in England ten years ago
used to create, and, unless they improve the roads,
the next one the Algemesians will see will be on
board a flying-machine.
The first thing we came across after coming out
of the town was a river. We did not even stop
to inspect its depth, but rushed her at it with a
successful result. The road was as usual after, but
we were cheered by the thought that in about three
leagues we should be on the " Carretera Real," or
" Royal Road." The district is a very populous one,
and rice is the great product. When the ricefields
came up to the town walls there used to be a lot
of fever in the villages — paddy-fields are pestilent
places — and so a law was enacted to prevent rice
being grown within ten kilometres of towns, and
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 16s
though, by the look of it, their idea of kilometres is
rather a contracted one, I am told it has had a
wonderful effect. Perhaps in England we shall some
day have a law preventing horses being kept in the
vicinity of cities, in which case we shall go to London
for fresh air.
We journeyed on, picking our way delicately amid
. --:••■
mrr-x .
<£>.
"^k*s£r
We crossed the river Jacur by a fearful wooden bridge
boulders and mules, to Alberique, near where we
crossed the river Jacur by a fearful wooden bridge,
described as " temporary " though the new one that
is going to take its place is a hoary-looking, un-
finished, antique ruin. And then we left the plain,
fair — to the eye — fertile, and warm, and began to
climb past Jativa up the long valley that leads to the
1 66 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
desolate plateau of Albacete and on to Madrid. It
would have been pleasant to have stayed at Jativa,
as every one told how charming a place it was ; but
we had no time for pleasure. On and on we ran
over a better road, only comparatively speaking,
than we had seen for a hundred miles. In ten miles
we climbed 2400 feet, and all the time the road lay
like a plumb-line up the valley. The view from the
end, of the terraced vineyards on each side and the
little white villages scattered amongst them, with
the big dusty plain and the blue Mediterranean in
the far distance, is one that is worth going a very
long way to see, but it needs to be revealed to the
traveller coming from the flat, cold, unlovely, central
plateau inland to be appreciated properly. We. had
left below the orange groves ; then the aloes and then
the cork trees went ; soon only single olive trees and
barren vineyards served to remind us we were still in
the South.
Lunch at Montesa was quite amusing. There is a
wonderful old mediaeval castle — which, report says,
was destroyed by an earthquake nearly two hundred
years ago — about a mile from the king's road, with a
little village clustering round it, and where we halted
there were trees in blossom and clumps of prickly
pear by the roadside. Our car rather disorganised
a passing string of mules, and so their driver took
the opportunity for a chat. We offered him lunch
and cigarettes — everybody always offers every one
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 167
cigarettes in Spain — and he invited us to drink with
him out of his wine-skin. First of all, he showed us
how to do it, and Jarge photographed him in the act.
Then we tried, but as our stock of collars was
limited, we soon gave it up. I think the Artist did
best ; though when he crowed over his skill, it was
necessary to be sarcastic as to the value of width
of smile. We presented a gentleman of the road
with a peseta for some reason or other, and before we
noticed he was gone he was back again with a two-
gallon skin of puce-coloured wine; and we had to drink
to him in it, for courtesy such as this is the rule among
the Spanish peasantry, though as unheard-of in their
middle classes as it would be anywhere in England.
Since our return I have read with interest some
advice given by a German to the readers of the
Autocar as to carrying a revolver for robbers in
Spain. Our experience is that you can leave it behind,
or at any rate only take it out in pretentious hotels
where English or French is spoken. Robbers, as
in our own land, are more often to be found inside
hotels than between them.
About half-past two we left Montesa, summer,
and the real Sunny South. The wind got up, and
the grass died away. There seemed to be very little
traffic of any kind after the quarries which look over
the long valley were left behind, and the road got
steadily worse. Then an obelisk told us we had
entered the province of Albacete. The country was
1 68 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
rolling and wind-swept, even more unsheltered than
is Newmarket in the winter. The peasants were clad
in sheepskins and muffled up to the eyes. As to
the road, Rehoboam's improvement on Jeroboam's
methods is the only parallel I can think of; for
whereas our Dunlops had been chastised with brick-
bats, they were now expected to run over ragged
rocks. But they held out, even though Jehu had
to roll and wobble the car from side to side to avoid
the perilous and craggy reefs. Heaven help any
one who might have to motor there in the dark !
We meandered on for about twenty miles, and then
Almansa, with an old Moorish castle sticking above
and a big snow-clad range of mountains behind,
received us. We had made up our minds, and drove
direct to the railway station. We explained we
desired to put the car and ourselves on the train for
Madrid. After hours of conversation, the filling up
of innumerable pages, and the counting out of many
notes, it was arranged. The arithmetic of the officials
was very primitive, and required many heads and
much writing and talking, insomuch that, being
unable to bear the delay any longer, our Artist came
out with " Dos y dos hace cuatro" which, he says,
means " Two and two make four." They took the
hint, roared with laughter, and after this the clerical
portion of the business was finished much more
quickly.
Then it was necessary to put the car on a truck.
JEHU RUSHED THE CAR AT THE OBSTACLE
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 169
There were no proper ramps and no end-on sidings,
but it was no time for standing on ceremony. An
enormous crowd, as usual, collected. We flung a
frail, uncertain bridge of stones and boards slanting-
wise across the gap on to the truck which stood
parallel to the platform. Jehu put on his most
haughty appearance and rushed the car at the ob-
stacle. With a fearful clatter the front wheels walked
the plank, leapt on to the flooring, and with a mighty
twist, before the back ones had left the splitting,
sagging landing-stage, he had turned the car half
round, and all four tyres were at rest on the level
truck. It is a pity we were all too busy to photo-
graph this feat of daring — one of the most dangerous
yet absolutely necessary jobs I have ever witnessed.
We roped down the motor, covered her with a tar-
paulin, and bade her farewell till Madrid.
It was bitterly cold up here, and at the little inn
where we dined it was good to find a wood fire in the
middle of the *big room, with seats all round it. A
hole in the roof let the smoke out, picturesque dark
faces and white teeth gleamed in the flamelight, and
the only thing that prevented it being an absolute
picture of an old Spanish interior was the everlasting
electric light which hung from the ceiling in the most
modern-looking lamps. During our meal — which was
quaint, and ended with weird dry fruits— I nearly
burnt my feet off, happening to put them into the
glowing charcoal dish that lurked under every table.
170 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
We tried aguardiente, three glasses of which cost
about twopence, and I see in my notes that Jehu was
very sick in the train. We were told that motors
were very rare on the road here — only two had been
here before — and there seems very little in these
parts to attract.
There is a monument somewhere near, com-
memorating a victory by the Duke of Berwick over
the Austrians in 1707, but it was much too cold to
go and see it. Besides, we were not quite clear who
the Duke of Berwick was, and what on earth he was
doing in this benighted part of the land.
Our train left about midnight, and got into Madrid
about eight in the morning. There is a curious pro-
cedure about railway-travelling in Spain. You are
first locked into a waiting-room, like so many wit-
nesses in a case depending entirely upon circumstan-
tial evidence. Then the train comes in, the door is
opened, and you are allowed to rush at it. If you
board a train without a ticket you have to pay
double. And they make you. The first-class car-
riages are very comfortable, and like most other
European ones to look at. The trains, as I have
said before, go very slowly, and spend a long time at
all stations. The guard walks up and down the
footboard all the time, and is for ever passing the
window or coming in to wake you up. It seems
usual to get out at all stations to go to the fonda and
drink chocolate. Then some one tells you in a long,
THE POSADA Al Al MANNA
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 171
high-drawn chant to " take your seats," but even then
nothing much happens. Then some one blows a horn,
and after a bit the engine whistles. Just when you are
thinking the noise must belong to some other train,
off she goes, and you sleep in comfort till the next
station. Why I say " next station " is because at
every one we came to, on all lines, there was a turn-
table with the inevitable track at right angles. Con-
sequently just before or just after the train came to
rest there was a terrific crescendo bangety bangety
bang of the wheels going over the bump, which noise
invariably had the effect of waking us up. I sup-
pose one would get used to it in time, but to us it
always came fresh. The view out of the windows,
across the plain of " La Mancha," the country where
Don Quixote is made to live, is one of the most
depressing I have ever seen by moonlight or any
other light. Here and there a reed-fringed lagoon
or a dismal swamp ; now and then a miserable
dwelling, and everywhere a featureless rolling void.
With the rumble of the train the first lines of Swin-
burne's " Salt Marshes" came to me and wove them-
selves into my cramped slumbers : —
Miles, and miles, and miles of desolation !
Leagues on leagues on leagues without a change !
Sign or token of some eldest nation
Here would make the strange land not so strange.
Only occasionally the plain gave way to forests of
young trees, vast to monotony, and so we passed
172 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
through Chinchilla, Albacete, and Alcazar. Towards
Cartillejo the dawn broke and lit up the naked
country with a hundred tints. I suppose it is one of
the compensations of Nature that the best sunsets
(and this includes sun-risings) are to be seen amid
dullest surroundings. At all events, this particular
one was so beautiful that I had to wake up the others
to point out its beauties. But the photographers
were not artists, and the Artist himself is not a
Colourist (at any rate at that time in the morning),
so I had it all to myself. The scenery put me in
mind of some lithographs of Palestine that hung in
a certain dingy classroom when I was a little boy ;
and, save for some well-remembered vultures and
camel-bones that appeared in all the series, they
might have pictured equally well this land of salt
and soda, where only windmills break the monotony.
By the way, as Baedeker soundly remarks, the delu-
sion of the Knight of the Rueful Countenance is
made a little less preposterous than Dore's pictures
represent by the very small size of these erections,
most of them being not more than eight feet high.
The sight that gave us the most pleasure was the
awfulness of the King's Road as it ran by the railway
line, and the dreary barrenness of the 360 kilometres
we were missing would have probably put an end to us
all. We reached Aranjuez about 7.30 on a cold,
bright morning — everybody within view being in-
distinguishably wrapped in rugs. Aranjuez has a
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR
73
curiously home-like appearance, because there arc
rows of English elms planted all about it. We did
not visit the town, but Mr. Baedeker says that the
Marquis Grimaldi, who was once upon a time
Spanish Ambassador at The Hague — a trying post
at times — caused by his suggestions the building of
it in the Dutch style. There is a royal palace here,
the ancient hunting park, and some of Velasquez'
pictures show parts of it in their backgrounds. The
guide-book mentions that no place in Europe is so
celebrated for nightingales or quite so hot in summer.
Hut the latter is a favourite Spanish boast, and when
we passed through a shawl containing a porter was
engaged in breaking the ice on the water-tank.
After this we dropped down by the Tagus amid a
trifle more enlivening scenery all the way to Madrid,
which we reached about an hour later. As we had
come by reputed "grand velocidad," the car was left
behind, and the picking out our hotel omnibus from
the hundred others that desired our patronage was
rather an undertaking. Spanish cabs, though slow,
are not so bad, and even sometimes run to taxi-
meters, while their horses, though nothing to wonder
at, are far superior to the poor sore-ridden beasts
that make a stay in Naples a misery to all but the
blind. We drove to the Hotel Ingles and, before
anything else, we wallowed — " for we needed of it so."
Having stayed in Madrid for three days, I am
fully qualified to know all about it. The population
174 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
seem all very careful not to catch cold, remaining
well wrapped up all day, and frequenting cafes that
are like the hot rooms of Turkish baths. They
are also very ordinary types, and, as the Artist
pointed out, one hardly ever sees any one on the
That there was a tram behind made no difference
pavement who has not his double in a crowded London
or Manchester street. The Puerta del Sol is the
centre of the important part of the town, and all the
big shopping streets focus themselves like the rays
of the sun into it. All the tram-cars meet here as
well, and I think their drivers must have a club
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 175
close by, for the whole place is packed with cars till
it looks like a gigantic shunting puzzle. I imagine
some of the inside cars of all must be there for
weeks, unless they manage to get away in the early
hours of the morning. But no one seems to mind.
Just in front of one of them we saw two men selling
EXTRANJET?0
Madrid post-box
books out of a basket the size of a coracle. They
held it one each end and walked down the middle of
the street. That there was a tram behind them
made no difference— the sale of a penny note-book
only kept it waiting a minute or so. This is nothing
in Spain, where all the railway and electrical officials
wear forked-lightning badges on their caps, and say
tf Ma#ana" with their lips.
176 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
The post-boxes at the General Post Office are in
the shape of two magnificent lions' heads with wide-
open mouths. There used to be something of the
same sort in Venice, and Mr. Justice Darling has
credited Mr. John Burns with trying to establish the
Our complimentary statue
same idea of the "bocca del Leone" in London, where-
in if any one had a secret complaint of anybody
else he posted a note to that effect, and it was dealt
with by a secret tribunal with a sure and generally
fatal result. Madrid paid us a great compliment,
in that one of the first statuary groups we encoun-
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 177
tered was nothing less than a representation of
horses pulling a car through water up to the floor-
The retire«l bull-fighter
boards. We took this very kindly, though Jehu did
not think it was much like him, and the Artist went
so far as to sketch it. He and I did a lot of prowl-
N
178 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
ing about, and once we saw a retired bull-fighter —
with his little pigtail — looking at a picture of a bull
in a shop window with a sort of deprecatory smile
over the decadence of things since his time. As
a matter of fact, he looked as if the world had done
him too well, and we think that if he ever got back
into the ring he would be indistinguishable in size
from the bull itself.
None of the streets look very imposing, but the
royal palace, built as it were on the city's walled
edge, is very fine. And there always seemed to be
something going on there, from the many fine carriages
and big automobiles that were for ever driving in and
out of it. Madrid seems a great place for uniforms,
and I do not expect the King ever wears plain
clothes in his own capital — at any rate, we never
saw him in them. The ceremony of changing the
guard in the Palace Square always draws a big
crowd and is quite imposing. All sorts and condi-
tions of arms take part in it, and the " Marcha
Reale" is a truly elegant composition. We all picked
up the tune and lost it the next day, which was very
aggravating.
Close by the square is the Armeria — the most
famous armoury in the world. In perfect order and
condition the history of chivalry can be followed
step by step in this unique collection. And little
side-shows in the shape of kings' tents— such as
figured on the " Field of the Cloth of Gold "—
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 179
Moorish weapons, bishops' maces, hoys' armour,
dogs' armour, travelling litters, and ceremonial lances
make the museum of the most fascinating interest.
Here is all the exquisite gold- inlaid armour which
the envoys of Philip wore when in England for the
arranging of his marriage with Queen Mary, and
here, too, is the wonderful Japanese armour sent at
the same time to Philip from the Land of the Rising
Sun, and differing little from the armour worn there
until half a century ago. Spain and Japan have
always treated their actual swords with more respect
than most nations, and a visit here shows how
well worthy of almost veneration the results are.
Of course we went to see the Prado Gallery, and
Our Artist would not halt until he stood in the Velas-
quez Room and broke into superlatives. I hear that
another motorist was not quite so happy; he had
followed as keenly as any one, but when he got there
looked rather disappointed. He was asked what
was his trouble, and answered that he could not
see any. He was told these pictures were probably
the most valuable set of paintings in the whole world,
and that there is no artist nowadays so worshipped
as Velasquez. He turned away with a look of dis-
gust. " Velasquez," he groaned. " I thought you
said Elastes." I may say he was not one of our
party. To return to sensible topics, this room is
worth all the rest of the collection put together.
His works here are so varied in character that
i8o THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
those we have at our National Gallery in London
give absolutely no idea of the marvellous talent of
the master. The figures at home are almost too
much of a kind, and though the newly acquired
Venus may be perfect of its sort, it is more of an
excursion from his ordinary and wonderful style.
His dwarfs and actors, his groups that seem at once
to stand out of the frames and make holes in the
walls, his pathetic, dressed-up little royalties, are as
only he himself could see them and draw them. Of
all the great artists I know, Velasquez and Franz
Hals at Haarlem are the most in luck, for they have
their rooms to themselves, and no one else to
disturb them.
Time passed all too quickly at the Prado, and
electric bells and machine-made servants swept us
out at four o'clock. The Artist (ours, I mean) eluded
them three times before he was cast at length forth
his idol's room. I tried to explain how famous he
was in his own land, but as his hair was newly cut
that day, and he had likewise washed, I was not
believed ; so out we had to go without having seen
a tenth of what we wanted to, and with no further
chance of returning another day. The Prado closing-
time is fearfully and wonderfully arranged.
The Madrid shops are not very exciting. In one
window we saw an imitation, red-legged partridge
connected with a bulb by about thirty yards of india-
rubber tubing. Investigation showed that when the
THE RAIL-BOUND CAR 1S1
bulb was squeezed the bird chirped and flapped its
wings. Now the wily Spanish sportsman — prior to
the real sporting fashion as set by King Alfonso —
fixes this up and secretes himself in a bush until its
antics have attracted a real partridge, whereat he
takes careful aim and fires.
I expect the artificial bird is a new invention, for a
Spanish gubernador once told a cousin of mine who
was in the harbour in his cruiser that it was his
custom never to waste a cartridge on a partridge for
this reason : " I take a live bird," said he, " and peg
him down. Then near him, but out of sight, I place
my chair and a little table for my liqueur and cigarette;
then I wait. No, I do not miss any shots ; if he is not
still I shoot him not till he is. So."
King Alfonso cannot do a greater work for the
people, animals, and birds of his beautiful kingdom
than show, as he is doing by his own example, the
real meaning and proper sense of the word " sport."
CHAPTER VII
TOLEDO AND MADRID
Fitting and right it is, that out of Sunny Spain, Chivalry's Birthplace,
(Sfaiu that once led all the world with the Hone and the Sword
and the Fan)
Waking again from its slumber of centuries, taking its part in the
World-race,
Comes forth a man who's a King, aye and better, a king who's a
Man ! — Owen John
AS a great treat on the Sunday, we allowed the
iV Daimler to have a rest and an even more needed
wash, while we, who also required a little change, be-
came Cook's tourists for once in our lives and visited
Toledo under his earth-embracing auspices. Toledo
is but little, over forty miles as an English crow would
fly, but even the best Spanish trains take nearly two
hours and a half over the journey each way. The
view out of the carriage window was not exciting —
nothing but a miserable brown and barren waste.
At one station a blind beggar walked up and down
by the train, ringing a bell to attract attention,
though I think that was all she got. Sunday trains
in Spain seem immensely popular, and we should
not have got seats at all if Mr. Cook had not
182
The Gateway of Toledo
TOLEDO AND MADRID 185
previously engaged them. While on the subject of
Mr. Cook a remark of one of his Spanish repre-
sentatives, concerning some luggage that had not
arrived, ought to be framed and hung up in their head
office : " We can do everything everywhere — except
in Spain." But even here they do not do so badly,
and railway travelling without their aid and assis-
tance becomes not only extra trouble but also a
much greater expense.
About half-past ten we got out at Toledo ; our
guide met us, and we drove up into the city over the
famous Puente de Alcantara that spans the Tagus.
Our photographers were fully armed, and the town
suffered severely. Mr. Baedeker calls it the Spanish
Rome, doubtless on account of its warlike associa-
tions, but our English towns of Shrewsbury and
Durham give a much better idea of the place, though
on a far smaller scale. The river, confined in a
narrow cleft, forms nearly two-thirds of the boundary.
The open part of the horseshoe is defended by
stupendous walls and battlements, dropping almost
perpendicularly to the plain beneath. Towers and
castles abut at every angle, and massive buildings
rise tier above tier to the big castle on the top. And
even the private houses — almost all built on the
Moorish plan of having their windows inside looking
on to the patio, and nothing but blank walls without
— give the same inhospitable effect. Romans, Van-
dals, Moors, and Spaniards have all in turn been
1 86 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
masters here, and in few places have the fires of the
Inquisition burned more fiercely. The exterior of
one of the big churches is decorated with hundreds
of huge iron manacles — of the kind now to be seen
only in political cartoons of 1906 — struck off the
limbs of the Christian prisoners found in the dun-
geons of the Moors. The streets, narrow and full of
arches, are hardly ever straight for twenty paces,
while behind the barred gateways that take the place
of the balconies of softer Spain, one can easily
imagine the hatching of all manner of dark con-
spiracies and black intrigue.
The few windows that do look out upon the street
are full of romance, and the Artist and I beheld in
two places female hands drooping from out the
dark and clasped by sentimental-looking young
gentlemen from the Military Academy. And their
loverlike attitude was correctness itself, though they
could not possibly tell whose hand it might be. I
expect all such adventures here begin with a red
rose dropped from the casement. If they do not,
they certainly ought to.
But nowadays Toledo is but a remnant of its
former self, and the image that rises to my thoughts
is that of an old and empty wasps' nest, almost,
though not quite, as fallen as Babylon, Nineveh, or
Kor. Not a score thousand of people dwell now
where men of war once poured forth in their myriads.
Streets that rang with the clank of an army of
TOLEDO AND MADRID 187
armour-makers now echo lonelily to the solitary tap-
ping of the shod mule, and the high places where
once the destiny of the nations was settled, serve but
as a peep-show for gaping globe-trotters. Here is a
Venus and Mars. A sketch at Tuledu
place where we can almost say with old Omar
Khayyam —
They say the lion and the lizard keep
The courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep ;
And Bahrain — that great hunter— the wild ass
Stamps o'er his head, but cannot break his bleep.
1 88 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
And it does not mitigate one's regret to know
that the only thriving industry in the city is the
manufacture of souvenirs for the ever-flowing stream
of tourists that flock to see this remnant of the elder
nation, though very likely this is what the poet was
thinking of in the last two lines.
We lunched at a very modern and cold hotel, and
afterwards took the usual drive round the town, said
" Oh ! " at intervals to the monotonous recitatif oi the
guide, looked where we had to, saw the town from
afar off, and generally behaved as intelligent person-
ally-conducted tourists should Then we were allowed
a little time to ourselves, and my notes indicate that
there seems to be a juvenile Sandhurst situated here
and that the cadets — however young and small they
may be — always carry swords. Water seems scarce,
and donkeys carry jars of it for sale. Flea-catching
in the sun is a fairly general amusement, and a good
deal of shopping is done by means of string and
baskets from the top-floor flats. The cathedral, of
course, is very fine, but too much of a show-place to
be inspiring. Cervantes, the author of Don Quixote
(please excuse my presumption of your forgetful-
ness), lived in a tumble-down dwelling here for some
years, and in pointing out a well that was reputed to
be over a thousand years old the guide called the
witness of certain cuts in the stone made by the
well-rope. As he had taught himself English, and
never been nearer to England than Madrid, I failed
TOLEDO AND MADRID 189
to convince him that the tow-ropes of canal-barges
only take about ten years to ruin the angle of a
stone bridge by the same kind of fretting. Not that
I disbelieved him so much as that I wished to im-
press him.
While on the subject of guides, it is not every one
that is as talented as our friend here. I remember
one gentleman who attached himself to us at
Syracuse some years ago, asking me if I cared
for duck-shooting. When I answered that there was
nothing in the world more dear to me, he produced
a carefully preserved testimonial and told me he
was the greatest authority in all Sicily on the sub-
ject. He insisted on my reading the document, and
kept his mouth open and his eyes glued on me
as I complied. It was written on man-of-war note-
paper signed by three officers, and the words inside
were : " This idiot considers three coots and one
moorhen a good day's duck-shooting." I kept my
face, gravely folded it up, and told him I was inex-
pressibly grieved to say we were leaving for the
Balearic Islands that evening, and so were unable to
take advantage of the good fortune.
Most guides seem to go in for shooting of a sort ;
I expect really it is because they are all things to all
men. Our self-taught companion here had a real
Irish setter, which came down to the station with
him to see us off, and when I inquired what it was in
the habit of setting, he told me that quail and part-
i 9 o THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
ridges abounded, and that he — like an Englishman —
could shoot flying. I have a great opinion of" Mr.
Cook " at Toledo.
The hotel was very English, and took in The Times
and Daily Mail. It also produced tea and whisky at
tea-time — things we had not seen for some weeks —
but when we had tasted them we ceased to regret
our deprivation. Bad tea and goat's milk is never
very attractive, but the whisky — I forget the name,
but there was a picture of a braw Highlander on the
label — was surely a remnant of a brand plucked
from the burning of some long-forgotten atito-da-fe'.
No wonder whisky is not appreciated abroad, though
I doubt if this was really much worse than the
ordinary public-house stuff at home. And this re-
minds me that at Madrid, possibly in honour of its
English visitors, we were treated at dinner to rosbif a
VAnglaise. Its toughness and colour were so appal-
ling — I failed to get as far as its flavour — that I had
to tell the charming and courteous manager of the
hotel that the Anglo-Spanish entente cordiale would
be ruined entirely by the mutual distrust engendered
by such a libellous description of such an anomalous
animal. I should like to bring this sort of inter-
national crimes to the notice of the next Hague
Conference, and so clear the air for the more complete
inter-mutual understanding of the nations.
It was a blue, but intensely cold day we spent at
Toledo, and when in the afternoon the cutting wind
The Puerta del Sol, Toledo
TOLEDO AND MADRID 193
dropped I loafed on to one of the big Moorish
bridges that are the most striking feature of the
town. The swallows were busy building under the
big arch of the Alcantara — wise birds to know one
place where they would be quite safe — and on the
still, deep waters below I watched a fisherman. His
boat was of the most amateur description and shape,
and he stood on the thwart at one end, scientifically
whirling the net round his head before he cast it
wide. And what is more, he caught fish — big ones
— I don't know of what kind, though they looked
like trout of a couple of pounds or so. Several
hundred other folk were eating oranges and watching
him, but of the continuous rain of orange-peel and
expectorated pulp on his head he took no notice
whatever, and as he caught the fish he put them in
the six inches of muddy water that swashed about in
the bottom of the boat, and resumed his labour in
the most nonchalant manner. The stolid, unexcit-
able nature (under some circumstances) of a Spanish
crowd is very different from that of an English one.
I remember once in the blackest part of the West
Riding (Mexbro', I think it was) listening to the re-
marks of a crowd looking over a bridge at two men
who were dragging the canal below for a missing
bottle-maker. You would not think that so much
delicate humour and wit could have been found in all
Yorkshire as that which exuded from the compara-
tively small crowd, and when at last the persevering
o
i 9 4 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
trawlers brought up a dead dog tied to a large stone,
the refined sarcasms that rewarded their best endea-
vour had the effect of the entire abandonment of
further inquiries in the direction of a mud-and-
watery grave.
I was dragged away from my contemplations by
our art photographers, who had used up nearly all
their plates and wanted to get home. The railway
journey was very wearisome, and it was quite dark
when we got to Madrid again.
We had heard and read a great deal how terribly
fond the Madrilenes are of the drama, and how
critical an audience they are. So, after dinner, we
went to one of the many theatres and saw a vaude-
ville. I am glad to say, though I have witnessed a
good deal of rotten stuff (including American impor-
tations) in my time both in London and elsewhere, I
have never had the bad luck to come across any-
thing quite as poor as this. The huge theatre was
crammed, every sally and antic caused roars of
laughter, and undoubtedly the piece was an enor-
mous popular success. I tried to get hold of the
argument, but failed miserably. There was a fat,
humorous man with a red tie, whose chef-d'ccuvre
was dropping his cigarette on his toe and kicking at
it. I think he was supposed to be a rich and eligible
parti. His father-in-law wore a yachting-cap all the
time — it is extraordinary how popular this style is
in Spain — and the walking gentleman (with a mous-
TOLEDO AND MADRID 195
tachc) was a young lover, and (without a moustache)
was a waiter. There were also four fearful-looking
females, who sang in unison songs stolen from the
States, and about twenty supers and extra ladies
and gentlemen, evidently chosen at random from
the street. The scenes took us to San Sebastian, a
country house, and the Alhambra. Costumes, time
of day, and everything else altered, but one charac-
teristic was common to every male performer and to
all acts — they all wore red socks. We puzzled over
this a great deal, but could not make it out — it was
not the usual habit in the Spain we had seen — and
not until the last act were our eyes opened, for the
scene was then at a fancy ball, and all the men wore
red tights. I am afraid I cannot give much of the
plot, as the waits were so long that the hero, who
had started the evening clean-shaven, was heavily
bearded before he finally received the permission of
the yachting-capped parent to marry the heroine (in
white boots and black stockings), and the aforesaid
funny man (in some one else's uniform) paired off
with one of the Spanish equivalents to a Gibson girl.
I forgot to mention that there was a detective who
always got a roar by wiping his hat with his handker-
chief to show how hard his brain was working. We fled
several hours before the advertised end of the show.
I think the only persons we saw the worse for
liquor in Spain were two mechanics, who dropped
into one of the smartest cafes in! the principal street
196 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
of Madrid about twelve o'clock one night. We had
just come away from the theatre, and were engaged
in discussing the above-mentioned plot. The place
was very long and empty, and the two adventurers
of course went to the inner end of it for seats.
I noticed a council of war among the gargons, and at
last one of them put a fresh toothpick in his mouth
and approached them. Dazed with light and look-
ing-glasses they had some difficulty in making out
where he was and more in what he wanted. He
argued, expostulated and gesticulated, but they only
smiled, and ordered their usual beverage. He rushed
away and brought back a price-list to frighten them
with enormous charges. But they only smiled the
more, and one of them went to sleep. Then more
waiters came to the rescue, and the one that was not
asleep began to grasp the situation and rose to
depart. His exit was after the manner of modern
infantry, " by short rushes," and he clasped every
gilded pillar and marble table as he came to them.
Then he leaned against the glass door, which flew
open and deposited him in the street. After a care-
ful reconnaissance by the waiters they boldly attacked
the sleeping partner, and their behaviour, after they
had left him also out in the Alcalda, was as that of
troops home-coming after a long and fearful war.
" Chucker-outs " do not seem to exist in Spain — per-
haps the knife habit helps to make the profession an
unpopular one.
TOLEDO AND MADRID 197
Cinematographs appear to be the other diversion
of this pleasure-loving folk. The night before we
had mingled with an enormous throng and been
floated in with the human tide to another large hall.
Though no smoking was allowed (a considerable
deprivation to a Spaniard), in less than five minutes
from the door's opening there was not even standing
room at the back. The lights were lowered, and a
mighty hush fell on all. A particularly blinky film
of " Beauty and the Beast " appeared and flickered
on for ten minutes. Then a faked representation of
a comic magician took up the running — and we
went. There are certainly some things we order
better in England, though they are usually the last
things we are proud of.
CHAPTER VIII
THE ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR
The fountain in the desert,
The cistern in the waste,
The bread we ate in secret,
The cup we spilled in haste !
Song of Diego I 'aldcz
WE left Madrid about midday. It had been
our intention — as it always was — to get off
early, and we were called at an unearthly hour for
that purpose, but one thing and another kept on
popping up and detaining the start. The road before
us to Valladolid and Biarritz is the best-known and
the best-kept in Spain. There is — or should be — no
mistaking the way, and once more we looked forward
to getting ordinary pace out of the Daimler.
Though Madrid was full of cars, we came across no
other English ones, nor could I hear at the garage —
how very expensive Spanish garages are ! — that an
English-made motor had ever been that way. But
doubtless I shall be corrected over this assertion.
No one ever seems to go the direct route to France
from Madrid, as the better road by far is the one that
goes first to the Escorial, about thirty miles to the
198
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 199
north-west, and then turns cast for another dozen
before it cuts into the direct international highway.
Though far from being perfect as to surface, in width
and engineering this Escorial road is a grand one.
About five miles from the capital it begins to rise, and
a gradual slope takes one up all the way twelve
hundred feet to the huge building that stands above
Madrid. The country on either side is barren and for-
bidding, almost without form and void, and certainly
with very little in the way of inhabitants. The road-
men prepare to salute any big car that comes along in
case the goggled driver may be the popular King,
and once clear of Madrid, about the only impedi-
ments to speed are the big-horned goats that seem
to inhabit the barest portions of the highway. On
reaching Escorial we bought some lunch at a fearful
price— our own fault— at a hotel that appears to
exist only for the fleecing of visitors, and we took it
on with us, having no time left to inspect one of the
most marvellous blocks of masonry in the world.
It lies— a memorial of Philip II— carved, as it were,
out of the big mountains that guard it from the west
and north, and the mind must have something to
compare it with before its enormous size can be
realised to the full. The front looks over the sterile
plain across to Madrid, while the old woods around,
that give a Scotch aspect to the pile, seem in com-
parison to be but a low plantation of young trees.
Within its gloomy interior lie the dead royalties of
200 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
Spain, and the long torch-lit night processions that
used to accompany the dead kings across the barren
waste to their last home must indeed have made
a picture wanting in no detail of Pomp and Circum-
stance.
After this we ran to the right and, as usual, over-
shot the proper turn. Consequently a level crossing
that was not on our map, a jagged road, and deep
snow ahead, were obstacles that made even Jehu
call a halt. A friendly peasant pointed out far
behind us a twisting thread up the mountain-side
as the correct way to France, and back we had to
come. Then began a climb of another two thousand
feet above the three thousand we were at. We
lunched among the sounds of trickling rills of ice-
cold water just below the snow-line. The view was
marvellous, though — like all scenery that does not
include the sea — a trifle monotonous. Madrid,
thirty-five miles away, seemed to be at our feet, and
the cliffs of Toledo, forty miles beyond that, were
by no means the last range within our view.
On either side the Guadarramas stretched along,
huge, high, and white with snow. When we had
devoured the prospect and some uncooked pig the
Artist had raised, we ran up the remaining few turns
on the southern side of the mountains, and soon
were at the great stone lion that Isabella and Ferdi-
nand put here in the fifteenth century to commemo-
rate the making of the road. There was a cart with
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 201
;i team of four mules and two oxen at the top with
us, and it appeared to be the correct thing to sign
our names in an automobile visitors' book that the
dear old lady at the rest-house kept. Then one
minute to say farewell to New Castile — we had
taken our leave of the Sunny South far away and
long ago on the top of the Valencian hills — and
we were off again to Old Castile and the climate we
had left behind us at Avignon.
We twisted and slid down the white northern side
of the mountain amid forests of pines and a foot of
crackling, frozen snow, the bugle making wonderful
echoes from wood and precipice. The road curved
and dipped till below the snow-line, and then lay
straight along the plain for Valladolid. The scenery
we passed through was extraordinary, like some parts
of Inverness, and, almost without knowing it, the
Artist began to talk of two rights-and-lefts he made
last year in Scotland at stags, and some markhor he
slew in the Nilghiri Hills during the Durbar. But
an interlude of a village and some barking dogs
mercifully turned the current of his thoughts, and he
right royally smacked the first one round the ribs.
For about another ten miles the country looked like
a battleground of the gods. The open, undulating
plain, sometimes cracking into rocky chasms and
enormous moraines, lay covered with huge, round
boulders spilled fantastically in all directions, and
ranging in size from hayricks to arm-chairs. In
202 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
some places human hands had arranged the smaller
ones into shelters, or placed crosses on the top of the
larger. But, as a rule, only the presence of the road
altered the scene from what it probably was ten
thousand years ago, and will be when mankind has
come to an end. At one place a deep rift causes
the highway to make two abrupt turns, and if Jehu
had not been the expert he is, our monuments would
have been the everlasting boulders that line the
bottom of that abyss.
After this, for leagues we ran along a forbidding
high land with Cyclopean walls and barren pastures,
very much like the top of the Somerset Mendips in
the winter. We were glad when the sun once more got
above the Guadarrama mountains, and even more
so when the wind dropped. After about forty miles
of this a puncture amid a terra-cotta landscape kept
us a little while, and enabled us to have a chat with
the sturdy peasants who fight for life in these inhos-
pitable regions. Distances are so great that most
of them ride inquisitive donkeys everywhere, and
we were much amused when Jehu, weary of the too
close attentions of the onlookers, turned round sharply
and nearly kissed an inquiring ass that was wonder-
ing if pneumatics were good to eat. The Artist
was very pleased with this rest, because two pictur-
esque beggars came up and whined to him. With
all quaint old tatterdemalions that ever came out of
song or story, this pair could have held their own.
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 203
One of them was very like old Pew — poor old Pew
in Treasure Island— and the gift of three coppers
seemed to make the two at first very content. But
as they walked away the division of the odd coin
They neatly came lo blows on ihe subject
caused a quarrel, and we watched them nearly come
to blows on the subject. Talking of beggars, except
in Madrid they are rare, and one can meet more of
them in a mile on any English high road than in a
month of Spain.
The peasants, who left their work to inspect us,
2o 4 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
were very chatty, full of vague information, delighted
to be of any use, and quite sorry when we wished
them " Con Dios," which remark these folks say as if
they meant it. The sun had gone down, but a nearly
full moon was silvering up the eastern end of the
mountains we were leaving behind. The road,
splendid only when compared with the rest of Spain,
broad and white, stretched like a ribbon before us
across hill and dale, with the North Star hanging
above it and over our goal. We ran, going as if the
car was glad to be able to move again, through
many villages where the wood-smoke of the cottage
fires joined with the evening mist and lay like a
cloth in their dipping valleys. Here and there the
road twisted across some river-scored gully, but soon
on again for miles and miles across the weary plain.
Once in the moonlight we came past an old Roman
town, whose broken walls looked down on us as we
hummed by. Some other day I am coming back
here to correct my impressions, but it will have to
be warmer weather, and when the arid land has
hidden its nakedness with its crops. So, steer-
ing still on to the North Star, about eight in the
evening we came near to Valladolid. And within a
mile of badly-wanted dinner the petrol tank ran dry,
and for the first time since Boulogne we made use
of the supply in the spare tank. This necessitated
taking off the baggage, holding the bloated tin up
at an absurd angle, and making a shot at the usual
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 205
entrance to the reservoir. And (need I say?) we had
to do it in the dark. But it gave Our Artist a chance
of using some low Andalusian language he had
never, as yet, had a chance of throwing off. Ami
so we came to Valladolid.
Once upon a time Valladolid was a great and
capital city, but now it is not very interesting.
There are old buildings in plenty, but more new
ones. We created a record by driving in error down
an asphalt walk in the park that is only used by
pedestrians, and then got comfortable quarters and
good food at the Hotel Siglo. We filled up with
petrol at quite an ordinary rate next morning, and
Jarge nearly fell into a deep pit in the Plaza while
walking backwards to get a photograph of the statue
that stands in the middle of it. I was struck by the
enormous number of fir-cones sold for firing here,
and the Artist by a delightful bargaining scene
between a pretty nun and a very plain fish-wife.
Jehu took a little ride in a mule tramcar for a change,
but beyond these things there is little to record. We
left next morning for Burgos, along a very deteriorated
road, which we thanked Heaven we had daylight to
pick our path in. Our way now lay over a country
which can only be compared to the derelict bottom
of an empty Dead Sea. Not a blade of green to be
seen, nor even a tree, save on the stony banks of the
river Pisuerga. The wretched villages we passed
seemed to shrink into the ground at our approach,
206 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
until we found out that most of the houses were
cave-dwellings, with only a door and a chimney.
Marketing at Valladolid
One place, that owned a beautiful blue-tiled church
tower surrounded by a cluster of roofs, melted into
the landscape inside a hill with a summit like a forti-
fied volcano or a mandarin's hat. We stopped to
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 207
sketch and photograph this natural curiosity, and the
Artist promptly lost himself. I nearly bugled myself
silly trying to call him hack, and then we found him,
busily drawing, round the corner. The next village
was Torquemada — where the great Inquisitor came
from — and here all the female inhabitants, to the
number of some hundreds, were washing clothes in
the Grand Castile Canal that runs by the road and is
supposed to irrigate the whole of this khaki-coloured
country. Then, just past Quintana, a tube nipped,
and we were delayed once more. The Artist went
back into the jaws of the many dogs we had smitten,
and returned with about fort)' children, the usual
sausage, a loaf of brick-like bread, and some Cornish
pilchards. Jehu produced his emergency ration, and,
after the tyre was made good again, we lunched.
While we were waiting for the food a man rode up
and produced two live kids out of his saddle-bags,
explaining that he had seen motors before, and
thought we might possibly require some meat before
we were ready to proceed. Also two folks on one
ass caught us up and smiled in pride at their superior
pace.
Owing to our late start it was evening when we
reached Burgos — perhaps the most lovely town of all
we saw in Spain, though of an entirely different style
from the seaboard cities. The big square is perfect of
its kind, clean and cloistered, and down on it look
the perforated spires of the cathedral, while a castle-
2o8 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
crowned hill towers above all. We took rooms at the
Hotel de Paris, but when we discovered that the
feeding there was about double the price we had paid
almost anywhere since we left Boulogne, we left it
and dined at the Hotel Universal.
Nearly three thousand feet above the sea, the air
here was delightful, and our after-dinner stroll a thing
Con Dios "
to be remembered. The splendid old gates by the
river, overburdened as they are with statuary, seemed
in the moonlight to be one with the white Gothic pile
behind them, while every house looked full of
romance, and the enormous steps all round the
cathedral almost too wonderful to be real. Our only
source of annoyance was the crowd of small boys
who followed us clamouring for coppers. These
became such a nuisance that we were forced to draw
our knives and rush after them, shrieking awful
I
1
4
m
-
.*<*
IN Till SHADOW 01 IMI CATHEDRA
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 209
things. This had the desired effect, for though they
must have put us down as entirely mad, we never saw
a single one of them again.
The Artist and I visited the cathedral again early
next morning, this time in a more sedate and fitting
manner. I do not suppose there is in all the world
a more beautiful building or one with more ex-
quisite contents. Even my companion, who votes
a thing dull unless he can see the humorous side of
it, was in raptures at the delicacy of the carved
work, the perfection of its proportions, and the
marvellous purity of the whole. I do not profess to
be an expert in such matters, and though the differ-
ence between styles is as much as I can manage to
be sure of, I know that it needs no connoisseur to
declare at Burgos that here at least man cannot im-
prove on the shrine his forefathers have raised to the
glory of their God. The contents of the cathedral
are worthy of their setting — marble figures, elegant
tracery, and noble flights of steps, all are unique of
their kind — yet so ideal is the whole that no one
thing ever detracts from the other, which I believe
to be the truest index to the most perfect taste.
And clean, cold, bright Burgos is almost prouder of
being the birth and burial place of the famous Cid
even than of the cathedral, so between the two I
expect the hotels and guides do very well.
We had lingered longer in Spain than our
original intention had been, and, owing entirely to
p
210 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the condition of the roads (as I have before men-
tioned) were days behind our scheduled time. So
we thought to push on that day to Bilbao and ship
the car and some of ourselves thence to England.
The fact of our spare tyres having gone to a place
entirely different from the one they were intended to
reach, caused this alteration in our plans, and a burst
about twenty miles out strengthened our resolve and
introduced us to some merry Castilian shepherd
boys, who dropped off mountain-tops to see who it
was invading their fastnesses. When we got going
again, the road was one long slope down to ordinary
altitudes once more. And then we struck Pancorbo,
a far-famed and much-advertised cleft in the moun-
tains. If I did not know England I might have
been as impressed as most writers seem to be, but
I fear we all considered them, fine as they are —
though spanned across the most impressive part
from tunnel to tunnel by a big railway arch — not
nearly as grand as the Cheddar Gorge in my own
native Somerset. Pancorbo has the advantage in
fewer excursionists and no tea-gardens, but Cheddar
gains points by its perpendicular, ivy-clad cliffs and
the lofty pinnacles of rocks, where the tiny jackdaws
wheel " and the breeding kestrels cry." I am sorry
to have to destroy so many illusions, but I like my
own land to score all the honours it can when it
holds them. Then we got to Miranda, where Jarge
and I left the car and took train to Biarritz in order
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 211
to send our surplus baggage, waiting at the frontier,
to Jehu and the Artist at Bilbao, We just caught
the Sud express going north, dined on hoard, got
charged double for our tickets as we came on with-
out them, fought with a Spaniard who would not
allow the windows to be opened, made it up again,
narrowly escaped being kissed by him, and finally
slept at Irun in the tiniest and cheapest hotel we lay
at in all our long trip. A bantam cock crowed in-
cessantly within four feet of our window, and we
rose early. But, after collecting all the baggage, the
thought struck us that the train was a poor method
for motorists to cross the frontier, so we chartered
a weird-looking pair-horse vehicle and solemnly
drove past the neutral He de Faisans and over the
Bidassoa into France at Ilendaye, where we lunched.
Then a weary, slow train the few miles to Biarritz,
where the third Good Samaritan took us under his
wing, and we thought at last we were at rest.
I said " thought," because no sooner had we washed
and put on clean garments than a telegram came
from Jehu to say that ships home were " off," and that
he and the Artist were coming along the coast by
San Sebastian and, with luck, would join us at
Biarritz the next morning. Which they did. The
following description of what (in spite of the extra-
ordinary language it is couched in, owing to the
inexperience of one who is more talented in his
tongue than his pen, and his pencil than either) must
212 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
have been a wonderfully picturesque and thrilling
run, is by the Artist, and I must ask all critics who
come fresh from my superior and more Attic style
to be lenient with it, more especially as he has sworn
(in four languages) that he will be asterisked if he
ever does so again. And this is what he says : —
Jarge and the scribe having crammed their belong-
ings into one very small handbag and one very large
and disreputable rush sack, boarded the train at
Miranda, not deigning to bother about tickets ; but
that was their affair. The subsequent explanations
to the guard, from Jarge's confession afterwards, will
become legendary among the officials of the line.
I may explain that Jarge isn't a linguist, and the
scribe once took a prize in French, not for the correct-
ness of his translation, but because of the ingenuity
he displayed in the invention of new words. After
waving farewell to them, Jehu and I shifted the re-
maining cargo on the car, getting the weight as far
forward as possible, the wrenching the back tyres
had undergone making it necessary to take as much
strain off them as possible. If my impressions of
this part of the journey suggest an entire freedom
from all worries on the score of breakdowns, over-
heating, tyre trouble, and the rest, it must be put
down to the absence of the scribe. Lest I should
be misunderstood, let me state that he is well over
six feet two, very broad in proportion and, although
he denies it, much too fat.
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 213
For thirty days we had sat in the same scat with
a pile of cameras, slide-cases, spare tubes, and
Heaven knows what beside erected between us only
to be shot over me, being small, every time he leapt
up to smite some unwary dog. Now, for the first
time, I was able to stretch a leg out without causing
him to lift up his voice like the bear in the fable.
Now I was in undisputed possession of the whip,
but alas ! the supply of dogs failed, although I made
beautiful practice on the (e\v that came within reach.
It was dark when we arrived at Bilbao, so we had not
time to select an hotel, but took the first one recom-
mended by a passer-by.
They spoke English there ; as a consequence the
cooking was bad, and the prices about twice as much
as we had ever paid since leaving Boulogne. Our
troubles began when we started to find a shipping
agent ; it was impossible to ship a car to England
unless we first of all got into the good graces of
a tramp captain, who might allow us to encumber
his deck with a huge case in which we must secure
the Daimler, also he would take no risks, also he
would charge a ruinous sum, and lastly, I think,
Sunderland was the only port he would land it at,
the only trade of Bilbao, as far as we could make
out, being in rails from the North of England.
Furthermore, having brought the car into Spain
by land, it was necessary to take it out again in the
same way, if we wanted tu recover the sixty-nine
2i 4 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
pounds we had deposited on the frontier without
endless formalities and delay of months before it
could be settled. Jehu and I held a consultation in
A little trouble at Bilbao
the open street, at least Jehu thought while I watched
a most satisfactory squabble between a policeman
and a Basque fish lady possessing a fine gift of
language. We decided to chance the tyres giving
out before we got to San Sebastian. It opened up a
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 215
glorious opportunity of Entering Biarritz in state,
dust-covered, travel-stained, but triumphant.
There was nothing to stay for in Bilbao; it may
be a prosperous place, but if it is so in anything
like a proper proportion to its ugliness, its wealth
is enormous. Of the two routes from Bilbao to
Biarritz the one following the coast was recom-
mended as the best road, but the southern one
through Eiban was said to be much more in-
teresting as well as shorter. The twirl of a peseta
decided us to try the latter, and once more our
luck held good, for never have I seen more varied or
delightful country than that which we passed through
on that day as soon as we reached the outlying spurs
of the Pyrenees. Devonshire, Scotland, and Switzer-
land all seem to have given of their best to this most
favoured district, while, as far as the surface went, the
road was by far the best we had travelled on in Spain.
Except for the continual twisting of the road even
Jehu had nothing but praise for it. His cup of joy
was filled and overflowing when we discovered a
steam roller at work ! Motorists in Spain will under-
stand the italics but will doubt its being a fact.
The route is a little obscure some thirty-five miles
from Bilbao, but a lucky stop at Durango to admire
the arched market built round the church, and a
gossip with a priest who knew the roads well, pre-
vented us from taking the wrong way. About two
kilometres from the town, by his advice we took an
216 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
insignificant side road by the railway, which avoided
the steeper hills and was in first-rate repair. It is
well that this should be put on record, as it was the
only time that any information concerning Spanish
roads turned out to be correct. Had we had time we
would have lingered in many of the villages, but
night was coming on and it was still a far cry to
San Sebastian. The road also began to exhibit a
few tricks of its own ; if it was not dodging round
a corner on the coast, every hundred yards it was
playing a game of cat's cradle with the railway, with
about half a dozen level crossings to the mile. Luckily
all these, as well as the worst bends, were well marked
by danger boards, but even so we had one narrow
shave, overrunning the notice of a crossing at a very
bad turn in the dusk, and pulling up within a foot of
the shut gates just as a goods train went by. We
treated the next few notices with great respect. We
should have been wiser to have stayed at San Sebas-
tian, it looked a veritable dream city in the moonlight ;
but there was just time to get across the frontier be-
fore the Customs officials locked up the cash-box we
had designs upon. Moreover, it was my turn to go
on the sick list, and I was developing a chill that re-
duced a fairly useful voice to a scarcely audible
squeak ; so on to Irun, to the office of a most worthy
Customs agent, Echandia by name ; but when it came
to the papers — they were not. Jarge had been the
rock on which we had built. All documents had been
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 217
confided to him, and he was in all probability enjoy-
ing himself in nice clean clothes without a care on
his mind. There was nothing for it but to wire him
to come back with the papers in the morning, unless
we would forego all dues deposited both in France
and Spain.
After so doing we betook ourselves sadly to what
we were assured was the best hotel in I run — for
I run's good name I congratulate it on having com-
menced a new one. For the first time, we agreed
with the guide-book's description of Spanish hotels.
Apparently there was only one person in charge — a
slipshod chambermaid, as jolly as an Irish girl, whose
name for once was not Mercedes ; she seemed to
combine the offices of manageress, waitress, cook,
and hall-porter. Not a word of French did she
know, although she lived within half a mile of the
frontier. When she got any rest I don't know, long
after midnight I could hear a party of revellers
calling for Maria or Lola, or whatever her name
was, to bring more wine, and at four in the morning
she brought a nondescript gentleman into my room
and commenced a long consultation as to how they
were going to get a car out of the coach-house, our
Daimler apparently blocking the way. I would have
sworn cheerfully had I had any voice to make
myself heard, as I strongly disapproved of the
gentleman sitting on the foot of my bed and smok-
ing cigarettes, but a well-directed kick explained my
218 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
views. However, there was no help for it, so Jehu
and I, clad in pyjamas and overcoats, backed the car
into the street and rehoused her after my visitor had
taken his car away. From that time numberless
people demanded coffee or chocolate, which Maria
attended to, but she appeared quite cheerful when
we descended at 7 a.m. Targe arrived from Biarritz
with the coffee, and was greatly struck with the
general appointments of our hotel. He and the
scribe, it appears, had so differed with the authorities
on the question of baggage, that they had had to
remain at Irun for a night, and their hotel was
beyond even the scribe's powers of description.
With our papers in order we advanced to the attack
on the Spanish Customs House, having been warned
by Sefior Echandia that they would refuse to refund
the money unless we were firm. Two short gentle-
men in charge signed our papers and told us that
we should have to collect the money deposited at
Perthus, where we entered the country at the other
end of the Pyrenees. I countered with the fact that
I had warned them from Madrid to have the money
ready for us a week ago. This they admitted, but
said it was not the custom. I advanced the sugges-
tion that if they declined to pay their names should
be forwarded by me to some August Being, unnamed,
at Madrid. Thereupon they retired, weakly pro-
testing that it was quite irregular, but shelling out
the money and asking me to bear witness that no-
ROAD OF THE NORTH STAR 219
thing had been deducted on account of the rate of
exchange. I assured them that never would I forget
it, so in triumph we crossed the frontier to be wel-
comed by our smiling companions who had gone
before.
A roadside sketch
CHAPTER IX
ON BIARRITZ
I SUPPOSE that all through one's life disillusion-
ments occur. And I use the word "disillusion-
ments" in a more general sense than its usual one.
Ever since the start of our journey Biarritz had been
one of the places that no bad roads, torn tyres,
floods, or snow-drifts were going to deprive us of.
I had pictured it as something after the style of the
Riviera — though I must say that one of the scenes
of the " Toreador " at the Gaiety had a good deal to
do with my imagination. If I remember the play
aright, through the wide-open hotel doors lay the
blue sea, with a bluer sky overhead and mountains
rearing aloft their snow-capped peaks in the back-
ground. Exquisitely dressed females walked in and
out, and now and then a short -skirted senorita,
yellow-gowned, with roses in her lustrous black hair,
took the centre of the stage and sang songs of the
type of- off to Espafia
To-day or Manana,
and all the visitors and waiters and bathing machine
proprietors and porters came in at the right time and
220
ON BIARRITZ 221
helped the chorus out with the refrain. But Biarritz
was in >t a bit like that.
I remarked that Jarge and I came by train. About
two stations away — I think it was called S. Jean de
Luz — my thoughts flew with a sudden jerk back to
the dear old homeland, for just outside our window
was a tailor-made, check-dressed suffragette style
of a woman talking such pure Dog-French to a
smiling Basque, that even I could follow her mean-
ing to its innermost (translated) idiom. Something
evidently had not turned up as it should, and I think
it was a bag of golf-clubs, because though I could
understand what she was driving at the blue-smocked
garqon could do no more than smile and shrug his
shoulders. Fancy having to describe golf-clubs to
an alien out-porter ! And then more English came
on the scene and we left them at it and looked out
of the window at the Norfolk-like scenery on each
side of the line. We could not make out at first
what made it so home-like till Jarge suddenly real-
ised it must be the hedges. And that is, perhaps,
the reason why that part of France is so popular
with the English. And then we got to Biarritz,
piled our shameful belongings — grass-tied, dusty, and
burst— on the top of the smart Continental Hotel
'bus, and rolled and bumped the long dusty road
down into the " Cove of Monarchs."
The first thing that strikes one at Biarritz is the
tininess of it all. Whereas on the Riviera the villas
222 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
and hotels and towns seem to stretch on for ever,
here much less than a mile of coast includes the lot.
There is the little bay with little rocks in it and the
little promenade that bounds it. And there is the
little street of shops — though the prices are not little
— the little jetty, the little bathing coves and the little
harbour. The hotels are big enough, and perhaps it
is the littleness of their setting that makes them
seem bigger than ever. Some of the biggest were
not even open — being kept for the summer season
when the scorched-out Spaniards come to bathe and
gamble here. And talking of gambling, even the
Casino is on the little side, though plenty big enough
for the folk who patronise most of its attractions.
The Good Samaritan who looked after us at Biarritz
introduced us to its delights, and because I am afraid
he is one of those people to whom music is only an
attraction when there is nothing else moving, I got
the information from some one else that the string
band here beats even the Monte Carlo orchestra, and
— during the short time I was allowed to sit and
listen to it and watch the frantic gestures of its
leader — I can quite believe it. But it must be very
disheartening to the performers to watch nine-tenths
of the visitors walking straight through to the Salles
de Jeu, and giving the most divine waltzes the same
attention as the barrel-organ outside gets. They play
petits chevaux in one of the rooms and — though
perhaps in the summer it may be crowded— the
ON BIARRITZ
223
silence and solemnity of the table is quite awe-
inspiring. It may be that one or two groups of
people may be talking in hushed whispers in the
t^rtC *'"
The Scribe wastes his substance at pet its chevaux
corners. There will be three fearfully respectable
croupiers, sitting in their appointed places about the
little race-course. In comes one who desires to
gamble. As a rule his next move is to go out again.
But if he does not he places his five-franc piece on the
224 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
ruled cloth. Like the time-stained priests of some
moss-grown religion one croupier turns a starting
handle and the little horses whiz around, another
croupier says words that originally meant something,
and the third — after the last horse has stopped — ■
mechanically scoops up the staked coin, or, improb-
ably, adds a little pile to it and the silence falls
once more. Perhaps this bold bearding of the lion in
its den may be the means of starting two or three
more to try their luck, but, afternoon or evening,
during the few days we were at Biarritz, I never saw
in this room anything but this sort of spasmodic
gambling. The only time that there ever seems to
be a crowd is when the pretty little theatre turns out
its audience between the acts, and then there is what
is usually described as " a gay scene." But let us
investigate further. At the door of the bacarat (one
C) room two men sit at a table with a most serious
aspect, and before you may enter it is necessary to
be proposed by one of them, seconded by another,
and sign your name. With half - humorous,
bitter-sweet memories of similar processes in the
old days of Corinthian and Alsatian Gardenias, we
underwent the necessary formalities and entered the
Salon.
One of the biggest differences between Biarritz and
Monte Carlo is the nature of their respective habitues.
Biarritz will never become the attraction to sensa-
tional novelists that the South of France is, because
ON BIARRITZ
225
the element of mystery does not inhabit it at all. If
a pretty or well-dressed woman comes into the room
or walks clown the street, everybody knows who she
is, where she is staying, and all about her. If one
asks in awe-struck whisper who that melancholy,
mysterious, distinguished-looking foreigner is, you are
sure to be told that he is a very good chap and + 2
A sketch at the Casino
at the golf club. If Major McGrouse wins a hun-
dred louis, no one will shoot himself, and all Biarritz
will know who came to the dinner to celebrate this
alteration in his luck.
The croupiers alone strike the note of profession-
alism, though I think that even their countenances
have not quite so much of the " repose of the dead"
appearance, their voices are less metallic, and they
behave a little less automatically than their more
Q
226 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
numerous confreres in the Principality. The fat one
at the centre table becomes quite genial at times.
If you go into the rooms at Monte Carlo with your
trousers turned up— I believe my tailor cuts mine
with that intention— you are cast out as if you were
garbed in knickerbockers or flannels ; but at Biarritz
the correct thing in the afternoon is to stroll in hob-
nailed and homespun, while hats or caps of all sorts
At the Casino
and sizes are not only quite the "sneeze" but worn
all the time. And here I (as a motorist without
even a Homburg) protest, for about ten o'clock —
after the dinner parties are over, when the big room
fills with exquisitely -dressed pretty women, well-
groomed Englishmen in dinner coats and black ties,
sleek Americans (men mostly) and more or less cor-
rectly costumed other people — in come dirty-nailed,
unwashen Teutons and such like, dressed as they got
■;" f '
ft
[/
ON BIARRITZ
22'
up that morning and probably lay down the night
before, wearing on their stubbly heads, abominations
the most elegant <>f which are much-thumbed white
yachting caps with celluloid peaks. They seem as
much out of place as a mouse in a bottle of pickled
walnuts, and as far as appearances go the rooms
A Teuton
would not lose anything by their absence. But one
cannot judge by appearances — especially abroad —
and I dare say they are millionaires in their own
country.
Now, since the French have turned pious and
abolished gambling and religion from their shores,
roulette is not allowed to be played in such places as
these. BacaratjscnA cJicmiii-de-fcr evidently do not
228 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
come in the same category, but for the occasional and
elementary punter they are not of the same value. I
almost think they are dull, and because many others
hold the same opinion there seems to be rather an
exodus to San Sebastian, where, across the Spanish
frontier, all sorts of games are allowed, and such ex-
traordinary lines of demarcation are not drawn
between things apparently the same.
The golf links of Biarritz have two very special
features. One is the drive over the cliff on the
shore, and the other is the drive up again. The
greens looked very good, and the course was very
crowded with all sorts and conditions of players.
The day I went round the links was grey and
cloudy, and from the top the long line of flat, sandy
coast northward is very like the Dutch shore above
Scheveningen. Year after year, at the beginning
of the last century, the English troops used to winter
and recoup here, and many a moss-grown grave in
the neighbourhood bears an English inscription. I
believe they used to come by ship to Bayonne, which
lies only a few miles from Biarritz, and once upon
a time was a very famous place indeed. Even now,
though spoilt by visitors on their afternoon drives,
it is one of the quaintest looking places we saw, and
I was glad to learn that the old gate we passed
through, about to be pulled down for some absurd
reason, was spared at the intercession of a no less
popular person in France than our own good King.
ON BIARRITZ 229
Because Biarritz begins with a B, it ought to
apply to itself the " bright, bracing, and breezy" ad-
jectives of Blackpool, and for those who wish to
take plenty of exercise and feel fit and well, I can
imagine no better place. But for a man who does
not play golf, or motor, or gamble, it must be un-
commonly dull. No doubt it suits people that the
Riviera does not, but it is not to be compared with
the sun-lit, sea-blue, palm-planted, and flower-laden
paradise that makes the change from foggy England to
the Cote cFAzur in February such a marvellous delight.
This part of France seems to produce athletes in
abundance, especially at golf, as our home players
know to their sorrow. But their speciality is pclota.
Now there was a great pclota match advertised at
the village of Auglet, about half a dozen miles away,
and of course we had to see the much-talked-of
national game of the Basques. The players were
some of the most famous professionals of the art, the
court one of the best — and there were some subsidiary
attractions as well. Most of Biarritz, that did not
play golf or regularly gamble, were there, and it
seemed that there were nearly as many hand-cameras
as people. The place being near Spain, the
players made it a point of honour to be very late in
starting, but when they got going they made up for
lost time. Of the six performers, three a side, five
managed to be fairly punctual, and indulged in a
preliminary knock-up, while the sixth, a fat man
2 3 o THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
with a sweet smile, changed his garments unblush-
ingly coram populo at the window of the dressing-
room, and kept up a running fire of chaff with the
other players all the time. But they soon had their
revenge, for the dilatory one seemed to be clean off
his game when they did make a start, whereupon his
A pelota player
captain went for him in three languages, and he
bucked up to a marvellous extent. Every one
knows about pelota, or should, so I need not explain
that it is a sort of glorified hand -fives, played in a
court like the back wall of a rifle range. But the
performers were good men, and the amount of pace
they got on the ball out of their cup-shaped, sickle-
ON BIARRITZ 231
like wooden gloves was a thing to be remembered.
They tell me pcloia players die young, but I expect
the usual cause of their premature decease is a whang
on the back of the head from another human cata-
pult. As long as the players are doing as they
should, they are not to be distinguished (except by
their Tam-o'-Shanters) from the ordinary kind of
English enthusiast at games, but if at any time they
make a mess of a stroke, their grief is ludicrous in
the extreme. They smite their breasts, they tear off
their hats and jump on them, they almost weep, and,
indeed, give every indication that such an extra-
ordinary occurrence as this can never have happened
to them ever before. The nearest piece of simulation
I can compare it to is the way some cricket profes-
sionals rub their hands and pretend they have
smashed their fingers when they happen to miss a
catch. And the sympathy of the crowds under both
circumstances amounts to much the same.
After the match was finished we adjourned to see
the rest of the fun of the fair. There was a " tir
aux pigeons" competition going on in a field near
by, but a young army of gunners all round, waiting
for any birds that might be missed inside the
barriers, frightened us away. Then a large tent with
a notice outside inviting the world at large to try
their luck at " tir aux lapins," moved ns to see what
was going on within.
At first it appeared like the usual English
232 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
shooting-gallery, with the usual girls serving out
arms and ammunition. But a closer inspection
revealed a lop-eared rabbit as the target, and as
shot after shot either whistled round his lop-ears
or caused him to jump in anguish, I wondered
why he did not put an end to the unpleasant
A fisherman at Biarritz
situation by walking, Solvitur ambulando — as the
grammar has it. But one young devil, with a straw
hat on the back of his head, at about his sixth shot,
managed to smash his foreleg to such an extent that
it became apparent the reason of his immobility was
a string fastening him to a board. Whereat we left,
with a lower opinion of Basque chivalry than we
started with. But, after all, I do not know if this is
much worse than rabbit-coursing as practised on
Sunday afternoons round London, or many of the
pastimes of the colliers in the Black Country and
near Durham. And certainly the doom of the bull
in the Spanish arena is just as certain, and only the
ON BIARRITZ 233
flitter and ostentation raise it above such sordid
cruelty as this. So who are we to judge?
The other Biarritz sport is sea-fishing, and is only
remarkable for the absurd length of the rods used by
the many anglers.
Jarge, for family reasons, determined to desert
us at Biarritz, and seems from all accounts to
have amused himself but little after our departure.
Perhaps it would be more correct to say we left
both Jarge and the Artist behind us, for the Artist's
month's hard labour had resulted in a fearful cold
and such almost total loss of voice that he could
only speak in hushed whispers. This, perhaps, was
just as well for our reputations, for Spanish roads,
customs, and almost exclusive male society are apt
to get one out of practice for the ordinary amenities
of social existence. Besides, his receptive intellect
had absorbed a certain amount of the Basque lan-
guage, the sound of which resembles a Venetian
blind coming down with a rattle. And also for the
good reason that one of our back tyres was very
dicky, and not wishing to put on our remaining new
cover for a run of less than two hundred miles, we
came to the conclusion that the less weight on the
car the better. So it was arranged that he was to
meet us at Bordeaux with the baggage. Our parting
with Jarge at the Hotel Continental was quite
upsetting, but we tore ourselves away at last, and
Jehu and I soon found ourselves on that very dusty
234 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
road that leads to Bayonne. The road from here to
Bordeaux is not the simple route it looks. Several
experts told us the best way, but their testimony did
not in the least agree. A gallant Major, who lives
half his life at Biarritz, advised the road by Dax,
which is very much the same as if one went from
London to Portsmouth by way of Brighton. How-
ever, every one warned us not to go direct, and we
followed that advice and struck an average route by
Castets to within twenty kilometres of Bordeaux,
where we held further council, and finally struck off
left-handed for twenty miles and then straight to
Bordeaux. The curse of this part of France is pave,
though we should have welcomed it in Spain. The
road we took had little or none for the first fifty
miles, but then it began, and there was but little else
all the way till we turned left to Belin. We lunched
on rather a tough steak and very good omelette and
eleven sparrows at Labouheyre, where the railway
crosses the highway. The King of England was
to pass that day, and though there would be no
chance of viewing anything more than an ordinary-
looking train, the whole population was ready to
greet him. About ten miles before we reached this
friendly place the pave gave way to a most perfect
straight, flat road. Poor Jehu had not seen anything
like it for a month ; the temptation was too great
and he succumbed. The Daimler too had not had a
chance of showing her paces for so long that she
ON BIARRITZ 235
rejoiced in her strength. The illimitable, vast, mono-
tonous pine woods on each side hummed to the echo
of our exhaust ; never had the car seemed to move
so well, when BANC. ! and Jehu and I had to bend a
brand-new, stiff 880x120 cover on the back near
wheel. During my automobilistic existence I have
put on many covers and done other roadside repairs,
but this particular accident created a record, for us,
at any rate, though I have never heard of the same
thing happening to any one else. There were abso-
lutely NO spectators. It is true there was not a
house for several miles, but that is of no account ; as
a rule on these occasions folk spring out of the
earth or come off the tops of the mountains. The
pine trees on each side made a background of a dark
green twilight. And round the trunk of every one
of them was a little girdle of earthenware pots to
catch the turpentine, or whatever they call it, flowing
from incisions made just above. They looked very
quaint, as if the fairies were giving a big ball that
evening, and were illuminating the forest for the
purpose. I drew a slight picture — by myself — showing
a section of the landscape, and I do not think there
would be a more complete piece of nature-study
in this volume — if they had let me put it in. I
wanted to examine this interesting feat of arbori-
culture more closely, but Jehu required me to assist
him with the tyre, so on him be the blame for this
meagre description. As we had all day for the per-
236 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
formance of the last hundred kilometres to Bordeaux
there was no need to hurry, but when lunch was over
and we were free from pavf y we let that car go for all
it was worth on one of the finest roads in France.
Two thousand miles of France and Spain seemed to
have improved her, and I really think Jehu enjoyed
that run more than any since we left Perpignan.
About ten miles from Bordeaux we got into the land
of little summer-houses, each called by some quaint,
endearing epithet as if they were pet dogs. Most of
them were built exactly alike in shape and appar-
ently equidistant from each other, giving the district
the appearance of having been designed for a powder
factory. I expect these little places are what papers
of the " Home Blitherings " type would describe as
" week-end cottages," if they have such things as
week-ends out of England. I remember the
woods around Zaandepoort, in Holland, were full
of much the same sort of places, but then the
Dutchman is a far more likely type of man to sit
down in rural solitude and smoke his pipe than the
lively southerner in the enlightened city of Bordeaux.
We reached our destination about five o'clock and
found Our Artist waiting for us at the celebrated
" Chapon Fin," whereat he had ordered a sumptuous
repast. As the steamer that was to take us back
sailed at midnight, it was too late to put the car on
board that week, and we took it to a garage we had
been told of, extracted the bugle, whip, and all sorts of
ON BIARRITZ 237
odd little things \vc had grown to love and hate, and
bade it farewell.
Now as the"Chapon Fin " has the reputation of
being the centre of eating and drinking in the town
which boasts of being the hub of the universe, in
such matters, we were quite surprised that the pro-
prietor had never heard of Lieutenant -Colonel
Newnham-Davis. I trust the Colonel has not omitted
it from his list of restaurants and places where they
eat, for the wine list itself is about the size of a
young Bradshaw.
It has become the fashion of late to put menus in
books, and so as not to be out of the swim I do like-
wise. There is no other reason.
MENU
Hors d'oeuvre,
Chateau Olivier. Potage Bisque,
Sole Chapon Fin,
Becasses,
Fonds d'artichauts
Morn ay,
Fine Champagne, Fruits,
1 869. Cafe.
And very good it all was.
Then we went and said another farewell to the
car. Jehu, in his emotion, began fiddling idly with
the little things on the dash, and the Daimler, recog-
nising her master's voice, instantly started up on the
238 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
switch. This was too much for us all, and choking
back our tears we hurried away. No one has ever
yet written a " Farewell to a Motor Car," so, with
my readers' permission, I take this favourable oppor-
tunity.
FAREWELL TO A DAIMLER
Ho ! You've climbed the Guadarramas, and you've swum
Tordera's flood ;
And you've rushed the dusty ramblds rocky bed.
Dropped from off the ice-bound plateau to the slushing, melting
mud —
Slushy mud that tried to ditch you tail and head.
But you've kept your engine throbbing while the frightened
mules backed past,
Or the bonnet heaved in front the drifted snow.
Did the squealing brake-bands check you when he let you go
too fast,
And you felt the hidden, yawning caniveau?
Caniveau !
Not so.
Did it smash you as it ought to?
O dear, NO !
Or, as Swinburne might have it : —
The burden of Loose Metal. Thou hast known
The league-long rocky roads, with never a place
Where thou couldst show to Spain what should be shown
Of Power and Symmetry and Skill and Pace.
And yet through miserable tracks thy cheerful face
And dauntless wheels, that never seemed to tire,
Have brought thee laurels for thy Peerless Race ;
This is the Car of every man's desire.
* * * * * *
I feel better now.
ON BIARRITZ 239
The voyage home from Bordeaux was very restful.
Much more restful than the captain intended, or I
expected it to be. After our farewell dinner to
France and the motor, we drove to the big station to
put Jehu in the train for England. I think the
station at Bordeaux has the largest usual-shaped
room I have ever seen — it appeared even bigger
than the Pantheon, without the disadvantage of
having a hole in the roof. It boasted also of
another big thing in the shape of an enormous
porter. Now Jehu says he is six feet three, and
Jarge and I are only an inch less, but this hero
not only dwarfed all of us completely, but also
brought down the vast hall to ordinary proportions.
This sort of man is the best kind for a porter in
France, because it is easy to find him in a crowd,
and we felt quite safe in leaving Jehu to his tender
mercies when the Paris express came in. Then we
put our luggage, which the Artist had stored in the
cloak-room, on our pair-horse cab and clattered
through the stony streets to the riverside where lay
the good ship Grive, the meaning of which word I
believe to be a sort of " missel-thrush." Now I am
one of those people to whom Kipling's beautiful line
in " The Song of the English " comes peculiarly
appropriate, for the words " We have fed the sea for
a thousand years " convey perhaps a deeper meaning
to me than most. But another trait in my character
is that I am eternally hopeful — or rather, that I
240 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
refuse to profit by experience. So when the Artist
had informed me that he was going home by boat
from Bordeaux I said I would cleave unto him ; it
would probably do my cold good, it would be a
change, and gave many other equally good reasons.
Perhaps if the telegraph wires overhead had been
To be or not to be ?
humming, and the flags on the big International
Exhibition which was being built on the Quay had
been snap-snapping in a breeze, I might have thought
better of it and gone home with Jehu ; but aflat, oily
calm and no sound but the lap-lapping of the tide
against the mooring-buoy gave me courage, and I
had no hesitation in boarding the vessel with all the
ON BIARRITZ 241
assurance of a perfect sailor. It was good to get on
to an English boat and hear somebody else but our
own party talking English, so we promptly ordered a
whisky and soda to celebrate the occasion. But the
taste of the whisky took us back to Toledo, though
all the consolation we got from the steward was that
our palates had evidently been ruined by a course of
adulterated claret, and he hoped for our sakes we
should get them back again. Then we were intro-
duced to the captain and, after I had ascertained in a
roundabout manner that the Grive was the steadiest
boat afloat, and that the Bay would be like a mill-
pond, that the tide would serve for a start about three
in the morning, and that we should be across the bar
and in open water by breakfast time, we turned in.
Of course, I derived this information in a manner
which rather indicated that my real hope was that it
would be nice and rough, for the man who shows he
is nervous of being sea-sick dies twice, and it is really
nearly as useful to appear brave as to be brave. One
so often never gets asked to show one's hand. The
bunks on the Grive were the longest I ever lay
in ; we each had big double cabins to ourselves, the
engines seemed miles away, and I slept the sleep of
the just. About seven o'clock I woke and hailed a
steward as to whether or not we had crossed the bar.
The answer that I got back was that we had not
moved an inch, and by the look of the fog out of the
port-hole there seemed little chance of doing so till
R
242 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the tide was too low to start. A look round before
breakfast just disclosed the other end of the gang-
plank, an even oilier sea than last night's, and masts
lost in the mist above. Of course, at the meal the
captain was bombarded with the usual impossible
questions, but afterwards in the privacy of his cabin
he told us all about it.
" Did you see that parson at the end of my table?"
said he. " Well, it's a funny thing, but I never have
a fog or the fiddles on unless there's one of them
aboard. Last spring I had a bishop and the nastiest
trip I've ever had on this boat. I told him before we
got to Southampton — where he got off — that I put it
all down to him, and, sure enough, after he went
ashore the sun came out and the sea went down.
Well, the first thing I found when I got round to the
Thames was a telegram from His Holiness asking
how the rest of the cruise had been. And what do
you think I wired back ? " We professed absolute
ignorance. "Jonah xi. 15, and if you folk want to
know what that is about, here comes another of 'em."
A benign, spectacled face peered in through the open
door on the group keeping the oil-stove warm. "Oh,
captain," it said, " how long do you think the fog will
last? Because I should like to take a walk round
this most interesting town." I saw the skipper's face
clear, and with a cheerful smile he told him that it
was doubtful if they could get away for another
twelve hours. The padre thanked him, and we all
ON BIARRITZ 243
watched his reverence feel his way down the plank
and on to the quay.
Then the captain looked up at where the sky
ought to have been, his eyes twinkled, and he re-
marked, " The fog's got a move on ; Jonah's gone
ashore, and I can't afford to miss a tide." Up
tumbled the crew, bells clanked in the inside of the
vessel, the other side of the river and all manner of
odd ships came into view, hawsers began to tighten
and creak, the gang-plank was just being thrust
ashore, when out of a tramcar jumped a black
figure yelling at the top of his voice, the parson once
more sprang aboard, and — down dropped the fog as
thick as ever.
We really did get off towards midday, but all
down the wide Garonne we ran into wreaths of fog,
and we were obliged to anchor several times before
we finally smelt the mud on the bar. Out in the Bay
there was an orderly smooth procession of fat rollers
keeping a monotonous length, a pale blue sky, and a
very empty sea. But all along the land there was
fog still, and every now and then we would get into
its white belts. There was no going inside Ushant
that night — or anywhere near it— and only by the
luck that Jonah ought not to have been allowed did
we manage to get into the Solent some twenty-four
hours later. Then the ceasing of the engine woke
me up, and I felt the ship swing and start a new kind
of wallow. Some one was splashing the lead over-
244 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
board and calling out indistinguishable expressions.
And just as I was wondering how long we were
likely to go on with this patent rocking before I
should lose my clean bill of health, I heard the bell
ring twice, the engines thump out their old tune, and
once more I felt at peace. About an hour afterwards
I was dimly conscious of more bells, and quiet fol-
lowed by the rattle and splash of letting go the
anchor. Also absolute calm. With a cup of tea
four hours later, the steward told me that we were
lying off Hurst Castle in thickest fog, that the mercy
of Providence had lifted it once just enough for the
captain to make the Needles light, and that was
how we had managed to get inside the Solent at
all. When I came on deck all around were the weird
sounds of bells and sirens belonging to half a dozen
other ships in like situation to us — though for all we
could see we might have been still in the Bordeaux
river. After breakfast was over we felt our way to
the captain's cabin, and once more we sat round the
stove and discussed the subject of Jonah in connec-
tion with the fact of our being a whole day late.
There was a little dark man there who seemed to
have spent most of the voyage in his bunk. The
captain introduced us to him saying that he was
a great man on motor-cars. He spoke English very
well, but could not allow that fogs were altogether
the perquisite of the devil. Indeed he was so
annoyed when I ventured to express my opinion
ON BIARRITZ 245
of the particular one outside, that we were not much
surprised when he asked the skipper if he had time
to tell us a story that happened to him — and a fog.
The captain answered that by the look of things
he would have time to write a book on Navigation,
so he began : —
" I may tell you, gentlemen, that I am now the
what you call the technical partner in a big Spanish
firm for automobiles. Indeed, as the captain has
said, I am quite an expert, and on my way to your
country to buy the best car for to imitate it where it
is good." [We bowed.] " You see my country is
not like France as to the roads." [We nodded assent.]
" Indeed, they are more like your own ! " [We nodded
dissent.] He resumed : " But of the story. My
dear friend, Manuel Corballo — ah, he is dead ; I will
tell you later — and I were in Paris learning engineer-
ing at Suresnes when automobiles first came to be
talked about, and it was but natural that we should
be interested in them. To so much that we gave up
all every other kind of work, and so, because we
were steady and good fellows — we did not smoke
cigarettes all the time — the Marquis de Dion was
very pleased to take us into the works, and very soon
— though I myself speak — there was no one there
who knew more except the Marquis himself, of
course. Now perhaps I was the better engineer
than Manuel," and he held out his lean, strong hands
with their flat, hard finger-tips, " but my friend was
246 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
a man with far more original idea, and for nothing
could he not make a shift. You know? And he
could drive like the wind and knew no fear. Well,
after some time we wanted to go back to Spain, but
the Marquis, he offered us anything to stay with him.
But my father, he wanted me back, and — well, there
were many reasons. So we went back, and Manuel
and I were the first people to drive an automobile in
Spain. At Madrid it was a long time before we were
allowed to, and then only because the young King
wished to know all about them. I gave him his first
ride and he gave me these " — and the little man
showed us his sleeve-links with the royal monogram
on them — " and even now he asks me what I think
about the cars. I do not say the car I am for now is for
him, but he is very fond of English things. They
say he prefers them to any other. You know ? Well,
to get on with my story. My relations at Aranjuez
were very pleased to see us again, and — with the
motor — we were very famous. Now about my friend's
sister. Since we had been away she had grown from
a little, romping child to a big girl — much bigger than
me or Manuel. And she was very pretty, O, very
pretty, and she knew it. But then all the Spanish
girls know they are pretty, even if they are not, and
that is, as we say in Spain, ' over the uphill.' But
Lola had many to tell her so, and many who came to
see the new carriage came again for something else.
But she was very fair to all, and though many fell in
ON BIARRITZ 247
love with her, she had no particular favourite. But
one day — ah, it is even as all old stories — a great
duke came to see the car. And he saw my sister.
Then he wanted to buy the car, but we said no, for
we were working to make others at Aranjuez so that
Madrid should be like Paris for automobiles. So he
wanted to help in the making, and offered to advance
money, for he was rich. And we thought, and it
seemed that his name, and his money, and his
friends, would be good for us and for the automobiles.
So we consented, and he was about Aranjuez for a
lone time. It is not so far from Madrid. And one
evening — it was a holiday — Manuel came back and
went into the drawing-room to get some plans. But
when he turned on the light he saw a man and a girl
there, and it was the duke and Lola. Manuel told
me next day the duke would not come back, and
how he had given him what you call a jolly good
licking. Did I tell you Manuel and I worked as
apprentices for two years at Leeds? Well, it was
there we had learned how to use our fists. But Lola,
she was sulky and angry with her brother — women
are odd creatures. But the duke he came no more,
and we could do very well without his money. And
so we went on for a year. But Lola, she stopped
flirting with anybody else, though there were hundreds
of good men who wanted her. And then one hot
day, after it had been raining all a week, a big
automobile — a French one, not of ours — was seen
248 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
near the house, and when it went away there was no
Lola to be found. And one told Manuel that it was
the duke who had come and gone. Then Manuel
and I went to the works, and we took out the new
big chassis that was being made for our King. It
had what you call a works-body on, and we tied
many bidons of benzina behind and spare tyres till it
looked like a racing auto. And then we followed
that other one. We heard of him that he had gone
towards Madrid, and then that he had turned off
round the lower city towards the Escorial. And
then we knew the duke had his hunting palace by
Mingorria, and that when he was there he was safe,
for it is a wild region and all his own. So we too
ran by Madrid to the Puerto de Guadarrama. And
when we got to the top, by the stone lion of Castile,
the old woman told us that another automobile had
gone over without stopping, for you know all stop to
write their names in the book of the King's High-
way. So we did not wait also, and I do not think
any one has ever dropped off the top of a mountain
as quick as we did. Manuel drove, and I am glad
there was no one else with us. We ran down through
the fir trees and round the curves until we were by
the railway where the tunnel comes out and the road
was straight for many leagues. And then we saw a car
a long way in front. It was a big car, and I think they
saw us coming, for it was but very slowly we gained
upon them. But Manuel, with the new automobile
ON BIARRITZ 249
we had spent so much time and love on, was not one
to keep behind. Along the rain- washed road we ran,
nearer and nearer, until we came to the land where
the big stones lie In the fields like flocks of giant
sheep." [" The grey wethers of Marlborough Downs,"
murmured the Artist to me.] " Now we were but half
a mile off them, and I could see the driver turning
round and cutting corners like one with a devil.
Ah! Manuel's face was like a piece of old oak, and
his white teeth gleamed as he leant over the wheel.
And then, just as we thought we had them — paff —
like it is outside now — the fog came on ! If you
know the road there is one place where the road
twists right round and over a rambla. The rain had
made it all one stream ; the heat of the day had
sucked up the moisture from the soil — the land there
is like nowhere else — and so came the fog, at least
that is what they told me, though I know better.
Manuel hit a big stone, the car slid half across the
road and he had to pull up. Never have I heard a
man curse so, but it was no use. I said the duke
would prefer us dead, as would certainly happen if
we went on, to anything else ; besides which the stone
had smashed the near wheel. So we were beaten.
" But as we cried in vain and despaired of Lola —
for I tell you now I loved her too — and the punish-
ment for the duke, a little puff of wind came down
the valley, and the fog tore in two. And for nothing
we walked on to where the road swings right behind
250 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the cliff, before it curves left over the high stone
bridge across the gorge." [The little man's voice lost
all its tones.] " And we saw that where the bridge
should be there was now a big gap, and down below
— where the big stones looked up out of the dark
water — was all that was left of the duke, his big
yellow automobile — and Lola."
Senor Miguel Zumarrago picked up the matches
and lit a cigarette he had been rolling as he spoke.
"And now, gentlemen," he said, "you know why
I do not speak of fogs as you do."
We all murmured sympathetically and sat on in
silence.
Then the door half opened, and the Reverend
Jonah put his head in. " Oh, captain, we seem so
near the land, that do you think that one of the men
could put me ashore in one of the boats ? " he asked.
The captain found his smile again ; even poor
Miguel laughed with us, and we all came out on to
the deck.
I believe the parson thought he was going to have
his desire, and really the captain looked as if he
would jump at this new method of getting rid of the
cause of the trouble. And perhaps this is why our
mast-head flag began to flutter, and the stumpy
masts of a Union-Castle liner which had been shud-
dering the air with her steam-pipe all the morning,
suddenly showed up between us and the mainland.
Then little by little the island disclosed itself, and
ON BIARRITZ 251
Haifa dozen other boats — Jersey Highfliers, Nord-
deutscher-Lloyds, potato boats, and tramps of all
sorts began eating up their cables to get along in the
clear. The tide was flowing, and consequently all
the vessels lay pointing out to sea. The channel is
not more than half a mile wide where we all were,
and the spectacle of the huge ships turning round in
that cramped space was a very curious one. And
when the big Dunottar Castle was halfway across
and all the others about straight, down came the fog
again, and all the anchors once more had to be let
go. Our skipper remarked between his teeth that
Jonah was going ashore if he had to swim there.
But then lunch — which we ought to have been eating
in our own homes — was announced, and as we settled
to this new diversion, we heard the telegraph gongs
go again, and " half speed ahead, by guess and lead "
we crawled from buoy to buoy over the glassy water
— putting up strings of wild duck as we passed
through one fog-wreath to another. Off Calshot the
sea and sky were blue as summer, and it was quite
a procession that raced up Southampton Water and
came alongside the docks. Then Customs — for the
last time — farewells, and a station cab came as near
as it could get to the gang-plank. The Artist and
I got in with our luggage, the driver had mounted
the box, when a mild voice at the window said : " If
you two are going to the station, have you got room
for me ? "
252 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
It was Jonah !
I hope he did not think we were rude, but I am
sure the cabman put us down as mad.
We have not seen Jonah since ; but as that same
fog put the Suevic and the Jcbba on the shore, I
expect he or some of his kind are still about. And
if ever he wants a ride in my car, I shall tell him
that the company I insure with would certainly
cancel my policy.
What the Artist said about him is unfitted for this
kind of literature.
******
And so we returned unto our native land.
CHAPTER X
THROWN IN
I HAVE been told to make this chapter useful,
and to bring all my concentrated experience and
wisdom to bear on the subject of touring. Not
necessarily in Spain, or even France, but everywhere.
So it is likely to be dry; for it is an accepted fact that
humour and sense can never walk hand in hand, ex-
cept in obituary notices.
One has only to scan the advertisement columns of
the Press (not necessarily the Motor Press) to see
how nearly every shop supplies goods " for motor
touring." For instance, if you require luggage, it
must be made of an almost weightless substance,
shaped to fit a particular part of a car, or constructed
in the shape of a giant Camembert cheese to fit in-
side spare covers. Also special tea-baskets are in-
dispensable, and in addition to a miniature cooking
range, it is imperative to carry patent food tins that
heat themselves by the jabbing of holes in them.
Then the brewers advertise (in one of Mr. Hassall's
happiest efforts) that unless you carry a case of
bottled beer on the roof of the car you are lost, and
253
254 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
undoubtedly, according to some authorities, the
absence of a bridge-table renders the trip miserable.
As I have said somewhere before, the only time we
felt the lack of bridge was when the car stuck in the
middle of Spanish rivers ; but there is not much
guidance in the remark. It is impossible to write
on touring to suit all tastes at once. I read in my
daily paper that a certain duke has sent on two of
his chauffeurs with cars to meet him somewhere in the
South of France ; but it is not for dukes alone I pur-
pose to write. But this brings up the subject of
chauffeurs, and of these there are many sorts and
kinds. There is no doubt that the presence of a
model chauffeur (if there is such a being on this earth)
is invaluable. And by a model chauffeur I mean one
who will have the car ready when it is wanted, do no
foolish things in the way of showing off, and study
the interests of his employer. If a chauffeur can be
found that can do these things, happy is his em-
ployer, for his value is above even that of spare
parts. One does see such quaint things in the way
of motor-men, and their way of driving, that one can-
not help feeling a trifle suspicious of most of these
gentlemen. But at the same time, it is surprising
how much confidence is reposed in the virtue of
black leather suits. And if (as some do) a chauffeur
is taken abroad because he can speak the language
for the party — as a rule, Help ! Every motor owner
who knows will agree with me that the best chauffeur
THROWN IN 255
is the ex-coachman or lad who has been trained by
his motoring master. In this case the washing of the
car is never scamped, risks — bred by familiarity and
swagger — are never taken, and the owner is not
looked on as a milch cow sent by Providence for the
sole benefit of his employe. A Midland hotel-keeper
told me that last autumn a hired chauffeur told him
that unless he doubled (in the bill) the actual amount
of petrol supplied he would never bring a party there
again, and he has kept his word. I do not blame the
man for making hay, according to his lights, while
the sun shone ; on the contrary, I look on his em-
ployer as deserving of being so cheated, but where
the business part of the tour is left entirely in the
hands of a foreign " shuvvcr," it is more than the
tempting of Providence. I know it is not always
possible, but the inclusion of a "motorist who knows"
amongst the party makes a great deal of difference,
and if one is contemplating not enormous distances
or terrific speeds but merely fair-weather runs, a
couple of amateurs who delight in messing about
with a car and know as much as an average chauffeur
— which is not impossible — will give more enjoyment
at far less expense than an English chauffeur who
knows nothing about the country, or a foreigner who
knows a lot too much. In ever)- town nowadays
there is a garage to be found, with some one who will
clean the car or do any little adjustment required ; so
really there is no need, unless you prefer, to fill up a
256 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
valuable seat with a superfluous person. When tyres
go down, where is the amateur who will smoke his
pipe until the professional has finished the job? As
a rule he works just as hard or even harder.
At the same time, because I have come across
so many black sheep, I do not want to convey the
impression that all are alike, and I can imagine no
happier party than just two people with their own
trusty man and lots of room for luggage. As I have
said, we were three adepts and one " jacker," though
the "jacker" knew a bit about motoring before he
got back home. The car also might have been kept
a bit cleaner if we had had a leather angel on board,
but none I have ever met could have wrestled with
the condition that came from daily struggles with
snowdrifts, river-beds, or primeval dust heaps. And
so we did very well without a man, though occasion-
ally some of us showed rather a disinclination for
early morning starts.
We made a great mistake, when we began our
trip, in having too much cargo on board ; a fairly large
kit-bag each, spare coats, cameras, etc., not only left
little room for ourselves, but added greatly to the
load. We averaged about fourteen stone apiece in
our winter garments, and the never-to-be-forgotten
spare tank weighed quite as much as another pas-
senger would, so that when one includes all the spare
parts, tools, and accessories, the total was not quite
fair on either the car or the tyres. And the wear
THROWN IN 257
on tyres rises in geometrical progression with the
pace of the car. For instance, after we had said
good-bye to the snow of Central France, Jehu used
sometimes to get sixty miles an hour out of the
Daimler, which seemed very pleased to be allowed
to move. But even the best tyres are not built for
this with a big load on them, and little caniveaux are
not good for springs at a mile a minute. Not that
ours broke, though I cannot imagine how they sur-
vived. So I counsel those who are about to tour
with no vacant seats, wherever they may go, to take
no more luggage than is absolutely necessary for
comfort and cleanliness, and to send ahead by the
uninteresting train the remainder. The absence
of much luggage may prolong the life of back tyres
by hundreds of miles, and prevent many of the
breakdowns and strains attributable in the first place
to overloading. Besides which, think of the extra
room and hill-climbing effort you can get in a car
that has not been turned into a luggage compart-
ment. And this brings us to the shape of motor-
bodies, and here I will not express an opinion beyond
saying that it is more pleasure to me to look out
of the window of a railway carriage than of some
Limousines and covered cars I am acquainted with.
Have a glass screen and a Cape-cart hood by all
means — the latter has many uses and is frequently
abused — but if you want to see the country and save
the lives of many dogs with whips, wrap up, and
s
258 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
consequently eat, drink, and sleep well by facing the
health-giving air. Some one said to us somewhere
on our travels, " Only an Englishman would drive
in an open car through France in the winter," and
when Jarge remarked that that was a very good
reason, he went off muttering something to the effect
that he failed to understand the inner meaning of
the idiom. But he was right in one respect, and
I can hardly remember meeting another open car in
the country all the way. Covered-in bodies not only
add to the weight themselves, but also tempt too
large a quantity of luggage to get on their roof.
I often wonder if many of these big bodies I see
carry the many spare covers they do, because they
have room for them or because they have need of
them. Tyres should be considered more than they
are by some body-builders, though it will be a cold
day for tyre-makers when everlasting ones are in-
vented. And while on the subject of tyres and the
appurtenances thereof, many a good new tube has
been mysteriously flattened by worn or irregular
security bolts inside the rim, and half a dozen new
ones should on no account be omitted from the list
of spares. Also tyre levers are as a rule far too
small for their job, and the difference that two-foot
ones make in coaxing a big, stiff, new cover on to the
rim has to be tried to be appreciated.
By most of my readers a dissertation on the rival
merits of "chain-driven " and "live-axle" cars would
• THROWN IN 259
be skipped, but I am of opinion — and, curiously
enough, most makers of chain-driven cars are with
me — that, for very bad roads, such as almost all
Spanish ones, chain-driven cars are less likely to sus-
tain serious damage than those with live axles.
Though, for the same reason that black-faced sheep
eat more than white-faced sheep, I shall not argue the
point, and I content myself with the knowledge that
my conviction is shared by most independent experts
— from which class, I may inform my readers, I
derive any knowledge I may possess on such impor-
tant subjects. But may I restore peace by remarking
that motoring over bad roads is no more pleasure
than is driving over them behind horses, therefore
the question need not arise. Concerning motor-
clothing, there is no doubt that a big frieze coat
lined with leather (detachable) is the most useful,
especially if you are your own mechanic, as in this
case the lining worn without the coat makes an ex-
cellent boiler suit, cleans well, and, even if you do
forget to clean it, does not show the dirt when back
in its proper place. For the very cold weather we all
turned out in special French caps in two parts. The
inner one was made of cloth, tightly fitting the head,
with flaps that fastened with a click under the chin,
and little non-return-valve flaps over each ear to
assist conversation. This part when worn alone gives
an ascetic, severe look to the face, so a woollen
Balaclava helmet, with a bob on the top, is put over
26o THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
it and pulled down till it opens and shows a hole for
the face to look out of, while all round the warm
material embraces the neck. It is not necessary, how-
ever, to always wear both, or the latter down, though
the woolly one tucked up by itself is only worn in
England by diseased aliens or Finnish oilers.
The other parts of the touring motorist's get-up
depend on himself, the weather, the car, and the
time of the year. But if at all cold the driver is well
advised to get a pair of soleless fur boots that go
well up his calf and strap under the soles of his
ordinary footwear. I started this tour in Irish frieze
breeches and " spadoons," but twenty buttons on each
leg every cold, dark morning soon wearied me, and I
grew to hate the sight of them. The others wore
ordinary trousers and I heard no complaints. So we
may take it that the motorist need not acquire fancy
garments for the enjoyment of this pastime. I have
referred to the question of big fur coats in my first
chapter, and undoubtedly they are very awe-inspiring
garments. I feel tempted to relate many of the
funny stories I have heard touching these things, but
as this is the useful part of the work, will refrain.
Although I dare not contemplate that after the
relation of our fearful adventures other folk will
follow in our wheel-ruts through Spain, it may be as
well to remark that a car which is intended to leave
the beaten track should be built well off the ground
in every way, so as to be clear of every ordinary ob-
THROWN IN 261
struction. We began, as I have remarked, with tool-
chests fitted under our sideboards, but even in happy
England I have seen a hump-backed canal bridge hit
them, as a particularly long car, so fitted, straddled
across it. And for snowdrifts they are a serious in-
convenience, while even a shallow stream always
invades their insides and usually rusts or spoils all
the contents. For this same last reason all coils, bat-
teries, magnetos, carburettors and the like should be
put as high up as possible to keep out of the wet, and
a clutch that could be rendered positive in its action
would be useful for fording rivers that reach the
level of the fly-wheel. But I don't quite see how this
last is going to be managed with the ordinary cone
type, and much the same effect would be caused by
the driver resolutely keeping his foot off the clutch
pedal altogether during the passage. But this is no
place for such technical discussions, and the contem-
plated R.A.C. Fording Competition will doubtless
solve all questions that may arise.
A most useful aid to touring, especially if one has
no chauffeur, is a set of tyre-inflators. With these
the hardest work of tyre-changing is obviated, and it
is a pleasure to watch the cover assume its correct
shape in less than no time, while the security bolts
push outwards faster than hands can tighten them
up. One sparklet should blow up more than half a
dozen of the biggest tyres, and my only complaint
against them is the sordid one that they are so
262 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
absurdly expensive. With these it is very interesting
to note, even on the hottest day, the frosting of the
connecting tube between the sparklet and the valve
caused by the evaporation, and the inquisitive natives
who used to crowd round us with open mouths,
always refused to touch them at any price, and went
away quite certain that the devil had something to
do with the matter. One peon nearly knifed me
because I put it against the back of his neck, much
to the amusement of his friends. The bottles, about
thirty inches long and as thick as a man's wrist, when
empty, make excellent presents for pleasant peasants,
and no doubt their owners keep the finest vintages
for preservation in their hollow, glass insides. And
they would be fine weapons in a row.
As to sign-posts, France, and a great deal of the
Spain we saw, is well placarded with boards full of
information. The driver should pull up before he
passes them or the reverse will have to be put in, and
the usual scene of recrimination take place. It is
not at all a bad idea to get a boy or inhabitant of the
town to come on the car and show you the way
through and out. He will be delighted to be of
assistance, and so pleased with his reward that he
will step off into the road without realising the pace
of the car, and roll over like a shot rabbit. This
at any rate is what invariably happened to the guides
we availed ourselves of.
Without wishing to appear penurious, we found
THROWN IN 263
the following procedure of great value in towns
where there were more hotels than one. It became
our custom to draw up at the door of the house we
fancied most and inquire for the host. When he
came out, all bows and smiles, we informed him that
we desired to pass the night there, and would he be
good enough to inform us at how much a head he
would give us dinner, bed, and coffee and rolls in the
morning? All the time we would make no effort to
descend, and kept the engine running. The talking
invariably fell upon the Artist, who was more of a
colloquialist than grammarian, and Jarge, Jehu, and
I assumed attitudes of absolute indifference. Occa-
sionally we would laugh if the answer was pre-
posterous, and Jehu would pretend to be about to
drive on. At this the landlord would bid us delay,
and say he would consult some one in authority
(probably his wife), and would we wait? In a very
short time he would return and inform us that he
would be pleased to entertain us at (as a rule) ten
francs each, instead of the sixteen he usually ob-
tained from such distinguished persons who travel in
such large automobiles. We would then put the car
in the appointed place, chaperon our bags to our
rooms, and come down to enjoy a perfectly cooked
dinner and the wine of the country.
Talking of the wine of the country leads me to
remark that our path lay through all that country
which has been so disturbed this year about the
264 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
decrease in the consumption of its only product —
wine. We sampled its vintages at many places be-
tween Macon and the Pyrenees, and I do not think
that ever we found fault with them. Red, white, or
puce, all were drinkable, and on the table at every
meal. The wish that they could be obtained in
England was often on our lips, but we were told that
the cheaper kinds could not stand travel, and prob-
ably, like Dutch cigars, would be without honour save
in their own country. I read in the paper that the
viniculturists put down the reason of their decrease
in popularity to artificial sweetened wines from
Algeria and elsewhere, while the Government attri-
bute it to increased consumption of mineral waters,
strops, and beer. And principally to the latter. But
if the beer south of Paris was as a rule beastly, the
Spanish beer which came our way was absolutely
awful, and some of us never drank it without re-
gretting the fact very soon. Baedeker and I think
alike on this subject, but he is too severe about
Spanish wines. As a well-meaning guide I advise
vermouth and seltzer before dinner, vin du pays at
dinner, and cognac after. You can rely on these
three beverages as being usually up to expectation,
though the cognac is sometimes only an imitation of
what it is supposed to be. In Spain the best native
brandy is Domecq, and though it is milder than
French cognac, it is very pleasant. Where brandy is
thrown in with coffee — as at Gerona — it will be found
A WINK Ml' >>
THROWN IN 265
a trifle weak, but the heart of a diner is refreshed by
the sight of the little triangular decanter side by
side with the quaint, high coffee-pot, and the lump of
sugar wrapped in a neat paper cover. At most of
the hotels along the coast, the hotels and cafes keep
whisky, but if you are wise you will let them keep
it. It has most fearful Scottish pictures and tartans
on the labels, and some of the landlords try and get
it off on their fellow-countrymen as the national
beverage of their young Queen. Like Rosbif a
VAnglaise at Madrid, this " Scot-viski" is a foul libel
and a menace to international peace. The peasants
drink as a liqueur some beastly sweet stuff called
aguardiente, which, tasting like a mixture of kummel
and paraffin, very likely is. It is cheap — which is
its only apparent merit — and very much alike to
inferior Russian vodki.
Spain is not much of a country for liqueurs, though
the real original and genuine Chartreuse is now
made at Tarragona by the monks who have been
turned out of France. I suppose the rule is " the
colder the climate the warmer the drinks," and that
is why Russia has more kinds of liqueurs than all
the rest of the world put together. I remember once
dining with a man whose wife was the daughter of a
big Russian nobleman. Every Christmas a case of
bottles used to arrive covered all over with the
variegated Russian alphabet. The butler invariably
took charge of the lot, and doled out the tots as if
266 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
he knew exactly which was what. But one night I
was honoured, no one liked the particular liqueur
that was dealt round. In fact we all very much dis-
liked it, and when our hostess investigated the legend
on the bottle and found that it was special toilet
bay rhum we had been sampling, there was a general
rush for the best brandy to obliterate any after
effects. I mention this because that bay rhum was
nectar compared with aguardiente.
Cigars and cigarettes in Spain have only two
drawbacks : one is that nothing will keep the former
alight, and the other is that nothing will keep the
latter together. This, of course, relates to the
ordinary and cheaper kinds ; the better and more
expensive sorts have no characteristics out of the
common. I would back a Spaniard to waste less of
a cigarette than any other man, and I believe some
men are capable of smoking them completely away.
The only class in the least comparable with them in
this form of economy is the English commercial
traveller, and I have often watched with awe the
almost complete combustion of the wet end of a
cigar, poised on the point of a much -used pocket-
knife, until I was lost in wondering whether he would
be forced to give up the game because of a cut or a
burn.
It is popularly supposed that Spain is infested with
beggars, but it was only in the very big towns that we
ever came across them — with one picturesque excep-
THROWN IN 267
tion. Madrid is the worst place for them, and when
they once began there was no means of getting rid of
them. I was forced once into taking a couple of
pestering, whining children into the nearest shop,
shutting the door on them and fleeing. What the
shopman said or did I know not, but in a very short
space of time I saw them shot out into the street,
rubbing their heads, and doubtless wondering what
kind of madman they had run against. Talking of
shops, shopkeepers in Spain look on a customer as
post office young ladies do in England, and it comes
quite natural after a bit to apologise for disturbing
their repose. They do not dress their windows nearly
as attractively as Italians do, seeking rather to put all
their goods in the window like a jeweller in an English
provincial town. I remember a street in a little
Sicilian town called Trapani, a place about the size of
Slough, and in it there were at least half a dozen
shop-windows which would have done credit to Bond
Street in the days before ever cheap sales were heard
of in that fashionable thoroughfare. Ars est cclarc
artcm.
Our Artist, as I have mentioned before, is a linguist.
But until this year the Spanish tongue was strange to
him. So he took a course of lessons from a charm-
ing seflorita in London, and used to study irregular
verbs all through France. But when he got to Spain
he received a severe shock. The seflorita came from
Andalusia. Andalusian is the language of Love and
268 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
the sentimental South, and that was the dialect he
had mastered. But we got into Spain in Catalonia,
never getting nearer to Andalusia than Valencia, and
they tell me there is as much difference between the
patois of the North and the South as there is between
the liquid accents of Devon and English as spoken
in the West of Scotland. But for all that he got
ahead like wildfire after a bit, though the universal
proficiency of hotel-keepers and waiters in French
made us a little easier in our minds as to what he was
driving at. This language question is a very involved
one. I travelled abroad once with a friend who
began all his sentences, Est-ce-qne-vous-avcz — and
then went on in Norse, because, he explained, he
spent his summers in Norway catching salmon, and
had thus got into the habit. But to me Spanish and
Welsh conversation seems almost the same, and I
understand them equally. Jehu had also taken
Spanish lessons, but apparently left off when he had
mastered the names of a few articles of food. Jarge
did not try at all, but what there was of his French
was very sound, and his "Jamais" admitted of no
further argument.
It is a common notion that Spanish servants in
hotels are not obliging, and Mr. Baedeker is of this
opinion. But our experience was quite the other way ;
for nothing could have been more speedy or attentive
than the way we were almost always looked after. In
some places the refusal of a dish was the signal for
THROWN IN 269
something very like tears, and at another the remark
how very good it was, was the cause of an immediate
encore of the thing commended. Spanish ideas as
to the amount of water necessary for washing seem
to be rather on the small side, but a deprecatory look
at the little tin can would always result in a race be-
tween the miicJiadia, the mono, and the camarcro to
bring up some more.
The only really objectionable custom in the hotels
of some of the smaller provincial towns is that when
you arrive and desire your luggage taken upstairs, it
is pounced upon by all the loafing ruffians in the
street, and conveyed piecemeal to the wrong bed-
rooms. Then each villain demands a peseta, and
seems truly annoyed when only rewarded with a
couple of coppers and, usually, sudden assistance down
the stairs. Curiously enough, where there was a land-
lad)' we were not so troubled, but I dare say the land-
lord has reasons for sanctioning this form of pillage.
There is another little habit they have in Spain
which it is well to practise. If ever you are eating in
a railway carriage or public place where others may
happen to be sitting with you, it is the correct thing
to offer to share your food with your neighbours. It
is equally correct to refuse with grateful thanks,
however, so one need not be alarmed at the idea. I
have read that if you chance to admire anything,
from a landscape to a tie-pin, that belongs to a
Spaniard you may be talking to, he will reply, " It is
270 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
yours." This never happened to any of us, though
perhaps the kindly people thought we had not much
room in the motor as it was
Concerning cameras : though experts inform me
that better results are obtained from plates than
films, I am disposed not to agree, on the ground that
plates take up too much room. And every camera
and its appurtenances should have a place where it
should be kept, and can be got at without disturbing
the others. Jarge's camera was a Ralli, and lived
on the seat between the Artist and me, as did also
his beastly " Panoram," but Jehu's was a machine
made by Newman and Guardia, and it took wonder-
fully clear views, and was unsurpassable for archi-
tectural detail. But the Artist is of opinion that
cameras are merely handmaids to art, and complains
that neither of them always hit what they aimed at,
especially Jehu, who invariably shot too high for
church doors. But since I have returned to England,
I have been reading a book called Three Vagabonds
in Fricsland, and have so fallen in love with the
photographs in it that I make no apology for advis-
ing intending tourists to read the appendix on the
best methods of obtaining similar results. I could
not give better hints myself unless I copied out the
author's remarks, so merely content myself by recom-
mending that photographic apparatus should be
stowed where it does not interfere with the comfort
of one's fellow-voyagers, especially boxes of plates.
THROWN IN 271
Nowadays no book of travel, as I have said before,
is complete without a chapter on the cookery of the
country. For the benefit of those who are unable to
go to Spain themselves, and are tired of ordinary
English and French plats, I have obtained from the
Good Samaritan of Barcelona and his charming wife,
assisted by the cook, whose beautiful names form a
meal in themselves, some receipts (or recipes) of the
dishes we lived on during our voyage down the cast
coast of Spain. I cannot do better than publish the
information in the same shape it came to me, together
with the delightful running comments on each dish.
"American Consulate General, Barcelona, Spain.
" Paseo de Gracia, 30,
"My Friend, "June 14, 1907.
" You ate lots of arroz a la Valenciana when
you were in Spain. This is a famous />/<// national ;
not to have eaten arroz ' thusly ' is not to have come
to Spain. It bobs up serenely at every table d'hote. It
is the pike de resistance of the labourer's Sunday
dinner. Even the gourmets who can afford to dine
occasionally at the smartest restaurants call for it.
"Void the recipe both in Spanish and English: —
" Rice (d la Valenciana). "Arroz a la Valenciana.
\ lb. rice. \ lb. arroz.
1 green pepper. i pimiento verde.
\ lb. tomatoes. \ lb. tomates.
Small piece onion. Pedacito de cebolla.
\\ ounce lard. i \ manteca de puerco.
272 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
" Fry the onion and the "Friaselacebollapicada
green pepper together, con el pimiento verde en
finely chopped, in the lard, la manteca, agregandole
adding the tomatoes cut los tomates cortados en
into small pieces. When pedacitos ; cuando esten
the latter are fried, add los tomates fritos anadase
therice,stirring all briskly, el arroz Se revuelve y
season with pepper, salt, marea el arroz, echandole
and spice to taste, and hot sal, pimienta y especia
water in sufficientquantity fina al gusto y agua cali-
to boil the rice in. Let enteensuficientecantidad
all simmer for about half para que cueza el arroz.
an hour, or until the rice Dejese al fuego corao una
be well boiled, and serve, media hora, 6 hasta que
el arroz este bien cocido,
y sirvase.
" You also ate bacalao cou tomates, my friend. It
cannot be avoided in Spain. Next to arroz Valen-
ciana, it is the backbone of the well-to-do Spaniard's
diet. The hotels and boarding-houses fill 'em up
on it as an entree to keep 'em from going too
ravenously at the joint, 1 you know. It is served
in every house, and in the humbler houses a large
kettle of it frequently forms the whole repast. It is
strong and savoury, and a man who wouldn't take
to it readily has no appreciation of the savoury and
the oleaginous.
" I give you below the recipe of Maria Josefa
Concepci6n Manuela Conchita Carmen Rosita Antonia
1 In the Gladlands of Outre Mer we say "roast," but as you say
"joint " in the good old mother country, I willingly fall into line.
THROWN IN
27.I
Jimenez y Caleta, our amiable and accomplished
cook, which the lady who presides over the destinies
of this household has put into kitchen English for
you : —
" Cod-fisJi with Tomatoes.
\ lb. salt cod-fish.
\\ tomatoes.
Tablespoonful lard.
Little onion.
Salt and pepper to taste.
" Bacalao con Tomates.
\ lb. bacalao.
\\ tomates
1 cucharada (grande)manteca.
Pedacito de cebolla de puerco.
Sal y pimienta al paladar.
"Put the salt fish to
soak in cold water for at
least twelve hours ; then
put into cold water and
boil until tender. Cut up
some tomatoes (without
peeling them) and put
them in a stew-pan with
very little water, and when
quite soft press them
through a colander. Warm
the lard, adding a little
shredded onion, and when
the latter is browned put
in the tomato pulp. Stir
briskly, and in about ten
minutes add the fish, cut
into fillets, season with
pepper and salt ; leave all
on a slow fire for about
T
" Se tiene el bacalao A
remojar en agua fria por
12 horas a lo menos ;
luego se pone en una
cacerola con agua fria a
cocer hasta quedar ticrno.
Se cortan los tomates en
pedacitos (sin pelarlos), y
se meten en la cacerola
con muy poca agua, cuan-
do tiernos pasandolos por
el colador. Se pone la
manteca a calentar y
cuando est£ caliente se le
anade cebolla picada.
Dorandose la cebolla afia-
dase el tomate, revolvien-
do muy bien por unos 10
minutos. Se cuece el ba-
calao en esta salsa cortado
274 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
one quarter of an hour, en filetcs, dejando todo a
and serve. fuego lento por un cuarto
de hora y sirvase.
" You also ate atun (tunny-fish) hcrvido (boiled).
Everybody does. It is a great dish along the
Spanish coast of the Mediterranean, and I hope you
liked it. This is the way our above-mentioned
Maria Josefa does it : —
" Tunny-fish {boiled).
" Cut up the tunny-fish
into pieces about the size
of an orange, and allow
them to soak in cold water
for an hour or two. This
" Atun (Jtervido).
" Se escogen trozos
gruesos del tamano de
una naranja, se ponen en
agua cla ra que se de-
sangren por una 6 dos
being a red-blooded fish, horas, y cuando se obser-
it should be left in the va que estan blancos se
water until it has lost the sacan del agua, y se les
red appearance, when the pone a escurrir en un
pieces of fish may be plato, echandoles sal que
taken out, the water
drained off, and salt
thickly sprinkled over.
Then put in to boil in
hot water with a large
white onion cut into quar-
ters (or half an onion).
When quite tender drain
the wateroff and serve with
the onion and white sauce
served separately.
puedan estar sabrosos. Se
ponen A hervir con agua
caliente y una cebolla
blanca, en cascos ; cuando
esten cocidos sirvanse con
la cebolla y salsa blanca,
servida separadamente.
THROWN IN 275
"Cocidas. — And now we come to cocidas, also known
as olla podrida and puchero. It is absolutely impos-
sible to escape cocidas in Spain. It is the joy of the
rich, the refuge of the poor ; in fact, next to bread, it
is the staff of life. Arroz a la Valauiana, as above-
stated, is a feature of the table d'hote {la mesa redotnta,
as we Spaniards say), and it is the daily dish of the
elite, while the poor have it on extra occasions. But
cocidas! cocidas.' I repeat, is the staff of life. It is
eaten every day of the week in every home in Spain.
It is the 'boarding-house hash ' of the land. Some
Spaniards may not have eaten boquerones ; others
perhaps have never tasted roast beef; many others
have no idea of what tea is like ; but everybody in all
the sunny land has eaten cocidas. Cocidas literally
means ' boiled things.' There are different kinds of
cocidas, but the basis of all is garbanzos, or chick
peas.
"Beginning with garbanzos, you can 'evolute'
into any sort of cocidas you please. One develop-
ment, the richer, is known as olla podrida, or
pucliero.
"When you see the Spanish gypsies camped by the
roadside about a steaming puchera (pot or kettle), you
may know the nasty things are brewing olla podrida,
because they have been able to secure beef, ham,
lamb, goat, chicken, and plenty of oil to boil with
their garbanzos.
" The best cocido is made in Catalunia, and this is
the way Maria Josefa docs it. I give it you only in
276 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
English, as I have got to the end of my kitchen
Spanish ; here it is : —
" Cocidas or P7ichero, or Olla Podrida.
3 quarts of water. \ pound of chick peas.
\ teaspoon of salt. I pound of beef or veal.
5 ounces of fat salt bacon, i small tomato,
i sprig of fresh green mint, i „ sweet green pepper.
" The chick peas must be in cold water enough to
cover them well during ten hours. Heat the water a
little and put in the chick peas and half a teaspoon
of salt. When the water boils put in the shank of
beef, the five ounces of bacon, three ounces of ham,
the tomato, the pepper, and the sprig of mint.
"When the soup boils for three or four hours, or
until the peas are tender, add the rice or vermicelli,
for fifteen or twenty minutes, and serve.
" I add here two other recipes of well-known
Spanish dishes. 'You pays your money and you takes
your choice ' ; they are all good, if plenty of olive
oil and Spanish green peppers are used for the
seasoning.
" Polio con To mates.
" (Chicken with Tomatoes.)
" One chicken, cut in pieces, is fried in two ounces of
lard until nearly done ; then it is taken out of the
grease, and three egg-plants which have been peeled
and cut in small pieces are fried in the same grease ;
then they are put with the chicken, and three onions,
and three sweet green peppers, from which the little
THROWN IN 277
pips have been taken out, are cut into slices and fried
in the same grease until tender ; then the tomatoes
are put in. Then the chicken and all the vegetables
are again fried, with the addition of two spoonfuls of
olive oil until the whole is thoroughly hot and well
mixed.
" Gazpacliuela or Oil Soup.
" A mayonnaise made of the yolks of two eggs, two
tablespoons of vinegar, a little salt, a little white
pepper and oil, and three spoons of hot water. This
is added to a quart of boiling water, in which has
been put the two whites of the eggs and broken bits
of white bread. The mixture becomes a savoury soup
and must be served immediately.
"Yours sincerely, BENJAMIN H. RlDGELEV."
With regard to the " Polio con Tomates," I think
that my friend has made a mistake in the amount of
lard required and has put "pounds" for "ounces." I
have taken the liberty of altering this, but if it is
wrong the fault is my own.
Being an Anglo-Saxon like myself he has not
deigned to touch on the cookery of the small birds
which formed such a staple dish at most of the
country hotels. This, however, does not matter in
our happy land, and I may say that undoubtedly the
best part of them was the heavenly toast the)- came
to table on, and the wine sauce that accompanied it.
Knglish cooks do not, as a rule, excel in making toast.
******
278 THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
With regard to food generally, the nicest things in
Spain are hot nuts, and the nastiest are all manner of
pig-meats.
******
And with regard to Spain itself the best things
we found in it were the country, its inhabitants, and
its climate.
And — have I mentioned it before? — the worst
things in Spain are — the ROADS.
And as I have no words suitable for describing
them, I will leave a very long blank here.
INDEX OF PLACES
A
PAGE
PAGE
Bourg-Madam
. 100
Agde
55
Burgos
. 207
Albacete
172
Alberique
•65
C
Alcantara (I'uente tie)
185
Alcazar
172
Cartillejo
172
Algemesi
• 159
Castellon
. 148
Almansa
. 168
Cette
• 54
Aranjuez
172
Ccvennes (the)
62
Aronys
. 96
Chinchilla
. 172
Armeria (the) .
178
Courceaux
. 26
Avignon
5'
D
Darcey
. 28
Dax
■ 234
Dijon
• 30
B
Durango
. 215
Badalona
96
Barcelona
100
E
Bayonne
22S
Ebro, R.
140
Beaune
3°
Eiban
. 215
Beauvais
18
Elche
! 57
Bezalu
79
Escorial
. 198
Beziers
61
Biarritz
211
Biilassoa, R. .
21 1
I
Bilbao
213
Figueras
• 7"
Bordeaux
236
Folkestone
9
279
28o THE SOUTH-BOUND CAR
\
Gerona
Guadarrama .
Golfe clu Lion
Hendayc
Irun
II
PAGE
S6
200
54
211
211
Jacur, R.
165
Jativa . . . 166
L
La Mancha . . . 171
Labouheyre . . . 234
Le Touquet . . .11
Lyons . . . 43
M
Macon . 41
Madrid
176
Mataro
96
Melun
20
Miranda
2IO
Monjuich
ios
Montbard
26
Montesa
166
Montpellier
54
Montserrat
124
N
Narbonne . . 62
Nimes
.
•
• 53
o
Orange
Pancorbo
Paris
Perpignan
Perlhiis
Pisuerga, R
Pont-Remy
Portal de Bara
Prado (the) .
Pyrenees (the)
Rhone, R.
R
48
210
19
65
67
205
12
130
179
65, 67, 80
42
Sagunto
. 148
S. Florentin .
. 26
S. Jean de Luz
. 216
S. Pol de Mer
• 93
S. Sebastian .
. 216
Saone, R.
. 42
Sens
21
Sitges
. 129
T
Tagus, R.
173, 185
Tarragona
• 131
Toledo
. 182
Tonnere
. 26
Tomb of the Scipios
• 130
Tordera
. 88
Tortosa
. 142
Torquemada .
79, 207
INDEX OF PLACES
Valencia
Valladolid
Vcndrel
Versailles
157
204
130
20
Viennes
Villareal
Yonne, R.
28l
I'AGE
43
148
23
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