Three men in a motor car : or, A summer tour in France and Switzerland, followed by some observations on kindred topics

Front matter

OR

A SUMMER TOUR IN FRANCE AND SWITZERLAND Followed by Some Observations m Kindred Topics

By WINTHROP E. SCARRITT

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

Introduction ix

Foreword xi

Introduction

Those who like a laugh, those who travel, those who would travel if they could, and all those interested in the social revolution implied in the word " automobilism," will find something to their taste in this book of Mr. Winthrop E. Scarritt. A former president of The Automobile Club of America and one of the honored pioneers of the motor-car in his own country, he here undertakes to show Americans how they can extend their pleasure to other continents. It is the deliberate opinion of all who have tried it, that life can offer few more vivid joys than a tour in a motor-car through beautiful country. Nowhere can this pleasure be so perfectly enjoyed as on the Continent of Europe; and especially in France, whose roads are the envy of the world. To Americans especially, a European motor tour must appeal with a peculiar allurement. To travel in a train is to be hurled from place to place in a box, with little fresh air, no contact with the people, no chance of

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INTRODUCTION

getting at the life of the country. In a motor-car you enter into its heart, its air fills your lungs ; you are delightfully exhilarated ; you see the people at work and at play; for the time you are one of them. You can haste when it pleases you, and linger at your will. You are free as the clouds or the birds.

Mr. Scarritt, writing from a ripe experience, tells in his book how the fascinating pleasures of a European tour may be most successfully obtained. With him as guide, the way is smooth; difficulties vanish. Much as he has done for automobilism in America, he is here putting his countrymen under a fresh debt, and he is adding to the happiness and civilization of the world by bringing nations nearer, and teaching us better to understand each other.

C. N. & A. M. Williamson

X

Foreword

The Dreams of Yesterday are the Realities of To-day, and the Commonplaces of To-morrow.

Morse, with daring audacity, lifts his hand into the clouds, and seizing the pen of the Almighty ticks out that first message between Baltimore and Washington, while an astounded world stands with uncovered head and joins reverently in the glad acclaim, "What hath God wrought!" That was Yesterday. To-day, a young Italian genius, without the aid even of a slender wire, flashes signals across the Atlantic, and dreams that to-morrow he will send them around the world.

Man's conquest over Nature, — his knowledge of her secrets, his dominion over her forces, has been greater in the span of memory of men now living than in all the countless centuries of human history which preceded. When the history of man's achievements shall have been made up, it will be found that the

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FOREWORD

coming of the Automobile marked an Epoch in Civilization.

It is a curious fact that, notwithstanding our boasted nineteenth-century progress in methods, discovery and invention, up to the coming of the motor-car man had made absolutely no progress since the dawn of history in the transportation of the individual unit of society. We boast that we had captured the very Gods of the Ancients, — Air, Steam, Electricity, — and had harnessed them to our big chariots such as the Ocean Greyhound and the Lackawanna Limited Express. But these relate to the transportation of numbers of individuals or masses of freight. It remains that, so far as the transportation of the individual is concerned, until the coming of the motor-car humanity had made no progress whatever, and, in fact, had no other or different means of going about than it did when the human race left its cradle on the banks of the Euphrates and began its westward march. The horses and chariots of Pharaoh were just as fine as any we may see to-day on Fifth Avenue or Champs Elysees. Hitherto we had captured the big Gods of the Ancients and harnessed them to our big chariots, but the little gods, or little daimones,

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FOREWORD

had been too spry and elusive, and had escaped us.

In the last analysis, therefore, the Automobile means that man by his genius has finally succeeded in segregating a little part of the giant forces of Nature and in harnessing it to his individual chariot. Man's feet are no longer leaden, creeping slowly over the earth, they have become winged with the power of the Seven Leagued Boots, and the individual may now scorn the earth and travel over its surface with the speed of the wind.

Measured by what it is and by what it is to accomplish, the Automobile takes on a new dignity and is lifted out of the realm of the toy and the plaything, to become a mighty and beneficent factor in Civilization.

Hundreds of Americans have already experienced the joys of a motor trip over the delightful roads of the old world, — particularly of France and Switzerland. Thousands more contemplate this journey. Many more would undertake it if they knew how easily it may be accomplished. It will be the object of the writer in the following pages to give such definite and succinct information as one needs to possess in order to accomplish the trip comfortably, together with a brief de-

xiii

FOREWORD scription of the things that are most worth while. But through it all shall run the fixed thread of a larger purpose, viz. : to glorify the Automobile.

Yesterday a Plaything of the Few; To-day a Servant of the Many; To-morrow the Necessity of Humanity.

XIV

Chapter I " Three Men In A Boat"

Outward Bound, On Board S.S. Philadelphia, July 29.

There were three of us — plain, every-day American business men, worn and tired with the grind of life, and hungry to get away from the cares of the "street," from 'phones and stock-tickers, from printing-press and knittingmill; so we cut the Gordian knot of many difficulties, mostly imaginary, and said solemnly to ourselves, and to each other, "We will take a motor-car, and go away to Europe — that Paradise of Good Roads — to forget dull care, and renew our youth in an automobile trip through some of the grandest country the sun sees in all his journey around the globe. Hurry, worry, and responsibilities are left behind; the wireless ticks out a message of good cheer and greeting to the folks at home, and we are plowing the waves of mid-ocean, off for what every automobilist will at once pronounce an ideal holiday.

l

And now I am to begin my story. The day is one of those perfect ones when "Heaven and Earth are in tune." The sea is as smooth as Lake Hopatcong. The air comes to your cheek as soft and balmy as though wafted from the Gardens of Paradise.

My first chapter will relate first what turned my thought to the automobile, and second, how I acquired a large allopathic dose of trouble in my first motor-car. Speaking more accurately, however, my trouble was not in getting hold of the car, but in getting rid of it. A story of a raw Irishman illustrates exactly my condition. Pat, shortly after his arrival fresh from the old sod, was invited by his neighbor Mike to go coon-hunting. By the light of the moon they treed the varmint, which turned out to be a wildcat, Mike went up the tree to shake down the supposed coon. Pat was to grab and hold the beast. The animal fell, and immediately there was a terrible commotion at the foot of the tree. Mike shouted down to his friend: "Shall I come down, Pat, and help yez hould him?" "Be gob, I wish yez would come down and help me let go," screamed Pat.

During the summer of '99 I had taken for my little family a cottage at Long Branch.

"THREE MEN IN A BOAT"

The house faced the famous Ocean Avenue Drive, and occasionally throughout the season we saw gliding noiselessly up and down a little steam runabout, one of the early types of the Locomobile. It did not seem much larger than a baby-wagon, but it got over the ground delightfully.

A few weeks later that splendid pioneer Alexander S. Winton, accompanied by that versatile newspaper man Charles S. Shanks, made an automobile trip from Cleveland to New York. Mr. Shanks' clever and thrilling account of the journey was published not only in the Cleveland Plaindealer but reproduced in an attractive booklet giving a detailed history of this epoch-making run. I read every word of that little red-covered booklet with growing interest, and when I came to the finish I was conscious that I had become inoculated and that the microbe automobilious had found lodgment in my system.

The serious and important question which next confronted me was what particular brand of trouble I should undertake to acquire. Business, politics, social and domestic problems, all sank to minor importance, and the sole and solemn business of existence was the investigation of the automobile and the purchase of the best possible brand at the most reasonable price. About this time, my lifelong friend H. W. Whipple, overcome by my enthusiastic eloquence on the only theme then worthy of consideration or discussion, likewise acquired the disease, and together we held many and long-continued conferences on the tremendously important subject. Finally, together we visited the Locomobile Agency in New York. We carefully examined the cunning little runabout and were treated, after standing patiently in line, awaiting our turn, to a fascinating ride for five or six asphalt blocks outside the salesroom.

At the conclusion of the demonstration, friend Whipple's enthusiasm had arisen to 110° F. He immediately produced his checkbook and wrote a few hieroglyphics by virtue of which carelessness the ownership of a car passed from the company to him. Seeing that I did not follow his example, he rather suspiciously inquired the reason of my inertia. I pointed out the light wire wheels, the delicate and complicated system of piping, the fragile and toy-like construction of the vehicle throughout, and positively declined to follow his courageous example. I proposed to look over the entire field and at my lei-

"THREE MEN IN A BOAT"

sure come to a logical and conservative decision.

This story does not presume to chronicle the trials and tribulations my friend encountered in his new possession, because I soon had troubles of my own to keep me busy. Suffice it to say that Whipple twice burnt up all the burnable part of his car — that he scarcely ever went out without some mishap, that through one long hot summer he agonized — yes, that is the word — over and under that car, until his robust and rotund proportions literally melted away and at the end of the season he turned up his automobile toes, gave up the ghost and said: "I have had enough. The car cost me seven hundred and fifty dollars, I have in a few months spent twelve hundred dollars in repairs. Is there any fool anywhere who will pay me two hundred and fifty dollars for it?" There was such an one, and he, being something of a mechanic, succeeded in getting quite satisfactory service out of the little car. This incident shows that the personal equation enters largely into the problem. I well remember Whipple's offering to wager the intending purchaser fifty dollars that if he bought the car he could not run it a mile without something getting out of order. The

i original Locomobile was too light and too frail. Nevertheless it was the best steam car that could be had at the time, and the sport owes much to its manufacturers, who were noble pioneers in this new and important field.

However, my friend's experience with his American car was so bitter that I turned to the foreign cars as being more substantial and satisfactory.

I happened one day to learn that a Mr. Jacob Sheindig, whom I will, for the purpose of this writing, locate at St. Augustine, Florida, had a foreign car for sale cheap. Immediately I wrote him for description and terms. A prompt reply brought the information that my correspondent possessed a fine Benz car of latest pattern and up to date in every particular. That "it was a handsome and imposing turnout and would average about eighteen miles per hour." It had been imported as a model from which an American company proposed to build cars, but the company had "bust up" and consequently the present owner had bought the model car very cheap. He and his wife and children were much in love with it, and were extremely loath to part with such a household treasure; nevertheless they would reluctantly do so be-

"THREE MEN IN A BOAT"

cause the roads were so poor in their vicinity that it was little short of a crime to run such a fine car over such poor roads. The car cost and was cheap at two thousand dollars, but as the present owner had bought it for much less I could have it for six hundred and fifty dollars, and it was really a shame to sell it at any such price. If I would look in the Horseless Age of November 29th, I would see an exact picture of this delightful car and an accurate description thereof. Eagerly I secured a copy of the Horseless Age referred to, and the following cut and description appeared:

THE BENZ* DUC.

1900 Models

"1900 models" are already beginning to make their appearance. One of the first is that of Benz & Co., of Mannheim, Germany, of which I send you an illustration herewith. The carriage, which is known as the "Due," is rather larger than their well-known "Ideal," which will, however, still be made. The new vehicle is 5 ft. 3 in. wide and is arranged to comfortably seat three or four persons. The motive power is supplied by a 5 h.p. single-cylinder engine, with electric ignition and water jacket. A new departure is the provision of a water cooler in addition to the ordinary condenser, by means of which frequent change of the cylinder-cooling water is rendered unnecessary. The power is transmitted by belts working on fast and loose pulleys, there being three forward speeds and one reverse. Another new departure is the adoption of wooden wheels with solid rubber tires in place of the wire wheels used in the "Ideal" carriage.

What great luck was this which had befallen me! I knew the Benz Company to be one of the oldest and most reputable in Germany. Surely this car wTas far superior to the trappy, fragile affairs of American manufacture. "Made in Germany" had never before looked so good to me. Like all novices I was anxious to have a car right off, and impatient of delay. I wrote Mr. Sheindig that I was attracted by his description and interested in his proposition. That if he would send the car C. O. D., with privilege of examination, he might do so. This suggestion he declined, and drew another pathetic picture of his sorrowing wife and disconsolate children

"THREE MEN IN A BOAT"

standing around refusing to be reconciled to giving up the handsome motor-car. If I wanted the car I would better hurry, as others were negotiating for it. He referred to two men in New York who had ridden in the "handsome and imposing turnout." These gentlemen corroborated all the good things that had been said about this particular Benz and I decided to send my check. This I did at once, ordering the car shipped forthwith. Ten days later it arrived crated, and was placed on the dock. The next day was, much to my satisfaction, a holiday. A truckman was engaged to deliver the precious freight at my Munn Avenue residence, The House of the White Lions, in East Orange, New Jersey. Accompanied by Whipple, R. G. Du Bois, and a Mr. Adams, an expert, we sallied forth to examine my first automobile. The crate loomed large and ominous in front of the barn door. My curious peeps between the slats of the crate were not reassuring. As slat after slat was torn away, heart and hope began to sink. At last the "handsome" turnout stood stripped of its covering. One glance was enough, I had been imposed upon, and that was all that was "imposing" about the whole affair. I was immediately aroused by a savage yell of ghoulish glee from my friend "Whip." He exclaimed: "You are the man who would not have an American car; oh, no, it wasn't good enough. You are the man who proposed to look over the entire field at your leisure and come 'to a logical and conservative decision."5

The general lines of the car were the same as those in the picture, but instead of being a new Benz car and an up-to-date model, it must have been of an old, old vintage — in fact, one of the very first of that well-known make. The car was old, rickety, and almost innocent of paint. The chickens had roosted in it; tufts of hair in the back and cushions were peeping out curiously and good-naturedly to see what it was all about. The rear wheels were abnormally high, while the front ones were abnormally low, each equipped with a solid rubber band about the size of those on a good, self-respecting perambulator. Whipple stood by, and between paroxysms of laughter made what were supposed to be facetious remarks. He declared Noah had had this antediluvian rig with him in the ark; then he modified the statement and apologized to Noah. He said father Noah had the car but he didn't think it was worth taking into the ark and so left it out in the rain. Sadly I confessed its appearance justified that conclusion. Then the expert became busy and tried to start the fine old ruin. But evidently resenting the levity it had occasioned, the engine refused to give forth a single explosion or show any sign of life. For three long mortal hours we threatened and cajoled and coaxed. It was as dead as a heap of scrapiron. The carbureter was of ancient style, as big as a gallon bucket and intersected with layers of gauze wire. The transmission system was the belt and pulley type; the engine was a single-cylinder affair as large as a young cannon, carefully and inscrutably concealed in the very heart of the car where it was most inaccessible. There was no starting crank. The only way to start the engine was to lift the rear of the body, reach far over towards the center of the car, grasping with the hand a large fly-wheel, and give it a quick jerk towards you. When an explosion did occur there was almost invariably a back kick, and if you were not exceedingly agile in letting go the rim of the fly-wheel the tendency was to pull you violently into the car, smashing your head against the upturned framework.

At length the expert succeeded in getting the engine running. Then I was almost sorry he had ; the noise was quite as loud and about as pleasing as that of a stone-crushing machine. The blue smoke poured from the tiny muffler in overpoweringly odoriferous strangulation. But at last "she felt the thrill of life along her keel/' and she moved, or rather waddled, slowly off, much like a lame duck starting out for a mud bath. Going out of the yard into the street the car had to cross the depression of the curb gutter. There she groaned and stopped, unable to lift herself out of this slight ditch. This man Whipple followed and continued his irreverent, if not wholly irrelevant, remarks. He advised me to get a jackass to pull the car out; then he said I could do the task quite as well myself. We pushed the car out of the gutter on to the crown of the street. Suddenly the " old Nick" seemed to seize the thing. It started at full swing, rushed across the street in a flash, struck a young tree, and such was the impact that the front axle bent the slender trunk and began to slide or shin up. Again the maniacal screams from my alleged friend: "Come down out that tree," he shouted; "what do you think that is, a flying-machine, or is it a patent trap to hunt squirrels?" Well, the

"THREE MEN IN A BOAT"

engine stopped and we backed down. But why continue this painful narrative? We succeeded in getting the car straightened out on the level street and were off finally, noise, smoke, odor and all, and succeeded by actual measurements in getting up the enormous blood-curdling speed of eight miles per hour.

Every horse we met danced a fandango and tried to turn circles or stand on its head; mothers heard us coming and gathered their children in their arms and ran for the cellar; cats climbed trees and every dog in the village gave chase in company with an army of small boys. That was a strenuous ride. I have a vivid picture of a blind horse running away with a milk cart, and milk literally raining down from the trees ; also of two mules hitched to a wagon trying to climb up a neighbor's front porch and the neighbor trying to beat them back with an umbrella. His language was something frightful.

That ride came to an end as all pleasant ( ?) incidents must. I shall not forget it. I think I made more enemies among my neighbors in that half -hour than I can recover in the next thirty years.

When I returned to the bosom of my family, the hot water was boiling out of the radiator of the car and the steam rising in graceful white clouds. Notwithstanding these pleasant little idiosyncrasies of the "imposing" Benz, I invited my charming wife for a ride. She gently but firmly declined, and, secretly, I have had a greater admiration for her good sense ever since. The car was impossible.

Chapter II

One day I heard of a Mr. Blevney, a German machinist residing in Newark, who understood foreign cars. I arranged for him to come out and inspect the Patriarch. When the barn doors were flung open, he shouted, "Mein Himmel! dot vas mein old Benz. Look on the front spring you see where one time I patched him." So it was. He continued excitedly, "Dot was a bully car; why, mein froint, one time the German Emperor rode mit dot car in." The much excited Teuton then proceeded to tell me its history. It was one of the first turned out by the Benz factory, at Mannheim, Germany. He had sent an agent abroad to purchase this car. One day the man was driving it along the highway which ran parallel to one of the railroads leading into Berlin. The special train of the Emperor came along bearing his august personage. He noticed the automobile, which was a great novelty at that time. The Emperor stopped the train and sent an officer to the driver of the motor-car with a message that the Emperor would like to examine the vehicle. Naturally, the German was all but overcome with this new honor. After a careful examination the Emperor expressed a desire to be taught to operate the car, and such was his natural aptitude that in a few minutes this able and versatile sovereign was driving the car at a jolly clip towards Berlin, the special train having been ordered to follow.

My German friend brought the car to Newark, N. J. From this point he had taken it to various county fairs, operating and exhibiting it and receiving as remuneration twenty-five dollars per day. Great throngs flocked to these exhibitions and this horseless carriage created as much excitement as a successful flying-machine would to-day.

My Teutonic friend finally sold the car to some manufacturers in Buffalo; they in turn sold it to the man of St. Augustine, and he, after an adventurous career with it, as I found later, unloaded the nightmare upon me. As the Oranges are really a suburb of Newark, after going around the circle, the car — like the cat — had strangely enough come back to its original starting-point.

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The German machinist was loath to undertake the rehabilitation of the Benz. The compression was bad, the wheels were wobbly; the ignition system was antiquated and below par, and the belts rotten. After a long and silent contemplation he said, "I advise that you keep him in a museum, otherwise run him mit the river in." I felt that I had been swindled. I had numerous letters from the man who had sold me the car, setting forth its good qualities, and scarcely one of the representations was true.

I think I am a patient and long-suffering individual, but the more I thought of this "handsome and imposing turnout" and of the manner of its acquisition, the more indignant I became. Smarting with a keen sense of wrong and injustice, I determined to "have the law on the man." Upon consulting my lawyer, Mr. H. H. Snedeker, what was my chagrin and astonishment to hear him say: "The chances are that you will never be able to recover; the man who sold you the car is a resident of another state — you would have to bring your action in his home town — his friends and neighbors would constitute the jury — local sympathy would be with him and against you — you would have to employ local counsel, and the chances are that you would be defeated, and only succeed in throwing good money after bad."

Thus my lawyer friend counseled me. If I were angry before this, you may well understand how this interview was like pouring gasolene on a burning flame. That night I thought the whole matter over. I admitted the bitter fact that my first automobile experiment was a failure and tried to reason myself into the sensible conclusion advised by my attorney, namely: charge the whole thing up to experience, and forget it. Try as I might, however, my mind rebelled at this conclusion of the matter. I was sorry for myself, and while I did not mind so much the loss of a few hundred dollars, I had that instinctive characteristic of every American, a hatred of being "done." I determined therefore, to "get even." I did not know how, nor when, nor where; I simply determined to get even. I forgot to say that previous to this time I had written Mr. Sheindig, telling him that he had obtained my money under false pretenses and demanding its return. He wrote back a politely sarcastic letter (How I did admire that man's nerve!) in which he stated, " I do not like the tone of

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your letter. You are evidently in a frame of mind not to be reasoned with, and I therefore enclose you the card of my attorney." That letter settled it. I determined to spend ten years, and as many thousand dollars, if necessary, in bringing this cool gentleman to brook. At this point there began a line of inductive reasoning born of the necessities of the situation, a la Sherlock Holmes, which kind and over-indulgent friends have since told me would not have discredited that great detective himself.

The only clew upon which I could build was that this man had owned a motor-car. I thought the matter out as follows : first, any man who had once owned a motor-car and disposed of it would want to buy another; second, Sheindig has owned a motor-car and unloaded it upon an eager victim; third, he will be in the market for another car; fourth, his name suggests that he belongs to a race who always want to buy cheap, and are masters of the art; fifth, if he wants to buy cheap he will look for another second-hand car; sixth, there are more second-hand cars in the city of New York than in all the rest of the country put together, and he will naturally come to this market; seventh, in order to find second-hand cars for sale, he will advertise in the Horseless Age — the only motor vehicle paper at that time published in New York City; eighth, it therefore behooves me to keep an eye on the Horseless Age and say nothing.

This was my chain of reasoning. Let us see how it worked out.

Several weeks passed and my adversary was as silent as the grave. One day, however, when hope had begun to wane, the postman dropped a copy of the Horseless Age on my office desk, and from force of habit I turned to the advertising columns. There, oh joy! I read the following advertisement: "Wanted: A second-hand motor-car of American manufacture. Must be good and cheap. Address, with full particulars, Jacob Sheindig, P. O. Box 643, St. Augustine, Fla." I jumped to my feet with a joyous yell, "I've got him! I've got him!" I am sure the members of the staid old banking firm of J. & W. Seligman and Company (most of whom I rejoice to say have since become enthusiastic motorists) with whom I had at that time the honor of being connected, must have thought me suddenly insane.

At last the hour for action had arrived. I lost no time in betaking myself to the office of