Two months in Europe; a record of a summer vacation abroad

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Chapter I. On The Ocean

THE departure of an ocean steamer is always an event of 1 considerable importance. For several hours before the time of sailing the dock is crowded with baggage, people are hurrying down in carriages, men and women are rushing along on foot, passengers and their friends are crowding on board the vessel, the whole making a perfect pandemonium of noise and confusion. On the morning of our departure, toward the latter part of June, in addition to all this, nature was weeping most abundantly and constantly, evidently sympathizing with the travelers and their friends.

The half hour bell sounds and the crowd on the steamer begins to lessen and that on the wharf to increase. The ten minute bell only adds to the confusion, and at the last moment the shore people on board the steamer rush frantically off, the bridge is drawn, the hawsers cast from the pier, the engine bebegins to move, there is a great splashing of the water at the stern of the vessel, gradually the vast steamer seems to have the breath of life infused into her, and slowly she leaves the wharf amid the farewell calls of friends, the waving of handkerchiefs, the shouting of the crowd, and the friendly whistle of passing steam vessels.

The waving of handkerchiefs continues until we lose sight of the wharf, and is kept up still later by those whose zealous friends follow them down the harbor in tugs. Our steamer being a new one, and this her first departure from New York, she was escorted down the harbor by several tugs and passenger vessels. Our captain said that whenever there were any Brooklyn ministers on board such a company of steam vessels always followed them down the harbor, and with the remark that we would probably find two or three of them concealed among the passengers, he went forward. We afterward found a couple of them among the passengers. At length our little fleet of tugs turn back and leaves us with a final salute of cannon and steam whistles, and we are soon opposite the lightship at Sandy Hook.

On the way down the bay the passengers walk the upper deck, taking their last look at the beautiful fields below Brooklyn, the green hills of Staten Island, and the low-lying Jersey shore in the distance. Many of the passengers write letters or postal cards, which can be sent back by the pilot, and will be the last that friends can hear from them until we are in sight of the Irish coast.

Just outside the light ship we begin to feel the ocean swell, and the great steamer rises and falls in a way that makes many think with dreadful forebodings of the future. Soon some of the passengers, quietly and without remark, go down to their state-rooms, while others sit upon the upper deck in a thoughtful, meditative way, until gradually a paleness steals over their

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faces, and after half an hour or so they quietly disappear below. Others of a resolute nature, who have determined that as for them, they will not be seasick, walk rapidly up and down the deck fighting in vain the grim monster which is literally clutching their vitals. Experienced sailors and those who are not at all affected by the sea, lounge leisurely about and enjoy the fresh breeze and the discomfort of their unfortunate fellow passengers.

By the time the steamer has been out a few hours and the land has disappeared from sight, the dividing line between those who are to be sick and those who are to stand the voyage, is pretty fairly drawn. If the weather is at all rough, half the passengers will not be at the table the first meal, and some will not befseen at all during the passage. For seasickness there seems to be no permanent or certain cure. What relieves one does another no good, but- forced contributions to the Atlantic are a general relief to all who are affected.

Our voyage was a very monotonous one, having fog and quiet weather nearly all the way. Once, on the banks of Newfoundland, the monotony was broken by running down a fishing smack from Beverly, Mass., which was anchored directly across our course. I can never forget how wildly the fishermen ran to the stern of their vessel as the black hull of the steamer suddenly appeared to rush out of the dense fog, bearing down on them directly amidship and scarcely two hundred yards away. Almost instant death threatens them, for in less than half a minute they expect to be run down by the steamer. But they are seen from our vessel and she is instantly turned from her course, so that only the bowsprit of the fishing smack is cut off close up to the hull, and the shattered vessel grates harshly against the iron side of the steamer as we pass along. Our steamer is stopped, the men taken from their sinking vessel, and we are on our course again through the interminable fog.

There is nothing that strikes a greater feeling of dread through a passenger than the shrill fog whistle sounding ominously in his ears day and night, and this is particularly so after a misfortune like ours. Without having passed through the experience one can hardly conceive how many imaginary vessels we ran down or how many imaginary icebergs we ran into during the remaining days of the fog. Occasionally the dense mist would clear away for a few hours and we would have a view of the boundless ocean, with not a living thing in sight except ourselves, but on every side the hemisphere of the sky seemed to shut down upon us like the cover to some great bowl.

During the voyage the passengers amuse themselves in various ways with games, reading, music, conversation, and one day the lawyers, of whom we had an abundant supply on board, gave us a moot court, which was scarcely less amusing than some of the transactions of the real ones. They also interest themselves in watching the sky, the record of each day's course, the officers as they take the position of the ship at noon, the varied working of the vessel, and the wonderful donkey engines as they raise and lower the sails and apparently do all the heavy work on the steamer. Occasionally we see whales spouting in the distance, and some with well developed imagination see icebergs in the far away horizon. They also note the increasing length of the days as we sail north, the apparent gaining of time as we go toward the east, and the gradually increasing cold.

ON THE OCEAN. 9

The ladies are generally very curious to know all about navigation, and are, in their irresistible way, besieging the officers, when off duty, for all kinds of nautical information. A lady evidently of the strong minded kind, who had- many years before passed the culminating point of her youth and beauty, got hold of our fun-loving Scotch captain one day, and pointing to the long line which was dragging behind the vessel, to which was fastened the instrument for recording the distance made by the steamer, in a very decided way said :

"Captain, I want to know why you have that long rope dragging behind the steamer ?"

" To tell how far we go each day, mam," said the captain, -cheerfully.

" But I don't see how you can tell from t/iat," remonstrated

the lady.

"I cannot explain it to you," said the captain, "so that you

would understand it."

"Yes I can, I am sure," she said, eagerly, resenting the insinuation that there was anything on the earth, in the sea or in the heavens which she could not understand.

After a great deal of urging on her part and an equal amount of gentle refusing on his, during which a crowd of the passengers had gathered around them, knowing from the mischief in the captain's eye that there was some fun ahead, he finally said :

" Now that you insist on it so urgently I will try and tell you, although I have not much hope that you will understand it. The truth of the matter is, madam," said he in a loud confidential whisper which could have been heard by five hundred people, while at the same time a smile broadened over his

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weather beaten face, " I have a sailor tied to the end of the rope, who counts the milestones on the bottom of the ocean." At length one morning the captain informs us that in the afternoon we shall probably see land. What a thrill goes through us as we think of seeing land once more, and this time the shore of that old world whose wonders and beauties have for so long a time filled our imagination. How eagerly we all watch in the direction where the land will probably appear, each one hoping to be the first to see the rugged shore and green hills of Ireland. At length some one calls — "Land in sight!" and we all strain our eyes in the direction indicated but we only see what seems to be a light cloud resting upon the water. Much against the evidences of our senses we are persuaded that this is land, the green shore we had pictured in imagination, and with a sigh of disappointment we turn away.

The captain promises to have us called at two o'clock the next morning (it is broad day light here by this time) to see the coast off the Giant's Causeway. Coming on deck at this early hour we find on all sides of us, in some places less than one-fourth of a mile distant, the rugged and abrupt shore and out lying islands of the Irish coast, which have for so many centuries battled with the full force of the Atlantic. It is a dangerous place in a storm, but we steam along in a quiet sea, and wonder at the giant mass of black rock along the shore, and admire the green fields and white cottages of the peasants.

The almost constant mist and fog which are found on the Irish and Scotch coasts, give an intensely green color to the grass and trees, so that the hills as we look upon them for the first time after our long voyage, seem the greenest and most

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beautiful we have ever known, and give us a most pleasing welcome to the old world. We pass near the Causeway, close enough to see its remarkable basaltic formation which extends along the coast for several miles. The high rocks near which we occasionally sail return a quick, sharp echo to the shrill whistle of the steamer, and this echo is sometimes faintly repeated from some more distant rock.

By eight o'clock of as lovely a day as Scotland ever saw, we are coming up the broad Firth of Clyde, with the beautiful green hills, and back of them the rugged mountains of " Bonnie Scotland " visible in the distance. For four hours we sail through as fine a stream with as beautiful shores as the sun shines upon, and we do not blame the Scotchman for loving his native land, since we strangers cannot help joining him in its admiration.

We reach the harbor of Greenock, at the mouth of the Clyde, which is probably the most important seaport of Scotland. It is constantly filled with steamers of all sizes, more than a hundred daily plying to all parts of the coast and indeed of the world. Greenock is noted particularly for ship building and sugar refining. There is, however, little in the place to interest the traveler, unless he wishes to visit the Watt Institute, established as a memorial of James Watt, the inventor of the steam engine, who was a native of this place ; or if romantically inclined he may wander into the cemetery of the old church where Burns' " Highland Mary " is buried.

After sticking for nearly an hour upon the bar at the mouth of the Clyde, we finally pass up the river toward Glasgow which is 23 miles distant. On the left is the fine residence and grounds of Stevens, the great ship builder, and directly in front of us, up the river, the rock and castle of Dumbarton. This nearly perpendicular rock rises several hundred feet above the river, and was an important fortress in the early wars between the Britons and Scots. In the varied vicissitudes of border warfare it has known many masters, but is associated chiefly with the daring exploits of the historic Wallace, one of whose many massive two-handed swords is now among the relics in its armory. It also figured conspicuously in the romantic history of the beautiful but unfortunate Queen Mary. It is even yet a fortress of considerable strength and commands the passage of the river.

A little way above this is the ivy covered end of a very old wall said to have been built by the Romans, and upon this a plain monument erected to the memory of Henry Bell, who launched the first steamer on the Clyde. A few miles further up on the opposite side of the river, we pass the home of the poorest lord in Scotland. As we see his fine residence in the midst of a beautiful park of more than a hundred acres, we cannot help but feel sorry for the poor fellow compelled to live in such a place, and our hand involuntarily reaches into our pocket to contribute a penny or two to relieve his distress. On either side of the river are carefully cultivated and very productive fields, which yield crops of hay, that are a wonder to American eyes.

As we near Glasgow, yards for building iron ships are on either side, and the constant clang of hammers is deafening. More than half the iron ships afloat are Clyde built, and although the times are hard in England as well as in America, we saw nearly one hundred on the stocks in various stages of completion. It is with the greatest difficulty that the Clyde,

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which is only a small river, can be kept open for steam navigation. A large number of dredges are constantly employed in deepening the channel. This work, which must be continually done over, is a great tax upon the city of Glasgow, but she cheerfully assumes it, for her supremacy depends on keeping the Clyde open to ocean steamers.

By the help of two tugs, one at each end of the steamer, we work our way slowly up the narrow stream, and when within a few miles of the city our vessel becomes firmly fastened in the mud, the prow and stern on opposite banks. We are transferred to a tug, and our baggage to another, and there we leave our grand steamer, which has carried us so proudly over the ocean, ignominiously stuck in the mud in the little Clyde, and with many a regret at parting with her under such circumstances and so near her destination, we steam up to Glasgow.

After passing the Custom House, that bug-bear of travelers, we are at our hotel, a genuine American house. The wife of the proprietor is an American, and all the furniture which is new and of the Eastlake pattern, came from America, the greater part being made to order at Grand Rapids, Michigan. The familiar look of things makes it seem almost as if after our long voyage we had landed on American soil. And here in the midst of these surroundings, at the very threshold ot the old world and all it has in store for us, we sleep soundly our first night on the dry land of the trans-Atlantic world.

Chapter II. The Scottish Lakes And Stirling Castle

GLASGOW has a remarkable history. A hundred years ago it was a small city of less than 50,000 inhabitants and without importance, but to-day it is the commercial metropolis of Scotland, and has a population of 600,000. Its inhabitants have shown a remarkable enterprise in building up manufactories, and in developing the mineral resources of the neighboring counties. The almost numberless tall chimneys with their clouds of smoke, and the continual noise of numerous iron works, remind us of our own Pittsburgh.

To the tourist the city has few attractions. The chief of these is the old Cathedral, which was built in the twelfth century and is one of the few in all Scotland which survived the mad fury of the populace during the times of the Reformation. The building is very large, more than three hundred feet long, and most of its carvings and interior decorations are in a fine state of preservation. Its crypts are the finest and most massive of any in the kingdom. But the pride of the cathedral is its beautiful, great, stained-glass windows, of which it has forty-four, from twenty-five to thirty feet in height, each representing some well known Bible event. These windows were made about ten years ago at Munich, and are the perfection of modern art. Adjoining the Cathedral is the Necropolis, or Cemetery, beautifully laid out and containing many fine monuments. Conspicuous among these is one to John Knox, whose body, however, is buried at Edinborough. We noticed also that of John Dick, the eminent theologian. Other things in the city, worthy of mention, are George Square with its colossal monument to Sir Walter Scott; Glasgow Green containing a fine monument to Nelson, England's favorite hero ; and the New University buildings. In one of the poorest streets of the old city we are shown the quarters once occupied by Cromwell.

The most noticeable thing about the city to an American just landed, is the massiveness and solidity of the buildings, for they are mostly of cut stone with tile or slate roofs. There are almost no buildings made of wood and but few of brick, and the streets are all paved with stone. This gives an impression that the city is built to stand for all time and accords with our generally accepted opinion of Scotch thoroughness. Yet miles and miles of streets with stone houses and stone paving, everything stone, gives the city a monotony of dull color which finally becomes wearisome, until the eye longs for something bright and even for a little outside paint.

Strolling down to one of the public squares, one evening, a member of our party found an excited crowd of two or three hundred working men discussing the merits of Protestantism and Catholicism. One had been making a speech on the subject and was reading proof passages from a small copy of the Testament. Some one gave notice that the next night there would be a discussion on the favorite Scotch theme — Foreordination. In what American city, or any city in the world outside of Scotland, will you find day laborers discussing until late at night questions in theology and metaphysics ?

The increased length of the day, owing to extreme northern latitude, becomes plainly noticeable, for I was able to read fine print by daylight after 10 o'clock at night, while daybreak comes about 2 o'clock. Indeed in clear weather the morning and evening twilight almost overlap. The policeman with his pot-shaped cap is everywhere, a constant terror to evil-disposed small boys, who at once take to their heels when the cry is raised, '-The Bobbies are coming." I knew a worthy American lady who on her first day in Glasgow, in an innocent way asked, "What kind of a musical instrument is a bobby?"

Leaving Glasgow by early train we soon reach Balloch, on Loch Lomond, where we take steamer for Inversnaid, near the opposite end of the lake, a sail of nearly thirty miles. A Scotch mist as it is politely called, (we should say a rain storm) soon settled down upon us, and although it was the fourth of July, and we had on our overcoats, we were shivering in the cold wind. The Highlanders have a saying that " When Ben Lomond puts on his night cap the rain will come down," and as we looked up toward the mountain and saw his head obscured with clouds, and the rain falling around us, we decided that there are weather signs which are true. Sailing up the lake which is surrounded by Scotland's highest mountains, we are in the midst of scenery scarcely equalled by any lake in Europe, Maggiore in Italy alone excepted.

Nearly every mountain pass, rock and village is associated with some of Scott's characters. We see Balloch Castle, beyond a ruined fortification, a traditional stronghold of Fingal ; a beatiful wooded island, the deer park of the Duke of Montrose ; Rob Roy's prison ; the rock from which he dipped refractory captives in the lake until they were willing to pay the required ransom; and his cave, which also sheltered Robert the Bruce. Near Inversnaid is the ruin of a fort once commanded by General Wolfe, the hero of Quebec.

At Inversnaid we take coaches for Stronachlacker, on Loch Katrine. These coaches are the few remaining from the famous old English coach system, the drivers being dressed in red coats, plug hats and high top boots, as in the good old times before railroads were known, and when the coach was the pride of the Englishman. The four horses are started up the steep hill at a full run amid a fearful snapping of whips and a greater display of style than we had supposed the solid and sensible Englishman ever allowed himself to use. About this snapping of whips, I have yet to see the country in Europe where the drivers of all sorts of pleasure carriages are not provided with long whips which they delight to snap almost constantly. It seems to be a sort of understood arrangement between the driver and his horses, that the cracking of the whip means nothing more than to give the passengers the impression that the driver is whipping up his horses and going very fast.

Shortly after leaving Inversnaid we pass the ruins of the house in which Helen McGregor, Rob Roy's wife, was born. The drive of two hours was over a desolate country, in the midst of high mountains whose sides are covered for the most part with heather, that merciful provision of nature for concealing unsightly rocks and rugged mountain sides. Occasionally there was a little pasturage for sheep and a wretched looking stone house. The trees were few in number and mostly scrub oaks. Peat, which is abundant, is the only fuel. To an American the country looks forlorn, and it is his constant wonder why any one should fight either to gain or defend it.

The little steamer Rob Roy carries us over the pretty Loch Katrine, which reminds us strikingly of our own Lake George.

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We pass " Ellen's Isle " and the "Silver Strand," where the fair heroine is represented as first meeting the Knight of Snowdoun. In less than an hour's time we are at the end of the lake near the "Goblin's Cave," where Douglas is represented as hiding his daughter when he took her from Roderick Dhu's island. For a mile we ride through the " Trossachs " or "Bristling Territory," a narrow, rugged gorge, so called from its many pointed rocks. This is the very center of the " Lady of the Lake " region, and filled with romantic interest. We pass Loch Achray and soon cross a small, single-arched bridge where,

"And when the Brigg of Kirk was won The headmost horseman rode alone."

Soon after on an eminence

" Duncraggan's huts appear at last,

And peep like moss-grown rocks half seen

Half hidden in the copse so green."

Not far beyond is "Coilantogle Ford," which was " Far beyond Clan Alpine's outmost guard," the scene of the encounter between Roderick Uhu and Fitz James.

Riding several miles farther we reach Callander, where the train for Stirling awaits us. Near Callander we pass through a forlorn looking village where the wretched inhabitants still speak only the original Gaelic. There is a settlement of the same kind near Stirling. This whole region through which we have been passing was studied carefully for years by Scott, as a preparation for his landscape descriptions in " Rob-Roy," "The Lady of the Lake," and "Waverly." The scene of Wordsworth's " Highland Girl " was also laid near Inversnaid. Deprived of these historic and romantic associations the region would lose much, if not all, of its interest.

On the way to Stirling we pass first Donne, with its ruined castle, formerly a resort of the imperial families of Scotland. Next comes Dunblane with its partly renovated, ruined cathedral, dating from iroo. One end of this has been roofed over and is used as a place of worship by the Presbyterians and the other in the same way by the English Church. It is interesting to us chiefly from Tannahill's song, "Jessie, the Flower of Dunblane." Two miles beyond is Bridge of Allen, a delightfully situated watering place, visited by 40,000 to 50,000 people annually. Just beyond Allan and not far from Stirling, on Abby Craig, 360 feet above the sea, is the beautiful Wallace monument, 220 feet high, modeled from the old Scottish baronial style.

A mile more and we are at Stirling, from whose lofty castle walls more historic territory can be seen than from any other point in England or Scotland.

History is unable to name a time when there was not a fort upon the lofty and precipitous rock on which Stirling castle is situated. A part of the present fortifications is known to have been built by the Romans. This splendid castle, the key to the land of the Scots, has been held time and again successively by the Scotch and English. Its last siege and capture was by General Monk, under the great Cromwell, in 1657. A long line of Scottish kings, from James the I. to the VI. occupied it. Kings were born here, crowned here and died here. From its lofty walls on a clear day twelve of Scotland's great battle fields can be seen, including Bannockburn, where Bruce with 40,000 men defeated 100,000 English, and won the independence of Scotland.

In the far distance Arthur's Seat, a mountain near Edinburgh, 40 miles away, is just in sight. The whole north is shut in by the Highlands, while to the south and east can be seen the mazy, winding course of the Forth, the richness of whose lands is embodied in an old proverb — " A crook of the Forth is worth an earldom of the north." To the south, as far away as the eye can reach, can be seen the flag staff erected upon the field of Bannockburn. Just below the castle is the field on which the tournaments used to be fought, and the ground yet shows the formation of the lists. As we looked down from the old walls upon the tilting ground we could almost see the gay equipments of armored knights, as they collected upon the field preparing for the combat. Part way down the rock is the Ladies' Seat, from which the ladies of the court viewed the contests of arms and feats of strength.

The high ramparts from which the whole surrounding country can be seen are named respectively Victoria's Look-out and Mary's Look-out. The former was a favorite place with the present queen and her consort during their visit in 1842. Their initials are cut on the walls, and the traveler is invited to stand upon the stone from which the queen viewed the extended landscape. At another angle, a few yards farther on is a small aparture through which Queen Mary is said to have witnessed the passage at arms between the knights in the tournament field. Under the castle are many dungeons, in one of which Rob Roy is said to have been confined.

The castle consists of many buildings, erected at various times, in different styles of architecture, and for various purposes. The most interesting of them all to the traveler is the Douglas Room, or the Star Chamber. In this room James II stabbed the too powerful Earl of Douglas, at the close of a heated discussion, after which his attendants dragged the body

into a closet and threw it from a window into the moat below.

The skeleton of a man in armor, dug up under the window

nearly 350 years after, tends to confirm the tradition. The

body was buried where it was dug up in front of the door

under the window. Scott, in his " Lady of the Lake," alludes

to this.

" Ye towers within whose circuit dread A Douglas by his sovereign bled."

The closet of the Douglas Room has a stained glass window with the Douglas Arms and the motto — "Look Sickar." A door from this closet leads to an underground passage which has been explored a considerable distance.

Among the curiosities in the Douglas Room are the communion table (dated 1500) used in the castle by John Knox, and the pulpit from the Chapel Royal, called Knox's Pulpit. They are both very shabby and dilapidated, and it will be necessary to have new ones soon. There are some chairs which belonged to James II. and James VI. which are more rickety and uncomfortable than when I s.at in them five years ago, and an oak model of the old Scottish Crown, which was such a poor fit for me that I can now better see the force of the saying — "Uneasy rests the head that wears a crown." There is also a collection of battle-axes, kettle drums, Lochaber axes from Bannockburn, a Royal tilting lance of James VI., and a collection of rusty and badly used up pikes.