Every one told us that we made a mistake in beginning our trip
through the valley of the Wye at Ross. I think they were right. It
is like doing the Hudson from Albany to New York, instead of taking
the Palisades first, then West Point, and the Catskills last.
However, it was more convenient to work north than to go up to
Hereford, then down the valley, and again come back to our
starting-place. At any rate, we did begin at Ross!
Of course our first excursion was to Tintern Abbey. What a gem it
must have been in its glory! And I am thankful there has been no
attempt to restore it. At the same time I think it a pity that the
grounds should be so neglected. It is like neglecting the grave of
one we love. So it was with a sad heart that we turned away and
drove to a spot, "a few miles above Tintern Abbey," where more than a
hundred years ago the immortal poem was written. I read it aloud,
and we tried to breathe the atmosphere and feel "Beside these steep
and lofty cliffs" what Wordsworth felt as he "heard these waters,
rolling from their mountain springs with a sweet inland murmur." It
is indeed a "wild and secluded scene impressing thoughts of more deep
seclusion."
But these poetic thoughts were not destined to last long, for, Ruth
remarking that it was getting damp, we started up the engine and
drove along the road on the edge of the cliff, looking for a place
for tea.
This we soon found, but as there was no garage, I drew up on the
grass opposite the inn, where I thought the car would be out of the
way and quite safe. A farmer, coming from the opposite direction,
had evidently had a like thought, and had left his cart on the same
side of the road. The horse had been taken out and the shafts tilted
up at an angle which brought the ends of them directly opposite the
radiator of the car. I put on the brake and out we got. I was
surprised to see the motor move forward a few inches. The long grass
had deceived me, for the ground, instead of being level, as I had
supposed, sloped gently, and the brake had not been pulled back far
enough to hold it in place. Those few inches did the business. The
sharp, iron-shod end of one of the shafts pricked the radiator as
neatly as a lancet opens an abscess, and the water gushed out!
This was indeed an accident. We were miles from a garage and I had
not the least idea what to do. An old farmer, standing by, summed up
the situation in a word when, turning to Ruth, he said: "It's like
'avin' your horse took with the gripes!" Fortunately, at that moment
a kindly disposed cyclist came along, and with, I suppose, the same
complacent satisfaction that the owner of a Ford car has in dragging
a Pierce Arrow out of a ditch, unpacked his repair kit and plugged
the radiator with some preparation for mending tires.
We were duly grateful, for it enabled us to go on our way, though we
leaked like a watering-cart, and I should not like to say how many
times the radiator was filled!
At last we came to a garage where I thought we should find relief. I
do not remember what kind of a radiator ours is, but you may be sure
the proprietor pointed out that it was the wrong kind, being almost
impossible to mend, whereas if we had the kind which he had in stock
it would have been a simple matter! I suppose every trade has
certain stock phrases, such as the doctor's "Had I been called
earlier." However, there was nothing to be done but to leave the car
with the man who said he would do what he could.
We returned to the hotel on foot and not at all in a Wordsworthian
frame of mind. The worst of it was that I had no one to blame but
myself! I got what comfort I could out of the reflection that the
insurance company would have to pay. But, as the Irishman said, the
worst of that is "you've got to lose to gain!"
The next day while we were waiting for the report from the garage the
porter took pity on us and suggested that we might like to see a
trial of sheep-dogs, which was to take place at a farm near by. It
did not sound exciting, but _faute de mieux_ we decided to go.
Why does not some one revise the bromidic formula, and instead of
saying "How small the world is!" say "How small we are!" For indeed
our lives are very restricted. How little we know of the interests
of others! The trial of the sheep-dogs brought this home to me.
Gentlemen and farmers had driven in from miles around to see this
match, which, I was told, is an annual event. I am not sure I can
describe the scene, but I will try.
There was a pasture of about twenty acres in extent, in which a flock
of sheep were feeding. At a given signal a young man--evidently a
farmer--stepped forth with his dog, to which he spoke almost in a
whisper. In a twinkling the beautiful and intelligent creature
leaped forth, like an arrow from a bow, and began to gather the sheep
into a compact mass. This he did without alarming them, so that they
moved slowly together, while still cropping the grass. At the far
end of the field there was a fold, toward which they slowly but
surely moved. No sooner, however, did they discover what was before
them than they began to scatter, like young children summoned to bed
before the accustomed hour! It was then the dog showed his training.
His master blew on a whistle and he scampered to the right, another
whistle and he flashed to the left. Now the sheep were again moving
toward the fold, but they had begun to run and were bleating
piteously. Evidently this was not good "form," for there was a sharp
whistle and the dog dropped to the ground, lay motionless for a
moment, and then crept slowly forward when the panic had subsided.
Now came the critical moment. The fold was built with an opening to
the south, but when that should have been passed there was another
opening to the left which led into an enclosure large enough to hold
the flock. I should have been satisfied when the dog had succeeded
in getting the sheep into that, but not so the judges. Both dog and
sheep were given a moment's rest and then a new signal was given, as
much as to say: "Now, mind your eye!" At the far end of the
enclosure was a narrow opening through which the sheep must pass in
Indian file. Into the pen then the dog leaped and nosed the
bell-wether toward the narrow passage. When that had been done, the
others followed meekly and found themselves in another enclosure, out
of which they were, in due time, led through the same gateway by
which they had first entered, and found themselves once more in the
pasture from which they had been gathered. Then the dog came
bounding back to his master, and crouching at his feet looked up into
his face, as much as to say: "Was it well done?" There was a loud
burst of applause, and the farmer stooped down and stroked the dog's
head as if he were saying, "Well done, good and faithful servant,"
and the expression in the creature's eyes showed that he had entered
into the "joy of his lord."
I did not care to see more, but it might have seemed discourteous to
withdraw before the match was ended, though later I wished I had.