Whether because I did not kiss the Blarney stone, or for some other
reason, the next day was one of trouble and distress. Indeed, it
came near being our last day. For several days I had noticed that
the self-starter was not working well. Several times it had failed
to catch and required a good deal of coaxing. I could not understand
it, for it was not yet three weeks since I had filled the batteries
with water, which, I had been told, was all that was necessary to
insure its functioning. I thought that possibly the damp weather had
affected the electrical current, and could only hope that with
clearing weather there would be no further trouble. But at the next
stop the little engine refused to act at all, and I had to unpack the
handle and crank, which is an exercise good for neither the back nor
the temper!
A little later we came to a road which branched from the highway to
the left, and Ruth, who had charge of the map, called out: "To the
right." I leave it to you: would not you have thought that meant to
_turn_ somewhere? If not, why not say: "Keep straight on." At any
rate, I turned sharp into the left-hand road, only to find that we
were in a _cul-de-sac_. Turning was impossible, so I kept on,
wondering why Ruth, who must have known how tired I was, should have
driven me into such a place!
Finally, we came to a gate, and as I did not dare leave the car lest
it stall--we were on an incline which tipped the car back and made
cranking difficult--I asked Ruth to get out and open the gate. I saw
that just beyond there was a place where, with great care the car
might be turned, but where the chances of stalling were great.
Still, I thought, if I could keep the car going I might manage it. I
called to Ruth not to get in and began slowly to turn. The road was
just the width of the wheels, with a bog on each side. Looking up I
saw a huge dog lying in the way. It was as ugly a looking brute as
one would wish to see, even if it was chained. I blew the horn. It
did not stir. Then, to my horror, I saw Ruth, who is more afraid of
a dog than I am of a cat, which is saying a good deal, seize the
brute by the tail and begin to drag it out of the way! I turned sick
with terror, and, under the nervous strain, did what I have not done
since I was in college--_swore_. "Damnation," I cried, "turn that
dog loose!" And Ruth, equally excited, answered in a fine frenzy: "I
would pull him if he were a mad bull!"
Fortunately, the dog made no resistance, and the car was safely
turned. Had it stalled, I do not know what I should have done, for I
was "all in."
One would have thought this was enough for one day, but worse was yet
to come. About an hour later we came to a railway crossing. All the
level crossings are not on Long Island! There are several in
Ireland! This one was kept by a woman, with, I think, the saddest
face I ever saw. She opened the gate and thanked me for the
six-pence I handed her, but neither smiled nor spoke.
We passed onto the track and, probably because I was so tired and was
driving carelessly, we stalled. I was about to get out to crank when
the woman appeared at my side, and said, so quietly that Ruth could
not hear: "It would maybe be better if the lady got out. The Dublin
express is due round the curve at any minute!" Could anything have
been more considerate? Had she screamed, I fear I should have been
so unnerved that we should have been lost.
At that moment the engine of the approaching train gave a shriek and
I could feel the rails vibrate. My blood turned to water. We were
pinned under the hood, and escape seemed impossible. Almost without
knowing what I was doing, I stamped on the pedal of the self-starter,
and--I say it reverently--by the mercy of God it caught, and we slid
off the track as the express thundered by!
The rushing wind nearly blew us out of the motor. There could not
have been a yard between us and the train. I looked at Ruth. She
was as pale as death, but spoke no word. You may be sure I did not
forget a thank-offering to the poor gatekeeper, who was white with
terror.
As we went on our way I said to myself: "If ever we reach an inn in
safety, I will give the car away. The impudent driver who said he
wondered Ruth would risk her life with me was right."
But it was long before we reached an inn, for I lost my way! This
time it was not Ruth's fault. She was probably so shaken that she
could not see the way; at any rate she gave me the wrong road, and we
wandered over the hills until we were nearly distracted. When we
reached Ross late at night you may believe neither of us had much
appetite for the greasy supper which was set before us.
Suddenly, without a word of warning, Ruth put her head down on the
table and burst into tears! It was so unlike her that I was
dreadfully frightened. I got her to bed and put a hot-water bottle
to her feet, and sat by her till she was more quiet, and then went
outside in the rain to smoke a pipe, and "represent myself to
myself." When I had flagellated myself for all my ill temper, and
returned thanks for the mercies of the day, I too went to bed, but
not to sleep for many an hour. When at last I did fall asleep, it
was only to dream of a huge dog, rushing down a railroad track,
whistling like a locomotive and breathing streams of fire from his
mouth. It doesn't take a Freud to interpret that dream!
In spite of my troubled night, or perhaps in consequence of it, I
woke early. The sun was streaming into my bedroom as if to say:
"Sluggard, arise. I was only fooling yesterday when I pretended that
Ireland had a rainy climate. To-day is like Italy, and even the
dirty streets of Ross are beautiful!"
My mind was quickly made up, and as soon as I was dressed I made my
way to the station and found that I could ship the motor to Dublin on
a flat car and that it would be delivered to us there the next
morning. So I returned to the garage and drove to the station,
feeling not unlike Tartarin, when he sold the _chameau_ for a ticket
in the diligence, which, Daudet remarks, is not a bad use to make of
a camel!
Ruth was more relieved, I am sure, than she cared to show, when she
learned that she might have a quiet morning in bed and take the train
for Dublin in the afternoon.
As we entered the dining-room of the Shelburne that evening, whom
should we meet but the Hodges? This was a joy to Ruth, who, I knew,
would find rest in telling her story to her sympathetic friend Anne,
and a satisfaction to me, for I knew there was nothing about motors
hid from her husband, the professor. Indeed, it was he who had
advised me to buy a Frontenac, though he himself is "a man who owns
one," and was driving his big Packard, with comfort and pride.
When he had recovered from his hilarity over my experiences, he said
that next morning we would look over the car and find the trouble
with the self-starter, while Ruth and Anne were shopping for linen
and laces.
The car was ready for us when we arrived at the Goods station, next
morning, and we drove to the garage for a consultation.
There seemed to be nothing wrong with the engine, nor with the
connections, but, when we examined the batteries, we found that they
had run down! I explained that I had filled them myself not two
weeks ago, but when the professor saw that I had failed to note the
date on the little card for that purpose, it was evident that he was
sceptical. Well, there was nothing more to do but to have the
batteries charged again, and as the man of the garage seemed to be a
capable fellow, I hoped I should have no more trouble.
We spent two pleasant days in Dublin, saw where Sir Frederick
Cavendish had been murdered--this is not mentioned as one of the
pleasures! And then went to the cathedral and thought of the savage
old dean whom Thackeray has so wonderfully described--perhaps the
best of all his portraits--then to Trinity College, where I confess,
Charles O'Malley was more real to me than some of the scholars who
have made illustrious that ancient seat of learning.
The professor is not "sound" on Irish politics, but when we went to
Dublin Castle and saw some of the young men whom England sends to
govern the most imaginative people on earth, even he had to admit
that things might be improved! Supercilious good manners in an
atmosphere of boredom is not the best means for impressing the Irish
with the intelligence, nor even with the justice, of England.
The weather was again "set fair," so that we left Ireland in a blaze
of glory. The Hodges were on their way to the Giant's Causeway. But
when I told them they would find the roads bad, the professor
remarked that no doubt all the roads were bad in the south, and that
when Home Rule went into effect those of the north would be equally
so, but that while the Union Jack floated over Belfast, and the
Protestant religion was still a power, he had no fear! So we
parted--perhaps it was time!
We crossed to Hollyhead, and, the car running like a witch, it was
not long before we reached the Waterloo, where John greeted us as if
he had not thought of any one else since we were last there!