INVERNESS, August 5, evening.
[Sidenote: _Farewell to the Coach._]
General Manager, at dinner.
_To waiter_: "What time do we start in the morning?"
_Waiter_: "The _omnibus_ starts at seven, sir."
_Shakespearean Student_--"Ah! There was the weight which pulled us down.
The omnibus! Farewell the neighing steeds, the spirit-stirring horn,
whose sweet throat awakened the echoes o'er mountain and glen. Farewell,
the Republican banner, and all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of
glorious coaching, farewell! The Charioteers' occupation's gone."
_First Miltonic Reciter_--
"From morn till noon,
From noon till dewy eve,
A summer's day we fell."
Our fall from our own four-in-hand to a public omnibus--oh, what a fall
was there, my countrymen!--involved the loss of many a long summer's day
to us, for long as they had been the sun ever set too soon.
It was all up after this. Perry and Joe, the coach and the horses, were
speeding away by rail to their homes; we were no longer _the_ coaching
party, but only ordinary tourists buying our tickets like other people
instead of travelling as it were in style upon annual passes. But fate
was merciful to us even in this extremity; we were kept from the very
lowest stage of human misery by finding ourselves alone and all together
in the omnibus; our party just filled it. If it was only a hotel
omnibus, as one of the young ladies said, it was all our own yet, as was
the MacLean boat at the flood, and the ladies, dear souls, managed to
draw some consolation from that.
We returned from Inverness by the usual tourist route: canal and boat to
Oban, where we rested over night, thence next day to Glasgow. Under any
other circumstances I think this part of the journey would have been
delightful. The scene indelibly impressed upon our minds is that we saw
at night near Ballachulish. I remember a party of us agreed that what we
then saw could never be forgotten. But Black alone could paint it. It is
saying much for any combination of the elements when not one nor two,
but more of a party like ours stand and whisper at rare intervals of
the sublime and awful grandeur which fascinates them into silence; never
am I lifted up apparently so close to the Infinite as when amid such
weird, uncanny scenes as these. We had an hour of this that night,
fitting close to our life in the Highlands of Scotland.
[Sidenote: _The First Separation._]
The first separation came at Greenock. The Queen Dowager, and Mr. and
Mrs. K. disembarked there for Paisley. The others continued by boat to
Glasgow and enjoyed the sail up the Clyde very much. It was Saturday, a
holiday for the workers. The miles of shipyards were still, "no sound of
hammers clanking rivets up," that fine sunny day, but as we passed close
to them we saw the iron frames of the future monsters of the deep, the
Servia, Alaska, and others destined to bear the palm for a short time,
and then to give place to others still greater, till the voyage between
England and America will be only a five-day pleasure excursion, and
there will be "two nations, but one people." God speed the day! But the
old land must come after a time up to Republicanism! I make a personal
matter of that, Lafayette, my boy, as Mulberry Sellers says. No monarchy
need apply. We draw the line at this. All men were created free and
_equal_. Brother Jonathan takes very little "stock" in a people who do
not believe that fundamental principle.
We landed at the Broomielaw, whither father and mother and Tom and I
sailed thirty odd years ago, on the 800-ton ship Wiscasset, and began
our seven weeks' voyage to the land of promise, poor emigrants in quest
of fortune; but, mark you, not without thoughts in the radical breasts
of our parents that it was advisable to leave a land which tolerated
class distinctions for the government of the people, by the people and
for the people, which welcomed them to its fold and insured for their
sons, as far as laws can give it, equality with the highest and a fair
and free field for the exercise of their powers.
My father saw through not only the sham but the injustice of rank, from
king to knight, and loved America because she knows no difference in her
sons. He was a Republican, aye, every inch, and his sons glory in that
and follow where he led.
I remember well that our friends stood on the quay and waved farewell.
Had their adieu been translated it would have read:
"Now may the fair goddess Fortune
Fall deep in love with thee,
Prosperity be thy page."
Thanks to the generous Republic which stood with open arms to receive
us, as she stands to-day to welcome the poor of the world to share with
her own sons upon equal terms the glorious heritage with which she is
endowed--thanks to it, prosperity has indeed been our page.
At St. Enoch's Station Hotel, Glasgow, another separation of the party
took place. A delegation of five of our members were sent to investigate
the Irish question and report at Queenstown. Miss E. L. returned to
Dunfermline. Miss F. and Mr. and Mrs. K. were visiting the Queen Dowager
at Paisley. Harry and I ran down to see friend Richards at his basic
process at Eston, stopping over night at York and Durham, however, to
enjoy once more the famous cathedrals and hear the exquisite music.
* * * * *
LIVERPOOL, August 13.
[Sidenote: _Embarkation for Home._]
We sailed to-day in the Algeria, the great Servia having been delayed.
Many were there to see us off, including four or five Charioteers. The
English are, as Davie said, "a kindly people," a warm-hearted,
affectionate race, and as true as steel. When you once have them you
have them forever. There was far more than the usual amount of tears and
kisses among the ladies. One would have thought our American and English
women were not cousins, but sisters. The men were, as befitting their
colder natures, much less demonstrative. There seems never to be a final
good-by on shipboard; at every ringing of the bell another tender
embrace and another solemn promise to write soon are given. But at last
all our friends are upon the tug, the huge vessel moves, one rope after
another is cast off, handkerchiefs wave, kisses are thrown, write soons
exchanged, and the tug is off in one direction and we in another. Some
one broke the momentary silence and brought the last round of cheers
with the talismanic call "Skid, Joe! Right, Perry!" That touched all
hearts with remembrance of the happy, happy days, the happiest of our
lives. So parted the two branches of the Gay Charioteers.
At Queenstown we received the Irish contingent, who had enjoyed their
week in the Emerald Isle. Very nice indeed was the report, but with this
quite unnecessary addenda, "But, of course, nothing to coaching." That
goes without saying in our ranks.
The Algeria was a great ship in her day; now she is sold to a freight
line. But when she does not give a good account of herself in a
hurricane do not pin your faith in any iron ship. You may still,
however, believe that one of steel like the Servia will stand anything.
She has at least double the strength of any iron steamer afloat. When
she does not outride the tempest, you may give up in earnest and decide,
like Mrs. Partington at sea, "never to trust yourself so far out of the
reach of Providence again."
On Wednesday morning, August 24th, the party reached New York again, and
were finally disbanded. Two or three of the most miserable hours I ever
spent were those at the St. Nicholas Hotel, where the Queen Dowager,
Ben, and I lunched alone before starting for Cresson. Even Ben had to
take an earlier train for Pittsburgh, and I exclaimed: "All our family
gone! I feel so lonely, so deserted; not one remains." But the Queen
was equal to the emergency. "Oh, you don't count me, then! You have
still one that sticks to you." Oh, yes, indeed, sure of that, old lady.
"The good book tells of one
Who sticks closer than a brother;
But who will dare to say there's one
Sticks closer than a mother!"
(Original poetry for the occasion.)
[Sidenote: _Final Farewells._]
These horrid partings again; but whatever the future has in store for
those who made the excursion recorded here, I think I can safely say
that they could not wish their dearest friend a happier life than that
led from June 1st to August 24th by the Gay Charioteers.
Those who have mounted the coach become, as it were, by virtue of that
act members of an inner circle; a band of union knits them closely
together. To a hundred dear, kind friends in the Beautiful Land we send
thanks and greeting. Their kindness to us can never be forgotten, for
they soon taught us to feel that it was not a foreign land which we had
visited after all, but the dear old home of our fathers.
Forever and ever may the parent land and the child land grow fonder and
fonder of each other, and their people mingle more and more till they
become as one and the same. All good educated Americans love England,
for they know that she alone among the nations of the world
"On with toil of heart and knees and hand
Through the long gorge to the far light hath won
Her path upward and prevailed."
She it was who pointed out to America what to plant, and how, and where.
The people of England should love America, for she has taught them in
return that all the equal rights and privileges of man they are laboring
for at home are bearing goodly fruit in the freer atmosphere of the
West. May the two peoples, therefore, grow in love for each other, and
with this fond wish, and many a sad farewell, the Gay Charioteers
disband, forever afterward in life to rally round each other in case of
need at the mystic call of "Skid, Joe," "Right, Perry;" and certain of
this, that whatever else fades from the memory, the recollection of our
coaching trip from Brighton to Inverness remains a sacred possession
forever.