country once prosperous on account of tin and copper mines which are all
now abandoned. I doubt if there is a more poverty-stricken rural section
in the Kingdom than Cornwall. I noted in a paper edited by a socialist
candidate for the House of Commons a curious outburst over a donation
made by the king to the poor of Cornwall, which was accompanied by a
little homily from His Majesty on the necessity of the beneficiaries
helping themselves. The article is so significant in the light it throws
on certain social conditions and as illustrating a greater degree of
freedom of speech than is generally supposed to exist in England that I
feel it worth quoting:
"Although we do not doubt the King's longing to help all his people, we
must be forgiven if we refuse to be impressed by his apparent intensity
of feeling. Not that we blame the King. In order to feel decently about
the poor, one must have 'had some,' so to speak. And we can hardly
imagine that King George knows much concerning the objects of his
sympathy, when we consider the annual financial circumstances of his own
compact little family. In the year that is ending they will have drawn
between them the helpful pittance of six hundred thirty-four thousand
pounds. This is exclusive of the income of the Prince of Wales, derived
from the revenues of the Duchy of Cornwall. And even if this sum has
been badly drained by Yuletide beneficence (as faintly threatened in the
Church Army donation) the New Year will bring sure replenishment of the
royal purse.
"We should not have felt called upon to mention these little details
were it not for the offensive phrase--'may they show their gratitude by
industry and vigorous efforts to help themselves.' How can the poor
devils who live in the foetid hovels which dot the Duchy of Cornwall
'help themselves?' Out of their shameful earnings--when they have any
earnings--they must first pay toll to the bloated rent-roll of the
King's infant son. Out of their constant penury they must help to
provide an extravagant Civil List, to enable their Monarch to lecture on
self-help at the end of a donation of twenty-five pounds. Help
themselves? Show their gratitude? How can they help themselves when the
earth was stolen from them before their birth, when their tools of
production are owned and controlled by a group of moneyed parasites,
when their laws are made and administered by the class which lives on
their labours and fattens on their helplessness? Show their gratitude?
Heaven have mercy upon us! What have they to be grateful for--these
squalid, dependent, but always necessary outcasts of our civilization?"
I fear this is pretty much of a digression, though I think an
interesting one. Not all of Cornwall shows evidence of such poverty--the
country steadily improves as we hasten to the fine old town of Truro and
there is much good country beyond. Though we have come but thirty-six
miles from Land's End, the indisposition of one of our party makes it
advisable to pause in the old Cornish capital, where we may be sure of
comfortable quarters at the Red Lion.
We find this a commodious, substantial structure, built about two and a
half centuries ago, with a fine entrance hall from which a black-oak
stairway leads to the upper floors. Its accommodations and service seem
to average with the best provincial hotels in towns the size of Truro,
and, altogether, the Red Lion is perhaps as good a place to spend a day
of enforced idleness as one is likely to come across.
The town itself has little enough to interest the stranger, as I found
in wandering about for some hours. Even the splendid cathedral lacks
antiquity and historic association, for it still wants a few finishing
touches. It has been about thirty years in building and more than a
million dollars has been expended in the work. The exterior conforms to
the best early English traditions, the most striking feature being the
three splendid towers--the central one rising to a height of two hundred
and fifty feet. The interior is somewhat glaring and bare, owing largely
to the absence of stained-glass windows, of which there are only a few.
A portion of the old parish church is included in the building and
contains a few ancient monuments of little importance. On the whole,
Truro Cathedral is a fine example of modern church architecture and
proves that the art is not a lost one by any means. I was fortunate in
happening to be inside during an organ rehearsal and more majestic and
inspiring music I never heard than the solemn melodies which filled the
vast vacant building.
We are ready for the road after a day's sojourn in Truro, and depart in
a steady rain which continues until nightfall. Our road--which we have
traversed before--by way of St. Columb Major and Camelford to
Launceston, is hilly and heavy and in the pouring rain we make only slow
progress. The gray mist envelops the landscape; but it matters little,
for the greater part of our road runs between the dirt fences I have
described heretofore, which shut out much of the country, even on fine
days. St. Columb and Camelford are dreary, angular little towns
stretching closely along the highroad, quite unattractive in fine
weather and under present conditions positively ugly. Camelford, some
say, is the Camelot of the Arthurian romances, but surely no vestige of
romance lingers about it to-day. From here we make a wild dash across
the moor to Launceston--the rain is falling more heavily and the wind
blowing a gale. Our meter seldom registers under forty miles, a pace
that lands us quickly at the door of the White Hart; we are damp and
cold and the old inn seems a timely haven, indeed. A change of raiment
and warm luncheon makes us feel more at peace with the world, but we do
not muster courage to venture out in the storm again. Perhaps if we
could have foreseen that the following day would be no better, we should
have resumed our journey. Indeed, the next morning the storm that drove
the fleet away from Penzance was in full sway over Cornwall and a
dreary, rain-swept country it was. The road northward to Holsworthy and
Great Torrington is little else but a narrow and hilly lane, though as
dreary a section as one will find in Cornwall or Devon, and here, also,
the hedges intercept our view much of the way. The towns, too, are quite
devoid of interest save the fine Perpendicular church which towers over
Holsworthy. Bideford, famous in Kingsley's "Westward Ho!" and
Barnstaple, with its potteries which produce the cheap but not
inartistic "Barum ware," we have visited before and both have much worth
seeing. We are now out of the zone of the storm and the weather is more
tolerable; we have really been suffering from the cold in midsummer--not
an uncommon thing in Britain.
There are two first-class old inns at Taunton--on different occasions
people of the town had assured us that each was the best--and though
Baedeker gives the London the preference and honors it with the much
coveted star, we thought the Castle equally good. It is a gray-stone,
ivy-covered building near the castle and if our luncheon may be taken as
an index, its service is all that can be desired.
A little way out of Taunton we notice a monument a short distance from
the roadside and easily identify it from pictures which we have seen as
the memorial erected to commemorate the victory of King Alfred over the
Danes at Sedgemoor. In olden times this whole section was a vast marsh
in which was the Isle of Athelney, surrounded by an almost impenetrable
morass. The king and a band of faithful followers built a causeway to
the island, which served as a retreat while marshalling sufficient force
to cope with the invaders. The rally of the Saxons around the intrepid
king finally resulted in a signal victory, which broke the Danish power
in England. Alfred built an abbey near the spot as a mark of pious
gratitude for his success, but scarcely a trace remains of the structure
to-day. In the same vicinity is supposed to have occurred the famous
incident of King Alfred and the cakes, which he allowed to burn while
watching them. Alfred was then in hiding, disguised as a farm laborer,
and received a severe berating from the angry housewife for his
carelessness.
But Sedgemoor is historic in a double sense, for here the conflict
occurred between the forces of James II. and the ill-fated Duke of
Monmouth, to which we have previously referred. The rebels planned a
night attack on the royal army, and, knowing that carelessness and
debauchery would prevail in the king's camp on Sunday, they chose that
day for the assault. The accidental discharge of a pistol gave warning
of the approach of the assailants and they had the farther misfortune to
be hopelessly entangled in the deep drainage ditches which then (as now)
intersected the valley. The result was a disastrous defeat for the
Duke's followers, of whom a thousand were slain. Monmouth himself was
discovered by his enemies after two days' search, hiding in a ditch, and
was duly executed in London Tower. Some five hundred of his
followers--mostly ignorant peasants--were hanged at Taunton and
Dorchester by orders of the infamous Jeffreys. This battle, which took
place on Sunday, July 5, 1685, was the last of any consequence to be
fought on English soil. The historic field to-day is green and
prosperous-looking and the only indication that it was once a marshy fen
is the ditches which drain its surplus waters.
We pass Glastonbury and Wells, which might well detain us had we not
visited them previously, for in all England there are few towns richer
in tradition and history than the former; and the latter's cathedral no
well-informed traveler would wish to miss. Bath, we know from several
previous sojourns, affords an unequalled stopping-place for the night
and we soon renew acquaintance at the Empire Hotel, where we are now
fairly well known. Our odometer shows an unusually long day's run, much
of which was under trying conditions of road and weather. This hotel
belongs to a syndicate which owns several others, in London and at
various resorts throughout the country. A guest who enters into a
contract may stay the year round at these hotels for a surprisingly low
figure, going from one to the other according to his pleasure--to
Folkestone, for instance, if he wishes the seaside, or to London if he
inclines towards the metropolis. Many English people of leisure avail
themselves of this plan, which, it would seem, has its advantages in
somewhat relieving the monotony of life in a single hotel.
Though we have been in Bath several times, something has always
interfered with our plan to visit the abbey church and we resolve to
make amends before we set out Londonward. There are few statelier church
edifices in the island--the "Lantern of England," as the guide-books
style it, on account of its magnificent windows. These are mainly modern
and prove that the art of making stained glass is far from lost, as has
sometimes been insisted. So predominating are the windows, in fact, that
one writer declares, "It is the beauty of a flower a little overblown,
though it has its charms just the same." The most remarkable of all is
the great western group of seven splendid windows illustrating biblical
subjects in wonderfully harmonious colors. As may be imagined, the
interior is unusually well lighted, though the soft color tones prevent
any garish effect. The intricate tracery of the fine fan vaulted ceiling
is clearly brought out and also the delicate carving on the screen--a
modern restoration, by the way. The monuments are tasteless and, in the
main, of little importance, though our attention is naturally arrested
by a memorial to "William Bingham, Senator of the United States of
America," who died at Bath in 1804.
The exterior of the abbey--they tell us--has many architectural defects,
though these are not apparent to the layman. The walls are supported by
flying buttresses and the west front shows curious sculptures
representing the angels upon Jacob's ladder. The tower, one hundred and
sixty-five feet in height, is a pure example of English Perpendicular
and is rather peculiar in that it is oblong rather than square.
As we leave the town we cannot but admire its cleanliness and beautiful
location. It skirts both banks of the River Avon and is surrounded by an
amphitheater of wooded hills. To our notion it is the finest of inland
English resort towns and certainly none has a more varied past, nor has
any other figured so extensively in literature. It is about one hundred
miles from London by road, and is a favorite goal for the motorist from
that city.
The road to London is a fine broad highway leading through Marlborough
and Reading. It proves a splendid farewell run to our third long motor
tour through Britain; we have covered in all nearly twenty thousand
miles of highways and byways during varying weather. If there has been
much sunshine, there have also been weeks of rain and many lowering
gloomy days. There is scarce an historic shrine of importance in the
Kingdom that has escaped us and we have visited hundreds of odd corners
not even mentioned in the guide-books. And, best of all, we have come to
know the people and have gained considerable familiarity with their
institutions, which has not lessened our respect and admiration for the
Motherland. Indeed, I feel that our experience sufficiently warrants a
chapter on the English at home--as we saw them--and I make no apology
for concluding this book with such. It is not free from criticism, I
know, but could an honest observer write more favorably of our own
country--if conditions were such that he might tour our populous states
as thoroughly as we have done Britain?
Our last day on the road fulfills the ideal of English midsummer; the
storm has passed, leaving the country fresh and bright; green fields
alternate with the waving gold of the ripening harvest, and here and
there we pass an old village or a solitary cottage by the roadside--all
typical of the rural England we have come to love so much. We drive
leisurely over the fine road and linger an hour or two in Marlborough
after luncheon at the Ailesbury Arms, whose excellence we have proven on
previous occasions. We find an antique-shop here with a store of old
silver that rivals our discovery in Largo, and the prices asked are no
higher.
From Reading we follow the Thames River road, which for some miles
skirts the very shore of the historic stream and passes within a distant
view of the towers of Windsor, rising in all their romantic majesty
against the sunset sky. From Windsor we follow the familiar road to the
heart of the teeming metropolis and our third long motor pilgrimage in
Summer Britain is at its close.
[Illustration: "A DISTANT VIEW OF THE TOWERS OF WINDSOR"
From original painting by the late Edward Moran]
XX
THE ENGLISH AND THEIR INSTITUTIONS
One who has spent many months in the United Kingdom, traveling about
twenty thousand miles by motor and considerably by train, and who has
met and conversed with the common people of every section of the country
in the most retired nooks and in metropolitan cities, may, I hope
without undue assumption, venture a few remarks on the English people
and their institutions. One would be a dull observer indeed if he did
not, with the opportunities which we had, see and learn many things
concerning present-day Britain.
It is the custom of some American writers, even of recent date, to
allege that a general dislike of Americans exists in the Kingdom; and it
would not be very strange if this should be true, considering the manner
in which many Americans conduct themselves while abroad. Our own
experience was that such an idea is not well founded. In all our
wanderings we saw no evidence whatever of such dislike. In England
everyone knows an American at sight and had there been the slightest
unfriendliness towards Americans as a class, it would certainly have
been apparent to us during such a tour as our own. I think many
incidents cited in this as well as in my former books go to prove that
the reverse is true, but these incidents are only a fraction of what I
might have given. That a certain uncongeniality, due to a difference in
temperament and lack of mutual understanding, exists between the average
American and the average Englishman, we may freely admit, but it would
be wrong to view this as personal dislike of each other. I have no doubt
that even this barrier will disappear in time, just as the dislike and
jealousy which really did exist a quarter of a century ago have
disappeared. Who could now conceive of the situation that moved
Nathaniel Hawthorne to write in "Our Old Home" fifty years ago:
"An American is not apt to love the English people, on whatever length
of acquaintance. I fancy they would value our regard and even
reciprocate it in their ungracious way if we could give it to them, in
spite of all rebuffs; but they are beset by a curious and inevitable
infelicity which compels them, as it were, to keep up what they consider
a wholesome feeling of bitterness between themselves and all other
nations, especially Americans."
Of our own experience, at least, we may speak with authority. As a
result of our several sojourns in Britain and extensive journeyings in
every part of the Kingdom, we came to have only the kindest regard for
the people and greater appreciation of their apparent good will. As we
became better informed we were only the more interested in the history
and traditions of the Motherland, and we almost came to feel something
of the pride and satisfaction that must fill the breast of the patriotic
Englishman himself. Nothing will serve more to impress on one the close
connection between the two countries than the common literature which
one finds everywhere in both; and you will pass scarce a town or village
on all the highways and byways of the Old Country that has not its
namesake in America.
Our impressions as to the fairness and honesty of the English people
generally were most favorable. First of all, our dealings with hotels
were perhaps the most numerous of our business transactions. Never to my
recollection did we inquire in advance the price of accommodations, and
I recall scarcely a single instance where we had reason to believe this
had been taken advantage of. This was indeed in striking contrast to our
experience with innkeepers on the Continent. For an American in
possession of a motor to take up quarters in the average French or
German hotel without close bargaining and an exact understanding as to
charges would soon mean financial ruin to the tourist of moderate means.
We could give almost as good report of the many English shopkeepers with
whom we dealt--there was no evidence of any attempt to overcharge us on
account of being tourists. Nor did I ever have a cab or carriage-driver
try to exact more than was coming to him--though of course a small extra
fee is always expected--certainly a contrast with New York City, for
instance, where it is always hazardous to get into a cab without an
iron-clad agreement with the driver. Perhaps the credit for this state
of affairs may be due not so much to the honesty of the English Jehus as
to a public sentiment which will not tolerate robbery. Nor should I fail
to mention that in twenty thousand miles of touring our car was left
unguarded hundreds of times with much movable property in it, and during
our whole journey we never lost the value of a farthing from theft.
It is no new thing to say that the average Englishman is insular--but
this became much more to us than mere hearsay before we left the
country. The vision of few of the people extends beyond the Island, and
we might almost say, beyond an immediate neighborhood. There is a great
disinclination to get out of an established groove; outside of certain
classes there appears to be little ambition to travel. I know of one
intelligent young man of thirty who had never seen salt water--nowhere
in England more than a hundred miles distant. I was told that a journey
from a country town in Scotland or North England to London is an event
in a lifetime with almost any one of the natives. The world beyond the
confines of England is vague indeed; Germany, the universal bugbear, is
best known and cordially hated, but of America only the haziest notions
prevail. Not one in a thousand has any conception of our distances and
excepting possibly a dozen cities, one town in America is quite as
unknown as another.
Akin to this insularity is the lack of enterprise and adaptability
everywhere noticeable--a clinging to outworn customs and methods. Since
the English vision does not extend to the outer world, but little seems
to be expected or even desired of it. There is not the constant desire
for improvement, and the eager seeking after some way to do things
quicker and better--so characteristic of America--is usually wanting. An
American manufacturer will discard even new machinery if something more
efficient comes out, but an Englishman only thinks of making his present
machine last to the very limit of endurance. A friend told me of a
relative of his who boasted that in his mill a steam engine had been
running fifty years; it never occurred to the mill-owner that the old
engine almost yearly ate up the cost of a new one on account of
inefficiency and wasted fuel.
Often in garages where I took my car to have it cleaned and oiled, I
could not help noting the inefficiency of the workmen. At times I had
the engine crank case removed and cleaned and this one little thing gave
a painful insight into the methods of the English workman. Nothing could
be simpler than removing and replacing the dust shield under the
engine--simply snapping six spring catches out of and into position. Yet
I have seen one or even two men crawl around under the car for a half
hour or more in performing this simple operation. In replacing the oil
reservoir and pump I found that nothing would take the place of personal
supervision--a cotter pin, gasket or what not would surely be left out
to give further trouble. Repairing an American car in a provincial town
would be a serious job unless the owner or his driver were able to
oversee and direct the work.
As I have stated, we left England with decidedly favorable impressions
of the country and people; so much so that I doubt not many of our
fellow-countrymen would think us unduly prejudiced. But all this did not
blind us to the fact that England in many regards is in a distinctly bad
way and that a thorough awakening must come if she is to avoid sure
decadence. Indeed, there are many, chief among them distinguished
Englishmen and colonials, who aver that such decadence has already
begun, but there is much difference of opinion as to its cause and as to
what may best check its progress.
If I were to give my own humble opinion as to the chief disadvantage
from which the country suffers and the most depressing influence on
national character, I should place feudalism first of all and by this I
mean the system of inherited titles, offices and entailed estates. I
know that the government of the Kingdom is regarded as one of great
efficiency and stability, and I think justly so; and this is often urged
by apologists for the feudal system. But the Englishman is slow to learn
that just as stable and quite as efficient government may be had without
the handicap of outworn medievalism. That the present system seems to
work well in England is not due to any inherent merit it may possess,
but to the homogeneity of the nation, and to a universal spirit of
law-abiding that would insure success for almost any respectable type of
government. It does not work well in Ireland and never has; and it has
substantially been abandoned in the self-governing colonies.