_GLIMPSES OF TRAVEL._
Reference has already been made to William Nelson’s love of travel. It
was indeed a passion with him, which, with his persistent eagerness for
the minutest information on all points brought under his notice, might
under other circumstances have won a place for him among distinguished
travellers.
During a delightful sojourn which I shared with him in the Vale of
Yarrow in 1880, a special object of pilgrimage was the ruined cottage in
which the African traveller, Mungo Park, was born; and as he looked on
it he recalled the picture, by Sir George Harvey, representing the
fainting traveller in the African desert revived by the sight of a
little flower that seemed to tell of the divine hand, and renewed his
faith in the fatherhood of God. He followed up the subject, recovered an
original sketch map executed by the traveller of his intended second
route, of which he had a copy made; and among the letters preserved by
him is one from Dr. Anderson of Selkirk, in which it is stated:--“Park
served his apprenticeship for a surgeon with my grandfather in this
house (Dove Cot) where I now live, and where my grandfather, my father,
and myself have practised for more than a hundred years. My father
served his apprenticeship with Park in Peebles, when he practised there
before going off on his second journey. There stands a very handsome
tree in front of my house, a horse-chestnut, which was planted by the
traveller while courting his intended wife.”
African travel had a peculiar fascination for William Nelson. The return
of the venerable missionary, Dr. Robert Moffat, from his life-long
labours among the Hottentots and Bechuanas, awakened in him the
liveliest interest; and his son-in-law, Livingstone, was an object of
special veneration. When the startling news of Stanley’s meeting with
him at Ujiji was reported, it greatly excited and gratified him. And
when Mr. Henry M. Stanley visited Edinburgh on his return from Africa,
he received a hearty welcome at Salisbury Green. Keith Johnston, another
of the explorers of the Dark Continent, who fell a victim to the deadly
climate, was the son of an old friend. He watched with interest the news
of his early efforts, and tenderly mourned his fate. The same summer in
which the ruined cottage in the Vale of Yarrow was the object of William
Nelson’s curious interest, he had as his guest at Salisbury Green Mr.
Joseph Thomson, then recently returned from his exploratory wanderings
in previously unvisited regions to the south of the Victoria Nyanza, and
gratified his intelligent curiosity, plying him with questions about the
strange land and its people.
His own wanderings extended beyond the ordinary routes of the tourist.
He visited Norway and Sweden on more than one occasion; travelled in
Denmark and Russia, through Spain, Morocco, and Algiers; journeyed, as
we have seen, in Palestine; explored Egypt and the Nile; crossed the
American continent to the Pacific; and was on the eve of an extended
visit to Greece and Asia Minor when his active life came to a close. His
correspondence is voluminous, and supplies ample details of his
experience on successive journeys; but a few illustrations will suffice
for needful glimpses of personal characteristics. His journey across the
American continent in 1870 has already been referred to. The Yosemite
Valley, and the wonders of the Yellowstone Region, are now familiar to
tourists; but at that date they were recently discovered and little
known. He landed at New York on the 18th of May, had the excitement of a
threatened Indian raid as they traversed the territory of the Sioux, but
reached the Rocky Mountains in safety. He passed through the defiles of
the mountains with unexpected ease; and then he notes: “If the passage
of the Rocky Mountains has been easy, this has been made up by the
crossing of the Sierra Nevada in California, which is the most
difficult task in railway engineering that has yet been undertaken.
These mountains are between eight and nine thousand feet high, and over
these the railway passes, the roadway being in many places cut out of
solid rock, with perpendicular walls of many hundred feet deep, falling
straight down from the very edge of the railway.” The famous Yosemite
Valley he describes as “a valley of about twelve miles in length by two
in breadth, that has apparently been formed by the ground sinking down
to a depth of some three or four thousand feet, and leaving
perpendicular cliffs all round. In these are many fine waterfalls, the
largest being no less than two thousand six hundred feet high;” and
after a minute description of its features, he pronounces the valley to
be “one of the greatest wonders of the world.” The Indians were a
subject of unfailing interest. He longed to see the aborigines in their
genuine condition of savage simplicity; and at a later date, when
referring to this subject in a letter to Captain James Chester of the
3rd U.S. Artillery, he says:--“I send you a cutting from the _Times_. We
all know that the Scotch are a practical people; but I never before, in
all my reading, met with an instance of their getting the credit for
goaheadness in the way referred to. The Marquis of Lorne, while
Governor-General of Canada, was on the look-out for the genuine native;
and some of his first experiences, as he travelled beyond the frontiers
of civilization, are thus described by a correspondent who accompanied
him:--‘We begin to-morrow with an address from some Indians at Little
Current, on Manitoulin Island, who ought to be real, full-blooded
Indians, if any faith can be put in Indian names. But probably little
faith can be put in them. The mixture of races has been carried
on,--more especially by the Scotch, always foremost in everything,--with
so much energy that it is never easy to know whether an Indian is
full-blooded, or, as some stranger to the laws of orthography and
pronunciation tersely phrased it, “half Ingin, half Ingineer.” In one of
his speeches Lord Lorne told us of his once expressing a wish to see a
real, full-blooded Indian, his first; and being rather astonished when
the Canadian who undertook to gratify his wish summoned the required
real specimen of the aboriginal race by shouting, “Come here,
MacDonald.”’”
The Falls of Niagara had no such fresh wonder as belonged to the
newly-discovered marvels of California; but familiarity does not lessen
their effect, and the impression produced on Mr. Nelson’s mind is worth
reproducing in his own words. He travelled in company with Mrs. Nelson,
and he thus writes:--“One misses the true height of the falls at
first--one hundred and sixty-three feet--owing to looking down upon them
as they plunge into a deep gorge, in addition to their great extent in
breadth. But still the impression is overpowering. Before dinner we went
on to Goat Island, which divides the Horse Shoe, or Canadian Fall, from
the American Fall; got over to the Three Sisters--three lovely wooded
islands anchored amid the roar of waters--and then looked up the great
rapids from the head of Goat Island. This I really think almost finer
than the actual falls. There is no hill or rising ground visible. The
flat shore scarcely seems to reach above the water’s brink; and here is
a great tumbling flood that looks as if it came right out of the sky,
and was going to sweep everything before it. After dinner we crossed the
ferry, right under the falls, and formed a more definite idea of their
height. We then found our way to a spot on the Canadian side above the
falls, where we looked down on the Horse Shoe Fall. It has eaten its way
back into the rock; and an old residenter on the spot told us it has
greatly changed since he remembered it. It now looks as though the whole
mighty flood were poured into a narrow cleft, and disappears in a rising
cloud of vapour, in which, when the sun is shining, there is a constant
rainbow.”
At Toronto attractions of a different, but not less acceptable, kind
awaited him. He started for the backwoods, and fished in Lake Muskoka
with his old school-mate for his guide. And on his return to Toronto, a
party of the fellow-students of early years met at dinner under his
present biographer’s roof. Sir Andrew Ramsay, the head of the
Geographical Survey of Great Britain, chanced to be on a visit to
Canada; Alexander Sprunt had come on from North Carolina to place his
son at the University of Toronto; the Hon. George Brown, his own
brother-in-law, was now a Senator of the Dominion; the Hon. David
Christie was Speaker of the Senate; Professor George Paxton Young, and
their host, were both members of the Faculty of the Provincial
University; and thus, after an interval of more than forty years, the
memories of school and college life were recalled, and old times lived
over again, with many a humorous reminiscence, and some amusing
gleanings from the record of school-mates. In a letter to his sister he
says: “You may imagine with what delight I met so many of my old
school-fellows, and how we did talk over the days of auld lang syne!”
The Parisian capital is a place of too easy and frequent resort to admit
of its being embraced within the range of notable explorations; but two
of his visits to Paris were made under such exceptional circumstances as
to claim special notice here. The first of those was his characteristic
visit at the period of Prince Louis Napoleon’s famous _coup d’état_. An
old friend, Mr. Matthew Tait, thus briefly narrates the event:--“We all
know how fond he was of foreign travel, and how he liked to watch the
movements of crowds and to witness any public display. My brother
accompanied him to Paris in 1851. It was at the time of the _coup
d’état_. Mingling one day with the crowds that filled the Place de la
Concorde, they suddenly found themselves exposed to a charge of cavalry.
The crowd instantly gave way amid shrieks and yells; some of them were
mortally wounded. My brother remarked to me afterwards on the coolness
and self-possession of William Nelson, who seemed to have far more
sympathy with the unfortunate victims than concern for his own safety.”
In William Nelson’s boyhood the journey to London was a formidable
adventure. A youth who had achieved that feat won the respect of his
companions as one who had seen the world. To have actually crossed the
Channel was to be a great traveller. Rotterdam and the Hague, or
Christiania and Copenhagen, by reason of the trade of the neighbouring
sea-port, lay within easier reach than Paris. But steam-boats and
railways have wrought as great a revolution in ideas as in experience;
and in his later years a visit to Paris was no uncommon occurrence. But
the circumstances were altogether exceptional when in March 1871,--the
year succeeding that of his journey across the American continent,--he
proceeded thither, accompanied by Mrs. Nelson and an American friend,
Mr. George Buckham of New York. The Franco-German War was over; Paris
had capitulated; and this unwonted condition of things presented
attractions peculiarly calculated to tempt William Nelson to witness for
himself the novel scene. Happily some interesting reminiscences of the
adventure are recoverable from notes furnished by both of his
fellow-travellers.
They met in London on the 16th of March, and on learning that the German
army had evacuated Paris, they resolved to avail themselves of the
opportunity of witnessing the devastations of war, while the city still
wore the aspect due to its prolonged siege. They started accordingly the
following day. On reaching the suburbs of Paris they were struck with
the wretched condition of the numerous soldiers of the besieging army,
still bivouacked there in dirty, tattered uniforms, little calculated to
suggest the idea of proud conquerors. They put up at the Hôtel Chatham;
and on their way from the railway station their attention was drawn to
the excited crowds in the streets and boulevards. It was soon apparent
that the terrors of the siege had been succeeded by revolutionary
revolt. Many wounded and dying were being carried past on stretchers.
The streets were filled with citizens and soldiers gesticulating in an
angry manner, and evidently ripe for violence. The very few shops that
were open looked dreary and deserted; and the inhabitants had a
careworn, anxious look, as though they dreaded a renewal of the terrible
experiences of the siege.
About noon the travellers set out to explore the scenes still bearing
evidence of the conflict so recently ended. They reached the Champ de
Mars in time to see several regiments of the National Guard arrive and
pitch their tents. They were survivors of the army of General Chanzy,
which had suffered so terribly; and Mr. Buckham notes of them: “All were
scarcely older than mere boys. They were in a dreadfully ragged and
distressed condition.” Everywhere, indeed, the pride and glory of war
had given place to its most forbidding aspects. At Pont de Jour the
shells had made terrible havoc, almost totally destroying every house in
the place. At St. Cloud it was the same. The palace which the Emperor
left on the 18th of July 1870, at the head of the Grande Armée, to march
to Berlin, was almost completely demolished; and a street of once
beautiful mansions near it was a mere pile of ruins. This was the work
of the besieged, in their efforts to dislodge the Germans, who were
carousing in the magnificent halls of the imperial palace. Everywhere
the travellers were struck with the evidences of the blind fury of the
populace. The “N,” the “E,” and every symbol of the emperor, had been
effaced or broken. Statues of the First Napoleon, and a beautiful
statue of the Empress Josephine that adorned the avenue which bore her
name, had been thrown down and flung into the river. Even the heads of
the bronze eagles on the Grand Opera House had been broken off.
They sought in vain for a conveyance to hire. At every livery stable
they were told that the horses had all been killed and eaten. Towards
evening the excitement became intense, under the apprehension that the
Red Republicans, who were evidently gaining ground, would take complete
possession of Paris. The landlord of the Hôtel Chatham was greatly
excited, and cautioned his guests against venturing out of doors. But an
old citizen of Edinburgh, Mr. Nimmo, who was well known to Mr. Nelson,
undertook to be their guide. He had himself been a leader in the
political movements of the old Scottish reformers at a time when such
proceedings imperilled his safety; and so, taking refuge in Paris, he
had resided there for forty-nine years, and now found himself at home in
the _furor_ of a fresh revolution. Under his escort they traversed the
deserted and gloomy thoroughfares, till they reached the Place Vendôme,
where a military guard arrested their progress, and compelled them to
pursue a different route. When they passed the end of the Louvre, and
turned in the direction of the boulevard leading towards the Place
Vendôme, they suddenly became involved in a disorderly mass of
soldiers; and within half an hour after they reached their hotel, the
Place Vendôme was captured by the mob. A little later the Hôtel de Ville
was in the hands of the Communists, the government fled from Paris, and
the revolution was an accomplished fact. The Grande Armée disappeared.
On the Saturday night, March 18th, there was fighting going on in
several parts of the city; and when, on the following day, Mr. and Mrs.
Nelson and their friend visited two Protestant churches, they found them
closed, and all attempt at public worship abandoned. They were
successful at length in securing a hired vehicle, and making their way
to the Jardin des Plantes, where they found, to their surprise, that
nearly all the animals had survived the siege. There had been
sensational newspaper paragraphs concerning the novel dishes which the
national menagerie supplied; and William Nelson’s fancy was greatly
taken with the idea of a hippopotamus steak, a giraffe ragout, a dish of
devilled tiger, or some other equally _recherché_ entertainment; but
instead of the beasts being devoured, it had been found possible to
provide them with something to eat. Eighty-four shells had fallen within
the garden enclosures, but the damage was slight; while seven of the
poor invalids in a large hospital adjoining had been killed in their
beds. While walking through the Jardin des Plantes, a stranger
approached Mr. Nelson, and addressing him, told him he was a professor
in the University of Dublin, had been shut up in Paris during the siege,
and reduced to the direst straits. He was anxious to get away, but he
had no money. Mr. Buckham, who witnessed the interview, adds: “In such
cases Mr. Nelson never hesitated. I have seen many other instances of
his benevolence. He relieved this gentleman at once.” Mr. Buckham adds
that he learned from Mr. Nimmo of many instances of suffering and
distress, as the results of the siege, which had been reported by him to
Mr. Nelson. He did not stop to inquire more, but helped the needy, and
relieved the distressed and suffering, without any idea that his good
deeds were ever known to any one but Mr. Nimmo, who had the pleasant
duty of acting as his almoner.
The entire scene abounded in strange and exciting novelty. They drove to
the Hôtel de Ville, and there had to abandon their conveyance. The grand
square was filled with soldiers. Men and boys were tearing up the
paving-stones and constructing barricades. The flag of the Red
Republicans was flying on the hotel, and the soldiers were shouting,
“_Vive la République!_” and fraternizing with the mob. So alarming grew
the situation that the idea gained favour with many of the citizens to
invite the return of the Prussians to Paris as the only escape from a
reign of terror. Proclamations were issued by the Government, and
counter proclamations by the Red Republicans. The travellers were
warned by their landlord not to venture out; but it was useless to visit
Paris at such a time merely to be immured in their hotel. So at noon
they started for Versailles, under the guidance of Mr. Nimmo, and paid a
visit there to M. Giacomelli, Mr. Nelson’s artist friend. He had had
several Prussian officers quartered on him, and the account he gave of
the insolent brutality of those representatives of the victorious army
seems to have been abundantly confirmed by the condition in which they
left the artist’s beautiful château. Mr. Buckham thus writes:--
“Monsieur and Madame Giacomelli are people of the highest refinement and
culture, and it was impossible to listen to a recital of their wrongs
unmoved. The walls of their _salons_ were hung with most beautiful
paintings, many of which had been cut from their frames. The beautiful
draperies of the windows were stained with tobacco juice; and the rich
satin coverings of their furniture, which the officers had lounged on
with spurs, were hanging in ribbons.”
The calm self-control and fearlessness in danger which have already been
noted among the characteristics of William Nelson, were repeatedly noted
by his travelling companion under the most trying circumstances during
this sojourn in Paris. Mr. Buckham thus writes:--“In the exciting scenes
of these few days, in which Mr. Nelson mingled freely and fearlessly,
no one was so calm as he. The writer accompanied him through scenes in
which we were often menaced with the insane violence of armed men, so
that it was deemed the height of madness to expose ourselves to it. On
one occasion, in the Marché St. Honoré, which we entered suddenly, not
knowing what was going on, we found it crowded with armed men and women
almost foaming with rage at our intrusion. Three words uttered by Mr.
Nelson in a low tone restored me to self-control. ‘Take my arm,’ he said
quietly, and we passed unharmed, with muskets and bayonets pointed at
us. While traversing the Rue de Rivoli, for a long distance we did not
see a human being, until we were suddenly confronted by a Communist
doing sentinel duty. Mr. Nelson said to me in his calm tone of voice,
‘Say nothing; I’ll manage this fellow.’ So on we went, and the sentinel
brought down his musket from his shoulder. Our pace was not changed. Mr.
Nelson gave the military salute; he again shouldered his musket, and we
passed on.”
The season was early, but a succession of days of brilliant sunshine,
with the trees putting forth their fresh spring leaves and early
blossoms, and the songs of the birds already building their nests, all
tended to intensify the desolation of the scene and the misery of the
populace. In the ruined villages around Paris they saw men, women, and
children who gazed as if stupified at the wreck of their humble
dwellings, while they seemed only involved in worse dangers by the
withdrawal of the invaders. A revolution was at its height. The National
Assembly was sitting at Versailles, while the Red Republicans held
Paris; and the army was taking sides, and divided between the rival
governments. On the 21st of March, Mr. Buckham notes:--“Another splendid
day, but as no cabs could be found, we trudged about on foot. The
streets are filled with crowds of excited people; some are armed, and
bent on mischief. Not a vehicle is to be seen; the whole roadway is
filled with people. Orators are declaiming, and the newswomen are
screaming out the last ‘special,’ which is eagerly seized until the
stock of newspapers is exhausted. The landlords of the hotels have
forbidden the departure of their guests in obedience to an order issued
by the Government. The English agent of the Rothschilds called and
informed us that a conflict was inevitable. The people of wealth were
ordered to furnish money to the insurgents, and if they refused they
were marched off to the Conciergerie between two files of soldiers.
Suddenly about noon the Boulevards were filled with immense crowds of
citizens shouting for peace. A great procession was formed and marched
to the Hôtel de Ville and Place Vendôme to remonstrate with the
Communists. This movement, proving the unpopularity of the
insurrection, was visible at once on the Bourse by the rise of stocks!
The order forbidding strangers to depart was revoked, the shops were
reopened, and there was a reasonable prospect of an immediate
suppression of the revolution.”
But the troubles were not over for the courageous travellers who had
thus gratified their curiosity to witness for themselves the scenes of a
besieged city and a Parisian Communistic revolt. On coming down to
breakfast on the Sunday morning, they were gratified to meet at the
breakfast table an old friend, in company with two others who, like
themselves, had come to Paris to see the results of the terrible war.
They were the only other guests at the hotel. On their first visit to
Versailles they had had a good view of the great fortress, Mont
Valérien, and explored with much interest the surrounding rifle-pits and
other means of defence; and it was now proposed that the whole party
should visit the fort. But Mrs. Nelson writes:--“On reconsidering our
plans, William decided that he would prefer going to Versailles; so Mr.
Buckham and I set out with him, while our friends started for Fort
Valérien. We found much to interest us, and did not return to our hotel
till the evening. But on arriving there the landlord met us in a state
of great excitement. We had, it seemed, very narrowly escaped a novel
and trying experience. Our three friends had been taken for spies, and
as soon as they reached the fort were made prisoners. After being
detained all day, they had been released, and were already on their way
to England. He also told us that he had orders from head-quarters that
we were to leave at once.” So ended this visit to Paris in the days of
the capitulation and the Commune, not without some very exciting
experiences, and more than one narrow escape from imminent danger. It
was characteristic of William Nelson’s fearless unconsciousness of
danger that he made Mrs. Nelson the sharer in an expedition, replete
indeed with attractions of a highly novel and exceptional kind, but
beset by so many dangers that nothing but her trusting confidence in his
guardianship could have induced her to risk the exposure which it
involved. As it was, it might be styled a lucky accident which alone
prevented her sharing in the uncomfortable romance of being made a state
prisoner in Fort Valérien. But such incidents have a piquancy in the
memories of later years, when the discomforts and apprehensions they
involved have passed out of memory. Nevertheless the narrow escape from
incarceration in a state prison under the later Commune was the foremost
incident in Mrs. Nelson’s thoughts whenever she recalled the experiences
of that exciting time.
“It was a narrow escape,” she writes, “for we were the last people to
get out of Paris. The Provisional Government took the place of the
Prussian invaders; and our train was the last one allowed to leave
Paris. We were repeatedly taken for spies and stopped on the street. Had
we gone to Fort Valérien and been made prisoners, the suspicions that
had been excited would have told against us. But William never seemed to
be put out, or to be conscious of danger.”