The Project Gutenberg EBook of Two Thousand Miles On An Automobile by Arthur Jerome Eddy

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Title: Two Thousand Miles On An Automobile Being A Desultory Narrative Of A Trip Through New England, New York, Canada, And The West, By "Chauffeur"

Author: Arthur Jerome Eddy

Release Date: May 18, 2004 [EBook #12380]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO THOUSAND MILES ***

Produced by Holly Ingraham

TWO THOUSAND MILES ON AN AUTOMOBILE

BEING A DESULTORY NARRATIVE OF A TRIP THROUGH NEW ENGLAND, NEW YORK, CANADA, AND THE WEST

BY "CHAUFFEUR"

1902

WITH EIGHTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRANK VERBECK

__________

To L. O. E.

Who for more than sixteen hundred miles of the journey faced dangers and discomforts with an equanimity worthy a better cause, and whose company lightened the burdens and enhanced the pleasure of the "Chauffeur"

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.——-Some Preliminary Observations II.——The Machine Used III.—-The Start IV.——Into Ohio V.——-On to Buffalo VI.——Buffalo VII.—-Buffalo to Canandaigua VIII.—The Morgan Mystery IX.——Through Western New York X.——-The Mohawk Valley XI.——The Valley of Lebanon XII.—-An Incident of Travel XIII.—Through Massachusetts XIV.—-Lexington and Concord XV.——Rhode Island and Connecticut XVI.—-Anarchism XVII.—New York to Buffalo XVIII.-Through Canada Home

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FOREWORD —————————————————————————————————

To disarm criticism at the outset, the writer acknowledges a thousand imperfections in this discursive story. In all truth, it is a most garrulous and incoherent narrative. Like the automobile, part of the time the narrative moves, part of the time it does not; now it is in the road pursuing a straight course; then again it is in the ditch, or far afield, quite beyond control and out of reason. It is impossible to write coolly, calmly, logically, and coherently about the automobile; it is not a cool, calm, logical, or coherent beast, the exact reverse being true.

The critic who has never driven a machine is not qualified to speak concerning the things contained herein, while the critic who has will speak with the charity and chastened humility which spring from adversity.

The charm of automobiling lies less in the sport itself than in the unusual contact with people and things, hence any description of a tour would be incomplete without reflections by the way; the imagination once in will not out; it even seeks to usurp the humbler function of observation. However, the arrangement of chapters and headings—like finger-posts or danger signs—is such that the wary reader may avoid the bad places and go through from cover to cover, choosing his own route. To facilitate the finding of what few morsels of practical value the book may contain, an index has been prepared which will enable the casual reader to select his pages with discrimination.

These confessions and warnings are printed in this conspicuous manner so that the uncertain seeker after "something to read" may see at a glance the poor sort of entertainment offered herein, and replace the book upon the shelf without buying.

CHAPTER ONE SOME PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS THE MADDING CROWD

Any woman can drive an electric automobile, any man can drive a steam, but neither man nor woman can drive a gasoline; it follows its own odorous will, and goes or goes not as it feels disposed.

For this very wilfulness the gasoline motor is the most fascinating machine of all. It possesses the subtle attraction of caprice; it constantly offers something to overcome; as in golf, you start out each time to beat your own record. The machine is your tricky and resourceful opponent. When you think it conquered and well-broken to harness, submissive and resigned to your will, behold it is as obstinate as a mule,—balks, kicks, snorts, puffs, blows, or, what is worse, refuses to kick, snort, puff, and blow, but stands in stubborn silence, an obdurate beast which no amount of coaxing, cajoling, cranking will start.

One of the beauties of the beast is its strict impartiality. It shows no more deference to maker than to owner; it moves no more quickly for expert mechanic than for amateur driver. When it balks, it balks,—inventor, manufacturer, mechanic, stand puzzled; suddenly it starts,—they are equally puzzled.

Who has not seen inventors of these capricious motors standing by the roadside scratching their heads in despair, utterly at a loss to know why the stubborn thing does not go? Who has not seen skilled mechanics in blue jeans and unskilled amateurs in jeans of leather, so to speak, flat on their backs under the vehicle, peering upward into the intricacies of the mechanism, trying to find the cause,—the obscure, the hidden source of all their trouble? And then the probing with wires, the tugs with wrenches, the wrestling with screw-drivers, the many trials,—for the most part futile,—the subdued language of the bunkers, and at length, when least expected, a start, and the machine goes off as if nothing at all had been the matter. It is then the skilled driver looks wise and does not betray his surprise to the gaping crowd, just looks as if the start were the anticipated result of his well-directed efforts instead of a chance hit amidst blind gropings.

One cannot but sympathize with the vanity of the French chauffeur who stops his machine in the midst of a crowd when it is working perfectly, makes a few idle passes with wrenches and oil-cans, pulls a lever and is off, all for the pleasure of hearing the populace remark, "He understands his machine. He is a good one." While the poor fellow, who really is in trouble, sweats and groans and all but swears as he works in vain to find what is the matter, to the delight of the onlookers who laugh at what seems to them ignorance and lack of skill.

And why should not these things be? Is not the crowd multitude always with us—or against us? There is no spot so dreary, no country so waste, no highway so far removed from the habitations and haunts of man that a crowd of gaping people will not spring up when an automobile stops for repairs. Choose a plain, the broad expanse of which is unbroken by a sign of man; a wood, the depths of which baffle the eye and tangle the foot; let your automobile stop for so long as sixty seconds, and the populace begin to gather, with the small boy in the van; like birds of prey they perch upon all parts of the machine, choosing by quick intuition those parts most susceptible to injury from weight and contact, until you scarcely can move and do the things you have to do.

The curiosity of the small boy is the forerunner of knowledge, and must be satisfied. It is quite idle to tell him to "Keep away!" it is worse than useless to lose your temper and order him to "Clear out!" it is a physical impossibility for him to do either; the law of his being requires him to remain where he is and to