friends would find that it was quicker to take the road by autocar to reach the Crystal Palace than to rely on the time-tables of any railway professing to carry passengers to that fairy-land at the breakneck time-table speed of eighteen miles an hour. I was not prepared to face another party of friends, so I went to the Imperial Institute Exhibition alone. Not much encouragement there. A good many carriages on red baize platforms, but so beautiful in paint and varnish that one had an uneasy feeling that they had never known the road, and that no amount of handle labour would bring a grumble of life out of them. One car was going about, which I confess would have had more of my respect had I known that it was the car of the never-giving-in Mr. and Mrs. Koosen. After ten minutes I left the place much in the mood, though not I hope using the language, of Mr. Tittlebat Titmouse when he turned from the railings of the drive in Hyde Park on a certain Sunday afternoon. These were the days when it was thought practical, as Mr. Butler informs me, 'to turn out a car of one-and-a-half horsepower to carry two passengers, and luggage, spare parts and tools, consequently we had to get out and walk up all the hills, steering by the side, while the engine took the car up by itself; where the hills were very steep we had to help the engine by pushing the car up.' I think, as I am quoting from Mr. Butler, I may conveniently add his general remarks:- German chains, links stretched and broke very often, and a common thing for a chain to come off; the chains being covered with black lead the hands were always black, and petrol often had to be used to clean them. Tyres German, solid ones, very often came off, and we had to wire them round and round to the wheel the best way we could, to keep them on. Soldering came undone, belts used to break and stretch, nuts came off as there were no pins through the bolts, &c. Many a time, when miles from an inn and very hungry, would a breakdown occur, but afterwards took precaution never to go out on a car without a large flask of dry sherry and a tin of Bath Oliver biscuits. I shall here mention an incident which occurred to my self, illustrative of the maxim that in matters sporting you should not prophesy unless you know. My third adventure, of which I spoke above, was an attempt to realise my prophecy about certain results of a competition in speed between the autocar and the South of London railways on the route to the Crystal Palace. A car engaged for the party came whirling round into Whitehall Court in great style, onto which the secretary, myself and my son, whom I wished to introduce to the joys of automobilism, mounted gaily. We started and rounded into the Embankment, driven by the principal engineer of a company that shall be nameless. A cautious driver evidently, as the pace showed. Too cautious apparently, as a further diminution of pace indicated. 'Give him the w'ip, Gov'ner,' from the delighted cabby. Engineer's face a study. Steers to near side; motion Crowd gathers; passengers try to look happy. ceases. 6 Don't Pas 'it 'im, sit on 'is 'ead!' shouts the red-faced 'bus-driver. sengers desert stranded wreck. End of experience No. 3. Yet, like Mr. Ellis, Mr. and Mrs. Koosen and my compatriot I have this excellent little story from Mrs. Coleridge Kennard : : A country parson, without any previous experience, takes it into his head to turn motorist, buys a second-hand Benz Ideal, and calmly states that he intends to be his own mechanician. Imagines cars run without any attention. Is surprised when informed they need petrol, and lubricating oil. Begins operations by fetching a bicycle oiler and giving the piston a niggardly drop of cycle oil. When told this will not answer, is greatly astonished, and expresses his opinion that there is too much oil at one end, too much grease at the other. Has innumerable difficulties, and blames the car for them all. Says his father made chronometers, so he quite thought he should be able to keep a motor in order without much trouble. Finally, after a series of disasters, consults expert opinion, and innocently puts the following query, after complaining that he cannot get his car to go anyhow. 'Oh! by-the-bye, I filled the petrol tank up with water by mistake, I suppose it does not matter?' Mr. Carr relates the following: An enthusiastic friend of the designer of a new motor tricycle eagerly sought an opportunity of personally testing the wonderful machine, which was started and stopped by raising and lowering a back wheel. Off she bounded with a scuffle, and flew round the track. All went well until the E.F. thought he had had enough, when he was seen to be busily engaged with the lever. As he passed his friends he shouted, 'The lever won't work !' Roars of laughter rent the air. There was nothing for it but to sit it out till the supply tank was exhausted; and this kept our friend fully occupied for the space of an hour and a half. A good non-stop record, no doubt, but apparently more enjoyed by the spectators than by the performer. Report hath it that he had to be assisted home. Here is a confession by Mr. Sturmey : The engine sounded as if pulling all right, but there was manifestly something wrong, so on went the overalls followed by a dive under the car. Suddenly one of the occupants of the car remarked, 'Why, you've got your brake on !' and so I had. My own most vivid experiences of breakdown, which strongly illustrate the truth that the blame does not often lie with the vehicle but rather with those who turn it out, or who drive it, must be told at the expense of more than one important official of the Automobile Club. The scene on both occasions is the London-Uxbridge road, the driver on both occasions the secretary of the club, assisted on one occasion by the honorary secretary as honorary mechanician. Let me take the last first. Starting hopefully from Whitehall Court we careered along until, just opposite the Wellington statue, the car said 'No further.' Whether it was 'I won't' or 'I can't' we did not know. The imperturbable Johnson said nothing, but with great presence of mind turned round and gravitated to the front of the Wellington Club. All the secretarial skill addressed itself to trace the mischief. Suddenly, the sad word of a penitent. came from the amateur mechanician on the back seat, 'Oh, I forgot to turn on the petrol.' Off again, and no adventure until, on clearing the town, the high speed was put on. Presently off flew the belt, when it was seen that it had been patched many times, and that badly, and being fastened with riveted holders was ill able to stand being joined up again. Another start made, and we approached Uxbridge with joyful anticipations of tea. Alas, just outside the town our engine refused to move. Again the contrite voice of the amateur mechanician behind intimating that he had omitted to turn on two of the lubricating taps. Engine hot, and patience the only cure. My second experience was in the same car. I started for Gloucester with the secretary for the County Council demonstration. In answer to my question the assurance was given that the firm which provided the car had solemnly vouched that all spare parts were there except those necessary to rebuild the whole carriage. We had not gone far when it came home to us that we were going on one cylinder. Examination revealed a plug destroyed and exhaust-valve broken. Any spare valves? Tool-boxes and lockers turned out on the road. Nothing like a valve to be seen. Meanwhile I had got out a new plug. On applying it to the hole it went down out of sight. It was like putting a lady's hand into Daniel Lambert's glove. Nothing for it but to let the car descend a hill by gravitation and steer it on to the grass at the gate of a field. Returning to Uxbridge we relieved our minds per telephone to Long Acre, and got the assurance that a man was being despatched by next train with valves and plugs. We went to each train that came in. No man, no plug, no valves. Crestfallen to bed. Next morning, on reaching the station to go on by train, found, to our disgust, that a parcel had come the night before, but without a man, and that we could have got all put right that night. Since then I have formed the confident opinion that if Mark Tapley had lived in the early days of autocars, he would have lost his character. Nevertheless, such adventures have their uses. They teach valuable lessons. |