i MiUuIumUllliUuiilUt ft 
 
HANZSCHE & CO. 
 
 PRINTERS AND ENGRAVERS, 
 BALTIMORE, MD. 
 
 1891. 
 
 liitimmmmiiiiiUMiiii 
 
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 TO THE LAST TO WISH US GOD SPEED 
 
 AND 
 
 FIRST TO WELCOME US HOME, 
 
 OUR MOTHERS, 
 
 THIS LITTLE BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. 
 
ns mvifrnin si i ni i iiiiii i i n si s it it iiiiiiiniiTiiiilitn t suii 11 s* * \ * 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 At a dinner given by Mr. Harry Higgins in London, it was 
 my good fortune to be selected as historian of our party with 
 Mr. Marriott C. Morris, of Germantown, Phila., as assistant, 
 and the little narrative descriptive of what we saw and what we 
 did while touring awheel in Europe is the result of my endeavor 
 to do my best with the obligation I assumed then. It will be 
 seen that very little regard has been paid to length of chapters 
 in this; the whole having been huddled together somewhat 
 heterogeneously at odd moments out of a busy life, with no effort 
 at literary effect, but rather to chronicle the events briefly, as 
 nearly as I could remember them. 
 
 1 first want to thank my co-worker, Mr. Morris, whose 
 careful revisions, alterations, and many additions to the orig¬ 
 inal manuscript entitle him to a large share of the credit, if 
 any is to come, as a result of the work; also Messrs. Horbs, 
 Paiste and Morris for the loan of negatives, used to illustrate 
 it, and last to thank the entire party for their indulgence for so 
 long a time. I want to apologize also to the boys for the many 
 reminders of “roasts” contained in our little work, and to ex¬ 
 press the hope that they will be received in the same spirit as 
 they were in Europe. 
 
 Now that the work is finished, my only wish is that it may 
 contribute the same measure of pleasure and enjoyment to its 
 readers, as it has to its 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
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 • iiliii m is iiliili ill iiiiiiiiiHiif 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 “Our Party,” (Frontispiece,) 
 
 A Load of Hay in Normandy, 
 
 Fountainebleu,. 
 
 An Old Friend, "The Milestone,” 
 
 Road to Champignole, - 
 
 Coast to Geneva, . 
 
 In the Snow, en route to St. Bernard, 
 
 Crossing the Mer de Glace, - 
 Over the Mauvais Pas, - 
 
 Village Life in Switzerland, - 
 En route to Grindelwald, - 
 Little Berry Girl, way to Grindelwald, 
 
 Tell Monument, Aldtorf, - 
 
 The Axenstrasse, . 
 
 FallsoftheRhine,. 
 
 Road on the Rhine, - 
 
 1 he Angel Gabiiel, Mother and Sister, Ober Ammergau, 
 En route to Heidelberg, - 
 On the Boat, down the Rhine, 
 
 A Street in Rotterdam, - 
 
 PAGE 
 
 17 
 21 
 2 5 
 
 27 
 
 3i 
 
 33 
 
 41 
 
 43 
 
 49 
 
 53 
 
 55 
 
 61 
 
 63 
 
 65 
 
 69 
 
 77 
 
 83 
 
 93 
 
 97 
 
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 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 I. 
 
 I wonder if there was ever a happier party than the 
 group of American Wheelmen, who sailed from New 
 York on the 7th day of June, 1890. It is needless to 
 put the names of the enthusiasts of our party in this 
 little book, for all were equally so, but for the amuse¬ 
 ment of our friends, who will probably have interest 
 enough in the book to read it, I am going to tell you 
 something about them. 
 
 The party that sailed from New York was composed 
 of twenty of the best fellows that ever left America, 
 and if there ever was a congenial crowd started off 
 together on a tour anywhere, we were that party. I 
 can safely say, that in our long association of three 
 months, there was never between us all one harsh 
 word, nor were the feelings of any in the party hurt 
 by anyone else, and when it is considered that we 
 
 9 
 
Liimillnni<il3>»tgtiiaiiiHlliltillii.jiHlillHHI:Hllli|giiHiairiiiiiiiilll>ii>»ii* 
 
 io Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 were strangers from all parts of the country, with all 
 kinds of feelings and opinions,—only meeting for the 
 first time on “La Burgogne,”—truly this is a record 
 that we should be proud of. 
 
 Charley Atwood and Charley Tyler, from Providence, 
 were christened “The Twins,” on the first day out. They 
 were the most congenial fellows it has ever been my good 
 fortune to be associated with. 
 
 Then there was George Inglis Black, from Erie, Pa., 
 a good fellow and the most graceful rider in the party. 
 
 Then came Tommy Brinsmade, who was with the 
 party last year, with whom I had the good fortune to 
 room on the entire trip, and who is a "bully boy” 
 and a record rider; his only disappointment was when 
 Lucas would get in ahead of him. 
 
 Then there was Walter W. Dudley,—little sawed-off 
 “Dud,”—a good fellow, a good rider, and as tough as 
 a pine knot. 
 
 Then came the two Duers, John and Jim, from Illi¬ 
 nois, good boys, that bought a dog, and wished they 
 had not. 
 
 Going down the list next comes Frank A. Elwell,— 
 “Papa,”—from Portland, to whose fertile brain and 
 masterly enterprise this trip was due, and whose name 
 shall never be forgotten, not only by this party, but 
 by every wheelman in America who has had the pleas- 
 sure of going on a trip with him. 
 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 11 
 
 Then came the boy , Sherwood Hard, of New York, 
 whose only failings were that he would eat too much 
 cake and get sick, and his happy faculty of falling in 
 love with every girl he saw, and wishing like Alexander, 
 “there were more girls to conquer.” Hard was a good 
 boy, never gave us much trouble, but would not intro¬ 
 duce us to his girls. 
 
 Now if there was ever a prince of good fellows, a 
 popular favorite and a chap whose memory shall always 
 be cherished by us, that chap is Harry Higgins, who so 
 successfully piloted us over the highways and by-ways 
 of Europe; he was always up with the leaders, fought 
 hotel proprietors daily, and our crowd say fell in love 
 with-but let that pass. 
 
 Then came Charles Rollin Hobbs, from Illinois, and 
 Edgar hloyd—Jones, from Missouri, we all remember 
 them; we all remember Jones’ birth-day at Dijon, and 
 I am sure I repeat the sentiments of the entire party 
 when I say they were “bully boys.” 
 
 Then came the representative from the wild and 
 wooly West, Bert Lucas from Oregon. Now Lucas 
 was a good fellow and a swift rider, always up with 
 winners. 
 
 Then comes Marriott Morris, of Philadelphia, the 
 man who started out with a trunk on the front of his 
 wheel, a well-appointed, well-selected library of guide 
 books, etc. on the rear, and a camera slung across his 
 
i2 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 shoulders. Thirty-five pounds of baggage ! With all 
 of which he pushed through Europe in spite of the 
 prophecies of some of us that he wouldn’t. 
 
 Then comes Paiste and Parker,—the two “ P’s,” — 
 from Pennsylvania. Paiste had so many friends at 
 home to buy for, and nobody knows how happy he 
 was in remembering them. Pie nearly bought the 
 whole country; and he had his appetite with him. 
 Parker was a splendid fellow, but had the great mis¬ 
 fortune to lose his father, and was compelled to leave 
 us early in the game. 
 
 I don’t want to give too much taffy, for fear that 
 the general public who peruse this might say that it 
 was a mutual admiration society, but the memories of 
 the delights of the trip flit before me as I write, so 
 vast and so pleasantly, that I can write of nothing else. 
 
 Then came Charley Pelton,—“Adonis,”—from New 
 York state, the handsome man of the party. “ I like 
 you, but you roast me 
 
 Next was Jimmy Quinn ,—“ Baron Munchausen,” — 
 from Albany; comment is unnecessary. 
 
 Then was Papa Robson, from Massachusetts, the 
 umpire, the only umpire on record that has ever um¬ 
 pired a game of base ball without a kick ; there is a 
 record for you ! 
 
 Last of all in the list of the party, is your humble 
 servant, a man who is trying to describe in his poor 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 l 3 
 
 way the beauties and pleasantries of the trip, and if 
 this little book serves to please and amuse the life-long 
 friends which he made during the past summer, he 
 will feel that it will not be “ Love’s Labor Lost.” 
 
 In a very short time we became acquainted, as only 
 wheelmen can become acquainted ; after twenty-four 
 hours on the boat, we were fast friends. It is aston¬ 
 ishing how soon wheelmen become acquainted after 
 once meeting. It seems as though there is a kind of 
 free-masonry existing among the devotees of the steel 
 steed, that makes us all soon have a sort of indescrib¬ 
 able brotherly affection for one another. 
 
 On the second day out, while we were delayed in 
 mid-ocean, because of a break in the ship’s machinery, 
 and every day thereafter we “cuddled;” the twenty of 
 us boys got together in an open space in the bow of 
 the boat, like so many logs of wood and lay there, 
 somebody’s feet over somebody’s head, and somebody’s 
 head across somebody else’s body, all in a lump sun¬ 
 ning ourselves, and singing “ Down Went McGinty,” 
 while others on the boat seemed to fear that everybody 
 was going where McGinty went, unless the damage to 
 the machinery was soon repaired. Our trip over was full 
 of events of interest to us, and will be pleasantly remem¬ 
 bered ; but in a little book like this, it would be im¬ 
 possible to enumerate them. It is enough to say, 
 however, that “Dud” was the only man that got sick, 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 and Hard was the only one that fell in love, but I 
 draw the line here. Among our fellow-passengers was 
 Nat. Goodwin, the comedian, who became so enthused 
 with our trip, that he promised to go with the boys next 
 year. It was our earnest wish that he would become an 
 enthusiastic wheelman, as a spirit like his in a party, 
 would tend to make many happy days. 
 
 The week at sea soon passed, and when the shores 
 of sunny France were sighted, how happy we were. 
 On our arrival at Havre, we were met by Arthur G. 
 Collins, “ Pedals,” of last year’s party, who is study¬ 
 ing art at Paris, and who accompanied us as far as 
 Geneva. And right here at the outset, in the name of 
 the entire party, I want to thank him for the many 
 favors shown us, and for extricating us from the 
 many difficulties which he so kindly did, when we 
 could not “parley vousT Paiste also was on the dock 
 to meet us here, and with that free-masonry of the 
 wheel, he was soon admitted into our friendship. 
 After dinner on June 16th, at the Hotel Frascati, at 
 Havre, the afternoon was consumed in getting our 
 wheels in condition for the grand ride on the morrow, 
 and then we went out to see the sights of the town. 
 
 It is not my purpose to go into any dissertation cxi 
 the sights in the European cities, but merely as far as 
 my memory and notes go, to give some instances of 
 our trip. 
 
 
Wheel Tracks m Foreign Lands. 
 
 Everything seemed old and worn at Havre, as 
 indeed we found it all over Europe; this made a strong 
 impression on us Americans, as we drew the compari¬ 
 son with our own new and modern land. The late 
 afternoon and evening was spent in seeing the sights 
 of this our first-visited city of the old world. Here we 
 climbed a long hill on the side of the city, where we 
 had a grand view of old ocean, and enjoyed a coast 
 down, that only prepared us for the morrow. 
 
 The next morning everybody was up early, anxious 
 to stait off on the long fifteen hundred mile ride. 
 How bright and cheerful we all were, and it is with 
 pleasui e I state, that that brightness and cheerfulness 
 was never marred during the long trip, until the party 
 reached London, the night of the breaking up at the 
 “ Holborn,” when it seemed here that friendships were 
 to be severed, never to be united again, and a sort of 
 happy sadness pervaded the entire .party. 
 
 About ten o’clock in the morning we left Havre on 
 our long ride. Before we started off the American 
 Consul visited us, and bade us God speed. A ride of 
 two miles over the boulevards, brought us out of the 
 city on the high road to Paris. On the streets we saw 
 side-walk markets, where men and women were selling 
 all sorts of things. The road was grand after leaving 
 Havre, and we merrily ascended for several miles, and 
 then the country was fairly level to St. Romain, which 
 
 
 
 : 
 
 : 
 
16 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 is thirteen and a-half miles; the fields beautiful with 
 waving grain and clover, red and white; scattered 
 through were bright scarlet poppies, which made a 
 most beautiful picture. At St. Romain a horse fair 
 was in progress, a realization of Rosa Bonheur’s cele¬ 
 brated picture. And when we saw the great Norman 
 Percherons here, it is easy to realize how any lover of 
 animals would desire to perpetuate them on canvas. 
 On, along this beautiful road, smooth as a floor, we 
 neared Lillebonne, an old French town, where we had 
 dinner, and visited an ancient Roman amphitheatre, a 
 relic of the times of Caesar, only excavated in 1828, 
 and which is the attraction of the town. We lingered 
 in the ruins that had been here so many centuries, 
 thinking of how different it all was now from then, when 
 Caesar and his legions had scattered such devastation 
 over that country, while making a name that will last 
 for all time. 
 
 Our stopping for the night was at Caudebec on the 
 Seine, the most curious and quaint place we visited, 
 with narrow streets and queer gabled houses. Here 
 we arrived about four o’clock in the afternoon, having 
 done about thirty miles, this our first day out. A 
 party as big as ours was a rarity in this little village, 
 and the hotel could not accommodate us all, some of 
 the boys being compelled to go into private houses, an 
 odd experience for them. In the morning when Johnny 
 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 Duer reported for breakfast, he said that the bed in 
 his room was so small that he had to sleep with his 
 feet out of the window in the rain. We entertained 
 the populace in Caudebec by throwing sous for the 
 children to scramble for, until this was broken up by 
 an old woman with a club, who by some accident had 
 one pitched close to her, and the children all jumped 
 around her feet, nearly upsetting her. We did not un¬ 
 derstand her language, but have no doubt it was for¬ 
 cible in the extreme. 
 
 The following morning we left for Rouen, the an¬ 
 cient capital of Normandy, where we arrived about 
 mid-day, having followed the winding Seine most of 
 the distance and spent the afternoon and evening see¬ 
 ing the sights. This was the first cathedral town we 
 had visited, and of course all hands were anxious to 
 see the celebrated cathedral, with its “Tour de Beurre,” 
 or in other words, “ butter tower,” which was built from 
 money received for the granting of indulgencies to the 
 church people to eat butter during Lent. We visited 
 the cathedral, went on top of its lofty open-work tower 
 of iron and got a full view of the beauties of the town. 
 
 In this old city Jeanne d’Arc was burned at the 
 stake in 1431. We saw the spot, where now stands a 
 statue to her memory. Not far off is a curious round 
 tower with a pointed roof; here the maid was tried 
 and condemned by the English, her captors. 
 

 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 Next morning we were off, bright and early, for 
 Vernon, an old French garrison town, thirty-four miles 
 away. Here we started, after table d'hote , a game of 
 genuine American base ball, which we played with a 
 rubber ball, and had a broom-stick for a bat. The whole 
 population was attracted to the place and a military 
 band concert had to be given up for lack of hearers. 
 Harry Higgins would insist upon smashing the ball to 
 pieces every time he came to the bat, and the writer 
 unfortunately broke up the game, by knocking the last 
 available ball through a transom. The night was spent 
 by amusing the populace with college songs and fire¬ 
 works, and in return they sang the Marseillaise. Next 
 day, after sending an account of the ball game to the 
 Paris New York Herald\ we were off for Mantes, which 
 is fifteen miles distant, where we had our dinner, and 
 where Tommy Brinsmade insulted the landlord by 
 taking two pieces of fish and leaving somebody else 
 without any. There were several dogs loose in Mantes, 
 you know what that means ! In the afternoon we rode 
 eighteen miles further, which brought us to St. Ger¬ 
 main, on the outskirts of Paris ; this was formerly the 
 royal country home, the palace now serving for a 
 museum. Here we got our first view of the Eifel tower. 
 Early the next morning we were off for Paris, the City 
 of the World. 
 
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Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 1 9 
 
 Paris. There is but one Paris. There may be imita¬ 
 tions, but there can only be one original. The week 
 passed in Paris speedily. Able writers have discussed its 
 beauties so often, that it would be egotism for me to 
 write anything about it, but as I sat in my room at 
 the Continental Hotel, where we were lodged, I felt 
 almost inspired. The days were fast spent in visiting 
 the Louvre, the Luxemburg, the tomb of Napoleon 
 and the July Column on the old Bastile site, the Arc 
 de Triomphe, Notre Dame Cathedral, the Morgue, all 
 of the sights for which Paris is so famous, and the 
 nights—well, we will draw the veil. Everybody comes 
 to Paris, everybody sees something of it, and everybody 
 goes away and tells about it. We all have memories, 
 and we can all tell better ourselves, than leaving it to 
 me to put in a book. 
 
 One day was spent at Versailles, where we rambled 
 through the vastness of its palace, so replete with 
 memories of French history, and with so many won¬ 
 derful paintings and sculptures to interest. Indeed 
 books have been written on this palace alone, and it 
 would take too much time and space to attempt to do it 
 justice, but in one of its chambers, the Gallery of Battles, 
 containing paintings of famous victories from Charle¬ 
 magne to Napoleon, we found one to greatly interest 
 Americans. A picture of the surrender at Yorktown, 
 by Couder, and safe is it to say in front of this picture, 
 
20 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands, 
 
 English can be spoken without fear of not being under¬ 
 stood. Not alone was the palace visited. We walked 
 about the grounds, ornamented with immense fountains, 
 and strolled through avenues of tall trees, trimmed with 
 severe symmetery to their tops ; visited too the Grand 
 Trianon and Little Trianon, around which cluster so 
 many memories of the brilliant French Courts. Gone 
 are all the splendors of those times a hundred years 
 ago, and the palace and grounds belong to the people, 
 in this day of Liberty. 
 
 On the twenty-eighth of June, we left Paris, all glad 
 to get out on the road once more, feeling that we had 
 done Paris, and knowing that Paris had done us. The 
 forenoon ride was to Melun, a distance of thirty miles, 
 the town where Jeanne d’Arc spent her youth, and where 
 one of the two base balls purchased in Paris was lost, 
 and the game broken up because of the ball going into 
 a sewer. After dinner a ride of twelve miles more 
 brought us to Fountainebleu, and the day was spent 
 visiting the wonders of the place. When one goes 
 through the palaces of the old world, and sees the 
 splendor of art in these temples, sees the wonderful 
 buildings, and then views the poverty of the people, 
 one finds excuse for revolution, emigration, war, or any 
 of the evils governments are heir to, and can readily 
 understand how the over-burdened people will rise in 
 their might, and crush out the insolence of royalty. 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreigji Lands. 
 
 2 I 
 
 O, how we cherished being born in a free country, 
 where every man is equal; and as we looked upon the 
 stars and stripes, we felt “ There is no place like home.” 
 
 The afternoon was spent in a real game of base ball, 
 the East vs. the West. Hard was the pitcher and was 
 knocked out of the box ; Elwell went to the bat and 
 instead of hitting the ball the ball hit him, and he 
 retired from the game. His warning, “ Hard don't 
 you hit me,” will always be remembered; Harry 
 Higgins spent the afternoon making home runs, and 
 poor Hobbs spent the afternoon in running after the 
 ball; Jones played third base like a veteran, and 
 Tommy Brinsmade kicked with a vigor that would 
 have done credit to Anson or Comiskey. Mr. Robson 
 umpired the game in a way that would have made 
 John Kelly turn green with envy. When the East 
 knocked the cover off the ball and the West were not 
 in the game, we adjourned to the hotel and paid our 
 bets like men. The East drank champagne and the 
 West paid for it. Hard ate too much cake and was 
 sick again and we had to leave him at Fountainebleu, 
 with Collins to take care of him, but they joined us 
 in a couple of days at Dijon. Next day was rainy, 
 and several of us started to train it to Sens, our next 
 stop, but a large majority of the veterans said they 
 would ride the wheel, rain or shine; they rode; at 
 least they started. Some of the boys passed Rosa 
 
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 Wheel Tracks in Forcigfi Lands. 
 
 Bonheur’s home, in the forest of Fountainebleu, and 
 declare they saw her at the window. All along the 
 way we picked up the droppers by the way-side at 
 the different stations along the road, and the yells we 
 gave as the train stopped at the stations were a caution. 
 Higgins, Elwell, Jones and Hobbs, the tough four, 
 plugged it through in the rain and wind and they 
 deserve all the glory they got and twice more. Tommy 
 Brinsmaae, the Twins and myself got glory without 
 deserving it—they said we had sense; we rode in the 
 cars. That ride of forty-seven miles in the rain was 
 the worst ride of the trip, and the men who accomp¬ 
 lished it deserve to go down to posterity as heroes. 
 
 At the hotel in Sens were two attractions. The 
 first, electric lights in the rooms, and the second, and 
 by all means the best, the landlord’s pretty daughter, 
 who spoke English with a charming accent. Imagine 
 our fellings, after an extended conversation, rapidly 
 falling in love all the time, to learn she was married. 
 All the visions of taking a charming little French girl 
 to America vanished like the morning mist on the 
 mountains we were passing through. 
 
 Next day we started for Tonnerre, but the head¬ 
 wind was so strong that the majority trained it again, 
 after a hard push along the Yonne River to Joigny, 
 nineteen miles. We were delayed at Tonnerre a day 
 on account of the rain, and our adventures there would 
 
 LiUii Mudiiiiii] 
 
Wheel Tracks m Foreign Lands. 
 
 be enough to fill this book if I had time and space; 
 but one little incident will serve. It was a Fair Day 
 and we started out to go through the market in the 
 narrow, hilly streets of the little town. We saw old 
 women with their high caps and their large white aprons, 
 their sweet, pretty, old faces smiling at us, as if to 
 peisuade us to purchase their wares. The fruit in 
 France was the finest we had ever seen, and when it 
 is told that strawberries as large as an egg, and 
 cherries the size of a walnut, are to be had for almost 
 a song, then this can be realized. Tommy looked at 
 one of the old women and remarked: “You dear, old, 
 sweet woman, she would no more cheat you than fly; 
 she would rather give you a dollar than take a penny, 
 
 I am going to buy some cherries from her.” He 
 bought them, and was told afterwards that he had paid 
 four times as much as any native would have paid her. 
 
 The old hag has roasted me,” Brinsmade was heard 
 to remark. We ate his cherries and gave him the laugh. 
 That night in Tonnerre we spent at a concert, and not 
 being able to give a P'rench word for it, one of us 
 charged it in expenses “soiree.” 
 
 On the second of July our ride was fifty-one miles 
 to Dijon, the ancient capital of Burgundy, throug the 
 Vale of Suzon, and down a long coast into the city. 
 On the road that day we struck rain again, and we 
 jumped into a train to Dijon, where we were lodged 
 
24 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 at the Hotel De La Cloche, the finest hotel we had 
 been in during our trip, except in Paris. That evening 
 Jones had his birthday, and for the first time on the 
 trip the eloquence of the party was ventilated. We 
 never realized how many speech-makers we had, and 
 if all of that eloquence in praise of the good roads 
 of France, could have been bottled and sent to America, 
 nobody can tell the effect upon American roads. 
 
 The next morning was the Fourth of July, and we 
 had to celebrate it all by ourselves, which we did in 
 true American fashion with a game of base ball. In 
 the afternoon we mounted the steel steeds again hav¬ 
 ing decorated them gaily with flags and ribbons in 
 honor of the day and started for Dole, another old 
 French city, a distance of thirty miles, arriving there 
 late in the evening, and at this town we had our first 
 break in the party. Parker of Philadelphia, received 
 the painful intelligence of the death of his father, and 
 left us amid general regret at the loss of a good fellow, 
 and the sympathy of the entire party was with him in his 
 misfortune. It did seem strange that the man in the 
 party, whose sad duty it was to inform Parker, received 
 the same intelligence of his own father's sad death in a 
 short time. This, our first trouble, cast a gloom over 
 us all. 
 
 Next morning we started for Poligny, fifteen miles, 
 at the base of the Jura mountains, where we arrived 
 

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Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 2 5 
 
 about noon, here it was, after dinner, that the writer 
 furnished amusement for the party. Now if there is 
 anything that I am proud of, it is my knowledge of 
 the German language. I had been promising the boys 
 during the trip, what I would do when we struck Ger¬ 
 many ; how I would interpret for them; how I would 
 get them out of trouble. At Poligny the boys discov¬ 
 ered a man who said he spoke German ; I was called 
 for a ten minutes’ talk, in which I rung in every word 
 of my German vocabulary. He looked at me with a 
 wondering expression, and said, “ oui, oui!” “Great 
 heavens!’’ I ejaculated, “ oui, oui! Is this the man on 
 whom I have been wasting the last ten minutes of my 
 life, and all my German, only to receive oui, oui! in 
 reply ?” 
 
 We left Poligny at the base of the Juras, and walked 
 up over the mountains, a distance of six miles, 
 shoving our wheels ahead of us, (“ Dud” and Black 
 coasted up after an ox cart,) and looking anxiously for¬ 
 ward for the coast on the other side. There is an old 
 maxim “ Wherever there is a will there is a way,” we 
 made it, “wherever there is a climb, there is a coast.” 
 We got that coast, daily, and this day the coast was 
 to a place called Lhampignole, a distance of four¬ 
 teen miles from Poligny, where we spent the night. 
 Champignole was another of the ancient French towns, 
 where the hotel was not big enough for the entire 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 party, and some of us lodged in private houses. At 
 the hotel proper there were a number of French girls, 
 who could not speak a word of English, but they were 
 pretty, and some of the boys fell deeply in love, 
 as usual. .Now, Jones had acquired, I think, three 
 words of French, and while the boys were amusing the 
 populace with fire-works, intended for the Fourth of 
 July, and which we had been unable to use on the 
 night before on account of the rain, he was sitting on 
 the porch with his girl and courted her with his entire 
 vocabulary, his three words of French. The courting 
 had to be done with eyes, and not with the mouth, as 
 far as talking is concerned, but there are other ways 
 to which the mouth can be put into service when a 
 fellow is courting. 
 
 Early next morning we started off on a journey over 
 the second range of the Juras and down into Morez, 
 another village set in between the range of mountains, 
 amidst most charming scenery, where we were killed 
 to sleep by the rushing of the mountain stream. It 
 was a long climb from Champignole, and we hoped 
 every hill would be the last. We were spurred on by 
 Arthur Collins, who said he remembered every inch of 
 the road, and insisted that every hill was the last, and 
 then would come the coast. It got to be tiresome to¬ 
 wards the end, and we paid no further attention to his 
 predictions, but pulled and waited. O that coast; it 
 
 i > ii l i i»>Tliliy 
 
 liiiiii 
 
 iilUjiirik.iliiiitiiiiiuiUiiiiilliiijiiikU.i 
 
 i 1 1 «: 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 2 r 
 
 was down, down, down a beautiful ride on a beautiful 
 day. Adonis ran over a dog, and Dudley nearly had a 
 fight with the owner, but when a bicycle gets started 
 down a long Swiss or French road with the brake off, 
 it does not stop for dogs, men, bad roads or anything 
 else, until it reaches rock bottom, and woe be to any¬ 
 thing or anybody that is in the way ! When we arrived 
 at Morez the landlady of the hotel had the whole parlor 
 table filled with apricots and cherries. It is needless 
 to say that our hungry horde made short work of them. 
 Smart woman, she evidently intended to appease our 
 appetites with fruit, as it was cheaper than meat. She 
 made a mistake; it only served to sharpen them. That 
 evening was spent tossing pennies to the boys and girls 
 of the town. One of the party, your humble servant, 
 got down off his dignity, and started in the scramble 
 with the crowd. How the pennies were pitched at the 
 young ladies’ feet! And how, forgetful of all dignity, 
 we jumped in and grabbed—the pennies. 
 
 Next morning we took another long walk up over 
 the Juras to Les Rousses, a French frontier fort, and 
 stopped at an inn on the summit of the mountain, 
 where we were glad to get in out of the wet, it having 
 rained all the way up. In a few moments, however, 
 the sun began to shine and we then went on for fifteen 
 miles over a road, almost level, although running along 
 the side of the highest of the Juras. From the tops of 
 
 IlfflUffl 
 
 — 
 
 
28 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 them the view down the valley as well as the long 
 winding stretches of road was beautiful. Pines and 
 hemlocks clothed the mountain sides, and from far 
 below the musical tinkle of cow bells was wafted up 
 to our ears. At one place a fierce looking herd of 
 bovines disputed our passage and we had to get off 
 and drive them from the road. In many places the 
 grade seemed to be up, but when we came to them, 
 we were surpried to find it level, or could not tell 
 whether it was up hill or down, so perfectly are these 
 roads graded. It was a common thing for us to coast 
 on what seemed an up slope. Another strange tiling 
 was to see v/ater apparently running up hill, when we 
 were following up the course of some stream, the grade 
 of the road, of course, causing the deception. This 
 most curious phenomenon we were prepared for, how¬ 
 ever, having been told of it by the management and 
 some members of last year’s party. 
 
 At La Faucille we were four thousand three hundred 
 and thirty-three feet above the sea, it being the highest 
 carriage-pass in the juras, and at this point we got our 
 first view of the Alps. 
 
 On turning a corner of the road, suddenly the whole 
 panorama lay spread out before us, and we stopped in 
 our mad descent to drink in the view. Imagine it if 
 possible ! From the mountain top, nearly a mile high, 
 having come through miles of forest road, we were 
 
j ; t p * r t f: r > u ,1 c >■ «»* s ' * » h m 1 11 » »f n, i 111»I ii * | j Vi j i f |{Vi ! *1! 1 11! ! ( IIM H 
 
 ,, i : ■; ■; M t, i ’ U>!'ii l il:tilii«iiUiHliitli)htt<»i!iiliUiUH.l)t>iiiM i 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreigti Lands. 29 
 
 looking out over a great expanse of country at the 
 cantons Vaud and Geneva. Winding its way, like a 
 broad river, lay Lake Leman; the city of Geneva, 
 seventeen miles away by road, could be seen cluster¬ 
 ing at the foot of the lake in a wide and level field. 
 Opposite to where we stoocf were the Alps in all their 
 grandeur. Mont Blanc was not visible, but would have 
 been had it not been for the haze. There were others 
 of the eternal snow-clad Alps visible to us, however; 
 the scene itself was the grandest that Switzerland pre¬ 
 sents, and one never to be forgotten. It would take all 
 the art of the word painter to describe this glorious 
 view, the finest scene we met with in Switzerland. 
 
 The Twins, Jones, Morris and the writer stopped at 
 an inn to get some bread, beer and Briecheese; the 
 cheese we got that day was the best we had on the 
 entire trip. It may seem queer to go into ecstacies 
 over a piece of every-day cheese, but if there ever was 
 a piece of cheese to inspire one, this was the cheese. 
 Charley Atwood has a weakness for cheese anyhow, 
 and while we all enjoyed it, he seemed to enjoy it more 
 than anybody else. After finishing our lunch we 
 started on our way, and as I have said, suddenly turn¬ 
 ing the corner of the road the scene spread out in all 
 its grandeur before us, and we stopped to drink in its 
 beauties. The others of the party had gone on ahead 
 and waited for us further down. When we reached 
 
3° Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 them, Frank Elwell was eloquent and fairly spread 
 himself, saying, “Now, did you fellows ever see any¬ 
 thing to equal that? Did you ever dream any such 
 scene was in store for you ?” “ Yes, I know,” 
 responded Charley, “ and we have had the finest 
 cheese on the trip up where we stopped.” “ Great 
 heavens,” replied Elwell, “have I brought you boys 
 three thousand miles to see a view like this and your 
 appreciation is greater for a piece of cheese? Well, I 
 am disgusted!” Then he led the way down the mag¬ 
 nificent road which we could see, twisting like a ser¬ 
 pent, far below us. 
 
 For ten miles of the seventeen, we coasted down ; 
 in front of us lay the lake, glimmering in the sun, in all 
 its beauty, surrounded by the magnificence and grandeur 
 of the Alps, the sky in front so calm and clear, while 
 at our back a severe thunder storm was raging over 
 the Jura range, making a wonderful and beautiful con¬ 
 trast. The rain caught us before we reached the 
 bottom and drenched some of us. Arriving at the 
 foot of the mountain we rode across the sunlit plain, 
 now between rows of tall Lombardy poplars, and again 
 through little villages, and passed the custom house, 
 where Lucas was seized by one of the officers, who 
 caught his wheel and threw him, in his attempt to ride 
 by. After the formalities there were gone through 
 with, we made our way on to the city of Geneva, and 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 were quartered for two days, our first days in Switzer¬ 
 land, at the Hotel Metropole. 
 
 SWITZERLAND. 
 
 II. 
 
 “ In every era highly-favored personages have arisen, 
 in whom the loftiest aims and capabilities of their 
 nation and age seemed to be embodied ; such have 
 ever succeeded in winning in an especially high degree 
 the love and admiration of their contemporaries and of 
 posterity, while legend and poetry have shed their 
 dazzling lustre around the historical figures of these 
 darlings of their people. In like manner it would 
 appear that Nature has poured out over certain spots 
 the cornucopia of her charms and^blessings with doubly 
 lavish hand, so that to them the nations throng as to 
 some wonder-working shrine, and . around them a bright 
 garland of romance and poesy has'; been woven. Such 
 a spot is Switzerland.” 
 
 After a days’ sojourn in Geneva, where we visited 
 John Calvin’s house, the Russian church, had a ride of 
 a few hours on the lake, saw the meeting of the green 
 
 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 Rhone, and the milky waters of the Arve fresh from 
 the glaciers, and in fact did up the town ; Hobbs, 
 Jones, Dudley and myself, left the party in Geneva and 
 went to the Hospice of the Grand St. Bernard. The 
 writer being an admirer of the Saint Bernard dog did 
 not want to leave that section of the country without 
 visiting his home. As it was a long distance, the four 
 of us took the train for Martigny, in the valley of the 
 Drance, at the base of the Alps, which is the starting 
 point for the Great Saint Bernard. We arrived there 
 late in the evening, and spent the night at the Hotel 
 Clerc. I had been warned not to take a room or make 
 any arrangements at any hotel in Switzerland, until 
 I had inquired as to price, for fear of being roasted, 
 as was customary for them to do Americans. We 
 had our dinner, made inquiries as to reaching the 
 monastery, and engaged a conveyance to take us on 
 our long ride, the following day, without saying a 
 word as to the price of anything, mentally fearing 
 all the time what the bill would be. Imagine our most 
 agreeable surprise on our return to Martigny, that our 
 entire bill for the four, including the two day’s use of 
 the carriage and guide to the St. Bernard, and our 
 entire hotel bill, was but about five dollars each. We 
 pronounced our landlord a trump, and a good one at 
 that. 
 
 There we met an American, Mr. N. Vance Martin, 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 33 
 
 from Louisville, Ky, who was doing Europe on foot, a 
 very clever fellow, whom we afterward met at Chamonix, 
 he went over the Mer de Glace with us, and his face 
 appears in the picture taken on the ice; the only stran¬ 
 ger in the party. 
 
 Next morning, at six o’clock, we started for our 
 long thirty mile ride in an open wagon to the Bourg 
 St. Pierre, where the carriage road stops; there we 
 made a halt to fortify ourselves with a dinner. The 
 hotel we stopped at was the one where Napoleon took 
 his breakfast on his way over the St. Bernard into 
 Italy. It was a very rickety old house, but we got a 
 good substantial meal. Our landlady could only speak 
 a word or two of English ; she was a rough country¬ 
 looking old woman, quite a characteristic representation 
 of the Swiss mountaineer. She did not hesitate to tell 
 us in all the English she could master, that we were in 
 the house where Napoleon had eaten. “ Is this the 
 room he dined in ?” I asked. “ Oui, oui,” she replied. 
 “Is this the table he dined at?” “ Oui, oui,” was again 
 the answer. “Are you the woman that waited on him 
 on that memorable occasion?” was my next question. 
 “Oui, oui,” she replied again, and she said it as if she 
 meant it. After our dinner, about one o’clock, we 
 started on our long ten mile walk up to the monastery, 
 which is on the borders between Switzerland and Italy. 
 We walked up past the Cantine, the last human habi- 
 
34 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreig?i Lands. 
 
 tation up, and then some miles further to get up in 
 the snow line, and on the ninth day of July, when the 
 thermometer was over one hundred in America, we four 
 snow-balled one another, and walked fast to keep our¬ 
 selves warm. The last mile and a-half was through a 
 beaten path, on either side of which was twelve inches 
 of snow, some of which had recently fallen. 
 
 On our arrival at the monastery, a large, square, 
 old building, all of stone, built centuries ago from rock 
 quarried right at the spot, we were welcomed by one 
 of the monks at the door. We told him as best we could 
 that we were Americans, and we could not have been 
 treated better had we been in the best hotel in Switz¬ 
 erland. He was all kindness and attention, showed us 
 our room, and was very anxious to get us some brandy, 
 hot coffee and dry shoes, or render any service that he 
 could. We thanked him for his kindness and told him 
 we would wait until our dinner. We took a walk 
 around the lake, and then for the only time on the trip 
 were we on the soil of sunny Italy ; we failed to re¬ 
 alize the truth of the simile however, up here in the 
 ice and snow. At five o’clock in the afternoon we saw 
 the crystals of ice forming on the lake, standing as we 
 were alongside of a snow bank ten feet high. We saw 
 the celebrated St. Bernard dogs of the Hospice. There 
 are but five grown dogs and a few puppies there at 
 present, and these of the smooth-coat variety; all hand- 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 some specimens of the type, but not so large as some 
 we saw at other places in Switzerland. After our 
 dinner, the Prior, Canon Bourgeois, gave us an audi¬ 
 ence. He is a man of about thirty-five years of age, 
 handsome, and with a bright intellectual countenance 
 that beams with the work in which he is engaged. 
 He spoke some German and a few words of English. 
 He gave us his autograph, which the four of us 
 treasure highly, as a memento of our trip to the 
 Saint Bernard. The evening was spent writing letters 
 and conversing with some English girls whom we met 
 at dinner, and who were doing the Continent on foot. 
 Early the next day after a breakfast of bread, honey 
 and hot coffee, the honey being frozen in the pot, we 
 started back arriving at Bourg St. Pierre about noon, 
 where we found our driver waiting to take us back to 
 Martigny. All the way down we were regretting that 
 we had not brought our wheels, for we were missing a 
 coast of twenty miles, straight down hill, over a beau¬ 
 tiful road with an easy grade down nearly all the way 
 to Martigny. We arrived there about one o’clock, and 
 after dinner we started for Chamonix, a thirty mile 
 ride, or walk rather, for walk it was, nearly all the 
 way. 
 
 After leaving Martigny we started up the mountain, 
 where as we ascended the hill and looked back, we 
 enjoyed a fine retrospective view of the Rhone Valley; 
 
3 ^ Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 on our way up three of the boys pushed their wheels, 
 the writer having hired a little Swiss boy for two 
 francs to push his up to the Col de Forclaz, the summit 
 of the mountain, three and a-half hours’ walk from 
 Martigny, a distance of ten and a-half miles. On our 
 way up we met a party of Knglish tourists coming 
 down. We were tired with our long walk and without 
 meaning to appear funny, we inquired of one of them 
 
 if there was any top to this mountain?” merely passing 
 a pleasant word as we went by to people speaking our 
 language. The reply we received was a clean knock¬ 
 out and sent us on our way without further conversa¬ 
 tion. He merely said “naturally.” 
 
 All the distances in Switzerland and Germany are 
 counted not by the mile, but by the hour, it being 
 estimated that a horse walks three miles an hour, and 
 when one inquires the distance of a given point from 
 a native, he is answered in so many hours. We had 
 been promising ourselves such a glorious coast when 
 we reached the top, and imagine our chagrin to find 
 that the road was so steep that it was scarcely possible 
 to ride it. “ Dud ” and the writer walked down, and 
 swore; Jones and Hobbs strapped their brakes to the 
 handle bars and heedless of danger, coasted down the 
 various turns in the mountain road. 
 
 Arriving at the bottom our course lay through the 
 beautiful Tete Noire Valley, and up again until we 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 37 
 
 reached the top of the second range of the Alps, 
 another long walk, when an abrupt turn in the road 
 brought the entire Mont Blanc range with its snow 
 clad peaks and icy glaciers into full view. The effect 
 of the sun on the snow and ice was so dazzling in the 
 the sunshine, that it seemed to be made of snow and 
 gold. The sight of the glaciers, solid rivers of ice in 
 varied hues, was to us a novel and magnificent one. 
 We had never anticipated anything equal to the reality, 
 although often having read of it. A long winding 
 coast brought us to the base of the mountain and after 
 a long level ride through several villages, each one of 
 which we hoped was Chamonix, we at length sighted 
 the white slate-roofed houses of Chamonix extending 
 on either side of the Arve. Arriving there we found 
 the town to consist of numerous shops and excellent 
 hotels, and in the vicinity of the village numerous 
 Swiss chalets are scattered. 
 
 In the meanwhile the fifteen others of our party, 
 having bidden a tearful farewell to Arthur G. Collins, 
 who left them to return to Paris and bohemianism, had 
 started from Geneva on the tenth of July, for their long 
 days ride of fifty-four miles to Chamonix. The road 
 ascended gradually, giving grand views of the moun¬ 
 tains and following the rushing Arve. Through fertile 
 valleys, past wayside chalets and pretty villages, Cluses, 
 twenty-six miles, was reached and here dejeuner was 
 
3 8 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 served. Before getting to this place Hard gave out, 
 having gotten afoul of a tram-car track in Geneva and 
 sprained his back. A wagon was sent for him from 
 Cluses and taking the dilligence which soon after came 
 along, he forgot all his troubles in the society of a 
 pretty girl. The party kept pace with the dilligences 
 into Sallanches and beyond, over a horribly muddy 
 road. Of course, grenadine, etc., had to be gotten at 
 Sallanches, and thereby the boys were exceedingly 
 refreshed. 
 
 The last sixteen miles were the worst of the day’s 
 run. The mountains approached closely, and the road 
 became steep, following the river into a narrow, preci¬ 
 pitous gorge. From the parapet one could look down 
 a hundred feet to the mad waters of the Arve, which 
 foamed and boiled over the impeding rocks in its 
 course with a loud roar. The sun now became obscured 
 and made the narrow canon still more wierd and 
 gloomy. Several of the boys bribed a dilligence driver to 
 take them up. Papa Robson made use of a hay wagon, 
 but most of the fellows walked, and a long hard walk it 
 was 1 Toward evening the valley broadened out and 
 the grand Glacier des Boissons came into view—a 
 mighty river of solid ice flowing down the majestic side 
 of old Mont Blanc, losing itself at last in a forest of 
 evergreens at the base of the mountain. This, the first 
 glacier seen, made a great impression on the party, and 
 
 U i * 5 •» i a 11 J ♦ J U i i * ft ! 4 U I > l » ; 
 
 iS.iiHiilllJiiilUiUUlUi] 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 39 
 
 many thought it finer from the valley than the Mer de 
 Glace. Mont Blanc was not seen in all its grandeur 
 till next day, as its head was enveloped in dense 
 clouds. 
 
 The arrival of the bicyclists created a great excite¬ 
 ment in the little village of Chamonix, and the Hotel 
 Imperial received them with open arms. As it was 
 now nearly seven in the evening, we eagerly sat down 
 to table d hote and did it full justice. Soon after we 
 sought our rooms, as the start to the Mer de Glace 
 was to be made very early next day to avoid the heat 
 of the sun. 
 
 Our hotel in Chamonix was kept by a Mr. Church¬ 
 man, who was an English wheelman, and the reception 
 he gave us, marked an era in our trip ; he took us in, 
 not in the way generally referred to, but with a lavish 
 hand. Our first night was spent in the smoking room 
 of the hotel, here he lavished champagne on us, a 
 thing almost unheard of in European hotels, where 
 they never give anything away, but charge you even 
 for the sheet of paper to write a letter on, and if you 
 do not look out, also for the use of the pen. 
 
 Next morning we were up bright and early and a 
 majority of the party started off, having provided our¬ 
 selves with yarn socks to cover our feet and Swiss 
 alpen stocks, to make the trip over the Mer de Glace, 
 the largest of the glaciers. A five mile walk up 
 
 
 UTTTTUT 
 
 sMii 
 
 
4° Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 the hill brought us to the top of the mountain, and 
 here a great surprise was in store for us, for as we 
 reached the top and looked down, the icy river half a 
 mile wide, the waves of which average fifteen to twenty 
 feet in heighth, made a remarkable view. Going up 
 Charley Atwood almost fell by the wayside and said 
 he could go no further, but yielding to the persuasion 
 of several of us he finally reached the top and when 
 he got there, after seeing the glorious view, he thanked 
 us all individually for insisting upon his continuing. 
 After a short stop at the Hotel Montantvert, we started 
 down a long, narrow path to cross this vast sea of ice, 
 sixty-three hundred feet above the ocean. Having pro¬ 
 cured a guide, and put on our socks to keep us from 
 slipping, we began our trip across the icy waves. Up 
 and down steps cut in the solid ice, for nearly an hour, 
 we traveled, careful not to miss our footing at any time, 
 as an uncertain step might precipitate us down through 
 some crevasse, which would be certain death. Our 
 photographers were busy here and took the boys in all 
 attitudes on the ice. Finally we reached the other side 
 and thought all danger was over, but we realized a few 
 moments later that it had just begun, for we had the 
 dreaded “Mauvais Pas” still to travel before we reached 
 terra firma. An English lady, whose husband was too 
 nerveous to make the trip, accompanied us across the 
 Mer de Glace. Then we started to go down the 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 “ Mauvais Pas,” a long, narrow foot-path, cut in the 
 jagged rock on the side of a precipice, the glacier far 
 below us. So dangerous is it, that an iron railing has 
 been put up by means of iron staples fastened in holes 
 drilled into the rock to which the rail is attached, for 
 a long distance. 
 
 Carefully did we pick our way down this moun¬ 
 tain path, nervously stepping from point to point, 
 and anxiously watching for fear that a mis-step might 
 launch us into eternity. It was remarked by somebody 
 in the party, I forget whom, now, that ‘‘if a fellow ever 
 did happen to miss his footing, going down the ‘Mauvais 
 Pas,’ all the remainder of his life would be spent slid¬ 
 ing, and the slide would not be monotonous either.” 
 At the start there is a boy with an Alpine horn, who 
 blows a signal to warn travelers coming the other way 
 that the path is occupied, as it is almost impossible for 
 two to pass on it. In such a case the result might be 
 the old story of two locomotives trying to pass on the 
 same track, only the end of it would be that all would 
 go down, and not up. Of all the nervous men I have 
 ever seen, our Tommy took the bun, for from the time 
 we started until we reached the end his heart was in 
 his mouth, and he has right much of the latter organ 
 too ! 
 
 At length we reached the end of our walk and 
 returned to the hotel in time for our lunch, having had 
 
 11 l juifiUTiuiiiiitii 
 
42 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 four or five hours of this beautiful and most exciting 
 adventure. Quinn wrote home from Chamonix that he 
 made the ascent of Mont Blanc. Well, if the Baron 
 says he did, that settles it; he did. 
 
 The evening was spent entertaining the town with a 
 genuine American “Tug of War;’’ a rope was secured, 
 sides were chosen, the old base ball captains being 
 made captains of the respective teams. Of course the 
 result was the same as the ball games, but still there 
 is some consolation in the fact that even a Baltimo¬ 
 rean and a Philadelphian could not pull against a stone 
 wall, the/other side having tied their end of the rope 
 to an iron projection in a stone wall on the opposite 
 side of the street, and after fairly groveling in the dust 
 for some minutes, in the mad attempt to pull the wall 
 down, we gave up the fight and paid the bet. 
 
 The next day was a rainy one; it was spent princi¬ 
 pally in the hotel writing letters to the loved ones at 
 home. Here Hard thought he had met his fate in the 
 person of an American girl, but alas, how changeable 
 is the course of true love, and although later days 
 proved that it was only a dream, later years will no 
 doubt prove that that dream was one of the happiest 
 of his life. I hat evening Mr. Churchman was pre¬ 
 sented with a carved wood clock of Swiss manufacture, 
 by the party, in some recognition of the many kind¬ 
 nesses he had shown us during our stay in Chamonix. 
 
ftiniiur.iiniiuisfsiinHiiyiiinmmii 
 
 SfllHIli 
 
W eel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 43 
 
 Next morning we started off accompanied by Mr. 
 Churchman, who went with us as far as the base of 
 the mountain, where he stopped and “set ’em up again” 
 to champagne. He left us amid the general regret 
 of the party and loud huzzas, and with that well 
 known American bicycle yell and reply “What is the 
 matter with Mr. Churchman?” “He’s all right.” We 
 then continued on our way up the mountain, turning 
 often to get a most remarkable retrospective view of 
 Mont Blanc in the full sun-light, which was really the 
 best view we had had of the old king of mountains. 
 Our road then lay over the worst road we saw in 
 all Switzerland, our dinner stop being Vernayaz, where 
 is the celebrated Gorge du Trient, in the valley of the 
 Rhone. Our walk that day was over a rough moun¬ 
 tain road with serpentine windings, where it was utterly 
 impossible to ride, and being out of the line of all rail 7 
 road, there was nothing else to do but to foot it. Sev¬ 
 eral of the boys had attempted to ride, but Charley At¬ 
 wood’s fall on the rough coast, made them give up any 
 attempt, and we walked the rest of the distance, up 
 and down hill, a yawning precipice at our feet all the 
 way, until we reached Vernayaz. The Gorges of the 
 Trient belong to the celebrated scenes of nature, and 
 no visit to this part of the land of the Swiss would 
 be considered complete without exploring their roman¬ 
 tic recesses. A rend in the mountains, whose rugged 
 

 44 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 walls rise up almost perpendicularly, discloses through 
 a gloomy gateway a lonely, rocky cavern, where soli- 
 tuae sits grimly on her throne. This long crevice 
 extends from the entrance to the rear of the Goro- e 
 where the stream, on its entrance, falls over a rocky 
 bed, and continues its rumbling and checkered course 
 through the Gorges. Here Jean, the guide, fired a gun 
 to awaken the echoes in the cavern, which dashed from 
 rock to rock with reverberation after reverberation, 
 dying off like thunder in the distance. 
 
 After dinner at Vernayaz we started up a long, level 
 road along the valley of the Rhone to Aigle. We con¬ 
 tinued for about fifteen miles, and by the end of the 
 afternoon reached the eastern extremity of Lake Leman, 
 where we explored the Castle of Chillon with its mas¬ 
 sive walls and towers. We went through the Castle, 
 saw the dungeon where Bonnivard was confined, and 
 the depression in the rock, worn by his feet, at the 
 base of the pillar to which he was chained. On the 
 pillars in the dungeon we saw the names of Dumas, 
 George Sand, Victor Hugo, Eugene Sue, Byron and 
 many others, and as the rays of the setting sun lighted 
 up the old dungeon, those familiar lines from Byron’s 
 “Sonnet of Chillon,” came running through my head: 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 45 
 
 Cbillon! Thy prison is a holy place, 
 
 And thy sad floor an altar,—for ’twas trod, 
 
 Until his very steps have left a trace 
 Worn, as if the cold pavement were a sod, 
 
 By Bonnivard !— May none those marks efface ! 
 
 For they appeal from tyranny to God. 
 
 Up stairs we were shown the hall of justice, and 
 many of the most interesting relics. The railings 
 looked to be very old, and the guide informed us that 
 they dated as far back as the twelfth century. We 
 saw the rock on which the condemned slept, the 
 night before his execution, and the place where the 
 unfortunate prisoners, when lured down the dark steps, 
 under promise of escape, made the fatal mis-step, 
 which threw them on the sharp sword-pointed spikes 
 twenty-five feet below. Byron has attached so much 
 interest to this spot, that a visit to Switzerland is not 
 complete without making a pilgrimage to it. 
 
 Returning to Aigle, a small town with an ancient 
 castle, seven miles from the lake, we had dinner, and 
 spent the night. Here we ran across a regulation Euro¬ 
 pean Country Fair. We had never seen one before, and 
 the sight was novel and interesting. The entire town 
 was illuminated with Chinese lanterns, and on the road 
 a short distance from our hotel, we came to a large 
 crowd of strolling performers of all kinds ; the only 
 thing, that I can compare it with in America, would 
 be a circus, without a big tent proper, for here were 
 
46 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 to be found the flying-horses, the snake charmer, the 
 wilci man of Borneo, the Circassian woman, and all the 
 well-known curiosities that are to be found in the big 
 side-show tents with the circuses in America. An 
 actor, all dressed in tights, stands in front of his 
 tent and tells—at least we suppose he was telling, 
 although we could not understand a word he said— 
 what wonderful things are to be seen in the interior of 
 the booth and when he has a sufficient crowd collected, 
 he enters to take part in the performance on the inside. 
 On entering one of the booths, we found what to us 
 seemed a genuine American Negro, a curiosity in that 
 countiy, and to them as rare as the Hindoo would be 
 to us. He was billed as a wonder from the South Sea 
 Islands, but our opinion was that he was a regulation 
 American “Coon.” 
 
 After a good night’s rest we again resumed our 
 journey, our destination being Interlaken. We started 
 with a ten mile walk up the mountain in the sun, 
 pushing oui wheels along in front of us, stopping 
 now and then to snap the camera on some beauty of 
 nature, or to swear at the management for bringing us 
 over such a terrible hill. Finally after a four hour’s 
 walk we reached the summit, Comballaz, where we 
 found the hotel proprietor was a brother of our old 
 friend at Martigny, and we found him as close as his 
 brother had been liberal. Tommy Brinsmade tells a 
 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 47 
 
 good story about this man, and it is worth repeating. 
 He said that one of the boys last season had com¬ 
 plained about the quality of the butter and the high 
 price charged in the hotel by the landlord ; the land¬ 
 lord in return took him by the hand, led him out on 
 the porch of the hotel, and pointing to the lovely view 
 down the valley of the Simmenthal, said, “ It is not 
 the butter we charge you for ; it is that. Do you ex¬ 
 pect to get that view and good butter too for the price 
 you are paying?” The complainant was non-plussed 
 and subsided. After a dinner, which to say the least, 
 was cut short, through no fault of the management, but 
 because of the landlord’s parsimony, we resumed our 
 trip. Our destination for the night was Zweizimmen, a 
 pretty little Swiss village, famous for its wood carvings, at 
 the foot of the centre range of the Alps. Starting from 
 Comballaz, we had a glorious coast of six or eight 
 miles to a little hamlet called Chateau d’Oex, and then 
 a long, long climb. Papa Elwell, accompanied by that 
 potato bug hat of his, which had done him service 
 since he left Chamonix, was in the rear, along with the 
 Twins and the writer. As we journeyed on he repeated 
 Collins’ predictions when we passed over the Juras. 
 He said that he knew every step of the way on this 
 road, having traversed it last summer, and promised us 
 that every hill was the last, until finally in utter des¬ 
 peration, we told him to “ cheese it,” that we were not 
 
4^ Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 going- to pay any more attention to him, but to foot it 
 and say nothing, until we would strike the coast. 
 "When we did strike it, it was only the commencement 
 of an eighteen mile coast straight down the mountain, 
 which we broke at Zweizimmen to spend the night, 
 only to resume it in the morning on our way to Inter¬ 
 laken. I am sure it will be noticed that many of the 
 events mentioned occured in the rear of the party as 
 we rode aiong. This is only to be accounted for by 
 the fact that the writer was mostly at the end of the 
 procession, but he says proudly he was never late at 
 meal time during the three months; and he always 
 brought up the rear corps ol the party along with 
 Papa Robson, Papa Elwell, and the Twins. We five 
 old gray headed men, having lost the agility and the 
 spring of our youth, were compelled to plug along as 
 best we could, leaving the boys of the party to do the 
 scorching. Only once on the trip did I scorch and 
 that was on the road from Thun to Interlaken, which 
 I will refer to later. At Zweizimmen, where we spent 
 this night, the landlord of the hotel was a landlady. 
 She was assisted by her pretty daughter whom all the 
 boys tried to make love to, but she was proof against 
 it, she doubtless had some rustic swain in the nei°-h- 
 borhood. In this town it was that we Germans of the 
 party first began to get in our fine work, and from then 
 on zwei bier took the place of “ deux cognac .” 
 
 Jiil inTTyni j!; i > iMliliiii iiiii Hi il lirnTTlLij >* u iiHiiiTjTi IS Gil i iiTTTTiTiT^T^^^^j 
 
■mmunuwiu 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 49 
 
 It is a remarkable fact that in Switzerland on the 
 Western side of the Alps the language is all French ; 
 while after you cross into the Bernese Oberland, into 
 the Lake Lucerne country, and into the Northern part 
 of Switzerland the language is all German. When we 
 arrived at Zweizimmen at roll call for dinner, we were 
 two short, the first time since leaving Havre that every 
 man had not answered the meal call. Hard and John 
 Duer were not to be found, and the whole number im¬ 
 mediately began to lay plans to go back along the 
 road to hunt up the missing. While we were deter¬ 
 mining what course to pursue, a telegram was received 
 from the boys informing us that they would be with 
 us at ten o’clock that night. In due time they turned 
 up, all alive, having come in a wagon, and told us that 
 they had mistaken the road in one place and turned to 
 the left instead of to the right. This was the only 
 accident of the kind that happened on the entire tour. 
 In France it is impossible to lose one’s way, since at 
 every kilometer there is a stone, and at every cross 
 road there are sign posts indicating just where the 
 road leads to. This system is carried out to some ex¬ 
 tent in Switzerland, but not so perfectly as in France; 
 still a little inquiry will always direct one, and the 
 natives are always ready to assist. A few pennies to a 
 little boy, will oft-times secure all the information that 
 is necessary. Leaving this curious old town early the 
 
 
n : ' i ! ! THU * ; 7 H 1 1: '3: ?? ’ 
 
 5 ° 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 next morning we resumed our course for ten miles 
 more straight down hill, and then for fifteen miles fur¬ 
 ther through a lovely cultivated valley with a rushing 
 stream near by. Soon we descended into a very deep 
 chasm, where from the ledge above we looked down 
 far over the parapets. This ride was the loveliest of 
 our trip so far. 
 
 All the morning our road had been down hill, alone 
 rushing streams, where we constantly heard the mur¬ 
 mur of the water, through lovely fields, through broad 
 villages, over rustic bridges that span the streams, past 
 the Swiss chalets, over a road that was really one of 
 the most picturesque rides of the trip. Our destination 
 for dinner was Thun, situated at the head of the lake 
 of that name. It was a beautiful sight to see the lake; 
 a lovely blue sheet of water in contrast with the snow 
 covered mountains all around. We descended to the 
 level of the lake and traversed the plain to Thun, a 
 town that is old, odd and interesting. Before dinner 
 several of the boys went out for a long walk in the 
 town, and to swim in the lake, at the end of which is 
 a sort of natatorium. The swimming pool had been 
 fenced in, and the current was so strong that it was 
 impossible to swim, except with it. The wate/- was so 
 cold, coming from the snow on the mountains, that a 
 short swim sufficed. After the swim was over, and be¬ 
 fore dinner, several of us ascended a curious old flight 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign I ends. 51 
 
 of stairs, covered by a shingle roof to a hill where there 
 is an old castle and a church. From the tower of 
 the castle a pretty view for miles around was had. 
 After one of the best meals we had had on the trip, 
 we lay around on the grass for an hour or two, told 
 experiences, compared notes, and then mounted our 
 machines once more for a fifteen mile ride along the 
 lakeside to Interlaken. This was a charming ride, all 
 along the shore of the lake ; the slopes of the hill are 
 all cultivated ; several of the boys dropped off their 
 machines along the road and ate cherries to their fill— 
 one of the few things we got in Europe without pay¬ 
 ing for them. 
 
 After leaving Thun, the writer was inveigled to ride 
 in company with the scorchers of the party, who 
 started to make him sweat. I complained, and it was 
 agreed to let me set the pace, on to Interlaken, which 
 with becoming modesty, I must admit was a total 
 failure. Pump as I did over the road, through its tun¬ 
 nels of solid rock, along the high bank, or along the 
 lake’s level, they were always at my heels, to be more 
 literal, at my wheels. When I coasted with my brake 
 off recklessly down hill, they were right behind me. 
 When I plugged up hill with all my strength, there 
 they were. I had some idea that I could ride a bicycle, 
 but when I was put in front of the scorchers in our 
 party,—-our hard riders,—I must admit, that “I was 
 
5 2 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 not in it.” I did my level best, and while this is a 
 most humiliating confession to make on paper, I have the 
 proud consciousness of feeling that I could have done 
 no better. We reached Interlaken about five o’clock in 
 the evening, and quartered at the Hotel Jungfrau, where 
 from our windows we got a superb view of the moun¬ 
 tains, the Jungfrau towering grandly above them. 
 
 “ Fair celestial figure, 
 
 In snow white robes arrayed, 
 
 That seems not of the earth, but heaven.” 
 
 She is the queen and heroine of the great spectacle 
 in front of us, arising as she appears in all her snow 
 white grandeur, from the mountains that surround her. 
 At the Hotel Jungfrau, to our surprise, an old flame of 
 one of the boys, accompanied by a friend, was quar¬ 
 tered, and in the evening after we had our dinner, seve¬ 
 ral of us were sitting on the porch when the young 
 ladies passed, and he being with them, did not speak 
 to us. It was hard , but we had to stand it. He 
 apologized afterwards; he said : “ You know boys, I 
 could not introduce you all together;” but he never 
 introduced anybody at all, and it was left for us to 
 scrape acquaintance on our way home, in mid ocean. 
 
 The next day an excursion from Interlaken to Lau- 
 terbrunnen was on the programme. A visit to the 
 celebrated Staubbach Fall was paid on our arrival in 
 the valley. And here, from the mountain, a thou- 
 
 
umu 
 
 
 SSSlllil? 
 
 sand feet in height, a stream of water descends, and 
 is converted into a fine mist before it reaches the 
 ground, making a most beautiful sight. At the Triim- 
 melbach Fall, further up the valley, the water drives 
 through the rock with such velocity that it has worn a 
 round hole six to eight feet in diameter, through the 
 solid rock, crashes against the high wall on the oppo¬ 
 site side and then down with great speed into the 
 valley below. At one place, an old man who was 
 breaking stones at the side of the road, blew a blast 
 on a tremenduos Alpine horn as we passed, waking 
 wonderful echoes from the lofty cliffs opposite. 
 
 All of us bought, at Lauterbrunnen, more or less 
 Swiss wood carvings, as we found this was the cheap¬ 
 est place we had yet seen for this character of goods. 
 After spending as much money as we could afford, and 
 enjoying the anticipation of the pleasure it would bring 
 those at home, we left on our return trip to Interlaken, 
 but paused on the rocks to have our pictures taken. 
 Before we had gone any distance we saw a storm ris¬ 
 ing in the mountains, and started in a race with the 
 elements to see who would reach Interlaken first. It 
 was a neck and neck race, and we had scarcely reached 
 the hotel, in fact some of the wheels were not yet in the 
 stable, when it poured. 
 
 Next morning we started on an excursion to Grin- 
 delwald, a little village at the base of the Wetterhorn, 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Latids. 
 

 iimmii!’ 
 
 m • I n ii ■ :; 5 ; • >«’ 
 
 54 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. > 
 
 famous as a watering place, and which has for its prin¬ 
 cipal attraction two glaciers. After a long ride up the 
 mountain we reached there about mid-day, and the 
 afternoon was spent exploring the glaciers, and going 
 through the famous tunnel in the solid ice of the upper 
 glaciers, returning in time for dinner. Now if there is 
 one thing that Adonis did pride himself on, it was his 
 appetite, which he had brought all the way from 
 America, and was endeavoring to use to the best of 
 his ability. On this occasion there were a large num¬ 
 ber of English speaking people at the tables, and one 
 of the courses was “poulet,” Adonis always pronounced 
 it “poley,” and if he had a weakness for any thing it 
 was “poley.” The waiter did not have quite enough 
 on the dish to reach Adonis, and how he did 
 watch that waiter. When he found that the last piece 
 came to Tommy, who sat next to him, leaving him 
 without any, he remarked in a tone audible to us all, 
 “Say! Don’t I get any of that poley?” Remon¬ 
 strance was useless. Adonis, like Banquo’s ghost, 
 would not down, but like “ truth crushed to earth 
 would rise again.” Harry Higgins and Tommy left for 
 Lucerne next morning at five o’clock, and we were 
 deprived of the pleasure of their company for two days. 
 We left Grindelwald about ten o’clock, and after secur¬ 
 ing our baggage and lunching at Interlaken, started 
 for the Brunig Pass, which was to be our destination 
 for the night. 
 
 

 uu'llUR 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 55 
 
 A short up-hill ride out of Interlaken soon brought 
 us to Lake Brienz, a lovely sheet of water, though not 
 quite so large as the Lake of Thun, and without its 
 peculiar green color. All the way we got charming 
 glimpses of the lake through the trees, though the 
 low hanging clouds prevented us seeing the mountain 
 tops in the distance. We rode along the edge of the 
 lake to its further end, the wind at our backs materially 
 aiding us, and reached the town of Brienz about two 
 o’clock. 
 
 This is a charming spot, and is famous for its wood 
 carvings. By the time we reached here great big drops 
 of rain began to fall. Some of the boys in front plug¬ 
 ged on to reach the Brunig Pass, but a number of us 
 returned to Brienz to take the train, and by the time 
 we got back we were drenched. We then took a train 
 and went almost straight up the mountain, by a cog¬ 
 wheel road, somewhat like the one at Mount Washing¬ 
 ton, and arrived at the Brunig Pass about four o’clock, 
 where at the Hotel Kurhaus, at the extreme top of the 
 pass, we found the others of the party, with their 
 clothes drying in front of the fire, and they themselves 
 dressed in whatever they could obtain at the hotel. 
 We had dinner, spent the night there, and some got 
 up early to see the sun rise over the mountain tops ; 
 those of us who did get up, were well repaid for the 
 early rising. We saw the sun in all his majesty, climb 
 
 
56 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 up from behind the mountains of snow in the neigh¬ 
 borhood, and the effect of the sunlight on the snow, on 
 the rocks, on the green in the valleys, and on the glit¬ 
 tering cascade, that ran almost at our feet, made a con¬ 
 trast and a picture never to be forgotten. After the 
 customary breakfast of rolls, omelette and honey, we 
 mounted our wheels and were again off for Lucerne. 
 The roads showed very little signs of yesterday’s rain, 
 the drainage being so perfect. We coasted for a half 
 or three-quarters of an hour down the mountain side 
 through a forest of beeches and pines, and as we neared 
 the end of the coast, we saw the little Lungersee, shin¬ 
 ing like a great silver plate, set in a massive green 
 setting of mountains away down the valley. 
 
 We passed through a little village called Sarnen, 
 where we stopped for refreshments, and where there 
 was a bowling alley in the cafe. The writer rolled a 
 huge rubber ball up the alley, but before it reached its 
 destination it struck a good sized demijohn, and the 
 shattering of the glass inside of the wicker work, re¬ 
 minded me that I was indebted to the landlord to the 
 amount of two francs, for meddling where I had no 
 right, which I paid, and left with the rear guard of the 
 party for Lucerne. Not long afterwards we reached 
 the Vierwaldstaettersee, the lovely Lake of the Four 
 Cantons, better known as Lake Lucerne. 
 
 Our way lay around the base of Mont Pilatus; there 
 
 111 • i I i » 1 lii ji i « * # * i i i i i 1 i i i i it) i 11! 11 i i jliiiiuTIiUii' 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 57 
 
 we saw another cogwheel railroad to the summit, simi¬ 
 lar to the one we had seen at Brunig Pass, only with a 
 greater incline. We then kept on and after following 
 the indented shore for several miles our road led off 
 the lake front proper, and taking a short cut, brought us 
 to Lucerne about noon, where we stopped at the Hotel 
 du Lac. Here the sad news awaited Frank Elwell 
 of the death of his father. This piece of mournful 
 tidings was a great shock, of course, to him, and cast 
 a gloom of sadness over the whole party. In times 
 like these, when we are ready to go to any extent to 
 serve our friends, it seems that we can never offer any¬ 
 thing but sympathy, and while that may be heartfelt, 
 and come with great depth of feeling, it always seems 
 so small, so shallow and so unsatisfying to the sympa¬ 
 thizing friend, no matter what its effect may be on the 
 unfortunate. Frank left us that afternoon on his lone¬ 
 some journey of four thousand miles. 
 
 Next day being Sunday, we visited first the cathe¬ 
 dral, where we heard one of the finest organs in Switz¬ 
 erland. We also went to see Thorwaldsen’s Lion of 
 Lucerne, one of the most celebrated monuments in 
 Europe. It is to the memory of the soldiers and 
 officers of the Swiss Guard, about eight hundred in 
 number, who laid down their lives at the Tuilleries in 
 Paris, in defense of Louis sixteenth, on the tenth of 
 August, 1792. In the perpendicular rock of dark gray 
 
 TnulTOImf 
 
58 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 sandstone an artificial grotto or cavity has been formed, 
 and within this grotto lies stretched, in the agonies of 
 death, a lion, a broken lance piercing his side, while 
 his paw rests on the Bourbon coat of arms, as a token 
 that even in death he will not forsake his trust. A 
 pool of water overshadowed by pines and maples bears 
 the reflection of the noble monument upon its surface. 
 Above the lion we read this inscription, carved in the 
 rock: “ Helvetiorum fidei ac virtnti ,” beneath are 
 engraved the names of the slain officers. 
 
 We next visited the “Garden of the Glaciers,” a 
 magnificent memorial of the Glacial Epoch, which is 
 most interesting and instructive, showing how the im¬ 
 perceptible movement of the glaciers wears the rocks 
 away, and causes the erratic stones and blocks of 
 granite to hollow out holes in the solid rock, by a 
 perpetual rotary movement, as in a mill. The Glacier 
 Garden, being no artificial thing, produced merely to 
 give instruction to the public, but the real spot upon 
 which ages back rested a glacier, as large as any now 
 in Switzerland, is thus all the more remarkable, for we 
 can hardly conceive such a state of things to have 
 existed in laughing, sunny Lucerne, where all is life 
 and activity, where the rose and laurel vie with each 
 other, and the cold snow-flower, the “Edelweiss”, is 
 only to be found as a stranger among Flora’s children. 
 
 Returning to our hotel we crossed the Reuss by an 
 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 59 
 
 old bridge, an antique dilapidated wooden structure, 
 roofed in and available only for pedestrians. It was 
 built about the end of the thirteenth century, and con¬ 
 tains a series of old paintings, representing scenes from 
 the lives of St. Leger and Maurice, the patrons of the 
 town. Close to the bridge in the midst of the river, 
 rises the ancient tower, the “ Wasserthurm,” probably 
 the oldest building in the town. It was formerly used 
 as a prison, but now contains the municipal archives. 
 In the afternoon the town was crowded with people, 
 which enabled us to get a good inside view of Swiss 
 life. Here it was that we saw numerous Swiss girls in 
 the picturesque costume of their respective cantons. 
 In Switzerland each canton has a separate national dress 
 for its women, all of them picturesque and pretty, and 
 all different, the only similarity consisting in the silver 
 chains, which they have suspended from their should¬ 
 ers, along their arms and attached to the back part of 
 their bodies. The girls all seem to delight in the 
 quantity of silver chains that they possess, and we were 
 informed that all their spare change is saved, and in¬ 
 vested in them. Some wore as many as twelve to fifteen 
 silver chains suspended from their necks. 
 
 When at Lucerne, the noblest example of self-denial 
 which has ever come under my notice, occurred in 
 our party, showing at the same time the affectionate 
 feeling existing between the boys. Harry Higgins and 
 
6o 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 Tommy Brinsmade had reached Lucerne earlier than 
 the party but on their way there, they encountered 
 a fearful storm and arrived at the hotel soaking wet. 
 Harry had a lady friend in the town whom he was anx¬ 
 ious to visit, but alas ! he had no dry clothing. Tommy 
 had an extra suit on his front wheel, and with a 
 magnanimity that is rarely found, except in story books 
 and on the stage, he loaned his dry suit to Harry at 
 mid-day, enabling him to visit his friend, and went to 
 bed himself at noon, remaining there until the next 
 morning, while Harry being a much stouter man, 
 sported around the town in clothes so tight that he 
 could scarcely sit down. In fact, rumor has it, that 
 he spent the afternoon and evening standing alongside 
 the mantle piece, while poor Tom spent his in bed. 
 
 Next morning we left Lucerne for a sail on the 
 lake to Vitznau, the starting point of the railroad up 
 the Rigi. After a most pleasant trip of an hour and 
 a-half, we took a car pushed by a broken-backed 
 engine up the mountain, leaving our wheels at the 
 wharf. As we ascended we had a lovely view of the 
 lake below us. The grade is very steep, in some places 
 being one in four feet. About a mile up the plane we 
 began to go into the clouds, which had massed them¬ 
 selves around the mountain. The air grew colder and 
 we shivered in the open car. About ten o’clock we 
 reached the summit, where everything was shrouded 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Zands. 61 
 
 in cold, clammy fog. We hurried to the hotel to keep 
 warm. After dinner we walked out and up to the sum¬ 
 mit, nearly six thousand feet above sea level, but every¬ 
 thing was so enveloped in the dense mist, that nothing 
 could be seen, not even the large hotel, only one hun¬ 
 dred feet away. While thus standing on the summit of 
 the Rigi the clouds opened for a minute and gave us a 
 magnificent view of the Lake of Zug, four thousand 
 feet below. Straight down could we look and see the 
 sheet of water directly under us, surrounded by its 
 green shores, dotted with farm houses, stretching 
 away in the distance. But for a moment could we 
 enjoy this treat, as the clouds closed over again, and 
 all was blotted out. It seemed as if a curtain had 
 been raised on the magnificent spectacle, merely giving 
 us a short opportunity to see, and then had dropped 
 suddenly. Late in the afternoon we started on our re¬ 
 turn trip down the jerky railroad and took a steamer 
 to Gersau, where we spent the night. 
 
 Early in the morning of the twenty-second of July, 
 we were again off for Fluelen, a village at the extreme 
 end of the lake, taking one of the steamers to save 
 time. On our way up we passed the Schillerstein, a 
 rock rising out of the water at the base of the Riitli, or 
 meadow, on which is an inscription in gold letters to 
 the memory of the poet who has so graphically per¬ 
 petuated the story of Tell. Grand mountains rose all 
 
6 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 around from the water’s edge, and on their steep 
 slopes we saw women raking up hay, in most inac¬ 
 cessible-looking places. Arriving at Fluelen we rode 
 to Altdorf, where William Tell is said to have shot the 
 apple off his son’s head. There is a statue to him in 
 this town and at its base we were grouped and had 
 our pictures taken. 
 
 We then returned to Fluelen. From there alone 
 the lake, the road in many places is cut through the 
 solid rock far above the water, making the famous 
 tunnels of the Axenstrasse. We leaned over the para¬ 
 pet, where openings had been cut to admit light and 
 air to the gallery, and could see, a hundred feet below, 
 the blue waters of the lake washing the base of the 
 mighty wall of rock, while opposite us the lofty moun¬ 
 tains, reared their heads, partly enveloped in clouds. 
 Directly underneath ran the St. Gothard railroad, which 
 not many miles distant, enters the longest tunnel in the 
 world. 
 
 We stopped at Tell’s Chapel, where he is supposed 
 to have leaped from the boat during a storm on the lake, 
 while being taken to prison, and just above here he is 
 said to have shot Gessler. The chapel is adorned with 
 frescoes, illustrating Tell’s deeds. Leaving there we 
 started for Zug, stopping at Brunnen, where we left Lake 
 Lucerne, and then on again to Arth, a two mile coast 
 bringing us to Lake Zug, and here we had a short 
 
 J H 4 i I i i 1 i 3 i 3 i i i i 4 < U i » » i 1 1 i J i i i *4 j j j ftTtilf 1 I IU1U i 1 4 »j i i M • 4 4 i i i 1 1 i ft 1 \ ] J \ i H i \ l \ { ] \ i i | • i « 4 ? 4 U • i. 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 6 3 
 
 glimpse of the Rigi Kulm hotel through light clouds 
 floating about the summit. We had gone almost around 
 the Rigi. Following the low shores of this lake we 
 arrived at Zug, twenty-five miles from Fluelen, about 
 mid-day, and stopped only for dinner. It being so early 
 and Zurich being the next stop and a mail station for us, 
 we determined to push on and arrived there about four 
 o’clock in the afternoon, where after a lovely eighteen 
 mile ride over the mountains, down a long coast, and 
 then to the head of the lake, we- were soon quartered 
 at the Hotel Bellevue, one of the best hotels in Switz¬ 
 erland. 
 
 The first night at Zurich was a memorable one; 
 there Avas a Venetian Fete being held in honor of some 
 celebrated marksmen who were visiting the town. Bands 
 played on the quay, and as it grew dark, hundreds of 
 boats covered with Chinese lanterns rorved out into the 
 lake, and moA'ed around in procession, headed by a 
 steamer which was handsomely decorated and on which 
 was a full band of music. From the shore on the 
 other side, fire-works were being constantly set off, and 
 all portions of this end of the lake were lit up Avith 
 colored fires, making a most beautiful and entirely 
 novel scene to us. It seemed as though they were 
 having a regular political torchlight procession on the 
 water. 
 
 Next day after visiting the old Rathhaus, built over 
 
 muuummmi 
 
64 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 the Limmat river in 1698, and the cathedral, where 
 Zwingli preached in 1519; and after making numerous 
 purchases of watches, jewelry, See., we all met at the 
 photographer’s and had our picture taken as a party. 
 We had a great time trying to arrange for the group. 
 Of course the handsome men all wanted to be in front, 
 and the homely men tried to accommodate them, but 
 it was finally settled by' the little fellows coming in 
 front as far as possible and the big ones taking a po¬ 
 sition in the rear. One of the boy's had a diamond ring 
 which he wanted to show; he got a position in the 
 picture so that his ring would shine, but the sparkle 
 dazzling the photographer’s eyes, the position of his 
 hands were changed ; he had his ring taken however, 
 but we all regretted very much that in the photograph 
 the sparkle did not show. Another of the party took 
 a seat where a certain light would fall on him and 
 refused to move. Another thought he was handsomer 
 in profile than full face and we allowed him to sit that 
 way. We finally got grouped respectably and the front¬ 
 ispiece of this book is a copy of the large photograph 
 which was taken at that time. 
 
 It is only necessary to remind Harry Higgins, Tommy, 
 George Black and “ Dud” that we took a hack ride in 
 Zurich. We, as well as the rest of the party, can explain 
 our hack ride to our friends individually, much better 
 than I can write it, both for want of space and lack of 
 command of language. 
 
 iiiiiiiiJiiiiiiiiUfiiTiJ; h »I vliiiJ i i i ill i 1 41 I ii ] i l i * i i * • i # 4 i * i i •1 i % i 1 i u tl t * •»1J i « i i i » * * i i«U *i 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign La?ids. 
 
 6 S 
 
 THE RHINE AND THE BLACK FOREST. 
 
 III. 
 
 July 25th, we were on our wheels again bound for 
 Neuhausen, at the Falls of the Rhine. Here we were to 
 leave Switzerland and go on our long ride following 
 the banks of one of the most famous rivers in history. 
 
 We left the hotel about nine o’clock, and were soon 
 climbing the hills back of Zurich. The road was not 
 very good here, but we reached Winterthur, which 
 was about fourteen miles, near eleven o’clock in the 
 morning. Some miles out a little boy threw a large 
 stick through Johnny Duer’s front wheel, breaking out 
 three spokes and throwing him. We all pursued the 
 boy around the house into the barn, where we had 
 quite an altercation with his father, in German; 
 Marriott Morris and myself doing the interpreting. We 
 demanded pay, but of course it ended in demand. It was 
 a most interesting sight, we eighteen, talking and gestic¬ 
 ulating to three farmers and as many women, with a 
 broken wheel in evidence. The father of the culprit’s 
 partner in crime, seemed to take in the situation more 
 
66 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 rapidly than did the culprit’s father, as he jumped for 
 his boy and whipped him severely, after which the boy 
 running away, ran into his mother’s arms and she 
 repeated the father’s dose, only more so. 
 
 After leaving here we rode on; several of us in the 
 rear had got separated from the main body and took 
 the road to the right instead of to the left. This led 
 us up on the hills above the Rhine, which we saw 
 for the first time. Our road took us through Schaff- 
 hausen, where we crossed the river and saw the ancient 
 defenses of this very old place. The walls and towers 
 there w r ere built in the fifteenth century, and some of 
 the houses date as far back as the eleventh century. 
 Leaving there we soon reached Neuhausen, where we 
 stopped at the Hotel Schweitzerhof, after a long climb 
 up hill, where we got our first view of the celebrated 
 Falls of the Rhine. The hotel is admirably situated for 
 this view, and we sat on the terrace and enjoyed it. 
 The river makes a leap over a broken mass of rock 
 about seventy-five feet high, and rushes madly down 
 throwing the spray in every direction. A party consist¬ 
 ing of the Twins, Harry Higgins, Lucas, Dudley, Paiste 
 and the writer, started to go to the other side of the 
 river, to Castle Laufen, late in the afternoon. Hobbs 
 and Morris had preceded us. We crossed the river 
 and after going through the castle, went down a long 
 pathway cut in the solid rock to the foot of the falls. 
 
 b 111»I.* All a 11 i j i ii i i U iI tdiilUiiiliuiUddiiiiliittiUiLb 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 6 T 
 
 Here we espied Morris and Hobbs in a boat trying to 
 get on the rock which rises in the centre of the falls. 
 Seeing their success, we determined to hire a boat also 
 and go to the rock. We enveloped ourselves in rubber 
 coats, which we found to be very useful in the spray, 
 and after paying the customary franc and a half to the 
 boatmen we started. The men had to pull very hard 
 against the fearful current, and the boat tossed in every 
 direction, splashing a good deal of water and wetting 
 our feet and legs, which was extremely disagreeable, 
 as they were only covered with bicycle stockings. 
 Reaching the vicinity of the rock the spray from the 
 immense mass of water nearly blinded us, and as the 
 boat danced about, Lucas told the boatman that he 
 had only given him a franc and a half to bring him 
 out, but if he would turn around right there and take 
 him back he would increase his fee to twenty francs ; 
 and he meant it. It would not be fair to say that 
 Lucas was a coward ordinarily, because any man who 
 rode and coasted as recklessly as he did during the 
 entire trip, must have the elements of bravery in his 
 make-up. We attributed it to sea sickness. Finally 
 after great exertion the boatman came up to the rock, 
 the cataract plunging down on both sides of it. We 
 got out and climbed up to the top, whence we could 
 look down on the boiling waters all around us. The 
 sight was grand, and well worth the danger attending 
 it. 
 
68 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 We now returned to the hotel, which was one of 
 the best in all Europe. Here no tipping of the servants 
 is allowed, and this state of things exists in no other 
 place on the Continent that we saw, and really was a 
 relief from the constant importunity that we received 
 on our trip. Another feature in this hotel was the 
 waiters ; instead of seeing the customary gentlemen in 
 full dress, we found nothing but pretty Swiss girls, 
 dressed in the costume of their canton, to wait on us, 
 and the hotel itself was one of the finest and the 
 attention we received as good, if not better, than we 
 received anywhere else, where we were constantly 
 going into our pockets to pay for the slightest service. 
 In the evening we sat on the piazza and watched one 
 of the most beautiful spectacles of our journey. The 
 Rheinfall was illuminated with the electric light, and 
 as the bright rays fell on the immense mass of tumbling 
 water, exclamations of delight burst from everyone’s 
 lips. Suddenly the light was directed up on the old 
 Castle Laufen, and its towers and parapets were glow¬ 
 ing in a scarlet tint. The effect was magical. It 
 seemed like some enchanted castle, lit up by the red 
 glare of a conflagration. Rockets soared aloft and red 
 fire was burnt, while the strong search-light played 
 now on the falls and now up and down the winding 
 river. It was an entertainment not soon to be forgotten. 
 
 We left here a day ahead of our schedule, in order 
 
 
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 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 69 
 
 to gain time to go to the Passion Play, and were soon 
 on the road pushing towards the German boundary line. 
 During this morning’s ride the writer got into a little 
 spurt with the Adonis, in which he was thrown off his 
 wheel, throwing Adonis one way and Morris, my co¬ 
 worker in this book, another, but received the only 
 injury of the three, a sprained ankle, and was com¬ 
 pelled to train it for several days thereafter. Johnny 
 Duer was feeling unwell and took the train also. 
 
 We were now going into the Black Forest country, 
 through which we traveled for three days. A ride of 
 twelve miles brought the party to the frontier. Here 
 are two large stone posts, bearing the coats of arms of 
 Switzerland and Germany. After passing the custom 
 house with some little delay, we went up hill all the 
 way to the town of Bonndorf, over a beautifully graded 
 road, which made it easy to ride. The long pull how¬ 
 ever began to tell towards the end, for all walked the 
 last two or three miles. In the town here all hands 
 were found eating bread and milk, it being by this time 
 mid-day, and the party having had nothing to eat since 
 early morning. We were now near the edge of the 
 famous Schwartzwald, so famous in legend and poetry. 
 After a time we came to a forest of gigantic pine trees 
 and as we rode through it, we yelled and shouted and 
 heard the echoes sent back from its gloomy depths. 
 A few miles ride through the woods brought us to the 
 
7° 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 top of a long hill, whence we could see through the 
 branches a sheet of water far below, the Titisee. We 
 had dinner alongside of it, and here we met some 
 German bicyclists, who carried whips on their handle 
 bars to keep the dogs away. This was something new 
 to us, but before we had been in Germany long, the 
 majority of us had them, as we found it a necessity. 
 
 Leaving Titisee, we had an up-hill walk of about 
 two miles, and then we began to go down into the 
 Hollenthal, the Valle}'' of Hell, one of the most pictu¬ 
 resque places in the whole Black Forest. Our road 
 led us down by many curves, through rock cuttings 
 and along precipices, from which there was a beautiful 
 view down the narrow valley with its thickly wooded 
 slopes. At the bottom of the descent we found that 
 we had coasted eight miles. 
 
 A ride of twelve miles more brought us to Freiburg, 
 a typical German garrison town, having made sixty miles 
 since breakfast. We spent Sunday seeing the town. In 
 the morning taking the customary ride, our first visit was 
 to the cathedral, said to be one of the finest pieces of 
 Gothic architecture in Germany, built about the twelfth 
 century. We also saw the magnificent monument 
 erected to the memory of the soldiers who lost their 
 lives near here in the Franco-German w r ar, and enjoyed 
 Sunday afternoon sitting in front of our hotel, watch¬ 
 ing the German swains and maidens fair telling each 
 
 i . ndu iiiii , i . •< . * jj.J i < 1 1 J i i ri it i 4 J . i ! ) i j ii im : « li t, 
 
I 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign 1 ands. 71 
 
 other their love stories, at least we supposed they were, 
 from the looks of their eyes as they passed us. 
 
 Monday, July 28th, we started early for Triberg, 
 a little village away up in the Black Forest, cross¬ 
 ing the plain and following a lovely valley far into 
 the mountains. The road wound around the hills, al¬ 
 ways ascending, for seven or eight miles. We made 
 frequent stops to climb trees by the wayside and pick 
 cherries, which were abundant, or to visit the interior 
 of some old inn, whose convex window glass and high 
 straight-backed chairs excited our curiosity. After 
 crossing this mountain range we came to the head 
 waters of the Danube, here a little brook ten feet in 
 width. We saw it again a few days later on the way 
 to Munich. This part of the Schwartzwald was rather 
 a disappointment to most of us, as nearly all the trees 
 have been cut off, and the hillsides are generally well 
 tilled. It seemed that every boy in the party took a 
 different road, and they kept straggling in all the after¬ 
 noon, but all were in time for dinner. Here we found 
 the cascade that is celebrated throughout the Black 
 Forest, and said to be the largest waterfall in the 
 Schwartzwald. Some of us had our pictures taken on 
 the rock near the waterfall, using it as a background. 
 In the evening the falls were illuminated by electric 
 light. The boys impoverished themselves here buying 
 wooden clocks, etc. This is the headquarters for such 
 
articles, wood carving and clock making being the sole 
 industries of the town. 
 
 Leaving Triberg next day, at eight o’clock, we 
 coasted a long way down the mountain over a rough 
 road, the result of a severe rain storm during the night. 
 Lovely woodland scenes met our view, but we missed 
 the sun’s rays. Eight and a-half miles of coast brought 
 us to Hornberg, a pretty little town on the Black Forest 
 Railroad, noted for the odd costumes of the peasants. 
 We kept on down to the base of the mountains, until 
 after crossing a level plain by an awfully muddy road 
 we reached Offenburg. 
 
 At Offenburg there is a statue erected to the mem¬ 
 ory of Sir Francis Drake, who first introduced the 
 potato into Europe in 1586, and as I looked at it I 
 thought how much more appropriate it was to build 
 a monument to his memory than to erect statues to 
 men who had spent their lives putting others off, I 
 should say, under the earth. 
 
 We reached Strassburg, our stop for that day, about 
 two o’clock in the afternoon, having wheeled fifty-three 
 miles, and after dinner started to see the sights of this 
 famous old town. We went through the old streets, 
 crossed the pontoon bridge, and saw all the attractions 
 of the place. The roofs of many of the houses have a 
 dangerously steep pitch and are filled with the most 
 ridiculous little window’s, quite a new style of archi- 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 73 
 
 tecture to us. There is in the Public Square a statue 
 to Guttenberg, and as I stood at the base of that statue 
 I saw the famous storks of Strassburg. These birds 
 build immense nests upon the chimneys of the houses, 
 and the legend told the children in the town is that 
 the storks bring all the babies. 
 
 The next morning was spent in going to the palace 
 of the king, a small but magnificent edifice, where the 
 Kaiser spends a few weeks of each year. The exterior 
 was of granite, while the interior was frescoed hand¬ 
 somely, and furnished the best of any we had visited, 
 The Boors are all highly polished, and before anyone 
 is allowed to step on them, he is given great felt shoes, 
 with which to slide from room to room. 
 
 Leaving the palace we came to the celebrated cathe¬ 
 dral of Strassburg, and at twelve o’clock we were ail 
 standing in front of the clock, waiting to see it work. 
 The clock is twenty-five or thirty feet in height. In 
 the front is a clock face and an orrery. A tower at 
 the side contains images, and on the top is a rooster. 
 At twelve o’clock a little angel above the face turns a 
 glass, while another strikes the twelve strokes on a 
 gong. Above the seasons, childhood, youth, manhood 
 and old age pass before Death, while still higher up 
 the twelve apostles came out and bowed to a figure of 
 the Saviour. The cock crowed three times, flapped his 
 wings, raised his head, and it was all over. I must 
 

 
 H ? J * 1 !! ^ ■ 
 
 74 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 confess I was somewhat disappointed in the Strassburg 
 dock, for I had expected something more wonderful, 
 but this operation occupied so small a space of time 
 and seemed to be so machine-like, and I had expected 
 so much, that as I say, I was disappointed. 
 
 We left Strassburg that afternoon over a level road, 
 making another one of the many such rides we had on 
 the trip. On our right rose the Black Mountains, at a 
 distance perhaps of ten miles, and all the afternoon we 
 had their low summits in view. The “ Blue Alsatian 
 Mountains” on the left, were gradually lost to sight in 
 the distance. On and on we rode over a level plain, 
 keeping well together ; at one time through a beautiful 
 wood along a rushing stream, and then out into the 
 open country again, and reached Baden-Baden, nestled 
 among the hills, about half-past five in the afternoon. 
 
 Baden Baden is the most famous watering place in 
 Europe, if not in all the world, and is a very beautiful 
 town. After dinner we all went to its celebrated “ Con¬ 
 versation House,” near by, formerly one of the greatest 
 gambling hells in Europe, but now, where once the noise 
 of the dice-box and the rake of the croupier was heard, 
 all is quiet ; it contains a very large and handsome room, 
 utilized for concerts in rainy weather and for balls. 
 Beautiful grounds and lawns surround the Conversation 
 House, and here the fashionable world at Baden Baden 
 congregates to gossip and listen to the music of the 
 
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 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 7 $ 
 
 fine orchestra. On our arrival in front of the band 
 stand, the band played American airs in our honor. 
 
 Next morning we visited the “Trinkhalle” and the 
 celebrated “ Fricdrichsbad.” In the Trinkhalle v/e got 
 a drink of the renowned hot springs water; at the lat¬ 
 ter place we had a bath somewhat after the fashion of 
 the Turkish bath, in water almost at a boiling point, 
 coming directly out of the earth into large marble 
 basins, around which a magnificent building is con¬ 
 structed. After our bath and breakfast, fourteen of us 
 started from Baden Baden for Ober-Ammergau, via 
 Munich, to see the Passion Play, and left Tommy 
 Brinsmadc, Hard, Pelton and Lucas to look after a 
 party of American girls, whom they had met the night 
 previous. 
 
 A long day’s ride by rail brought us to Munich late 
 in the afternoon, and we had but little time to see the 
 Bavarian capital. During the day we bad passed 
 through Karlsruhe, Stuttgatt and Uim, crossing the 
 Neckar and running along the swift-flowing Danube 
 for some distance. “ Twenty-one” was in great favor 
 that day among many of us. At Ulm, the eating 
 station, we were photographed in the act of putting 
 away our dinners. There was a three day's bicycle 
 meet of the Deutsches Radfahrcr Bund, (corresponding 
 to our League of American Wheelmen,) in progress at 
 Munich, and we were met at the depot by a committee 
 
7 6 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 from the clubs, who extended us the hospitality of the 
 town, and an invitation to their races and festivities. 
 We were obliged to decline their kindness however, as 
 we were anxious to get to Ober-Ammergau. We 
 stopped over night at the Englischer Hof. and were 
 up early in the morning to resume our journey. Part 
 of the evening at Munich was spent at the “ Hof Brau- 
 erei,” where we got the best beer in Europe. This 
 brewery is under Government control, and all beer 
 made there must be up to a certain standard. In this 
 large vaulted room on entering, if you take your beer 
 mug (which holds over a quart) off the shelf and wash 
 it yourself, it is filled for you for about four cents ; if 
 one of the young lady assistants fills it for you, you 
 pay six cents, and she sits at the table and drinks out 
 of your mug. In the Hof Brauerei the Stein Club was 
 formed with the following officers : President, E. Floyd 
 Jones; Vice-President, C. R. Hobbs; Secretary, Char¬ 
 ley Atwood ; High Private, Charley Tyler. The requi¬ 
 site for membership to the Stein Club, was that the 
 applicant should be able to drink a large mug of 
 Munich beer without removing the mug from his lips, 
 but ours being a temperance crowd, the Stein Club 
 was compelled to confine its membership to the ori¬ 
 ginal four, with possibly one or two additions, but not 
 more. Three carriages were then hired, and we drove 
 around the city in the bright moonlight, seeing the 
 

 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 noted picture galleries and parks and crossing the Iser 
 “ rolling rapidly.” 
 
 We left Friday morning for Obcr-Ammergau and 
 arrived at the village of Oberau, some forty miles from 
 Munich, about mid-day. The heavy train was filled 
 with people, mostly, we thought, English and American 
 tourists. 
 
 Nearly all the party started to walk to Ober-Ammer- 
 gau, up in the mountains, six miles away from the 
 station, but Mr. Robson and the writer procured a 
 carriage. What was our surprise to find on our arrival, 
 the boys all quartered in lodgings, they having walked 
 up a shorter way, and arrived there ahead of the crowd, 
 though for the last quarter of a mile they had to run 
 to get to the Burgomeister’s house among the first and 
 secure rooms. Ober-Ammergau presents from the road 
 as you approach it, an ideal picture of an ideal vil¬ 
 lage, and the play which we saw on the following Sun¬ 
 day, was really one of the most wonderful sights we 
 met with in Europe. Harry Higgins and the writer 
 were lodged in a stable, where a room had been tem¬ 
 porarily made, but the rest of the crowd lived in a 
 house kept by “Adam,” and the “Angel Gabriel” of 
 the play, his son, was their constant attendant. 
 
 After dinner we sallied out to see the town, at one 
 end of whose winding Hauptstrasse is situated the 
 church, while at the other end the theatre has been 
 
78 
 
 Wheel Trades in Foreign Lands. 
 
 erected. Curious houses of stone lined the streets, 
 many of them having large, brightly colored allego¬ 
 rical and biblical paintings on the white plaster walls, 
 forming a most interesting study. Of these paintings 
 it has been most appropriately said, that it seemed as 
 though a wandering wave from the mighty sea of the 
 Rennaissance, had strayed into this lonely mountain 
 valley and left a lasting memorial there. 
 
 We were much interested in the inhabitants, who 
 are pleasant, sensible looking people. Many of the 
 men wear their hair long down on their shoulders, for 
 the purpose of making up correctly for their characters 
 in the play. Now and then wc would see a chamois 
 jager or hunter, with his leather breeches, bare knees, 
 green knit leggins and little hat surmounted by an 
 eagle’s feather, and again, a priest would pass in 
 his long, black clerical gown and broad-brimmed, low- 
 crowned hat, while ever all towered the Kofel, with 
 its sharp peak surmounted by a huge cross glittering 
 in the sun. 
 
 While sitting at breakfast on Sunday morning, under 
 the eaves of our lodgings, a friend, an Irish gentleman, 
 from my own city, came along on his way from 
 church, soaking wet with the rain. Seeing us he 
 saluted me with “ I’ve been walking round this town 
 
 for an hour, and I can’t find the - hotel.” We 
 
 showed him where he lived at once. His perplexity 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 79 
 
 was caused by the fact that the houses are numbered 
 in the order of their building, and No. 63 may be a 
 quarter of a mile from No. 64, at the other end of 
 the village. 
 
 August 2nd several of the party visited “ Lin- 
 derhof,” the palace of the late mad King Louis of 
 Bavaria, about eight miles from Ober-Ammergau, and 
 came back enthusiastic in its praises, saying that it 
 was the most handsomely decorated and furnished they 
 had seen on the trip. The writer had the pleasure of 
 meeting Joseph Maier, who this year for the third time 
 took the part of the Saviour, and felt in his presence 
 that this was a man fully capable of expressing the 
 sweet simplicity of character, which we are taught 
 to believe was possessed by Christ on earth. Some of 
 us also during the day had the honor of an introduc¬ 
 tion to Miss Rosa Lang, who portrays the Virgin 
 Mary, and found her a remarkably intelligent young 
 lady, of a kind, sweet and gentle disposition, appar¬ 
 ently quite ta'ented and thoroughly enthused with her 
 part. From my knowledge, gathered during our two 
 and a-half day’s visit in the village, I thought how well 
 was the selection made for this character, and how 
 happy indeed were they in having a Rosa Lang to 
 represent the noblest example of womanhood that his¬ 
 tory furnishes. 
 
 Sunday morning at six o’clock, we were roused by 
 
8 o 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 the booming of cannon, and soon afterward the village 
 band paraded through the streets, escorted by the six 
 or eight firemen of the town, in odd uniforms. By 
 eight o’clock we were seated in the large wooden 
 structure, which serves as a theatre, and for eight 
 hours and a-half we sat with all attention, witnessing 
 one of the most remarkable performances I had ever 
 seen, the story of the life of the Saviour, the story 
 that has transformed the world. 
 
 We had excellent seats, our part of the theatre 
 being the roofed over part. The front portion, as well 
 as most of the stage is open to the sky, so, as it rained 
 at intervals most of the day, all the actors and the great 
 majority of the spectators got soaking wet. But the 
 play went on just the same, and no one left his seat 
 with such rapt attention was the progress of the drama 
 watched. Each act -was preceded by a tableau from 
 the Old Testament, which typified the events to take 
 place under the New Dispensation, and such tableaux 
 none of us had ever seen. Hundreds of people, men, 
 women and the smallest children were grouped most 
 artistically, and remained still as statues, while a 
 chorus of singers, attired in brilliant robes advanced 
 to the front of the stage and sang verses explain¬ 
 ing the connection between the t.ableau and the act 
 following. The first act represented the entrance of 
 Jesus into Jerusalem, followed by his driving the traders 
 

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 out of the Temple, and like all the rest of the play, 
 was wonderfully acted. Of course, the central charac¬ 
 ters were Jesus and the Virgin Mary, but the parts of 
 St. John, Pilate, Caiaphas and Judas, the latter espe¬ 
 cially, were exceptionally well rendered. The scenes 
 when the multitudes numbering hundreds of people, 
 came on the stage were wonderful. Most affecting was 
 the Crucifixion, where Maier hung on the cross fully 
 twenty minutes. There were few dry eyes in that 
 great audience of five thousand persons, who had fol¬ 
 lowed the life of Christ from his entry into Jerusalem, 
 the uncrowned King of Kings, until He was raised on 
 the cross before us all. Not less touching was the 
 Descent from the Cross. Then followed the Resur¬ 
 rection and His triumphant Ascension. It is not my 
 purpose in this little book to give a complete history 
 of the Play. — It must be seen to be appreciated,—but 
 I can truly say that I echo the feelings of the entire 
 party when I repeat that. At half-part five when we 
 left the building, the feeling of us all was that we had 
 seen the story of the scripture, portrayed in real life, 
 and felt how much better the world would be, if all 
 could see, as we had, the Passion Play', at Qber- 
 Ammergau. Immediately after the performance was 
 over we returned to Oberau, where we took the train 
 for Munich, spending the night there. 
 
 The next morning we left for Baden Baden, where 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign ‘ ands. 
 
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 hiinmUmfiTi 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 83 
 
 castle is a most wonderful old ruin, built of stone, in 
 different styles of architecture, which makes it a very 
 interesting structure. We went through the different 
 portions of it, wondering at its massive walls and bat¬ 
 tlements, and looking with interest at the Gesprengte 
 Thurin, or blown-up tower, half of which when blown 
 up by the French in 1689, on their evacuation of the 
 castle, fell in an unbroken mass into the moat below, 
 where it still lies. The walls of this tower are twenty- 
 one feet thick. We finally descended into the cellar 
 and saw The Great Tun, nearly twenty-five feet high, 
 which, when full, is said to hold fifty thousand gallons 
 of wine. 
 
 There is a clock nearby, and when a string is 
 pulled, the whole front opens and a fox-tail flies out, 
 striking whoever pulls the string, in the free. Jones 
 was the boy to pull the string, and Jones was the one 
 who got the fox-tail! 
 
 Some of us decided to train it to Frankfort-on-the- 
 Main, as it was raining again next morning, but others 
 attempted it on their wheels. After riding some seven¬ 
 teen miles to Darmstadt, the writer also trained it the 
 rest of the way, arriving at Frankfort about two 
 o’clock in the afternoon. This was the prettiest town 
 we had seen in Germany. It seems more modern 
 looking than most of the German cities, and its shops 
 are very fine. We were getting near that portion of 
 
8 4 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 our trip however, where we Americans had the expe¬ 
 rience and the other fellows had the money, so our 
 purchases were light here. In the evening we visited 
 the “Palm Garten,” where we heard a splendid orches¬ 
 tra, and went through a maze of palms and foliage in 
 its conservatory, a most beautiful sight. 
 
 In all the towns in Germany we visited, we found 
 a large orchestra, that gave concerts in the afternoon 
 and evening, similar to the Strauss Orchestra, which 
 we have had in this country recently. The music to 
 us seemed just as good at half a mark (twelve cents) 
 admission, as it would in America at one dollar and 
 a-half. Next day we saw the ancient part of the town 
 where is situated the house in which Goethe lived, a 
 large, well-preserved structure. The Roemer, nearby, 
 is the most curious collection of old buildings with 
 paintings on the outside. In it we saw the Kaiscrsall, 
 where the new Emperor dined with the Electors and 
 showed himself to the people in the square below. 
 
 The handsomely decorated cathedral, not far away, 
 dates from the thirteenth century. We passed the 
 house where the Rothschilds first started business, in 
 the Judengasse. In this narrow street all Jews used to 
 be locked up at night, even as late as 1806. We saw 
 Danneker’s Statue of Ariadne and the Panther, one of 
 the most beautiful sculptures in Europe, in the house 
 built to receive it. The guide turned it on its ped- 
 
ifidmuiirniim 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 85 
 
 estal and threw colored lights on it, which increased 
 its loveliness. That evening we saw the “ Mikado” in 
 German at the Grand Opera House. It was very 
 funny. They had an excellent Ko-Ko, and those of 
 us who could understand a little of the language 
 enjoyed it hugely. It seemed very strange to go to the 
 opera at 6.30 P. M., while the sun was still shining, 
 but such is the custom in Frankfort, and in fact in all 
 German cities. After the main production is over they 
 often give a supplementary farce or operetta. This 
 Opera House is very handsome, and said to be only 
 second to the Grand Opera House at Paris. 
 
 A noticeable fact we observed in European theatres 
 and one which we would do well to follow here, is 
 that the ladies are all bareheaded, hats and bonnets 
 being deposited in a cloak room ; in fact we were wit¬ 
 nesses to a party of American ladies being invited out 
 by the usher to doff their bonnets. What a boon this 
 custom would prove in America ! 
 
 The morning of August 9th, we left Frankfort for a 
 twenty mile ride through a pretty, rolling country to 
 Wiesbaden, where we took dinner. The roads part of 
 the way were rather muddy, but we made the distance 
 in a couple of hours. We visited the Kursall, or con¬ 
 cert garden, a beautiful building, with handsomely laid 
 out gardens and fountains in front. We went to the 
 springs too, and drank some of the boiling hot water, 
 
86 
 
 Wheel- Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 which tasted like weak chicken broth, with a good deal 
 of salt in it. Here I saw a young lady whose face was 
 familiar to me. Hard was quite struck with her, and 
 wanted to stay there instead of going on that afternoon. 
 It was all we could do to get him away from her. 
 We finally did and left for Mayence, over a six mile 
 road, which was very rough, arriving there about four 
 o’clock. 
 
 Sunday was spent at Mayence, where we saw the 
 house that Guttenberg was born in, and the building 
 where he had his first printing office. Here we drove 
 through extensive fortifications, seeing the old Roman 
 tower, said to have been erected to Drusus, in 9 B. C., 
 by the Roman legions. In the morning, Harry 
 Higgins, Tommy, Dud and Black visited the wine 
 cellar. At dinner we celebrated Quinn’s birthday, and 
 the baron fairly outdid himself; his stories that day 
 were masterpieces. This boy should have been a con¬ 
 temporary to Dean Swift. If ail the nineteen remain¬ 
 ing members of the party were asked as to Jimmy’s 
 capacity for invention, they would agree with me, that 
 he could give the old Dean points. 
 
 In the evening we went across the street from our 
 hotel to the Stadthalle, a large building, where we 
 drank light German beer and listened to a lovely con¬ 
 cert. We left Mayence about nine o’clock Monday 
 me g, crossed the river and kept along its right 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 87 
 
 bank ail the way to Rudesheim. The villages we 
 passed through were very long, in one a ride of nearly 
 a mile, over as bad pave as we had seen on the trip, 
 was necessary. Near a villa belonging to Prince Albert 
 of Prussia, we were very much interested in watching a 
 large number of soldiers removing a pontoon bridge. 
 Everything was done so swiftly and with such preci¬ 
 sion, that even in the few minutes we stopped there, 
 almost half the work was accomplished. 
 
 To our left as we rode along rose the Jokannisbcrg, 
 where the celebrated wine of that name is made. At 
 Rudesheim a ferry boat took us across to Bingen. A 
 beautiful vine-clad terraced hill behind Rudesheim, the 
 Niederwald, is surmounted by the famous German Na¬ 
 tional Monument, and after our dinner at the hotel we 
 started to visit it. Taking a small boat -we swiftly 
 drifted down the river, which here narrow's very much, 
 as the hills rise abruptly on either side, passing the 
 well known Mouse Tower, in the middle of the stream, 
 where the rats devoured Bishop Hatto. It is now used 
 for signaling the little Rhine steamers. On the hill to 
 the right was the old castle of Ehrenfels, a very pictu¬ 
 resque ruin. We landed at Assmanshausen and took 
 the Zahnradbahn, as they call it, to the summit of the 
 Niederwald. A w r aik of ten minutes through a beau¬ 
 tiful forest brought us to the National Monument, a 
 splendid memorial erected to commemorate the victory 
 
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 88 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 of the German arms in 1870 and 1871. The central 
 figure of Geimania is of bronze, and thirty-three feet in 
 height. Below, to the right and left, are large bronze 
 statues of Peace and War, while beautifully executed 
 bas-reliefs adorn the pedestal, on which is engraven the 
 words of “Die Wacht am Rhein." After admiring it, 
 and the lovely Rheingau stretched out at our feet, with 
 the river flowing through its midst, we took another 
 cog-wheel railway, which landed us at Rudesheim, in a 
 rain storm. We returned to Bingen well pleased with 
 our afternoon’s excursion. 
 
 It is astonishing how the lines of Mrs. Norton’s 
 celebrated poem run through the mind when one gets 
 to Bingen. It haunted me so much that I made my 
 first attempt at poetry, which I read to the boys, and 
 which I give here—altered just a little : 
 
 We're a party of eighteen wheelmen seeing Europe's sights so grand, 
 
 And have travelled on our bicycles through France’s sunny land. 
 
 We have climbed the heights of Switzerland, gazed on scenery so fine, 
 
 And to-day we've come to Bingen; to Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 We had read of it in story; it had filled our eyes with tears, 
 
 As we read about that soldier who lay dying at Algiers. 
 
 We thought his home must be charming, its surroundings must be fine. 
 
 And so we've come to Bingen; to Bingen on the Rhino. 
 
 We arrived there about mid-day, to dinner first we went.; 
 
 A long hard ride of twenty miles, good appetites had lent. 
 
 Some kickers cursed the dinner; Paiste said it was sublime. 
 
 For he bad brought his appetite to Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 Adonis didn’t agree with him; he said it “ wa'nt fine.” 
 
 For they had no “ potey ” at dinner, at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 We journeyed out this afternoon to see what we could see, 
 
 \\ e tried to hunt that “ Father's sword ” so famed in history. 
 
 Its fate has been a hard one, that father’s sword divine. 
 
 For it cuts cheese in a beer shop now at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
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Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 89 
 
 It was pretty tough on Tommy; it was hard on Black and Dud. 
 
 They had sampled wine at Mayence and had dropped down with a thud. 
 But they’ve joined the Blue Ribbon crowd now: they’ve sworn o3' drinking 
 And they ordered milk for dinner at Bingen on the Rhine. [wine, 
 
 And Jones, he kicked at dinner, and loud his voice it rang; 
 
 By common consent of all he is the kicker of the gang. 
 
 He kicks about the bedrooms, always about his wine, 
 
 And as usual kicked at Bingen; at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 And Quinn and Hard, our ladies' men, met girls in every town, 
 
 Where e’re there is a pretty girl, they’re sure to be around. 
 
 When I saw them this morning they were in an unhappy frame of mind, 
 They had met no damsels fair all day, at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 The base ball bat was lost long since; no more games can we play; 
 
 The East has always “done ” the West in a mean and fearful way. 
 
 Now alas for Papa Robson, as au umpire ho was fine, 
 
 Tis sad; he can’t umpire a game, at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 I wrote all this doggerel just now on waking from a dream, 
 
 A dream that did inspire me to write things as they seem, 
 
 But more wonderful than all I wrote, was what it was about, 
 
 And I think you will agree with me when you have heard me out. 
 
 I dreamed that I saw Morris, as I went through the land ; 
 
 I dreamed I saw him coming with his camera in his hand. 
 
 Oreat heavens! what fierce shock is that, a chill goes up my spine— 
 
 For lie aimed and shot that camern, at Bingen on the Rhine! 
 
 Yes, be actually took a photograph, at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 Our ride the following day was along the castled 
 river, for ages celebrated in legend and song. Each 
 crag, each bend in the stream, has some story of the 
 olden time connected with it. We longed for more 
 opportunity to explore all these interesting old ruins 
 and romantic nooks. 
 
 Not far below Bingen we decided to visit the old 
 castle Rheinstein, of late years restored to nearly its 
 original condition, and were well repaid for the steep 
 climb up the frowning rock, on which this ancient 
 stronghold is situated. We crossed a drawbridge, 
 
 •- ■ 'i." 
 
9 ° 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 passed under a portcullis, and were admitted on pay¬ 
 ment of a small fee; a pretty German girl acting as our 
 guide. First we visited the quaint little chapel, built 
 on the very edge of the precipice, in a beautiful flower 
 garden, then were taken up into a round tower, whose 
 winding steps on the outside caused some of our party 
 to shudder. We could look straight down into the 
 Rhine, two hundred and seventy-five feet below, and 
 follow its course till lost in its windings among the hills. 
 The iron basket in which signal fires were kindled of 
 old, still hangs out from this tower. 
 
 Descending, we entered the lofty baronial hall, 
 whose walls are covered with ancient weapons, which 
 one could spend hours in examining. Many treasures 
 of china and glass were there also. The boys were de¬ 
 lighted with some old steins, but alas ! there was noth¬ 
 ing in them. The upper rooms, with their little loop¬ 
 holes and odd towers, were also furnished with many 
 historical articles. We descended the rugged path and 
 regaining our wheels, continued our journey over a 
 good road. Many boats passed us towed against the 
 swift current by the curious steamers, whose large 
 wheels, over which the chain from the bottom of the 
 river runs, drew our attention. Every mile or so we 
 saw old ruins of interest. At Bacharach are some fine 
 ones and odd, half-timbered houses. Several miles 
 below, at Caub, there is a ledge of rock in the middle 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 9 1 
 
 of the river, on which is built a curious hexagonal 
 structure, the Pfalz , with most peculiar corners, tur¬ 
 rets and loopholes. This was once the residence of an 
 old robber baron, who levied toll on all commerce 
 passing up and down the stream. Here too, Blucher 
 made his famous passage of the river in 1814. The 
 next point of interest to us was the “ Lurlei,” made so 
 famous by Heine’s beautiful poem. This large mass of 
 rock juts out into the river at its deepest and narrow¬ 
 est point. There is a fine echo here. The two rail¬ 
 ways, one on either bank, rather spoil the beauty of 
 the scene here, as at other places, with their rock cutt¬ 
 ings and embankments. 
 
 A half dozen of the boys,—the rear guard,—got 
 rather hungry by the time St. Goar, the next village, 
 was reached, so had dinner at a Wirthshaus, and a fine 
 one it was, washed down with Rhein wine. Near here 
 are two castles, one named the Cat, the other the 
 Mouse. The former was erected in 1393, by the Count 
 of Katznelnbogen, whence its name. 
 
 At Boppard, an old colony of the Celts, the Rhine 
 makes a tremendous bend, and the valley broadens 
 out. It was somewhere along here, I think, that 
 Hobbs had his race with a train — a bummelzug or 
 “accommodation.” Charlie put on a terrific spurt and 
 had gotten almost even with the locomotive, when the 
 engineer happened to see him, and calling out “ Das 
 
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9 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 geht nicht!” pulled his throttle wide open and was 
 quickly out of sight around a curve. 
 
 Loitering along, we soon saw above us, three hun¬ 
 dred and fifty feet higher than the river, the magnifi¬ 
 cent castle of Stolsenfels, now the property of the Em¬ 
 peror of Germany. It is very old, dating from the 
 thirteenth century, and like all the others, has its thrill¬ 
 ing history of war, rapine and ruin. In a little town 
 beyond here some of us visited a brewery, where huge 
 cauldrons were steaming with the favorite beverage. 
 We were shown the different processes of manufacture, 
 which were very interesting. Soon thereafter we were 
 pedalling into the old city of Coblenz, where we put 
 up for the night at the Hotel Bellevue, some of us 
 having pretty poor quarters, up under the roof. 
 
 Opposite here lies the great fortress of Ehrenbreit- 
 stein, the Gibraltar of the Rhine ; it is on the top of a 
 cliff, four hundred feet above the river, and commands 
 its course up and down a long way. 
 
 August 13th we took the boat at nine o’clock for 
 Cologne. Hobbs insisted on riding on his wheel, it 
 being almost the last chance he would have on the 
 trip, and when he reported in the evening at Cologne, 
 and told us how he had enjoyed it, it really made the 
 boys wish they had gone that way. Down stream we 
 went passing castles and ruins, and the numerous little 
 towns that line the Rhine. Many of these are con- 
 
•r "p. 
 
 
 jiii 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign lands. 93 
 
 nected by the so-called flying bridges. They consist 
 of a large flat-boat, from which wires are stretched to 
 a smaller boat. This has a cable running on a rope, 
 which crosses the river near the bottom. The bow of 
 the large boat is pointed up stream, and the current 
 acting on the stern drives the craft along. Many vine¬ 
 yards line the shores, but the best wine is grown fur¬ 
 ther south. At Remagen, a little town, the Apollinaris 
 Spring is situated, some distance back from the river. 
 From there seven hundred and fifty thousand bottles of 
 water are sent to America every month. 
 
 In the distance we could now begin to see the 
 Seven Mountains, which were very beautiful in the 
 afternoon light, the most prominent being the Dra- 
 chenfels, surmounted by its Castle. It was one of the 
 loveliest pictures we had seen on the Rhine. 
 
 Passing there we were soon out of the mountain 
 region. Below Bonn there is not much of interest, but 
 for miles looking back we could see th-e beautiful Sie- 
 bengebirge, even from Cologne. On the boat our exube¬ 
 rant spirits could not be quelled, we wrestled, sparred 
 and cuddled until the captain of the boat threatened to 
 put us in the hold, informing us that we were in Ger¬ 
 many now and could be governed. They seem to 
 think over there that freedom in America means resis¬ 
 tance to all government. About two o’clock we 
 reached Cologne, and were quartered at the Hotel 
 Disch. 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 Cologne is famous alike for its cathedral and its 
 smells. The first is the largest and handsomest we 
 saw in all Europe, and as we climbed to the roof, we 
 thought what a pity it is that the architect from whose 
 brain emanated the plan of this gigantic structure, is 
 not known. The smells did not bother the writer, he 
 not being possessed of a “smeller,” but he is frank 
 enough to say, in justice to the town, he heard no 
 complaint of bad odors from any member of the party. 
 
 Next morning we visited the Church of St. Ursula, 
 where are the bones of eleven thousand virgins, who 
 were massacred by the Huns on this spot during the 
 Crusades. In the treasury chamber numerous bones 
 are arranged in artistic designs. Some of the remains 
 of St. Ursula are in a glass case ; among other relics 
 to be seen here are pieces of the true cross and some 
 thorns of the crown. Most of us saw the city by taking 
 a carriage drive. There are about a dozen shops here 
 which manufacture Eau de Cologne, and each firm 
 claims to be the original establishment. We all in¬ 
 vested in some to bring home. During the day we 
 went to a magnificent natatorium, in the new portion of 
 the city and had a fine swim. 
 
 Leaving Cologne early next day, most of us rode 
 to Dusseldorf on our wheels, a distance of twenty-six 
 miles, getting there about noon. On the way our 
 photographers, as usual, took many pictures of the fel- 
 
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Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 95 
 
 lows, and interesting wayside scenes. The rear division, 
 arriving at Dusseldorf were much perplexed where to 
 go, as they had not been told the name of the hotel, 
 and no one they met could inform them which street 
 their comrades had taken. Morris unstrapped his bundle 
 in the entrance to a coal yard, to get at his guide 
 book. While examining it, all were startled by a shout 
 from Paiste, and looking out in the street, a dog wagon 
 was discovered bearing down on him under a full head 
 of steam. His presence of mind however enabled him 
 to take a picture of the brute at short range, before 
 getting out of his way. The rest of the party were 
 soon after found at the Breidenbacher Hof, a good 
 hotel. 
 
 Dusseldorf is a very attractive town, on the Rhine, 
 with a large and beautiful park. It is a great military 
 station. We saw numbers of troops, marching through 
 the streets under most perfect discipline. Some of us 
 visited the art gallery in the afternoon, and rode 
 around town on our wheels. Paiste and Morris had 
 been assigned a very large room on the second floor 
 of the hotel, while all the rest of us were lodged in 
 the attic. So after dinner we visited them in this 
 big parlor, for it was nothing else. In one corner 
 stood a large cabinet, containing a writing desk and 
 some bnc a brae, which had not been removed before 
 we came. Large luxurious sofas and chairs stood 
 
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 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 around, and the beds were fine. But they did not look 
 very attractive by the time the “smoker” was over, 
 for they had to be entirely made up again before they 
 could be used. Upstairs the fellows’ rooms were all 
 communicating and no one got to sleep until far into 
 the night! 
 
 The next day we trained it to Rotterdam, leaving 
 Germany for Holland, the land of dikes and ditches. 
 While so close to Germany, it is very different in its 
 manners and customs, and from what we could learn, in 
 its government. While it is a kingdom, the people seem 
 to have more power and liberty than in Germany. The 
 language is barbarous, and even our German scholars 
 could make nothing of it. Sunday was spent in visiting 
 The Hague, the residence of the royal family, passing 
 through Delft, famous for its potteries, on the way. 
 After a drive through the streets, we went to the 
 Queen’s “ Palace in the Wood,” some distance from the 
 town. In one of the richly decorated rooms our atten¬ 
 tion was especially attracted to what we supposed was 
 a piece of statuary in a niche in the wall; when we 
 approached it, however, imagine our surprise to find it 
 a painting. Returning to The Hague we reached Rot¬ 
 terdam after a sixteen mile ride over a brick road, built 
 with the bricks laid on end, and along a tow-path, in 
 time for dinner at five-thirty, P. M., the usual hour 
 here. 
 
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 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 On Monday evening we left Rotterdam to cross to 
 England, having spent the day wandering around the 
 narrow streets and along the canals which run through 
 the city in every direction. With fear and trembling 
 we entered a little bit of a steamboat, that seemed as 
 though it could not live long in the kind of rough 
 water that we anticipated crossing the North Sea. We 
 were prepared for this however, and some of the boys 
 slept with basins under their heads, but I am happy to 
 write that not one of them suffered sea-sickness, we 
 
 seemed to be such a tough lot. 
 
 We awoke early in the morning of August 19th, ready 
 to step on English soil, and here at Harwich, for the first 
 time in three months we hearci our mother tongue spoken 
 freely. After some little delay at the custom house, 
 
 ' we were soon on our way to London, which after a 
 long ride in the rain—the English weather we had been 
 reading of—we reached about nine o'clock in the morn¬ 
 ing. Mounting our wheels we plugged along over its 
 wooden pavements, in a nasty drizzle of rain, slipping 
 and sliding, some of us falling off our wheels, others 
 having the most narrow escapes, and all of us wishing 
 it was over. We arrived at our hotel, about ten 
 o’clock, hungry, tired and thoroughly worn out, and 
 for the first time since leaving Paris, the majority of us 
 were able to put on long trousers. 
 
 As the trip ended that day, I shall not attempt to 
 

 
 in 
 
 
 9 ^ Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 put in this book what we saw in London, except to 
 say that our time there was spent visiting Westmin¬ 
 ster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, the British 
 Museum, the Tower, in fact all the wonders of that 
 great city, but content myself with giving some little 
 description of the banquet on the evening of our 
 breaking up, the occasion of Harry Higgins’ birthday, 
 at the Holborn Restaurant, one of the grandest eating 
 houses in the world. We assembled there about seven 
 o’clock, and as I have said before, our feelings can 
 only be described by saying we were happy over the 
 occasion, but sad over the breaking up, and severing 
 of the pleasant relations which had existed among us 
 for the past three months. The evening passed rapidly 
 and after dinner the speeches of parting were about to 
 commence. Harry Higgins had procured a cane of 
 peculiar workmanship on the Continent somewhere, 
 which he valued very much, but lost it in Rotterdam. 
 It had been found by one of the boys, and sent to 
 London unknown to Harry. We arranged to give him 
 some little recognition of his many kindnesses, and as 
 a token of our feelings for him, the members of the 
 party procured a gold-headed cane as a little souvenir 
 of remembrance. It fell to the writer's lot to pre¬ 
 sent Harry with his lost cane, and it was done with 
 all the pathos that I could command. The boys were 
 all in the joke, however, and my efforts were wasted 
 
 < > 1 s; 
 
 
Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 99 
 
 on them. I attempted to refer to the many happy 
 moments of the trip and plunged for the second time 
 in my life into the regions of the poetic muse, as 
 follows : 
 
 WE ARE BREAKING UP TO-NIGHT. 
 
 Our trip has been a charming one; 
 
 We Americans eighteen, 
 
 As we’ve journeyed through these foreign land, 
 Their wondrous sights have seen : 
 
 But there comes a tinge of sadness 
 O’er me as these lines I write, 
 
 And its cause is plain to all of us, 
 
 We are breaking up to-night. 
 
 We left New York as strangers, 
 
 We arrived in France, sworn friends ; 
 
 Never thinking for a moment then 
 That all things have their ends. 
 
 We left the coast together. 
 
 With prospects, on ! so bright; 
 
 And never a thought of the end to come, 
 
 Of the breaking up to-night. 
 
 We have climbed the hills together, 
 
 We have coasted down the vale, 
 
 We have plugged along for miles and miles. 
 And e’en at times by rail, 
 
 But all this now is at an end, 
 
 And to me it don’t seem right ; 
 
 For I can’t quite realize at once, 
 
 That we’re breaking up to-night. 
 
IOO 
 
 Wheal Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 
 Two of us great misfortune met ; 
 
 Were called across the sea, 
 
 Could not continue on with us, 
 
 And in our part}’ he ; 
 
 Though they are not with us-in the flesh 
 Their spirits are here all bright, 
 
 And they are remembered pleasantly, 
 
 At the breaking up to-night. 
 
 No more scorching in for dinner, 
 
 No more coasting down the hills, 
 
 No more pulling through the mud and rain, 
 No more “ cognac” in the bills ; 
 
 No more borrowing from the management, 
 Without giving him a sight 
 For his money until London ; 
 
 For we are breaking up to-night. 
 
 No more “ Poley” for Adonis, 
 
 No more “Jerusalem” from Quinn, 
 
 No more roasting for poor Tommy, 
 
 Nor bad poetry from Jim ; 
 
 No more aiming of Morris’ camera 
 At each object in his sight; 
 
 No more girls for Hard to get “ mashed” on ; 
 We are breaking up to-night. 
 
 Let’s hope the friendships strongly linked 
 Amongst us will ever be 
 As pleasant as they’ve always been 
 From our start across the sea ; 
 
 And though we ne’er may meet again 
 On God’s footstool, in life’s fight, 
 
 We'll all meet in a better land, 
 
 Where there’s no breaking up at night. 
 
We all could see tears of joy in Harry’s eyes, 
 and his feelings can only be imagined when his old 
 friend, his cane, was handed him. Just while he was in 
 a state of excitement, Mr. Robson arose, and with a 
 few well chosen remarks, handed him the other stick 
 as a slight memento from us, and the feeling which 
 the writer had started, was made more real in the hearts 
 of the entire party as Harry was given his new cane. 
 In a few feeling remarks, he referred to his happiness 
 and the appreciation that he felt in receiving the canes, 
 and told us among other complimentary things that 
 this had been the most pleasant and agreeable party 
 he had ever been connected with. In fact he paid us all 
 manner of compliments and thanks. After speeches 
 from all the boys, we said our farewells and broke up, 
 and the El well American Bicycle party of 1890, the 
 happiest and most congenial crowd of wheelmen that 
 ever travelled together, existed only in remembrance. 
 
 tor 
 
 Wheel Tracks in Foreign Lands. 
 

i ii > i «4• ><i i it• iiHti1 1 > • • i • m 411«ii1 1 1iiiij 1H i ;<Hi• iiiio*u*U, 
 
PERSONAL LIBRARY OF 
 JOHN FABER