ON A GUERNSEY EXCURSION CAR.
The car, drawn by four horses, and crowded with Excursionists on pleasure bent, is toiling up the steep streets of St. Peter Port, when it comes to a sudden halt.
Excursionists (impatiently). Now then, what's this? What are we stopping here for?
The Driver. Ladies and Gentlemen, you will thoroughly understand that it is customary for the car to stop here, in order that the party may be photographed, thus providing an agreeable souvenir of the trip, and a useful means of identification at Scotland Yard. (A Photographer appears in the road with a camera, and the party prepare themselves for perpetuation in a pleased flutter.) P'raps, Sir—(to a Mild Man on the box-seat)—you'd like to be taken 'andling the ribbons? Most of our Gentlemen do.
[The Mild Man accepts the reins, and endeavours to assume a knowing and horsey expression.
A Timid Lady (behind). I do hope no Gentleman will take the reins, unless he is thoroughly accustomed to driving four-in-hand. Suppose they took it into their heads to run away suddenly!
Driver (solemnly). Don't you alarm yourself about that, Ma'am, in the very slightest degree. These 'osses take that pride in themselves, they'd stop here all day rather than spoil their own likenesses!
[The M.M. intimates that he is no novice in the art of driving, which is fairly true as regards a pony-trap—and the fears of the T.L. are allayed.
Photographer. Now, steady all, please, those at the further ends of the seats stand up so as to come into the picture, a little more to the right, please, the gentleman in the straw 'at, turn your 'ead a trifle more towards the camera, the lady in the pink shirt,—that's better. Better take off your spectacles, Sir. Now then—are you ready?
A Comic Exc. 'Old on a bit—I've a fly on my nose.
[Some of the party giggle; the photograph is successfully taken, and the car proceeds.
The Driver. On your left, Ladies and Gentlemen, you have the Prison—the cheapest Hotel in the Island for parties who intend making a protracted stay here. On our right we are now passing "Paradise." You will observe that someone has 'ung his 'at and coat up at the entrance, not being certain of getting in. Notice the tree in front—the finest specimen on the island of the good old Guernsey hoak.
[He keeps turning from time to time to address these instructive remarks to the passengers behind him.
The Timid Lady. I wish he wouldn't talk so much, and look more where he is going—we're much too near the hedge!
Driver (standing up, and turning his back on the horses, as they trot on). Ladies and Gentlemen, you will all thoroughly understand that the roads in this Island are narrow. Consequently, you must look after the branches and briars yourselves. I've enough to do to look after my 'orses, I assure you, and it looks bad to see 'ats and bonnets decorating the 'edges after the car has passed. (Some of the Excursionists look at one another uneasily.) The glass-'ouses you see in such quantities, are employed in the production of early grapes and tomators for the London Market. This Island alone exports annually—
[Here the car rounds a corner rather sharply, and he sits down again.
The Mild Man (with a Mild Man's thirst for information). What are those buildings over there with the chimney?
[Here he is conscious of being furtively prodded in the back—but decides to take no notice.
Driver (rising as before). Those buildings, Ladies and Gentlemen, are Chemical works for extracting iodine from seaweed. The seaweed, after being dried, is then boiled, and from the ash—
[Here the Mild Man, who has been listening with much interest, is startled by receiving a folded piece of paper, which it passed up to him from behind.
The M.M. (to himself, as he reads the message). "Keep the Driver quiet. He is drunk." Good Gracious! I never noticed—and yet—dear me, I hope they don't expect me to interfere!
The Timid Lady (to the Driver). For goodness sake never mind about iodine now—sit down and attend to your driving, like a good man!
Driver. You will thoroughly understand, my horses require no attention. (Sleepily.) No attention whatever. I assure you I am perfectly competent to drive this car and give you information going along at the same time. (The car takes another corner rather abruptly.) Simply matter of habit. (Gravely.) Matter'f habit!
A Serious Exc. (in an undertone.) A very bad habit, I'm afraid. It's really time somebody else took the reins from him!
The M.M. (overhearing). I'm afraid they mean me—I wish now I'd never touched the reins at all!
Driver. The Church we are now coming to, is St. Martin's, built in the year eleven 'undred.
A Female Exc. (critically). It has got an old-fashioned look about it, certainly.
A Male Exc. There's nothing to see inside of these old churches. I went in one the other day, and I was looking up at the rafters, and I saw a sort o' picture there, and I said, "Ullo—they've been advertising Pears' Soap here, or something." But when I looked again, it was only an old fresco. I was so little interested I walked out without tipping the Verger!
The Female Exc. That Church we went to on Sunday evening is very old.
Her Comp. Is it? How do you know?
The F.E. Why, my dress was covered with bits of fluff out of the hassock!
Driver. The carved stone figure you see by the gate, is supposed to be a portrait of Julius Cæsar's Grandmother, and very like the old lady. (The Excursionists nearest him smile in a sickly way, to avoid hurting his feelings, as the car moves on—to halt once more at Icart Point.) It is customary to alight here and go round the point, and I can assure you, Ladies and Gentlemen, the scenery is well worth your inspection and will give you a little idea of what the Island is.
Excursionists (taking advantage of the opportunity to discuss the situation). I noticed it the minute I set eyes on him—he never ought to have been sent out like this ... He's been to a wedding this morning, so I heard, and it's upset him a little, that's all ... Upset him—we're lucky if he doesn't upset us. What a fidget you are! I shan't take you into Switzerland next year, if you're like this... If Switzerland's full of a lot of drunken men, I don't want to go... Well, what had we better do about it? Perhaps this gentleman would—Oh, no, I couldn't take the responsibility, really, not without knowing the way. Well, we can't walk back, that's certain—we must trust to luck, that's all! Pretty bit of the coast you get here ... Oh, don't talk about the scenery now, when, for all we know!—&c., &c.
[The car starts again, and presently arrives at a winding and precipitous road leading down to Petit Bot Bay, where the Driver again rises with his back to the horses, and proceeds to address the Excursionists , as they sit paralysed with horror.
Driver. Ladies and Gentlemen, at this point I shall explain the scenery. (The Timid Lady protests that she is content to leave the scenery unexplained.) Pardon me, this is a portion of the scenery—(Here his eyes close and reopen with an effort)—a portion of the scenery that can only be properly enjoyed coming out on one of these cars. If you go out with ordinary drivers, they take you along the main roads, and you come away fancying you've seen the Island. Now the advantage of coming along with me—(His eyes close once more—the Excursionists implore him to attend to his team.) You will thoroughly understand there is not the slightest cause to apprehend any danger. I've driven this car fifteen years without least accident—up to present. So you can devote your whole attention to the scenery, without needing to keep an eye upon the Driver. (He points to the abyss.) That is the shortest way down—on this occasion, however, I shall endeavour not to take it. (He whips up his horses, and accomplishes the descent at a brisk pace.) There, didn't I tell you there wouldn't be no accident? Very well, then. P'rhaps you'll believe me another time!
Mild Man (alighting at Hotel for luncheon). We've had a remarkably lucky escape—I never felt more thankful in my life!
A Gloomy Exc. Don't you be in too great a hurry, Sir! We've got to get back—and he's bound to be worse after he's had his lunch!
[The M.M.'s appetite for lobster is entirely destroyed by this sinister prediction; but whether the Driver has been unjustly maligned, or whether he has sobered himself in the interval—he reappears in a more sedentary, and less discursive mood, and the journey home proves agreeably devoid of sensation.