We are held a day at Cork for repairs to the car, but, those finished, roll rapidly away in the direction of Fermoy. These roads are very good and the motor glides smoothly and rapidly onward, first by the banks of the Lee and then northeastward towards Fermoy. The day is misty and damp, forcing the hood over our heads, though I would almost rather get wet than have it up. However, one must consider fur robes, etc., so up it goes.
Shortly thereafter I note a clicking sound underneath and an unsatisfactory movement of the motor, which causes the chauffeur to slow down and stop. A lengthy examination mends matters for a time, but the trouble occurs again and then Robert announces that we must return to Cork as the water won't circulate. We are twelve miles out with no place en route for help. We are also about the same distance from Fermoy but in that direction and but three miles away there is a town where cars may be had and help obtained, so onward we move, and wisely, as matters turn out, for we come to a final halt on the confines of the village. Loading the luggage and ourselves upon two cars we drive to Fermoy leaving orders to have the motor towed in by a mule, ignoble as that may sound. As it turns out even the motor rebels at such disgrace and refuses to move even by the use of two mules. Robert manages, however, to get it over the eight miles to Fermoy by its own power, in some four hours, allowing much oil to run into the water tubes,—not the best thing for the motor but all that could be done. I can see that he is decidedly disgruntled with the car. This is the third time it has been in the shop in two weeks, which certainly should not have been the case with a new car such as I was assured this was. When I state this to the chauffeur, he laughs and replies, "New! Yes, as to the body, but the motor is some years old, in fact is the original Panhard motor used by Mr. Harvey du Gros; it has been lengthened and repaired and a new body put upon it."[7] Fortunately we have each time been where help was at hand save on this occasion. But as it turns out Robert can repair it in this hotel yard as they have a pit to work in. He had thought that the trouble arose from oil and waste getting into and clogging the water pipes, but it proves to have been a broken pin in the wheel of the pump,—"broken through age," he states. If this accident had occurred in the wilds of Mayo or Sligo far from any assistance our plight would have been a serious one, and I cannot but feel that to send the car out as new, knowing the motor, the only important part, to be old was scarcely fair,—in fact, far from it. Robert is an excellent chauffeur and thoroughly understands and is able to repair a machine. In this last case, however, we had to buy a new wheel.
The town is a small garrison town and we are delayed there only one night. Still I must acknowledge, as has been so often the case, that its little hotel was far more comfortable than those in most of the large towns and cities of Ireland. Its rooms are cleanly and the food good.
The roads from Fermoy to Clonmel, the depot of the "Royal Irish," B.'s old regiment, are hilly but good, and the auto takes on life once more, though I notice that Robert seems concerned as to the result. However the machinery warms to its work after an hour and we speed onward, breathing more freely as the pulsations settle down into a rhythmical beat, finally rolling into the barracks at Clonmel in good season. There we spend a pleasant hour, lunching with the officers of the mess and having no time for the town itself, which is not of interest.
The roads are fine all of the afternoon, most of them well rolled. Our route is eastward through the valley of the Blackwater, evidently a stream of importance in ancient days, as its course is guarded by towers and castles, now all in ruins and given over to clambering ivy. At Waterford the stream is broad and deep and ocean steamships lie moored at her quays.
"Dinnis"
Hotel Victoria