1816: the Grandest Tour

France: Chapter 1

At the first sign of dawn, George left the Albion Inn for a walk. It was early April and a brisk chill hung in the mist, but the young man was already dressed, and warmly, for the crossing in a few hours' time. He squelched out of the yard in his tall Hessian boots, making straight for the White Cliffs. Past the muddy stables and rude hovels on the edge of town he reached the wet grass of the coast. High to his left he could dimly see the outlines of Dover Castle. It was a majestic Norman keep that he'd only had a brief glimpse at the previous afternoon, from the outside. He'd regretted the lack of time, but comforted himself that this was only the beginning.

The sun was a reddish bruise on the horizon, casting yellowed and pinkish rays over the channel as George strode toward the masses of pale white. Sailors take warning flitted through his head. He pulled his coat collar a bit tighter and began the hike up a steep slope. After a few minutes he reached the cliff's summit, just as the sun emerged in its dawn glory. He gasped at the sight. Brilliant white walls of chalk, high as cathedrals, loomed in a great line to meet the light of the morning. This – this is a fitting start, he thought, almost sure he could extemporize a poem at that very moment. A couple of phrases occurred, but nothing more. As the light grew he strained his eyes to see Calais in the distance. The fog had been thick merely half an hour before, but now he could make out the tiny gray buildings: France. The whole of Europe was just within reach. With a sigh George abandoned the spectacular view to retrace his steps back to the inn and his companions. No doubt they would be up and preparing themselves. On a day like this, he thought, the crossing might take only a few hours.

When he returned to their rooms at the Albion it was clear he had been too optimistic. None of the party was stirring, except for the man-servants Dick and Isaac. Those two were loading trunks on top of the carriage for the short journey to the harbor. A couple of lads from the inn were helping them, and George anticipated their hopes, giving them half a crown each. He turned to Isaac.

"The others not risen yet?"

"I tried to raise them earlier, sir," Isaac replied, "Mr. Entwistle was beginning to dress himself, but Mr. de Mowbray and Mr. Gibbon claimed a strong preference for more rest."

"I'm sure they did," George said with a wry grin. "I'll see how they're progressing then. How soon 'til the carriage is ready?"

"Not five minutes, sir; the stable boys are just gone to bring the horses."

George clapped the young man on his shoulder and strode through the inn's front door. Up the stairs in a flash he looked in at Tobias tying his neckcloths. He quickly advised him they'd be off soon, then ducked out to knock softly at Hugh and Robert's door. There was no response. With a sigh he knocked again, much louder. In reply he heard a piteous groan and a snarling oath. Undeterred, he pushed the door wide and hit something with a great thud.

"AAAAUUGH!" cried Robert, whose head had been dangling off his mattress in the path of the door.

"Beg pardon, Robin," George said cheerily. "I thought it best to warn you two the carriage will be leaving in five minutes."

Another groan and fresh curses greeted this announcement. Robert and Hugh had been at cards and drinking late into the night, despite every warning. With a few more entreaties and the odd kick George succeeded in getting the two to struggle into some clothes, promising plenty of rest on the voyage across the Channel although he knew this was likely as gross a lie as he'd ever told.

In just a few minutes he and Tobias had bundled their aching-headed friends into the coach and they were off. The harbor was indeed very close by, but there proved to be no small amount of head-scratching and delay by the boatmen as they considered how to dismantle the carriage to fit on the ship. George's father had warned him of this and he made sure to offer a few well-timed shillings to the captain and others, and soon the problems were miraculously resolved.

On board the vessel, the four repaired to a cramped cabin just below deck. A side panel of oak had been hollowed out to form a half-circle booth, in the middle of which sat a round table. Two small windows let in light from either side, under which were wooden chairs that one had to stand on to look outside.

"We shan't need to stay in here the whole voyage," said George in high spirits. "The first mate told me our crossing should be exceedingly mild. Come, let's walk out on deck."

They followed him back out to watch as the ship weighed anchor and cast off. The sailors were salty local tars – slightly drunk, friendly enough, but knowledgeable around the rigging. They shouted strange nautical words to each other and busied themselves with the sails and ropes and everything else. Meanwhile George and Tobias stood at the rear of the deck, watching the white cliffs stand brilliant in the morning sun. Soon the ship gave a sway and they were finally off.

"Isn't it marvelous!" said Tobias. "This marks the first occasion I've ever set foot off of Britain. What wonders, George, what adventures must await us on the Continent!"

George couldn't help but agree. As they stood gazing toward the white cliffs, the brilliant gates of their home, their Sceptered Isle, a great pride filled their two hearts, a sweet sorrow at parting from the land of Shakespeare, the home of the British Nation, the greatest of all earthly –

"BEEEEUUUUUURRRGHHHH!"

George and Tobias whirled around to port side. Robert was bent over the wall, rendering up his hurried eggs and sausage into the sea. Hugh stood by his side, unsure what to do. Clearly revolted, he still felt a modicum of sympathy for his friend, and gingerly extended a hand to pat him on the back as he heaved. The sailors gave as much notice to Robert's discomfort as the seagulls crying overhead.

"Oh Robin, poor fellow," said George, trying to calm his own stomach. The boat was swaying now, more than any of the four had expected. They slid over the lurching deck to Robert and Hugh, to make sure the former was all right. His three friends took him down to the cabin, where they tried to cheer him with some of their plans they had for Paris. He rallied tolerably well, his belly holding nothing else to forfeit.

Soon the captain's plump wife bustled in with a pot of tea and biscuits, which the boys greatly appreciated. She made cheerful small talk, sharing the number of times she'd crossed the Channel, her views of the French in Calais, and other such trifling matter. George found her rustic expressions quaint and amusing, but before long excused himself and ventured up to the deck. He was feeling restless, and not from the motion of the seas.

Back at the surface all around was fog-ridden and gray. He heard laughter and looked over to see Dick Blackford, Robert's queer West Country valet, sharing a jug of rum with a couple of the crew. He seemed to know them from before. George wondered where his own valet Isaac was, but then recalled he'd seen him going below to a cabin with servants and other travelers making the crossing. His mother had been loath to part with Isaac's help, as he was discerning and conscientious to a fault, but Sir James had convinced her there was no better man to be at George's side for such a journey.

George's mind flitted over such musings quickly as he stared out to the endless ocean. Then, with the steadfast truth of a compass, his thoughts swung back in their usual direction – back to her. Susan Tilney had already made her crossing a week before. She'd written him that she and her governess, Clémentine, had arrived at Antwerp and were planning to spend some months in the Netherlands before proceeding south to Rome in the summer. Clémentine de Sotisse, who was barely seven years older than her young charge, knew all their plans for elopement. Having read a good hundred saucy French novels together, for educational purposes, they were both delighted to embark on a romantic adventure of their own making. George's delight was no less. His disposition was all suited to passion and sincerity – he could invest even the slimy path of a morning snail with emotional power, if he chose. So it seemed to him entirely fitting that he should escape the gaze of his loving but imperious father to marry a girl for love alone. And once the two parties met in Rome, that was precisely what he would do.

The sensation of being in love was precious to George. It imbued every experience with both a melancholic and ecstatic beauty – made every minute of life transcendent, more real than the five bare senses could attest. He gave a last look toward England, then joined his friends below as they chatted and swore at each other over cards, roaring with laughter together as they recalled Robert's face before he lost his breakfast overboard.