THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
and a hood lined with light blue cloth, a garment which in Switzerland a tailor had evolved from my large soldier's cape. We suddenly became conscious of making very startling figures on a Sunday morning on the streets of this Scottish capital, and were no longer surprised at the astonishment of the sober church-goers and the mockery of the boys. However, there we were. We could make no change, and so sauntered on without troubling ourselves about the feelings of the others.
We looked up the celebrated Walter Scott monument and several of the famous edifices, and then went on and up to the castle, where the first view of soldiers in the splendid Scottish Highland uniform burst upon us. We enjoyed to our hearts' content the aspect of the city and its wonderfully picturesque surroundings. In short, we found Edinburgh beautiful beyond compare. In the meantime it had become high noon, and we began to feel that the contemplation of the most magnificent view does not satisfy the stomach. The imperious desire for a solid meal moved us to descend from the castle and to look about for a hotel, or at least a restaurant. But in vain. From the outside some buildings looked like public houses, but nowhere an open door. One or two we tried to enter, but without success. Now our utter ignorance of the English language became very embarrassing. Of words of English sound we knew only two—“beefsteak” and “sherry.” We addressed some of the passersby in German and also in French, but they all responded after a long and astonished stare in an idiom entirely unintelligible to us, although we both had remarked that when we heard these Scottish people talk at a distance, their language sounded very much like German. When we pronounced our two English words, “beefsteak” and “sherry,” those whom we addressed pointed toward the harbor. Our situation became more and more precarious, as the sun was setting. We were
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