These two coaches always made the first of May a day for more than ordinary racing, and performed the journey on those occasions at a very accelerated pace. I am afraid, at this distance of time, to say exactly by how much the time was shortened, but certainly by two or three hours, and as the ordinary time was twelve hours and a half to cover the distance of one hundred and thirty-three miles, the pace must have been very severe.
On one of these annual festivals there was a lady travelling inside the "Hirondelle," and one of the proprietors, thinking she might be alarmed at the terrific pace the coach was going at, offered to "post her" the remainder of the journey without extra charge. She, however, was quite equal to the occasion, and replied that she was much obliged by the offer, but that she liked going fast. This showed well, not only for her nerve, but also that the driving was good, and that the coachmen "made their play" judiciously.
It may seem strange to those who have never had any experience of road travelling, that the memory of hours spent in journeys, when the passengers by public conveyances had only the choice between passing a whole day, and still more, a night, exposed to all the vicissitudes of the British climate, or else in what, compared even to a third-class carriage on a railway, was little better than a box upon wheels, should conjure up reminiscences of happy hours passed under circumstances which must naturally appear to those who have never tried it, absolutely insufferable. Such, however, I believe to be the case, and I very much doubt whether anything like the same affectionate reminiscences will linger about the present luxurious mode of travelling.
At the present age, in consequence of the generally increased luxury, there has arisen an impatience of discomfort unknown to previous generations. Whether this arises from the fact that journeys are now so soon accomplished that one never feels it necessary to try and make the best of it, and affords no opportunity for a trial of pluck and endurance, dear to the heart of an Englishman, I know not; but that there is something deeply seated in human nature, which takes delight in recounting what it has gone through in the way of suffering is certain; or, perhaps, it may be that there was something which addressed itself to the love of sport, innate to man, in travelling behind four horses. This point I will not venture to decide. Certain it is that coaching has always been supposed to be nearly related to sporting. In the daytime, especially in fine weather, there is something very exhilarating in passing quickly through the air, and hearing the rapid steps of four horses on the hard road; and then there was, at least by day, just time enough, even on the fastest coaches, to run into the bar occasionally, whilst the horses were being changed, to have a glass of brown sherry, and exchange a word and a laugh with the pretty barmaid—for they were all pretty! At any rate, these things helped to break the monotony of the journey. Again, if the traveller desired to become acquainted with the country he was passing through, he could be in no better place for seeing it than on the outside of a coach, which by passing through the towns on the route afforded a much better idea of what they were like in architecture and other things, than by only skirting them, as must necessarily be the case on a railway. I often fancy that entering a town from a railway station is something like sneaking into a house by the back door. Night travelling, no doubt, had its serious drawbacks, but they were, to some extent at least, alleviated by a stoppage of sufficient time to get a good supper, such as would warm up the cockles of the heart, and enable the passengers to start again warm, and with a fresh stock of pluck to endure what they could not cure. At any rate, they knew no better.
I tell my grandson that he loses twelve hours of his holidays from Eton now, since he does not have what I look back upon as a downright jolly night. Instead of not leaving college till the morning of breaking up as at present, the "Rocket" coach of the old days, from London to Birmingham and Shrewsbury, used on the previous evening to come to Slough empty, where it arrived about seven o'clock, and at which place we boys who were going long journeys in that direction were allowed to join it; and right well we filled it, inside and out, though the latter was the most coveted position, as being thought more manly. I recollect on my second journey home, though it was the Christmas holidays, my anxious parents having secured an inside place for me, I exchanged it with another boy, "without receiving the difference," so that I might not travel inside, and after that I was left to my own choice.
As it was known some days before what the load would be composed of on those nights, an extra good supper was provided at Oxford, to which we did ample justice, and, as the coach was pretty much at our service on that occasion, there was time to enjoy ourselves thoroughly, which we did to our hearts' content, and started off again warm and comfortable and as "jolly as sand-boys," though I must admit we did know what cold feet were before arriving at Birmingham about eight o'clock on the following morning. That, however, coach travellers expected, and would, perhaps, have been rather disappointed without it.
On these nights the coach used to be so heavily loaded with luggage that things were hung to the lamp-irons, and everything else that could be pressed into the service, and on one sharp, frosty night some small articles were slung under the hind axle, amongst which was a basket of fish; unfortunately, this had been allowed to hang so low down that it came in contact with the hard, frosty road, and when the place was reached where it was to be delivered, nothing could be found but the basket with the bottom out, the cod and oysters having been scattered on the road.
The "Rocket" was not so fast a coach as its name might imply, and old Rook, who drove one side between Birmingham and Shrewsbury, though a good coachman of the old school, was not very particular to ten minutes or so, but would sometimes stop and take a little pleasure on the road; and I well remember passing through Bilson when a bull was being baited on a piece of open ground between the houses, and close to the roadside, and he pulled up to watch the operations for some time. There was a story told of him, that he had a friend who was a pig dealer, whose business frequently caused him to be walking in the same direction as the coach, and if there was room he would give him a lift. One day he came up with his friend walking at his very best pace, when, as usual, he offered him a ride, to which he replied, "No thank you, old fellow, not to-day; I am in a hurry, and can't while."
I cannot say that the return journey carries with it the same pleasurable recollections, even after this distance of time. The "Triumph" coach by which it was performed, was a night one between Shrewsbury and Birmingham, and travelled by day above the latter town, but as it had only a pair of horses up to there it was a very slow affair, starting from Shrewsbury at eleven o'clock at night, and not arriving at Birmingham before six on the following morning. To send a boy back to school on a two-horse power, which consumed seven hours in covering forty-four miles, seems rather like "adding insult to injury." The only amusement we could by any possibility indulge in was when we came to a turnpike gate, when the collector was sleepy and slow in opening it, to cry out "Fire!" as loud as we could to alarm him. We found that the cry of "Murder!" had no effect.
My recollection also reminds me that we did not always travel home by the "Rocket." One Easter holidays three of us started from Eton to post to London in one of the old yellow post-chaises, when soon after passing Slough, the demon of mischief taking possession of us, we determined to have some fun on the road, for which purpose we changed half-a-crown into coppers, and using them as missiles, made a stealthy attack upon the shop windows as we drove along. This fun lasted very well till after changing horses at Hounslow, but upon passing through Brentford, whether we had become too bold and careless, or whether the inhabitants of that town were a sharper race, I don't know, but we all of a sudden found ourselves the object of much interest to them, and a man running out of a shop, seized hold of our horses' heads, and calling us all the young blackguards he could think of, presented his little account for broken glass, etc., etc. I need hardly say that this was immediately settled without haggling, and telling the post-boy to make the best of his way, we soon left the town of Brentford, and further hostile attention on the part of its inhabitants, behind us.
In the previous generation a case occurred when a journey home from Eton was performed on a much grander scale than that which I have just recorded, and as it was of necessity performed by road, may not be inappropriately introduced in this place.
The then Bishop of Worcester, Dr. Cornwall, had two sons at Eton, and on a certain Election Monday they started to go home to their paternal mansion at Diddlesbury, situate in Corvedale in the county of Salop, where the Bishop resided a good deal of his time. The family temper was of rather a hasty nature, and something occurred after the young gentlemen had proceeded a certain distance on the journey which stirred up this hereditary failing, the altercation becoming so strong that they parted company, each one ordering out a post-chaise and four for his own individual use; and it ended in first of all one of them arriving at his destination in a post-chaise and four from Ludlow, followed in about a quarter-of-an-hour by the other brother in a similar conveyance. Report does not say how the Right Rev. father received his sons, but if he had a spice of the family temper, he probably gave them a "mauvais quart d'heure" as the Frenchman says. At any rate, one thing is certain, that it would puzzle the picturesque little town of Ludlow at the present time to turn out "two fours" without a long warning.
Coachmen, as they used to be, are now nearly, or quite, lost to sight, and it is difficult to describe them. Most of the descriptions given of them have been, more or less, caricatures; still, from the time of Tony Weller, they have been a rather peculiar people, although that character, as depicted by Dickens, was more in keeping with a previous generation, and even highly coloured for that, and as unlike what they were in the palmy days of coaching as were two men I saw at Hatchetts a summer or two ago, dressed in such great-coats as were never seen down any road, and with such hats upon their heads as, I should think, never made their appearance anywhere, unless it was on the stage. They were a sort of Gog and Magog of the road.
The coachman of the fastest and best days, which really lasted for a comparatively small number of years, was better educated, and was rarely slangy in his dress, which was well suited to his avocation, and, except in winter, would not generally attract attention. At that season, however, he did require to be well protected against weather, for he had to face all sorts, and that for nearly a whole day or night at a time. On one journey the rain might fall incessantly, on another our changeable climate would produce clear weather accompanied by intense frost, whilst on the following day there might be a driving snow, the wind blowing the flakes into the eyes till it was almost impossible to see the road.
Now all these alternations of weather had to be taken into account, and, I believe, the art of resisting them had well-nigh reached perfection; therefore, with the dread before my eyes of wearying some of my readers, I am tempted to enter with some minuteness into the subject, as, judging from the garments now usually worn, the art is lost in the present day. It was a well established fact that two moderately thick coats gave more warmth and kept out wet better than one which was very thick, and besides which, a very thick coat becomes insufferably heavy after being out many hours in the rain.
Indeed, a great change had taken place in the dress of coachmen. As the pace increased, and better bred horses were employed, and greater activity was required in the coachmen, the cumbersome old great-coat, with innumerable capes, had to make room for garments which interfered less with the movements of the wearer. I need hardly say to those who have had much experience, that there is no hope of keeping dry and warm if the neck is not secured by an ample upper neckcloth; for, tying up this part of the body not only excludes the wet and cold, but also has the effect of keeping in the natural heat of the body. Nothing chills worse than a cold draught passing up the sleeves and coming out at the neck, and to prevent this what were called coachman's cuffs were employed. These consisted of a piece of cloth about six inches in length, which buttoned over the sleeve of the ordinary coat, and when over these were added, first, a strong cloth coat, and over that a waterproof cape with sleeves, and ample enough to spread well over the apron, no wet and little cold could penetrate. Protected in this way, and with a relay of dry woollen gloves and whips, a not unpleasant day might be spent on the coach box even when the elements were unpropitious.
When a man is cased in all these clothes, he can hardly help being a little stiff in his movements, and this imparted a peculiar gait which betrayed the occupation. The left hand also generally acted as a tell tale, as the rounded position in which the wrist was necessarily held during many hours of the day could not be altogether thrown off at other times. It was not uncommon for guards in the fast day coaches to wear red coats, not the post-office guard's livery, as I have seen at Hatchett's, but an ordinary hunting coat.
As roads improved pace increased, and fast day coaches gradually appeared, notably the three "Tallyhoes" between Birmingham and London, distinguished from one another by the words "Eclipse," "Patent," and "Independent;" also the "York House," Bath, and the "Berkely Hunt," Cheltenham.
It was not, however, till about the year 1825 that the "Wonder" commenced running between Shrewsbury and London, a distance of one hundred and fifty-four miles, and it ceased running the whole journey through in the year 1840 or 1841. And this having been the first coach which attempted to cover so long a journey in one day, it marks with sufficient accuracy the time during which coaching was at its zenith. Of course, there were many fast and good coaches running after this date; but subsequent to the year 1842, most of the roads, taking their start from the Metropolis, were, more or less, pressed upon by railways, and the coaches were either taken off altogether, or else the distance run was curtailed. We may therefore put down about twenty-five years as the period during which the coaches covered the roads, though many equally good ones continued to run in Scotland, Wales, and other remote places for many years later.
EXTRA PAIR OF HORSES FOR FAST COACHES, FOR STEEP ASCENTSJ. Sturgess del. et lith.M&N. Hanhart imp.EXTRA PAIR OF HORSES FOR FAST COACHES, FOR STEEP ASCENTS.
J. Sturgess del. et lith.M&N. Hanhart imp.EXTRA PAIR OF HORSES FOR FAST COACHES, FOR STEEP ASCENTS.
J. Sturgess del. et lith.M&N. Hanhart imp.EXTRA PAIR OF HORSES FOR FAST COACHES, FOR STEEP ASCENTS.
J. Sturgess del. et lith.
M&N. Hanhart imp.
EXTRA PAIR OF HORSES FOR FAST COACHES, FOR STEEP ASCENTS.
During this quarter of a century the fun was fast, not to say furious, and with such rapidity did coaches increase and multiply, that it is a wonder how the demand for coachmen was satisfied, for to become one fit to be entrusted with a fast coach, and one which loaded heavily, necessitates no little practice.
From whence then was this demand supplied? Principally, I believe, like that in other trades, on the hereditary principle. It was no uncommon thing for old coachmen to have several sons at work; but, as the box of a good day coach was a lucrative post, a considerable number of men were gradually attracted to it from superior positions in life. The value of a "drive" differed very much, according to the loading of the coach, distance driven, whether single or double journey, or whether the passengers were what was called "good cloth," or the contrary; but one which did not bring in twenty shillings a day was not thought much of, and some were worth double.
This may appear a large remuneration to be received for a day's work, seldom occupying more than nine or ten hours; but I know it is not overstated, as I have not only been told it by others, but have myself fingered forty-five shillings in one day. Perhaps, however, I should add that I was then driving as much as ninety-three miles a day, and had no guard.
There were also other sources from which money was made, and from which coachmen driving slow coaches were enabled to make amends for the inferior quality of their passengers; and, indeed, in quite old days, the best wheel of the coach was often his. The late Mr. Jobson, who for many years kept the "Talbot Hotel" in Shrewsbury, and horsed the "Nimrod," which ran opposition to the "Wonder," had previously driven the "Prince of Wales" coach between that town and Birmingham, during which time he had the opportunity of buying up the guineas, when they were called in by the Mint, at a trifle under their standard value, and being able to dispose of them at their full price he realised a handsome profit.
Again, fish was not an unusual article to be made the subject of trading, and I once was tempted to embark in this business myself, but, as the sequel will show, not with satisfactory results. When I was driving the "Snowdonian," I was frequently asked by friends and acquaintances on the road to bring some fish from Caernarvon, as the towns through which I passed were badly supplied with it. Accordingly, one morning, hearing that a good catch of fish had been brought in, I invested, before starting, in forty pounds of very nice small salmon at sixpence a pound, with the expectation of obliging friends, and at the same time making some profit for my trouble. However, I was soon undeceived. As I went from place to place I announced with a feeling of much complacency that I had got the long-wanted article, but in most cases the answer was that they did not want salmon—any other fish would have been acceptable. Consequently, when I arrived at the end of my journey, I found that more than half was left in hand. Pickled salmon was the standard dish on my table for a fortnight. It was my first and last appearance in the character of a fishmonger. I tried no other sort of fish, as I thought they were too dainty if they could not eat salmon. But perhaps I have digressed too far, and will return to where coachmen sprang from in the required numbers.
I once sat by the side of a Captain Douglas, who had seen service in the Peninsular war, and was then driving the Birmingham and Sheffield mail out of the former town, and a quiet, nice coachman he was. He had a long stage of sixteen miles to Lichfield, and brought his team in fresh at the end of it.
From the officer coachman I come to the private. He was named Marsh, and had served at Waterloo with the 14th Regiment, and after leaving the army, had driven a coach between Maidstone and London for many years. When I first became acquainted with him, he had, like a good many others, followed the receding tide to the west, and was driving one side of the Aberystwith and Shrewsbury mail, between the former place and Newtown, during which time I occasionally worked for him; but, like an old soldier, he was always, if possible, ready for duty. It is curious enough that I first came across him on a Waterloo day, when he modestly remarked, upon the subject being alluded to, "I happened to be there." I had lost sight of him for some years, till I observed a notice of him in theWorldnewspaper of July 11th, 1888. It occurred in a short account of Lord Albemarle, and mentioned the interest he took in "the old soldier Matty Marsh, private 14th Foot, who was wounded at Waterloo, witnessed the funerals of Wellington and Napoleon, drove a coach from Maidstone for many years, and recently died at the advanced age of ninety-four years." I never heard him allude to either of the funerals, and don't very well see how he could have been at that of Napoleon's; but so far as I know, he may have attended both.
A few postboys were elevated to the "bench," notably little Dick Vickers, of the Holyhead mail; but few of them were equal to the task, and, indeed, some of them could not even handle four-horse reins sufficiently well for black work, and consequently the night coachmen were occasionally pressed into this service, much to their dislike, and this once led to a rather droll scene. A gentleman, who had taken to professional coach driving, found himself one day let in for the job of driving a hearse, and, of course, was obliged to get himself up for the occasion something like a mute, when catching sight of himself in a glass, he was so much struck with his personal appearance, that he remarked, "Well, if only some of my family could see me now, I wonder what theywouldsay?"
Indeed, it is difficult to determine from what ranks and professions the large body of coachmen required in those days was not recruited. I suppose few would have looked among the list of publishers for one, but, nevertheless, one, at any rate, from that business was drawn into the service of the road, not having been successful in the former trade. A letter from an old friend of mine, also a coachman, will, I think, interest or amuse some readers, and will show that he possessed a considerable amount of grim humour, as well as some acuteness in business.
"Many years ago," says my friend, "I took up my residence for a short time at the 'Kentish Hotel' in Tunbridge Wells—the best hotel there, and at that time there were very few houses built upon the Common. After stopping there some time, the season ended, and the exodus of visitors had commenced, I took the box seat on Stockdale's coach. I must tell you he had been a large publisher in Piccadilly, but failed, and then took to the road, this being the first coach he had driven, and being part proprietor. He was an exceedingly good amateur whip, but still, not a first-rate artist, as he would try to make you believe.
"A short time before we started, a lady with her maid, who had been stopping in the hotel, sent her luggage to be placed on the coach, and upon Stockdale seeing it, he said to the porter, 'How many passengers, Tom?' 'Two, sir,' says Tom. 'Scale it, Tom,' says he, which he immediately did. When twelve shillings was demanded for extra luggage, the lady said, 'I never paid it before, and have taken two inside places.' 'You see,ma'ame,' says he, 'I horse this coach over Maramscote hill, and I cannot carry your luggage for nothing; you will bring the kitchen range next time if you have nothing to pay.'
"Having seated myself very comfortably on the box seat, our friend Stockdale and myself lit our cigars, going at a fair pace till we were descending Maramscote hill, the skid-pan being on the wheel. The wheel horses did not step well together, and we rocked very considerably, which led me to observe he had better be careful, or he would put the passengers down to count them. Upon this he turned round to me, looking daggers, and asked me to look what was painted on the board at the side of the hill, and looking, I read, 'Dry rubbish may be thrown here.' You may be sure I did not offer any more advice for the remainder of the stage; but ourcontretempssoon cooled down, and when we were changing horses, 'I say, governor!' says he, 'forget the dry rubbish, and come in and take a little cold brandy and water. It's the only place I ever go into on the road, for it's the only place where you can escape being poisoned.' After our refreshment we went at a very jolly pace, having Robert Nelson's horses, which were first-rate, and soon arrived at the Belle Sauvage, Ludgate Hill, where we found a great bustle of coaches, and luggage just come by other coaches, arriving from different parts of the country, and porters were calling out, 'Any passengers for Leeds "Courier," "Hope," "Halifax,"'" etc., etc.
It was not only necessary that a coachman should be able to drive well, which required time and practice to acquire, but, what was of nearly equal importance, he had to learn how to get his coach quick through the country. Indeed, his was a position of no small responsibility, for he had the lives and limbs of the passengers in his hands, and as, when was sometimes the case with a strong opposition, his orders were simply "be first" his was no very enviable situation. When he could do all this with the minimum of wear and tear of the stock, he was a very valuable man to his employers.
As a rule, I think they were fairly careful of the stock, though certainly on slow coaches, when a little time lost could be recovered without much difficulty, the horses by no means always reaped the full benefit of the time allowed them. This, however, it must with justice be admitted, was not altogether the fault of the coachmen. The proprietors were too prone to encourage delay for the custom it brought to the "bar," and if a coachman was heard to decline the offer of a glass of sherry or brandy and water from his box passenger, he might expect black looks.
Of course, with the fastest coaches, such delays were impossible, neither could the coachman find time to pull up and patronize the house of a friend, as was frequently done by his brethren on the slower drags.
I have heard of the late Mr. Isaac Taylor, of Shrewsbury, when he wanted to select from among his coachmen one fitted for a fast coach, adopting the following plan: One of his coaches was driven by a man who he knew to be coachman enough for the job, but he was not so sure about his power of getting through the country. He, therefore, one day, quietly seated himself inside this man's coach, and after a time his doubts were confirmed, for on pulling up at a roadside inn, the landlady, without observing him, said to the coachman, "Mr. So-and-So, how will you have your eggs done to-day? Shall they be poached or boiled?" I need hardly add, he remained on the slow coach.
A smart coachman usually took his place in changing horses, and it is quite possible, as I know from experience, having been timed by a box passenger, to effect the change in one minute and a half, with only one horse-keeper, assisted by coachman and guard; but to do this, each one must know his own place; they must not be tumbling over one another. The best drill I ever knew for this purpose was as follows: As the coach gradually stopped, the guard got down, and ran forward to unhook the near leader's outside trace, and then drew the near lead rein through the territs, after which he changed the near wheel horse, and finished by running the near lead rein. The horse-keeper, on the off-side, unhooked the remaining lead traces, uncoupled the wheel horses, and changed the off-side one. The coachman, getting down from his box as fast as he could, finished changing the leaders. The horses had, of course, previous to the arrival of the coach, been properly placed; one wheeler on each side of the road, and the leaders coupled.
This, of course, could only be carried out when the team was pretty quiet to "put to," for with queer tempered ones, all sorts of dodges had to be resorted to, attended sometimes with considerable loss of time.
Occasionally, it would be necessary to run a leader's rein the first thing, and then the coachman had to bustle up to his box as quick as he could, trusting to the horse-keeper and guard to get the traces hooked as best they might. Again, some wheelers could not bear to be poled up till after the coach was started. Horse-keepers were often exceedingly smart at this sort of work, though they varied a good deal, so much so, that it was no uncommon thing for "queer ones" to start better from one end of the stage than the other.
These said horse-keepers were a rough lot, and no great wonder, for they had rough work to do. They were frequently expected to attend to eight horses, four out and four in, every day, or to take charge of six, with eight out and eight in, during the course of the day. But, what was worse than the work, they constantly had vicious horses to attend to, and such as it was dangerous to approach in the stall. To meet this difficulty, I have known a long cord used, with one end fastened to the head collar, and the other made fast to the stall-post, by which the horse could be pulled back far enough to enable the horse-keeper to keep clear of his heels whilst entering the stall. I was once travelling at night, when, upon arriving at the end of a stage, the coachman said to the horsekeeper, "Mind what you are about with that horse," pointing to a fresh one, "he bit a piece out of a man just before starting." It struck me as not a very enviable position to be left, in the middle of a dark night, to look single-handed after four dirty horses, and one of them a "savage."
But to return to changing horses, for it was an item of the very greatest importance in fast work. It was necessary at times to use a twitch with kickers, or to strap up one foreleg, though I have known this latter insufficient to keep the hind feet on the ground, and was once compelled to "Rarey" a mare before she would suffer herself to be put to the coach. She was, from some cause or another, the worst tempered horse I ever met with. When I first knew her, she was the property of a gentleman residing at Dolgelly, but her temper was so violent and untractable, that she had got the better of one or two breakers, and the ostler at the "Wynnstay Arms" at Machynlleth, having undertaken to conquer her, she had been taken there for that purpose.
It happened that I had promised to drive, a day or two afterwards, for another coachman, who wanted a rest, and as his coach did not start till after I had arrived with the "Harkaway" from Barmouth, and was back again in time for my return coach, I was able to oblige him, little thinking what I had undertaken.
On looking over the team before mounting my box, what should I espy but this very animal at off-lead. "Oh," says I, "then this is the way you are going to be broken? Well, we shall see how we can agree." And taking up the reins, I mounted the box. Cautioning the horse-keeper not to touch her, but to keep alongside the other leader through the archway out of the inn yard, and to be sure and make him carry his bar well, we started, the hitherto unmanageable mare giving very little trouble, and, after a few more journeys in the coach, she was considered to have finished her education, and returned home.
I suppose, however, that she was not much to the taste of her owner, as she was very soon purchased, for a small sum, by my partner, Mr. E. Jones, of the "Ship Hotel," Dolgelly, and put to run in the "Harkaway." I drove her for many months, and considered that she was quite subdued, though it was always necessary to strap up a foreleg when putting her to the coach, and she was always nasty in the stable. All of a sudden, however, as spring came on, she returned to her old tricks, and thought so little of having a leg strapped up, that she kicked her bar over the top of the coach, and was so violent that it was impossible to "put her to." I determined, therefore, to "Rarey" her, so, getting a long rope, and fastening it to the foreleg which was not strapped, and passing it over her withers, I gradually pulled her down, and, after the most approved "Rarey" fashion, sat upon her. After a few minutes, I allowed her to get up, but she seemed still to be very light behind, so I put her into her place at near-lead, all the while keeping a strain upon the rope, and so kept her peaceable whilst the traces were hooked, the rein run, etc. Then, handing over the rope to the guard, I got into my place, when it became, "Let 'em go, and take care of yourselves." The brute went right enough for about a couple of hundred yards, when all of a sudden, she ran her head into the near-side hedge, and set to kicking in earnest; but as this movement exposed her flank, I was soon able to make it too hot for her, and she finished the stage to Dolgelly quietly. I drove her again the next day, but she continued so violent that, as we carried a great many ladies and children at that time of year, she was taken away for fear of alarming them, especially as some parts of the road were not of the safest.
The guard of the olden day was generally exceedingly quick in putting on the skid and taking it off, which with fast coaches travelling hilly roads, before the patent break was in use, was of first-rate importance. Most of them were able to do the former without entirely stopping the coach, but only a very few could unskid without the coachman pulling up and backing his horses. It required a man of unusual strength and activity to unskid whilst the coach was in motion, as it was necessary for him to twist the wheel back out of the pan with the right hand, and at the same moment to seize the chain with the left, and hang it to the hook on the coach, and these skid-pans were not a very light weight.
Probably few of my readers will know the manner in which wheels were dragged in a frost, therefore I will try and explain it here. It is manifest that the usual way of doing it would have been not only useless, but absolutely mischievous, as it would have had a tendency to pull the hind part of the coach into the side of the road when it was slippery. The method adopted, therefore, was to tie a strong chain round the felloe of the wheel, in such a position that it pressed upon the ground and broke up the surface sufficiently to get a good hold on it. This chain was then fastened to the safety hook.
Guards were frequently obliged to work very long hours, as it was usually the case that, on coaches running long distances, one of them would cover the ground driven over by four coachmen. In severe weather this was naturally very trying, consequently, they did not work every day. For instance, the "Wonder," from Shrewsbury to London, a distance of one hundred and fifty-four miles, had three guards, each of whom worked two double journeys and then rested for one. The object of these men going the whole journey no doubt was that there should be no break in the parcel department, which might have caused delay or loss.
Talking of the "Wonder" reminds me that, fast as it travelled, the proprietors had intended doing better. The late Mr. Taylor, who horsed it out of Shrewsbury, told me that it had been in contemplation to expedite it so as to perform the journey in thirteen hours instead of sixteen, and that, to enable this pace to be kept up, the stages would have been limited to six miles each, and the coach was not to stop to pick up passengers, or for any other business, except at the changes. This idea, however, was abandoned when it was seen that the railways would certainly obtain possession of the traffic.
I question whether the public would have been satisfied with the proposed arrangement. They would have complained very much of being obliged to go two or three miles to get on to the coach when it passed their own doors. But really that part of the plan was hardly necessary. Horsed as the "Wonder" was, and travelling over such a first-rate road, it would not have puzzled it much to do twelve miles an hour; but then every stage exceeding seven miles must have been divided.
Some guards were quite natty with their parcels and luggage. I was one day, when driving the Aberystwith and Shrewsbury mail, amused with Jem Large, who was one of the guards on it at the time, and perhaps the best to get a coach through a country that I ever drove. He had, as usual, before leaving Shrewsbury, packed the front boot so carefully that he could lay his hand upon everything in it even in the dark. When, however, the mail arrived at Welshpool, it was found necessary to change the coach, and as Jem was occupied with Post-office business, he was unable to attend to the front boot, and, consequently, what he had placed at the top of one was promptly consigned to the bottom of the other. When we reached Caersws a passenger left us, and Jem opened the boot to take out his portmanteau; but what did he see? Instead of what he wanted being at the top, it was now at the bottom, and with many groans and anathemas he began to dive in pursuit of it, and as he disappeared further and further the language which I heard from under my feet became more and more pointed, till at last it became quite unparliamentary, even for the present day.
The situation of guard was a very responsible one also in a pecuniary point of view, as he had the power of defrauding his employer to a very considerable extent, and the temptation to do so was enhanced by the pace the coach travelled at; more especially was this the case when the opposition was keen, and I fear it was sometimes too strong to be resisted.
To obviate this he always carried with him a "way-bill," and the theory was that it was compared by the book-keeper with the number of passengers on the coach at each stage. It often happened, however, that by the time the parcels had been given in and compared with the way-bill, the horses were changed and the coach was off again without the passengers having been counted, and thus having afforded opportunities for what was called "shouldering," that is, pocketing a passenger's fare, or "swallowing him," as it was sometimes denominated.
Everything had to be done at the "change," as there was no convenience for the guard to go over his parcels, as is done in a van on the railways. By the bye, I wonder what John Ash would have thought of himself if he had got down from the back of the "Wonder" with a pencil behind his ear?
To a certain extent, what were termed "shorts" were allowed, as it was customary for all passengers' fares not exceeding two shillings to be the perquisite of the coachman and guard on coaches, and of the latter only on mails, as he was the servant of the proprietors, carrying the way-bill and having charge of the parcels. The Post-office guard was occupied with his bags; but his was a rather anomalous position, receiving only the munificent sum of ten shillings and sixpence a week from the Post-Office, and being supposed to eke out a living by fees from the passengers, to whom he had little or no time to attend. Of quite late years, however, this was corrected, and the few who were then employed were more liberally dealt with. They received as much as seventy pounds a year from the Post-Office; but then they were not supposed to take fees from the passengers, or, at any rate, not to ask for them. So much was this system of "shorts" an acknowledged thing, that I have had two shillings handed to me by the book-keeper as I was getting on to my box, with the following remark, "I took it from him, thinking he might fork out something more when he gets down." These perquisites, however, were not altogether untaxed, as coachmen were expected to subsidize the wages of the horse-keepers to the amount of one shilling a week, and sometimes more.
Talking of parcels brings to my mind a rather comical scene I once witnessed. It so happened that one day I came across one of the "Tourist" coaches, running between Caernarvon and Dolgelly, which had pulled up at a wayside inn about thirteen miles from Tan-y-bwlch. I was attracted by the coachman, whose name was, if I recollect rightly, Roberts, intently studying the address on a small parcel. It evidently caused him great trouble to decipher it, as he first turned it up, and then he turned it down, but neither right side up nor wrong side up could he satisfy himself, and, at last, looking up and seeing me, he came for assistance out of his difficulties, saying he was not a very good scholar. When I looked at the address, I said, "You should have left this at Tan-y-bwlch." "Well, dear me," said he, "that was a bad job; indeed, it is doctor's stuff."
Having indicated to some extent the sources from which the great demand for coachmen were supplied, I will venture to dwell, for a moment, and not without feelings of regret, on the subject of their no less rapid disappearance from the scene. It will, I am aware, have little or no interest to many: well, then, let them skip it; but some there may be, into whose hands this little volume finds its way, who have sufficient remembrance of old days to be interested in it, and, at any rate, it shall not occupy much space.
It is always a melancholy thing to see any class of men suddenly deprived of their means of subsistence from no fault of their own. It is very easy to say that if one trade fails another must be found, and to some political economists this appears to be a sufficient solution of the difficulty, but it by no means has that effect on the sufferers. A man who has thoroughly learned one handicraft, can very seldom become a proficient in any others; and it is always the inferior workmen who are left out in the cold. Driving, like other trades, was not learned without much practice, and does not fit a man for any other business. Where, then, did they vanish to?
The guards could, and I believe did, to a large extent, find employment on the railways in the same capacity, and, probably, some coachmen also; but this could not absorb all, or, indeed, any very large proportion of them. His means of subsistence consisted in his power of driving horses. He could not drive a steam engine. It is difficult to say where they all dispersed to. A considerable number, no doubt, found employment upon omnibuses in London and other large towns; but that was a sorry life, indeed, like slavery compared to freedom, to one who had been accustomed to the cheery work on a coach.
Many of those who had had the good fortune to drive good paying coaches, and had been thrifty, invested their savings in inns, and, in some cases, in hotels of some importance. A few, some of whom I have previously mentioned, followed the receding tide, and obtained drives upon summer coaches. One who could horse a stage was pretty sure of getting a drive on one of them, as there was frequently some difficulty in finding people to cover the middle ground. Some few took to farming, but I cannot call to mind anyone who prospered as an agriculturist.
I fear the larger part died off rapidly. They were never a long-lived class of men. Strange as it may sound, the natural healthiness of the employment tended to shorten their lives. The constant passing through the air promoted great appetites, which, for the most part were fully gratified, and this, together with insufficient exercise, produced disease. I have known some who took a good walk before or after the day's drive, who lived to a hale old age, but too many seemed to think that the driving was sufficient exercise, though it could only have been very bad teams that made it so; worse than were put to coaches of late years.
Joe Wall, who drove the Manchester "Telegraph" out of London, used to take his exercise in a very aristocratic manner, as he always kept one, and sometimes two hunters, at Hockliffe, where he left the coach, and enjoyed his love for sport, as well as getting healthy exercise, and occupying the time which would otherwise have hung heavy on his hands, and possibly might have led him into mischief. This, however, had its drawbacks, and, on one occasion, was very near leading to a difficulty of no small magnitude. He had, as usual, been out hunting, and had, unfortunately, experienced a bad fall, which incapacitated him from driving the return coach, and, at first, it seemed as if it could not find its way to London that evening, for it was not every one, even though he might call himself a coachman, who was capable of driving a coach at the pace at which the "Telegraph" was timed, on a dark winter's evening, along a road crowded with so large a number of vehicles of all descriptions as would be the case on one approaching the metropolis. As good luck, however, would have it, an efficient substitute turned up in the shape of a very able and experienced hand, who had driven equally fast coaches. A few became horse-dealers, and I knew one who was for many years the highly-valued stud-groom to the late Sir W. W. Wynn, but, if I ever heard it, I have quite forgotten what coach it was that Simpson drove. I believe he was a good coachman, but he had the misfortune, though by no fault of his own, to capsize the hound van, nearly killing that prince of huntsmen, John Walker.
I once knew a guard who had previously followed the occupation of clown in a circus. His experience there had made him active enough for anything, but he and the coachman did not, I fancy, get on very well together, as the latter used sometimes to speak of him in derision as "my fool."
There was a great character who drove out of Machynlleth at that time. His name was David Lloyd, and he worked the mail between that place and Dolgelly round by Towyn and the coast. When he came to a certain long fall of ground, he would put his team into a gallop, and then, taking a small twisted horn, which he slung in a strap over his shoulder, would blow almost without ceasing, especially when it was dusk, as was more or less the case during a considerable part of the year, and, as his right hand was fully occupied with the horn, if he wanted to take a pull at the reins he made use of his foot.
It was dark for the greater part of the year before he reached the end of the journey, and, as his sight was not very good at night, he would sometimes say to his box passenger, "If you please, sir, will you tell me what is coming towards us." Perhaps the passenger after looking, would say "A cart," to which David would reply, "Then I was get out of his way;" but if the answer was "A gig," or "A carriage," he would say, "Then he was get out of my way," and would keep straight on.
Dolgelly at that time contained a few boon companions, some of whom were rather given to practical joking. One morning there happened to be on the box seat one of these gentlemen, and when they had proceeded a few miles on the road, he pulled a pill-box out of his pocket and took some of the pills. Upon seeing this, David said to him, "If you please, sir, what have you got there?" He replied, "Only a few pills, which I find very beneficial after a hard night." "Well, indeed," says David, "I had a rather heavy night; was you please give me some of them?" "All right," says he, "hold out your hand," when he poured several pills into it; and upon David asking how many he was to take, he said, "Take them all," which he did; and the sequel was, that he drove his coach to Machynlleth, but another man brought it back in the evening.
For two summers, when I was driving the Aberystwith and Kington "Cambrian," I had Ben Haslam as guard, who was also something of a character, and quite one of the old coachmen. He had driven for many years out of London on different coaches, and, like a good many others, had followed the receding tide, and had got down to Herefordshire, where coaches lingered for several years, and then on to Wales, where, at that time, railways had not penetrated.
He was full of anecdotes connected with the road, and towards autumn, when the down loads were usually very light, I would sometimes get him to sit by me on the box that he might enliven the way with some of them.
He had one story which amused me, of the only really crusty coachman I ever heard of. They were, as a rule, very cheery, genial spirits, and, indeed, had not much cause to be otherwise. There were few pleasanter lives. They were generally made a great deal of, indeed, perhaps rather too much so at times, although, as a body, they bore their honours becomingly. Between the patronage they received from the gentlemen and the deference shown them by the horse-keepers and others, it is hardly to be wondered at if sometimes their heads were a little turned, and they became rather too big for their boots. There was a story told of one, who was rather cheeky, giving great offence to a parson, who was his box passenger, by saying that he was not going to drive the next day, but should send his curate. They were, however, not very unfrequently taken down a peg by a lick from the rough side of a crusty proprietor's tongue; but on the whole, they were, as Tony Weller said, "priviledged indiwiduals."
But to return to the crusty coachman. His name was Spooner, and he drove out of Oxford, and, though often causing trouble with the passengers by his want of urbanity, he was too valuable a servant to get rid of. As was not so very unusual with him, he had been lately called to account for some want of civility to a passenger, whereupon he announced his determination never to speak to one of them again, and he kept his word, till one day, a gentleman who was going to travel by his coach, asked him some question, but after repeating it several times and eliciting no reply, turned to the proprietor, who was in the office, saying, "Your coachman is so surly, he won't answer a single question I put to him." The proprietor asked him what he meant by not answering the gentleman, to which he replied, "If I do speak to him he will only complain, like that other fool did the other day."
On another occasion his whole coach was occupied by musicians, coming to play at a ball at Oxford, and, as he did not expect very good pay from them, he was not in the best of tempers. It happened that at the last change of horses before arriving at Oxford, a boy, who had been sent with a fresh horse, was returning by the coach, and, as every seat was occupied, he sat upon the footboard by the bandmaster's feet, and after they had gone a short distance, pulled a Jew's harp out of his pocket and began to play upon it. Upon this the bandmaster asked the boy to allow him to try what he could do with it, saying, "He could play a good many instruments, but had never tried a Jew's harp." The new instrument proved too much for him, whereupon old Spooner looked at him with scorn and contempt, and said, "You are a pretty sort of a man for a bandmaster, and cannot play a Jew's harp."
He also narrated how, when the Great Western Railway was opened over only certain lengths, and coaches were employed over the other ground, some of those were conveyed certain distances on trucks, and the coachmen travelled in their respective coaches. Of course they did not overflow with affection for their rivals, and the way they tried to annoy them was by getting out of their coaches and applying the breaks to the wheels of the trucks.
This reminds me of how very slow all those connected with coaches, as also those who took a warm interest in them, were to realize the fact that their occupation was fast leaving them, and that the railways would, before many years, have entirely superseded the old system of travelling.
We were not, however, the only people who were somewhat sceptical on the subject, though with us, no doubt, the wish was father to the thought; but theTimesnewspaper, whilst admitting the financial success of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, warned investors against speculative imitation, saying, "Where there are good roads and convenient coaches, it would be a mistake to alter existing arrangements."
Every little failure of the railways raised our spirits and gave strength to the hope that they would fail, as all attempts to utilize steam upon ordinary roads had hitherto done. At first, they were unable to keep time in frosty weather, as the driving-wheels kept turning round and round on the same spot of the slippery rail.
In the beginning of January, in the year 1838, I was travelling down to Shrewsbury by the Holyhead mail. It was the first night of the long frost and snow-up of that winter, which continued for two months, and the roads were so much blocked up with snow, that for a few days the coachmen and guards held a sort of wake at Dunchurch. On the night I travelled down the frost set in exceedingly sharp, and the only up mail that kept time was the Holyhead, which had come by road the whole distance through North Wales. The other mails, whose bags had been brought to Birmingham by what was then called the Grand Junction Railway, were after time, as the trains could make but slow progress on the slippery rails. The coachman and I, two silly creatures as we were, made ourselves happy with the conviction that railways must always be a failure for fast work, and that the coaching business was not in such great danger after all. No doubt this opinion was entertained by a good many others, and led to losses, by inducing some coach proprietors to oppose the railways instead of coming to terms with them.
It was on this journey, if I recollect rightly, that I had my last experience of that conveyance, long since quite lost to sight, and now nearly so to memory, that perhaps I may be pardoned if I linger for a few moments to raise it, or its ghost, before the eyes of the present generation, especially as I have seen some not very accurate descriptions of them.
The old hackney coach, though frousty and damp, was generally roomy and easy, as it had nearly always commenced its career in gentlemen's service, and had consequently been built by one of the best coachmakers of the day, and so far was decidedly better than the modern "bounder." It carried about it a character of decayed respectability, not to say grandeur, and upon entering one of them it was not impossible for a gentleman to be greeted by his own quarterings upon the panel. They were as ramshackling looking things as could be imagined, with occasionally, wheels of different colours, and the horses and coachman, together with his clothes, seemed made to match.
But to return to coaches proper again: one called the "Dart" used to run between Oxford and London, driven by a coachman who was commonly known by the name of "Black Will;" and one fine morning the box seat was occupied by an Oxford Don, who thought he would enjoy the air on his journey. After they had gone a short distance he addressed our friend Black Will, saying, "Are you the coachman they call Black Will?" His answer was, "Blackguards call me Black Will, but gentlemen call me Mr. Walters." It is needless to say that this shut up the Don for the remainder of the journey.
Dick Dicas drove the "Cambrian" between Llangollen and Dolgelly for several years, and one day it so happened that among the outside passengers there was a ventriloquist. As they drove along the road a man was seen walking leisurely across a field in the direction of the coach, when the ventriloquist threw his voice so as to make it appear that he was calling to it to stop. Of course, Dick pulled up, thinking he had got another passenger; but as he did not quicken his pace, he began to get impatient, for he was not a Job under any circumstances, and called out to him to "Come on," and "Do you suppose I can wait here all day for you?" At last, as he approached nearer, he said, "What do you want with me?" when friend Dick answered, "Why, you called me to stop." "I did nothing of the sort," replied the man in the field. "I tell you you did," said Dick, waxing warmer. "Well, I'm not coming with you, anyhow," said the leisurely man; whereupon there was nothing left for Dick to do but to drive on, not in the best of tempers, as may be supposed. Whether he ever knew of the trick played upon him I do not remember to have heard, but if he did find it out in time, I suspect he made it hot for the ventriloquist.
At one time Cambridge could boast of a clever poet as a coachman. Tom Cross was his name, and he drove the Lynn coach from the "Golden Cross," Charing Cross. He wrote "The Conflagration of Rome," and "Paul before Nero," and some wags among the undergraduates said the idea was given him by the fat from the bacon he was frying in the garret igniting. But be that as it may, they were very clever compositions. I fancy it was this man who published the first book on coaching which has appeared in print.
I have sometimes been asked if I did not find it very monotonous to be always travelling the same road day after day. Some might have found it so, but I never did. There was never wanting something to break through the monotony. One was brought into contact with fresh passengers every journey, and constantly some fresh incident arose. Indeed, on many roads the scenery alone would beguile the time. In leafy England there are few roads on which there is not something to admire even if other parts are devoid of attraction, and with the real lover of scenery, the eye does not easily tire of looking at the same picture. I must admit that I have been especially favoured in this respect, as my drives lay through some of the most lovely scenery in Wales, notably the valley of the Mawddach, so eulogistically spoken of by the late Judge Talfourd; and also the magnificent scenery of Snowdonia. I can never forget the remarkable reflection in the water with which I was once favoured at Port Madoc, on the down journey from Caernarvon to Aberystwith. As we passed over the embankment and bridge, which at that place unite the counties of Caernarvon and Merioneth, the whole of the mountain range for many miles round, including Snowdon and the remarkable peak-shaped Cnicht, together with many other mountains, whose names I cannot now call to mind, were reflected in the clear water of the estuary, which was then at full tide, as clearly as they could have been in a mirror. It was a sight not to be erased from memory.
Then, again, he was a fortunate man who drove seventy or eighty miles a day, who had no horse to deal with which would not pretty effectually banishennuifor one stage. Again, the coach was the bringer of the news of the day, and, moreover, never stayed long enough in one place but that it was always "welcome in and welcome out," and this brings to my mind a rather amusing incident—at least, it was good fun to one side—which occurred at a contested election a good many years ago.
On the occasion of a warmly-contested election for Montgomeryshire, in the year 1862, I had been to Welshpool to vote for my friend Mr. C. W. W. Wynn, and when, on my down journey, I arrived at Machynlleth, there being no electric telegraph, great anxiety was felt to know the state of the poll. This I gave them as far as it was known when I left Welshpool, but the returns from some of the strongest Conservative districts not having then been received, it was very far from perfection. However, it being favourable to the other side, they jumped at it, and it was not my business to undeceive them; so in their flush of confidence and the height of their happiness, they backed their man freely. The next morning, when I returned with my up coach, the final result of the poll was known, which was in favour of the Conservatives, and they had only to pay and look pleased, which, to their credit, I believe they did very good-humouredly.
I think I have now shown that if there is monotony in always driving the same road, it may, at any rate, be monotony with variations, and a strong opposition at once scattered it all to the winds, as one day one would be in front, and on another the other one.
Night driving had always a strong fascination for me. The sensation of always, as it were, driving into darkness, not knowing what would appear next, kept up the zest of the thing. I do not mean to say that I was in love with poking along in a dark night with only two indifferent lamps; but having time to keep, and plenty of light, I did enjoy. No fast coach could be said to be efficiently lighted without five lamps—two on each side and one under the footboard. The best lamps for throwing a strong light forward which I ever used, were made by Messrs. Kay and Johnson, of Edinburgh. They were what were designated "Argand burners," and being constructed strong and without unnecessary ornament, were sold to stage coachmen for four pounds ten shillings the pair. As they only threw their light nearly straight ahead, they required to be supplemented, except upon very wide, good roads, by other lamps placed lower down on the coach, which threw a strong light to the side; and with them, and one under the footboard, if there were no fog, the darkest night could be set at defiance. I always-used the best sperm oil, as I found that colza oil had a tendency to become thick from the shaking of the coach, which caused the brightness of the light to become dimmed.
At night, also, a coachman must depend upon his hands to tell him how his horses are working, and as he may never see some of the teams by daylight at all, his left hand is all he has got to rely upon to inform him how the horse-keepers are doing their duty by the stock, and whether they are doing well or not.
I have never been very much of a tandem driver, for having been entered upon stage coaches, and driven them for a good many hundred miles before getting hold of a tandem, I must confess I rather looked down upon it, and regarded it somewhat in the light of a toy.
The first time of my embarking in one I felt like the proverbial tin kettle to the dog's tail. There was no weight behind the horses to bring them to their collars, and they appeared to be almost drawing by my hands, like the Yankee trotters. Of course, that sensation went off after a little practice, and, though it is a team that requires careful handling, it is one exceedingly well adapted for heavy roads, as there is great strength of horse power in proportion to the load which is usually placed behind them. This not only enables one to ascend steep hills with ease, but also greatly facilitates the descent, as it is almost impossible to place a sufficient load upon only two wheels to overpower the shaft horse. It was in the act of descending hills that most coach accidents happened, by the load overpowering the wheel horses; and, of course, the load on a tandem cart can never be top heavy, which was another fertile source of accidents to coaches.
When I first tried my hand at tandem I was quartered at Chatham, and being cut off from the coaches I had been accustomed to drive, my hands itched for the double reins, and I condescended to the hitherto despised tandem; but upon my first attempt, I soon found myself brought up with the leader on one side a small tree and the wheeler on the other. Rather a humiliating position for one who thought himself a coachman! At that time, however, I little realized how much practice is required to master the science of driving, though I must confess that something short of that ought to have kept me clear of the tree.
This brings to my recollection a scene which occurred during the time I was quartered in that garrison, which throws some light on the manners and customs of military life half a century ago.
It so happened, as also occurred to Mr. Pickwick and his friends on another occasion, that a ball was held at the Assembly Rooms in Rochester, and a good sprinkling of officers from the barracks were present, among which I counted one. When the small hours of the morning were reached, and it was time to return home, another officer and I, each in full uniform, jumped on the boxes of two of what were then termed "dicky chaises," and raced nearly as fast as the old screws could gallop along the streets of Rochester and Chatham up to the barracks; and upon our arriving there the gates were thrown open, and we did not finish our race till we reached the officers' quarters.
It was, however, in the Australian colonies that I did most of my tandem driving, and as the roads in those new countries were often, to say the least of it, imperfectly made, and houses were few and far between, causing a journey of sixty or seventy miles in the day to be sometimes necessary, I found it a team by no means to be despised.
It was early in the year of 1840 that I landed at Hobart Town (now abbreviated to Hobart), from the good ship "Layton," of five hundred tons burden, after a voyage of nearly five months, which had brought out four hundred convicts, who were in those days sent out under a small military guard; and it was not long after finding myself on terra firma before the old craving took possession of me, nor long after that before it was gratified, as already a good foundation had been laid.
A dear old brother officer, many years dead, who had gone out with a previous guard, had had a tandem cart built; and he also supplied leader and harness, I finding wheeler and coachman, as he did not care for driving; so I think I had the best of it. However, both were satisfied, which is not always the case.
In that lovely island, then called Van Diemen's Land, but now Tasmania, there were many miles of roads as good as any to be found in England, constructed by convict labour, and admirably engineered over the hills. Indeed, the greater part of the one hundred and twenty miles between Hobart and Launceston was good enough for almost any pace, as I can vouch for from having driven the whole distance both ways.
I was not, however, allowed to remain in that delightful island for long, but was sent away with a detachment of two companies to the colony then called Swan River, but now changed to West Australia; and there we bid adieu to roads such as are generally understood by that word. All that was ever done there at that time was to cut off the trees, when they were in great numbers, about a foot from the ground; so anyone may imagine how the horses stumbled over one stump and the wheels bounded over another. In other places, where the trees were few and the bush thin, nothing was done unless it were what was called "blazing," which consisted of cutting off a piece of bark from some of the trees to indicate what was meant to be a road; but in many parts nothing at all had been done, and the traveller had nothing to show him the road except a few wheel marks, and was obliged to thread his way between the trees as best he could. Even in the settlements there was no attempt at macadam.
These were just the circumstances to show off a tandem to the best advantage and for finding out its merits, which I soon had an opportunity of doing, as an agricultural gathering was to be held at a place called York, about eighty miles from the capital, Perth, where we were quartered.
My old friend and I determined to make a start for the scene of festivity. The tandem cart, which had come with us, was looked over, and the harness rubbed up; but the difficulty was how to get horsed, as we had none of our own at that time. However, without very much trouble we engaged two of some sort, though one of them turned out to be as much plague as profit, as the sequel will show. He was in the lead, and for a good while we were quite unable to make him budge an inch in the right direction. At last we saddled him, and my companion mounting, armed with a good stick, began to lay about him so vigorously that the brute made off fast enough; but his rider was so intent on keeping him moving that he quite forgot to look what direction he was going in, and led the way off the road into the bush, though, indeed, there was little difference between them. I was almost falling off my box from laughter, much less was I able to make myself heard to recall him into the road. At last, however, the direction was changed and the road regained, but I don't think I have ever laughed so much before or since, so ridiculous was the scene.
Well, we managed to get as far as the first settlement on the road, about ten miles, where a good many others, all riding, had collected from different parts, and were bound to the same destination; and here we met with a Good Samaritan indeed, in the shape of a friend who had settled in the colony, and was riding a very nice quiet mare, which he most kindly exchanged with us for our leader. The only drawback to this arrangement was that she was followed by a foal at her heels, which every now and then would pass between the leader and wheeler, and it was as much as I could do to avoid injuring it.
We travelled pretty comfortably, however, in this manner for a good many miles till it became dark, when it was necessary to light the lamps, as there remained some miles to be covered before arriving at the end of the day's journey; the delay at starting having thrown us behind time.
If it was difficult to thread the way among the stumps and avoid running over the foal in the daylight, I leave the reader to judge what it was after dark; sufficient to say that we jumped and bumped first over one stump and then over another, the horses continually blundering over them as well. However, all's well that ends well, and we reached the journey's end at last for that day. A solitary hostelry it was in the midst of the bush, miles distant from any other habitation, generally little used, but on the present occasion full to overflowing. As we approached the house in the dark, voices as of quarrelling reached our ears, for it so happened that a certain naval officer, who was not usually given to falling out, but who, like many others of his craft, was safer "aloft" than on a horse's back, had just ridden up at a sharp pace to the house, and the landlord, appearing at the door with a light at the same moment, made the horse stop short, which caused the rider to be deposited on the ground, and he, thinking it had been done intentionally, was very wrathful; mine host, also becoming heated, made use of the words that had caught my ears as I drove up, which were, "If the gentleman wants a game of fives, I am his man." After a few minutes, however, peacemakers appeared upon the scene, explanations took place, and harmony was restored.
The house was so crowded that none but those who had taken the precaution to bespeak beds beforehand could get them, and, of those, I will not venture to say how many slept in the same one. The rest of us had to deposit our carcases where we could, and I got possession of a sofa, in what I suppose must be called the coffee-room, where I lay down and went to sleep, but only for a very short time, as the bugs, the most voracious I ever met with, nearly pulled me off it. I then tried the floor, but with, if possible, worse results, so, like the man in the song of the "Cork Leg," "I soon got up and was off again."
By this time I had had enough of the inside of the house, and therefore betook myself out of it, where I found some natives in their small tents made of bark, and gathering some wood and getting a light from them, I soon had a fire, and lying down by it, with the driving cushion for a pillow, passed the rest of the night in peace and comfort. Probably by this time a railway has been constructed through this country, and for all I know a grand company hotel may have taken the place of the old "Half-way House" in the bush.
These said natives always went about in those days, and probably do now—though perhaps civilization and Bryant and May may have rendered it unnecessary—well provided with a light; and it was the usual thing, when meeting them in the bush, to see one or two women carrying what was termed a fire stick, which consisted of two pieces of bark placed together, and of such a nature that it kept alight for a considerable length of time; nor, indeed, to anyone who had witnessed the labour it was to them to strike a light in their primitive fashion, would this carefulness of the household fire excite any wonder. I will endeavour to explain how they did it.
As was my frequent custom, I was passing a few days in the bush, hunting kangaroos, and the first evening upon arriving at our camping ground, we told the native, who was accompanying us as guide, that he must strike a light, but he replied, "No, white fellow make fire." We said, "Black fellow have no fire to-night if he no make it;" and after a good deal of persuasion he was prevailed upon to set to work, which he did in the following manner:—
First, he cut a sort of reed which grew upon a shrub, which went by the name of the black boy, bringing one end to a point. He then got a flat piece of stick, about a foot in length, in the middle of which he made a small hole, just large enough to hold the pointed end of the reed. Then after heaping a small quantity of the dryest old leaves he could find upon the flat stick, he inserted the point of the reed into the hole in it in an upright position, then holding the stick firm by sitting down and putting his feet upon it, he commenced to rub the reed backwards and forwards between his hands so energetically that in the space of about ten minutes or less, some smoke made its appearance, which was very soon followed by fire. It was certainly an ingenious way of striking a light, but decidedly laborious, and very primitive even in comparison with the old tinder-box and matches, which I can recollect as the only means thecivilizedworld had of obtaining a light.
Like other savages living in fine climates, where food could be obtained with little labour, they were naturally indolent, of which I had an amusing instance on one occasion.
I was walking one very hot summer clay along what, by courtesy, was called a street in Perth, which—though laid out with the view of being at some future time, and now probably is, a wide and handsome thoroughfare—consisted at that time of deep sand, when, from a native sitting basking in the sunshine on the opposite side, I was accosted in a plaintive tone with the words, "White fellow, money give it 'em." I pulled some small coin out of my pocket, and held it out in my hand for him to fetch, but instead of exerting himself to get up, he said, "Oh, white fellow bring it 'em." After this length of time I cannot charge my memory with what the result was, but suppose he had to fetch it.
It is much to the credit of the settlers in this colony that these children of nature had, at that time, and I dare say it is the same now, been always kindly treated, and so far from the advent of the white man being the signal for the diminution of the dusky one, the Aborigines, in some parts of the colony at the time I am speaking of, were actually increasing in numbers. Especially was this the case with the tribe which lived round Perth, and it was accounted for in this way.
They had a rough and ready way of maintaining the balance of power among themselves, which was that upon the death of a man in one tribe, one of his relations speared one belonging to some other adjoining tribe to keep the balance even, and as what was called the Perth tribe was supposed to be under the protection of the whites, they were left pretty much unmolested in this way.
Though averse to anything like labour, some of them made fairly good shepherds, but the same man was not allowed by his tribe to work continuously. I heard of a case in which one man regularly served a settler in the capacity of shepherd for six months in the year; that is to say, he worked for three months, after which he went away for the same length of time, sending another to fill his place; at the expiration of which time he returned to his charge for another three months. If he had taken service permanently, his tribe would have speared him, so jealous were they of their liberty, and, like many others better instructed, rejecting the good things within their reach.