A driver holding reinsDOWN HILL.
DOWN HILL.
DOWN HILL.
A driver holding reinsA SUDDEN EMERGENCY.
A SUDDEN EMERGENCY.
A SUDDEN EMERGENCY.
It is from driving with a bent arm that one hears people say they cannot work their own brakes. If I had been in that form on the occasion I have mentioned, I must first of all have used the right hand to shorten the reins through the left, before I could have employed it to put on the brake. As it was, the wheelers landed the coach down the hill without serious difficulty, though one of them was only four years old, and by no means a strong holder.
I cannot understand how any coachman can like to have his brake worked for him. The want of it differs so much from day to day, depending upon the load, the state of the road and other causes, that nothing but his own left hand can tell him how to work it. I am sure I should have been impossible to please. It is a most invaluable thing when properly used, but is very liable to be abused. Few things are more aggravating than to see it so applied as to cause horses to draw down hill, as I have often witnessed. The change from drawing to holding back, brings fresh muscles into play, and must therefore be a great relief to horses, as we know the change from up hill to down, and vice versa, is to us when walking.
Before leaving the subject of reins, which may be called the "key of the position," I would venture to raise my voice against what is too often done, which is to pass the right hand across to pull the near side reins. Hands across is very proper in a country dance, but a little of it goes a long way in driving. It is more honoured in the breach than in the observance.
If the team is well "put together" and the reins are properly held in the left hand, the wrist should be sufficiently supple to lift a near wheel horse nearly off his legs.
It is a good test that all is as it should be if, upon pulling up to unskid, the wheelers will back the coach off the skid-pan without any difficulty. Of course, the right hand must be used to the off-side reins, which itself is a help to the left, but no shortening of the reins through the fingers of the left hand should be wanted, and to reach the right hand out to grasp the reins in front of the left, as I have seen done, is absolutely insufferable.
THE TEAM EXTENDED.
THE TEAM EXTENDED.
THE TEAM EXTENDED.
A driver holding reinsTHE TEAM GATHERED.
THE TEAM GATHERED.
THE TEAM GATHERED.
I was once talking on this subject to Charles Tustin, with whose name I have already taken liberties, when he remarked that a coachman should take up his reins at the beginning of a stage, and never have to alter them in his left hand till he throws them down at the end of it. Some drivers I have seen appear to think it a sign of a light hand to be constantly fiddling with the reins. I believe it is more a sign of a fidgeting hand, and I am quite sure, from experience, that hot-tempered horses settle down much better without it. The less their mouths are meddled with the better.
There is one use, however, to which the right hand may sometimes be applied, which is to take hold of the near lead rein and loop it up under the left thumb upon turning a sharp corner to the left, and also if a near wheel horse throws himself against the pole in going down hill or pulling up, to do the same with his rein. From the position a horse in this posture has placed his pad territs in, the rein will naturally become slack and useless, and by shortening it in the way I have described, the left arm resumes its power, and, what is of nearly as much importance, the right is free to use the whip, which will probably be wanted at such a crisis.
One hint may not be out of place here as it may not have occurred to some, and that is, when bringing up the right hand to take hold of the off-side reins, not to reach forward with it, but to bring it up just touching the left, and to seize the reins immediately below that hand. The right hand can then be passed along the reins as far as is necessary, placing a finger to separate the lead and wheel, when either can be pulled separately as may be required.
This may seem to some so small a thing, as not to be worth bothering about, but it is by attending to minutiæ that the accomplished coachman is made; neither is it of such very small importance, as I have known a coach upset for want of its being attended to, and it is especially necessary at night when everything is done by feel.
Old Griffie Williams, as honest a fellow as ever lived, but not the most accomplished of coachmen, who for many summers partly horsed and drove the "Tourist" coach between Aberystwith and Dolgelly, when descending a hill on his up journey, wanted to pull his horses out of the near side of the road, and, reaching forward too far with his right hand, he took up the near wheel rein together with the off-side ones. Of course, the more he pulled at the reins the harder he pulled the near wheeler towards the near side of the road, and it ended in the wheels running up the hedge bank, and putting the coach on its side into the road.
Fortunately he was, as usual, going slowly, and very little harm was done to anyone. Upon my asking him afterwards how he came to scatter his passengers, he replied, "Inteed, I was put them down as nice as was go to bed."
Young coachmen may possibly mistake the weight inseparable from four-horse reins from having got them too tight, but upon looking they may see that the curb-chains are slack, and if that is the case the reins are not too tight. It is not desirable to hold horses too hard, but if a lot of slack is out a coachman is helpless if a horse falls or anything else goes wrong. Moreover, horses generally go better for being well held together. A coachman driving a coach, such as they used to be, who loosed his horses' heads, was generally soon brought to the use of his whip, whilst the same horses, well held together, would be fresh at the end of their stage.
I can now call to mind an instance of this. About half a century ago it was a common lounge in Shrewsbury for those whose time was not fully occupied, to collect at the top of the Wyle Cop, where the "Lion Hotel" was situated, to see the "Hirondelle" and "Hibernia," Liverpool and Cheltenham coaches, come up the hill, and perhaps sometimes a bet might be made as to which would be first, for they did a good deal of racing. Of course, I never let the opportunity slip when I was in that ancient borough of forming one of this number.
The late Mr. Isaac Taylor had, at that time, a team of chestnuts as good as could be put to a coach working in the "Hirondelle" on the down side between Shrewsbury and Leighton, a stage of about eight miles. Little Bob Leek, a very clever coachman, used to drive the up side from Shrewsbury, and Jordan, a very powerful man, the down side. When they met they changed coaches, each returning over his own ground, which he drove double. Shrewsbury was, I believe, the correct place for the coaches to meet at, but, as the opposition was keen, it depended on the racing whether they met in Shrewsbury or a few miles on either side of it; and I have seen this same team driven by Jordan, and when he was hard at work with his whip to get up the hill, ascend it another day when driven by Bob Leek with ease, and he sitting on his box as if he had nothing to do. And, strange as it may appear to some, I believe one of the best tests that can be applied to a coachman is that he should appear to do nothing. I suppose, however, that this rule applies to most other crafts, for what a man does well he does easily to himself, and one who is always hard at work may be set down as a muff. I know from experience that this rule applies to steering a ship. If a helmsman is seen to be constantly at work with the wheel, it is a sure proof that he is not a good hand at it. Just the movement of a spoke or two occasionally is generally enough in the hands of a good helmsman.
And now I will bring the subject of driving to an end by giving a few hints, which, though simple in themselves, and probably known to many of my readers, may not have suggested themselves to some modern coachmen, for the simple reason that they have never felt the want of them, but which were well known to those coachmen whose business it was to get a coach through a country with all sorts of cattle, and when every little dodge was a help.
One of the commonest evils which befell coachmen was to deal with jibbers, they caused the loss of so much time. A kicker, especially if a well-bred one, would kick and keep going too, but a jibber sometimes stuck to the same ground if not got off with the first attempt. As a rule, flogging is of no use, though I have a few times in my life succeeded in making it too hot for them; and, of course, with three good starters one wheeler may be dragged on if he does not lie down. Sometimes, however, a whole team was not to be trusted.
I was once travelling from Aberystwith to Oswestry by the "Engineer" coach, and, as usual, was working, when, upon nearing Machynlleth, Wigram, the coachman, said to me, "You will find the next a good team, but they are all jibbers." I asked him if any one of them was a better starter than the others, to which he replied, "Well, perhaps the off wheeler is a little." The hint was sufficient, and as soon as I was on the box I laid the whip quietly over the off wheeler before trying to start the others, and then immediately pulling the leaders across to the near side, and at the same time speaking to them, the start was effected without any trouble.
Perhaps it may be thought by some that this was no very great test, as the horses were always what was called "running home," that is, they had always their own stable at each end of the stage. At the risk, therefore, of tiring the reader and being accused of egotism, I will venture to mention one other case where there was no assistance from that cause; and as a failure to start makes a fellow look foolish, there can be no harm in impressing upon the minds of young coachmen what will, in nine cases out of ten, save them from being placed in such a situation.
I was quartered with my regiment, the 72nd Highlanders, in the Royal Barracks, Dublin, so many years ago that the Garrison Steeplechases were run off at Maynooth instead of Punchestown as at present, and we had got up a regimental drag for the occasion, of which I was waggoner. As we were starting to return home, the off wheeler jibbed, much to the delight of the Paddies, who had come there for a day's "divarshun," and had some fun in them in those days. Of course, a small crowd was fast collected, and everyone was giving advice and wanting to help, the old Irishman's remedy of lighting a fire under him not being forgotten. I made everyone stand clear, and would not allow anybody to touch a horse, and then, after giving them a minute or two to settle down, I laid the whip lightly over the near wheeler, and then pulling the leaders across to the off side, spoke to them, and we were off in a jiffy. The pulling the leaders across is very important, as it greatly facilitates the draught.
There is also another good result which frequently follows the pulling of the leaders across in case of a jibbing wheeler, which is, that as he will probably have only placed his legs with the view of resisting forward motion, a sudden rough lateral bump of the pole may disconcert his plans and render it necessary for him to move his feet, in which case he is more than half conquered, unless, indeed, he lies down, which the coachman should be too quick to permit.
I think I have already remarked that flogging makes flogging, especially if the horses' heads are loosed too much. It adds, no doubt, somewhat to the labour of the coachman, but for all that he should always keep a good hold of his horses' heads, and a pull of the reins and then giving back again I have often found more efficacious than a good deal of whip. This movement used sometimes to be called by the uncomplimentary name of the "Blackguard's Snatch," but, in spite of an ugly name, it often had salutary results, and with a weak team, heavy load, and time to keep, a coachman could not afford to despise anything.
I have known sluggish leaders very much astonished when hit on the inside. Having only been accustomed to the punishment coming from the outside, they do not know what to make of it when coming from another quarter. It is not difficult to hit the near leader from behind the off pretty sharply, but it is by no means easy to do the same on the other side. It requires the elbow to be well raised, and the back of the hand turned well downwards, for, of course, the thong must be sent under the bars. If done well these are very neat hits.
Very hard-pulling leaders are often easier brought back by sending the other one well up to them than by pulling at them. I have had a raking leader, irritated by a very slow partner, try to bolt, and by hitting his partner have brought him back directly; but he must be "hit sly," so as to make no noise with the whip. The same thing will occur when a hard-pulling leader has a harder puller put alongside him—he comes back at once.
With two leaders of unequal strength it is a good plan to cross the inside traces. It is an assistance to the weaker one, and tends to keep the coach straight.
Check reins are often of use to bring these sort of horses together, and I have, with a very hard puller, had a long one from his nose-band back to the pole-hook.
Lastly, what about kickers, which were, perhaps, the most numerous of all the reprobates that found their way into coaches. I have known a short stick placed between the bottom of the collar and the horse's jaws so as to keep the head raised, in which position he cannot kick badly; but I never used one myself, as I never knew a good dose or two of counter irritation over the ears fail to make a sufficient cure of a wheel horse to enable him to be driven, and a little kicking by a leader does not so much signify if he will keep moving at the same time.
There was an old saying, "Point your leaders and shoot your wheelers," which, perhaps, some of the younger generation may not have heard. It does not very often require to be put in practice, especially at the present time, as it is only really necessary in awkward turns, such as the "Swan with Two Necks," in Lad Lane, in former days, and, more recently, the "Belle Vue" yard at Aberystwith. Of course, there were many more, but these two will suffice as specimens of what I mean. The latter I have known a coachman of long experience fail to get into, in consequence, as I suppose, of his not observing this precept.
To get into this yard two turns had to be taken in a very limited space. The first was to the left, into a street just about wide enough for two coaches to pass, and as soon as the coach and horses were straight after completing this turn, it was time to point the leaders to the right for the narrow entrance to the yard, and if that operation was not accompanied by a shoot of the wheelers to the left, the off hind wheel would not pass clear of the gate post.
This "shoot" is a momentary thing, and should be done by a twist of the left wrist. If the right hand is called in to assist it looks bad. More like a man playing the harp than driving four horses, and, moreover, it is wanted to the off-side reins at the same time.
If the turns are in the contrary direction, of course the manipulation of the reins must be done with the right hand.
The "point and shoot" would be a great assistance at an "obstacle contest."
While on the subject of turns, perhaps I may be allowed to offer another small hint, which, though stale news to many, may be a useful wrinkle for others. It is a good plan, when rounding a sharp corner with a top-heavy load, to make the turn so as to place the outside wheels as much as possible on the crest of the road. This can be effected, if the angle is to the left, by keeping near to the off-side of the road as you approach the bend, and then making a rather short turn so as to hug the near side hedge, by which means the outside wheels will be placed on the highest part of the road, just when the coach most requires the support, and this also gives the coachman more freedom in case of his meeting any vehicle in the middle of the turn. Should the angle be to the right instead of the left, the principle is just the same.
There yet remain two or three other subjects connected with driving, which, though of comparatively little importance in the present day, must, nevertheless, be taken into account in the making of a perfect "waggoner:" these are the power of using the whip and a capacity to judge of pace.
We commonly hear a man called a good whip, thereby meaning a good coachman; but the fact is that comparatively few coachmen in the present day use their whips really well, for the simple reason that they are not called upon to do so. Still the necessity might arise, and then the power of doing so might save an accident. At any rate, a man who can only use one arm is but half a coachman.
From what I have said on previous occasions, it will not, I think, be supposed that I am an advocate for "hitting 'em all round," but in days of yore no man could be considered really safe who was not able to hit when necessary, and to hit hard.
I received an early lesson on this subject when I was at work on the Birmingham and Manchester Express, taking a lesson from Wood, who was my first mentor. There was at off wheel what was called a "stiff-necked one" that no pulling at was able to turn if he took it into his head to resist, and I was helplessly approaching a coal cart, when Wood said, "Why don't you hit him?" I obeyed the hint with so satisfactory a result, that I have never since forgotten it, and have to thank it for getting me out of accidents, one of which at once recurs to my memory, and may perhaps tend to impress it on the minds of others.
I was driving a coach on the Dover Road, and as we were ascending Shooter's Hill a four-horse posting job appeared coming towards us at a good pace, when, upon pulling the reins to draw to the near side of the road, I found that the off wheel horse refused to obey them, and persistently hung to the off side. The posting job was coming nearer with rapid strides. The reins were evidently useless, and it was a matter for the whip, whether I could hit hard enough. If I could not, nothing remained but to pull up, and ignominiously beckon to the postboys to pass on the wrong side.
However, I dropped into him with such effect that he became in as great a hurry to cross the road as the proverbial duck before thunder. But perhaps this old road joke may convey no meaning to many in the present day, so I may as well explain.
It was a favourite conundrum, when some ducks hurried across the road under the leaders' noses, and apparently at the imminent risk of their lives, "Why do ducks cross the road before thunder?" Do you give it up? Because they want to get to the other side.
Perhaps I may be permitted here to introduce another old road story. A boy in charge of a sow and pigs was asked by a passenger the following question: "I say, my boy, whose pigs are those?"Boy."Why, that old sow's."Querist."I don't mean that, you stupid boy. I want to know who's the master of them."Boy."Oh, the maister of 'em? why, that little sandy 'un. He's a deuce of a pig to fight."
But to return to ducks for just one minute. It is commonly said that it is impossible to run over a duck, and in truth, clumsy as they appear to be on their legs, it is very nearly so, though I did once accomplish the feat. I was driving fast round a rather sharp turn in the road, when I suddenly found myself in the middle of them, and one was unable to waddle off quick enough to save his life.
Then, again, to be a judge of pace, although of little importance now, should form part of a coachman's education. If a gentleman driving his private drag thinks he is going at the rate of twelve miles an hour when he is only going nine, it amuses him and hurts no one, neither is it very essential for those who drive the modern coaches from Hatchett's and other places. They, with few exceptions, only run by day, so that the coachman can consult his watch at every milestone if he likes, and the horsing is so admirable and the loading so light that he can experience no difficulty in picking up some lost time. In the old days, however, it was very different. If only five minutes were lost, it was often difficult to recover it with full loads and heavy roads, and, perhaps, weak teams. Moreover, at night the time-piece could only be seen at the different changes, and then, if the coachman was no judge of pace, he might easily find at the end of a ten miles' stage that he had lost five or ten minutes.
To be a good judge of pace requires experience, as the pace that horses appear to be going is very deceptive. When the draught is heavy horses step short, and, though their legs move as rapidly as usual, time is being lost, or at best only kept with difficulty; whilst, on another day, when circumstances are different, load lighter and road hard, the horses step out, and the result is that over the same stage and with the same team, instead of losing time it is hardly possible to throw it away.
Again at night horses always seem to be going faster than they really are, and perhaps this may have had something to do with the idea that horses go better by night than day, so happily explained, as Mr. Reynoldson tells us, by Billy Williams, who said it was because the driver had had his dinner.
Apropos of Billy Williams, I may relate an anecdote of him, which I had from undeniable authority, but which I do not think is generally known.
His Honour, as he was called, the late Honourable Thomas Kenyon, used not unfrequently to ask him, or some other coachman, to spend a day or two at Pradoe, and he also made a practice of driving his own drag to Chester races on the Cup day. On one of these occasions it happened that Billy was at Pradoe, and was to accompany the party to Chester. The day being hot, and His Honour thinking that Billy, whose get up was always breeches and top boots, would be more comfortable in lighter clothing, made him a present of a pair of white trousers, such as were commonly worn by gentlemen of that period. Billy having received them, went to put them on, and returned looking quite smart and cool. It turned out, however, afterwards, that he had only worn them over his usual garments!
There remains one other item to mention, which, though not absolutely a part of driving, is yet of so much importance that without it all knowledge may fail at an important crisis.
Nerve is the article I mean, or what may be called the next door to it, that confidence which is begotten of practice. An inferior coachman with this is generally safer than one who is his superior in neatness and knowledge, but without this gift. When a man's nerve fails him, he loses his head, and then he is unable to make use of any knowledge he possesses, whereas, one with nerve and strength would pull through a difficulty and save an accident. Nerve, no doubt, is largely constitutional, but it is capable of being very much strengthened by use and practice.
But of all things to try nerve commend me to the locomotive engine.
Though I had driven coaches for many years under all imaginable circumstances, and my nerve had never failed me, I must confess that I never thoroughly understood what it meant till I had had the experience of a ride on a locomotive engine. To find myself travelling at a high speed, without there being the slightest power of guidance, caused a sensation I had never experienced before.
All that the engine-driver could have done, if a pointsman had made a mistake, was to try and stop the engine before it ran into anything else; whereas, on a road, when the driver has the power of guiding as well as stopping, if he is unable quite to accomplish the latter he may do so sufficiently to enable him to escape a collision.
To explain my meaning I will shortly narrate what has happened to myself.
I was driving rather fast over a nice level length of road, and was overtaking a waggon drawn by three or four horses. The waggoner very properly pulled to his own side of the road, and anticipating no difficulty I kept on at the pace I was previously going, but just as my leaders arrived within a short distance of the waggon, the horses overpowered the waggoner and crossed the road immediately in front of them. To stop the coach was impossible, but I was just able to check the pace sufficiently to enable me to pull across to the near side of the road, and pass on the wrong side.
In the case of a railway there would be no such chance. There they could only stop, or have an accident. One gets used to everything after a time, and, I suppose, if I had been an engine-driver, I should become so accustomed to this as to think nothing of it; but, as it was, I never felt so helpless. I cannot conceive a greater trial of nerve than to be driving at the rate of twenty miles an hour, or more, among a labyrinth of rails, and entirely dependent on other people for safety.
It is not very long ago since I saw in a newspaper an account of a pointsman being found dead in his box!
I am reminded of the hackneyed saying of an old coachman in the early days of railways: "If a coach is upset," he said, "why, there you are; but if an accident happens to a railway train, where are you?"
It is now upwards of twenty years since the last time I handled four-horse reins, and more than fifty-five since the first time, and I am not going to say that no improvements have taken place during that long period of time. Possibly some may have been found, but I must confess that those I have heard of do not appear to me to come into that category.
It is a common reply to those who stand up for old systems that they were slow. That, at any rate, can hardly be alleged in the present case, for, though I admire the very smart thing done by poor Selby between London and Brighton, I think, when we consider the fast work habitually done in coaches in days of yore, and still more on the first of May and other special occasions, it must be admitted that the pace has, to say the least, not increased. Indeed, allowing for stoppages, taking up and putting down passengers, which lost many minutes in a journey, and the heavy loads carried, by neither of which was the "Old Times" troubled, I think the Brighton feat, good as it was, has often been surpassed. The three Birmingham Tally-ho's generally had a spurt on the first of May, and more than once performed the journey of a hundred and eight miles under seven hours—the best record, I believe, in existence.
Pace, however, at last, is a relative thing, and eight or nine miles an hour on one road may be really as fast as twelve or thirteen on another. I can safely say that, though I have driven some fast coaches in my time, I never had a day of harder work to keep time than in doing eighty miles in ten hours. What with one weak team in the early part of the journey, hilly roads, a heavy load, and frequent delays for changing passengers and luggage, the last stage of nine miles had to be covered in forty-two minutes to bring us in to time and catch the train.
Before finally bidding adieu to the subject of driving, it may perhaps be allowed me to say a few words about harness and the fitting of it. Of course it hardly needs saying that a coachmanoughtto be familiar with every strap and buckle of it, though this intimate knowledge may be dispensed with by those who only drive their own teams, and are always waited on by one or two good and experienced servants. Indeed, from what I witnessed in Hyde Park several years ago, I have had my suspicions whether these same servants are not sometimes utilised on early mornings in training the teams, and putting them straight for the masters' driving in the afternoon. I once saw a drag brought round to the right at the Magazine without the gentleman in charge of the box touching the off-side reins with his right hand at all; and I fail to see how this could have been accomplished unless the horses were as well trained to it as circus steeds.
Still, however perfect these men may be as gentlemen's servants, their experience has not generally led them to attend very closely to the exact fitting of the harness—the collars particularly—which used often to be the plague of their lives to stage coachmen, and even might give trouble to a gentleman, if driving an extended tour. A few hints, therefore, from an old hand may perhaps not be thrown away. With horses freshly put into harness their shoulders are always liable to be rubbed, and they require the greatest care and attention; and one thing should always be insisted on in these cases, which is to wash the shoulders with cold water after work, and to leave the collars on till they have become quite dry again. But if care is necessary in the case of gentlemen's work, what must have been that required with coach horses—especially if running over long stages, with heavy loads and in hot weather. Of course, a good deal depended upon the care of the horse-keeper; but nothing he could do had any chance of keeping the shoulders sound if the collars "wobbled" which they certainly always will do if the least light can be seen between the collar and the upper part of the horse's neck. Then, again, it is most important for the collar to be the right length to suit the individual horse. One which carries his head high will require a longer one in proportion than one which carries it low, because the former position of the head has the effect of causing the windpipe to protrude. On stage-coach work we never cared so much about the weight of the collar as the fitting, and offering a fairly broad surface to the pressure. Two or three pounds extra weight in a collar is nothing compared to the comfortable fitting of it, as we ourselves know to be the case with half-a-pound or so when walking a long distance in strong boots.
If a wound should appear, after all the care that can be taken, a paste made of fullers' earth with some weak salt and water will nearly always effect a cure, if the collar is properly chambered, so as to remove all pressure from the part. In case of a shoulder showing a disposition to gall, I always carried in the hind boot two or three small pads, which I could strap on to the collar, so as to remove the pressure temporarily till it could be chambered; and any gentleman embarking on a driving tour would find this to be a good precaution to take, especially if he is going into out-of-the-way districts.
I will conclude in the words of Horace—
"Si quid noviste rectius istis,Candidus imperti: si non his utere mecum."
"Si quid noviste rectius istis,Candidus imperti: si non his utere mecum."
"Si quid noviste rectius istis,Candidus imperti: si non his utere mecum."
"Si quid noviste rectius istis,
Candidus imperti: si non his utere mecum."
And now, ladies and gentlemen, "I leave you here," and trust I have given you no cause for complaint on the score of either civility or politeness to my passengers. I fear that in some places the road may have been heavy and the pace slow. Perhaps it may be thought that the style is incoherent, to which I can only say that such is usually the character of chatter; and if I have written anything which has afforded some interest or amusement, my most ardent hopes are satisfied.
The tale I have told has, in one sense, been told before, but so many fresh phases and incidents were so constantly turning up in the old mode of travelling, that it is not necessarily a twice-told tale. Probably the first idea of most readers upon closing the book will be, "How thankful I am that my lot was not cast in the days of my father or grandfather;" and this naturally leads to the reflection that when the busy wit of man had not produced so many inventions for evading the minor ills of life, the first idea was to endure them; but now, when fresh schemes of all sorts and descriptions are being propounded every day to render life easy, it is to cure them; and if this does not go to the length of making artificial wants, no doubt it is the wisest course to adopt.
To the old hand, however, who has not forgotten his early experiences, this eagerness to escape all hardship may seem to savour of softness and effeminacy, but I make no doubt that, though not called forth as it used to be in the days of yore, there still exists in the youth and manhood of Old England the same pluck and power of endurance when duty calls, as there ever was; and that as long as we continue to cherish our old field sports and games, we are not in much danger of losing them.
It were folly to stand up for road travelling as against the greater convenience of railways; still, I confess to a lingering feeling of regret that what was brought to such a state of perfection should have so completely vanished, and I think I cannot express these feelings better than by a short anecdote.
Many years ago, when hunting with the late Sir W. W. Wynn's hounds, when they had the advantage of the guidance of John Walker, I asked him which pack, whether the large or small, showed the best sport and killed the most foxes. His answer was, "Well, I really think the large pack does kill most foxes and give the best sport altogether, butI like the little ones." And if asked which is the best mode of travelling, whether by road or rail, I must confess that, as a travelling machine for conveying us from one part of the country to another, the railway is the best both for safety, speed, and economy; but having said this, I am constrained to make the same sort of reservation as was made by John Walker, and say, "I like the coaches."
Most noticeable of all, perhaps, was the plucky effort made in 1837 to revive the favourite "Red Rover" coach between London and Manchester, which had been discontinued upon the opening of the London and Birmingham and the Grand Junction Railways. It was "the last charge of the Old Guard," and shared the same fate. It may be interesting, however, to append a copy of this singular notice—one more evidence of the reluctance of Englishmen to be beaten, even at long odds. The very date at foot is significant, for the enterprise was embarked on in the teeth of the approaching winter.
Red Rover Notice
An old song may come in here:—
"The road, the road, the turnpike road,The hard, the brown, the smooth, the broad,Without a mark, without a bend,Horses 'gainst horses on it contend.Men laugh at the gates, they bilk the tolls,Or stop and pay like honest souls.I'm on the road, I'm on the road,I'm never so blithe as when abroadWith the hills above and the vales below,And merry wheresoe'er I go.If the Opposition appear in sight,What matter, what matter, we'll set that all right."
"The road, the road, the turnpike road,The hard, the brown, the smooth, the broad,Without a mark, without a bend,Horses 'gainst horses on it contend.Men laugh at the gates, they bilk the tolls,Or stop and pay like honest souls.I'm on the road, I'm on the road,I'm never so blithe as when abroadWith the hills above and the vales below,And merry wheresoe'er I go.If the Opposition appear in sight,What matter, what matter, we'll set that all right."
"The road, the road, the turnpike road,The hard, the brown, the smooth, the broad,Without a mark, without a bend,Horses 'gainst horses on it contend.Men laugh at the gates, they bilk the tolls,Or stop and pay like honest souls.I'm on the road, I'm on the road,I'm never so blithe as when abroadWith the hills above and the vales below,And merry wheresoe'er I go.If the Opposition appear in sight,What matter, what matter, we'll set that all right."
"The road, the road, the turnpike road,
The hard, the brown, the smooth, the broad,
Without a mark, without a bend,
Horses 'gainst horses on it contend.
Men laugh at the gates, they bilk the tolls,
Or stop and pay like honest souls.
I'm on the road, I'm on the road,
I'm never so blithe as when abroad
With the hills above and the vales below,
And merry wheresoe'er I go.
If the Opposition appear in sight,
What matter, what matter, we'll set that all right."
In the introduction I ventured to point out some inaccuracies which I had observed in a statement made upon the subject of coach fares, and as it is probably one which few remember anything about, I give a statement of what would be about the profit and loss of a month's working of a coach for a hundred miles.
This makes £8 15s. to be divided per mile, which, of course, would give a very handsome profit; but full loading could not be expected every day, and if it was reduced to half loads, it would not be such a very fat concern.
The cost of each horse was usually put at 17s. 6d. a week, including blacksmith, and that, supposing a man to cover a ten-mile stage for which eight horses would be ample if not running on Sundays, would cost £7 a week, or £28 a month, leaving, at about half loading, say £20 profit. But from this has to be deducted saddler, veterinary surgeon, and wear and tear, the two latter of which depend, to a certain extent, on circumstances over which he has not much control, as it depends upon such things as sickness in the stables and accidents.
Crown and the initials V R
G. P. O.
APPENDIX.
LIST OF MAIL COACHES WHICH WORKED OUT OF LONDON.
So much for the main arteries, but the account would hardly be complete without showing how the more remote and out-of-the-way districts were provided for. I will, therefore, add the routes of a few mails which might be considered as prolongations of some of those already mentioned, but they were worked under fresh contracts and with fresh coaches.
South Wales was served by three—one from Bristol and two from Gloucester, as shown below:—
Gloucester to Aberystwith, by Ross, Hereford, Kington, Rhayader, and Dyffryn Castle.
The Gloucester and Milford was, I think, driven out of Gloucester at one time by Jack Andrews, a very good coachman, and over the lower ground there was a man of the name of Jones. I may, perhaps, be told that that is not a very distinguishing mark of a man in those parts, perhaps it is not, but if the name failed to convey a knowledge of who he was, he, at any rate, possessed one very characteristic feature which was that he always drove without gloves whatever might be the state of the weather. If he saw his box passenger beating his hands against his body or going through any other process with the vain hope of restoring the circulation into his well-nigh frozen fingers, his delight was to hold out his gloveless hand and say, "Indeed, now there is a hand that never wore a glove."
And this recalls to my memory another anecdote which was told me a great many years ago, and which, though it refers to the other extremities, may not be inappropriately introduced here. It appertains to a very well known character already mentioned, the well known Billy Williams, often spoken of as Chester Billy. I am aware that tales are sometimes engrafted on remarkable characters which are also told of others, still I believe I shall not be doing a wrong to any one if I tell this as "'twas told to me," of our old friend Billy. At any rate, it is too good to be lost, so here it is.
On one very cold winter morning it happened that Billy had a box passenger who was stamping his feet on the footboard in the vain attempt to restore the circulation of the blood, which led Billy to remark, "Your feet seem cold this morning, sir," to which the gentleman answered, "I should think they were, are not yours?" "No," says Billy, "they're not;" adding, "I expect you wash 'em." "Wash them," says the passenger, "of course I do, don't you?" "No," was the reply, "I should think not, Iiles'em."
The Manchester mail was also prolonged to Carlisle, though the direct Carlisle mail went by a rather shorter route, but then the populous district on the west coast had to be provided for. It travelled through Preston, Lancaster, Kendal and Penrith. This was, over some of the ground at any rate, one of the fastest mails in England.
Again, in addition to these, which may be said to have had their origin in London, there existed a considerable number of what were called "cross country mails," some of which ran long distances and at high speed, connecting together many important districts. A few of them I will mention, beginning with the Bristol and Liverpool, which was a very fast one.
And no doubt there were several others in one part of the country or another, but I have been unable to meet with any regular list of them, though it is very unlikely that such a road as that between Bristol and Exeter by Taunton, for example, should have been left out. This road certainly had a fast coach on it. The "Royal Exeter" ran from Cheltenham to Exeter through Gloucester and Bristol, driven between Cheltenham and Bristol at one time by Capt. Probyn, and afterwards by William Small. It was a fast coach, stopping for dinner at Nisblete's, at Bristol, and then proceeding on its journey to Exeter.
Then, again, there was a populous and important district through the Staffordshire Potteries, from Birmingham to Liverpool and Manchester, which must have been provided for somehow, but it is not impossible that this may have been effected by the bags being conveyed to Lichfield by the Sheffield, and then transferred to the down Liverpool and Chester mails.
There were also running short distances what were called third class mails, which carried twelve passengers, and the coachman was in charge of the bags. On one of them which ran between Shrewsbury and Newtown I did a good deal of my early practice.
And now, having given a list, more or less perfect, of the mails which traversed England and Wales, perhaps a few words on the subject of the pace at which they travelled may not be without interest.
After singling out the London and Birmingham day mail, which was timed at twelve miles an hour, it is impossible to say, at the present date, which was the fastest coach. That the "Quicksilver" was the fastest mail, I have no doubt, though I believe the palm has been disputed by the Bristol, and perhaps some others; for if a passenger asked a coachman which was the fastest, he was very likely to be told that the one he was travelling in was. I cannot, however, believe that any of these claims could have been supported by facts. "Cui bono?" We can see at a glance why the Devonport should be pushed along as fast as possible, because the journey was a long one; but the distance to Bristol was only one hundred and twenty miles, and whether the mail arrived there at eight or nine o'clock in the morning would have been thought little of in those days, but in a journey of two hundred and twenty-seven miles half a mile an hour makes an appreciable difference. It would seem reasonable, therefore, that the longer mails should have been accelerated as much as possible, and so I believe it really was the case, and that the Holyhead was, after the "Quicksilver," the fastest out of London. At any rate, I know that, when travelling by it, we always passed all the other mails going the same road, and that included a considerable number, as the north road and the Holyhead were synonymous as far as Barnet, and, moreover, the Post-Office was likely to have screwed up these two mails the tightest, as one carried the Irish bags and the other had the correspondence of an important dockyard and naval station.
To single out the fastest coach would be still more impossible. The "Wonder" had a world-wide reputation, which was well deserved, both for the pace and regularity with which she travelled and the admirable manner in which she was appointed in every way; but what gave that coach its preponderating name was the fact of its being the first which undertook to be a day coach over a distance much exceeding one hundred and twenty miles. The Manchester Telegraph must have surpassed the "Wonder" in pace, and, certainly, when we consider the difference of the roads and the hills by which she was opposed in her journey through Derbyshire, had the most difficult task to accomplish; and, again, the "Hirondelle" was timed to go the journey of one hundred and thirty-three miles between Cheltenham and Liverpool in twelve hours and a half, which is a higher rate of speed than the "Wonder," which was allowed fifteen and a half hours to cover the one hundred and fifty-four miles between London and Shrewsbury, and on a far superior road.
I have been induced to enter into this subject because one sometimes now-a-days meets with people who appear to have a somewhat hazy idea about it, and talk glibly of twelve miles an hour as if it was nothing so very great after all. Well, I am not going to deny that it can be done, because I know that it has been effected by the Birmingham day mail, as already stated, and I have also been told by an old inspector of mails that in the latter days they did contrive to screw some Scotch mails up to that speed; but I am sure I can safely say that no mail or stage-coach ever was timed at even eleven miles an hour during the main coaching days, however much faster they might have gone when racing or on special occasions, though I believe it would have been attempted, at any rate, if road travelling had not been put an end to by the railways.
Twelve miles an hour is very great work to accomplish. Why, when stoppages of all sorts are allowed for, it means thirteen miles, and that means galloping for the greater part of the way.
Though the subjoined List is not comprehensive, nor indeed absolutely accurate, it may be worth inserting, as conveying a fair idea of what coaches ran.