THE TURNPIKE GATE AT HYDE PARK CORNER—SUBURBAN AND PROVINCIAL TURNPIKE-MEN—THEIR REFLECTIONS—PANORAMA OF THE ROAD—THE "OLD WHITE HORSE CELLAR," PICCADILLY—GROUPS OF ITS FREQUENTERS.
CHAPTER XI.
Few, if any, of my readers will remember the time when a turnpike-gate stood between St. George's Hospital and Apsley House, though many will not be unmindful of those near the Marble Arch, Bayswater, and Kensington, all of which were sad nuisances to the inhabitants of the metropolis.
There was, however, a wide distinction between the official in London and its suburbs, and the rural collector. The latter was generally an uncouth, half-sleepy clod, who, on a moderate calculation, detained you three minutes in procuring the ticket and change, finally placing six or eight pennyworth of dirty coppers and a fresh written scrap of paper in your palm, to the detriment of cleanhands or gloves. The suburban was generally "wide awake" to everyone and everything. He might be seen in his easy-chair before the door of his contracted space—his smart, white-painted "box"—smoking a mild havannah, which the kindness of some sporting passer-by had presented him with, making remarks on passing events; and when none occurred he would take part in a duet with his blackbird, whose wicker cage hung by his side, and whistle for want of thought.
His costume was neat; he was ever on thequi vive; his mottoes were "No trust," "Toujourspay,toujours prêt." When, like one of Macheath's gang, he heard "the sound of coaches," his cigar was laid aside, a ticket taken from a neatly-arranged file, when he exclaimed "Twopence!" then, twirling the shilling he had received on his thumb-nail, dived into the multitudinous pockets of his white apron, handing out a sixpence and a fourpenny-piece to the nobility, and tenpennyworth of "browns" to the mobility. And what a field he had for contemplation!
High life and low life, the Royal cortége, the thoroughbred team, the barouche and four,the yellow post-chaise and pair, the smart tilbury, the light dennet, the sporting dog-cart, the heavy "bus," the gaudy van, the sable hearse, the hackney-coach, the tilted waggon, and the Whitechapel cart.
The first object that attracted his notice might have been a ponderous, lumbering, rickety hackney-coach—I write of the days of the fourth George—the arms emblazoned on the panels, showing that it had once seen better days, a remnant of faded greatness. The driver, too, might also have shone in the glittering throng of St. James's on a birthday. And oh, what a sad falling off was there! Instead of the three-cornered hat of quaint appearance, bedizened with gold lace and feathers and its smart cockade, a rusty brown, low-crowned beaver, with a wisp of straw for a hatband. The gaudy livery had given place to an old faded coat, bought in the purlieus of the Seven-dials. Where are the well-curled wig, the silken hose, the silver-buckled shoes, the bouquet, the white gloves—where? Echo answers, "Where?"
Behind this vehicle might be heard the wheels of a tilbury, guided by an impatient young exquisite in the extreme of fashion,his glossy hat perched slantingly on his well-oiled, curly hair; his tight frock coat lined and faced with silk and velvet; the snowy corner of a white pocket-handkerchief peeping out of the breast pocket, perfuming the air with the choicest scents of Arabia; the half-blown moss-rose in his button-hole; his boots shining in all the brilliancy ofday—and Martin, and his hands enveloped in light fawn coloured kid gloves.
"How much?" asks the dandy.
"Twopence," is the reply.
A shilling is thrown to the turnpike man.
"You may keep the change, old fellow."
"Quite the gentleman!" exclaims the collector.
Then comes the cabriolet (now out of fashion), on its well-balanced springs, plainly painted—"unadorned adorned the most." See the owner, how he prides himself on his splendid horse and diminutive "tiger!"
"Now, Sir," exclaims the driver andmis-conductor of a galloping "bus," with two raw-boned bits of blood, ten outside and thirteen in, trying to pass the cabriolet."Don't keep the whole of the King's highway."
The unfortunate owner of the cabriolet stops rather suddenly, and finds himself, like the lions at the Zoological Gardens, "stirred up with a long pole."
A rival "bus" approaches. "Bank! Bank! City! Bank!" cries the conductor. The driver makes a rush to pass both vehicles, locks his wheel in that of the cabriolet, leaving it in what the Americans term "a very unhandsome fix."
"I hate these French himportations and hinventions, the homnibusses!" exclaims the gate-keeper, "they're a regular nuisance."
Then might be seen approaching a pony-phaeton, with a duedecimo postilion, and a pair of long-tailed Arabians, containing two of England's loveliest daughters—the turnpike-man is lost in admiration. Quickly follows the light Whitechapel cart with a fast trotter, "surrounding objects rendered invisible by extremewelocity," as the owner declares, who by his bulldog and his costume shows he belonged to the once royally-patronised prize-ring. But see! a "drag" approaches; it isthe perfection of neatness, one of Adams's[1]best—body yellow, slightly picked out with black; under carriage black; two servants in plain liveries behind four spicy nags—three greys and a chestnut—each ready to leap through his collar, put together with skill and working beautifully. The driver is evidently a first-rate artist, a perfect master of the science. See how well he has his team in hand! He is every inch a coachman. Our turnpike-man brightens up and, doffing his hat respectfully, exclaims,
[1]Adams, now Hooper, Victoria Street.
"Now, that's what I like to see—a gentleman patronising the road! He's a right regular and right honourable trump, and no mistake!"
And no mistake was there, for the driver was John Warde. A fashionable equestrian now rides by,
"With heel insidious by the sideProvokes the caper which he seems to chide;"
"With heel insidious by the sideProvokes the caper which he seems to chide;"
"With heel insidious by the sideProvokes the caper which he seems to chide;"
"With heel insidious by the side
Provokes the caper which he seems to chide;"
and a "galloping snob" of Rotten Row, since immortalised in song, follows him. Half a dozen spring-vans decorated with flags andlaurels, containing men, women, and children, barrels of beer, and baskets of provisions, are the East-End Benevolent Society, on their road to Bushey Park to enjoy a picnic under its stately avenues of horse-chestnuts.
"It's a poor heart that never rejoices!" says the man at the gate, smirking at the females as he gives the ticket, and helping himself to a handful of apples from a neighbouring barrow-woman's stall, which he throws into the laps of the delighted juveniles. A key bugle, playing "Love's young dream," announces the approach of another "drag;" but what a contrast to the one I have described! It is painted green, picked out with red, evidently an old stage-coach metamorphosed; for a close observer might perceive the words "Chatham and Rochester," partly defaced, and painted over with a fancy crest and motto; the driver sitting, like a journeyman tailor on his board, with one servant behind, with a gaudy livery and gold-laced hat; the horses, one blind, two kickers and a bolter, evidently bent on having a way of their own. "Regular Brummagem," exclaims the man of "no trust." "All is not gold that glitters."
Next comes a youth on an animal long in theneck and high in the bone, accoutred with a pair of saddle-bags, his twanging horn announcing him to be the suburban postman, the
"Herald of a noisy world;News from all nations lumbering at his back."
"Herald of a noisy world;News from all nations lumbering at his back."
"Herald of a noisy world;News from all nations lumbering at his back."
"Herald of a noisy world;
News from all nations lumbering at his back."
The hand of the clock is on the stroke of four, and, although no carriage is within sight, the collector is at his post, change and ticket in hand; within a few seconds a phaeton, with "harnessed meteors" flashes through the gate. The words "ticket," "all right," have passed more quickly than I can write them. That is the carriage of some gentleman who possesses a villa at Richmond, and whose avocations call him to town twice a week.
"That's a regular gentleman," says the pike; "quite a timekeeper, no need of a watch the day he passes, and he always stands a turkey at Christmas."
Next comes a hearse with numerous mourning-coaches, returning from all the pride and pomp of a funeral pageant. What a contrast now to the last time the procession passed the gate! Then the tears of a widowed wife, the sobs of a bereaved daughter, might be heard;now all is vulgar mirth and uproarious merriment; the trappings of woe, the plumes, the "inky cloaks," the customary suits of solemn black, are a perfect mockery of grief.
Turn we to a brighter theme. An advanced guard of a crack Lancer regiment announces the approach of the Royal cortége. The acclamations that rend the sky herald the approach of the "observed of all observers," the luxurious George IV., then in the height of his popularity. Such was the turnpike gate in bygone days.
Few sights were more amusing than the "White Horse Cellar," Piccadilly, in the old times of coaching. What a confusion—what a Babel of tongues! The tumult, the noise, was worthy the pen of a Boz, or the pencil of Cruikshank. People hurrying hither and thither, some who had come too soon, others too late. There were carriages, hackney-coaches, vans, carts, and barrows; porters jostling, touters swearing, cads elbowing, coachmen wrangling, passengers grumbling, men pushing, women scolding. Trunks, portmanteaus, hat-boxes, band-boxes, strewed the pavement; orange merchants, cigar merchants, umbrella merchants, dog merchants, sponge merchants, proclaimingthe superiority of their various wares; pocket-knives with ten blades, a cork-screw, button-hook, punch, picker, lancet, gimlet, gun-screw, and a saw; trouser-straps, four pairs a shilling; silver watch-guards—"cheap, cheap, very cheap;" patent pens and (n)ever-pointed pencils, twelve a shilling; bandana handkerchiefs, that had never seen foreign parts, to be given away for an old hat; London sparrows, as the coachmakers would say, "yellow bodies," were passed off as canaries, though "their wood notes wild" had never been heard out of the sound of Bow Bells; ill-shaven curs, "shaven and shorn," and looking like the priest in the child's story, "all forlorn," painted, powdered, and decked with blue ribbons, assumed the form of French poodles who "did everything but speak;" members of the Society for the Diffusion of Knowledge were hawking literature at the lowest rate imaginable—"H'annuals at the small charge of one shilling; the h'engraings, to h'any h'amateur, worth double the money;" the "Prophetic Almanack" neatly bound, one penny; "a yard and a half of songs for a half-penny;" and "Larks in London," pictorially illustrated, for one shilling.
The remainder of the group consisting ofperambulating piemen, coachmen out of place, country clods, town cads—gaping, talking, wondering; the din occasionally interrupted by a street serenade, the trampling of cattle, or the music of a guard's horn. In our day, the interesting sight of some well-appointed coach drawn up before the old "White Horse Cellar" may still be witnessed, divested of the noise and confusion of former times. The coachman—generally speaking a gentleman—quietly takes his seat on the box, the guard is attentive to the inside and outside passengers, and at the "All ready!" cheers the lookers-on with the sound of his horn; while the four spicy nags trot along Piccadilly at a steady pace, to be increased when they get off the stones.
AMATEUR DRAGSMEN—THE LATE FITZROY STANHOPE—THE OLD DRIVING CLUB OF 1808—THE HON. LINCOLN STANHOPE—THE WHIP CLUB—DESCRIPTION OF THE CARRIAGES—SONG OF THE WHIP CLUB—OUTRÉE DRESS OF THE DRIVERS RIDICULED BY CHARLES MATHEWS AND JOE GRIMALDI—FOUR-IN-HAND CLUB OF THE PRESENT DAY.
CHAPTER XII.
Having dwelt at considerable length upon stage coaches and stage coachmen, I now turn to amateurs who have distinguished themselves on the box, and who were perfectly competent to take the reins in the event of an accident to the regular driver. Here I am reminded that upon one occasion, when Bramble was driving the Chichester coach to London, and was prevented completing the journey from an accident, the present Duke of Richmond, then Earl of March, took his place, and landed his passengers safe and sound at the "White Horse Cellar," Piccadilly.
Among gentlemen coachmen of bygone times may be mentioned the late Lords Clonmel and Sefton, Sir Charles Bamfylde, Sir Lawrence Palk, Sir John Rogers, Sir Felix Agar, SirBellingham Graham, Sir Henry Parnell, Sir Thomas Mostyn, Sir John Lade, Sir Henry Peyton, the Honourable Fitzroy Stanhope, the Honourable Charles Finch, the Honourable Thomas Kenyon, Messrs. T. R. and J. Walker, Maddox, Warde (the father of the field and road), Charles Buxton, Henry Villebois, Okeover, Annesley, Harrison, of Shelswell, and last, not least, "Tommy Onslow," immortalised in the well-known lines:—
"What can Tommy Onslow do?He can drive a phaeton and two.Can Tommy Onslow do no more?Yes; he can drive a phaeton and four."
"What can Tommy Onslow do?He can drive a phaeton and two.Can Tommy Onslow do no more?Yes; he can drive a phaeton and four."
"What can Tommy Onslow do?He can drive a phaeton and two.Can Tommy Onslow do no more?Yes; he can drive a phaeton and four."
"What can Tommy Onslow do?
He can drive a phaeton and two.
Can Tommy Onslow do no more?
Yes; he can drive a phaeton and four."
At a later period we have had the Dukes of Beaufort, the Marquis of Waterford, the Earls of Chesterfield, Londesborough, Waldegrave, Sefton, and Rosslyn; Lords Alfred Paget, Alford, Rivers, Worcester, Macdonald, Powerscourt, Colonel Copeland, Sir St. Vincent Cotton, Sir E. Smythe, George Payne, Esq., H. Villebois, Esq., Prince Batthyany, A. W. Hervey Aston, Esq., J. Angerstein, Esq., and T. Barnard, Esq.
And here I am reminded of one who, as an amateur coachman and vocalist, was second tonone. I allude to the late Honourable Fitzroy Stanhope, than whom a kinder-hearted creature never existed. Few men had seen more of the world in all its phases than poor Stanhope; but under whatever circumstances you met him, whether at the social board, on the racecourse, on the box of a "drag," in the snuggery of the Garrick Club, or in the shooting-field, he was ever the high-bred gentleman. His nerve and head when on the box were wonderfully good. I well recollect sitting behind him on the late Hervey Aston's coach at Ascot races, when the owner, who was rather short-sighted, drove his leaders against some very strong ropes that surrounded the booths; and, as the team was very skittish, we must have come to grief had not Fitzroy, in the coolest manner, helped us out of the scrape by catching hold of the reins. This he did in a most quiet and good-humoured manner, and with so much tact that Aston was pleased instead of being offended.
"You are an excellent coachman," said Stanhope, "but a little too venturesome; there, take the ribbons again, no one handles them better."
The above was the second escape fromaccident that befell us that day. In driving out of the Knightsbridge Barracks, Aston managed to get his leaders and wheelers huddled together, and, the salute of the sentry at the gate frightening them, the wheel came in contact with the post and the pole snapped in two. Fortunately, assistance was at hand, and the only ill result was a delay of some twenty minutes. I was on the box at the time; and, thinking probably other difficulties might arise on the road, I urged Fitzroy Stanhope to change places. Stanhope's vocal powers were of the first-rate order, as all will bear testimony who listened to his merry and musical voice when he carolled forth "The Swell Dragsman," "The Bonny Owl," "The days that we got tipsy in, a long time ago," and other convivial songs. Poor Fitzroy! his loss was deeply felt by a large circle of friends.
And here let me place before my readers a description of the four-in-hand club of 1808. This club was in the habit of meeting once or twice a month in London, and then proceeding some fifteen or twenty miles into the country to dine, returning at night. It was called the "Driving Club," and the carriages turned out in the following order:—
Sir Henry Peyton's barouche-landau, four bays.
Mr. Annesley's barouche-landau, four roans, thoroughbred.
Mr. Stephen Glynn's barouche-landau, four bays.
Mr. Villebois's barouche-landau, four bays.
Mr. Whitmore's barouche-landau, four bays.
Mr. O'Conver's barouche-landau, four bays.
Mr. Pierrepoint's barouche-landau, four bays.
Sir Thomas Mostyn's barouche-landau, four bays.
Lord Foley's barouche-landau, four bays.
Mr. J. Warde's barouche-landau, four bays.
"After dining at Bedford," so writes a chronicler of that day, "they dashed home in a style of speed and splendour equal to the spirit and judgment displayed by the noble, honourable, and respective drivers."
Another club, called the "Whip Club," in rivalship with the above, met once a month in Park Lane, and proceeded thence to dine at Harrow-on-the-Hill. There were fifteen barouche-landaus, with four horses; Lord Hawke, the Honourable Lincoln Stanhope, and Mr. Buxton were among the leaders. Lincoln Stanhope wasone of the most popular men of the day. He was never known to say an unkind word, never known to do an unkind action. Peace be with him! for he was one in whom the soldier, the courtier, and the man of honour were so happily blended that, when a few of his remaining compatriots shall have passed away, I fear we may long search the fashionable throng in vain to find another.
The following was the style of the sets-out of the Whip Club:—Yellow-bodied carriages, with whip springs and dickey boxes; cattle of a bright bay colour, with silver-plate ornaments on the harness and rosettes to the ears. The costume of the drivers consisted of a light drab-coloured cloth coat, made full, single-breasted, with three tiers of pockets, the skirts reaching to the ankles, a mother o'pearl button of the size of a crown piece; waistcoat blue and yellow stripe, each stripe an inch in depth; small clothes corded silk plush, made to button over the calf of the leg, with sixteen strings, and rosettes to each knee; the boots very short, and finished with very broad straps, which hung over the tops and down to the ankle; a hat three inches and a half deep in the crown only, and the same depth in the brim; each wore a large bouquetof flowers at the breast, resembling the coachmen of the nobility on a drawing-room or levee day. The popular song of the Whip Club ran as follows, I only remember the first verse:—
"With spirits gay we mount the box, the tits up to the traces,Our elbows squared, our wrists turned down, dash off at awful paces;With Buxton bit, bridoon so trim, three chestnuts and a grey—Well coupled up the wheelers then—Ya, hip! we bowl away."
"With spirits gay we mount the box, the tits up to the traces,Our elbows squared, our wrists turned down, dash off at awful paces;With Buxton bit, bridoon so trim, three chestnuts and a grey—Well coupled up the wheelers then—Ya, hip! we bowl away."
"With spirits gay we mount the box, the tits up to the traces,Our elbows squared, our wrists turned down, dash off at awful paces;With Buxton bit, bridoon so trim, three chestnuts and a grey—Well coupled up the wheelers then—Ya, hip! we bowl away."
"With spirits gay we mount the box, the tits up to the traces,
Our elbows squared, our wrists turned down, dash off at awful paces;
With Buxton bit, bridoon so trim, three chestnuts and a grey—
Well coupled up the wheelers then—Ya, hip! we bowl away."
Many most distinguished men have in our day not thought it derogatory to their dignity to work a public stage-coach, and among them may be mentioned the Marquis of Worcester, father to the present Duke of Beaufort, on the "Evening's Amusement;" and most delightful "amusement" it was to pass an "evening" by the side of the noble Plantagenet. Then there were the Earl of Harborough, on the "Monarch," Sir St. Vincent Cotton, Bart., the ex-10th Hussar, and Charles Jones, Esq., on "The Age;" the Honourable Francis Stafford Jerningham, on the "Day Mail," Sackville Gwynne, on the "Beaufort;" John Willan, Esq., on the"Early Times;" and young Musgrave, on the "Union," all of whom "fretted their hour upon the stage." One very great improvement has taken place in the dress of amateur coachmen, whose costume is as different in our day from that of the time when George the Third was king, as the brilliant gas in our streets is from the oily rays that rendered darkness visible in the metropolis.
So outrée was the costume of amateur coachmen early in the present century that it gave rise to innumerable squibs and caricatures. One squib, embodied in a popular song, ran as follows:—
"On Epsom DownsSays Billy, 'Zounds!That cannot be Lord Jackey.Egad, but nowI see it is,I took him for his lackey.'"
"On Epsom DownsSays Billy, 'Zounds!That cannot be Lord Jackey.Egad, but nowI see it is,I took him for his lackey.'"
"On Epsom DownsSays Billy, 'Zounds!That cannot be Lord Jackey.Egad, but nowI see it is,I took him for his lackey.'"
"On Epsom Downs
Says Billy, 'Zounds!
That cannot be Lord Jackey.
Egad, but now
I see it is,
I took him for his lackey.'"
Again, Charles Mathews as Dick Cypher in the farce of "Hit or Miss" caricatured the dress so well that he gave offence to many of the noble whips.
Grimaldi, the inimitable Joe Grimaldi, also introduced in a Christmas pantomime a scene in which both coaches and coachmen were ridiculed.Out of a light-coloured Witney blanket he made himself a box-coat reaching down to his ankles, small plates formed the buttons, a bunch of cabbages the bouquet in the button-hole; a low, white-crowned hat, purloined from "Mr. Felt, hatter," formed his head-dress; boots with paper tops, from "Mr. Last, shoemaker," adorned his legs, to which were attached some ribbons he abstracted from a lady's bonnet; while the carriage which he drove triumphantly across the stage was composed of a child's wicker cradle, with Gloucester cheeses from a butter-man's for wheels, his whip a fishing-rod with a lash attached to it, and four spotted wooden horses, which (before the march of intellect furnished amusing books for the young) formed the stud of childhood, completed the whole.
Seated on a high stool in the above vehicle, his elbows squared, and with the usual number of "ge ups!" "go along!" he convulsed the audience with laughter. What a contrast there is between the dress of the present day and that above recorded! Gentlemen no longer ape the manners or costumes of their coachmen and grooms, but appear as gentlemen should appear.
The heavy box-coat is discarded in Summer for the light-coloured dust-coat; the hat is no longer preposterously low; a neat, cutaway olive brown or blue coat, with club buttons, supersedes the over-pocketed drab coat; well-cut trousers from Poole's, with varnished boots, take the place of the cord "inexpressibles" and brown tops; the striped, livery-looking waistcoat and gaudy, "bird's-eye" neckcloth are replaced by a plain waistcoat and simple necktie.
Then the improvement in coaches, horses, and harness! The "drags" are not now of showy colours, emblazoned with arms like the Lord Mayor's state carriage; the horses are thoroughbred and fine steppers, the harness neat and plain. Ladies need no longer scramble up to the box-seat or roof to the detriment of their dresses, small iron ladders being made to fix on the sides, while an amateur player on the cornet-à-piston or horn enlivens the journey with a concord of sweet sounds.
At this present moment there are two coaching clubs—the Coaching Club and the Four-in-Hand Club.
Among the members of the above clubs may be mentioned the following distinguished names:
OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE MEN—ADVENTURE ON THE FAR-FAMED "TANTIVY" COACH—GALLANT CONDUCT OF THE GUARD—MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT DRIVING—JEM REVELL OF "THE PELICAN"—MY UPSET—TANDEM DRIVING—THE OSTLER—COUNTRY INNS—HOTEL CHARGES.
CHAPTER XIII.
In the days I write of driving was a favourite pursuit, and, independent of the four-in-hand clubs, every young fellow aspired to handle the ribbons whenever a chance threw a drive in his way. The Oxford and Cambridge men were first-rate dragsmen, and many a reverend who may now devote his leisure to "coaching" youths for college or the Army was then "coaching" very different teams. There were some first-rate "turns-out" on the Oxford road. Never shall I forget an adventure that occurred to me on the box of the far-famed "Tantivy."
We had just entered the University from Woodstock, when suddenly the horses started off at an awful pace. What made matters worse was that we saw at a distance somemen employed in removing a large tree that had fallen during the storm of the previous night across the road near St. John's College. The coachman shook his head, looking very nervous, while the guard, a most powerful man, stood up to be prepared for any emergency.
On we went, the coachman trying in vain to check the galloping steeds, and we had got within a few yards of the critical spot, when the guard, crawling over the roof, managed somehow or other to get on the footboard, when, with a spring, he threw himself on the back of the near wheeler, and with a giant's grasp checked the horses at the very moment the leaders were about to charge the tree.
Down they came, but the guard never yielded an inch, and, with the assistance of the country people nearest at hand the leaders regained their legs without the slightest damage to man, horse, coach, or harness. A subscription for our gallant preserver was got up on the spot.
The coachmen of well-appointed "drags" were a privileged class, they were familiar, "but by no means vulgar," and were universal favouriteswith all who came in contact with them; Stevenson, the high-bred University man, who, if not, up to "coaching" young graduates for college honours, easily won his "great go" on the box; Parson Dennis, who drove the "White Lion" coach to Bath, knew more of modern than biblical Jehus; Black Will, who drove the Oxford "Defiance," rather ferocious in appearance, but gentle by nature as a lamb. Others, too, I might mention, if memory served me, who raised themselves to the highest pinnacle of fame as civil, obliging, and intelligent men.
Having already given the doings of others on the road, I shall now proceed to record my own, hoping that I may be forgiven for indulging in that offensive of all offensive pronouns—I.
"The root of all learning," writes Aristotle, "is bitter, but the fruit is sweet," an apothegm which will particularly apply to driving.
I well remember, when I was at a private tutor's, at Littlewick-green, Maidenhead Thicket, and subsequently at Donnington-grove, near Newbury, and a bit of a swell, being greatly smitten with the saying of the above learned philosopher.I never got into a buggy, handled the ribbons, rattled the hired horse along at a crack-skull pace of twelve miles an hour, which generally ended in an upset, without reflecting on the above quoted authority which, being interpreted, means it is wormwood to be immersed in a wet ditch, but pleasant enough to get out again.
Poor defunct Jem Revell, of the "Pelican," Newbury, was my tutor. Under his auspices I first mounted the box of a tandem, learned the elegant and indispensable accomplishment of driving that most dangerous vehicle, and studied the appalling manœuvre of turning out of a narrow inn-yard into a densely populated street. Every day, after hours devoted to study, was my drive repeated, until in process of time inexperience was conquered, and, "with elbows squared, and wrists turned down," I could catch hold of the wheeler and leader, in grand style—remembering with Horace that "sæpestylumvertas," and give the go-by to less dashing whips, with a most condescending nod.
At last, after serving a long and tedious apprenticeship, I reached the long-expected haven of success, and set up a dog-cart andpair on my own account. Never shall I forget that proud hour of my triumph when I made my first public essay out of the yard of the "Pelican," on my road to Reading races. I was accompanied by about five or six of my comrades on horseback, and by one or two aspiring Dennets, the drivers of which vainly essayed to beat my two thoroughbred nags.
As we entered the town, for a young "chum" of mine, now long since gathered to his ancestors, sat by my side, the streets were lined with an infinite assemblage of peers and peasants, squires and blacklegs, sporting men and bettors, horse-dealers, jockeys, grooms, trainers, and cardsellers.
However much it may tell against me—however greatly I may lower myself in the estimation of the reader—truth compels me to admit that my aspiring vanity metamorphosed the gaping crowd into admirers of myself and my turn-out; and when my companion sounded the mail-horn, when I cracked my whip and shook my head knowingly—well,there was not much in that, as a cynic will remark—I, with "all my blushing honours thick around me," felt as proud asany peacock that ever strutted in a poultry-yard.
But, alas for human greatness! my pride was doomed to have a fall. Just as we approached the "Bear Inn" the leader became restive, turned round and stared me in the face, a mode of salutation by no means agreeable; then he began to lash out, and finally succeeded in upsetting us and breaking the shafts. Happily, we escaped unhurt in body, though not in feeling.
In thus alluding to scenes of juvenile folly, I cannot forget that I once was young, and that there are still many (among them my only son, now studying farming at Her Majesty's Royal Norfolk Farm, Windsor Great Park), with others at private tutors' and college, equally devoted to the box as I was. To them I would offer a few suggestions respecting tandem-driving, which of all vehicles is the most difficult to manage.
Its height from the ground and peculiar lightness of construction renders it, at first sight, a very formidable machine; and the only way to prevent disaster is for the driver to obtain a firm grasp of the reins before he ventures to cheer his tits, and to ascertain theamount of work which wheeler and leader do, so that the traces may be gently tightened—a proof that both animals are doing their duty. In returning home at night there is no instinct like that of the horse; he seems to acquire mind by the departure of light, and to succeed best when man is most ready to despair.
I have trotted a tandem from London to Windsor, at twelve o'clock at night, in the midst of the darkest and most tremendous thunderstorm I ever witnessed, with little chance of safety but what I owed to the docility of my horses. This is an instinct which, like that of the prophet's ass, should not be balked; and so firmly am I convinced of the superior intelligence of the quadruped to the biped, in cases of similar difficulty, that I would actually give up my own fancy to let him have his head, and make the best he can of it. In going down hill, there is one very necessary caution to be observed to which I must now refer.
The mode of harnessing a tandem differs from that most usually adopted in a four-in-hand; so that if your leader is a faster trotter than your wheeler, he draws the collar over the neck of the shaft-horse, and a partial strangulation not unfrequently occurs. To preventthis, keep your wheeler at his full pace, slackening in the meantime the extra speed of your leader. The above is necessary at all times—doubly so when going down hill. Whenever you stop to bait, never omit to remain in the stable, unless you have a most trustworthy groom, during the time of feeding. Depend upon it,haud inexpertus loquor. There are modern ostlers, of course, with many honourable exceptions, who are not unlike the coachmen satirised by the author of "High Life Below Stairs:"
"If your good master on you dotes,Ne'er leave his horse to serve a stranger;But pocket hay, and straw, and oats,And let the horses eat the manger."
"If your good master on you dotes,Ne'er leave his horse to serve a stranger;But pocket hay, and straw, and oats,And let the horses eat the manger."
"If your good master on you dotes,Ne'er leave his horse to serve a stranger;But pocket hay, and straw, and oats,And let the horses eat the manger."
"If your good master on you dotes,
Ne'er leave his horse to serve a stranger;
But pocket hay, and straw, and oats,
And let the horses eat the manger."
The oat-stealer, as he has not inappropriately been named, of the present day, will, we fear, in too many cases, follow the example of the unprincipled fraternity above referred to. Independent of this necessary caution, there is surely a feeling of gratitude due to the poor dumb brutes who have toiled all day in our service; and young dragsmen will do well to remember that humanity to defenceless animals is the strongest characteristic of the British sportsman.
Through the introduction of the rail, a great saving has been effected, both as regards time and inn bills. Some of the "old school" still, as far as is feasible, stick to the road; but declining accommodation must diminish their numbers every day. Nothing is now so forlorn as a great, rambling, half aired, half appointed country inn; waiter acting boots, boots acting postboy, or, may be, all three; and cook acting chambermaid, barmaid, and all. The extinction of the old posting-houses is, perhaps, the only thing connected with the establishment of railways I lament.
There certainly was a nice, fresh, cool country air about the old roadside inns that was particularly grateful and refreshing on a fine evening after emerging from the roasting and stewing of a long London season. The twining roses, the sweet-scented jasmine, the fragrant honeysuckle, the bright evergreens, the flowers and fruit in the trim gardens; above all, the real rich country cream, fresh butter, and new-laid eggs. These—the inns—are now mere matter of history; and the Irishman who travelled with his eggs "because he liked them fresh" is no longer a subject of ridicule. Moreover, these inns were often prettily situated—someby the side of gliding rivers, others near rushing dams, or overlooking ancient bridges, or commanding views over extensive ranges of rich country scenery—very honeymoonish sort of places some of them were: witness the "White Hart," Cranford Bridge; the "Castle," at Salt-hill; the "Salutation," Ambleside; the "White Horse," Haslemere; the "Talbot," Ripley; the "Saracen's Head," Beaconsfield; "Royal Oak," Ivy Bridge; the "Bush," at Staines; "White Lion," Hartford Bridge, Hants; the "Swan," at Chertsey; the "Castle," Speen Hill; "Sugar-Loaf," Dunstable; and last, not least, the "Saracen's Head," Dunmow, suggestive of "The Flitch of Bacon" and the duties of matrimony—
"To fools a torment, but a lasting boonTo those who wisely keep their honeymoon."
"To fools a torment, but a lasting boonTo those who wisely keep their honeymoon."
"To fools a torment, but a lasting boonTo those who wisely keep their honeymoon."
"To fools a torment, but a lasting boon
To those who wisely keep their honeymoon."
Happily a few are still kept for happy couples on their wedding tour. The bill was generally the only disagreeable feature about these rural caravansaries; and some of the innkeepers were uncommonly exorbitant. Nevertheless, the majority of the victims were in a favourable mood for imposition. Going to London, they had all the bright prospect of a season's gaietybefore them, and under that impression people—wise people at least—were inclined to give the reins of the purse a little license, and not criticise charges too severely.
Happy is the man who can pass through life in this easy, reins-on-the-neck sort of way, not suffering a slight imposition to mar the general pleasure of his journey!
Returning from the metropolis, the country innkeeper had the advantage of having his bill contrasted with a London one—an ordeal that none but a real land shark would wish to shrink from. A comparison of inn charges throughout England, Wales, Ireland, and Scotland, for the same style of entertainment, would be curious if not instructive. They would show (what, however, almost every other line of life shows) that one often pays double for nearly the same thing by going to different places for it. Take a bottle of soda-water, for instance. Walk into a large, fashionable hotel, and desire the waiter to bring you one. You drink it, and ask,
"What's to pay?"
"A shilling, if you please, Sir," (or ninepence—which is the same thing), waiters at large hotels never having any coppers. If youwere to go to the next chemist's you would get it for fourpence—very likely of the same quality. But the great impositions were, after all, the charges for wax-lights and breakfasts.
Gas has now superseded the former, but breakfasts were and are still charged too high. "Breakfast, with eggs and bacon, three shillings and sixpence," was and is the charge at fashionable hotels; at less pretentious ones you may get the same for two shillings, or at most half-a-crown.
NOBLE AND GENTLE DRAGSMEN—JOURNEY TO NEWMARKET—LORD GRANTLEY'S TEAM—A REFRACTORY WHEELER—USE AND ABUSE OF THE BEARING REIN—THE RUNNING REIN—HARNESS OF THE PRESENT DAY—THE ROYAL MAIL—GENERAL REMARKS ON DRIVING.
CHAPTER XIV.
Among the amateur knights of the whip of bygone days, though still remembered by many of the present generation, may be mentioned the late Duke of Beaufort, the Earls of Chesterfield and Harborough, Lords Poltimore, Grantley, and Suffield, Colonel the Honourable Lincoln Stanhope, the Honourable Fitzroy Stanhope, Sir St. Vincent Cotton, Sir Henry Peyton, Captains Angerstein and Tollemache.
The head of the Somerset family was a very steady dragsman, and knew his business well. He was a less showy coachman than Lord Chesterfield; but his Grace had the qualification of making each horse do his quantum of work.
Lord Chesterfield, had he possessed a littlemore steadiness, would have been scarcely inferior to Stevenson, of the Brighton "Age;" but his exuberant, buoyant spirits ran away with him sometimes; he would lark, and the "old gentleman" himself could not have stopped him. His drag was as well appointed as the Duke's, and looked coaching all over, without a spice of slang, the prevailing error of many amateurs of that day.
Lord Harborough gave the tyros a hint touching the stamp of horses befitting the occasion. He always drove a good sort himself, and eschewed the long tails; and, but for a little infirmity of temper occasionally, he put his team along in very good form. No man can excel on the box who is not gifted with good temper and patience; for not only his comfort, but his life and the necks of his friends depend upon the above qualities. Horses have as many whims and caprices as their drivers have; they entertain likes and dislikes, in imitation of their owners; and a little attention to the temper and disposition of this useful quadruped is as necessary as any part of the supervision of the stable.
Lord Poltimore's team of roans were always up to the mark, and were such fast steppersthat any one of them might justly have been termed therapid Rhone. His Lordship had the smartness and quickness so essential in a thoroughly good dragsman.
Four such horses as Lord Grantley's were never put together in the days I write of—they were in every sense of the word matchless. They were purchased at four years old in Yorkshire, and stood nearly seventeen hands high, the colour Arabian grey, with black manes and tails. This was the only admissible case of switch tails; the size and figure of those splendid animals were a sufficient reason for their not being docked. The drag was not a drag, it was an old tub of a family carriage, unworthy the beautiful horses his Lordship drove.
Lord Suffield was the quickest and smartest coachman I ever sat on the box with, and never shall I forget a journey I took with him to Newmarket to attend the July Meeting. We started from "Grillon's Hotel" in Albemarle Street, where his Lordship resided, with four as nice cattle as ever the lover of driving could wish to sit behind; but upon reaching the first stage I found, to my dismay, that we were to proceed with posters for the rest of the journey.The team came forth from the yard, and were with some difficulty put to, for the near-side wheel, a mare, was somewhat cantankerous; there was a lurking devil in her eye which foreboded mischief. She took an exception, in the first place, to the pole pieces, and would not be coupled up; this, however, after a little dodging, leaning, and squealing, was achieved, and then came the start—or, rather, I should say the time for starting; not an inch, however, would she budge. She planted her fore feet at a most resisting angle in front of her, and there she stuck; the united forces of the leaders and her collaborateur, the offside wheeler, were insufficient to move her. Coaxing, persuasion, and all sorts of soothing arts were lavished on her in vain; and as thesuaviter in modofailed thefortiter in rewas tried, and with a better result, for after shoving, thumping, and double thonging, she suddenly bolted into her collar and started off at an awful pace. Suffield kept her head straight, though for miles nothing could stop her.
At last the nonsense was taken out of her, and we reached our destination in safety. The mare, as may be imagined, was in no very enviable plight; she shook from head to foot;but we afterwards heard that the lesson she had received was not thrown away, and that she ever after took kindly to her work.
Colonel Lincoln Stanhope had a good team, but he was not a first-rate whip. His brother Fitzroy was incomparably one of the best gentlemen-coachmen in England. Many an aspirant to four-in-hand celebrity was indebted to him for the knowledge in driving they possessed; and many a friend's life was saved by his presence of mind, coolness, courage, and skill, as I have already said.
Sir St. Vincent Cotton was a first-rate coachman; and, although he must be ranked among thegenus irritabile, he possessed great coolness, which he invariably exercised when occasion required it. His horses got away with him more than once, as I can vouch for; but I know not the man with whom I would sooner be seated on the box under such trying circumstances. His strength of arm was prodigious; and, although not quite so showy or graceful a whip as some of his compeers, he was a steady and safe one.
Sir Henry Peyton wasnulli secundus: he belonged to the old school; his teamwas always the same, and his horses were of the right sort—large ones in a small compass.
Captain Angerstein's turn-out was exceedingly neat, but his horses never had a fair chance, as he was continually changing them; and Captain Tollemache was first rate as an amateur whip. Many others are equally worthy of honourable mention, but I have confined myself to those I have sat beside on the box.
A fashion has lately sprung up amongst us, or rather, I should say, been adopted (for it is of American origin), and that is the almost total abolition of the bearing-rein. Much has been said, written, and argued pro and con.; some assert, and with truth, that, generally speaking, it is less safe, for as the best and soundest horse may once in twelve months make a mistake, the advocates for the loose rein cannot help to admit that a bearing-rein must assist the horse to recover himself under such circumstances. All extremes are bad, and no one would wish to torture an animal's mouth by pulling his head into an unnatural position, like a dromedary, with an excruciatingly tight bearing-rein; but, on the other hand, the absence of one is open toobjection. Some horses may, and do, carry themselves so well that a bearing-rein appears superfluous; but, nevertheless, it may be useful, and for this reason should never be entirely dispensed with. I do not say that exceptions may not be permitted. Those possessed of thoroughbred horses, endowed with superior action, may indulge in any whim or caprice they like; and animals worth from four hundred guineas to six hundred guineas apiece, and which go with their heads up, of course do not require a bearing-rein, but I condemn the principle for universal adoption; and I have heard the opinions of some of the best coachmen of the day, both amateurs and professionals, who have asserted that for the generality of horses the practice is a dangerous one. Some animals' heads are put on differently from others, and consequently they vary in their mode of carrying them. Some, for instance, are star-gazers and appear to be taking lunar observations, while others poke their heads forward in such a longitudinal form that they resemble in this particular the Continental swine trained for grubbing truffles. The plan I should like to see adopted would be to have a bearing-rein with an elastic end to it, so thathorses that did not require having their heads held well up would not be deprived of the ornament of such a rein, and even with horses that did require it, if the elastic was pretty strong, it would aid them in case of a trip or stumble.
In former days it was the custom to drive with wheel-reins home—that is, short to the hand; this was decidedly objectionable, especially in hilly counties; and, with groggy wheel-horses, not unattended with danger, for an awkward blunder might pull you from the box. The running-rein is now universally adopted, and in skilful hands is immeasurably superior to the old system. This is observable in the best-appointed fast coaches, of which there are happily still a few left, as well as private carriages.
The harness of the present day is thene plus ultraof good taste: it is infinitely lighter than formerly, although equally strong, and the less a horse is encumbered the better. Look how superlatively neat are the traces of the coaching clubs; they are narrow, but the strength lies in the thickness, and the collars fit to a nicety. The four-in-hand clubs have set a laudable example; they have produced emulation,and emulation produces good horses.
Cuique sua voluptas—which, I believe, literally construed, means "every hog to his own apple;" and, delightful as driving a private drag is—for it pleases the ladies, and all goes "merry as a marriage bell" in an excursion to Richmond, Greenwich, Maidenhead, the Crystal or Alexandra Palaces—it, perhaps, was exceeded by the pleasure of sitting on the box-seat of one of the Royal mails, with four fresh horses every eight miles, and a guard decked out in regal livery behind to whisper in your ear if you did not keep your time. The night-mail was very preferable to a day coach—first, because you seldom met any seedy old fellows outside the mail enveloped in stuff cloaks, with cotton umbrellas, which on a rainy day acted as a spout to convey the water down your neck, and who, on seeing the coachman give up the ribbons would instanter bawl out.
"I say, coachman, I can't allow that."
Then the pace on the mail was always good. Again, the mail was not encumbered with huge piles of massive black boxes, fantastically worked with brass nails, belonging to the lady passenger inside; and last, not least, there was a sort of glorious autocraticalindependence when you felt that every vehicle on the road made way for the Royal mail.
There is no circumstance of greater importance, as tending to the pleasure and facility with which horses are driven, than that of putting them well together; this, of course, applies to a four-horse team. By this term the due regulation of the harness and the most appropriate place for each horse are implied. If properly attended to, it is wonderful the ease with which four horses may be driven, compared with the effort—in some cases risk—consequent upon an injudicious and unskilful disposition of the appointments. With regard to the team, a little extra power in the wheel-horses is desirable, inasmuch as they have a greater portion of labour to perform in holding back the vehicle down hill; while the high-couraged and free-goers will be most advantageously driven as leaders. Practice alone will render a man a proficient in driving four horses.
To explain the proper mode of handling "the ribbons," except by actual example, is not an easy task; and the attempt to give hints from which thesine quâ nonof a good coachman—hands—are to be acquired, is still moredifficult. A few general remarks may, however, not be out of place.
The position of the hand and arm has much to do with appearance, and a vast deal more with the art of driving. The left hand should be carried nearly parallel with the elbow, covering about one third of the body: in that position it is ready for the immediate aid of the right whenever the two are required, which in bearing to the right or left of the road, or in turning, is generally the case, as likewise in shortening the hold of the reins.
The right hand should at all times be kept as free as possible, so as to be able to make a judicious use of the whip when required. A good mouth is essential to comfort and safety; it enables a horse to be guided simply by a turn of the wrist. Many a good mouth, however, has been spoilt by the heavy, dead pull of an inexperienced driver. The greatest care, then, should be taken not to irritate or suddenly check the animal, but by a certain yielding of the hands (the reins being divided in each), enable him to drop his head and play with the bit.
The experienced driver may easily be recognised from the novice the moment he approachesthe vehicle he is about to ascend. He invariably casts his scrutinising eye over his horses, his harness, and his carriage, and, if the least thing be out of place, detects it in an instant; nay, more, he will assist in putting to the horses; and, if I required an illustration of what I have asserted, I should find it in the person of the Duke of Beaufort, who, at the sale of Sir Thomas Barrett Lennard's hunters, last October, before mounting the box, aided in putting the team together, and, when his Grace ascertained that all was right, started off in a manner that would have gratified the heart of Sir Henry Peyton had he been alive to witness it.
CARRIAGES OF BYGONE DAYS AND THE PRESENT—THE CABRIOLET—ANECDOTE OF THE LATE DUKE OF WELLINGTON—A HUNTING ADVENTURE—AN EVENTFUL DAY—A LUCKY ESCAPE—NOBLE CONDUCT OF THE IRON DUKE—SUGGESTIONS.
CHAPTER XV.
Among the "wild vicissitudes of taste," few things have undergone greater changes than carriages used for pleasure; we need not go further back than the last half century to prove what we have said. Formerly there was the lumbering heavy family coach, emblazoned with coats of arms, with a most gaudy-coloured hammer-cloth, and harness resplendent with brass or silver work. Then there was the neat, light travelling postchaise, and the britzska—the latter imported from Germany—for those who posted on the roads; together with the graceful curricle, in which the gallant Anglesey and the arbiter of fashion, Count Alfred d'Orsay, were wont to disport themselves in the park; the four-horse "drag," the unpretending "tilbury," the rural-looking "dennet,"the sporting mail-coach phaeton, the vis-à-vis, and the cabriolet, a French invention, which was introduced into England after the campaign in the Peninsula.
Of the above few remain. Royalty and some of the leading aristocrats alone patronise coaches. Travelling-carriages, tilburies, dennets, curricles, vis-à-vis, cabriolets, are things of the past, and all that remain to us are town-chariots, "drags," and mail-phaetons, in addition to which we have "broughams," "victorias," waggonettes, and a few private Hansom cabs.
It will scarcely be believed that, some five-and-forty years ago, almost every nobleman and gentleman used the cabriolet, "slightly altered from the French" (as the playbills say), to convey him to dinner, balls, and parties; for example, the late Duke of Wellington, when Ambassador to the newly-restored monarch, Louis XVIII., in 1814-15, seldom, except on state occasions, made use of any other vehicle, the carriages being devoted to the service of the Duchess. This I can vouch for, for at that period I was attached to his Grace's staff, and was always in the habit of driving him when occupied in paying visits in the morningor of attending dinners and parties in the evening.
Never shall I forget one evening, at Paris, when driving my chief in his cabriolet from the Hôtel Borghese to the Théâtre Français, I very nearly upset the vehicle; and, as the accident occurred in a very crowded street, it might have been attended with serious consequences. It was an eventful day in my life; and, to explain my distraction on that occasion, I must enter at some length into the cause of it. This I do most readily, as the whole transaction reflects so much credit on the Duke's kindness of heart.
One morning, late in December, the curricle was at the door, and I, equipped for the chase, was waiting to drive Wellington in his curricle to Versailles, the place where the Royal stag-hounds were to meet, when he sent for me. I found him busy over some papers.
"I shall not be able to go to-day," said he, "but you can have the curricle. Tell the Duke de Berri I have some letters to write, as the messenger starts for England at two o'clock, which will prevent my meeting His Royal Highness. Elmore is sent on for me; and, as he isshort of work, you had better ride him. Don't knock him about."
I briefly expressed my thanks, and started for the rendezvous, where I delivered my message, and mounted the far-famed hunter, Elmore, recently purchased in England for the Duke at a high price. From the manner in which he carried me (at that time a very light weight) many of the field were anxious to possess him; indeed, it was hinted to me that the Duke could command almost any sum for him.
A party of young men headed by Count d'Orsay, afterwards so well known in London, proposed a steeplechase home for a sweepstakes of one Napoleon each, which, had Elmore been my own property, I should have gladly entered him for; but I remembered the Duke's injunction and declined.
Delighted with the character the new purchase had obtained, I started to ride quietly home by myself, when, within half a league of Paris, in crossing a small grip, I found that my horse went lame. To dismount and inspect his foot was the work of a moment, but I could see nothing. No alternative was then left me but to lead the limping animal home, which I did amidst the taunts and jeers of the rabble.
No sooner had I reached the stables than I sent for the head-groom and the Duke's state coachman, to whom I explained all that had occurred.
"Well, you have gone and done it," said the latter, who was a most eccentric character. "We wouldn't have taken three hundred guineas for that horse."
This knight of the ribbons, be it remarked, always spoke in the plural number, and talked of whatwehad done in the Peninsula, ofourtriumphal entry into Madrid, and of howwehad beaten Ney and all the French marshals.
Happily for me the Duke, who had been occupied all day, was out riding, and I did not see him until we met at dinner. I had fully made up my mind to tell him of the accident before going to bed, but waited until I received a further account of the horse's state.
As a large party was assembled, little was said about the hunt until the ladies left the room, when I was called upon to give an account of the run, which I did. I then mentioned the brilliant manner in which Elmore had carried me, and the panegyrics he had received from all.
"A splendid animal," said Wellington, "I hope to ride him next Monday at Fontainebleau."
My heart quailed within me. The hours glided on, and when driving the Duke to the theatre that evening in his cabriolet, so distracted was I that I grazed the curbstone, and was within an inch of knocking over one of the gendarmes as we approached the theatre.
It was late when we arrived; the last scene of "Orestes" was going on, with Talma as the hero; then followed the inimitable Mademoiselle Mars in "La Jeunesse de Henri Cinq," from which the English version of "Charles the Second" has been adapted.
To account for the change of monarchs, and to explain the inconsistency of having the wicked Earl of Rochester, the companion of "Sweet Prince Hal," I may remark that when the drama was first about to be brought out in Paris, during the reign of Napoleon I., the licenser objected to Charles, he being a restored Monarch, so the author had no alternative left him but to rewrite the whole piece or change his hero. The latter course he adopted, trusting that a Parisian audience would not detect the anachronism.The perfect acting of Talma had no charm for me, and when the after-piece began I was too wretched to laugh at thebonhomieof the actor who represented Captain Copp, or to appreciate the archness of that child of nature, Mlle. Mars as Betty.
Upon leaving the theatre I became so thoroughly distracted that I scarcely knew what I was about; unluckily a young horse, who was a little skittish, had on that evening taken the place of the one that I had been in the habit of driving, and, as there was an unusual crowd in the streets, extra care was necessary.
"With great difficulty I threaded my way through carriages of all descriptions, and was approaching the Rue de Rivoli when I heard a clattering of horses' hoofs behind me and the cheers of some hundreds of people assembled near the entrance to the Palace of the Tuileries.
"It is the King returning from the Louvre, where His Majesty has been dining with the Duke d'Orléans," said my companion.
At that moment my thoughts were entirely engrossed with Elmore, and I was rehearsing to myself how I should break the untoward news of the accident to the Duke. So, instead of pulling the left rein to enable the royal cortégeand the cavalry escort to pass me, I pulled the right one, and very nearly brought my chief to grief. Happily, however, at this moment the only damage done was to the leg of a mounted police officer, who soundly rated me in language unfit to be repeated.
Misfortunes they say never come singly; we had not proceeded many yards, when agamin, who had evidently a taste for pyrotechnic exhibitions, let off a cracker, which so frightened the animal I was driving that he bolted across the street, came in contact with a lamp-post, and as near as possible upset the cabriolet. What made it appear worse was that the escort above referred to was returning at a brisk trot to their barracks, and, had we been overturned, the Duke might, for the first time in his military career, have been trampled upon by French cavalry.
"Lucky escape!" was the only remark Wellington made, and as the danger to which I had exposed him had completely roused me from my lethargy, I at once "screwed my courage to the sticking place" and told the whole of my day's adventures with the hounds.
"Can't be helped," said he, in his usual quick manner; "accidents will happen."
Upon the following morning my worst fears were realised; Elmore was dead lame; and when I reported this to his Grace, his only answer was,
"I cannot afford to run the chance of losing my best horses; so, in future, you shall have the brown horse and the chestnut mare, and if you knock them up you must mount yourself."
In a previous chapter I have referred to a carriage accident that occurred to Wellington when I was with him; and it is somewhat strange that I should again be by his side, and in a great measure the cause of a second misfortune.
I own myself that I regret cabriolets are no longer the fashion. For a man that can afford to keep a number of carriages, a victoria and brougham are all very well; but the former is only available in fine weather, whereas a cabriolet with a projecting head could defy most showers of rain. A well-appointed cabriolet was a comfortable and gentleman-like conveyance, and, for the bachelor, did the duty of a close carriage at half the expense. A perfect cabriolet horse, however, costs money, and the equipage must be well turned out. A seedy-lookingcabriolet and horse to match are abominations not to be endured.
I have said that a cabriolet should be well "got up;" and in order to do this the owner must possess two horses—one for daylight, and another for night work; a clever "screw" will answer for the latter purpose—one, however, that can go the pace, although he can never show until the gas is lit. No one who values a good horse would dream of allowing him to stand exposed to chilly blasts at the opera, the theatre, or his club.
At no period were carriages better constructed or more neatly turned out than they are in the present day, both as regards vehicles, harness, and horses. At the same time, without being hypercritical, I think some changes might be made for the better. Let me instance the following:—A coachman's curly wig seems quite out of character when we consider the costume of the day, and it certainly might be dispensed with. Again, a light victoria or brougham are often to be seen with a pair of horses to each, whereas one fine stepper would be preferable; then (happily only in a few-instances) the case is reversed, and a carriage, open or shut, meant for two horses, has onlyone. Again in the present day, with some exceptions, noblemen and gentlemen do not keep to their old family colours; and occasionally we see a brougham black picked out with blue, and a chariot of quite a different colour. Nothing looked better than the Russell brown and blue, the Rutland and Sefton light yellow, the Hamilton red, the Foley reddish brown, the Harrington dark brown, the Anglesey dark yellow, more especially when the carriages were drawn by splendid horses.