AN AUSTRIAN DRAG.
Public and private conveyances in Austria and Hungary—An English dragsman posed—The Vienna race-meeting—Gentleman “Jocks”—A moral exemplified.
A
Allmatters connected with the management and treatment of horses are better understood in Austria and Hungary than in any other part of the Continent; but even there they have not arrived at the completeness so familiar here. The public conveyances still partake of the genus diligence, though they have the advantage of being divided into two classes—first and second. In the latter smoking is allowed.
The horses are yoked much in the samemanner as in France—three at wheel, and any number in pairs before them, as the nature of the road may require. The travelling pace is about eight English miles per hour, and to this they adhere. The length of the posts, or stages, makes a journey more tedious than it would otherwise be, as it always conveys the impression that the last four or five miles of the sixteen or eighteen has to be performed by jaded cattle, which must use them up more quickly, in the long run, than letting them work in more reasonable distances. If economy be the object, it must certainly be negatived in the end by the last four or five miles which are tacked on to every post.
The conductor, or guard, goes through the whole journey, be it long or short; but the driver is changed at every stage, with the horses. The public conveyances at Vienna and Pesth are excellent, very superior to anything we have inLondon. The carriages for hire in the streets consist of open britzskas and landaus, with pairs of horses, which are of a very good class. The drivers are very respectable men, and excellent coachmen. They drive very fast, and, though the streets are narrow and tortuous, collisions are very rare. There are also close carriages (broughams) with one horse or a pair, the former being calledcoupés, and not held in much favour with theélite.
The tariff is not excessive, and a wrangle is rarely heard.
With reference to private equipages, although they imitate as much as possible the English style, they invariably fail in some little particular, which, to an English critic, stamps the turn-out as continental. For instance, the coachman sits low, with his knees bent, having one rein in each hand; the horses are so coupled that their heads touch each other; thepole-pieces are so tight as to destroy any action which the horses might otherwise display.
Some years ago I made the acquaintance of a noble prince in Hungary, who owned a large stud of horses of all descriptions—racers, hunters, harness-horses, and hacks. He invited me to stay with him during the race-week at Vienna, asking me at the same time if I would drive his drag each day to the course, assuring me that it was appointed quite in the English style, and that I should feel myself entirely at home.
The first day of the meeting having arrived, my host introduced me to various other noble persons, descanting loudly, as I could not avoid hearing, on my talent as a coachman; after which, and having partaken of a sumptuousdéjeûner, we walked round to the stables. Here my anticipations were somewhat damped, as my noble host, pointing to a very long lowchar-à-banc, much upon the principle ofan elongated Croydon basket, exclaimed: “Ah, ecco a qui chè la carozza. Heer ees my drarg.” And, seizing a long pig-whip from the socket of the carriage, he said: “You can make ze weep, ah yes?” Suiting the action to the word, he began cracking it backwards and forwards over his head with wonderful proficiency, after the manner of the French postilions. My heart sank within me; if this was expected of me, I felt I should signally fail—I who had been brought up to learn that tohearthe whip at all was a fault. To be expected to flourish out of the courtyard with a succession of reports like an eighteen-pounder, was rather too severe a test of my knowledge of “making ze weep.”
After walking round the stables, which were very complete and in fine order, the team was brought out. It was composed of four Hungarian horses with very long manes and tails, smacking rather of the circus than the road.
I did not at all approve of the way in which they were being strung together, but an English stud-groom in the prince’s service advised my making no alteration “at present,” as they had always been driven in that way, and they could be very awkward if they liked.
All being ready, and the party having taken their seats, I took mine, and found myself—with a mere apology for a footboard—seated pretty nearly on a level with the wheelers’ backs.
The prince, who had continued to “make ze weep” (albeit of this the animals took not the slightest notice), now handed it to me, and we started, or rather the whole affair went jumping out of the courtyard in a succession of terrible bounds. The horses were, however, very highly bitted, and I had no difficulty in holding them in on our passage through the town; but, when we got to the open “prater,” they became very restless and impatient, a phenomenon explained in awhisper from my host: “Heer I make ze gallop. You not?”
Upon this I slacked my hand, and they went away like four demons; dashing past everything on the road at the rate of fifty miles an hour!
The prince, who expressed his surprise that I had not “knocked” anything in our wild career, was less astonished than myself, especially as when, nearing the course, the track became crowded with every description of vehicle, while the rules of the road were entirely set at defiance!
We managed, however, to reach the grandstand in safety. It was a brilliant day, and the glowing colours of female costume, from the royal family downwards, produced a magnificent effect.
But if the colours worn by the ladies were dazzling and gorgeous, what shall we say of the hues selected for the silk jackets of the gentlemenriders, who, in order to proclaim to the multitude the part they were about to take, hovered about amongst the crowd, like tropical butterflies who had lost their way? Indeed, so much importance is attached to the privilege of sporting silk, that it is no uncommon thing for a noble owner to carry a stone over his weight, in order to display jacket and boots on the course, rather than “give a leg up” to a lighter man.
The events of the day were contended for principally by gentlemen “jocks;” and bets of a few guldens produced as much interest as if thousands of pounds had been staked.
After passing an agreeable day (the larger portion of which was occupied in getting the amateur jocks to the post) I proceeded to find my team; and took a sly opportunity of making many alterations in theattelage, giving them all more room in their couplings and in their pole-pieces, middle bar instead of lower, and cheek to thoseI thought would bear it, buckling the traces (as near as I could) at even lengths, slacking all the curbs, and lengthening some of the head-stalls. The effect was marvellous; instead of the wild impetuous team I had brought up from the city, I had now four horses working evenly and pleasantly together, and, after the first quarter of a mile, not pulling an ounce more than they ought. Here let me repeat the maxim: “A team properly put together is half driven.”
North-country fairs—An untrained foxhunter—Tempted again—Extraordinary memory of the horse—Satisfactory results from a Latch-key.
I
Informer chapters I have spoken of coachmen and guards, both in the heyday and afternoon of their career—then, once qualified for this line of life, seldom exhibiting an inclination to change. But let me now descend to the coachhorse. In the good old coaching days, so great was the demand, that breeders were found who devoted themselves to a class of animal calculated for coach work and little else. There was an understood price, and buyers for the contractors attended the North-country fairs and made their selection—twenty, fifty, or eighty horses, as required—the individual price never being referred to during the deal, so long as the average was not exceeded.
Seasoned horses were more valuable to proprietors than green uneducated colts from the fair; consequently, many opportunities were afforded for “chops” equally advantageous to both parties. An old hunter (old, not so much with reference to his years, as because he had been thus employed) made an admirable teamster. Horses with a blemish, or perhaps from some caprice of their owners, were often drafted while in their zenith, and those who were fortunate enough to pick them up, purchased with them some months (if not years) of good keep and condition, which could not be too highly appreciated. Condition means time; and nothing but time can effectually produce it. The power of a horse may be doubled by the condition of hisframe, as it may be reduced by mismanagement and low keep to half its natural strength.
A large breeder in the North of England, a fine specimen of the old English yeoman, whom I visited some years ago, remarked to me:
“I send all my colts, at two years old, to plough. They may play with it or they may work, just as they please. They are only out from eleven to three. It makes them temperate, accustoms them to be handled, and develops their muscles. I have bred some high-priced ones, and all have been served the same.
“In fifty-five examples of this treatment I have never known a single instance of harm arising from it. This horse which I am now riding” (and he called my attention to a very clever-looking black-brown gelding, about fifteen hands three inches) “has worked on-and-off on this farm for twenty-three years. I have been tempted to sell him four different times, but he has always comeback to me. We nearly lost each other the last time, but, by a strange accident, I recovered him.
”I was on the coach, going to Doncaster, and when we changed horses at —— I noticed that one of them began pawing and neighing, appearing much excited. The horsekeeper reproved him, and led him into his place at the wheel. Having taken my seat on the box with the coachman, I observed that the animal was troubled by the fretfulness of his near-side wheeler. He jumped, backed, and shied to such a degree as to induce me to remark to the coachman that he had a fresh one there.
“‘No, not fresh,’ was the reply. ‘I’ve had him here these ten months, and a better I never drove. He never played this game before.’
“‘Where does he come from?’ I asked.
“‘I heard the governor say from Cornwall, but he bought him at Bristol,’ said the man.
“Up to this moment every action, every movement, had so entirely reminded me of my friend Latch-key, that I could almost have sworn to his identity. But how he could have come out of Cornwall to be sold at Bristol puzzled me.
“On arriving at the end of the stage, however, my suspicions were confirmed. This was my old friend and favourite, Latch-key, and although we had been separated for more than two years, he remembered me better than I did him, and seemed anxious to renew all the pettings and caresses which used to pass between us.”
Not to weary my reader with a history of the whole life of this horse, there is still something so remarkable in the fact of a man having bred a horse, and then purchased him four different times, that I may be forgiven for giving a slight sketch of his antecedents—as far as they could be traced by my host.
“Foaled in 1828. The dam, being blind, lost her way, fell into a ditch, and was fatally injured. The foal was reared by hand, chiefly upon ass’s milk. Being a privileged member of the farmyard group, he became the constant companion of his foster-brother, the foal of the mare donkey which had supplied all his wants. These two grazed in the orchard, frolicked in the park, and were always to be found near the house together. The young ass was an adept at opening gates, and the colt had acquired a knowledge of the art to such perfection that no fastening short of a chain and padlock could keep him in. Thence he acquired the sobriquet of Latch-key.
”At the age of two years he went to plough with other colts of his own age. The monotony of this work did not suit him, and hearing the hounds one day running at a short distance from his work, he was seized with a sudden determination to follow them, and after a severeand protracted kicking-match, having knocked two partners out of time, made his escape. Away he went, with part of his chains and a spreading-bar still hanging to him. These encumbrances caused him some awkward falls to begin with, which only served to increase the amusement he afforded to the field, as he quickly righted himself and resumed his place in the front rank.
“The country was stiff and the field getting select when Latch-key joined the cry. The hounds had got a good straight-necked fox before them, and there was a rattling scent—one of those days when the only way to live with them was by galloping from parish to parish, and then only to find they were two fields before you. But I am digressing, and it is quite necessary to go straight in such an affair as I am describing. Taking every fence as it came, in company with the foremost riders, Latch-key held his own, andit was not till, at the end of forty-five minutes, the gallant fox saved his brush by getting into a rabbit-hole, that, with heaving flanks, distended nostrils, and dripping with perspiration, he received the commendations of the field as they came up on the line.
”‘Bravo, young ’un! I should like to have you at five years old.’
“‘Where does he come from?’ etc. etc.
“The fox had brought them over a distance of nine miles as the crow flies, and few witnessed the finish.
”‘Catch that cart-colt, and take him down to the farmhouse. They may know him, my lad. And here is a pot of beer for you.’
“All good fox-hunters are Good Samaritans, and in this case the life of what proved afterwards to be a most valuable animal was saved by the charitable attention of the gentlemen in scarlet. It was found, when the yokel went up to himto lead him away, that he was standing in a pool of blood, having staked himself severely in the chest. If the wound had not been plugged and promptly attended to, the colt’s first day’s hunting would have been his last.
”Latch-key remained in the quarters he had accidentally dropped into until he was well enough to travel, when he returned to his native home. In addition to a very severe stake, he was otherwise much scarred by the broken plough-harness, and consequently required careful nursing to restore him to health and soundness.
“During the next two years he was kept apart from other young stock, and was constantly fed and petted by the farmer and his family. At the beginning of the fifth year, when he had been broken and was in his best looks, a dealer from London came down and bought him for a handsome sum.
”When he had been sufficiently prepared for aLondon show he was sold to a gentleman in Berkshire, who hunted him four seasons, and then, finding he did not like harness, sold him for a reduced price at Tattersall’s, and he fell into the hands of a coper, who, finding he would not harness, chopped him away to a salesman. The latter sent him, with several others, to Hull, to be shipped for St. Petersburg. He was on the point of being embarked, when my son, who happened to be at Hull at the time, recognised and, well knowing his intrinsic value, bought him for double the contract price. This was in 1838. He had not been at home a week when he was sold to a cavalry officer, who found him a first-class hunter, and did not regret having given me two hundred guineas for him.
“He changed hands several times in the regiment, at various prices, and was finally sold to a young squire, whose effects came to the hammer under the superintendence of the sheriff, atYork. At this sale I purchased Latch-key for thirty-seven guineas, and took him for my own riding.
”Although much attached to the horse, a very good offer tempted me once more to part with him, in order to effect the sale of several others which had been selected, provided he were thrown in.
“This time he went to London again, and was broken to harness, and sold to a noble lord, who took him to Edinburgh. Here he met with an accident through collision with a tradesman’s cart, which disfigured and lamed him for a considerable time. Whilst under treatment of a veterinary surgeon, an intimate friend of mine, and belonging to my neighbourhood, finding the horse would be sold for ‘a song,’ purchased him for me, and sent him home, where he soon recovered, and resumed his place as my hack. This was in the year 1845.
”I continued to ride him for several years, until on one eventful day I was induced once more to throw him in with a string I was selling to a London dealer; and from that time we never set eyes on each other till our mutual recognition in the coach at ——.
“This is another instance of the extraordinary memory possessed by horses, and a convincing proof that they are as prone to remember kindness and good treatment as they do punishment and discomfort.
”After this, I lost no time in purchasing my old friend from the proprietors of the coach, which I did for the reasonable sum of thirty-five guineas. When grazing in the meadows near the highroad, he listens for the horn, and always trots cheerfully down to the gate to see the coach pass.
“I subjoin a statistical account of the careerof Latch-key, showing the difference between buying and selling.
“So that this horse returned to me, in his sales and purchases in the course of twenty-two years, a net sum of two hundred and ninety-three pounds! We make no mystery as to his age, since money would no longer buy him; but during his career as a marketable animal, Latch-key chanced to be never more than ‘eight years old!’ He is now twenty-seven, and a cleverer animal could not be found.”
As my host finished his account of the career of his now old favourite, Latch-key confirmed it with a whinny, accompanied, however, by a significant shake of his head, which might have implied: “I wouldn’t trust you, evennow, if a good offer came in your way!”
The Coach and Horses (sign of)—Beware of bog spirits—Tell that to the Marines—An early breakfast—Salmon poaching with lights—Am I the man? or, the day of judgment—Acquittal!
T
TheCoach and Horses was the sign of a small roadside inn in North Wales, beautifully situated, as far as scenery and landscape were concerned, but as the house was built upon the steepest part of a severe hill, it was as difficult to stop in descending as it was inviting to “pull-up” in the ascent.
The house was kept by an old coachman, whose family consisted of his wife, daughter, and son, a boy twelve years old.
The old man’s knowledge of the requirements necessary to make both man and horse comfortable, acquired for him a just reputation, and tourists (especially with their own horses) frequently made the Coach and Horses their headquarters from which to make expeditions into the country. Two fast coaches changed horses, up and down, daily, serving as antidotes to the usual dulness of a country inn.
Some years ago I was making a “drag-tour” through that part of the country, and, one of my wheelers having picked up a nail, I was compelled to halt for some days at the Coach and Horses. At any other time I should have enjoyed some fishing, but the season had closed. I passed, the time in rambling amongst the magnificent scenery which the country afforded, devoting my attention to the objects of natural history with which it abounds, and taking advantage of the coaches for a lift home when I exceeded mydistance. On one of these occasions I had been led far into the wildest part of the hills in endeavouring to watch a dispute between a kestrel and a raven, which interested me so much that I was quite unmindful of time, distance, or direction, and found myself at dusk completely lost. No landmark, no guide of any description to suggest my course. I had come out “down wind,” but the wind may have changed! There was the sunset,et voilà tout.
A thick fog now began to rise, entirely concealing every trace of outline.
To light a pipe and sit down upon a rock to consider what was to be done, was all that remained to me.
The darkness increased rapidly, and, with the rising vapour, soon rendered it impossible to see a yard in advance. The situation was grave. I knew I was in the neighbourhood of steep declivities, and therefore decided upon remainingwhere I was till the fog lifted and there was more light.
The time passed heavily, and the scene would have been gloomy in the extreme, if the busy lights of the Jack-o’-lanterns had not kept me constantly on thequi vive. These singular visitors appeared to venture nearer and nearer to my sheltering rock and endeavour to entice me to follow them, bounding and dancing down the hill before me, and joining a host of other lights which appeared to be holding high revel in the valley beneath.
The mist thickened into a drizzling rain, which made the darkness even darker, and caused my weird companions to flit about with increased activity. So natural were these appearances that I could scarcely refrain from following one larger light which appeared to be sent forward to escort me, venturing each time nearer and nearer to my stony refuge.
If any of my readers have involuntarily passed a night upon a Welsh mountain, they will know what mingled distress and pleasure the dawn produces—distress, because, however cold, wet, and miserable you may have been during the night, the dawn brings with it a change of atmosphere which runs through your bones, and causes your whole frame to shiver; and the waiting for the light, intolerable pleasure, because, with the return of glorious day, come relief and light.
The longed-for light at length began to creep amongst the boulders and the heather, and show me once more how wisely I had decided in remaining still, instead of attempting to feel my way in any uncertain direction, surrounded as I was by deep ravines and precipices.
Tired, wet through, and with aching bones, I began my peregrination, and after walking some two miles through the hills I espied a cottage,to which I directed my steps in the hope of getting some refreshment. To my surprise and joy, I found a woman at the cottage who was evidently expecting some arrival. I had some difficulty in making the woman understand that I appealed only for a glass of milk. She spoke nothing but Welsh, and appeared much alarmed at my visit. If it had not been for the opportune arrival of two men (peasants), one of whom spoke English, I might have failed to obtain even the modest hospitality I so much needed.
After some conversation, in which I described myself and my position without reserve, we were all, within a few minutes, supplied with an ample bowl of hot oatmeal porridge.
The cottage was situated in a lonely glen, thickly studded with brushwood, but I could discern no road leading to it. I had made my way across the hills, and on inquiring the distance to the Coach and Horses, I found it was five miles.
Feeling that my unaccountable absence must have given rise to some anxiety, I was eager to depart as soon as I had finished breakfast, and with that view had arranged with the peasant to conduct me to the highroad. Suddenly, as we were about to leave the cottage, the door was rudely forced open, and two men, entering, seized me by the collar, saying: “We’re looking foryou.”
“Then I’m glad you’ve found me,” said I; “for the good people at the Coach and Horses must have been much distressed at my disappearance.”
“They won’t be distressed when they hear that you’ve got three months for this job.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mean! Why, we mean that we have been a-watching of you all night.”
“I wish you had made your presence known,” said I. “I would have made it worth your while.”
“Ah, but we don’t do business in that way. No, no! a good catch like this for us is better than a good catch of fish is for you. We saw your lights a mile off.”
I was more puzzled than ever. Except an occasional fusee for my pipe, and the marsh-light, I had passed the whole weary night without seeing a light at all.
But on further explanation I began to comprehend that the river-watchers had suspected me of having been flame-poaching all night, and followed me to the cottage.
I protested that I was no poacher, but a benighted tourist who had accidentally lost his way upon the hills, and that I could prove my assertions if taken to the Coach and Horses.
All I could say was of no avail, and with a fellow-prisoner—a peasant, now brought in—I was marched off to Rhyadder; where, at eleven o’clock on the same day, we were takenbefore a bench of magistrates, charged with having “unlawfully, by means of torches and spears, captured salmon during the night season.”
An anxious night had been passed at the Coach and Horses in consequence of my absence. Messengers had been despatched in all directions to inquire and search; and it was not until my messenger arrived, requesting the landlord of the Coach and Horses to come at once and identify me, that the apprehensions of my friends were allayed.
To prove my innocence was by no means so easy a task as it would appear. Two river-watchers swore point-blank to having seen me and my fellow-prisoner at the edge of the pool fishing with torches, that they watched us for a considerable time, and at daybreak followed us to the cottage where we were apprehended.
The oaths of these two men, combined withcircumstantial evidence, were so strong against me that I almost doubted whether I had been poaching or not! My urgent declaration that I had been sitting upon a rock all night seemed weakish; it wouldn’t “wash.” I overheard one of the magistrates whisper to his neighbour something about “a cock-and-bull story.”
I had well-nigh broken down in myalibiwhen the landlord of the Coach and Horses rushed into court. But he could only identify me as the missing gentleman.
“Where did you pass the night?” was the repeated question from the Bench. I had never found so much difficulty in accounting for myself during a night in my life; and my assurance that I had been benighted upon a mountain gave rise to much merriment amongst the audience, salmon poaching being at that time a very common offence in Wales. On the other hand the two river-watchers had sworn that they had followedus, step by step, from the pool to the cottage—a distance of two miles—and that they had never lost sight of us. The fact proved to be that they had followed and apprehended two men, but the second poacher had slipped out of the cottage when the watchers entered, andIhad slipped into his place!
My landlord of the Coach and Horses pleaded earnestly for my acquittal, but facts are stubborn—so are Welsh justices; and it was with the greatest reluctance that the Bench consented to release me on bail, to come up again for judgment in a week, during which time further inquiry would be made into my statement.
My triumphant return to the Coach and Horses was an occasion of much rejoicing, though I believe there are some who to this day have felt disinclined to acquit me of all complicity in the salmon poaching foray.
When the day of judgment arrived I took withme “young David,” the son of the landlord, and sought the cottage from which I had been so roughly taken. My disappointment was great at finding the house closed and the door barred, having no appearance of occupation about it. I was turning away in despair when we heard the bleating of a calf, which showed the place was not altogether deserted.
We resolved to wait till the evening set in, concluding that someone interested in the young calf would respond to its pitiful appeal; nor were we wrong in our surmise. As the evening closed in we espied a woman in the distance, leading a black cow towards the house. We lay in ambush till matters were sufficiently advanced to prevent an abrupt appearance from interrupting the domestic arrangements, and then, taking David to interpret for me, I asked the woman if she remembered having seen me before.
Apparently much alarmed, she flew into arage, denouncing me in terms which, David informed me, were anything but complimentary, and declaring that I had betrayed her husband and brother, and caused them to be apprehended by the watchers. It took some time to “moderate the rancour” of this lady’s tongue, but when we had brought her to reason, she agreed to come forward and state in the court that I had come to the cottage, on the morning in question, before her husband and brother, and had not seen them till we met at the cottage. Questioned about her brother, she said he had sailed for America.
Armed with this evidence, I presented myself before the bench of magistrates at the appointed time. The woman had kept faith, and was present, although not called, for the watchers had become a little shaken in their belief; and inquiry having been made, and proving satisfactory, I was at once acquitted. Not so my fellow-prisoner, who, this being his fourth conviction, was sentenced to six months’ hard labour.
Coaches in Ireland fifty years ago—Warm welcome—Still-hunting—Another blank day—Talent and temper—The Avoca coach.
B
Beforethe reign of King Bianconi in Ireland, the coaching and all public conveyances were of a most primitive description.[11]I am writing of Ireland fifty years ago, when it was a real pleasure to have intercourse with the peasantry; when every look was a smile; when the hardest raps with a shillelah were accepted as additional tokens of friendship;and if a few heads were broken it was looked upon simply as part of the fun of the fair.
Hospitality is no word for the overflowing welcome which was invariably extended to a stranger, and the sincerity of the men was only equalled by the fascination of the softer sex. The ready repartee, the quick appreciation of wit or satire, were ingredients which gave zest to conversation and piquancy to a society unlike that which may be met with in any other country.
In the same degree, the peasantry, as far as their humble means would permit, were ever ready to display their kindly feeling towards a stranger, no matter of what social grade.
As a soldier in those days I had some disagreeable duties to perform, but these were frequently rendered less painful by the very people against whom these duties were directed. I allude, for example, to “still-hunting.” It was the rulein those days for the gauger, whose duty it was to hunt up all illicit stills in the country, to make a requisition for a party of military, to supervise and surround the suspected spot, prevent the escape of those concerned in the manufacture, and secure, if possible, the worm of the still. The latter part of the triumph was seldom achieved; a small steel worm, which would go into a man’s hat, would take a party of gaugers a long night to hunt for, and often wind up with a blank after all.
THE PUBLIC CAR.
I was detached from the headquarters of my regiment at the town of Ballingarry, Limerick. I had been out as usual with my gun in the bogs, which, in that neighbourhood, abounded in snipe, and having dined in my snug quarters (the lodge at the gate of the Protestant minister’s demesne), had just finished my tumbler of “hot stoppings,” when the thump of an open palmagainst my door announced a visit from my sergeant-major.
“Here’s the gauger, sir; and he wants our men to capture a still.”
A cold frosty night outside, and a clear turf fire within, with other pictures of comfort, did not help to inflame my soul with military ardour in the prospect of a still-hunt among the mountains five miles off. I was bound, however, to interview the gauger, and thereupon there entered a stout man, with a very blossomy nose, dressed in rusty black, who, at my invitation, seated himself by the fire.
“I have a requisition for twelve rank and file to assist in capturing a still in the neighbourhood, and here, sir, is the fee.”[12]
“When do you propose to make the expedition?”
“We should leave this at eleven to-night, and as no suspicion is aroused, we shall probably capture the lot, still and all.”
I pushed the materials towards the gauger, who required very little persuasion to avail himself of the opportunity to brew a hot tumbler of punch. On many former occasions I had by judicious hospitality kept this functionary at bay until it became too late, or the weather set in too bad, to make a start, thus saving my men the harassing duty we all disliked.
Now, however, the summons was imperative; and I accordingly turned out my picquet, and started with the revenue officer and his assistant for a mountain some five or six miles distant from my post.
The moon was shining brightly, and the sharp frosty air of the night was most exhilarating.The light and springy step of my riflemen suggested the idea of being on a poaching lark rather than a solemn expedition for the vindication of the law.
We had left the highway and ascended a few hundred yards of the mountain-road, when the gauger pointed out to me a light curling white cloud, distant about a quarter of a mile, rising as if from the ground. That was the still.
Extending my small force, I formed a cordon round the point, gradually closing in, till within fifty yards of our object. This operation completed, I left further proceedings to the gauger.
Suddenly my attention was attracted by the melancholy wailing of a woman, and, on investigation, I discovered an old hag who might easily have been great-grandmother of all the stills in the district.
“Och-hone, och-hone! We’ll all be kiltentirely. We’ll all be kilt outright wid dem soldiers. Och-hone!”
The gauger now reappeared. His search, both for men and machinery, had been fruitless. At once the old woman opened upon him a broadside of execrations such as are rarely heard even from the lips of an infuriated Irish beldame, strangely mixed with benedictions—the curses for the gauger, the blessings for me.
“To the divil I pitch them gaugers. Long life to y’r honour. Bad cess to ’em, I’d bail ’em out of —— (purgatory?) ev they’d wait. Och, thin, God bless you and y’r min! And thim to say I had a still!—the blag-g-a-ards!” All the time never moving from her seat amongst the ferns, whence she challenged the gaugers to search the skibeen and welcome. “Bad luck to you and your ugly mate!”
Finding the fun was over, I assembled mymen and started on the homeward march; but wishing to reward the ancient sibyl for her blessing with a taste of tobacco, I halted the party in the road for a minute, and hurried back.
“You’re lucky not to have had your still discovered,” I remarked.
“Oh thin, good luck to your honour, and it’s you and your min saved it. May you live till the longest tooth in your head makes a walking-stick for you.”
“How do you mean, my good woman?”
“Sure the boys seen the soldiers coming, and they lighted a bit fire to blind ’em. The gauger was never near our plant; and for the worm, I was sitting on it all the time.”
I gave the old woman a blast for her pipe, and drank a tot of the best potheen I ever tasted.
To revert to the subject of Irish coaching which, as I have said before, was of the wildest and most primitive description, before the great mail contractor monopolised nearly every road in the country, conveying both mails and passengers on cars in a manner much better suited to the taste and habits of the people.
What the original coaches lacked in neatness they made up in pace. It was no uncommon thing to see a team brought out to attach to a coach, one blinded with a rubber, two with twitches on their noses, and the fourth having his leg tied up till the moment of departure. I once started from Waterford under these circumstances, and when all was ready, at the moment of starting, the coachman having climbed up, with his rope reins in hand, began shouting, cheering, and rattling his feet against the footboard to make them start. On this I reminded himthat his whip was lying on the top of the luggage behind him.
“Oh, bad luck to ’em! I wouldn’t show ’em that till they’d ask for it,” was the answer “Sure they’d never lave home if they thought I’d take that along wid me.”
They did start, with the vocal assistance of half the spalpeens of the city, who followed us barefooted for at least a mile—an Irish mile—out of the town.
There is no country in the world where so many clever horses are bred as in Ireland. I say clever in the general acceptation of the word, for an Irish horse is as great an adept at an argument with his driver as he is in the falling at once into the latter’s views, and performing all that he can expect from him with cheerfulness.
I have generally found in my experience that a horse with a bad temper is a good stayer; while,on the other hand, an animal with a little temper, easily got the better of, is a cur.
A horse in Ireland is never allowed to have a bad temper; he only rises to tricks.
I was driving in Dublin some time since to catch a boat, and the horse in the car, after being very refractory, lay down. I was very much incensed, and afraid of losing my passage, when the driver quietly said:
“Oh, don’t mind him, sir; it’s onlytricks.”
Since the reign of Bianconi the travelling has very much improved. The long car, substituted for the coach, is by no means an uncomfortable carriage, and the weight being kept so near the ground reduces the chances of being upset to a minimum. The roads are extremely good, and the scenery in some parts indescribably beautiful.
A revival of coaching was attempted inDublin in the year 1879, but it did not attain any great proportions. There was one coach, however, with which I was intimately connected, which ran from the Sherbourne Hotel, Dublin, to the Vale of Avoca, and enjoyed a fair share of success. It was a private venture, was well horsed and appointed, changing four times in fifty-four miles (down one day and up another), and performing the journey in six hours, including a liberal interval for lunch each way.
This route embraces one of the most beautiful parts of Ireland, through the county of Wicklow, and the coach was consequently much encouraged by tourists and foreigners.
When the days of Land League and low rents (no rents) shall be buried in oblivion, and the country restored to the condition which I have described as its natural social aspect fiftyyears ago, I have no doubt that this and many other roads out of Dublin will be as thickly covered by amateur coaches as are the suburban roads from London.
Virtue and vice—Sowing wild oats—They can all jump—Drive down Box Hill—A gig across country.