stage-coach and tavern days [illustration: travel in the south in the thirties. _frontispiece._] stage-coach and tavern days by alice morse earle author of _home life in colonial days_, _child life in colonial days_, and other social and domestic histories of colonial times "_long ago, at the end of the route, the stage pulled up, and the folks stepped out. they have all passed under the tavern door-- the youth and his bride and the gray three-score. their eyes were weary with dust and gleam, the day had gone like an empty dream. soft may they slumber, and trouble no more for their eager journey, its jolt and roar, in the old coach over the mountain._" new york the macmillan company london: macmillan & co., ltd. _all rights reserved_ copyright, , by the macmillan company. _norwood press j. s. cushing & co.--berwick & smith norwood, mass., u.s.a._ _to my husband henry earle_ contents chapter page i. the puritan ordinary ii. old-time taverns iii. the tavern landlord iv. tavern fare and tavern ways v. kill-devil and its affines vi. small drink vii. signs and symbols viii. the tavern in war ix. the tavern panorama x. from path to turnpike xi. packhorse and conestoga wagon xii. early stage-coaches and other vehicles xiii. two stage veterans of massachusetts xiv. a staging centre xv. the stage-driver xvi. the romance of the road xvii. the pains of stage-coach travel xviii. knights of the road xix. tavern ghosts list of illustrations travel in the south in the thirties. from painting by edward lamson henry, n.a. _frontispiece_ page ordinary at duxbury, mass. taproom furnishings of an old ordinary. owned by miss elizabeth nicholson, providence, r. i. oldest house in easton, mass.; once an ordinary leather black-jack tavern bill against east church, salem, mass. owned by essex institute taproom of wayside inn, sudbury, mass. buckman tavern, , lexington, mass. hound-handle tavern pitcher sign-board of hayden tavern, essex, conn. owned by connecticut historical society indian queen tavern, bladensburg, md. from painting by edward lamson henry, n.a. _facing_ old road house, md. plate, city hotel, n. y., staffordshire ware cato's house, n. y. from an old print washington tavern, westfield, mass. door latch, washington tavern, westfield, mass. wadsworth inn, hartford, conn. photographed by mr. george c. atwell, hartford, conn. taproom, wadsworth inn, hartford, conn. fountain inn, medford, mass. sign-board of n. mowry's inn, lime rock, r. i. owned by miss elizabeth nicholson, providence, r. i. pine-tree tavern and eagle tavern, east poultney, vt. sign-board of washington hotel, salem, mass. owned by essex institute sign-board of hays' tavern, west brattleboro, vt. cooper tavern, arlington, mass. travellers' rest, shelbyville, ky., miller's tavern, lancaster, penn. ellery tavern, front, gloucester, mass. ellery tavern, lean-to, gloucester, mass. bill of cromwell's head tavern, boston, mass. owned by mrs. h. m. hunt, kingston, r. i. _facing_ bill of fare of city hotel, hartford, conn. owned by mr. george f. ives, danbury, conn. platter, mendenhall ferry and tavern, schuylkill river, penn. owned by miss frances c. morse, worcester, mass. collin's tavern, naugatuck, conn. photographed by mr. george c. atwell, hartford, conn. old rum bottles burgoyne tavern, westfield, mass. tavern pitcher, happy farmer, crouch ware flip glasses, loggerhead and toddy stick. owned by pocumtuck valley historical association porcelain monteith bowl, punch bowl, bearing insignia of order of the cincinnati, chinese ware sign-board of amherst hotel, amherst, mass. from history of amherst eagle tavern and sign-board, newton, n. h. cider pitcher and cups, copper lustre ware parsons' tavern, springfield, mass. toby fillpots, staffordshire ware. owned by miss frances c. morse, worcester, mass. flip glasses and nutmeg holders. owned by miss frances c. morse, worcester, mass. sign-board, stratton tavern, northfield farms, mass. owned by pocumtuck valley historical association sign-board, three crowns tavern, salisbury, lancaster county, penn. painted by benjamin west browne's hall, danvers, mass. hat tavern and sign-board, leacock township, lancaster county, penn. sign-board painted by benjamin west sign-board, bissell's tavern, east windsor, conn. owned by miss emma b. king, indianapolis, ind. sign-board, reverse side, bissell's tavern, east windsor, conn. owned by miss emma b. king, indianapolis, ind. sign-board of william pitt tavern, lancaster, penn. sign-board, doolittle tavern sign-board, "a man loaded with mischief," london, eng. painted by hogarth _facing_ sign-board of walker's tavern, charlestown, n. h. owned by worcester society of antiquity drawing for ames sign-board, dedham, mass. buck horn tavern, n. y., . from an old print old north bridge, concord, mass. _facing_ boston liberty tree and tavern. from an old print stavers inn, portsmouth, n. h. handbill of wolfe tavern, newburyport, mass. _facing_ sign-board of wolfe tavern, newburyport, mass. hancock tavern, boston, mass. sam fraunces. from original drawing. owned by mrs. a. livingstone mason, newport, r. i. green dragon tavern, boston, mass. from an old print conkey tavern, pelham, mass. from history of pelham _facing_ sign-board of conkey tavern. from history of pelham naval pitcher, liverpool ware washington tavern, north wilbraham, mass. black horse tavern, salem, mass. sign-board, stickney tavern, concord, n. h. owned by new hampshire historical society sign-board of keeler's tavern, ridgefield, conn. plate, nahant hotel, staffordshire ware sign-board of wolfe tavern, brooklyn, conn. owned by connecticut historical society postlethwaite's tavern, lancaster county, penn. sign-board of pembroke tavern, plymouth turnpike, mass. owned by bostonian society map pitcher, liverpool ware waiting at the ferry. painted by edward lamson henry, n.a. _facing_ old chain bridge, newburyport, mass. _facing_ bridge toll-board. owned by mr. a. g. richmond, canajoharie, n. y. megunticook turnpike advertisement of mail-stage bridge sign-board. owned by bucks county historical society a wayside friend, north conway, n. h. from photograph by t. e. m. and g. h. white _facing_ conestoga wagon. photographed from an old wagon _facing_ stage wagons. from print in an old english story book english coach, . from a painting by hogarth quicksilver royal mail, , london, eng. from an old print _facing_ "one hoss shay" _facing_ "washington" chariot. owned by misses francis, spring green farm, warwick, r. i. advertisement of stage lines. from first issue of new york _commercial advertiser_, stage-coach of . from an old print stage-coach of . from an old print concord coach, built in . owned by "buffalo bill" concord coach at toll-gate. from photograph owned by major lewis downing, jr., concord, n. h. _facing_ advertisement of pioneer line stage-coaches the omnibus "accommodation" between springfield and chicopee falls, notice of post-rider, old mail-coach and sign-board, barre, mass., pitcher, quincy railway, staffordshire ware veazie railway, bangor, me. from an old print the arrival of the train. from a painting by edward lamson henry, n.a. _facing_ uncle ame morris's oxen serving as locomotive. from an old print pease tavern, shrewsbury, mass. old arcade, shrewsbury, mass. harrington tavern, shrewsbury, mass. balch tavern, shrewsbury, mass. advertisement of ginery twichell's stage lines. owned by american antiquarian society, worcester, mass. _facing_ ginery twichell's ride. from drawing owned by mr. frederick a. currier, fitchburg, mass. sign-board of tarleton inn, piermont, cohos turnpike, n. h. owned by mr. amos tarleton, haverhill, n. h. sign-board, reverse, of tarleton inn, piermont, n. h. owned by mr. amos tarleton, haverhill, n. h. bliss's tavern, haverhill, n. h. old sleigh with double dashboard old passenger pung relay house, dorchester, mass. the relay. from painting by edward lamson henry, n.a. _facing_ view of middletown, conn. from an old print deerhide and pigskin trunks old carpet bag. owned by mrs. voice adams beecher, brooklyn, n. y. sign-board of david reed's tavern, bedford, mass. owned by concord antiquarian society midsummer along the pike _facing_ a vista of white birches the hollyhock's promise the cool depths of the pine woods. from photograph by t. e. m. and g. h. white _facing_ taylor's tavern, , danbury, conn. m. m. taylor's milestone, danbury, conn. peleg arnold's milestone, woonsocket, r. i. from photograph by mr. edward field, providence, r. i. the watering trough topsfield bridge, . ipswich river, mass. the shadowy water under the arches. from photograph by t. e. m. and g. h. white _facing_ winter stage, dalton, mass. _facing_ winter stage, chepachet. from photograph by mr. edward field, providence, r. i. advertisements of carriages and wagons. from connecticut _journal_, july , _facing_ a wet start at daybreak. from a painting by edward lamson henry, n.a. _facing_ the wayside inn, sudbury, mass. _facing_ sign-board, perkins inn, hopkinton, n. h. owned by mr. e. r. guerin, hopkinton, n. h. russel tavern, arlington, mass. sign-board of gifford's tavern, barrington, r. i. owned by mrs. gifford, bristol, r. i. sign-board of wells tavern, greenfield meadows, mass. owned by pocumtuck valley historical association mattapan tavern, relay house wilde tavern, milton, mass., ashburnham thief detecting society. handbill heading sign-board of humphrey williams tavern, centrebrook, conn. owned by mr. george f. ives, danbury, conn. sign-board, reverse, of humphrey williams tavern, centrebrook, conn. owned by mr. george f. ives, danbury, conn. poor tavern and sign-board, newburyport, mass. monroe tavern, lexington, mass. _facing_ sign-board, dewey tavern sign-board, cutter's tavern, jaffray, n. h. owned by mrs. anna cutter roberts, roxbury, mass. banjo clock, with painting of pahquoique house on glass door. owned by mr. george f. ives, danbury, conn. wright tavern, concord, mass. sign-board of moses hill's inn, douglas, mass. sign-board of john nash's tavern, amherst, mass. from history of amherst montague city tavern old abbey, bloomingdale road, new york after the shower. from painting by edward lamson henry, n. a. _facing_ tavern pitcher, apotheosis of washington. liverpool ware sign-board of grosvenor inn, pomfret, conn. the parting of the ways, dublin, n. h. _facing_ stage-coach and tavern days chapter i the puritan ordinary in reverent and affectionate retrospective view of the influences and conditions which had power and made mark upon the settlement of new england, we are apt to affirm with earnest sentiment that religion was the one force, the one aim, the one thought, of the lives of our forbears. it was indeed an ever present thought and influence in their lives; but they possessed another trait which is as evident in their records as their piety, and which adds an element of human interest to their story which their stern puritanism never could have done; with them their neighborliness, was as ever present and as sincere as their godliness. hence the establishment of an hostelry,--an ordinary it was usually called,--for the entertainment of travellers and for the mutual comfort of the settlers, was scarcely second to their providing a gathering-place for the church. the general court of massachusetts at an early date took decisive measures with regard to houses of common entertainment. no one was permitted to keep without license "a common victuallyng house," under a penalty of twenty shillings a week. soon the power of granting licenses was transferred to the county courts, as the constant increase in the number of ordinaries made too constant detailed work for so important a body as the general court. consideration for the welfare of travellers, and a desire to regulate the sale of intoxicating liquors, seemed to the magistrates important enough reasons not only to counsel but to enforce the opening of some kind of a public house in each community, and in the general court of massachusetts made towns liable to a fine for not sustaining an ordinary. towns were fined and admonished for not conforming to this law; concord, massachusetts, was one of the number. the colonial records of connecticut, in , ordered "one sufficient inhabitant" in each town to keep an ordinary, since "strangers were straitened" for want of entertainment. a frequent and natural choice of location for establishing an ordinary was at a ferry. tristram coffyn kept both ferry and ordinary at newbury, massachusetts; there was an ordinary at beverly ferry, known until as the "old ferry tavern." great inducements were offered to persons to keep an ordinary; sometimes land was granted them, or pasturage for their cattle, or exemption from church rates and school taxes. in , hugh march, of newbury, massachusetts, petitioned for a renewal of his license to keep an ordinary, saying thus: "the town of newbury, some years since, were destitute of an ordinary, and could not persuade any person to keep it. for want of an ordinary they were twice fined by the county, and would have been a third time had i not undertaken it." in the town had persuaded one captain white to "undertake an ordinary" on high moral grounds; and it is painful to record that, though he did so unwillingly, he found the occupation so profitable that he finally got into disgrace through it. [illustration: ordinary at duxbury, massachusetts.] the early taverns were not opened wholly for the convenience of travellers; they were for the comfort of the townspeople, for the interchange of news and opinions, the sale of solacing liquors, and the incidental sociability; in fact, the importance of the tavern to its local neighbors was far greater than to travellers. there were many restrictions upon the entertainment of unknown strangers. the landlord had to give the name of all such strangers to the selectmen, who could, if they deemed them detrimental or likely to become a charge upon the community, warn them out of the town. the old town records are full of such warnings, some of them most amusing. nor could the landlord "knowingly harbor in house, barn, or stable, any rogues, vagabonds, thieves, sturdy beggars, masterless men or women." our ancestors were kindly neighbors to godly folk, but sternly intolerant of wrong-doers, or even of those suspected of wrong. we cannot wonder that citizens did not seek to become ordinary-keepers when we learn how they were hampered, or how the magistrates tried to hamper them. they were at one time not to be permitted to sell "sack or strong waters," nor have any dancing or singing within their walls. no games could be played in their precincts. they were even hindered in the selling of cakes and buns. innholders and victuallers were prohibited the brewing of beer, but that soon had to be revoked. the price and quality of beer was constantly being established by law and as constantly changed. in the court set the price of a single meal at sixpence, and not above a penny for an ale-quart of beer out of meal time. then, a little later, the landlords were forbidden to change more than twelve pence for a meal; and they were ordered to furnish meals to "pore people," as simply as called for. one richard cluffe, in an utterance which sounds like the voice of shakespeare's clown, exclaimed at a mean meal served to him, "what! shall i pay twelve pence for the fragments which the grand jury roages have left?" the majesty of the law could not thus be attacked in massachusetts in the year . three pounds six shillings and eight pence did cluffe pay for his rash and angry words--truly a costly dinner. the ordinary called the anchor, at lynn, was kept by one joseph armitage. being a halfway house between boston and salem, the magistrates made it their stopping-place on their various trips from court to court. the accounts of this ordinary are still preserved. governor endicott's bills for "vitals, beare, and logen," for "bear and caeks," were paid by the auditor. governor bradstreet had "beare and wyne." the succeeding landlord of this ordinary was described by john dunton in as a hearty, talkative, fine old gentleman, one of oliver cromwell's soldiers. dunton had at the anchor a good fowl and a bottle of sack, instead of the beer and cakes of the abstemious puritan governor. the "sports of the innyard" were sternly frowned upon by puritan magistrates. among the games which were named as forbidden in the ordinaries were "carding," dicing, tally, bowls, billiards, slidegroat, shuffle-board, quoits, loggets, ninepins. after a time shuffle-board and bowls were tolerated in private houses, though not deemed reputable at the ordinary. the puritan ordinary saw some wedding scenes, and apparently some tentatively gay scenes, since in the magistrates of massachusetts bay, in "consequence of some miscarriages at weddings" which had been held in an ordinary, passed a law prohibiting dancing on such occasions in public houses. lord ley lodged at the boston ordinary in ; and when governor winthrop urged him to come to his home from the inn, his lordship declined, saying that the house where he was staying was so well ordered that he could be as private there as elsewhere. in the towns a night-watch was soon instituted, and the instructions given by the boston magistrates smack strongly of dogberry's famous charge. their number each night was eight; they were "to walk two by two together, a youth joined to an older and more sober person." lights had to be out,--or hidden,--especially in the ordinaries. "if they see lights, to inquire if there be warrantable cause; and if they hear any noise or disorder, wisely to demand the reason; if they are dancing and singing vainly, to admonish them to cease; if they do not discontinue after moderate admonition, then the constable to take their names and acquaint the authorities therewith. if they find young men and maidens, not of known fidelity, walking after ten o'clock, modestly to demand the cause, and if they appear ill-minded, to watch them narrowly, command them to go to their lodgings, and if they refuse then to secure them till morning." in josselyn found that young sparks walking with their sweet-hearts, or "marmalet-madams" as he called them, had to go home at nine o'clock. constant and strenuous efforts were made from earliest days to prevent drunkenness and all tavern disorders. as early as complaints had been made that "much drunkenness, waste of the good creatures of god, mispense of time, and other disorders" had taken place at the ordinaries. frequent laws were made about selling liquor to the "devilish bloudy salvages," and many were the arrests and fines and punishments therefor. [illustration: taproom furnishings of an old ordinary.] landlords were forbidden by the court in "to suffer anyone to be drunk or drink excessively, or continue tippling above the space of half an hour in any of their said houses under penalty of _s._ for every such offence suffered; and every person found drunk in the said houses or elsewhere shall forfeit _s._; and for every excessive drinking he shall forfeit _s._ _d._; for sitting idle and continuing drinking above half an hour, _s._ _d._; and it is declared to be excessive drinking of wine when above half a pint of wine is allowed at one time to one person to drink: provided that it shall be lawful for any strangers, or lodgers, or any person or persons, in an orderly way to continue in such houses of common entertainment during meal times or upon lawful business, what time their occasions shall require." drunkards were severely punished by being thrust into the bilboes, set in the stocks, and whipped. in one "james woodward shalbe sett in the bilbowes for being drunke at new-towne." robert wright was fined twenty shillings and ordered to sit in the stocks an hour for being "twice distempered in drink." on september , , in boston:-- "robert coles was fyned ten shillings and enjoynd to stand with a white sheet of paper on his back, whereon drunkard shalbe written in great lres, and to stand therewith soe long as the court find meet, for abusing himself shamefully with drinke." this did not reform robert coles, for a year later his badge of disgrace was made permanent:-- "robert coles for drunkenness by him committed at rocksbury shalbe disfranchizd, weare about his neck, and so to hang upon his outwd garment a d. made of redd cloth & sett upon white: to continyu this for a yeare, & not to have it off any time hee comes among company, vnder the penalty of xl _s._ for the first offence, and £ for the second, and afterward to be punished by the court as they think meet: also _hee is to wear the d outwards_." it might be inferred from the clause i have italicized that the puritan drunkard was not without guile, and that some had worn the scarlet letter and hidden it from public view as skilfully as the moral brand is often hidden from public knowledge to-day. women, also, were punished severely for "intemperate drinking from one ordinary to another," but such examples were rare. lists of names of common drunkards were given to landlords in some towns (among them new castle, new hampshire), and landlords were warned not to sell liquor to them. licenses were removed and fines imposed on those who did not heed the warning. the tithing-man, that amusing but most bumptious public functionary of colonial times, was at first the official appointed to spy specially upon the ordinaries. he inspected these houses, made complaint of any disorders he discovered, and gave in to the constable the names of idle drinkers and gamers. he warned the keepers of public houses to sell no more liquor to any whom he fancied had been tippling too freely. john josselyn, an english visitor in boston in , complained bitterly thus:-- "at houses of entertainment into which a stranger went, he was presently followed by one appointed to that office, who would thrust himself into the company uninvited, and if he called for more drink than the officer thought in his judgement he could soberly bear away, he would presently countermand it, and appoint the proportion, beyond which he could not get one drop." [illustration: old tavern at easton, massachusetts.] now that certainly was trying. nor could it have been agreeable to would-be cheerful frequenters of greyhound tavern, in roxbury, to have godly parson danforth, when he saw from his study windows any neighbors or strangers lingering within the tavern doors, come sallying forth from his house across the way, and walk sternly into their company, and, as he said, "chide them away." patient must have been the greyhound's landlord to have stood such pious meddling and hindrance to trade. governor winthrop gives an account of the exploits of a boston constable in , which shows the restraint held over a lodger in a boston ordinary at that date. "there fell out a troublesome business in boston. an english sailor happened to be drunk and was carried to his lodging; and the constable (a godly man and much zealous against such disorders) hearing of it, found him out, being upon his bed asleep; so he awaked him, and led him to the stocks, no magistrate being at home. he being left in the stocks, some one of la tours french gentlemen visitors in boston lifted up the stocks and let him out. the constable hearing of it, went to the frenchman (being then gone and quiet) and would needs carry _him_ to the stocks. the frenchman offered to yield himself to go to prison but the constable, not understanding his language, pressed him to go to the stocks. the frenchman resisted and drew his sword. with that company came in and disarmed him, and carried him by force to the stocks, but soon after the constable took him out and carried him to prison." winthrop gravely enumerates the faults of the constable, such as his "transgressing the bounds of his office, the fruits of ignorant and misguided zeal, not putting a hook on the stocks," etc., and the matter bade fair to assume some gravity, since it was deemed in france "most ignominious to be laid in the stocks." yet winthrop took care not to rebuke the constable in public lest he "discourage and discountenance an honest officer." it has been said that the homely injunction "to mind your own business" was the most difficult lesson new englanders ever had to learn, and that even now it has been acquired and practised in the cities only, not in the country. administration of government in those days certainly consisted much of meddlesome interference in the private affairs of daily life. experience has since taught that the free-will of the citizen is the best regulator in such matters. it is one of the curiosities of old-time legislation that the use of tobacco was in earliest colonial days plainly regarded by the magistrates and elders as far more sinful, degrading, and harmful than indulgence in intoxicating liquors. both the use and the planting of it were forbidden, the latter being permitted in small quantities "for meere necessitie, for phisick, for preservaceon of the health, and that the same be taken privately by auncient men." landlords were ordered not to "suffer any tobacco to be taken into their houses" on penalty of a fine to the "victualler," and another to "the party that takes it." the "creature called tobacko" seemed to have an immortal life. the laws were constantly altered and were enforced, still tobacco was grown and was smoked. soon it was forbidden to "take tobacco in any wine or common victual house, except in a private room there, so as the master of said house nor any guest there shall take offense thereat; which, if any do, the said person shall forbear upon pain of two shillings sixpence for every such offense." no one could take tobacco "publicquely" nor in his own house or anywhere else before strangers. two men were forbidden to smoke together. windsor required a physician's certificate ere it could be used. no one could smoke within two miles of the meeting-house on the sabbath day. there were wicked backsliders who were caught smoking around the corner of the meeting-house, and others on the street, and they were fined, and set in the stocks, and in cages. until within a few years there were new england towns where tobacco-smoking was prohibited on the streets, and innocent cigar-loving travellers were astounded at being requested to cease smoking. mr. drake wrote in that he knew men, then living, who had had to plead guilty or not guilty in a boston police court for smoking in the streets of boston. in connecticut in early days a great indulgence was permitted to travellers--a man could smoke once during a journey of ten miles. the relationship of tavern and meeting-house in new england did not end with their simultaneous establishment; they continued the most friendly neighbors. and so long as a public house was commonly known as an ordinary, those who were high in church counsels looked sharply to the control of these houses of sojourn. the minister and tithing-man were aided in their spying and their chiding by deacons, elders, and church members. usually the ordinary and the meeting-house were close companions. licenses to keep houses of entertainment were granted with the condition that the tavern must be near the meeting-house--a keen contrast to our present laws prohibiting the sale of liquor within a certain distance of any church. a boston ordinary-keeper, in , was granted permission to keep a house of common entertainment "provided hee keepe it neare the new meeting-house." [illustration: leather black-jack.] those who know of the old-time meeting-house can fully comprehend the desire of the colonists to have a tavern near at hand, especially during the winter services. through autumn rains, and winter frosts and snows, and fierce northwesters, the poorly-built meeting-house stood unheated, growing more damp, more icy, more deadly, with each succeeding week. women cowered, shivering, half-frozen, over the feeble heat of a metal foot-stove as the long sermon dragged on and the few coals became ashes. men stamped their feet and swung their arms in the vain attempt to warm the blood. gladly and eagerly did all troop from the gloomy meeting-house to the cheerful tavern to thaw out before the afternoon service, and to warm up before the ride or walk home in the late afternoon. it was a scandal in many a town that godly church-members partook too freely of tavern cheer at the nooning; the only wonder is that the entire congregation did not succumb in a body to the potent flip and toddy of the tavern-keeper. in midsummer the hot sun beat down on the meeting-house roof, and the burning rays poured in the unshaded windows. the taproom of the tavern and the green trees in its dooryard offered a pleasant shade to tired church-goers, and its well-sweep afforded a grateful drink to those who turned not to the taproom. there are ever backsliders in all church communities; many walked into the ordinary door instead of up the church "alley." the chimney seat of the inn was more comfortable than the narrow seat of the "pue." the general court of massachusetts passed a law requiring all innkeepers within a mile of any meeting-house, to clear their houses "during the hours of the exercise." "thus," mr. field says wittily, "the townsmen were frozen out of the tavern to be frozen in the meeting-house." our ancestors had no reverence for a church save as a literal meeting-house, and it was not unusual to transform the house of god into a tavern. the great house at charlestown, massachusetts, the official residence of governor winthrop, became a meeting-house in , and then a tavern, the three cranes, kept by robert leary and his descendants for many years. it was destroyed in june, , in the burning of the town. in this great house, destined to become a tavern, lived governor winthrop when he announced his famous discountenance of health-drinking at the tables and in public places. this first of all temperance pledges in new england is recorded in his diary in his own language, which was as temperate as his intent:-- "the governor, upon consideration of the inconveniences which had grown in england by drinking one to another, restrained it at his own table, and wished others to do the like; so it grew, little by little, into disuse." [illustration] frequently religious services were held in the spacious rooms of the tavern, until a meeting-house was built; as in the town of fitchburg, massachusetts, and in providence, rhode island, where roger williams preached. many of the puritan ordinaries were thus used. ecclesiastical affairs were managed at the ordinary, among them that most ticklish and difficult of all adjustments and allotments, namely, seating the meeting. the "elders, deacons, and selectmen" of cambridge were made a "constant and settled power for regulating the seating of persons in the meeting-house." they were ordered to meet at the ordinary, and such orders and appointments as this were made:-- "brother richard jackson's wife to sit where sister kempster was wont to sit. ester sparhawke to sit in the place where mrs. upham is removed from. mr. day to sit the second seat from the table. ensign samuel greene to sit at the table. goody gates to sit at the end of the deacon's seat. goody wines to sit in the gallery." it needed much consultation and thought to "seat the meeting." we can imagine the deacons loosening their tongues over the tavern flip and punch, and arguing confidentially over the standing, the wealth, and temper of the various parties to be seated. there were in boston at different times several ordinaries and taverns known as the king's arms. one of the earliest ones stood at the head of dock square. in one hugh gunnison, vintner, and his wife, sold this house, known by the sign of the king's arms, with its furniture and appurtenances, for the sum of £ sterling, a goodly sum for the day. an inventory of the "p'ticular goods and household stuffe" still exists, and is of much interest not only as indicating the furnishings of a house of that character in that colony at that date, but showing also the naming of the chambers, as in the english inns of shakespeare's day. "in the chamber called the exchange one halfe bedstead with blew pillows, one livery cupbord coloured blue, one long table, benches, two formes and one carved chaire. "in the kitchen three formes dressers shelves. "in the larder one square table banisters dressers & shelves round. "in the hall, three small roomes with tables and benches in them, one table about six foote long in the hall and one bench. "in the low parlor one bedstead one table and benches two formes, one small frame of a form and shelves, one closet with shelves. "in the room vnder the closet one child's bedsted. "in the chamber called london, one bedsted two benches. "in the chamber over london one bedsted one crosse table one forme one bench. "in the closet next the exchange, shelves. "in the barr by the hall, three shelves, the frame of a low stoole. "in the vpper p'lor one bedsted two chaires one table one forme bench and shelves. "in the nursery one crosse table with shelvs. "in the court chamber one long table three formes one livery cupbord, & benches. "in the closet within the court chamber one bedsted and shelvs. "in the starr chamber one long table, one bedsted, one livery cupbord one chaire three formes with benches. "in the garret over the court chamber one bedsted one table two formes. "in the garret over the closet in the court chamber one bedsted one smale forme. "in the foure garrett chambers over the starr chamber three bedsteds four tables with benches. "in the brewhouse one cop', twoe fatts, one vnder back, one vpper back, one kneading trough one dresser one brake. "in the stable one racke & manger. "in the yarde one pumpe, pipes to convey the water to the brew house, fyve hogg styes, one house of office. "the signes of the kinges armes and signe posts." this was certainly a large house and amply furnished. it contained thirteen bedsteads and a vast number of tables, forms, benches, shelves, and cupboards. the rooms of the blue anchor, another boston ordinary, also bore names: the rose and sun low room, the cross keys, the green dragon, the anchor and castle. we can form, from the items of this inventory, a very good and detailed picture of the interior of a boston ordinary at that date. but it must not be imagined that there were at the time of this sale many colonial ordinaries as amply furnished as the king's arms. the accommodations in the public houses of small towns, indeed perhaps everywhere in new england save in boston and salem, were very primitive. the ordinary was doubtless as well furnished as the private homes of its neighbors, and that was very simple of fashion, while the fare was scant of variety. [illustration: taproom of wayside inn.] we know that even the early ordinaries had sign-boards. the ordinary-keeper had his license granted with the proviso that "there be sett up some inoffensive sign obvious for direction to strangers"--this in salem in . in the rhode island courts ordered that all persons appointed to keep an ordinary should "cause to be sett out a convenient signe at ye most perspicuous place of ye said house, thereby to give notice to strangers yt it is a house of public entertainment, and this to be done with all convenient speed." women kept ordinaries and taverns from early days. widows abounded, for the life of the male colonists was hard, exposure was great, and many died in middle age. war also had many victims. tavern-keeping was the resort of widows of small means then, just as the "taking of boarders" is to-day. women were skilled in business affairs and competent; many licenses were granted to them to keep victualling-houses, to draw wine, and make and sell beer. in the wife of one nicholas howard was licensed "to entertain lodgers in the absence of her husband"; while other women were permitted to sell food and drink but could not entertain lodgers because their husbands were absent from home, thus drawing nice distinctions. a salem dame in could keep an ordinary if she provided a "godly man" to manage her business. some women became renowned as good innkeepers, and they were everywhere encouraged in the calling. the colonists did not have to complain long, nor to pine long for lack of ordinaries. in cotton mather said every other house in boston was an ale-house. one of the first serious protests against the increase of ordinaries and ale-houses in the colonies, and appreciation of their pernicious effects, came from nathaniel saltonstall of haverhill, massachusetts. he was a magistrate, and an officer in the militia. he was appointed one of the judges in the salem witchcraft trials; but in this latter capacity he refused to serve, which may be taken as a proof of his advanced thought. he was said to be "a man of superior powers of mind and rare talents." in december, , he sent a letter to the salem court which ran thus:-- "much hon'd gentlemen: "i allways thought it great prudence and christianity in our former leaders and rulers, by their laws to state the number of publique houses in towns and for regulation of such houses, as were of necessity, thereby to prevent all sorts, almost, of wickednesses which daily grow in upon us like a flood. but alas! i see not but that now the case is over, and such (as to some places i may term them) pest-houses and places of enticement (tho not so intended by the justices) the sin are multiplied. it is multiplied too openly, that the cause of it may be, the price of retailers' fees, etc. i pray what need of six retailers in salisbury, and of more than one in haverhill, and some other towns where the people, when taxes and rates for the country and ministers are collecting, with open mouths complain of povertie and being hardly dealt with, and yet i am fully informed, can spend much time, and spend their estates at such blind holes, as are clandestinely and unjustly petitioned for; and more threaten to get licenses, chiefly by repairing to a remote court, where they are not known or suspected, but pass for current, and thereby the towns are abused, and the youth get evil habits; and men sent out on country service at such places waste much of their time, yet expect pay for it, in most pernicious loytering and what, and sometimes by foolish if not pot-valiant firing and shooting off guns, not for the destruction of enemies, but to the wonderful disturbance and affrightment of the inhabitants, which is not the service a scout is allowed and maintained for. "please to see what good is done by giving a license to robert hastings, in such a by-place about three miles from the publique house in town. the man himself i am sure has no cause, nor do i believe the town and travellers if they are sober men, will ever give the court thanks for the first grant to him, or the further renewal thereof. "but now the bravado is made, what is done is not enough; we must have a third tippling house at peter patey's about midway between the other two, which they boast as cock-sure of, and have it is thought laid in, for this very end, an unaccountable store of cyder, rum, molasses, and what not. it is well if this stock be not now spent on, in procuring subscriptions for to obtain the villain's license, which i fear, knowing the man, we may be bold to say, wickedness will be practiced and without control.... i have done my part in court, as to what i heard of, to prevent such confiding licenses to persons unknown.... "i am now god's prisoner and cant come abroad, and have waited long to speak of those, and others, but as yet cant meet with an opportunity. you have nothing here of personal animosity of mine against any man, but zeal and faithfulness to my country and town, and to the young and rising generation that they be not too much at liberty to live and do as they list. accept of the good intentions of, gentlemen, your humble servant, "n. saltonstall." there is a sturdy ring about this letter, a freedom from cant and conventional religious expressions, that serve to paint clearly the character of the writer, and show us by one of those side-glimpses, which, as ruskin says, often afford more light than a full stare, the sort of man that built up new england in the beginning, on its solid and noble foundations. [illustration: buckman tavern, lexington, massachusetts, .] in spite of the forebodings of saltonstall and other christian gentlemen, the flood of wickedness and disorder which he predicted was slow in its approach. the orderly ways and close restrictions and surveillance of the puritan ordinary lasted until long after public houses were called taverns. in the latter quarter of the seventeenth century and the first of the eighteenth a nearly continual diary was kept by a resident of boston, judge samuel sewall, who might be called boston's first citizen. he was rich, he was good, he was intelligent, and some portions of his diary are of great value for the light they throw on contemporary customs and events. he has been called a puritan pepys; but in one respect he is markedly unlike pepys, who gave us ample record of london taverns, and of tavern life in his day. it is doubtful that sewall knew much about tavern life in boston; for his private life was a great contrast to that of our gay pepys. judge sewall was a home-body, tenderly careful of his children--he had fourteen; a "loving servant" to his wives--he had three; especially devoted to his mother-in-law--he had but one, the richest woman in boston; kind to his neighbors, poor as well as rich; attentive to his friends in sickness, and thoughtful of them in death; zealous in religious duties both in the church and the family; public-spirited and upright in his service to his town and state, from his high office as judge, down to fulfilling petty duties such as serving on the watch. he had little time for tavern life, and little inclination to it; and he condemned men who "kept ordinaries and sold rum." he was a shining example of the "new-english men," whose fast-thinning ranks he so sadly deplored, and whose virtues he extolled. he occasionally refers in his diary to ordinaries. sometimes he soberly drank healths and grace-cups within boston and cambridge tavern walls with the honored deputies, at the installation of a new governor, on the king's coronation day, or a royal birthday. sometimes we read of his pleasuring trips with his wife to the greyhound tavern in roxbury, his gala dinner of boiled pork and roast fowls, and his riding home at curfew in "brave moonshine." that clear june moonlight shining down through the centuries does not display to us any very gay figures, any very jolly riders. we can see the judge in rich but sad-colored attire, with his wife on a pillion behind him, soberly jogging home, doubtless singing psalms as they went through the short stretches of roxbury woods; for he sang psalms everywhere apparently, when he was permitted to do so. this is as might be expected of a man who on another pleasure jaunt with his wife left her eating cherries in the orchard, while he, like any other puritan, "sweetened his mouth with a bit of calvin," that is, he sat indoors and read _calvin on psalms_. [illustration: hound-handle tavern pitcher.] at this time--in the year --boston had a population approaching ten thousand. it had thirty-four ordinary- or inn-holders, of whom twelve were women; four common victuallers, of whom one was a woman; forty-one retailers of liquor, of whom seventeen were women, and a few cider sellers. there were, therefore, ample places in which liquor could be bought; but sewall's entire diary gives proof of the orderliness of life in boston. there are not half a dozen entries which give any records or show any evidence of tavern disorders. in an inquiry was made by the magistrates "as to debaucheries at the exchange," and as a result one young man was fined five shillings for cursing, ten shillings for throwing a beer-pot and scale-box at the maid, and twenty shillings for lying--that was all. the longest entry is on the queen's birthday in :-- "my neighbor colson knocks at my door about nine p.m., or past, to tell of disorders at the ordinary at the south end, kept by mr. wallace. he desired me that i would accompany mr. bromfield and constable howell hither. it was minutes past nine before mr. bromfield came, then we went, took �neas salter with us. found much company. they refused to go away. said was there to drink the queen's health and had many other healths to drink. called for more drink and drank to me: i took notice of the affront, to them. said they must and would stay upon that solemn occasion. mr. netmaker drank the queen's health to me. i told him i drank none; on that he ceased. mr. brinley put on his hat to affront me. i made him take it off. i threatened to send some of them to prison. they said they could but pay their fine and doing that might stay. i told them if they had not a care they would be guilty of a riot. mr. bromfield spake of raising a number of men to quell them, and was in some heat ready to run into the street. but i did not like that. not having pen and ink i went to take their names with my pencil and not knowing how to spell their names they themselves of their own accord writ them. at last i addressed myself to mr. banister. i told him he had been longest an inhabitant and freeholder and i expected he would set a good example by departing thence. upon this he invited them to his own house, and away they went. and we after them went away. i went directly home and found it minutes past ten at night when i entered my own house." no greater tribute to orderly boston could be given than this record of rare disturbance. even in that day, half after nine was not a late hour, and it took the judge but an hour to walk from his house and back and disperse these soberly rioting young men, whom we can picture, solemnly writing down their own names with the judge's pencil for him to bring them up in the morning. the next day they were each fined five shillings. some paid, some appealed and gave bonds. mr. netmaker was secretary to the commander of her majesty's forces, and he had to pay five shillings for cursing. they also attempted to make him give bonds to keep the peace, but at this he and his friends lost patience and refused. judges sewall and bromfield promptly sent him to jail. it is not surprising to know that the governor released him, though under strenuous protest from the two magistrates, who had, they contended, simply executed the laws. [illustration: sign-board of hayden tavern, essex, connecticut.] judge sewall records one scene, a typically puritanical one, and worthy of a puritan tithing-man. it took place at the castle inn where he went with some other good bostonians to shut off a "vain show." "treat with brother wing (the landlord) about his setting a room in his house for a man to shew tricks in. he saith, seeing 'tis offensive he will remedy it. it seems the room is fitted with seats. i read what dr. ames saith of callings, and spake as i could from this principle, that the man's practice was unlawfull, and therefore capt. wing could not lawfully give him an accommodation for it. sung the ps from the v to the end. broke up." there is a suggestion of sober farce in this picture of those pious gentlemen reading and expounding a sermon, whipping out their psalm books, and singing a psalm to poor hospitable landlord wing in the parlor or taproom of his own house. naturally the puritan planters, and all "true new-english men" like sewall, did not care to have the ordinaries of their quiet towns made into places of gay resort, of what they called "the shewing of vain shews." they deemed those hostelries places of hospitable convenience, not of lively entertainment. a contemporary poet, quarles, thus compares human life to a stay at an inn:-- "our life is nothing but a winter's day, some only break their fast and so away; others stay dinner and depart full fed; the deepest age but sups and goes to bed. he's most in debt who lingers out the day, who dies betimes, has less and less to pay." this somewhat melancholy view, both of life and of a public house, lingered long in the colonies, for nearly a century; we might say, with the life of the ordinary. when taverns came, their guests thought very little of dying, and paid very much attention to living. chapter ii old-time taverns by the close of the seventeenth century the word ordinary was passing into disuse in america; public houses had multiplied vastly and had become taverns, though a few old-fashioned folk--in letters, and doubtless in conversation--still called them ordinaries--judge sewall was one. the word inn, universal in english speech, was little heard here, and tavern was universally adopted. though to-day somewhat shadowed by a formless reputation of being frequently applied to hostelries of vulgar resort and coarse fare and ways, the word tavern is nevertheless a good one, resonant of sound and accurate of application, since to this present time in the commonwealth of massachusetts and in other states such large and sumptuous caravansaries as the touraine and the somerset hotel of boston are in the eye and tongue of the law simply taverns, and their proprietors inn-holders or tavern-keepers. in the middle colonies ordinaries and inns were just as quickly opened, just as important, just as frequent, as in new england; but in the southern colonies, the modes of settlement were so different, there were so few towns and villages, that hospitality to the traveller was shown at each plantation, every man's home was an inn; every planter was a landlord. in general no charge was made for the entertainment of the chance visitor whose stay was deemed a pleasure in the secluded life of the virginia tobacco planter. indeed, unless a distinct contract had been made in advance and terms stated, the host could not demand pay from a guest, no matter how long the visitor remained. rates of prices were set for the first virginian ordinaries; previous to six pounds of tobacco were paid for a dinner, or about eighteen pence in coin; but as food soon grew more abundant, the price was reduced to twelve pence, and it was enjoined that the food must be wholesome and plentiful. then the charges grew exorbitant,--twenty pounds of tobacco for a meal for a master, fifteen for a servant. throughout the country the prices wavered up and down, but were never low. there were apparently two causes for this: the fact that ordinary-keepers captured so few guests, and also that the tobacco leaf varied and depreciated in value. by so many small tippling-houses and petty ordinaries existed in the colony of virginia that laws were passed restricting the number in each county to one at the court-house, and possibly one at a wharf or ferry. then the magistrates tried to limit the drinks sold in these houses to beer and cider; and private individuals were warned not to sell "any sort of drink or liquor whatsoever, by retail under any color, pretence, delusion, or subtle evasion whatsoever." those conditions did not last long. soon the virginia ordinaries had plentiful domestic and imported liquors, and at very low prices. mr. bruce says that "madeira, canary, malaga, and fayal wines were probably much more abundant in the colony than in england at this time, and were drunk by classes which in the mother country were content with strong and small-beer." but the ordinaries did scant business as lodging-places. governor harvey complained that he could with as much justice be called the host as the governor of virginia, from the great number of persons entertained by him. this condition of affairs continued outside the cities till well into this century. in the large towns, however, comfortable taverns were everywhere established; and they were, as in the northern colonies, the gathering places of many serious and many frivolous assemblages. the best of our american taverns were found in southern cities; baltimore had the fountain inn built around a courtyard like an old english inn, and furnished very handsomely. few of these ancient taverns still remain. the old indian queen tavern is still standing at bladensburg, maryland. its picture is given opposite page . this view is from a painting by mr. edward lamson henry. it shows also an old stage-wagon such as was used in the eighteenth century, starting out from the tavern door. mr. henry has made a most exhaustive study of old-time modes of travel, as well as a fine collection of old vehicles, harnesses, costumes, etc. the copies of his paintings, which i am honored by using in this book, are in every detail authoritative and invaluable records of the olden time. [illustration: indian queen tavern, bladensburg, maryland.] with the establishment of turnpikes, road houses multiplied, and for a time prospered. but their day was short; a typical maryland road house is shown on page , far gone in a decrepit and ugly old age. the history of pennsylvania shows that its taverns were great in number and good in quality, especially soon after the revolution. this would be the natural accompaniment of the excellent roads throughout the state. philadelphia had an extraordinary number of public houses, and many were needed; for the city had a vast number of visitors, and a great current of immigration poured into that port. in the chapter on signs and symbols, many names and descriptions are given of old philadelphia taverns. the first dutch directors-general of new netherland entertained infrequent travellers and traders at their own homes, and were probably very glad to have these visitors. but trade was rapidly increasing, and director-general kieft, "in order to accommodate the english, from whom he suffered great annoyance, built a fine inn of stone." the chronicler de vries had often dined in kieft's house, and he says dryly of the building of this inn, "it happened well for the travellers." the stadt harberg, or city tavern, was built in where now stand the warehouses, and pearl street. it was ordained that a well and brew-house might be erected at the rear of the inn; right was given to retail the east india company's wine and brandy; and some dull records exist of the use of the building as an inn. it had a career afterward of years of use and honor as the stadt huys, or city hall; i have told its story at length in a paper in the _half-moon series_ on historic new york. [illustration: old maryland road house.] the building was certainly not needed as a tavern, for in one-fourth of the buildings in new amsterdam had been turned into tap-houses for the sale of beer, brandy, and tobacco. governor stuyvesant placed some restraint on these tapsters; they had to receive unanimous consent of the council to set up the business; they could not sell to indians. "unreasonable night-tippling," that is, drinking after the curfew bell at nine o'clock, and "intemperate drinking on the sabbath," that is, drinking by any one not a boarder before three o'clock on the sabbath (when church services were ended), were heavily fined. untimely "sitting of clubs" was also prohibited. these laws were evaded with as much ease as the raines law provisions of later years in the same neighborhood. in the red cross of st. george floated over the city; the english were in power; the city of new amsterdam was now new york. the same tavern laws as under the dutch obtained, however, till , and under the english, taverns multiplied as fast as under dutch rule. they had good old english names on their sign-boards: the thistle and crown, the rose and thistle, the duke of cumberland, the bunch of grapes, st. george and the dragon, dog's head in the porridge pot, the fighting cocks, the white lion, the king's head. on the boreel building on broadway is a bronze commemorative tablet, placed there in by the holland society. the site of this building has indeed a history of note. in edward willet opened there a tavern under the sign of the province arms; and many a distinguished traveller was destined to be entertained for many a year at this province arms and its successors. it had been the home residence of the de lanceys, built about by the father of lieutenant-governor james de lancey, and was deemed a noble mansion. the province arms began its career with two very brilliant public dinners: one to the new english governor, sir charles hardy; the other upon the laying of the corner-stone of king's college. a grand function this was, and the province arms had full share of honor. all the guests, from governor to students, assembled at the tavern, and proceeded to the college grounds; they laid the stone and returned to landlord willet's, where, says the chronicle, "the usual loyal healths were drunk, and prosperity to the college; and the whole was conducted with the utmost decency and propriety." in the province arms had a new landlord, george burns, late of the king's head in the whitehall, and ere that of the cart and horse. his advertisements show his pretensions to good housekeeping, and his house was chosen for a lottery-drawing of much importance--one for the building of the lighthouse at sandy hook. this lottery was for six thousand pounds, and lighthouse and lottery were special pets of cadwallader colden, then president of his majesty's council. lotteries were usually drawn at city hall, but just at that time repairs were being made upon that building, so mr. burns's long room saw this important event. the lighthouse was built. _the new york magazine_ for has a picture and description of it. it is there gravely stated that the light could be seen at a distance of ten leagues, that is, thirty miles. as the present light at sandy hook is officially registered to be seen at fifteen miles' distance, the marvel of our ancestors must have shone with "a light that never was on land or sea." troublous times were now approaching. george burns's long room held many famous gatherings anent the stamp act--at the first the famous non-importation agreement was signed by two hundred stout-hearted new york merchants. sons of liberty drank and toasted and schemed within the walls of the province arms. concerts and duels alternated with suppers and society meetings; dancing committees and governors of the college poured in and out of the province arms. in peter de lancey sold it to the tontine association; the fine old mansion was torn down, and the city hotel sprang up in its place. the city hotel filled the entire front of the block on broadway between thomas and cedar streets. travellers said it had no equal in the united states, but it was unpretentious in exterior, as may be seen through the picture on the old blue and white plate (shown on page ) which gives the front view of the hotel with a man sawing wood on broadway, this in about . it was simply yet durably furnished, and substantial comfort was found within. though the dining room was simply a spacious, scrupulously neat apartment, the waiters were numerous and well-trained. there was a "lady's dining room" in which dances, lectures, and concerts were given. the proprietors were two old bachelors, jennings and willard. it was reported and believed that willard never went to bed. he was never known to be away from his post, and with ease and good nature performed his parts of host, clerk, bookkeeper, and cashier. when billy niblo opened an uptown coffee-house and garden, it was deemed a matter of courtesy that willard should attend the housewarming. when the hour of starting arrived, it was found that willard had not for years owned a hat. two streets away from the city hall would have been to him a strange city, in which he could be lost. jennings was purveyor and attended to all matters of the dining room, as well as relations with the external world. both hosts had the perfect memory of faces, names, and details, which often is an accompaniment of the successful landlord. these two men were types of the old-fashioned boniface. [illustration: city hotel.] in the early half of the eighteenth century the genteel new york tavern was that of robert todd, vintner. it was in smith (now william) street between pine and cedar, near the old dutch church. the house was known by the sign of the black horse. concerts, dinners, receptions, and balls took place within its elegant walls. on the evening of january , , a ball was therein given in honor of the prince of wales's birthday. the healths of the royal family, the governor, and council had been pledged loyally and often at the fort through the day, and "the very great appearance of ladies and gentlemen and an elegant entertainment" at the ball fitly ended the celebration. the ladies were said to be "magnificent." the ball opened with french dances and then proceeded to country dances, "upon which mrs. morris led up to two new country dances made upon the occasion, the first of which was called the prince of wales, the second the princess of saxe-gotha." the black horse was noted for its todd drinks, mainly composed of choice west india rum; and by tradition it is gravely asserted that from these delectable beverages was derived the old drinking term "toddy." (truth compels the accompanying note that the word "toddy," like many of our drinking names and the drinks themselves, came from india, and the word is found in a geographical description of india written in , before robert todd was born, or the black horse tavern thought of.) when robert of toddy fame died, after nine years of successful hospitality, his widow margaret reigned in his stead. she had a turn for trade, and advertised for sale, at wholesale, fine wines and playing cards, at reasonable rates. in the boston post made this tavern its headquarters, but its glory of popularity was waning and soon was wholly gone. at the junction of st and d streets with the post-road stood cato's road house, built in . cato was a negro slave who had so mastered various specialties in cooking that he was able to earn enough money to buy his freedom from his south carolina master. he kept this inn for forty-eight years. those who tasted his okra soup, his terrapin, fried chicken, curried oysters, roast duck, or drank his new york brandy-punch, his virginia egg-nogg, or south carolina milk-punch, wondered how any one who owned him ever could sell him even to himself. alongside his road house he built a ballroom which would let thirty couple swing widely in energetic reels and quadrilles. when christmas sleighing set in, the knickerbocker braves and belles drove out there to dance; and there was _always_ sleighing at christmas in old new york--all octogenarians will tell you so. cato's egg-nogg was mixed in single relays by the barrelful. he knew precisely the mystic time when the separated white and yolk was beaten enough, he knew the exact modicum of sugar, he could count with precision the grains of nutmeg that should fleck the compound, he could top to exactness the white egg foam. a picture of this old road house, taken from a print, is here given. it seems but a shabby building to have held so many gay scenes. [illustration: cato's house.] the better class of old-time taverns always had a parlor. this was used as a sitting room for women travellers, or might be hired for the exclusive use of some wealthy person or family. it was not so jovial a room as the taproom, though in winter a glowing fire in the open fireplace gave to the formal furnishings that look of good cheer and warmth and welcome which is ever present, even in the meanest apartment, when from the great logs the flames shot up and "the old rude-furnished room burst flower-like into rosy bloom." we are more comfortable now, with our modern ways of house-heating, but our rooms do not look as warm as when we had open fires. in the summer time the fireplace still was an object of interest. a poet writes:-- "'tis summer now; instead of blinking flames sweet-smelling ferns are hanging o'er the grate. with curious eyes i pore upon the mantel-piece with precious wares, glazed scripture prints in black lugubrious frames, filled with old bible lore; the whale is casting jonah on the shore: pharaoh is drowning in the curling wave. and to elijah sitting at his cave the hospitable ravens fly in pairs celestial food within their horny beaks." the walls of one tavern parlor which i have seen were painted with scenes from a tropical forest. on either side of the fireplace sprang a tall palm tree. coiled serpents, crouching tigers, monkeys, a white elephant, and every form of vivid-colored bird and insect crowded each other on the walls of this vermont tavern. on the parlor of the washington tavern at westfield, massachusetts, is a fine wallpaper with scenes of a fox-chase. this tavern is shown on the opposite page; also on page one of the fine hand-wrought iron door-latches used on its doors. these were made in england a century and a half ago. [illustration: washington tavern, westfield, massachusetts.] the taproom was usually the largest room of the tavern. it had universally a great fireplace, a bare, sanded floor, and ample seats and chairs. usually there was a tall, rather rude writing-desk, at which a traveller might write a letter, or sign a contract, and where the landlord made out his bills and kept his books. the bar was the most interesting furnishing of this room. it was commonly made with a sort of portcullis grate, which could be closed if necessary. but few of these bars remain; nearly all have been removed, even if the tavern still stands. the taproom of the wayside inn at sudbury, massachusetts, is shown on page . it is a typical example of a room such as existed in hundreds of taverns a century ago. another taproom may still be seen in the wadsworth inn. this well-built, fine old house, shown on page , is a good specimen of the better class of old taverns. it is three miles from hartford, connecticut, on the old albany turnpike. it was one of twenty-one taverns within a distance of twenty miles on that pike. it was not a staging inn for every passing coach, but enjoyed an aristocratic patronage. the property has been in the same family for five generations, but the present building was erected by elisha wadsworth in . it is not as old as the member of the wadsworth family who now lives in it, miss lucy wadsworth, born in . its old taproom is shown on page . this tavern was a public house till the year . some of the furnishings of the taproom of the old mowry inn still are owned by landlord mowry's descendants, and a group of them is shown on page . two heavy glass beakers brought from holland, decorated with vitrifiable colors like the bristol glass, are unusual pieces. the wooden tankard, certainly two centuries old, has the curious ancient lid hinge. the bellarmine jug was brought to america filled with fine old gin from holland by mayor willet, the first mayor of new york city. the bowl is one of the old indian knot bowls. it has been broken and neatly repaired by sewing the cracks together with waxed thread. the sign-board of this old inn is shown on page . the house stood on the post-road between woonsocket and providence, in a little village known as lime rock. as it was a relay house for coaches, it had an importance beyond the size of the settlement around it. sometimes the taproom was decorated with broad hints to dilatory customers. such verses as this were hung over the bar:-- "i've trusted many to my sorrow. pay to-day. i'll trust to-morrow." another ran:-- "my liquor's good, my measure just; but, honest sirs, i will not trust." another showed a dead cat with this motto:-- "care killed this cat. trust kills the landlord." still another:-- "if trust, i must, my ale, will pale." [illustration: door-latch of washington tavern.] the old phillips farm-house at wickford, rhode island, was at one time used as a tavern. it has a splendid chimney over twenty feet square. so much room does this occupy that there is no central staircase, and little winding stairs ascend at three corners of the house. on each chimney-piece are hooks to hang firearms, and at one side curious little drawers are set for pipes and tobacco. i have seen these tobacco drawers in several old taverns. in some dutch houses in new york these tobacco shelves are found in an unusual and seemingly ill-chosen place, namely, in the entry over the front door; and a narrow flight of three or four steps leads up to them. hanging on a nail alongside the tobacco drawer or shelf would usually be seen a pipe-tongs--or smoking tongs. they were slender little tongs, usually of iron or steel; with them the smoker lifted a coal from the fireplace to light his pipe. sometimes the handle of the tongs had one end elongated, knobbed, and ingeniously bent s-shaped into convenient form to press down the tobacco into the bowl of the pipe. other old-time pipe-tongs were in the form of a lazy-tongs. a companion of the pipe-tongs on the mantel was what was known as a comfortier; a little brazier of metal in which small coals could be handed about for pipe lighting. an unusual luxury was a comfortier of silver, which were found among the wealthy dutch settlers. two old taverns of east poultney, vermont, are shown on page . both sheltered horace greeley in his sojourn there. the upper house, the pine tree, is a "sun-line" house, facing due north, with its ends pointing east and west. throughout a century the other house, the eagle tavern, has never lost its calling; now it is the only place in the village where the tourist may find shelter for the night unless he takes advantage of the kindness of some good-hearted housekeeper. the main portion of the eagle tavern of newton, new hampshire, is still standing and is shown with its sign-board on page . it was the "halfway house" on the much-travelled stage-road between haverhill, massachusetts, and exeter, new hampshire. the house was kept by eliphalet bartlett in revolutionary times as account-books show, though the sign-board bears the date . the tavern originally had two long wings, in one of which was kept a country store. five generations of bartletts were born in it before it was sold to the present owners. the sign-board displays on one side the eagle which confers the name; on the other, what was termed in old descriptions a punch-bowl, but which is evidently a disjointed teapot. [illustration: wadsworth inn, hartford, connecticut.] about the time when settlements in the new world had begun to assume the appearance of towns, and some attempt at closely following english modes of life became apparent, there were springing up in london at every street corner coffee-houses, which flourished through the times of dryden, johnson, and goldsmith, till the close of the eighteenth century. tea and coffee came into public use in close companionship. the virtues of the turkish beverage were first introduced to londoners by a retired turkey merchant named daniel edwards, and his greek servant, pasque rosser. the latter opened the first coffee-house in london in . the first advertisement of this first coffee venture is preserved in the british museum. the english of a certain class were always ready to turn an evil eye on all new drinks, and coffee had to take its share of abuse. it was called "syrup of soot," and "essence of old shoes," etc.; and the keeper of the rainbow coffee-house was punished as a nuisance "for making and selling of a drink called coffee whereby in making the same he annoyeth his neighbours by evil smells." soon, however, the smell of coffee was not deemed evil, but became beloved; and every profession, trade, class, and party had its coffee-house. the parsons met at one, "cits" at another; soldiers did not drink coffee with lawyers, nor gamesters with politicians. a penny was paid at the bar at entering, which covered newspaper and lights; twopence paid for a dish of coffee. coffee-houses sprang up everywhere in america as in london. in in new york the new or royal exchange was held to be so laudable an undertaking that £ was voted toward its construction by the common council. it was built like the english exchanges, raised on brick arches, and was opened as a coffee-room in . the name of the merchant's coffee-house--on the southeast corner of wall and water streets--appears in every old newspaper. it was a centre of trade. ships, cargoes, lands, houses, negroes, and varied merchandise were "vendued" at this coffee-house. it also served as an insurance office. alexander macraby wrote in in new york:-- "they have a vile practice here, which is peculiar to this city; i mean that of playing back-gammon (a noise i detest) which is going forward in the public coffee-houses from morning till night, frequently ten or a dozen tables at a time." from this it will be seen that the english sin of gaming with cards did not exist in new york coffee-houses. the london coffee-house was famous in the history of philadelphia. on april , , the printer, bradford, put a notice in his journal for subscribers to the coffee-house to meet at the court-house on the th to choose trustees. bradford applied for a license to the governor and council thus:-- "having been advised to keep a coffee-house for the benefit of merchants and traders, and as some people may be desirous at times to be furnished with other liquors besides coffee, your petitioner apprehends that it is necessary to have the government license." the coffee-house was duly opened; bradford's account for opening day was £ _s._ the trustees also lent him £ of the £ of subscriptions, and this coffee-house became a factor in american history. the building, erected about , stood on the corner of front and market streets, on land which had been given by penn to his daughter letitia. bradford was a grandson of the first printer bradford, and father of the attorney-general of the united states under washington. his standing at once gave the house prestige and much custom. westcott says "it was the headquarters of life and action, the pulsating heart of excitement, enterprise, and patriotism." soldiers and merchants here met; slaves here were sold; strangers resorted for news; captains sold cargoes; sheriffs held "vandues." the exchange coffee-house of boston was one of the most remarkable of all these houses. it was a mammoth affair for its day, being seven stories in height. it was completed in , having been nearly three years in building, and having cost half a million dollars. the principal floor was an exchange. it ruined many of the workmen who helped to build it. during the glorious days of stage-coach travel, its successor, built after it was burnt in , had a brilliant career as a staging tavern, for it had over two hundred bedrooms, and was in the centre of the city. at this coffee-house exchange was kept a register of marine news, arrivals, departures, etc., and many distinguished naval officers were registered there. at a sumptuous dinner given to president monroe, who had rooms there, in july, , there were present commodores bainbridge, hull, and perry; ex-president john adams; generals swift, dearborn, cobb, and humphreys; judges story, parker, davis, adams, and jackson; governor brooks, governor phillips, and many other distinguished men. [illustration: taproom of wadsworth inn.] it would be a curious and entertaining study to trace the evolution of our great hotels, from the cheerful taverns and country inns, beloved of all travellers, to more pretentious road houses, to coffee-houses, then to great crowded hotels. we could see the growth of these vast hotels, especially those of summer resorts, and also their decay. in many fashionable watering-places great hotels have been torn down within a few years to furnish space for lawns and grounds around a splendid private residence. many others are deserted and closed, some flourish in exceptional localities which are in isolated or remote parts of the country, such as southern florida, the virginia mountains, etc.; many have been forced to build so-called cottages where families can have a little retirement and privacy between meals, which are still eaten in a vast common dining room. but the average american of means in the northern states, whose parents never left the city till after the th of july, and then spent a few weeks in the middle of the summer in a big hotel at saratoga, or niagara falls, or far rockaway, or in the white mountains, now spends as many months in his own country home. a few extraordinary exceptions in hotel life in america remain prosperous, however, the chief examples on our eastern coast being at atlantic city and old point comfort. the study of tavern history often brings to light much evidence of sad domestic changes. many a cherished and beautiful home, rich in annals of family prosperity and private hospitality, ended its days as a tavern. many a stately building of historic note was turned into an inn in its later career. the indian queen in philadelphia had been at various times the home of sir richard penn, the headquarters of general howe and of general benedict, the home of robert morris and presidents washington and adams. benjamin franklin's home became a tavern; so also did the splendid bingham mansion, which was built in by the richest man of his day. governor lloyd's house became the cross trees inn. boston mansions had the same fate. that historic building--the province house--served its term as a tavern. sometimes an old-time tavern had a special petty charm of its own, some peculiarity of furnishing or fare. one of these was the fountain inn of medford, massachusetts. it was built in and soon became vastly frequented. no town could afford a better site for inns than medford. all the land travel to boston from maine, eastern new hampshire, and northeastern massachusetts poured along the main road through medford, which was just distant enough from boston centre to insure the halting and patronage of every passer-by. the fountain inn bustled with constant customers, and i can well believe that all wanderers gladly stopped to board and bait at this hospitable tavern. for i know nothing more attractive, "under the notion of an inn," than this old tavern must have been, especially through the long summer months. it was a road house and stood close to the country road, so was never quiet; yet it afforded nevertheless a charming and restful retreat for weary and heated wanderers. for on either side of the front dooryard grew vast low-spreading trees, and in their heavy branches platforms were built and little bridges connected tree to tree, and both to the house. perhaps the happy memories of hours and days of my childhood spent in a like tree nest built in an old apple tree, endow these tree rooms of the fountain inn with charms which cannot be equally endorsed and appreciated by all who read of them; but to me they form an ideal traveller's joy. to sit there through the long afternoon or in the early twilight, cool and half remote among the tree branches, drinking a dish of tea; watching horsemen and cartmen and sturdy pedestrians come and go, and the dashing mail-coach rattle up, a flash of color and noise and life, and pour out its motley passengers, and speedily roll away with renewed patrons and splendor--why, it was like a scene in a light opera. [illustration: fountain inn.] the tree abodes and the bridges fell slowly in pieces, and one great tree died; but its companion lived till , when it, too, was cut down and the bald old commonplace building crowded on the dusty street stood bare and ugly, without a vestige or suggestion of past glory around it. now that, too, is gone, and only the picture on the opposite page, of the tavern in its dying poverty, remains to show what was once the scene of so much bustle and good cheer. the state house inn of philadelphia was built in , and was long known as clark's inn. it was a poor little building which stood in a yard, not green with grass, but white with oysters and clam shells. its proximity to the state house gave it the custom of the members and hangers-on of the colonial assemblies. william penn often smoked his pipe on its porch. clark had a sign-board, the coach and horses, and he had something else which was as common perhaps in philadelphia as tavern sign-boards, namely, turnspit dogs--little patient creatures, long-bodied and crook-legged, whose lives were spent in the exquisite tantalization of helping to cook the meat, whose appetizing odors of roasting they sniffed for hours without any realization of tasting at the end of their labors. dr. caius, founder of the college at cambridge, england, that bears his name, is the earliest english writer upon the dog, and he tells thus of turnspits: "certain dogs in kitchen service excellent. when meat is to be roasted they go into a wheel, where, turning about with the weight of their bodies they so diligently look to their business that no drudge or scullion can do the feat more cunningly." the philadelphia landlord says in his advertisement of dogs for sale, "no clock or jack so cunningly." the summary and inhuman mode of teaching these turnspits their humble duties is described in a book of anecdotes published at newcastle-on-tyne in . the dog was put in the wheel. a burning coal was placed with him. if he stopped, his legs were burned. that was all. he soon learned his lesson. it was hard work, for often the great piece of beef was twice the weight of the dog, and took at least three long hours' roasting. i am glad to know that these hard-working turn-broches usually grew shrewd with age; learned to vanish at the approach of the cook or the appearance of the wheel. at one old-time tavern in new york little brown jesse listened daily at the kitchen doorstep while the orders were detailed to the kitchen maids, and he could never be found till nightfall on roast-meat days; nay, more, he, as was the custom of dogs in that day, went with his mistress to meeting and lay at her feet in the pew. and when the parson one sunday chose to read and expound from the first chapter of ezekiel, jesse fled with silent step and slunken tail and drooping ears at the unpleasant verse, "and when the living creatures went, the wheels went by them; and when the living creatures were lifted up from the earth, the wheels were lifted up." naturally jesse never suspected that these biblical wheels were only parts of innocent allegorical chariots, but deemed them instead a very untimely and unkind reminder on a day of rest of his own hated turnspit wheel. [illustration: sign-board of n. mowry's inn.] one of the sweetest of all tales of an inn is that begun by professor reichel and ended by mr. john w. jordan of the historical society of pennsylvania; it is called "a red rose from the olden time." it is a story of _der neue gasthof_ or "the tavern behind nazareth," as it was modestly called, the tavern of the moravian settlement at bethlehem, pennsylvania. it was a substantial building, "quartered, brick-nogged, and snugly weatherboarded, with a yard looking north and a garden looking south." in , under the regency of its first ruler, one schaub, the cooper, and divert mary, his faithful wife, it bore a sign-board charged with a full-blown rose, and was ever after known as the rose. this was not because the walls were coated with spanish red; this rose bloomed with a life derived from sentiment and history, for it was built on land released by william penn on an annual payment as rental of one red rose. there is something most restful and beautiful in the story of this old inn. perhaps part of the hidden charm comes from the biblical names of the towns. for, without our direct consciousness, there is ever something impressive in biblical association; there is a magical power in biblical comparison, a tenderness in the use of biblical words and terms which we feel without actively noting. so this red rose of nazareth seems built on the road to paradise. an inventory was made of the homely contents of the rose in , when a new landlord entered therein; and they smack of the world, the flesh, and the devil. ample store was there of rum, both of new england and the west indies, of lisbon wine, of cider and madigolum, which may have been metheglin. punch-bowls, tumblers, decanters, funnels, black bottles, and nutmeg-graters and nutmegs also. feather-beds and pillows were there in abundance, and blankets and coverlets, much pewter and little china, ample kitchen supplies of all sorts. in war and peace its record was of interest, and its solid walls stood still colored a deep red till our own day. [illustration: pine-tree tavern and eagle tavern.] the night-watch went his rounds in many of our colonial towns, and called the hour and the weather. stumbling along with his long staff and his dim horn-lantern, he formed no very formidable figure either to affright marauders or warn honest citizens that they tarried too long in the taproom. but his voice gave a certain sense of protection to all who chanced to wake in the night, a knowledge that a friend was near. all who dwelt in the old towns of bethlehem and nazareth in pennsylvania could listen and be truly cheered by the sound of the beautiful verses written for the night watchman by count zinzendorf. in winter the watchman began his rounds at eight o'clock, in summer at nine. no scenes of brawling or tippling could have prevailed at the rose inn when these words of peace and piety rang out:-- eight o'clock: the clock is eight! to bethlehem all is told, how noah and his seven were saved of old. nine o'clock: hear, brethren, hear! the hour of nine is come; keep pure each heart and chasten every home. ten o'clock: hear, brethren, hear! now ten the hour-hand shows; they only rest who long for night's repose. eleven o'clock: the clock's eleven! and ye have heard it all, how in that hour the mighty god did call. twelve o'clock: it's midnight now! and at that hour ye know with lamps to meet the bridegroom we must go. one o'clock: the hour is one! through darkness steals the day. shines in your hearts the morning star's first ray? two o'clock: the clock is two! who comes to meet the day, and to the lord of days his homage pay? three o'clock: the clock is three! the three in one above let body, soul, and spirit truly love. four o'clock: the clock is four! where'er on earth are three, the lord has promised he the fourth will be. five o'clock: the clock is five! while five away were sent, five other virgins to the marriage went. six o'clock: the clock is six! and from the watch i'm free, and every one may his own watchman be. chapter iii the tavern landlord the landlord of colonial days may not have been the greatest man in town, but he was certainly the best-known, often the most popular, and ever the most picturesque and cheerful figure. travellers did not fail to note him and his virtues in their accounts of their sojourns. in a gossiping london bookseller and author, named john dunton, made a cheerful visit to boston. he did not omit to pay tribute in his story of colonial life to colonial landlords. he thus pictures george monk, the landlord of the blue anchor of boston:-- "a person so remarkable that, had i not been acquainted with him, it would be a hard matter to make any new england man believe i had been in boston; for there was no one house in all the town more noted, or where a man might meet with better accommodation. besides, he was a brisk and jolly man, whose conversation was coveted by all his guests as the life and spirit of the company." this picture of an old-time publican seems more suited to english atmosphere than to the stern air of new england puritanism. [illustration: sign-board of washington hotel.] grave and respectable citizens were chosen to keep the early ordinaries and sell liquor. the first "house of intertainment" at cambridge, massachusetts, was kept by a deacon of the church, afterward steward of harvard college. the first license in that town to sell wine and strong water was to nicholas danforth, a selectman, and representative to the general court. in the plymouth colony mr. william collier and mr. constant southworth, one of the honored deputies, sold wine to their neighbors. these sober and discreet citizens were men of ample means, who took the duty of wine-selling to aid the colony rather than their own incomes. the first ordinary in the town of duxbury was kept by one francis sprague, said by a local chronicler to be of "ardent temperament." his license was granted october , , "to keep a victualling on duxburrow side." his ardent temperament shaped him into a somewhat gay reveller, and his license was withdrawn. it was regranted and again recalled in . his son succeeded him, another jovial fellow. duxbury folk were circumspect and sober, and desired innkeepers of cooler blood. mr. seabury, one of the tavern inspectors, was granted in "to sell liquors unto such sober-minded neighbours as hee shall thinke meet; soe as hee sell not lesse than the quantie of a gallon att a tyme to one pson, and not in smaller quantities by retaile to the occationing of drunkeness." the license to sell liquor and keep a tavern explained clearly the limitations placed on a tavern-keeper. the one given the andover landlord in ran thus:-- "the condition of this obligation is sent. that whereas the above said william chandler is admitted and allowed by their majesties' justices at a general sessions of the peace to keep a common home of entertainment and to use common selling of ale, beer, syder, etc., till the general session of peace next, in the now-dwelling house of said chandler in andover, commonly known by the sign of the horse shoe and no other, if therefore the said william chandler, during the time of keeping a publick house shall not permit, suffer, or have any playing at dice, cards, tables, quoits, loggets, bowls, ninepins, billiards, or any other unlawful game or games in his house, yard, garden, or backside, nor shall suffer to be or remain in his house any person or persons not being of his own family upon saturday nights after it is dark, nor any time on the sabbath day or evening after the sabbath, nor shall suffer any person to lodge or stay in his house above one day or night, but such whose name and surname he shall deliver to some one of the selectmen or constables or some one of the officers of the town, unless they be such as he very well knoweth, and will answer for his or their forthcoming: nor shall sell any wine or liquors to any indians or negroes nor suffer any apprentices or servants or any other persons to remain in his house tippling or drinking after nine of the clock in the night time; nor buy or take to pawn any stolen goods, nor willingly harbor in his said house, barn, stable, or otherwhere any rogues, vagabonds, thieves, nor other notorious offenders whatsoever, nor shall suffer any person or persons to sell or utter any ale, beer, syder, etc., by deputation or by colour of this license, and also keep the true assize and measure in his pots, bread and otherwise in uttering of ale, beer, syder, rum, wine, &c., and the same sell by sealed measure. and in his said house shall and do use and maintain good order and rule: then this present obligation to be either void, or else to stand in full force, power, and virtue." [illustration: sign-board of hays' tavern.] dr. dwight in his travels said that englishmen often laughed at the fact that inns in new england were kept by men of consequence. he says:-- "our ancestors considered the inn a place where corruption might naturally arise and easily spread; also as a place where travellers must trust themselves, their horses, baggage, and money, and where women must not be subjected to disagreeable experiences. to provide for safety and comfort and against danger and mischief they took particular pains in their laws to prevent inns from being kept by unprincipled or worthless men. every innkeeper in connecticut must be recommended by the selectmen and civil authorities, constables and grand jurors of the town in which he resides, and then licensed at the discretion of the court of common pleas. it was substantially the same in massachusetts and new hampshire." lieutenant francis hall, travelling through america in , wrote:-- "the innkeepers of america are in most villages what we call vulgarly, topping men--field officers of militia, with good farms attached to their taverns, so that they are apt to think what, perhaps, in a newly settled country is not very wide of the truth, that travellers rather receive than confer a favour by being accommodated at their houses. the daughters of the host officiate at tea and breakfast and generally wait at dinner." an english traveller who visited this country shortly after the revolution speaks in no uncertain terms of "the uncomplying temper of the landlords of the country inns in america." another adds this testimony:-- "they will not bear the treatment we too often give ours at home. they feel themselves in some degree independent of travellers, as all of them have other occupations to follow; nor will they put themselves into a bustle on your account; but with good language, they are very civil, and will accommodate you as well as they can." brissot comprehended the reason for this appearance of independence; he wrote in :-- "you will not go into one without meeting neatness, decency, and dignity. the table is served by a maiden well-dressed and pretty; by a pleasant mother whose age has not effaced the agreeableness of her features; and by men _who have that air of respectability which is inspired by the idea of equality_, and are not ignoble and base like the greater part of our own tavern-keepers." captain basil hall, a much-quoted english traveller who came to america in , designated a salem landlord as the person who most pleased him in his extended visit. sad to say he gives neither the name of the tavern nor the host who was "so devoid of prejudice, so willing to take all matters on their favourable side, so well informed about everything in his own and other countries, so ready to impart his knowledge to others; had such mirthfulness of fancy, such genuine heartiness of good-humour," etc. [illustration: cooper tavern.] in a series of very instructive and entertaining letters on the united states was published under the title, _notions of the americans_. they are accredited to james fenimore cooper, and were addressed to various foreigners of distinction. the travels took place in , at the same time as the visit of lafayette, and frequently in his company. naturally inns, hotels, and modes of travel receive much attention. he speaks thus lucidly and pleasantly of the landlords:-- "the innkeeper of old england and the innkeeper of new england form the very extremes of their class. the former is obsequious to the rich; the other unmoved and often apparently cold. the first seems to calculate at a glance the amount of profit you are likely to leave behind you, while his opposite appears to calculate only in what manner he can most contribute to your comfort without materially impairing his own.... he is often a magistrate, the chief of a battalion of militia or even a member of a state legislature. he is almost always a man of character, for it is difficult for any other to obtain a license to exercise the calling." john adams thus described the host and hostess of the ipswich inn:-- "landlord and landlady are some of the grandest people alive, landlady is the great-granddaughter of governor endicott and has all the notions of high family that you find in the winslows, hutchinsons, quincys, saltonstalls, chandlers, otises, learneds, and as you might find with more propriety in the winthrops. as to landlord, he is as happy and as big, as proud, as conceited, as any nobleman in england, always calm and good-natured and lazy, but the contemplation of his farm and his sons, his house and pasture and cows, his sound judgment as he thinks, and his great holiness as well as that of his wife, keep him as erect in his thoughts as a noble or a prince." the curiosity and inquisitiveness of many landlords was a standing jest. "i have heard dr. franklin relate with great pleasantry," said one of his friends, "that in travelling when he was young, the first step he took for his tranquillity and to obtain immediate attention at the inns, was to anticipate inquiry by saying, 'my name is benjamin franklin. i was born in boston. i am a printer by profession, am travelling to philadelphia, shall have to return at such a time, and have no news. now, what can you give me for dinner?'" the landlord was usually a politician, sometimes a rank demagogue. he often held public office, was selectman, road commissioner, tax assessor, tax collector, constable, or town moderator; occasionally he performed all these duties. john adams wrote bitterly that at public houses men sat drinking heavily while "plotting with the landlord to get him at the next town-meeting an election either for selectman or representative." they were most frequently soldiers, either officers in the militia or brave fighters who had served in the army. it was a favorite calling for revolutionary soldiers who lived till times of peace. they were usually cheerful men; a gloomy landlord made customers disappear like flowers before a frost. and these cheery hosts were fond of practical jokes. one of the old hotels with the long piazza across the entire front was owned by a jesting landlord who never failed to spring an april-fool joke on his forgetful customers each year. the tavern had two doors, and every winter these were protected by portable storm porches the width of the door and about four feet deep. on the first day of april the landlord moved the porches a few feet down the piazza, so they opened upon the blank wall of the house. the house and piazza sat at such an angle with the walk from the street that the uncovered front doors were not visible to the visitor, so the delusion was complete. grocerymen, butchers, bakers, travellers, even the tavern servants, invariably fell into the trap, thrust open the door, which swung with a slam and left them facing the blank wall. any tavern frequenter, caught early in the day, was always ready to tole in a group of victims. as they walked up the steps he would say, "come, boys, let's all pile into the office in a bunch and holler, 'hullo, old jed,' all together." all agreed and charged with a rush into the x storm box, while the plotter of the trick went in the real door and sat coolly sipping a rum punch as the confused and angry contingent came in with battered hats and bruised elbows, after its scuffle in the trap. [illustration: shelby's traveller's rest.] one landlord had the name of frequently tricking travellers who stopped for a single meal by having the driver call out "stage is ready" before they could eat the dinner they had ordered and paid for. a yankee passenger disregarded this hasty summons and leisurely ate his dinner while the stage drove off without him. he finished the roast and called at last for a bowl of bread and milk to top off with as dessert. not a spoon could be found for this dish, though plenty of silver spoons had been on the table when the stage stopped. to the distracted landlord the yankee drawled out, "do you think them passengers was going away without something for their money? i could p'int out the man that took them spoons." a stable boy on a fleet horse was promptly despatched after the stage, and overtook it two miles down the road. a low-spoken explanation and request to the driver caused him to turn quickly around and drive back to the tavern door with all the angry protesting passengers. the excited landlord called out to the yankee as the coach stopped, "you just p'int out the man that took them spoons."--"sartainly, squire," said he, as he climbed into the coach, "i'll p'int him out. i took 'em myself. you'll find 'em all in the big coffee pot on the table. hurry up, driver, i've had my dinner. all aboard." grant thorburn quaintly tells of this custom at another tavern:-- "at providence coaches were ready: on flew through the dust and sweat of the day like jehus. at the tavern dinner was ready, but there was no contract for time to eat; after grace from dr. cox (too long for the occasion) we begun to eat. scarcely had i swallowed half my first course when in came driver hallowing "all ready." i thought there was a stable-yard understanding between him and the landlord, for while we were brushing the dust from our clothes, mustering and saying grace, he was eating and drinking as fast as he could, and i did not observe that he paid anything. we arrived at the eagle tavern (boston) about sundown; the ladies' hats and frocks which had shewed colours enough to have decked fifteen rainbows were now one, viz.: ashes on ashes and dust on dust." the graceless modern reader might suspect that the "stable-yard understanding" included the parson. [illustration: miller's tavern.] a very amusing and original landlord was "devil" dave miller, of the old general washington tavern which stood on east king street, lancaster, pennsylvania. he was very stout and was generally seen in public bestriding an unusually small horse, which he would ride into his barroom to get a drink for both. when he wished to dismount, he rode to the doorway and hung on the frame of the door with his hands. the horse would walk from under him and go unguided to the stable. an old print of this tavern marked d. miller's hotel, is shown on page . the various vehicles standing in front of the hotel are interesting in shape,--old chaises, chairs, and a coach. an old landlord named ramsay had a spacious and popular inn on a much-travelled turnpike road, and was the proprietor of a prosperous line of stage-coaches. he waxed rich, but though looked up to by all in the community, plainly showed by the precarious condition of his health in his advancing years that he partook too freely of his own "pure old rye." his family and friends, though thoroughly alarmed, did not dare to caution the high-spirited old gentleman against this over-indulgence; and the family doctor was deputed to deal with the squire in the most delicate and tactful manner possible. the doctor determined to employ a parable, as did nathan to david, and felt confident of success; and to deliver his metaphorical dose he entered the taproom and cheerfully engaged the squire in conversation upon an ever favorite topic, the stage-coach. he finally ran on to know how long a well-built coach would last on the road, and then said: "now, squire, if you had a fine well-built old coach that had done good service, but showed age by being a little shackling, being sprung a little, having the seams open, would you hitch it up with young horses and put it on a rough road, or would you favor it with steady old stagers and the smoothest road you could find?"--"well, doctor," answered the squire, "if i had such a coach as that _i would soak it_." and that seemed to bring the doctor's parable to a somewhat sudden and unprofitable ending. chapter iv tavern fare and tavern ways in the year a boston widow named sarah knights journeyed "by post," that is, went on horseback, in the company of the government postman, from boston to new york, and returned a few months later. she kept a journal of her trip, and as she was a shrewd woman with a sharp eye and sharper tongue, her record is of interest. she stopped at the various hostelries on the route, some of which were well-established taverns, others miserable makeshifts; and she gives us some glimpses of rather rude fare. on the first night of her journey she rode late to "overtake the post," and this is the account of her reception at her first lodging-place:-- "my guide dismounted and very complasently shewed the door signing to me to go in, which i gladly did. but had not gone many steps into the room ere i was interrogated by a young lady with these or words to this purpose, viz., law for mee--what in the world brings you here this time-a-night? i never see a woman on the rode so late in all my varsall life! who are you? where are you goeing? im scar'd out of my witts.... she then turned agen to mee and fell anew into her silly questions without asking mee to sit down. i told her she treated me very rudely and i did not think it my duty to answer her unmannerly questions. but to get ridd of them i told her i come there to have the posts company with me to morrow on my journey." she thus describes one stopping-place:-- "i pray'd her to show me where i must lodge. shee conducted mee to a parlour in a little back lento, which was almost filled with the bedstead, which was so high that i was forced to climb on a chair to gitt up to ye wretched bed that lay on it, on which having strecht my tired limbs and lay'd my head on a sad-coloured pillow, i began to think on the transactions of ye past day." at another place she complained that the dinner had been boiled in the dye-kettle, that the black slaves ate at the table with their master, "and into the dish goes the black hoof as freely as the white hand...." again she says:-- "we would have eat a morsell, but the pumpkin and indian-mixt bread had such an aspect, and the bare-legg'd punch so awkerd or rather awfull a sound that we left both." at rye, new york, she lodged at an ordinary kept by a frenchman. she thus writes:-- "being very hungry i desired a fricassee which the landlord undertaking managed so contrary to my notion of cookery that i hastened to bed superless. being shew'd the way up a pair of stairs which had such a narrow passage that i had almost stopt by the bulk of my body; but arriving at my apartment found it to be a little lento chamber furnisht among other rubbish with a high bedd and a low one, a long table, a bench and a bottomless chair. little miss went to scratch up my kennell whch russelled as if shee'd bin in the barn among the husks and supose such was the contents of the tickin--nevertheless being exceedingly weary down i laid my poor carkes never more tired and found my covering as scanty as my bed was hard. anon i heard another russelling noise in the room--called to know the matter--little miss said she was making a bed for the men; who when they were in bed complain'd their leggs lay out of it by reason of its shortness--my poor bones complained bitterly not being used to such lodgings, and so did the man who was with us; and poor i made but one grone which was from the time i went to bed to the time i riss which was about three in the morning setting up by the fire till light." manners were rude enough at many country taverns until well into the century. there could be no putting on of airs, no exclusiveness. all travellers sat at the same table. many of the rooms were double-bedded, and four who were strangers to each other often slept in each other's company. an english officer wrote of this custom in america:-- "the general custom of having two or three beds in a room to be sure is very disagreeable; it arises from the great increase of travelling within the last few years, and the smallness of their houses, which were not built for houses of entertainment." mr. twining said that after you were asleep the landlord entered, candle in hand, and escorted a stranger to your side, and he calmly shared the bed till morning. thurlow weed said that any one who objected to a stranger as a bedfellow was regarded as obnoxious and as unreasonably fastidious. still captain basil hall declared that even at remote taverns his family had exclusive apartments; while in crowded inns it was never even suggested to him that other travellers should share his quarters. [illustration: ellery tavern.] many old tavern account-books and bills exist to show us the price of tavern fare at various dates. mr. field gives a bill of board at the bowen inn at barrington, rhode island. john tripp and his wife put up at the inn on the th of may, . _s._ _d._ "to dinner to bread and cheese to breakfast & dinner to bowl toddy to lodging you and wife to - / bowl toddy - / to / mug cyder - / to lodge self and wife to gill brandy - / to breakfast - / mug cyder - / to / bowl toddy - / dinner to lb tobacco at _d._ to / bowl toddy - / to / mug cyder - / to supper " i suppose the quarter bowls of toddy were for madam tripp. the house known for many years as the ellery tavern is still standing in gloucester, massachusetts, and is a very good example of the overhanging second story, as is shown in the front view of it given on page ; and also of the lean-to, or sloping-roofed ell, which is shown by the picture on page of the rear of the house. this house was built by parson white in , and afterward kept as a tavern by james stevens till ; then it came into the hands of landlord ellery. as in scores of other taverns in other towns, the selectmen of the town held their meetings within its doors. there were five selectmen in , and their annual salary for transacting the town's business was five dollars apiece. the tavern charges, however, for their entertainment amounted to £ , old tenor. it is not surprising, therefore, to read in the town records of the following year that the citizens voted the selectmen a salary of £ , old tenor, apiece, and "to find themselves." nevertheless, in , there was another bill from the ellery tavern of £ , old tenor, for the selectmen who had been sworn in the year previously and thus welcomed, "expense for selectmen and licker, £ . _s._" the ellery tavern has seen many another meeting of good cheer since those days. the selectmen of the town of cambridge, massachusetts, met at the blue anchor tavern, which was established as an ordinary as early as . their bill for runs thus:-- "the selectmen of the town of cambridge to ebenezer bradish, dr. : march, to dinners and drink £ . . april, to flip and punch . may, to wine and eating . may, to dinners, drink and suppers . may, to flip and cheese . may, to wine and flip . june, to punch . july, to punch and eating . august, to punch and cheese . october, to punch and flip . october, to dinners and drink . sundries . -------- £ . . " "ordination day" was almost as great a day for the tavern as for the meeting-house. the visiting ministers who came to assist at the religious service of ordination of a new minister were usually entertained at the tavern. often a specially good beer was brewed called "ordination beer," and in connecticut an "ordination ball" was given at the tavern--this with the sanction of the parsons. the bills for entertaining the visitors, for the dinner and lodging at the local taverns, are in many cases preserved. one of the most characteristic was at a hartford ordination. it runs:-- £ _s._ _d._ "to keeping ministers . mugs tody . segars pint wine lodgings bitters breakfasts . boles punch . dinners . bottles wine . mugs flip . boles punch boles tody . " the bill is endorsed with unconscious humor, "this all paid for except the ministers rum." [illustration: lean-to of ellery tavern.] the book already referred to, called _notions of the americans_, tells of taverns during the triumphal tour of lafayette in . the author writes thus of the stage-house, or tavern, on the regular stage line. he said he stopped at fifty such, some not quite so good and some better than the one he chooses to describe, namely, bispham's at trenton, new jersey. "we were received by the landlord with perfect civility, but without the slightest shade of obsequiousness. the deportment of the innkeeper was manly, courteous, and even kind; but there was that in his air which sufficiently proved that both parties were expected to manifest the same qualities. we were asked if we all formed one party, or whether the gentlemen who alighted from stage number one wished to be by themselves. we were shown into a neat well-furnished little parlour, where our supper made its appearance in the course of twenty minutes. the table contained many little delicacies, such as game, oysters, and choice fish, and several things were named to us as at hand if needed. the tea was excellent, the coffee as usual indifferent enough. the papers of new york and philadelphia were brought at our request, and we sat with our two candles before a cheerful fire reading them as long as we pleased. our bed-chambers were spacious, well-furnished, and as neat as possible; the beds as good as one usually finds them out of france. now for these accommodations, which were just as good with one solitary exception (sanitary) as you would meet in the better order of english provincial inns, and much better in the quality and abundance of the food, we paid the sum of _s._ _d._ each." a copy is given opposite page of a bill of the "o. cromwell's head tavern" of boston, which was made from a plate engraved by paul revere. this tavern was kept for over half a century by members of the brackett family. it was distinctly the tavern of the gentry, and many a distinguished guest had "board, lodging, and eating" within its walls, as well as the wine, punch, porter, and liquor named on the bill. it will be noted that the ancient measure--a pottle--is here used. twenty years before the revolutionary war, and just after the crushing defeat of the british general, braddock, in what was then the west, an intelligent young virginian named george washington, said to be a good engineer and soldier, lodged at the cromwell's head tavern, while he conferred with governor shirley, the great war governor of the day, on military affairs and projects. when this same virginian soldier entered boston at the head of a victorious army, he quartered his troops in governor shirley's mansion and grounds. the sign-board of this tavern bore a portrait of the lord protector, and it is said it was hung so low that all who passed under it had to make a necessary reverence. while british martial law prevailed in boston, the grim head of cromwell became distasteful to tories, who turned one side rather than walk under the shadow of the sign-board, and at last landlord brackett had to take down and hide the obnoxious symbol. the english traveller melish was loud in his praise of the taverns throughout new york state as early as . he noted at little falls, then in the backwoods, and two hundred miles from new york, that on the breakfast table were "table-cloth, tea tray, tea-pots, milk-pot, bowls, cups, sugar-tongs, teaspoons, casters, plates, knives, forks, tea, sugar, cream, bread, butter, steak, eggs, cheese, potatoes, beets, salt, vinegar, pepper," and all for twenty-five cents. he said johnstown had but sixty houses, of which nine were taverns. another english traveller told of the fare in american hotels in . while in albany at "gregory's," which he said was equal to many of the london hotels, he wrote:-- "it is the custom in all american taverns, from the highest to the lowest, to have a sort of public table at which the inmates of the house and travellers dine together at a certain hour. it is also frequented by many single gentlemen belonging to the town. at gregory's upwards of thirty sat down to dinner, though there were not more than a dozen who resided in the house. a stranger is thus soon introduced to an acquaintance with the people, and if he is travelling alone he will find at these tables some relief from the ennui of his situation. at the better sort of american taverns very excellent dinners are provided, consisting of almost everything in season. the hour is from two to three o'clock, and there are three meals in the day. they breakfast at eight o'clock upon rump steaks, fish, eggs, and a variety of cakes with tea or coffee. the last meal is at seven in the evening, and consists of as substantial fare as the breakfast, with the addition of cold fowl, ham, &c. the price of boarding at these houses is from a dollar and a half to two dollars per day. brandy, hollands, and other spirits are allowed at dinner, but every other liquor is paid for extra. english breakfasts and teas, generally speaking, are meagre repasts compared with those of america, and as far as i observed the people live with respect to eating in a much more luxurious manner than we do. many private families live in the same style as at these houses; and have as great variety. formerly pies, puddings, and cyder used to grace the breakfast table, but now they are discarded from the genteeler houses, and are found only in the small taverns and farm-houses in the country." in spite of the vast number of inns in philadelphia, another english gentleman bore testimony in that he deemed the city ill-provided with hostelries. this gentleman "put up" at the mansion house, which was the splendid bingham mansion on third street. he wrote:-- "the tavern-keepers will not receive you on any other terms except boarded at so much a day or week; you cannot have your meals by yourself, or at your own hours. this custom of boarding i disliked very much. the terms are, however, very moderate, only ten dollars per week. the table is always spread with the greatest profusion and variety, even at breakfast, supper, and tea; all of which meals indeed were it not for the absence of wine and soup, might be called so many dinners." [illustration: bill of cromwell's head tavern.] there lies before me a collection of twoscore old hotel bills of fare about a half century old. they are of dates when stage-coaching had reached its highest point of perfection, and the coaching tavern its glory. there were railroads,--comparatively few lines, however,--but they had not destroyed the constant use of coaches. these hotels were the best of their kind in the country, such as the united states hotel of philadelphia, foley's national hotel of norfolk, virginia, union place hotel and new york hotel of new york, union hotel of richmond, virginia, american house of springfield, massachusetts, dorsey's exchange hotel and barnum's city hotel of baltimore, maryland, the troy house, the tremont house of boston, massachusetts, etc. at this time all have become hotels and houses, not a tavern nor an inn is among them. the menus are printed on long narrow slips of poor paper, not on cardboard; often the names of many of the dishes are written in. they show much excellence and variety in quality, and abundant quantity; they are, i think, as good as hotels of similar size would offer to-day. there are more boiled meats proportionately than would be served now, and fewer desserts. here is what the american house of springfield had for its guests on october , : mock-turtle soup; boiled blue-fish with oyster sauce; boiled chickens with oyster sauce; boiled mutton with caper sauce; boiled tongue, ham, corned beef and cabbage; boiled chickens with pork; roast beef, lamb, chickens, veal, pork, and turkey; roast partridge; fricasseed chicken, oyster patties, chicken pie, boiled rice, macaroni; apple, squash, mince, custard, and peach pies; boiled custard; blanc mange, tapioca pudding, peaches, nuts, and raisins. vegetables were not named; doubtless every autumnal vegetable was served. at the union place hotel in the vegetables were mashed potatoes, irish potatoes, sweet potatoes, boiled rice, onions, tomatoes, squash, cauliflower, turnips, and spinach. at the united states hotel in philadelphia the variety was still greater, and there were twelve entrées. the southern hotels offered nine entrées, and egg-plant appears among the vegetables. the wine lists are ample; those of might be of to-day, that is, in regard to familiar names; but the prices were different. mumm's champagne was two dollars and a half a quart; ruinard and cliquot two dollars; the best sauterne a dollar a quart; rudesheimer , and hockheimer, two dollars; clarets were higher priced, and burgundies. madeiras were many in number, and high priced; constantia (twenty years in glass) and diploma (forty years in wood) were six dollars a bottle. at barnum's hotel there were madeiras at ten dollars a bottle, sherries at five, hock at six; this hotel offered thirty choice madeiras--and these dinners were served at two o'clock. corkage was a dollar. [illustration: bill of fare of city hotel.] certain taverns were noted for certain fare, for choice modes of cooking special delicacies. one was resorted to for boiled trout, another for planked shad. travellers rode miles out of their way to have at a certain hostelry calves-head soup, a most elaborate and tedious dish if properly prepared, and a costly one, with its profuse wine, but as appetizing and rich as it is difficult of making. more humble taverns with simpler materials but good cooks had wonderful johnny-cakes, delightful waffles, or even specially good mush and milk. certain localities afforded certain delicacies; salmon in one river town, and choice oysters. one landlord raised and killed his own mutton; another prided himself on ducks. another cured his own hams. an old dutch tavern was noted for rolliches and head-cheese. during the eighteenth century turtle-feasts were eagerly attended--or turtle-frolics as they were called. a travelling clergyman named burnaby wrote in :-- "there are several taverns pleasantly situated upon east river, near new york, where it is common to have these turtle-feasts. these happen once or twice a week. thirty or forty gentlemen and ladies meet and dine together, drink tea in the afternoon, fish, and amuse themselves till evening, and then return home in italian chaises, a gentleman and lady in each chaise. on the way there is a bridge, about three miles distant from new york, which you always pass over as you return, called the kissing bridge, where it is part of the etiquette to salute the lady who has put herself under your protection." every sea-captain who sailed to the west indies was expected to bring home a turtle on the return voyage for a feast to his expectant friends. a turtle was deemed an elegant gift; usually a keg of limes accompanied the turtle, for lime-juice was deemed the best of all "sourings" for punch. in newport a guinea coast negro named cuffy cockroach, the slave of mr. jahleel brenton, was deemed the prince of turtle cooks. he was lent far and wide for these turtle-feasts, and was hired out at taverns. near philadelphia catfish suppers were popular. mendenhall ferry tavern was on the schuylkill river about two miles below the falls. it was opposite a ford which landed on the east side, and from which a lane ran up to the ridge turnpike. this lane still remains between the north and south laurel hill cemeteries, just above the city of philadelphia. previous to the revolution the ferry was known as garrigue's ferry. a cable was stretched across the stream; by it a flatboat with burdens was drawn from side to side. the tavern was the most popular catfish-supper tavern on the river drive. waffles were served with the catfish. a large staffordshireware platter, printed in clear, dark, beautiful blue, made by the english potter, stubbs, shows this ferry and tavern, with its broad piazza, and the river with its row of poplar trees. it is shown on page . burnaby enjoyed the catfish-suppers as much as the turtle-feasts, but i doubt if there was a kissing bridge in philadelphia. many were the good reasons that could be given to explain and justify attendance at an old-time tavern; one was the fact that often the only newspaper that came to town was kept therein. this dingy tavern sheet often saw hard usage, for when it went its rounds some could scarce read it, some but pretend to read it. one old fellow in newburyport opened it wide, gazed at it with interest, and cried out to his neighbor in much excitement: "bad news. terrible gales, terrible gales, ships all bottom side up," as indeed they were, in his way of holding the news sheet. the extent and purposes to which the tavern sheet might be applied can be guessed from the notice written over the mantel-shelf of one taproom, "gentlemen learning to spell are requested to use last week's newsletter." the old taverns saw many rough jokes. often there was a tavern butt on whom all played practical jokes. these often ended in a rough fight. the old collin's tavern shown on page was in coaching days a famous tavern in naugatuck on the road between new haven and litchfield. one of the hostlers at this tavern, a burly negro, was the butt of all the tavern hangers-on, and a great source of amusement to travellers. his chief accomplishment was "bunting." he bragged that he could with a single bunt break down a door, overturn a carriage, or fell a horse. one night a group of jokers promised to give him all the cheeses he could bunt through. he bunted holes through three cheeses on the tavern porch, and then was offered a grindstone, which he did not perceive either by his sense of sight or feeling to be a stone until his alarmed tormentors forced him to desist for fear he might kill himself. a picturesque and grotesque element of tavern life was found in those last leaves on the tree, the few of indian blood who lingered after the tribes were scattered and nearly all were dead. these tawnies could not be made as useful in the tavern yard as the shiftless and shifting negro element that also drifted to the tavern, for the eastern indian never loved a horse as did the negro, and seldom became handy in the care of horses. these waifs of either race, and half-breeds of both races, circled around the tavern chiefly because a few stray pennies might be earned there, and also because within the tavern were plentiful supplies of cider and rum. [illustration: mendenhall ferry platter.] almost every community had two or three of these semi-civilized indian residents, who performed some duties sometimes, but who often in the summer, seized with the spirit of their fathers or the influence of their early lives, wandered off for weeks and months, sometimes selling brooms and baskets, sometimes reseating chairs, oftener working not, simply tramping trustfully, sure of food whenever they asked for it. it is curious to note how industrious, orderly quaker and puritan housewives tolerated the laziness, offensiveness, and excesses of these half-barbarians. their uncouthness was endured when they were in health, and when they fell sick they were cared for with somewhat the same charity and forbearance that would be shown a naughty, unruly child. often the landlady of the tavern or the mistress of the farm-house, bustling into her kitchen in the gray dawn, would find a sodden indian sleeping on the floor by the fireplace, sometimes a squaw and pappoose by his side. if the kitchen door had no latch-string out, the indian would crawl into the hay in the barn; but wherever he slept, he always found his way to the kitchen in good time for an ample breakfast. indian women often proved better helpers than the men. one deb browner lived a severely respectable life all winter, ever ready to help in the kitchen of the tavern if teamsters demanded meals; always on hand to help dip candles in early winter, and make soap in early spring; and her strong arms never tired. but when early autumn tinted the trees, and on came the hunting season, she tore off her respectable calico gown and apron, kicked off her shoes and stockings, and with black hair hanging wild, donned moccasins and blanket, and literally fled to the woods for a breath of life, for freedom. she took her flitting unseen in the night, but twice was she noted many miles away by folk who knew her, tramping steadily northward, bearing by a metomp of bark around her forehead a heavy burden in a blanket. one sabbath morning in may a travelling teamster saw her in her ultra-civilized state on her way home from meeting, crowned, not only with a discreet bonnet, but with a long green veil hanging down her back. she was entering the tavern door to know whether they wished her to attack the big spring washing and bleaching the following day. "hello, teppamoy!" he said, staring at her, "how came you here and in them clothes?" scowling fiercely, she walked on in haughty silence, while the baffled teamster told a group of tavern loafers that he had been a lumberman, and some years there came to the camp in maine a wild old squaw named teppamoy who raised the devil generally, but the constable had never caught her, and that she "looked enough like that mis' browner to be her sister." another half-breed indian, old tuggie bannocks, lived in old narragansett. she was as much negro as indian and was reputed to be a witch; she certainly had some unusual peculiarities, the most marked being a full set of double teeth all the way round, and an absolute refusal ever to sit on a chair, sofa, stool, or anything that was intended to be sat upon. she would sit on a table, or a churn, or a cradle-head, or squat on the floor; or she would pull a drawer out of a high chest and recline on the edge of that. it was firmly believed that in her own home she hung by her heels on the oaken chair rail which ran around the room. she lived in the only roofed portion of an old tumble-down house that had been at one time a tavern, and she bragged that she could "raise" every one who had ever stopped at that house as a guest, and often did so for company. oh! what a throng of shadows, some fair of face, some dark of life, would have filled the dingy tavern at her command! i have told some incidents of her life in my _old narragansett_, so will no longer keep her dusky presence here. other indian "walk-abouts," as tramps were called, lived in the vicinity of malden, massachusetts; old "moll grush," who fiercely resented her nickname; deb saco the fortune-teller, whose "counterfeit presentment" can be seen in the east indian museum at salem; squaw shiner, who died from being blown off a bridge in a gale, and who was said to be "a faithful friend, a sharp enemy, a judge of herbs, a weaver of baskets, and a lover of rum." another familiar and marked character was sarah boston. i have taken the incidents of her life from _the hundredth town_, where it is told so graphically. she lived on keith hill in grafton, massachusetts, an early "praying town" of the indians. a worn hearthstone and doorstone, surrounded now by green grass and shadowed by dying lilacs, still show the exact spot where once stood her humble walls, where once "her garden smiled." [illustration: collin's tavern.] the last of the hassanamiscoes (a noble tribe of the nipmuck race, first led to christ in by that gentle man john eliot, the apostle to the indians), she showed in her giant stature, her powerful frame, her vast muscular power, no evidence of a debilitated race or of enfeebled vitality. it is said she weighed over three hundred pounds. her father was boston phillips, also told of in story and tradition for his curious ways and doings. sarah dressed in short skirts, a man's boots and hat, a heavy spencer (which was a man's wear in those days); and, like a true indian, always wore a blanket over her shoulders in winter. she was mahogany-red of color, with coarse black hair, high cheek-bones, and all the characteristic features of her race. her great strength and endurance made her the most desired farm-hand in the township to be employed in haying time, in wall-building, or in any heavy farm work. her fill of cider was often her only pay for some powerful feat of strength, such as stone-lifting or stump-pulling. at her leisure times in winter she made and peddled baskets in true indian fashion, and told improbable and baseless fortunes, and she begged cider at the tavern, and drank cider everywhere. "the more i drink the drier i am," was a favorite expression of hers. her insolence and power of abuse made her dreaded for domestic service, though she freely entered every home, and sat smoking and glowering for hours in the chimney corner of the tavern; but in those days of few house-servants and scant "help," she often had to be endured that she might assist the tired farm wife or landlady. a touch of grim humor is found in this tale of her--the more humorous because, in spite of apostle eliot and her christian forbears, she was really a most godless old heathen. she tended with care her little garden, whose chief ornament was a fine cherry tree bearing luscious blackhearts, while her fellow-townsmen had only sour morellos growing in their yards. each year the sons of her white neighbors, unrestrained by her threats and entreaties, stripped her tree of its toothsome and beautiful crop before sarah boston could gather it. one year the tree hung heavy with a specially full crop; the boys watched eagerly and expectantly the glow deepening on each branch, through tinted red to dark wine color, when one morning the sound of a resounding axe was heard in sarah's garden, and a passer-by found her with powerful blows cutting down the heavily laden tree. "why, sarah," he asked in surprise, "why are you cutting down your splendid great cherry tree?"--"it shades the house," she growled; "i can't see to read my bible." a party of rollicking yankee blades, bold with tavern liquor, pounded one night on the wooden gate of the old grafton burying-ground, and called out in profane and drunken jest, "arise, ye dead, the judgment day is come." suddenly from one of the old graves loomed up in the dark the gigantic form of sarah boston, answering in loud voice, "yes, lord, i am coming." nearly paralyzed with fright, the drunken fellows fled, stumbling with dismay before this terrifying and unrecognized apparition. mrs. forbes ends the story of sarah boston with a beautiful thought. the old squaw now lies at rest in the same old shadowy burial place--no longer the jest and gibe of jeering boys, the despised and drunken outcast. majestic with the calm dignity of death, she peacefully sleeps by the side of her white neighbors. at the dawn of the last day may she once more arise, and again answer with clear voice, "yes, lord, i am coming." chapter v "kill-devil" and its affines any account of old-time travel by stage-coach and lodging in old-time taverns would be incomplete without frequent reference to that universal accompaniment of travel and tavern sojourn, that most american of comforting stimulants--rum. the name is doubtless american. a manuscript description of barbadoes, written twenty-five years after the english settlement of the island in , is thus quoted in _the academy_: "the chief fudling they make in the island is rumbullion, alias kill-divil, and this is made of sugar canes distilled, a hot, hellish, and terrible liquor." this is the earliest-known allusion to the liquor rum; the word is held by some antiquaries in what seems rather a strained explanation to be the gypsy rum, meaning potent, or mighty. the word rum was at a very early date adopted and used as english university slang. the oldest american reference to the word rum (meaning the liquor) which i have found is in the act of the general court of massachusetts in may, , prohibiting the sale of strong liquors "whether knowne by the name of rumme, strong water, wine, brandy, etc., etc." the traveller josselyn wrote of it, terming it that "cursed liquor rhum, rumbullion or kill-devil." english sailors still call their grog rumbowling. but the word rum in this word and in rumbooze and in rumfustian did not mean rum; it meant the gypsy adjective powerful. rumbooze or rambooze, distinctly a gypsy word, and an english university drink also, is made of eggs, ale, wine, and sugar. rumfustian was made of a quart of strong beer, a bottle of white wine or sherry, half a pint of gin, the yolks of twelve eggs, orange peel, nutmeg, spices, and sugar. rum-barge is another mixed drink of gypsy name. it will be noted that none of these contains any rum. in some localities in america rum was called in early days barbadoes-liquor, a very natural name, occasionally also barbadoes-brandy. the indians called it ocuby, or as it was spelled in the norridgewock tongue, ah-coobee. many of the early white settlers called it by the same name. kill-devil was its most universal name, not only a slang name, but a trading-term used in bills of sale. a description of surinam written in says: "rhum made from sugar-canes is called kill-devil in new england." at thus early a date had the manufacture of rum become associated with new england. the dutch in new york called the liquor brandy-wine, and soon in that colony wherever strong waters were named in tavern lists, the liquor was neither aqua vitæ nor gin nor brandy, but new england rum. it soon was cheap enough. rev. increase mather, the puritan parson, wrote, in : "it is an unhappy thing that in later years a kind of drink called rum has been common among us. they that are poor and wicked, too, can for a penny make themselves drunk." from old account-books, bills of lading, grocers' bills, family expenses, etc., we have the price of rum at various dates, and find that his assertion was true. [illustration: old rum bottles.] in barbadoes rum was worth _s._ a gallon. in its price had vastly fallen, and new england rum sold for _s._ _d._ a gallon. in _s._ a gallon was the regular price. in the price was _s._ _d._ in , as currency grew valueless, it was _s._ a gallon. in only a little over a shilling; then it was but _d._ a quart. during this time the average cost of molasses in the west indies was _d._ a gallon; so, though the distillery plant for its production was costly, it can be seen that the profits were great. burke said about : "the quantity of spirits which they distill in boston from the molasses which they import is as surprising as the cheapness at which they sell it, which is under two shillings a gallon; but they are more famous for the quantity and cheapness than for the excellency of their rum." an english traveller named bennet wrote at the same date of boston society: "madeira wine and rum punch are the liquors they drink in common." baron riedésel, who commanded the foreign troops in america during the revolution, wrote of the new england inhabitants: "most of the males have a strong passion for strong drink, especially rum." while president john adams said caustically: "if the ancients drank wine as our people drink rum and cider, it is no wonder we hear of so many possessed with devils;" yet he himself, to the end of his life, always began the day with a tankard of hard cider before breakfast. the dutch were too constant beer drinkers to become with speed great rum consumers, and they were too great lovers of gin and schnapps. but they deprecated the sharp and intolerant prohibition of the sale of rum to the indians, saying: "to prohibit all strong liquor to them seems very hard and very turkish. rum doth as little hurt as the frenchman's brandie, and in the whole is much more wholesome." the english were fiercely abhorrent of intemperance among the indians, and court records abound in laws restraining the sale of rum to the "bloudy salvages," of prosecutions and fines of white traders who violated these laws, and of constant and fierce punishment of the thirsty red men, who simply tried to gratify an appetite instilled in them by the english. william penn wrote to the earl of sutherland in : "ye dutch, sweed, and english have by brandy and specially rum, almost debaucht ye indians all. when drunk ye most wretched of spectacles. they had been very tractable but rum is so dear to them." rum formed the strong intoxicant of all popular tavern drinks; many are still mixed to-day. toddy, sling, grog, are old-time concoctions. a writer for the first _galaxy_ thus parodied the poem, _i knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled_:-- "i knew by the pole that's so gracefully crown'd beyond the old church, that a tavern was near, and i said if there's black-strap on earth to be found, a man who had credit might hope for it here." josiah quincy said that black-strap was a composition of which the secret, he fervently hoped, reposed with the lost arts. its principal ingredients were rum and molasses, though there were other simples combined with it. he adds, "of all the detestable american drinks on which our inventive genius has exercised itself, this black-strap was truly the most outrageous." casks of it stood in every country store and tavern, a salted cod-fish hung alongside, slyly to tempt by thirst additional purchasers of black-strap. "calibogus," or "bogus," was unsweetened rum and beer. mimbo, sometimes abbreviated to mim, was a drink made of rum and loaf-sugar--and possibly water. the "rates in taverns" fixed in york county in pennsylvania, in , for "the protecting of travellers against the extortions of tavern-keepers," gives its price:-- " quart mimbo made best w. i. rum and loaf: _d._ quart mimbo, made of new england rum and loaf: _d._" many years ago, one bitter winter day, there stepped down from a rocking mail-coach into the washington tavern in a pennsylvania town, a dashing young man who swaggered up to the bar and bawled out for a drink of "scotchem." the landlord was running here and there, talking to a score of people and doing a score of things at once, and he called to his son, a lubberly, countrified young fellow, to give the gentleman his scotchem. the boy was but a learner in the taproom, but he was a lad of few words, so he hesitatingly mixed a glass of hot water and scotch whiskey, which the traveller scarcely tasted ere he roared out: "don't you know what scotchem is? apple-jack, and boiling water, and a good dash of ground mustard. here's a shilling to pay for it." the boy stared at the uninviting recipe, but faithfully compounded it, when toot-toot sounded the horn--the coach waited for no man, certainly not for a man to sip a scalding drink--and such a drink, and off in a trice went full coach and empty traveller. the young tapster looked dubiously at the great mug of steaming drink; then he called to an old trapper, a town pauper, who, crippled with rheumatism, sat ever in the warm chimney corner of the taproom, telling stories of coons and catamounts and wolverines, and taking such stray drops of liquid comfort as old companions or new sympathizers might pityingly give him. "here, ezra," the boy said, "you take the gentleman's drink. it's paid for." ezra was ever thirsty and never fastidious. he gulped down the scotchem. "it's good," he swaggered bravely, with eyes streaming from the scalding mustard, "an' it's tasty, too, ef it does favor tomato ketchup." [illustration: burgoyne tavern.] forty years later an aged man was swung precariously out with a violent jerk from a rampant trolley car in front of the washington hotel. he wearily entered the gaudy office, and turned thence to the bar. the barkeeper, a keen-eyed, lean old fellow of inscrutable countenance, glanced sharply at him, pondered a moment, then opened a remote closet, drew forth from its recess an ancient and dusty demijohn of apple-jack, and with boiling water and a dash of mustard compounded a drink which he placed unasked before the traveller. "here's your scotchem," he said laconically. the surprised old man looked sharply around him. outside the window, in the stable yard, a single blasted and scaling buttonwood tree alone remained of the stately green row whose mottled trunks and glossy leaves once bordered the avenue. the varying grades of city streets had entirely cut off the long porch beloved of old-time tavern loafers. the creaking sign-board had vanished. within was no cheerful chimney corner and no welcoming blazing fire, but the old taproom still displayed its raftered ceiling. the ancient traveller solemnly drank his long-paid-for mug of scotchem. "it's good," he said, "and tasty, if it does favor tomato ketchup." a ray of memory darted across the brain of the old barkeeper, and albeit he was not a member of the society of psychical research and could not formulate his brain impressions, yet he pondered on the curious problem of thought transference, of forced sequence of ideas, of coincidences of mental action resulting from similar physical conditions and influences. flip was a dearly loved drink of colonial times, far more popular in america than in england, much different in concoction in america than in england, and much superior in america--a truly american drink. as its chief ingredient is beer, it might be placed in the chapter on small drink, but the large amount consumed entitles it to a place with more rankly intoxicating liquors. the earliest date that i find flip named in new england is . from that year till the middle of this century there never was a day, never a minute of the day, and scarce of the night, that some old yankee flip drinker was not plunging in a loggerhead, or smacking his lips over a mug of creaming flip. in the _new england almanac_ for we read under december:-- "the days are short, the weather's cold, by tavern fires tales are told. some ask for dram when first come in, others with flip and bounce begin." american flip was made in a great pewter mug or earthen pitcher filled two-thirds full of strong beer; sweetened with sugar, molasses, or dried pumpkin, according to individual taste or capabilities; and flavored with "a dash"--about a gill--of new england rum. into this mixture was thrust and stirred a red-hot loggerhead, made of iron and shaped like a poker, and the seething iron made the liquor foam and bubble and mantle high, and gave it the burnt, bitter taste so dearly loved. a famous tavern host of canton, massachusetts, had a special fancy in flip. he mixed together a pint of cream, four eggs, and four pounds of sugar, and kept this on hand. when a mug of flip was called for, he filled a quart mug two-thirds full of bitter beer, added four great spoonfuls of his creamy compound, a gill of rum, and thrust in the loggerhead. if a fresh egg were beaten into the mixture, the froth poured over the top of the mug, and the drink was called "bellows-top." [illustration: happy farmer pitcher.] let me not fail to speak of the splendid glasses in which flip was often served--i mean the great glass tumblers without handles which, under the name of flip glasses, still are found in new england homes. they are vast drinking-vessels, sometimes holding three or four quarts apiece, and speak to us distinctly of the unlimited bibulous capacities of our ancestors. they are eagerly sought for by glass and china collectors, and are among the prettiest and most interesting of old-time relics. [illustration: sign-board of hancock tavern.] english flip is not so simple nor so original nor so good a drink as american flip. it might be anything but flip, since it is compounded in a saucepan, and knows naught of the distinctive branding of flip, the seething loggerhead. if it contained no spirits, it was called "egg-hot." a rule for flip which seems to combine the good points of the american and english methods, uses ale instead of home-brewed. it may be given "in the words of the publican who made it":-- "keep grated ginger and nutmeg with a fine dried lemon peel rubbed together in a mortar. to make a quart of flip: put the ale on the fire to warm, and beat up three or four eggs with four ounces of moist sugar, a teaspoonful of grated nutmeg or ginger, and a quartern of good old rum or brandy. when the ale is near to boil, put it into one pitcher, and the rum and eggs, etc., into another: turn it from one pitcher to another till it is as smooth as cream. to heat plunge in the red hot loggerhead or poker. this quantity is styled one yard of flannel." a quartern is a quarter of a gill, which is about the "dash" of rum. no flip was more widely known and more respected than the famous brew of abbott's tavern at holden, massachusetts. this house, built in , and kept by three generations of abbotts, never wavered in the quality of its flip. it is said to have been famous from the atlantic to the pacific--and few stage-coaches or travellers ever passed that door without adding to its praises and thereafter spreading its reputation. it is sad to add that i don't know exactly how it was made. a bill still existing tells its price in revolutionary days; other items show its relative valuation:-- "mug new england flip _d._ " west india " _d._ lodging per night _d._ pot luck per meal _d._ boarding commons men _s._ _d._ " " weomen _s._" this is the only tavern bill i have ever seen in which nice distinctions were made in boarding men and women. i am glad to know that the "weomen" traveller in those days had _s._ _d._ of daily advantage over the men. other names for the hospital loggerhead were flip-dog and hottle. the loggerhead was as much a part of the chimney furniture of an old-time new england tavern and farm-house as the bellows or andirons. in all taverns and many hospitable homes it was constantly kept warm in the ashes, ready for speedy heating in a bed of hot coals, to burn a mug of fresh flip for every visitor or passer by. cider could be used instead of beer, if beer could not be had. some wise old flip tasters preferred cider to beer. every tavern bill of the eighteenth century was punctuated with entries of flip. john adams said if you spent the evening in a tavern, you found it full of people drinking drams of flip, carousing, and swearing. the old taprooms were certainly cheerful and inviting gathering-places; where mine host sat behind his cagelike counter surrounded by cans and bottles and glasses, jars of whole spices and whole loaves of sugar; where an inspiring row of barrels of new england rum, hard cider, and beer ranged in rivalry at an end of the room, and "where dozed a fire of beechen logs that bred strange fancies in its embers golden-red, and nursed the loggerhead, whose hissing dip, timed by wise instinct, creamed the bowl of flip." [illustration: flip glasses, loggerhead, and toddy stick.] these fine lines of lowell's seem to idealize the homely flip and the loggerhead as we love to idealize the customs of our forbears. many a reader of them, inspired by the picture, has heated an iron poker or flip-dog and brewed and drunk a mug of flip. i did so not long ago, mixing carefully by a rule for flip recommended and recorded and used by general putnam--old put--in the revolution. i had the revolutionary receipt and i had the revolutionary loggerhead, and i had the old-time ingredients, but alas, i had neither the tastes nor the digestion of my revolutionary sires, and the indescribable scorched and puckering bitterness of taste and pungency of smell of that rank compound which was flip, will serve for some time in my memory as an antidote for any overweening longing for the good old times. the toddy stick, beloved for the welcome ringing music it made on the sides of glass tumblers, was used to stir up toddy and other sweetened drinks. it was a stick six or eight inches long, with a knob at one end, or flattened out at the end so it would readily crush the loaf sugar used in the drink. the egg-nog stick was split at one end, and a cross-piece of wood was set firmly in. it was a crude egg-beater. whirled rapidly around, while the upright stick was held firmly between the palms of the hands, it was a grateful, graceful, and inviting machine in the hands of skilful landlords of old. another universal and potent colonial drink was punch. it came to the english colonies in america from the english colonies in india. to the orientals we owe punch--as many other good things. the word is from the hindustani _panch_, five, referring to the five ingredients then used in the drink, namely: tea, arrack, sugar, lemons, water. in one tryer drank punch in india and, like the poor thing that he was, basely libelled it as an enervating liquor. the english took very quickly to the new drink, as they did to everything else in india, and soon the word appeared in english ballads, showing that punch was well known. englishmen did not use without change the punch-bowls of india, but invented an exceptionally elegant form known by the name of monteith. it was called after a man of fashion who was marked and remarkable for wearing a scalloped coat. in the _art of cookery_ we find reference to him and the monteith punch bowl:-- "new things produce new words, and so monteith has by one vessel saved himself from death." [illustration: porcelain monteith.] monteiths seem to have come into fashion about . the rim was scalloped like its namesake's coat, or cut in battlements, thus forming indentations, in which a punch ladle and lemon strainer and tall wine-glasses were hung on their sides, the foot out. the rim was usually separate from the bowl, and was lifted off with the glasses and ladle and strainer, for the punch to be brewed in the bowl. when the punch was duly finished, the ornamental rim was replaced. a porcelain imitation of a monteith is here shown, which was made in china for an american ship-owner, doubtless from a silver model. punch became popular in new england just as it did in old england, in fact, wherever english-speaking sea rovers could tell of the new drink. in john winthrop wrote of the sale of a punch bowl in boston, and in john dunton told of more than one noble bowl of punch in new england. every buffet of people of good station in prosperous times soon had a punch bowl. every dinner was prefaced by a bowl of punch passed from hand to hand, while the liquor was drunk from the bowl. double and "thribble" bowls of punch were served in taverns; these held two and three quarts each. to show the amount of punch drunk at a minister's ordination in new england in , i will state that the eighty people attending in the morning had thirty bowls of punch before going to meeting; and the sixty-eight who had dinner disposed of forty-four bowls of punch, eighteen bottles of wine, eight bowls of brandy, and a quantity of cherry rum. punch was popular in virginia, it was popular in new york, it was popular in pennsylvania. william black recorded in his diary in that in philadelphia he was given cider and punch for lunch; rum and brandy before dinner; punch, madeira, port, and sherry at dinner; punch and liqueurs with the ladies; and wine, spirit, and punch till bedtime; all in punch bowls big enough for a goose to swim in. in s. m. of boston, who was doubtless samuel mather, the son of cotton mather, sent to sir harry frankland, the hero of the new england romance of agnes surriage, a box of lemons with these lines:-- "you know from eastern india came the skill of making punch as did the name. and as the name consists of letters five, by five ingredients is it kept alive. to purest water sugar must be joined, with these the grateful acid is combined. some any sours they get contented use, but men of taste do that from tagus choose. when now these three are mixed with care then added be of spirit a small share. and that you may the drink quite perfect see, atop the musky nut must grated be." [illustration: cincinnati punch bowl.] from the accounts that have come down to us, the "spirits a small share" of the puritan mather's punch receipt was seldom adhered to in new england punches. the importation to england and america of lemons, oranges, and limes for use as punch "sowrings," as they were called, was an important part of the west indian and portuguese trade. the juices of lemons, oranges, limes, and pineapples were all used in punches, and were imported in demijohns and bottles. the appetizing advertisements of j. crosby, a boston fruit importer, are frequent for many years in new england newspapers. here is one from the _salem gazette_ in :-- "extraordinary good and very fresh orange juice which some of the very best punch tasters prefer to lemmon, at one dollar a gallon. also very good lime juice and shrub to put into punch at the basket of lemmons, j. crosby, lemmon trader." i don't know whether the punch tasters referred to were professional punch mixers or whether it was simply a term applied to persons of well-known experience and judgment in punch-drinking. in salem, new jersey, in , tavern prices were regulated by the court. they were thus:-- "a rub of punch made with double-refined sugar and one and a half gills of rum _d._ a rub of punch made with single refined sugar and one and a half gills of rum _d._ a rub made of muscovado sugar and one and a half gills of rum _d._ a quart of flipp made with a pint of rum _d._ a pint of wine _s._ a gill of rum _d._ a quart of strong beer _d._ a gill of brandy or cordial _d._ a quart of metheglin _d._ a quart of cider royal _d._ a quart of cider _d._" punches were many of name, scores of different ones were given by drink compounders, both amateur and professional. punches were named for persons, for places; for taverns and hosts; for bar-tenders and stage-coach drivers; for unusual ingredients or romantic incidents. sometimes honor was conferred by naming the punch for the person; sometimes the punch was the only honor the original ever had. in these punches all kinds of flavoring and spices were used, and all the strong liquors of the world, all the spirits, wines, liqueurs, drops, distilled waters and essences--but seldom and scant malt liquors, if it were truly punch. with regard to the proper amounts of all these various fluids to be used in composition opinions always differed. many advised a light hand with cordials, some disliked spices; others wished a plentiful amount of lemon juice, others wished tea. in respect of the proportions of two important and much-discussed ingredients, old-time landlords apparently heeded directions similar to those i once heard given impressively by an old irish ecclesiastic of high office: "shtop! shtop! ye are not commincin' right and in due ordher! ye musthn't iver put your whiskey or rum foorst in your punch-bowl and thin add wather; for if ye do, ivery dhrop of wather ye put in is just cruel spoilin' of the punch; but--foorst--put some wather in the bowl--some, i say, since in conscience ye must--thin pour in the rum; and sure ye can aisily parcaive that ivery dhrop ye put in is afther makin' the punch betther and betther." charles lamb tells in his _popular fallacies_ of "bully dawson kicked by half the town and half the town kicked by bully dawson." this bully dawson was a famous punch brewer; his rule was precisely like that of a famous new england landlord, and is worth choosing among a score of rules:-- "the man who sees, does, or thinks of anything else while he is making punch may as well look for the northwest passage on mutton hill. a man can never make good punch unless he is satisfied, nay positive, that no man breathing can make better. i can and do make good punch, because i do nothing else, and this is my way of doing it. i retire to a solitary corner with my ingredients ready sorted; they are as follows, and i mix them in the order they are here written. sugar, twelve tolerable lumps; hot water, one pint; lemons, two, the juice and peel; old jamaica rum, two gills; brandy, one gill; porter or stout, half a gill; arrack, a slight dash. i allow myself five minutes to make a bowl in the foregoing proportions, carefully stirring the mixture as i furnish the ingredients until it actually foams; and then kangaroos! how beautiful it is!" with this nectar and a toast we may fitly close this chapter. may the grass grow lightly o'er the grave of bully dawson, and weigh like lead on the half the town that kicked him! chapter vi small drink "under this tearme of small-drink," wrote an old chronicler, "do i endow such drinks as are of comfort, to quench an honest thirst, not to heat the brain, as one man hath ale, another cider, another metheglin, and one sack." under this title i also place such tavern and home drinks of colonial times as were not deemed vastly intoxicating; though new england cider might well be ranged very close to new england rum in intoxicating powers. the american colonists were not enthusiastic water drinkers, and they soon imported malt and established breweries to make the familiar ale and beer of old england. the dutch patroons found brewing a profitable business in new york, and private families in all the colonies built home brew-houses and planted barley and hops. in virginia a makeshift ale was made from maize as early as . george thorpe wrote that it was a good drink, much preferable to english beer. governor berkeley wrote of virginians a century later:-- "their small-drink is either wine or water, beer, milk and water, or water alone. their richer sort generally brew their small-beer with malt, which they have from england, though barley grows there very well; but for the want of convenience of malt-houses, the inhabitants take no care to sow it. the poorer sort brew their beer with molasses and bran; with indian corn malted with drying in a stove: with persimmons dried in a cake and baked; with potatoes with the green stalks of indian corn cut small and bruised, with pompions, with the jerusalem artichoke which some people plant purposely for that use, but this is the least esteemed." similar beers were made in new england. the court records are full of enactments to encourage beer-brewing. they had not learned that liberty to brew, when and as each citizen pleased, would prove the best stimulus. much personal encouragement was also given. the president of harvard college did not disdain to write to the court on behalf of "sister bradish," that she might be "encouraged and countenanced" in her baking of bread and brewing and selling of penny beer. and he adds in testimony that "such is her art, way, and skill that shee doth vend such comfortable penniworths for the relief of all that send unto her as elsewhere they can seldom meet with." college students were permitted to buy of her to a certain amount; and with the light of some contemporary evidence as to the quality of the college commons we can believe they needed very "comfortable penniworths." some new england taverns were famous for their spruce, birch, and sassafras beer, boiled with scores of roots and herbs, with birch, spruce, or sassafras bark, with pumpkin and apple parings, with sweetening of molasses or maple syrup, or beet tops and other makeshifts. a colonial song writer boasted-- "oh, we can make liquor to sweeten our lips of pumpkins, of parsnips, of walnut-tree chips." [illustration: sign-board of amherst hotel.] according to diodorus siculus, the ancient britons drank on festive occasions liquors made from honey, apples, and barley, viz., mead, cider, and ale. the celts drank mead and cider--natural drinks within the capabilities of manufacture by slightly civilized nations; for wild honey and wild apples could be found everywhere. ale indicated agriculture and a more advanced civilization. mead, or metheglin, of fermented honey, herbs, and water, has been made by every race and tribe on this globe, living where there was enough vegetation to cherish bees. it had been a universal drink in england, but was somewhat in disuse when this country was settled. harrison wrote:-- "the welsh make no less account of metheglin than the greeks did of their ambrosia or nectar, which for the pleasantness thereof was supposed to be such as the gods themselves did delight in. there is a kind of swishswash made also in essex, and divers other places, with honeycomb and water, which the homely country-wives putting some pepper and a little other spice among, called mead: very good in mine opinion for such as love to be loose-bodied at large, or a little eased of the cough. otherwise it differeth so much from true metheglin as chalk from cheese; and one of the best things that i know belonging thereto is, that they spend but little labour and less cost in making of the same, and therefore no great loss if it were never occupied." metheglin was one of the drinks of the american colonists. it was a favorite drink in kentucky till well into this century. as early as , the piscataqua planters of new hampshire, in their list of values which they set in furs,--the currency of the colony,--made " gallon mathaglin equal lb beaver." in virginia, whole plantations of honey locust were set out to supply metheglin. the long beans of the locust were ground and mixed with honey herbs and water, and fermented. in a letter written from virginia in , it is told of "an ancient planter of twenty-five years standing," that he had good store of bees and "made excellent good matheglin, a pleasant and strong drink." oldmixon, in _history of carolina_ ( ), says, "the bees swarm there six or seven times a year, and the metheglin made there is as good as malaga sack," which may be taken _cum grano salis_. in new england drinking habits soon underwent a marked and speedy change. english grains did not thrive well those first years of settlement, and were costly to import, so new englanders soon drifted from beer-drinking to cider-drinking. the many apple orchards planted first by endicott and blackstone in massachusetts, and wolcott in connecticut, and seen in a few decades on every prosperous and thrifty farm, soon gave forth their bountiful yield of juicy fruit. perhaps this change in drinking habits was indirectly the result of the influence of the new england climate. cider seemed more fitted for sharp new england air than ale. cider was soon so cheap and plentiful throughout the colony that all could have their fill. josselyn said in : "i have had at the tap-houses of boston an ale-quart of cider spiced and sweetened with sugar for a groat." [illustration: eagle tavern and sign-board, newton, new hampshire.] all the colonists drank cider, old and young, and in all places,--funerals, weddings, ordainings, vestry-meetings, church-raisings, etc. infants in arms drank mulled hard cider at night, a beverage which would kill a modern babe. it was supplied to students at harvard and yale colleges at dinner and bever, being passed in two quart tankards from hand to hand down the commons table. old men began the day with a quart or more of hard cider before breakfast. delicate women drank hard cider. all laborers in the field drank it in great draughts that were often liberally fortified with drams of new england rum. the apple crop was so wholly devoted to the manufacture of cider that in the days of temperance reform at the beginning of this century, washingtonian zealots cut down great orchards of full-bearing trees, not conceiving any adequate use of the fruit for any purpose save cider-making. a friend--envious and emulous of the detective work so minutely described by conan doyle--was driving last summer on an old new england road entirely unfamiliar to him. he suddenly turned to the stage-driver by his side and, pointing to a house alongside the road, said, "the man who lives there is a drunkard."--"why, yes," answered the driver in surprise, "do you know him?"--"no," said the traveller, "i never saw him and don't know his name, but he's a drunkard and his father was before him, and his grandfather."--"it's true," answered the driver, with much astonishment; "how could you tell?"--"well, there is a large orchard of very old apple trees round that house, while all his neighbors, even when the houses are old, have younger orchards. when the 'washingtonian or temperance movement' reached this town, the owner of this place was too confirmed a drunkard to reform and cut down his apple trees as his neighbors did, and he kept on at his hard cider and cider brandy, and his son and grandson grew up to be drunkards after him." later inquiry in the town proved the truth of the amateur detective's guesswork. cider was tediously made at first by pounding the apples in wooden mortars; the pomace was afterward pressed in baskets. then rude mills with a spring board and heavy maul crushed the apples in a hollowed log. then presses for cider-making began to be set up about the year . apples were at that time six to eight shillings a bushel; cider _s._ _d._ a gallon--as high-priced as new england rum a century later. connecticut cider soon became specially famous. roger williams in says john winthrop's loving letter to him was as grateful as "a cup of your connecticut cider." by it was cheap enough, ten shillings a barrel; and in the year , about seven shillings only. it had then replaced beer in nearly all localities in daily diet; yet at the commencement dinner at harvard in , four barrels of beer were served and but one of cider, with eighteen gallons of wine. in one massachusetts village of forty families made three thousand barrels of cider, and judge joseph wilder of lancaster, massachusetts, made six hundred and sixteen barrels in the year . bennett, an english traveller, writing of boston in the year , says that "the generality of the people with their victuals" drank cider, which was plentiful and good at three shillings a barrel. it took a large amount of cider to supply a family when all drank, and drank freely. ministers often stored forty barrels of cider for winter use. [illustration: cider pitcher and cups.] by the closing years of the seventeenth century nearly all virginia plantations had an apple orchard. colonel fitzhugh had twenty-five hundred apple trees. so quickly did they mature, that six years after the scions were planted, they bore fruit. many varieties were common, such as russets, costards, pippins, mains, marigolds, kings, and batchelors. so great was the demand for cider in the south that apple orchards were deemed the most desirable leasing property. cider never reached a higher price, however, than two shillings and a half in virginia during the seventeenth century. thus it could be found in the house of every maryland and virginia planter. it was supplied to the local courts during their times of sitting. many households used it in large quantity instead of beer or metheglin, storing many barrels for everyday use. at a very early date apple trees were set out in new york, and cultivated with much care and much success. nowhere else in america, says dankers, the labadist traveller, had he seen such fine apples. the names of the newton pippin, the kingston spitzenburgh, the poughkeepsie swaar apple, the red streak, guelderleng, and others of well-known quality, show new york's attention to apple-raising. kalm, the swedist naturalist, spoke of the splendid apple orchards which he saw throughout new york in , and told of the use of the horse press in the hudson valley for making cider. cider soon rivalled in domestic use in this province the beer of the fatherland. it was constantly used during the winter season, and, diluted with water, sweetened and flavored with nutmeg, made a grateful summer drink. combined with rum, it formed many of the most popular and intoxicating colonial drinks, of which "stone-wall" was the most potent. cider-royal was made by boiling four barrels of cider into one barrel. p. t. barnum said cider-spirits was called "gumption." a new hampshire settler carried on his back for twenty miles to his home a load of young apple trees. they thrived and grew apace, and his first crop was eight bushels. from these, he proudly recounted, he made one barrel of cider, one barrel of water-cider, and "one barrel of charming good drink." water-cider, or ciderkin, was a very weak, slightly cidery beverage, which was made by pouring water over the solid dregs left after the cider had been pressed from the pomace, and pressing it over again. it was deemed especially suitable for children to drink; sometimes a little molasses and ginger was added to it. a very mild tavern drink was beverige; its concoction varied in different localities. sometimes beverige was water-cider or ciderkin; at other times cider, spices, and water. water flavored with molasses and ginger was called beverige, and is a summer drink for new england country-folk to-day. [illustration: parson's tavern.] john hammond wrote of virginia in in his _leah and rachel_:-- "beare is indeed in some places constantly drunken, in other some nothing but water or milk, and water or beverige; and that is where the good-wives (if i may so call them) are negligent and idle; for it is not want of corn to make malt with, for the country affords enough, but because they are slothful and careless; and i hope this item will shame them out of these humours; that they will be adjudged by their drinke, what kind of housewives they are." vinegar and water--a drink of the ancient roman soldiery--was also called beverige. dr. rush wrote a pamphlet recommending its use by harvest laborers. switchel was a similar drink, strengthened with a dash of rum. ebulum was the juice of elder and juniper berries, spiced and sweetened. perry was made from pears, and peachy from peaches. a terrible drink is said to have been popular in salem. it is difficult to decide which was worse, the drink or its name. it was sour household beer simmered in a kettle, sweetened with molasses, filled with crumbs of "ryneinjun" bread, and drunk piping hot; its name was whistle-belly-vengeance, or whip-belly-vengeance. this name was not a yankee vulgarism, but a well-known old english term. bickerdyke says small beer was rightly stigmatized by this name. dean swift in his _polite conversations_ gives this smart dialogue:-- "_hostess_ (offering ale to sir john linger). i never taste malt-liquor, but they say ours is well-hopp'd. _sir john._ hopp'd! why if it had hopp'd a little further, it would have hopp'd into the river. _hostess._ i was told ours was very strong. _sir john._ yes! strong of the water. i believe the brewer forgot the malt, or the river was too near him. faith! it is more whip-belly-vengeance; he that drinks most has the worst share." this would hardly seem a word for "polite conversation," though it was certainly a term in common use. its vulgarity is in keen contrast to the name of another "small drink," a name which brings to the mental vision thoughts of the good cheer, the genial hospitality, the joy of living, of elizabethan days. a black letter copy of the _loyal garland_, a collection of songs of the seventeenth century, thus names the drink in this gay song:-- "to the tavern lets away! there have i a mistress got, cloystered in a pottle pot; plump and bounding, soft and fair, bucksome, sweet and debonair, and they call her _sack_, my dear!" it is vain to enter here into a discussion of exactly what sack was, since so much has been written about it. the name was certainly applied to sweet wines from many places. a contemporary authority, gervayse markham, says in the _english housewife_, "your best sackes are of seres in spain, your smaller of galicia or portugall: your strong sackes are of the islands of the canaries." sack was, therefore, a special make of the strong, dry, sweet, light-colored wines of the sherry family, such as come from the south, from portugal, spain, and the canary islands. by the seventeenth century the name was applied to all sweet wines of this class, as distinguished from rhenish wines on one hand and red wines on the other. many do not wish to acknowledge that sack was sherry, but there was little distinction between them. sherris-sack, named by shakespeare, was practically also sherry. sack was so cheap that it could be used by all classes. from an original license granted by sir walter raleigh, in , to one bradshaw to keep a tavern we learn that sack was then worth two shillings a gallon. [illustration: toby fillpots.] perhaps the most famous use of sack was in the making of sack-posset, that drink of brides, of grooms, of wedding and christening parties. a rhymed rule for sack-posset found its way into many collections, and into english and american newspapers. it is said to have been written by sir fleetwood fletcher. it was thus printed in the _new york gazette_ of february , :-- "a receipt for all young ladies that are going to be married. to make a sack-posset from famed barbadoes on the western main fetch sugar half a pound; fetch sack from spain a pint; and from the eastern indian coast nutmeg, the glory of our northern toast. o'er flaming coals together let them heat till the all-conquering sack dissolves the sweet. o'er such another fire set eggs, twice ten, new born from crowing cock and speckled hen; stir them with steady hand, and conscience pricking to see the untimely fate of twenty chicken. from shining shelf take down your brazen skillet, a quart of milk from gentle cow will fill it. when boiled and cooked, put milk and sack to egg, unite them firmly like the triple league. then covered close, together let them dwell till miss twice sings: _you must not kiss and tell_. each lad and lass snatch up their murdering spoon, and fall on fiercely like a starved dragoon." sack was drunk in america during the first half-century of colonial life. it was frequently imported to virginia; and all the early instructions for the voyage cross-seas, such as governor winthrop's to his wife and those of the plymouth plantations, urge the shipping of sack for the sailors. even in judge sewall's day, a century after the planting of boston, sack-posset was drunk at puritan weddings, but a psalm and a prayer made it properly solemn. judge sewall wrote of a boston wedding:-- "there was a pretty deal of company present. many young gentlemen and young gentlewomen. mr. noyes made a speech, said love was the sugar to sweeten every condition in the marriage state. after the sack-posset sang th psalm from th verse to end." [illustration: flip glasses and nutmeg holders.] canary soon displaced sack in popular affection, and many varieties of closely allied wines were imported. sir edmund andros named in his excise list "fayal wines, or any other wines of the western islands, madeira, malaga, canary, tent, and alcant." claret was not popular. the consumption of sweet wines was astonishing, and the quality was exceeding good. spiced wines were much sold at taverns, sangaree and mulled wines. brigham's tavern at westborough had a simple recipe for mulled wine: simply a quart of boiling hot madeira, half a pint of boiling water, six eggs beaten to a froth, all sweetened and spiced. nutmeg was the favorite flavoring, and nutmegs gilded and beribboned were an esteemed gift. the importation of them was in early days wholly controlled by the dutch. high livers--_bon vivants_--carried nutmegs in their pockets, fashionable dames also. one of the prettiest trinkets of colonial times is the dainty nutmeg holder, of wrought silver or battersea enamel, just large enough to hold a single nutmeg. the inside of the cover is pierced or corrugated to form a grater. the ones now before me, both a century and a half old, when opened exhale a strong aroma of nutmeg, though it is many a year since they have been used. with a nutmeg in a pocket holder, the exquisite traveller, whether man or woman, could be sure of a dainty spiced wine flavored to taste; "atop the musky nut could grated be," even in the most remote tavern, for wine was everywhere to be found, but nutmegs were a luxury. negus, a washy warm wine-punch invented in queen anne's day by colonel negus, was also improved by a flavoring of nutmeg. chapter vii signs and symbols before named streets with numbered houses came into existence, and when few persons could read, painted and carved sign-boards and figures were more useful than they are to-day; and not only innkeepers, but men of all trades and callings sought for signs that either for quaintness, appropriateness, or costliness would attract the eyes of customers and visitors, and fix in their memory the exact locality of the advertiser. signs were painted and carved in wood; they were carved in stone; modelled in terra-cotta and plaster; painted on tiles; wrought of various metals; and even were made of animals' heads stuffed. as education progressed, signs were less needed, and when thoroughfares were named and sign-posts set up and houses numbered, the use of business signs vanished. they lingered sometimes on account of their humor, sometimes because they were a guarantee of an established business, but chiefly because people were used to them. the shops in boston were known by sign-boards. in daniel parker, goldsmith, was at the golden ball, william whitmore, grocer, at the seven stars, susannah foster was "next the great cross," and john loring, chemist, at the great trees. one hatter had a "hatt & beaver," another a "hatt & helmit"; butter was sold at the "blue glove" and "brazen head"; dry-goods at the "sign of the stays" and at the "wheat sheaf"; rum at the "golden keys"; pewter ware at the "crown and beehive"; knives at the "sign of the crown and razor." john crosby, for many years a noted lemon trader, had as a sign a basket of lemons. in front of a nautical instrument store on the corner of state and broad streets, boston, still stands a quaint wooden figure of an ancient naval officer resplendent in his blue coat, cocked hat, short breeches, stockings, and buckles, holding in his hand a quadrant. the old fellow has stood in this place, continually taking observations of the sun, for upwards of one hundred years. it will be seen that these signs were often incongruous and non-significant, both as to their relation to the business they indicated, and in the association of objects which they depicted. a rhyme printed in the _british apollo_ in notes the curious combination of names on london sign-boards:-- "i'm amazed at the signs as i pass through the town; to see the odd mixture a magpie and crown, the whale and the crow, the razor and hen, the leg and seven stars, the axe and the bottle, the sun and the lute, the eagle and child, the shovel and boot." [illustration: sign-board of stratton tavern.] addison wrote nearly two centuries ago on the absurdity and incongruity of these sign-boards, in _the spectator_ of april , . he says, advocating a censorship of sign-boards:-- "our streets are filled with blue boars, black swans, and red lions; not to mention flying pigs, and hogs in armour, with many other creatures more extraordinary than any in the deserts of africa. my first task therefore should be like that of hercules, to clear the city from monsters. in the second place i would forbid that creatures of jarring and incongruous natures should be joined together in the same sign; such as the bell and the neat's tongue; the dog and the gridiron. the fox and goose may be supposed to have met, but what have the fox and the seven stars to do together? and when did the lamb and dolphin ever meet, except upon a sign-post? as for the cat and fiddle there is a conceit in it, and therefore i do not intend that anything i have said should affect it. i must, however, observe to you upon this subject, that it is usual for a young tradesman, at his first setting up, to add to his sign that of the master whom he has served; as the husband, after marriage, gives a place to his mistress's arms in his own coat. this i take to have given rise to many of those absurdities which are committed over our heads; and as, i am informed, first occasioned the three nuns and a hare, which we see so frequently joined together." many of the apparently meaningless names on tavern signs come through the familiar corruptions of generations of use, through alterations both by the dialect of speakers and by the successive mistakes of ignorant sign-painters. thus "the bag o' nails," a favorite sign, was originally "the bacchanalians." the familiar "cat and wheel" was the "catherine wheel," and still earlier "st. catherine's wheel," in allusion to the saint and her martyrdom. the "goat and compass" was the motto "god encompasseth us." "the pig and carrot" was the "pique et carreau" (the spade and diamond in playing cards). addison thus explains the "bell savage," a common sign in england, usually portrayed by an indian standing beside a bell. "i was formerly very much puzzled upon the conceit of it, till i accidentally fell into the reading of an old romance translated out of the french, which gives an account of a very beautiful woman who was found in a wilderness, and is called in french, la belle sauvage, and is everywhere translated by our countrymen the bell savage." "the bull and mouth" celebrates in corrupt wording the victory of henry viii. in "boulougne mouth" or harbor. in london the bull and mouth inn was a famous coach office, and the sign-board bore these lines:-- "milo the cretonian an ox slew with his fist, and ate it up at one meal, ye gods! what a glorious twist." twist was the old cant term for appetite. the universal use of sign-boards furnished employment to many painters of inferior rank, and occasionally even to great artists, who, either as a freak of genius, to win a wager, to crown a carouse, or perhaps to earn with ease a needed sum, painted a sign-board. at the head of this list is hogarth. richard wilson painted "the three loggerheads" for an ale-house in north wales. george morland has several assigned to him: "the goat in boots," "the white lion," "the cricketers." ibbetson paid his bill to landlord burkett after a sketching and fishing excursion by a sign with one pale and wan face and one equally rubicund. the accompanying lines read:-- "thou mortal man that livest by bread, what makes thy face to look so red? thou silly fop that looks so pale, 'tis red with tommy burkett's ale." gérôme, cox, harlow, and millais swell the list of english sign-painters, while holbein, correggio, watteau, gerriault, and horace vernet make a noble company. the splendid "young bull" of paul potter, in the museum of the hague, is said to have been painted for a butcher's sign. [illustration: sign-board of three crowns tavern.] benjamin west painted many tavern signs in the vicinity of philadelphia, among them in that of the three crowns, a noted hostelry that stood on the king's highway in salisbury township, lancaster county. this neighborhood was partly settled by english emigrants, and the old tavern was kept by a tory of the deepest dye. the sign-board still bears the marks of the hostile bullets of the continental army, and the proprietor came near sharing the bullets with the sign. this three crowns was removed in to the waterloo tavern, kept by a relative of the old landlord. the waterloo tavern was originally the bull's head, and was kept by a revolutionary officer. both sides of the three crowns sign-board are shown on page . by tradition west also painted the sign-board of the old hat tavern shown on page . this was kept by widow caldwell in leacock township, lancaster county, on the old philadelphia road. the bull's head inn of philadelphia had a sign suited to its title; it was sold in the middle of this century to an englishman as the work of benjamin west. the inn stood in strawberry alley, and west once lived in the alley; and so also did bernard wilton, a painter and glazier, in the days when the inn was young and had no sign-board. and as the glazier sat one day in the taproom, a bull ran foaming into the yard and thrust his head with a roar in the tavern window. the glazier had a ready wit, and quoth he: "this means something. this bull thrust his head in as a sign, so it shall be the sign of the inn, and bring luck and custom forever." i think those were his words; at any rate, those were the deeds. west also painted the "ale bearers." one side had a man holding a glass of ale and looking through it. the other side showed two brewers' porters carrying an ale cask slung with case hooks on a pole--as was the way of ale porters at that day. it is said that west was offered five hundred dollars for a red lion sign-board he had painted in his youth. in the vicinity of philadelphia several taverns claimed to have sign-boards painted by the peales and by gilbert stuart, and an artist named hicks is said to have contributed some wonderful specimens to this field of art. [illustration: browne's hall, danvers, massachusetts, .] general wolfe was a favorite name and figure for pre-revolutionary taverns and sign-boards. there was a wolfe tavern near faneuil hall in boston; and the faded sign-board of the wolfe tavern of brooklyn, connecticut, is shown on page as it swung when general israel putnam was the tavern landlord. these figures of the english officer were usually removed as obnoxious after the declaration of independence. but the wolfe tavern at newburyport continued to swing the old sign "in the very centre of the place to be an insult to this truly republican town." this sign is shown in its spruce freshness on page . it is a great contrast to "old put's" wolfe sign-board. a philadelphia tavern with a clumsy name, though a significant one, was the federal convention of inn. i cannot imagine any band of tavern tipplers or jovial roisterers ever meeting there, but it was doubtless used for political gatherings. it had a most pretentious sign painted by matthew pratt, a pupil of benjamin west. it was said that his signs were painted in a style that should have given them place in a picture gallery, had it not been that the galleries of those days were few, and artists found their most lucrative employment in painting signs for taverns and stores. this inn kept first by a man named hanna, then by george poppal, was at south street, near fifth street. the sign was a painting of the national convention which met may , , in the state house or independence hall to frame the constitution of the united states. george washington was president, mayor william jackson was secretary. the convention met in the east room, which was distinctly and correctly represented on the sign-board; its wainscoting, the ionic pilasters supporting a full entablature beneath a coved ceiling, all were taken down by a "commissioner of repairs," and all now are happily reproduced and restored. on one side of the sign-board washington was seen seated under the panel bearing the arms of pennsylvania. the dignified judge wilson occupied the chair, and franklin sat near. all the heads were portraits. on both sides of the sign-board were the lines:-- "these thirty-eight men together have agreed that better times to us shall very soon succeed." watson, writing in , tells of the end of this historic sign-board:-- "this invaluable sign, which should have been copied by some eminent artist and engraved for posterity, was bandied about like the casa santa of lorretto from post to pillar till it located at south street near the old theatre. the figures are now completely obliterated by a heavy coat of brown paint on which is lettered fed. con. ." [illustration: hat tavern and sign-board.] this offence against historic decency can be added to the many other crimes against good taste which lie heavily on the account of the middle of the nineteenth century. the _fin du siècle_ has many evils which are daily rehearsed to us; but the middle of the century was an era of bad taste, dulness, affected and melancholic sentimentality and commonplaceness in dress, architecture, household furnishings, literature, society, and art--let us turn from it with haste. it is equalled only in some aspects by some of the decades of dulness in england in the reign of george iii. another sign-board painted by woodside is described in philadelphia newspapers of august, :-- "union hotel "samuel e. warwick respectfully informs his friends and the public generally that he has opened a house of entertainment at the northeast corner of seventh and cedar streets, and has copied for his sign mr. binn's beautiful copperplate engraving of the declaration of independence, by that justly celebrated artist, mr. woodside:-- "whate'er may tend to soothe the soul below, to dry the tear and blunt the shaft of woe, to drown the ills that discompose the mind, all those who drink at warwick's inn shall find." the revolutionary war developed originality in american tavern signs. the "king's arms," "king's head," "st. george and the dragon," and other british symbols gave place to rampant american eagles and portraits of george washington. every town had a washington tavern, with varied washington sign-boards. that of the washington hotel at salem, massachusetts, is on page . the landlord of the washington inn at holmesburg, pennsylvania, one james carson, issued this address in :-- "ye good and virtuous americans--come! whether business or pleasure be your object--call and be refreshed at the sign of washington. here money and merit will secure you respect and honor, and a hearty welcome to choice liquors and to sumptuous fare. is it cold? you shall find a comfortable fire. is it warm? sweet repose under a cool and grassy shade. in short, every exertion shall be made to grace the sign of the hero and statesman who was first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen." on beach street a tavern, with the name washington crossing the delaware, had as a sign-board a copy of sully's famous picture. this must have been a costly luxury. a similar one used as a bridge sign-board is on page . about one washington tavern in philadelphia, on second and lombard streets, displayed a sign which was a novelty at that time. it was what was known as a "slat-sign"; perpendicular strips or slats were so set on the sign that one view or picture was shown upon taking a full front view, a second by looking at it from one side, a third from the other. the portrait of washington and other appropriate pictures were thus shown. other patriotic designs became common,--the patriotic brothers having a sign representing the temple of liberty with weapons of war. on the steps of the temple a soldier and sailor grasp hands, with the motto, "where liberty dwells, there is my country." a very interesting sign is in the possession of the connecticut historical society. it is shown on page . this sign is unusual in that it is carved in good outline on one side with the british coat of arms, and on the other a full-rigged ship under full sail, flying the union jack. at the top on each side are the letters u. a. h., and . it is enclosed in a heavy frame, with heavy hangers of iron keyed to suspend from a beam. the initials u. a. h. stand for uriah and ann hayden, who kept the tavern for which this board was the sign. it stood near the river in essex, then pettspung parish, in the town of saybrook, connecticut. the sign was relegated to a garret when the british lion and unicorn were in such disrepute in the new land of freedom, and, being forgotten, was thus preserved to our own day. an old sign shown on pages and swung for nearly a century by the roadside before a house called bissell's tavern, at bissell's ferry, east windsor, connecticut. originally it bore an elaborate design of thirteen interlacing rings, each having in its centre the representation of some tree or plant peculiar to the state it designated. these interlacing links surrounded the profile portrait of george washington. above this was the legend, "the united states." beneath this, "entertainment by david bissell, a.d. ." ten years later the words david bissell were painted out and e. wolcott substituted. the date was also placed in both upper corners of the board. in the sign and house came to joseph phelps. a new design was given: a copy of the first gold eagle of , and on the other the reverse side of same coin and the name j. phelps. in j. pelton bought the ferry tavern, and he painted out all of j. phelps's name save the initials, which were his own. he hung the sign on the limb of a big elm tree over the ferry road. [illustration: sign-board of bissell's tavern.] arad stratton, who kept the old tavern at northfield farms, had a splendid eagle on his sign-board, which is shown on page . this tavern built in was pulled down in . william pitt's face and figure frequently appeared on sign-boards. one is shown on page which hung at the door of the pitt tavern in lancaster, pennsylvania. this tavern was kept from to by landlord henry diffenbaugh. the sign-board was painted by an artist named eicholtz, a pupil of sully and of gilbert stuart, whose work he imitated and copied. a small, single-storied ancient tavern used to stand near the old swedes' church. over the door was a sign with an old hen with a brood of chickens; an eagle hovered over them with a crown in its beak; the inscription was: "may the wings of liberty cover the chickens of freedom, and pluck the crown from the enemy's head." this was a high flight of fancy, and the hen and chickens was doubtless vastly admired in those days of high sentiment and patriotism after the revolution. lafayette and franklin showed their fame in many a sign-board. when the sign of the franklin inn was set up in philadelphia in , it bore this couplet:-- "come view your patriot father! and your friend, and toast to freedom and to slavery's end." john hancock was another popular patriot seen on tavern signs. the sign-board which hung for many years before john duggan's hostelry, the hancock tavern in corn court, is shown on page . this portrait crudely resembles one of hancock, by copley, and is said to have been painted by order of hancock's admirer, landlord duggan. at hancock's death it was draped with mourning emblems. it swung for many years over the narrow alley shown on page , till it blew down in a heavy wind and killed a citizen. then it was nailed to the wall, and thereby injured. it was preserved in lexington memorial hall, but has recently been returned to boston. it was natural that horses, coaches, and sporting subjects should be favorites for tavern signs. a very spirited one is that of the perkins inn, at hopkinton, new hampshire, dated , and showing horse, rider, and hounds. the williams tavern of centrebrook, connecticut, stood on the old hartford and saybrook turnpike. one side of its swinging sign displayed a coach and horses. it is shown on page . the other, on page , portrays a well-fed gentleman seated at a well-spread table sedately drinking a glass of wine. sign-boards with figures of horses were common, such as that of the hays tavern, page ; of the conkey tavern, page ; of mowry's inn, page ; and of the pembroke tavern, page . [illustration: sign-board of bissell's tavern.] of course beasts and birds furnished many symbols for sign painters. on the site where the northfield seminary buildings now stand, stood until the old doolittle tavern. it was on the main-travelled road from connecticut through massachusetts to southern new hampshire and vermont. its sign-board, dated , is on page . it bore a large rabbit and two miniature pine trees. joseph cutter, a revolutionary soldier, kept an inn in jaffray, new hampshire, on the "brattleboro' pike" from boston. his sign-board bore the figure of a demure fox. it is shown on page . indian chiefs were a favorite subject for sign-boards; three are here shown, one on page , from the stickney tavern of concord, new hampshire; another on page , from the wells tavern at greenfield meadows, massachusetts; a third on page , from the tarleton inn of haverhill, new hampshire. two beehive taverns, one in philadelphia, one in frankford, each bore the sign-board a beehive with busy bees. the motto on the former, "by industry we thrive," was scarcely so appropriate as-- "here in this hive we're all alive, good liquor makes us funny. if you are dry, step in and try the flavor of our honey." the sign-board of walker's tavern, a famous house of entertainment in charlestown, new hampshire, is shown on page . it bears a beehive and bees. this sign is now owned by the worcester society of antiquity. the washington hotel, at the corner of sixth and carpenter streets, had several landlords, and in became the new theatre hotel. woodside painted a handsome sign, bearing a portrait of the famous old actor and theatrical manager, william warren, as falstaff, with the inscription, "shall i not take mine ease at my inn?" a writer in the _despatch_ says the tavern did not prosper, though its rooms were let for meetings of clubs, societies, audits, and legal proceedings. it was leased by warren himself in , and still the tavern decayed. he left it and died, and the fine sign-board faded, and was succeeded by the plain lettering, fallstaff inn, and the appropriate motto, chosen by warren, gave place to "bring me a cup of sack, hal." the place was a "horrible old rattletrap," and was soon and deservedly demolished. the raleigh inn, in third street, showed the story of the servant throwing water over the nobleman at the sight of smoke issuing from his mouth. this was a favorite tale of the day, and the portrayal of it may be seen in many an old-time picture-book for children. on thirteenth street, near locust, was a sign copied from a london one:-- "i william mcdermott lives here, i sells good porter, ale, and beer, i've made my sign a little wider to let you know i sell good cider." on the germantown road the woodman tavern had a sign-board with a woodman, axe, and the following lines:-- "in freedom's happy land my task of duty done, in mirth's light-hearted band why not the lowly woodman one?" the yellow cottage was a well-known philadelphia tavern, half citified, half countrified. its sign read:-- "rove not from sign to sign, but stop in here, where naught exceeds the prospect but the beer." these lines were a paraphrase of the witty and celebrated sign, said to have been written by dean swift for a barber who kept a public house:-- "rove not from pole to pole, but stop in here, where naught excels the shaving but the beer." sir walter scott, in his _fortunes of nigel_, gives this version as a chapter motto:-- "rove not from pole to pole--the man lives here, whose razor's only equalled by his beer." [illustration: sign-board of william pitt tavern.] entering a large double gate, the passer-by who was seduced by this sign of the yellow cottage walked up a grand walk to this cottage, which was surrounded by a brick pavement about five feet wide which was closely bordered in front and sides by lilac bushes and some shrubs called "washington's bowers." these concealed all the lower story on three sides except the front entrance. if you could pass the bar, you could go out the back entrance to a porch which extended across the back of the house. here card-playing, dominos, etc., constantly went on; thence down a sloping field, at the end of the field, was an exit. on one side of this field was a stable, chicken-house, and pens which always held for view a fat hog or ox or some unusual natural object. shooting parties were held here; quoit-playing, axe-throwing, weight-lifting, etc.; and it had also a charming view of the river. biblical names were not common on tavern sign-boards. "adam and eveses garden" in philadelphia was not a garden of eden. this was and is a common title in england. noah's ark seems somewhat inappropriate. the angel had originally a religious significance. the bible and peacock seems less appropriate than the bible and key, for divination by bible and key has ever been as universal in america as in england. in philadelphia, on shippen street, between third and fourth, was a tavern sign representing a sailor and a woman, separated by these two lines:-- "the sea-worn sailor here will find the porter good, the treatment kind." no doubt thirsty tars found this sign most attractive; more so, i am sure, than the pretentious sign of lebanon tavern, corner of tenth and south streets. this sign was painted by the artist pratt. on one side was neptune in his chariot, surrounded by tritons; underneath the lines:-- "neptune with his triumphant host commands the ocean to be silent, smooths the surface of its waters, and universal calm succeeds." on the other side a marine view of ships, etc., with the lines:-- "now calm at sea and peace on land have blest our continental stores, our fleets are ready, at command, to sway and curb contending powers." [illustration: sign-board of doolittle tavern.] as the sign purveyor dropped easily into verse, albeit of the blankest type, these lines surmounted the door:-- "of the waters of lebanon good cheer, good chocolate, and tea, with kind entertainment by john kennedy." chocolate and tea seem but dull bait to lure the sailor of that day. the three jolly sailors showed their cheerful faces on a sign-board appropriately found on water street. one of the tars was busy strapping a block, and the legend below read:-- "brother sailor! please to stop and lend a hand to strap this block; for if you do not stop or call, i cannot strap this block at all." in castleford, england, the three jolly sailors has a different rhyme:-- "coil up your ropes and anchor here, till better weather does appear." in boston the ship in distress was a copy of a famous sign-board which hung in brighton, england, a century ago. both had the appealing lines:-- "with sorrows i am compassed round, pray lend a hand, my ship's aground." tippling-houses in both philadelphia and boston had a sign-board painted with a tree, a bird, a ship, and a can of beer, and these quaint lines, an excellent tavern rhyme:-- "this is the tree that never grew, this is the bird that never flew, this is the ship that never sailed, this is the mug that never failed." other philadelphia sign-boards of especial allurement to sailors were "the wounded tar," "the top-gallant," "the brig and snow," "the jolly sailors," "the two sloops," "the boatswain and call," and "the dolphin." the sign-board of the poore tavern (page ) shows a ship under full sail. in a small philadelphia alley running from spruce street to lock street, was a sign-board lettered "a man full of trouble." it bore also a picture of a man on whose arm a woman was leaning, and a monkey was perched on his shoulder, and a bird, apparently a parrot, stood on his hand. the woman carried a bandbox, on the top of which sat a cat. this sign has a long history. it was copied from the famous sign-board of an old ale-house still in oxford street, london; (it is here shown, opposite this page). it is said to have been painted by hogarth; at any rate, it is valued enough to be specified in the lease of the premises as one of the fixtures. the name by which it is known in london is the man loaded with mischief. the bird is a magpie, and the woman holds a glass of gin in her hand. in the background at one side is a pot-house, at the other a pawnbroker's shop. the engraving of this sign is signed "drawn by experience, engraved by sorrow," and the rhyme:-- "a monkey, a magpie, and a wife is the true emblem of strife." a similar sign is in norwich, another in blewbury, england. one inn is called the mischief inn, the other the load of mischief. still another, at cambridge, england, showed the man and woman fastened together with a chain and padlock. a kindred french sign-board is called _le trio de malice_ (the trio being a cat, woman, and monkey). an old philadelphia tavern on sixth street, below catherine street, had the curious name, the four alls. the meaning was explained by the painting on the sign, which was a very large one. it represented a palace, on the steps of which stood a king, an officer in uniform, a clergyman in gown and bands, and a laborer in plain dress. the satirical inscription read:-- " . king--i govern all. . general--i fight for all. . minister--i pray for all. . laborer--and i pay for all." [illustration: a man loaded with mischief.] this is an old historic sign, which may still be seen in the streets of malta. in holland, two hundred years ago, there were four figures,--a soldier, parson, lawyer, and farmer. the three said their "all" just as in the philadelphia sign-board, but the farmer answered:-- "of gy vecht, of gy bidt, of gy pleyt, ik bin de boer die de eyeren layt." "you may fight, you may pay, you may plead, but i am the farmer who lays the eggs,"--that is, finds the money for it all. sometimes the english sign-painters changed the lettering to the four awls. there are several epigrams using the word "all"; one, an address to janus i., is in the ashmolean mss. it begins:-- "the lords craved all, the queen granted all, the ladies of honour ruled all," etc. a famous old english sign was "the man making his way through the world." the design was a terrestrial globe with the head and shoulders of a naked man breaking out like a chick out of an egg-shell; his nakedness betokened extreme poverty. in holland a similar sign reads, "thus far have i got through the world." one in england shows the head coming out in russia, while the feet stick out at south america. the man says, "help me through this world." this sign is sometimes called the struggling man. it was displayed in front of a well-known philadelphia inn, and also on one at the south end in boston. the story was told by a revolutionary officer that during that war a forlorn regiment of continentals halted after a weary march from providence, in front of the boston tavern and the struggling man. the soldiers were broken with fatigue, covered with mud, and ravenous for food and drink. one glared angrily at the sign-board and at once roared out with derision: "'list, durn ye! 'list, and you'll get through this world fast enough!" [illustration: sign-board of walker's tavern.] both in philadelphia and boston was found the sign known as the good woman, the quiet woman, or the silent woman, which was a woman without a head. the sign, originally intended to refer to some saint who had met death by losing her head, was naturally too tempting and apparent a joke to be overlooked. new chelmsford in england had until recently a sign-board with the good woman on one side and king henry viii. on the other. in this case the good woman may have been anne boleyn. a popular philadelphia inn was the one which bore the sign of the "golden lion," standing on its hind legs. lions fell into disrepute at the time of the revolution, and the gallant animal that was a lion in its youth became the yellow cat in middle and old age. it was a vastly popular cat, however, vending beer and porter of highest repute. it was kept in ancient fashion unchanged until its antiquity made it an object alike of dignity and interest--in fact, until our own day. with its worn and sanded floor, tables unpainted, and snowy with daily scrubbing; with tallow candles when gas lighted every "saloon" in the city; with the old-time bar fenced up to the ceiling with rails, it had an old age as golden as its youth. susan, an ancient maiden of prehistoric age, fetched up the beer in old pewter mugs on a pewter platter, and presented a pretzel with each mug. the great variety of tavern-signs in philadelphia was noted even by englishmen, who were certainly acquainted with variety and number at home. the englishman palmer wrote during his visit in :-- "we observed several curious tavern signs in philadelphia and on the roadside, among others noah's ark; a variety of apostles; bunyan's pilgrim; a cock on a lion's back, crowing, with liberty issuing from his beak; naval engagements in which the british are in a desperate situation; the most common signs are eagles, heads of public characters, indian kings, &c." there had been so many sign-boards used by business firms in philadelphia, that they had been declared public nuisances, and in all sign-boards, save those of innkeepers, had been ordered to be taken down and removed. from a famous old hostelry in dedham, swung from the years to the sign-board of lieutenant joshua fisher, surveyor, apothecary, innholder, and officer of "ye trayne band," and his son and successor, captain fisher--also joshua. about one of the latter's daughters married dr. nathaniel ames, who had already started that remarkable series of annual publications, familiar now to antiquaries, and once to all new england householders, as _ames' almanack_. the first of these interesting almanacs had appeared in , when ames was only seventeen years old, but he was assisted by his astronomer father. after the death successively of his wife and infant child, the doctor entered into a famous lawsuit with the family of his sisters-in-law for the tenure of the land and inn; and the turning-point of the suit hung upon the settlement of the term "next of kin." by ancient common law and english law real property never ascended, that is, was never inherited by a father or mother from a child; but in absence of husband, wife, or lineal descendant passed on to the "next of kin," which might be a distant cousin. by general interpretation the province laws substituted the so-called civilian method of counting kinship, by which the father could inherit. twice defeated in the courts, dr. ames boldly pushed his case in before the "superior court of judicature, etc., of the province of massachusetts bay," himself preparing unaided both case and argument, and he triumphed. by the province laws he was given full possession of the property inherited by his infant child from the mother--thus the inn became ames tavern. [illustration: drawing for ames' sign-board.] nervous in temperament, excited by his victory, indignant at the injustice and loss to which he had been subjected; he was loudly intolerant of the law's delay, and especially of the failure of chief justice dudley and his associate lynde, to unite with the three other judges, saltonstall, sewall, and cushing, in the verdict; and in anger and derision he had painted for him and his tavern a new and famous sign, and he hung it in front of the tavern in caricature of the court. the sign is gone long ago; but in that entertaining book, _the almanacks of nathaniel ames - _, the author, sam briggs, gives an illustration of the painting from a drawing found among dr. ames' papers after his death, a copy of which is shown on the foregoing page. on the original sketch these words are written:-- "sir:--i wish could have some talk on y{e} above subject, being the bearer waits for an answer shal only observe m{r} greenwood thinks y{t} can not be done under £ old tenor." this was a good price to pay to lampoon the court, for the sign represented the whole court sitting in state in big wigs with an open book before them entitled _province laws_. the dissenting judges, dudley and lynde, were painted with their backs turned to the book. the court, hearing of the offending sign-board, sent the sheriff from boston to bring it before them. dr. ames was in boston at the time, heard of the order, rode with speed to dedham in advance of the sheriff, removed the sign, and it is said had allowance of time sufficient to put up a board for the reception of the officer with this legend, "a wicked and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign, but there shall no sign be given it." the old road house, after this episode in its history, became more famous than ever before; and the almanac was a convenient method of its advertisement, as it was of its distance from other taverns. in the issue of is this notice:-- "advertisement. "these are to signify to all persons that travel the great post-road south west from boston that i keep a house of public entertainment eleven miles from boston at the sign of the sun. if they want refreshment and see cause to be my guests, they shall be well entertained at a reasonable rate. n. ames." here lived the almanac-maker for fifteen years; here were born by a second wife his famous sons, dr. nathaniel ames and hon. fisher ames. here in his successor in matrimony and tavern-keeping, one richard woodward, kept open house in september, , for the famous suffolk convention, where was chosen the committee that drafted the first resolutions in favor of trying the issue with great britain with the sword. my great-grandfather was a member of this convention at ames tavern, and it has always seemed to me that this was the birthplace of the war for independence. during the revolution, as in the french and indian war, the tavern doors swung open with constant excitement and interest. washington, lafayette, hancock, adams, and scores of other patriots sat and drank within its walls. it stood through another war, that of , and in its historic walls were levelled in the dust. the tavern sign-board was not necessarily or universally one of the elaborate emblems i have described. often it was only a board painted legibly with the tavern name. it might be attached to a wooden arm projecting from the tavern or a post; it might be hung from a near-by tree. often a wrought-iron arm, shaped like a fire crane, held the sign-board. the ponderous wooden sign of the barre hotel hung from a substantial frame erected on the green in front of the tavern. two upright poles about twenty feet long were set five feet apart, with a weather-vane on top of each pole. a bar stretched from pole to pole and held the sign-board. a drawing of it from an old print is shown on page . [illustration: buckhorn tavern.] rarely signs were hung from a beam stretched across the road on upright posts. it is said there are twenty-five such still remaining and now in use in england. a friend saw one at the village of barley in herts, the fox and hounds. the figures were cut out of plank and nailed to the cross-beam, the fox escaping into the thatch of the inn with hound in full cry and huntsmen following. silhouetted against the sky, it showed well its inequality of outline. a similar sign of a livery stable in baltimore shows a row of galloping horses. sometimes animals' heads or skins were nailed on a board and used as a sign. ox horns and deer horns were set over the door. the buck horn tavern with its pair of branching buck horns is shown on the opposite page. this tavern stood on broadway and twenty-second street, new york. the proverb "good wine needs no bush" refers to the ancient sign for a tavern, a green bush set on a pole or nailed to the tavern door. this was obsolete, even in colonial days; but in western mining camps and towns in modern days this emblem has been used to point out the barroom or grocery whiskey barrel. the name "green bush" was never a favorite in america. there was a green bush tavern in barrington, rhode island, with a sign-board painted with a green tree. chapter viii the tavern in war the tavern has ever played an important part in social, political, and military life, has helped to make history. from the earliest days when men gathered to talk over the terrors of indian warfare; through the renewal of these fears in the french and indian war; before and after the glories of louisburg; and through all the anxious but steadfast years preceding and during the revolution, these gatherings were held in the ordinaries or taverns. what a scene took place in the brookfield tavern, the town being then called quawbaug! the only ordinary, that of goodman ayers, was a garrison house as well as tavern, and the sturdy landlord was commander of the train-band. when the outbreak called king philip's war took place, things looked black for quawbaug. hostile and treacherous indians set upon the little frontier settlement, and the frightened families retreated from their scarcely cleared farms to the tavern. many of the men were killed and wounded at the beginning of the fray, but there were eighty-two persons, men, women, and children, shut up within the tavern walls, and soon there were four more, for two women gave birth to twins. the indians, "like so many wild bulls," says a witness, shot into the house, piled up hay and wood against the walls, and set it on fire. but the men sallied out and quenched the flames. the next night the savages renewed their attack. "they used several stratagems to fire us, namely, by wild-fire on cotton and linen rags with brimstone in them, which rags they tied to the piles of their arrows sharp for the purpose and shot them to the roof of our house after they had set them on fire, which would have much endangered in the burning thereof, had we not used means by cutting holes through the roof and otherwise to beat the said arrows down, and god being pleased to prosper our endeavours therein." again they piled hay and flax against the house and fired it; again the brave englishmen went forth and put out the flames. then the wily indians loaded a cart with inflammable material and thrust it down the hill to the tavern. but the lord sent a rain for the salvation of his people, and when all were exhausted with the smoke, the august heat, the fumes of brimstone, and the burning powder, relief came in a body of men from groton and one brought by a brave young man who had made his way by stealth from the besieged tavern to boston. many of the old garrison houses of new england had, as taverns, a peaceful end of their days. a centre of events, a centre of alarms, the tavern in many a large city saw the most thrilling acts in our revolutionary struggle which took place off the battlefields. the tavern was the rendezvous for patriotic bands who listened to the stirring words of american rebels, and mixed dark treason to king george with every bowl of punch they drank. the story of our war for independence could not be dissociated from the old taverns, they are a part of our national history; and those which still stand are among our most interesting revolutionary relics. john adams left us a good contemporaneous picture of the first notes of dissatisfaction such as were heard in every tavern, in every town, in the years which were leading up to the revolution. he wrote:-- "within the course of the year, before the meeting of congress in , on a journey to some of our circuit courts in massachusetts, i stopped one night at a tavern in shrewsbury about forty miles from boston, and as i was cold and wet, i sat down at a good fire in the bar-room to dry my great-coat and saddle-bags, till a fire could be made in my chamber. there presently came in, one after another, half a dozen, or half a score substantial yeomen of the neighborhood, who, sitting down to the fire after lighting their pipes, began a lively conversation on politics. as i believed i was unknown to all of them, i sat in total silence to hear them. one said, 'the people of boston are distracted.' another answered, 'no wonder the people of boston are distracted. oppression will make wise men mad.' a third said, 'what would you say if a fellow should come to your house and tell you he was come to take a list of your cattle, that parliament might tax you for them at so much a head? and how should you feel if he was to go and break open your barn or take down your oxen, cows, horses, and sheep?' 'what should i say?' replied the first, 'i would knock him in the head.' 'well,' said a fourth, 'if parliament can take away mr. hancock's wharf and mr. rowe's wharf, they can take away your barn and my house.' after much more reasoning in this style, a fifth, who had as yet been silent, broke out: 'well, it's high time for us to rebel; we must rebel some time or other, and we had better rebel now than at any time to come. if we put it off for ten or twenty years, and let them go on as they have begun, they will get a strong party among us, and plague us a great deal more than they can now.'" [illustration: old north bridge, concord, mass.] these discussions soon brought decisions, and by the sons of liberty were organized and were holding their meetings, explaining conditions, and advocating union and action. they adopted the name given by colonel barré to the enemies of passive obedience in america. soon scores of towns in the colonies had their liberty trees or liberty poles. these patriots grew amazingly bold in proclaiming their dissatisfaction with the crown and their allegiance to their new nation. the landlord of the tavern at york, maine, speedily set up a sign-board bearing a portrait of pitt and the words, "entertainment for the sons of liberty." young women formed into companies called daughters of liberty, pledged to wear homespun and drink no tea. i have told the story of feminine revolt at length in my book _colonial dames and goodwives_. john adams glowed with enthusiasm when he heard two worcester girls sing the "new liberty song," in a worcester tavern. in a liberty tree was dedicated in providence, rhode island. it was a vast elm which stood in the dooryard of the olney tavern on constitution hill. on a platform built in its branches about twenty feet from the ground, stood the orator of the day, and in an eloquent discourse dedicated the tree to the cause of liberty. in the trying years that followed, the wise fathers and young enthusiasts of providence gathered under its branches for counsel. the most famous of these trees of patriotism was the liberty tree of boston. it stood near a tavern of the same name at the junction of essex and washington streets, then known as hanover square. the name was given in at a patriotic celebration in honor of the expected repeal of the stamp act. even before that time effigies of lord oliver and a boot for lord bute, placards and mottoes had hung from its branches. a metal plate was soon attached to it, bearing this legend, "this tree was planted in and pruned by order of the sons of liberty february , ." under the tree and at the tavern met all patriot bands, until the tree was cut down by the roistering british soldiers and supplied them with fourteen cords of firewood. the tavern stood till . a picture of the boston liberty tree and tavern of the same name is shown on the opposite page. it is from an old drawing. [illustration: boston liberty tree and tavern.] the fourteenth of august, , was a merry day in boston and vicinity. the sons of liberty, after assembling at the liberty tree in boston, all adjourned for dinner at the liberty tree tavern, or robinson's tavern in dorchester. tables were spread in an adjoining field under a tent, and over three hundred people sat down to an abundant feast, which included three barbecued pigs. speeches and songs inspired and livened the diners. the last toast given was, "strong halters, firm blocks, and sharp axes to all such as deserve them." at five o'clock the boston sons, headed by john hancock in his chariot, started for home. although fourteen toasts were given in boston and forty-five in dorchester, john adams says in his diary that "to the honor of the sons i did not see one person intoxicated or near it." [illustration: stavers inn.] the tavern in portsmouth, new hampshire, known by the sign of earl of halifax, was regarded by portsmouth patriots as a hotbed of tories. it had always been the resort of government officials; and in , the meeting of these laced and ruffled gentlemen became most obnoxious to the sons of liberty, and soon a mob gathered in front of the tavern, and the irate landlord heard the blows of an axe cutting down his earl of halifax sign-post. seizing an axe he thrust it into the hands of one of his powerful negro slaves, telling him to go and threaten the chopper of the sign-post. excited by the riotous scene, the black man, without a word, at once dealt a powerful blow upon the head of a man named noble, who was wielding the encroaching axe. noble lived forty years after this blow, but never had his reason. this terrible assault of course enraged the mob, and a general assault was made on the tavern; windows and doors were broken; landlord stavers fled on horseback, and the terrified black man was found in a cistern in the tavern cellar, up to his chin in water. when stavers returned, he was seized by the committee of safety and thrust into exeter jail. he took the oath of allegiance and returned to his battered house. he would not reglaze the broken windows, but boarded them up, and it is said that many a distinguished group of officers feasted in rooms without a pane of glass in the windows. popular opinion was against the earl of halifax, however, and when the old sign-board was touched up, the name of william pitt, the friend of america, appeared on the sign. the portion of the old earl of halifax or stavers inn which is still standing is shown in its forlorn old age on the opposite page. mr. george davenport, of boston, a lineal descendant of old william davenport, owns one of the most interesting tavern bills i have ever seen. it is of the old wolfe tavern at newburyport. to those who can read between the lines it reveals means and methods which were calculated to arouse enthusiasm and create public sentiment during the exciting days of the stamp act. the bill and its items read thus:-- "dr. messrs. joseph stanwood & others of the town of newburyport for sunday expences at my house on thirsday, septr. th, a.d. . at the grate uneasiness and tumult on occasion of the stamp act. to william davenport old tenor to double bowls punch by capt. robud's order £ , , to double bowls of punch , , to double bowl of egg toddy to double punch / single bowl / , , to double bowl punch / double bowl toddy / , , to bowl punch / bowl toddy / , to double bowl toddy / bowl punch / , , to double bowl punch / nip toddy / , , to mug flip / to a thrible bowl punch / , , to double bowl punch / to a thrible bowl ditto / , , to double bowl punch / , , to a double bowl punch / , , to thrible bowl punch / double bowl ditto / , , to double bowl punch / bowl ditto / , , to double bowl punch / to double ditto / bowl , to lemons / to bowl of punch / , , to double bowls punch , to double bowle punch / bowl punch / , , to double bowles punch / to bowl punch / , , to bowl punch / to bowl punch / , , to the suppers which were cooked hot , to double bowles punch after supper to double bowl toddy / bowl punch / , , to bowl egg toddy / to pintes and / of spirits @ / per pint , to a breakfast of coffee for sd company , ----------- , , lawful money , , - / newbury port sept. . errors excepted william davenport." [illustration: handbill of wolfe tavern.] there was also a credit account of eleven pounds received in various sums from captain robud, richard farrow, and one celeby. it is impossible to do more than to name, almost at haphazard, a few of the taverns that had some share in scenes of revolutionary struggle. many served as court-rooms when court-martials were held; others were seized for military prisons; others were fired upon; others served as barracks; some as officers' headquarters; others held secret meetings of patriots; many were used as hospitals. many an old tavern is still standing which saw these scenes in the revolutionary war. a splendid group of these hale and hearty old veterans is found in the rural towns near boston. at the wright tavern, in concord (shown on page ), lodged major pitcairn, the british commander, and in the parlor on the morning before the battle of concord, he stirred his glass of brandy with his bloody finger, saying he would thus stir the rebel's blood before night. the monroe tavern, of lexington (facing page ), was the headquarters of lord percy on the famous th of april, . the buckman tavern, of the same town (page ), was the rallying place of the minute men on april th, and contains many a bullet hole made by the shots of british soldiers. the cooper tavern (page ) and the russel tavern (page ), both of arlington, were also scenes of activity and participation in the war. the wayside inn of sudbury (page ) and the black horse tavern of winchester were the scenes of the reassembling of the soldiers after the battle of lexington. [illustration: sign-board of wolfe tavern.] on the south side of faneuil hall square in boston, a narrow passageway leads into the gloomy recesses of a yard or court of irregular shape; this is corn court, and in the middle of this court stands, overshadowed by tall modern neighbors, the oldest inn in boston. it has been raised and added to, and disfigured with vast painted signs, and hideous fire escapes, but within still retains its taproom and ancient appearance. as early as , samuel cole had an ordinary on this spot, and in , governor vane entertained there miantonomah and his twenty warriors. this building, built nearly two centuries ago, was given the name of hancock in , when he became governor. in , talleyrand was a guest at this old hostelry, and louis philippe in . washington, franklin, and scores of other patriots have tarried within its walls; and in its taproom were held meetings of the historic boston tea-party. the green dragon inn was one of the most famous of historic taverns. a representation of it from an old print is shown on page . the metal dragon which gave the name projected from the wall on an iron rod. warren was the first grand master of the first grand lodge of masons that held its meetings at this inn; and other patriots came to the inn to confer with him on the troublous times. the inn was a famous resort for the sturdy mechanics of the north end. paul revere wrote:-- "in the fall of and winter of , i was one of upwards of thirty men, chiefly mechanics, who formed ourselves with a committee for the purpose of watching the movements of the british soldiers and gaining every intelligence of the movements of the tories. we held our meetings at the green dragon tavern. this committee were astonished to find all their secrets known to general gage, although every time they met every member swore not to reveal their transactions even to hancock, adams, otis, warren or church." the latter, dr. church, proved to be the traitor. the mass meeting of these mechanics and their friends held in this inn when the question of the adoption of the federal constitution was being considered was deemed by samuel adams one of the most important factors of its acceptance. daniel webster styled the green dragon the headquarters of the revolution. during the war it was used as a hospital. [illustration: hancock tavern.] it is pleasant to note how many old taverns in new england, though no longer public hostelries, still are occupied by descendants of the original owners. such is the home of hon. john winn in burlington, massachusetts. it stands on the road to lowell by way of woburn, about eleven miles out of boston. the house was used at the time of the battle of bunker hill as a storage-place for the valuables of boston and charlestown families. the present home of the winns was built in upon the exact site of the house built in by the first edward winn, the emigrant. in it the first white child was born in the town of woburn, december , . the tavern was kept in revolutionary days by lieutenant joseph winn, who marched off to join the lexington farmers on april , , at two o'clock in the morning, when the alarm came "to every middlesex village and farm" to gather against the redcoats. he came home late that night, and fought again at bunker hill. the tavern sign bore the coat of arms of the winns; it was--not to use strict heraldic terms--three spread eagles on a shield. as it was not painted with any too strict obedience to the rules of heraldry or art, nor was it hung in a community that had any very profound knowledge or reverence on either subject, the three noble birds soon received a comparatively degraded title, and the sign-board and tavern were known as the three broiled chickens. a building in new york which was owned by the de lanceys before it became a public house is still standing on the southeast corner of broad and pearl streets; its name is well known to-day, fraunces' tavern. this name came from the stewardship of samuel fraunces, "black sam," a soldier of the american revolution. the tavern originally bore a sign with the device of the head of queen charlotte, and was known as the queen's head, but in revolutionary times black sam was a patriot, and in his house were held many patriotic and public meetings. the most famous of these meetings, one which has given the name of washington's headquarters to the tavern, was held in the long room on december , : whereat washington sadly bade farewell to his fellow-officers who had fought with him in the war for independence. in this room, ten days previously, had been celebrated the evacuation of the city of new york by the british, by a dinner given to general washington by governor clinton, at which the significant thirteen toasts were drunk to the new nation. black sam was a public benefactor as well as a patriot. he established a course of lectures on natural philosophy, and opened an exhibition of wax figures, seventy in all, for the amusement of new yorkers. his story, and that of the tavern bearing his name, have been told at length many times in print. [illustration: sam fraunces.] another interesting revolutionary inn in new york was the golden hill inn. the general estimate of the date of its building is ; then william street was a golden grainfield, on one corner of the damon farm. after three-quarters of a century of good hospitality it was chosen as the headquarters of the sons of liberty in new york, and within its walls gathered the committee in , to protest against lieutenant-governor colden's dictum that the colonists must pay for supplies for the british soldiers. the result was a call for a meeting of the citizens and the governor's angry offer of a reward for knowledge of the place of meeting. the cutting down of the liberty pole on the night of january , , and the seizure of four red-coats by the patriots ended in a fight in the inn garden and the death of one patriot. a century of stirring life followed until , when the old tavern sadly closed its doors under the pressure of the raines law. the keeler tavern was a famous hostelry for travellers between new york and boston. its old sign-board is shown on page . during the revolution, landlord keeler was well known to be a patriot, and was suspected of manufacturing cartridges in his tavern. the british poured a special fire upon the building, and one cannon ball lodged in a timber on the north side of the house still is to be seen by drawing aside the shingle that usually conceals it. a companion cannon ball whistled so close to a man who was climbing the stairs of the house that he tumbled down backward screaming, "i'm a dead man," until his friends with difficulty silenced him, and assured him he was living. a son of the landlord, jeremiah keeler, enlisted in the continental army when but seventeen; he became a sergeant, and was the first man to scale the english breastworks at yorktown. he was presented with a sword by his commanding officer, lafayette, and it is still preserved. when lafayette made his triumphal progress through the united states in , he visited ridgefield and the tavern to see jeremiah keeler, and a big ball was given in the tavern in his honor. jerome bonaparte and his beautiful baltimore bride stopped there in . oliver wolcott and timothy pickering were other sojourners under its roof. peter parley gave to the keeler tavern the palm for good cooking. the old conkey tavern at prescott, massachusetts, saw the gathering of a very futile but picturesque windstorm of revolutionary grievance. it was built in by william conkey, on a lovely but lonely valley midway between the east and west hills of pelham. the swift river running through this valley was made the boundary in the town division in , which made eastern pelham into prescott. captain daniel shays, the leader of shays' rebellion, lived half a mile from the tavern on the centre range road. in the cheerful rooms of this tavern, shays, aided by the well-stocked tavern-bar, incited the debt-burdened farmers to rebel against their state government. here he drilled his "flood-wood," and from hence he led them forth to springfield, and on january , , was promptly repulsed by the state militia under general lincoln. eleven hundred men trooped back to pelham, and after four days of what must have proved scant and cold fare in those barren winter hilltops, again sallied out to petersham. here he was again routed by lincoln, who, with his men, had marched thirty miles without halt, from eight o'clock at night to nine the following morning through a blinding, northeast new england snowstorm. a hundred and fifty of shays' men were captured, but their valiant and wordy leader escaped. [illustration: green dragon tavern.] when the photograph (shown opposite page ) was taken, in , the old timbers within the house were sound and firm, and the beams overhead still bore the marks of the muskets of shays' impatient men. it was a characteristic "deserted home" of new england. nothing could more fully picture whittier's lines:-- "against the wooded hills it stands, ghost of a dead house; staring through its broken lights on wasted lands where old-time harvests grew. "unploughed, unsown, by scythe unshorn, the poor forsaken farm-fields lie, once rich and rife with golden corn and pale-green breadths of rye. "so sad, so drear; it seems almost some haunting presence makes its sign, that down some shadowy lane some ghost might drive his spectral kine." since then the old tavern has fallen down, a sad ruin, like many another on new england hills, in a country as wild and lonely, probably far lonelier, than in the days of the revolution and shays' rebellion. the sign-board (page ) is still preserved. eighteenth-century taverns had a special function which had a bearing on their war relations; they were "improved" as recruiting offices. during the years to , and from to , while england was at war with france, the "listing" was brisk. here is a typical advertisement dated :-- "all able-bodied fit men that have an inclination to serve his majesty king george the second, in the first independent company of rangers, now in the province of _nova scotia_ commanded by _joseph gorham, esq._; shall, on enlisting, receive good pay and cloathing, a large bounty, with a crown to drink the king's health. and by repairing to the sign of the bear in king-street, _boston_, and to mr. _cornelius crocker_, innholder in _barnstable_, may hear the particular encouragement, and many advantages accruing to a soldier, in the course of the duty of that company, too long to insert here; and further may depend on being discharged at the expiration of the time entertain'd for, and to have every other encouragement punctually compli'd with." [illustration: conkey tavern.] in the "french war of ," the governor of jamaica sent his "leftenants" to philadelphia to fill up his regiments. it was worth "listing" at the widow roberts' coffee-house in those days, when every "sojer" got six shillings a week extra, and his family carried free to antigua if he wished it, and land to settle on in that glorious country when war was over. brisk and cheerful was the enrolment, and i trust all lived happy ever after in the tropic land, so far away in miles and environment from the quaker town of their youth. it was pleasant work, also, for "gentlemen sailors" in . the colonies whisked out on the high seas that year a hundred and thirteen full-manned privateers. wealthy merchants gathered around the inn tables to join fortunes in these ventures; plans were quickly matured; and the articles of agreement signed by these rich ship-owners were quickly followed by articles of agreement to be signed by the seamen. oh, what prizes these cruisers brought into port! there are no items in the newspapers of that day under the head of philadelphia and new york news save lists of prizes. when these half-pirates came in, cannon were fired, the whole town turned out, and the taverns were filled with rejoicings. the names of the ships and their captains were household words. the captured cargoes were carried ashore; inventories were posted in the taprooms, and often the goods were sold within the welcoming tavern doors. [illustration: sign-board of conkey tavern.] it has been said that taverns bearing names of ships, maritime phrases, and seafaring titles were usually chosen as shipping offices for the enlistment of privateersmen and marines on men-of-war. it is more probable that the most popular tavern in any locality frequented by sailors and seamen was the one chosen, whatever its name. in the _boston post boy_ of june, , is the following notice:-- "now bound on a cruize of six months against his majesties enemies, the brigantine _tartar_, a prime sailor mounting fourteen six pounders, twenty culverines, and will carry one hundred and twenty men. commanded by william augustus peck. all gentlemen seamen and able bodied landsmen who have a mind to make their fortunes, and are inclined to take a cruize in this said vessel, by applying at this king's head tavern at the north end, may view the articles which are more advantageous to the ship's company than were ever before offered in this place." to those who know the condition of jack tar aboard ship a century ago, and the attitude which captain peck doubtless assumed to his seamen the moment the _tartar_ was started on this "cruize," there is a sarcastic pleasantry in the term gentlemen seamen used by him in common with other captains ashore, that might be swallowed in a taproom with bowls of grog and flip, but would never go down smoothly on shipboard. gentlemen sailors were frequently impressed in a very different manner. the press-gang was one of the peculiar institutions of great britain, and its aggressive outrages formed one of the causes of "madison's war," as old people liked to term the war of . the _virginia gazette_ of the first of october, , tells of a far different scene from that indicated by the plausible words of captain peck; one in which a norfolk tavern took a part:-- "it appears that captain morgan of the hornet, sloop of war, concerted a bloody riotous plan, to impress seamen, at norfolk, virginia, for which purpose his tender was equipped with guns and men, and under cover of the night, said morgan landed at a public wharff, having first made proper dispositions either for an attack or retreat; then went to a tavern, and took a chearful glass, after which they went to work and took every person they met with and knock'd all down that resisted; and dragg'd them on board the tender but the town soon took the alarm, and being headed by paul loyal, esq., a magistrate, they endeavor'd to convince captain morgan of his error; but being deaf to all they said he ordered the people in the tender to fire on the inhabitants, but they refused to obey their commander's orders and he was soon oblig'd to fly, leaving some of his hornets behind, who were sent to gaol." [illustration: naval pitcher.] it is astonishing to read of such ruffianly kidnappings under the protection of the british government, and to know that seamen and sailors who had been so treated would assist in such outrages on others. it is only one of the many proofs that we meet everywhere in history of the thick-skinned indifference and cruelty of nearly all of the human race a century ago. it was far worse in these matters in england than in the colonies. mr. ashton tells us that in one night over two thousand one hundred men were pressed in london alone. riot and bloodshed accompanied those infamous raids; sometimes a whole town turned out to resist the officers and ship's men. chapter ix the tavern panorama we have to-day scores of places of amusement, and means of amusement, where in earlier days all diversions centred at the tavern. the furnishing of food and shelter to travellers and to horses, and of liquid comfort to neighbors, was not the only function of the tavern, nor the meeting for cheerful interchange of news and sentiment. whatever there was of novelty in entertainment or instruction, was delivered at the tavern, and it served as the gathering place for folk on scores of duties or pleasures bent. there was in fact a constant panorama passing within the walls and before the doors of an old tavern, not only in the shape of distinguished, picturesque, and unwonted guests, but through the variety of uses to which the tavern was put. it would be impossible to enumerate them all. many of the chapters of this book indicate some of them. we can simply glance at a few more of the most common and of the most interesting ones. though guests of colonial days are often named as having visited the old taverns which still linger intact, the names of importance which are most frequently heard are those of revolutionary heroes and visitors, those of franklin, washington, and lafayette being most proudly enumerated. franklin was a great local traveller. his post-office affairs took him frequently along the road. he was fond of visiting, and people were naturally fond of having him visit them. he was such a welcome guest that he need not have entered a tavern from maine to georgia. washington made several trips through the states, one of much ceremony. he gives the names of the taverns at which he stopped. i have been in tavern-rooms honored a century ago by the sleeping presence of washington, but i have never slept in them. i would rather look at them than sleep in them; and i have moralized over the simplicity and lack of luxury which was the best that the tavern could offer, even to that great man. lafayette was made welcome in many private houses in his tour in , but he also was a tavern guest. his journal is preserved in paris, untranslated. in it he tells of seeing the well-known landing of lafayette plates and dishes for the first time at a tavern in a small town in western new york. all the statesmen of the south stopped at taverns on the old national road: harrison, houston, taylor, polk, and allen. homespun davy crockett, popular general jackson, stately henry clay, furnished a show for the country by-standers to gape at. in the northern states daniel webster was the god whose coming was adored. a halo of glory shed by his presence still hangs round many a tavern room, and well it may, for he was a giant among men. [illustration: washington tavern, north wilbraham, massachusetts.] to show the variety of the tavern panorama let me quote what edwin lasseter bynner wrote of the inns of boston:-- "they were the centres of so much of its life and affairs, the resort at once of judge and jury, of the clergy and the laity, of the politician and the merchant; where the selectmen came to talk over the affairs of the town, and higher officials to discuss the higher interests of the province; where royal governors and distinguished strangers were entertained alike with the humblest wayfarer and the meanest citizen; where were held the carousals of roistering red-coat officers, and the midnight plottings of muttering stern-lipped patriots; where, in fine, the swaggering ensign of the royal army, the frowning puritan, the obnoxious quaker, the huguenot refugee, and the savage indian chief from the neighboring forest might perchance jostle each other in the common taproom." naturally the tavern proved the exhibition place and temporary lodging-place of all secular shows which could not be housed in the meeting-house. it contained the second assembly room in size, and often the only other large room in town save that devoted to religious gatherings. hence, when in salem in "the sentimentalists and all volontiers who are pleased to encourage the extensive propogation of polite literature" were invited to attend a book auction by a "provedore and professor of auctioneering," this sale of books was held at mr. goodhue's tavern. at the american coffee-house in boston the firm that vendued books within doors also sold jackasses on the street. "monstrous sights" found at the tavern a congenial temporary home, where discussion of their appearance was held before the tavern bar, while the tavern barn restrained and confined the monster if he chanced to be a wild beast. a moose, a walrus, a camel, a lion, a leopard, appeared in succession in salem taverns, chiefly at the black horse. then came a wonder of natural history, a pygarg, said to be from russia. we have a description of it: it had "the likeness of a camel, bear, mule, goat, and common bullock"; it is spoken of in the book of deuteronomy, chapter xiv. i am not sure that we would recognize our native american moose if he were not called by name, in the creature advertised as having "a face like a mouse, ears like an ass, neck and back like a camel, hind-parts like a horse, tail like a rabbit, and feet like a heifer." cassowaries, learned pigs, learned horses, and rabbits were shown for petty sums. deformed beasts and persons were exhibited. pictures, "prospects," statues, elaborate clocks, moving puppets, and many mechanical contrivances could be viewed in the tavern parlor. "electrical machines" were the wonder of their day. solemn professors and gay "fakirs" exhibited them from tavern to tavern. the first lightning-rods also made a great show. shortly after the invention of balloons, came their advent as popular shows in many towns. they often ascended from the green in front of the tavern. they bore many pompous names,--"archimedial phaetons," "vertical aerial coaches," "patent foederal balloons." the public was assured that "persons of timid nature" would find nothing to terrify them in the ascent. they were not only recommended as engines of amusement and wonder, but were urged upon "invaletudinarians" as hygienic factors, in that they caused in the ascent the "sudden revulsion of the blood and humours" of aeronautic travellers. the bunch of grapes housed mr. douglas when he delivered his famous lecture on "heads, coats of arms, wigs, ladies' head dresses," etc.; it was an office for john hurd, an early insurance broker, chiefly for marine risks. nearly all the first insurance offices were in taverns. [illustration: black horse tavern, salem, massachusetts.] one intelligent chronicler relates:-- "the taverns of boston were the original business exchanges; they combined the counting house, the exchange-office, the reading-room, and the bank: each represented a locality. to the lamb tavern, called by the sailors 'sheep's baby,' people went 'to see a man from dedham'--it was the resort of all from norfolk county. the old eastern stage house in ann street was frequented by 'down easters,' captains of vessels, formerly from the penobscot and kennebec; there were to be seen groups of sturdy men seated round an enormous fire-place, chalking down the price of bark and lumber, and shippers bringing in a vagrant tarpaulin to 'sign the articles.' to the exchange coffee-house resorted the nabobs of essex county; here those aristocratic eastern towns, newburyport and portsmouth, were represented by ship owners and ship builders, merchants of the first class." the first attempt at the production of plays in new england was a signal for prompt and vital opposition. little plays called drolls were exhibited in the taverns and coffee-houses; such plays as _pickle herring_, _taylor riding to brentford_, _harlequin and scaramouch_. about two young english strollers produced what must have been a mightily bald rendering of _otway's orphans_ in a boston coffee-house; this was a step too far in frivolity, and stern boston magistrates took rigid care there were no more similar offences. many ingenious ruses were invented and presented to the public to avoid the hated term and conceal the hated fact of play acting. "histrionic academies" were a sneaking introduction of plays. in a clever but sanctimonious manager succeeded in crowding his company and his play into a newport tavern. here is his truckling play-bill:-- "kings arms tavern newport rhode island on monday, june th, at the public room of the above inn will be delivered a series of moral dialogues _in five parts_ depicting the evil effects of jealousy and other bad passions and proving that happiness can only spring from the pursuit of virtue. mr. douglass--will represent a noble magnanimous moor called othello, who loves a young lady named desdemona, and, after he marries her, harbours (as in too many cases) the dreadful passion of jealousy. _of jealousy, our being's bane mark the small cause and the most dreadful pain._ mr. allyn--will depict the character of a specious villain, in the regiment of othello, who is so base as to hate his commander on mere suspicion and to impose on his best friend. of such characters, it is to be feared, there are thousands in the world, and the one in question may present to us a salutary warning. _the man that wrongs his master and his friend what can he come to but a shameful end?_ mr. hallam--will delineate a young and thoughtless officer who is traduced by mr. allyn and, getting drunk, loses his situation and his general's esteem. all young men whatsoever take example from cassio. _the ill effects of drinking would you see? be warned and fly from evil company._ mr. morris--will represent an old gentleman, the father of desdemona, who is not cruel or covetous, but is foolish enough to dislike the noble moor, his son-in-law, because his face is not white, forgetting that we all spring from one root. such prejudices are very numerous and very wrong. _fathers beware what sense and love ye lack! 'tis crime, not colour, that makes the being black._ mr. quelch--will depict a fool who wishes to become a knave, and, trusting to one, gets killed by one. such is the friendship of rogues! take heed! _where fools would become, how often you'll perceive the knave not wiser than the fool._ mrs. morris--will represent a young and virtuous wife, who being wrongfully suspected, gets smothered (in an adjoining room) by her husband. _reader, attend, and ere thou goest hence let fall a tear to helpless innocence._ mrs. douglass--will be her faithful attendant who will hold out a good example to all servants male and female, and to all people in subjection. _obedience and gratitude are things as rare as they are good._ various other dialogues, too numerous to mention here, will be delivered at night, all adapted to the mind and manners. the whole will be repeated on wednesday and on saturday. tickets, six shillings each, to be had within. commencement at . conclusion at half-past ten: in order that every spectator may go home at a sober hour and reflect upon what he has seen, before he retired to rest. god save the king long may he sway. east, north, and south and fair america." we can see the little public room of the tavern with its rows of chairs and benches at one end and the group of starveling actors at the other, who never played a greater farce than when they set up as being solely ministers of piety and virtue. "consorts" of music were given in the taverns, and, most exciting of all, lotteries were drawn there. this licensed and highly approved form of gambling had the sanction of the law and the participation of every community. churches had lotteries "for promoting public worship and the advancement of religion." colleges and schools thus increased their endowments. towns and states raised money to pay the public debt by means of lotteries. [illustration: stickney tavern.] it was asserted that "the interests of literature and learning were supported, the arts and sciences were encouraged, religion was extended, the wastes of war were repaired, inundation prevented, travel increased, and the burthen of taxes lessened by lotteries." many private lotteries were drawn at the taverns, which were thronged at that time with excited ticket-owners. lodges of freemasons in america, following the custom which prevailed in england, met at the taverns. in philadelphia they met at peg mullen's beefsteak house. the lodges were often known by the names of the taverns at which the meetings were held. one boston lodge met at the royal exchange tavern, and hence was known by its name. that hostelry was, however, so popular with the visiting public that sometimes the brethren had to suspend their meetings for want of room. in december, , the masons of boston celebrated the feast of st. john, and appeared in procession on the streets. this excited the greatest curiosity and ridicule. joseph green wrote a poem in which the chief object of his wit was luke vardy, the keeper of the royal exchange:-- "where's honest luke, that cook from london? for without luke the lodge is undone. 'twas he who oft dispell'd their sadness, and filled the _brethren's_ hearts with gladness. _luke_ in return is made a brother as good and true as any other. and still, though broke with age and wine, preserves the _token_ and the _sign_." massachusetts grand lodge organized at green dragon, and the first lodge of all, st. john's lodge, met in at the bunch of grapes in king (now state) street. one of the three bunches of grapes that formed the original tavern sign still hangs in front of the lodge room of st. john's lodge in masonic temple, boston. this tavern had an early and lasting reputation as "the best punch-house in boston." in revolutionary days it became the headquarters of high whigs, and a scarlet coat was an inflammatory signal in that taproom. the "whig tavern" was a proper centre for popular gatherings after the evacuation of boston; general stark's victory at bennington was celebrated there "to high taste," says a participant. the firing of cannon, discharge of rockets, playing of fifes and drums, made satisfactory noise. the gentlemen had ample liquor within doors, and two barrels of grog were distributed to outsiders on the streets--all "with the greatest propriety." when general stark arrived, a few weeks later, there was equal rejoicing. the glories of the entertainment of washington and a series of gallant soldiers and distinguished travellers do not, perhaps, reflect the honor upon the old tavern that comes from its having been the scene of a most significant fact in our history. it was the gathering place and place of organization of the ohio company--the first concerted movement of new england toward the great west. [illustration: sign-board of keeler's tavern.] the famous craft's tavern in the little town of walpole, new hampshire, kept by major asa bullard, was the gathering place in of one of the most brilliant groups of writers ever engaged in a literary undertaking in this country. it was called the literary club of walpole, and is a landmark in the literary life of new england. in this rustic new hampshire tavern this club might repeat beaumont's lines to jonson beginning:-- "what things have we seen done at the mermaid, heard words that have been so nimble, and so full of subtle flame." [illustration: plate, nahant hotel.] the head of this yankee collection of wits was the lay preacher, joseph dennie, who, at the death of the novelist, charles brockden brown, was the only man in the united states who made a profession of literature. he was born in boston, studied law in charlestown, new hampshire, then an important and bustling town, went to walpole, and became conductor of the _new hampshire journal and farmer's museum_. for this newspaper and in this craft's tavern he wrote his famous _lay sermons_ which were read from maine to georgia. in the talented tavern circle was royall tyler, author of the play _the contrast_ and the novel _the algerine captive_. he became chief justice of vermont. another contributor was david everett, author of the well-known juvenile spouting-piece, beginning:-- "you'd scarce expect one of my age to speak in public on the stage." still another, thomas g. fessenden, wrote _terrible tractoration_. it was a day of pseudonyms; fessenden wrote as simon spunky and christopher caustic; everett called himself peter peveril; isaac story was peter quinn; dennie was oliver old-school; tyler was colon and spondee. a day of great sport at the tavern was when there was a turkey-shoot; these often took place on thanksgiving day. notices such as this were frequently found in the autumnal newspapers:-- "sharp-shooting. "thos. d. ponsland informs his friends and the friends of _sport_ that he will on friday, th day of december next, set up for shooting a number of fine fat turkeys and invites all _gunners_ and others who would wish to recreate themselves to call on the day after thanksgiving at the old bakers' tavern, upp. parish beverly, where every accommodation would be afforded." in the _boston evening post_ of january , , notice was given that "a bear and number of turkeys" would be set up as a mark at the punch bowl tavern in brookline. captain basil hall, travelling in america in , was much surprised at the account of one of these turkey-shoots, which he thus fully describes:-- "at a country inn bearing the english name of andover, close to the indian river shawsheen, i observed the following printed bill stuck up in the bar. sportsmen attend fowls will be set up for the sportsmen at the subscriber's hotel in tewksbury, on friday the october, inst. at a.m. gentlemen of tewksbury, lowell and vicinity are invited to attend. william hardy. "this placard was utterly unintelligible to me; and the landlord laughed at my curiosity but good humouredly enlightened my ignorance by explaining that these shooting matches were so common in america, that he had no doubt i would fall in with them often. i regretted very much having passed one day too late for this transatlantic battle. it appears that these birds were literally barn door fowls, placed at certain distances, and fired at by any one who chooses to pay the allotted sum for a shot. if he kills the bird, he is allowed to carry it off; otherwise, like a true sportsman, he has the amusement for his money. cocks and hens being small birds, are placed at the distance of feet; and for every shot with ball the sportsman has to pay four cents. turkeys are placed at twice the distance, or yards, if a common musket be used; but at yards if the weapon be a rifle. in both those cases the price per shot is from six to ten cents." there were other sports offered at the taverns, as shown by an advertisement in the _essex register_ of june, :-- "sportsmen attend. the gentlemen _sportsmen_ of this town and vicinity are informed that a grand combat will take place between the urus zebu and spanish bull on th of july if fair weather. if not the next fair day at the half way house on the _salem turnpike_. no danger need be apprehended during the performance, as the circus is very convenient. after the performance there will be a grand fox chase on the marshes near the circus to start precisely at o'clock." a woman tavern-keeper on boston neck, sally barton, of the george, also had bull-baiting as one of the attractions of her home. in , the keeper of the delancey arms in new york had a bull-baiting. the english officers stationed in america brought over this fashion. in the year , there was a bull-baiting held every day for many months on what is now a quiet street near my home. landlord loosely,--most appropriately named,--of the king's head tavern, took charge of these bull-baitings and advertised for good active bulls and strong dogs. one advertisement, in rhyme, begins:-- "this notice gives to all who covet baiting the bull, and dearly love it." fox-hunting, too, was beloved of the british visitors, and of southern planters as well. the middle and southern states saw frequent meets of mounted gentlemen with hounds, usually at the tavern, to which they returned after the day's run to end with suitable jollity. the old english "drift of the forest" became in america a wolf-rout or wolf-drive. then circles of men and boys were formed to drive in toward the centre of the ring and kill squirrels and hares which pestered the farmers. then came shooting matches in which every living wild creature was a prey. the extent to which these devastating hunting parties could be carried is shown by an article in a bedford county (pennsylvania) newspaper. on friday, december , , about seven hundred men from neighboring townships formed such a party. the signal was first given on french town mountain, and the circle of forty miles of horn blowing to horn was completed in fifteen minutes. the hunters progressed to a centre in wysox township, using guns as long as they could with safety, then bayonets, clubs, poles, pitchforks, etc. five bears, nine wolves, and fourteen foxes were killed, and three hundred deer--it makes one's heart ache. it was estimated that more than double the number escaped. the expedition closed with great mirth at the tavern. [illustration: sign-board of wolfe tavern, brooklyn, connecticut.] i find through many legal reports and accounts of trials and arrests, that upper rooms in the taverns were frequently used as lockups or temporary jails. mr. s. l. frey, of palatine bridge, in his charming account of olden days in that town, tells an amusing episode of tavern life connected with this custom. near the village schoolhouse lived a man named fisk--a quiet citizen, friendly to the boys, but given, however, to frequent disappearances, and a profound reticence as to his means of livelihood which was naturally a distinct grievance and indeed an injustice to every respectably inquisitive neighbor. the boys noted that he was a great lover of horses, and seemed to have a constant succession of new ones in his stable, and that these newcomers vanished in as silent and unaccountable a manner as they had arrived. one morning the scholars were excited and delighted to learn that the band of horse thieves that had for years ravaged the valley had at last been ferreted out, the two leaders captured and safely lodged during the night in the village jail, namely, a doubly locked and outside bolted room in uncle jesse vincent's tavern. and the climax of all the excitement and pleasure was the fact that neighbor fisk was the leader of the gang. court was called in the tavern parlor at noon. the sheriff and his officers, lawyers from neighboring towns, all importance and pomposity, all the men and all the boys from miles around were waiting eagerly to see once more the mysterious fisk, when a loud shout came from the men who had gone to lead forth the prisoners that both had escaped. of course they had! an open window, a leanto roof, a trellis and a high fence,--no decent prisoner could help escaping. but they had been startled in their plans, and hurried while exchanging clothes, and it was plain from the garments left behind that one man had vanished clad only in his shirt, stockings, and shoes. the dire confusion of the first mortifying discovery soon changed to organized plans of pursuit, and the chase turned to a great piece of woodland behind the tavern. oak and hickory with undergrowth of witchhazel--a prime place for partridges and gray squirrels--led back from the river to the hills and a deep gorge filled with solemn pines and hemlocks. the rampant boys were snubbed early in the day by the sheriff and told to keep back; and one tall boy--"mad" at the insult--conceived the plan of personating the thief. he was a famous runner, the best in the school. he hid his coat in a hollow log, pulled his shirt over his trousers, chinaman fashion, worked his way around on the edge of the hunting party, and was soon "discovered" by his boy friends, whose shouts of "stop thief!" "here he is!" brought the whole army of searchers after him. oh! what a hunt followed. all were on foot, for no horses could pass through the heavy undergrowth; the white flag of the pursued fluttered in and out far in front into the swamp, under the bushes. talk of hare and hounds! no game was ever run like that. the fleet young horse thief in front easily distanced the puffing sheriffs in the rear, and at last the pursuit was given over. fisk escaped, thanks to his friends the boys, but the story of the wrath that was visited on the conspirators when their fun was discovered the next day at the tavern is "another story." sittings of courts were often held in the public room of taverns, not only in small towns where assembly rooms were few, but in large cities. from the settlement of philadelphia till , justices of peace heard and decided causes in the public inns of philadelphia, and the common council had frequent sittings there. in boston the courts were held in suburban taverns when the smallpox scourged the town. in postlethwaite's tavern (shown on page ) the first courts of lancaster county, pennsylvania, were held in , and propositions were made to make it the county seat; but the present site of the city of lancaster was finally chosen, though landlord postlethwaite made strenuous endeavors to retain his tavern as a centre. [illustration: postlethwaite's tavern, .] our ancestors found in criminals and all the accompaniments of crime their chief source of diversion. they did not believe in lonely captivity but in public obloquy for criminals. the only exciting and stirring emotions which entered their lives came through the recounting of crimes and offences, and the sight of the punishment of these crimes and offences; rising of course to the highest point of excitement in witnessing the public executions of criminals. the bilboes were the first engine of punishment in boston, and were used until , and perhaps much later. the drinkers of a cup of sack at the boston ordinary had much diversion in seeing james woodward, who had had too much sack at the cambridge ordinary, "laid by the heels" on the ground with a great bar of iron fastened and locked to his legs with sliding shackles and a bolt. still more satisfaction had all honest puritans when thomas morton, of merrymount, that amusing old debauchee and roisterer, was "clapt into the bilbowes," where "the harmless salvages" gathered around and stared at him like "poor silly lambes." the stocks soon superseded the bilboes and were near neighbors and amusement purveyors to the tavern. towns were forced by law to set up "good sufficient stocks." warwick, rhode island, ordered that "john lowe should erect the public stocks and whipping-post near david arnold's tavern, and procure iron and timber for the same." the stocks were simple to make; a heavy timber or plank had on the upper edge two half-circle holes which met two similar notches or holes in a movable upper timber. when this was in place these notches formed round holes to enclose the legs of the prisoner, who could then be locked in. the whipping-post, a good sound british institution, was promptly set up in every town, and the sound of the cat often entered the tavern windows. i can imagine all the young folk thronging to witness the whipping of some ardent young swain who had dared to make love to some fair damsel without the consent of her parents. there was no room for the escape of any man who thus "inveagled" a girl; the new haven colony specified that any tempting without the parents' sanction could not be done by "speech, writing, message, company-keeping, unnecessary familiarity, disorderly night meetings, sinful dalliance, gifts, or (as a wholesale blow to lovers' inventions) in any other way." but sly puritan maids found that even the "any other way" of puritan law-makers could be circumvented. jacob murline, in hartford, on may-day in , without asking any permission of goodman tuttle, had some very boisterous love-making with sarah tuttle, his daughter. it began by jacob's seizing sarah's gloves and demanding the mediæval forfeit--a kiss. "whereupon," writes the scandalized puritan chronicler, "they sat down together, his arm being about her, and her arm upon his shoulder or about his neck, and hee kissed her and shee kissed him, or they kissed one another, continuing in this posture about half an hour." the angry father, on hearing of this, haled jacob into court and sued him for damages in "inveagling" his daughter's affections. there were plenty of witnesses of the kissing, and jacob seemed doomed to heavy fines and the cat-o'-nine-tails, when crafty sarah informed the court that jacob did not inveigle her, that she wished him to kiss her--in fact, that she enticed him. the baffled court therefore had to fine sarah, and of course sarah's father had to pay the fine; but the magistrate called her justly a "bould virgin," and lectured her severely. to all this she gave the demure answer "that she hoped god would help her to carry it better for time to come," which would seem to be somewhat superfluous, since she had, without any help, seemed to do about as well for herself as any girl could wish to under the circumstances. [illustration: sign-board of pembroke tavern.] for some years the quakers never were absent from the whipping-post. they were trying enough, preaching everywhere, and on all occasions, yet never willing to keep silent when the puritan preacher held forth; not willing, even, to keep away from the puritan meeting. they interrupted these meetings in most offensive ways, and were promptly whipped. one poor quakeress, lydia wardwell, "a young tender chaste person," but almost demented with religious excitement, was taken forcibly from the ipswich meeting-house and "tyed to the fence-post of the tavern," and then sorely lashed. the pillory sometimes took the place of the stocks. in enduring this punishment the culprit stood on a sort of bench, and his head and hands were confined in holes cut in a hinged or divisible board. lecture day was often chosen as the day of punishment; as hawthorne said, "it was a day of public shame, the day on which transgressors received their reward of ignominy." thus nicholas olmstead, sentenced to the pillory in hartford "next lecture day," was "sett on a lytle before the beginning and to stay on a lytle after the end." in maryland offenders were "nayled by both eares to the pillory, nailes in each eare, and the nailes to be slit out." samuel breck says that in , in boston, men and women were constantly seen pilloried, exposed to insults and jeers, and pelted with filth and garbage. the th of september, , was a great day in cambridge, massachusetts. a negro woman named phyllis was then and there burned to death--in punishment for her share in the murder of her master. the diary of a boston gentleman still exists which shows us how he passed the day; cheerfully drinking punch from tavern to tavern, and cheerfully watching the hanging of the man-murderer and the burning of the woman. the day's record ends: "went home, went to bed and slept and woke up very finely refreshed." criminals were preached at in public, read their dying confessions in public, were carted through the streets in open tumbrils, and were hanged in public. on all those occasions the taverns flowed with good cheer and merry meetings, for people came for many miles to witness the interesting sight, and many were the happy reunions of friends. another bustling busy day at the tavern was when "vandues" were held within its walls. due notice of these "vandues" had been given by posters displayed in the tavern and village store, and occasionally by scant newspaper advertisements. these auction sales were rarely of mixed merchandise, but were of some special goods, such as india cotton stuffs, foreign books, or boots and shoes. criminals and paupers were also sold for terms of service; usually the former were some of the varied tribe of sneak-thieves which wandered through the country. in one case the human "lot" offered for sale was a "prygman"--he had, like autolycus, stolen the bleaching linen from the grass and hedges. another was an habitual fruit and vegetable thief (and he must have been an extraordinary one to have been noted in a country where fruit and vegetables on every farm were so freely shared with all passers-by). another, an indian, stole from the lobster and eel pots of his honest white neighbors. a sheep thief, sold at public auction in clifford's tavern in dunbarton, new hampshire, took part in an interesting prologue, as well as in the main performance, in the shape of a whipping of thirteen stripes administered to him by the vigorous sheriff. nevertheless, he found a purchaser, who took his subdued and sore servant home to his farm and set him to breaking and hatchelling flax. the convict fell to work as cheerfully and assiduously as any honest laborer, but when he had cleaned as much flax as he could carry, he added an unexpected epilogue to this new england comedy by departing with his dressed flax for parts unknown; thus proving that he laughs best who laughs last. though it would seem that the selectmen of the town, who had been amply paid "damages and costs" through his sale, and who had also effectually banished a rogue from their township, might join with him in a mirthful chorus. [illustration: map pitcher.] the sale of paupers at the tavern was much more frequent than of criminals. it was an exhibition of curious contrasts: the prosperous and thirsty townsmen drinking at the tavern bar, and the forlorn group of homeless, friendless creatures, usually young children and aged folk, waiting to be sold to the lowest bidder for a term of feeble service and meagre keep. the children were known after the sale as "bound boys" and "bound girls," and much sympathy has been expended in modern books over the hardness of their lives, and many pathetic stories written of them. this method was, however, as good a solution of the problem of infant pauperism as we have yet discovered. the children were removed from vicious associations in almshouses, and isolated in homes where they had to work just as the daughters and sons of the household worked. in many cases they entered childless homes, and grew to be the prop and happiness of their adopted parents, and the heirs of their little savings. the auction at the tavern was frankly brutal, but the end accomplished was so satisfactory that the custom has within a few years been resumed by the more advanced and thoughtful guardians of paupers in many new england towns. as for the auction sale of aged and infirm paupers, it is not wholly a thing of the past. in lackawanna township in pike county, pennsylvania, paupers still are sold to the lowest bidder. a year ago, in , at rowland station in that township the signs were posted, "a woman for sale," and as of old the "vandue" was held at a tavern, one called rutan's hotel. the bar-room was crowded, and mrs. elmira quick, seventy-seven years old, was put up "to be sold to the lowest bidder for keep for a year." the bidding was spirited and ran quickly down from four dollars a week. a backwoodsman had just offered to take her for a dollar and a half a week, when mrs. quick firmly bid a dollar and a quarter. the overseer of the poor hesitated, but mrs. quick stated she could maintain herself on that amount--sixteen cents a day--and no one made an offer to take her for less; so he was forced to conclude the bargain and draw up the sale-papers. let me add that this woman has three sons and a daughter living--and these are our good _new_ times. chapter x from path to turnpike the first roads in new england are called in the early court-records "trodden paths." they were narrow worn lines, scarce two feet wide, lightly trodden over pine needles and fallen leaves among the tree trunks by the soft moccasined foot of the tawny savages as they walked silently in indian file through the forests. these paths were soon deepened and worn bare by the heavy hobnailed shoes of the white settlers, others were formed by the slow tread of domestic cattle, the best of all path makers, as they wound around the hillsides to pasture or drinking place. then a scarcely broader bridle-path for horses, perhaps with blazed trees as guide-posts, widened slowly to travelled roads and uneven cart-ways. these roads followed and still wind to-day in the very lines of the foot-path and the cattle-track. the early colonists walked as did their predecessors, the indians, on their own stout legs, when they travelled by land. we find even the governors of the colonies walking off sturdily into the forests; crossing the rivers and brooks on fallen trees; and sometimes being carried across "pick-a-back" by vigorous indian guides. we have one record of governor winthrop in that dependent and rather un-governor-like attitude, and it is well to think of this picture of him as affording a glimpse of one of the human sides of his life, to balance the prevailing chinese worship and idealization of him and our other ancestors. the earliest trail or path was the old plymouth or coast path, which connected the capitols of two colonies, boston and plymouth. it ran through old braintree, and its permanence was established by an action of the general court in . the old connecticut path started from cambridge, ran through marlborough, grafton, oxford, and on to springfield and albany. the new connecticut path or road started also from cambridge, thence to grafton, then to worcester, brookfield, and on to albany. the providence path ran through narragansett and providence plantations. the nipmuck trail was made from norwich. the "kennebunk road by the sea" was ordered by the massachusetts commissioners in , sufficient highway "between towns and towns for horse and foot." kittery and york were enjoined to "make straight and convenient way along east for man and horse." the most famous of all these paths was the one known as the bay path. it was in existence in , and doubtless before. it left the old connecticut path at wayland, massachusetts, and ran through marlborough to worcester, then to oxford, charlton, and brookfield, where jutted off the hadley path, to ware, belchertown, and hadley, while the bay path rejoined the old connecticut path and thus on to springfield. holland wrote of the bay path in his novel of that title:-- "it was marked by trees a portion of the distance and by slight clearings of brush and thicket for the remainder. no stream was bridged, no hill was graded, and no marsh drained. the path led through woods which bore the mark of centuries, over barren hills which had been licked by the indian hounds of fire, and along the banks of streams that the seine had never dragged. a powerful interest was attached to the bay path. it was the channel through which laws were communicated, through which flowed news from distant friends, and through which came long, loving letters and messages. that rough thread of soil, chipped by the blades of a hundred streams, was a trail that radiated at each terminus into a thousand fibres of love, and interest, and hope, and memory. every rod had been prayed over by friends on the journey and friends at home." born in a home almost by the wayside of the old bay path, i feel deeply the inexplicable charm which attaches itself to these old paths or trails. i have ridden hundreds of miles on these various indian paths, and i ever love to trace the roadway where it is now the broad, travelled road, and where it turns aside in an overgrown and narrow lane which is to-day almost as neglected and wild as the old path. there still seems to cling to it something of the human interest ever found in a foot-path, the intangible attraction which makes even the simplest foot-path across a pasture, or up a wooded hill, full of charm, of suggestion, of sentiment. it is interesting to see how quickly the colonists acquired horses. before john winthrop died massachusetts had a cavalry corps. restrictive measures were enjoined by the magistrates to improve the breed and limit the number of horses. these horses were poor and scrubby and small, but before a cargo of flemish draft horses was imported. a characteristic american breed, the narragansett pacers, was reared in rhode island. they were famous saddle-horses, giving ease of motion to the rider, being sure-footed and most tough and enduring. for a century they were raised in large numbers and sold at good prices, but became little valued after trotting-horses were bred and folk drove instead of riding horseback. i saw the last of the narragansett pacers. she died about twenty years ago; of an ugly sorrel color, with broad back and short legs and a curious rocking pace, she seemed almost a caricature of a horse, but was, nevertheless, a source of inordinate pride to her owner. women rode with as much ease and frequency as men. young girls rode on side saddles for long journeys. older women rode behind men on pillions, which were padded cushions which had a sort of platform stirrup. an excellent representation of a pillion is here given in mr. henry's charming picture, "waiting at the ferry," as well as of an old-time gig used at the end of the eighteenth and in the early part of the nineteenth century. [illustration: waiting for the ferry.] horseflesh was so plentiful that "no one walked save a vagabond or a fool." doubtless our national characteristic of never walking a step when we can ride dates from the days "when we lived under the king." driving alone, that is, a man or woman driving for pleasure alone, without a driver or post-boy, is an american fashion. it was carried back to europe by both the french and english officers who were here in revolutionary times. the custom was noted with approval by the french in their various books and letters on this country. they also, la rochefoucauld among them, praised our roads. mr. ernst, an authority upon transportation and postal matters, believes that our roads in the northern provinces, on the whole, were excellent. he says that the actual cost of the roads as contained in massachusetts records proves that the notion that our new england roads were wretched is not founded on fact. he notes our great use of pleasure carriages as a proof of good roads; in massachusetts had about seven such carriages to every thousand persons. the english carriages were very heavy. in america we adopted the light-weight continental carriages--because our roads were good. the corduroy road was one of the common road improvements made to render the roads passable by carts and stage-wagons. marshy places and chuck-holes were filled up with saplings and logs from the crowded forests, and whole roads were made of logs which were cut in lengths about ten or twelve feet long, and laid close to each other across the road. many corduroy roads still remain, and some are veritable antiques; in canada they still are built. a few years ago i rode many miles over one in a miner's springless cart over the mountains of the alexandrite range in upper canada, and i deem it the most trying ordeal i ever experienced. as soon as there were roads, there were ferries and bridges. out from boston to the main were ferries in to chelsea and charlestown. there was a "cart-bridge" built by boston and roxbury over muddy river in . there was a "foot-bridge" also at scituate, and at ipswich in . in a "horse-bridge" was built at neponset, and others soon followed. these had a railing on one side only. it was a great step when the "bay" granted fifty pounds to lynn for a cart-bridge where there had been only a ferry. after king philip's war, cart-bridges multiplied; there was one in scituate, one in bristol, one in cambridge. these early bridges of provincial days were but insecure makeshifts in many cases, miserable floating bridges being common across the wide rivers. in england bridges were poor also. we were to be early in fine bridge-building, and to excel in it as we have to this day. we were also in advance of the mother country in laying macadamized roads, in the use of mail-coaches, in modes of steam travel by water, just as we were in using flintlock firearms, and other advanced means of warfare. the charles river between boston and charlestown was about as wide at the point where the old ferry crossed as was the thames at london bridge, and americans were emulative of that structure. much talking and planning was done, but no bridge was built across the charles till after the revolution. then lemuel cox, a medford shipwright, planned and built a successful bridge in . it was the longest bridge in the world, and deemed a triumph of engineering. the following year he built the malden bridge, then the fine essex bridge at salem. in cox went to ireland and built a bridge nine hundred feet long over the deep foyle at londonderry, ireland. this was another american victory, for the great english engineer, milne, had pronounced the deed impossible. this bridge was of american oak and pine, and was built by maine lumbermen and carpenters. according to the universal "gust of the age"--as dr. prince said--the aid of the muses was called in to celebrate the opening of the charlestown bridge. this took place on the anniversary of the battle of bunker hill, and a vast feast was given. broadsides were distributed bearing "poems" as long as the bridge. here are a few specimen verses:-- "i sing the day in which the bridge is finished and done. boston and charlestown lads rejoice and fire your cannon guns. "the bridge is finished now i say each other bridge outvies for london bridge compared with ours appears in dim disguise. "now boston charlestown nobly join and roast a fatted ox on noted bunker hill combine to toast our patriot cox. "may north and south and charlestown all agree with one consent to love each one like indian's rum on publick good be bent." a perfect epidemic of bridge-building broke out all over the states. in our pride we wished to exhibit our superiority over the english everywhere. throughout maryland, pennsylvania, and upper virginia, fine wooden and stone bridges were built. on all the turnpikes the bridges equalled the roads. many of those bridges still are in use. the oldest suspension bridge in america, the "chain-bridge" at newburyport, massachusetts, is still standing. a picture of it here is shown. it is a graceful bridge, and its lovely surroundings add to its charm. the traveller melish noted specially, in , the fine trenton bridge, "very elegant, nine hundred and seventy feet long, with two carriage ways"; the west boston bridge "three thousand feet long, with a causeway three thousand more"; the schuylkill bridge, which cost over two hundred thousand dollars. so bad was the state of english roads at the end of the eighteenth century that it took two days' and three nights' incessant travel to get from manchester to glasgow. the crossroads were worse. in many cases when mail-coaches had been granted, the roads were too poor to receive them. the ruts, or rather trenches, were up to the axletrees. when a mail-coach was put on the holyhead road in , twenty-two townships were indicted for having their roads in a dangerous condition. this road had vast sums spent upon it; in the six years succeeding it had £ , for "improvements," and repairs were paid by the tolls. its condition now is very mean, grass-grown in places, and in ill-repair. [illustration: old chain bridge, newburyport, massachusetts.] the system of road-making known as macadamizing received its name from mr. loudon mcadam, who came to england from america in at a time when many new roads were being made in scotland. these roads he studied and in became road surveyor in bristol, where he was able to carry his principles into practice. the leading feature of his system was setting a limit in size and weight to the stones to be used on the roads, the weight limit being six ounces; also to prohibit any mixture of clay, earth, or chalk with the stone. similar roads had been made in pennsylvania long before they were laid in england, and had been tested; and without doubt mcadam simply followed methods he had seen successfully used in america. among others the salem and boston turnpike, the essex turnpike (between salem and andover), and the newburyport turnpike, all macadamized roads, were in successful operation before telford and mcadam had perfected their systems. mcadam's son, sir james mcadam, was general superintendent of metropolitan roads in england when, as he expressed it, "the calamity of railways fell upon us." this "calamity" brought these results: coaches ran less frequently, and all horse-carriage decreased, toll receipts diminished, many turnpike roads became bankrupt and passed into possession of towns and parishes, and are kept in scarcely passable repair. many english macadamized roads are only kept in order in half, while the other part of the road bears weeds and grass. the first american turnpike was not in pennsylvania, as is usually stated, but in virginia. it connected alexandria (then supposed to be the rising metropolis) with "sniggers and vesta's gaps"--that is, the lower shenandoah. this turnpike was started in - , and thomas jefferson pronounced it a success. in the grand jury of baltimore reported the state of the country roads as a public grievance, and the frederick, reisterstown, and york roads were laid out anew by the county as turnpikes with toll-gates. in these roads were granted to corporate companies. others soon followed, till all the main roads through maryland were turnpikes. the most important early turnpike was the one known as the national road because it was made by the national government. it extended at first from cumberland to wheeling, and was afterward carried farther. when first opened it was a hundred and thirty miles long, and cost one and three-quarters millions of dollars. proposed in congress in , an act providing for its construction was passed nine years later, and the first mail-coach carrying the united states mail travelled over it in august, . it was a splendid road, sixty feet wide, of stone broken to pass through a three-inch ring, then covered with gravel and rolled down with an iron roller. one who saw the constructive work on it wrote:-- "that great contractor, mordecai cochran, with his immortal irish brigade--a thousand strong, with their carts, wheelbarrows, picks, shovels, and blasting-tools, graded the commons and climbed the mountain side, leaving behind them a roadway good enough for an emperor." [illustration: bridge toll-board.] over this national road journeyed many congressmen to and from washington; and the mail contractors, anxious to make a good impression on these senators and representatives, and thus gain fresh privileges and large appropriations, ever kept up a splendid stage line. it was on this line that the phrase "chalking his hat"--or the free pass system--originated. mr. reeside, the agent of the road, occasionally tendered a free ride to some member of congress, and devised a hieroglyphic which he marked in chalk on the representative's hat, in order that none of his drivers should be imposed upon by forged passes. the intent was to extend this road to st. louis. from cumberland to baltimore the cost of construction fell on certain banks in maryland, which were rechartered on condition that they completed the road. instead of being a burden to them, it became a lucrative property, yielding twenty per cent profit for many years. not only was this road excellently macadamized, but stone bridges were built for it over rivers and creeks; the distances were indexed by iron mileposts, and the toll-houses were supplied with strong iron gates. on other turnpikes throughout the country irish laborers were employed to dig the earth and break the stone. until this time irish immigration had been slight in this country, and in many small communities where the new turnpikes passed the first irish immigrants were stared at as curiosities. the story of the old mohawk turnpike is one of deep interest. after the revolution a great movement of removal to the west swept through new england; in the winter of , in three days twelve hundred sleighs passed through albany bearing sturdy new england people as settlers to the genesee valley. others came on horseback, prospecting,--farmers with well-filled saddle bags and pocketbooks. among those thrifty new englanders were two young men named whetmore and norton, from litchfield, connecticut, who noted the bad roads over which all this travel passed; and being surveyors, they planned and eventually carried out a turnpike. the first charter, granted in , was for the sixteen miles between albany and schenectady. when that was finished, in , the turnpike from schenectady to utica, sixty-eight miles long, was begun. the public readily subscribed to build these roads; the flow of settlers increased; the price of land advanced; everywhere activity prevailed. the turnpike was filled with great trading wagons; there was a tavern at every mile on the road; fifty-two within fifty miles of albany, but there were not taverns enough to meet the demand caused by the great travel. eighty or one hundred horses would sometimes be stabled at a single tavern. all teamsters desired stable-room for their horses; but so crowded were the tavern sheds that many carried sheets of oilcloth to spread over their horses at night in case they could not find shelter. [illustration: megunticook turnpike.] common wagons with narrow tires cut grooves in the macadamized road; so the turnpike company passed free all wagons with tires six inches broad or wider. [illustration] these helped to roll down the road, and by law were not required to turn aside on the road save for wagons with like width of tire. the new york turnpikes were traversed by a steady procession of these great wagons, marked often in great lettering with the magic words which were in those days equivalent to eldorado or golconda--namely, "ohio," or "genesee valley." freight rates from albany to utica were a dollar for a hundred and twelve pounds. in the old horse-path from albany over the mountains to the connecticut river was made wide enough for the passage of a coach. westward from albany a coach ran to whitestone, oneida county. in the first regular mail was delivered at schenectady, nearly a century after its settlement. soon the "mail-stages" ran as far as whitestone. an advertisement of one of these clumsy old mail-stages is here shown. we need not wonder at the misspelling in this advertisement of the name of the town, for in the postmaster-general advertised for contracts to carry the mail from "connojorharrie to kanandarqua." there were twelve gates on the "pike" between utica and schenectady; at schenectady, crane's village, caughnawaga (now fonda), schenck's hollow, east of wagner's hollow road, garoga creek, st. johnsville, east creek bridge, fink's ferry, herkimer, sterling, utica. these gates did not swing on hinges, but were portcullises; a custom in other countries referred to in the beautiful passage in the psalms, "lift up your heads, o ye gates," etc. on every toll-gate was a board with the rates of toll painted thereon. mr. rufus a. grider gives the list of rates on the schenectady and utica turnpike, a distance of sixty-eight miles. they seem to me exceedingly high. cents "sheep, per score hogs, per score cattle, per score horses, per score mules, per score horse and rider tied horses, each sulkies - / chairs - / chariots coaches coachers phaetons two horse stages - / four horse stages - / one horse wagons two horse wagons - / three horse wagons - / four horse wagons tires under six inches five horse wagons " " " " - / six horse wagons " " " " . one horse cart two ox cart three ox cart four ox cart six ox cart one horse sleigh two horse or ox sleigh three horse or ox sleigh four horse or ox sleigh five horse or ox sleigh six horse or ox sleigh " the toll-board which hung for many years on a bridge over the susquehanna river at sidney, new york, is shown on page . sometimes sign-boards were hung on bridges. one is shown on page which hung for many years on the wooden bridge at washington's crossing at taylorsville, pennsylvania, on the bucks county side. it was painted by benjamin hicks, of newtown, a copy of trumbull's picture of washington crossing the delaware. it was thrown in the garret of a store at taylorsville, and rescued by mr. mercer for the bucks county historical society. [illustration: bridge sign-board.] the turnpike charters and toll-rates have revealed one thing to us, that all single-horse carriages were two-wheeled, such as the sulky, chair, chaise; while four-wheeled carriages always had at least two horses. citizens and travellers deeply resented these tolls, and ofttimes rose up against the payment. a toll-keeper in pelham, massachusetts, awoke one morning to find his gate gone. a scrawled bit of paper read:-- "the man who stopped the boy when going to the mill, will find his gate at the bottom of the hill." chapter xi packhorse and conestoga wagon our predecessors, the north american indians, had no horses. an early explorer of virginia said that if the country had horses and kine and were peopled with english, no realm in christendom could be compared with it. the crude means of overland transportation common to all savages, the carrying of burdens on the back by various strappings, was the only mode known. travel by land in the colonies was for many years very limited in amount, and equally hazardous and inconvenient. travel by boat was so greatly preferred that most of the settlements continued to be made on the banks of rivers and along the sea-coast. even perilous canoes were preferable to the miseries of land travel. we were slow in abandoning our water travel and water transportation. water lines controlled in the east till , in the west till , and have now great revival. transportation was wholly done by water. when horses multiplied, merchandise was drawn short distances in the winter time on crude sledges. packhorses were in common use in england and on the continent, and the scrubby, enduring horses raised here soon were used as packhorses. their use lingered long over the alleghany mountains, as it did on the mountains of the pacific coast; in fact the advance guard of inland commerce in america has always employed packhorses. the first appearance of the conestoga wagon in history (though the wagons were not then called by that name) was in , when general braddock set out on his ill-fated expedition to western pennsylvania. there led thither no wagon-road, simply an indian trail for packhorses. braddock insisted strenuously to the pennsylvania assembly upon obtaining their assistance in widening the trail to a wagon-road, and also to secure one hundred and fifty wagons for the army. the cutting of the road was done, but when returns were made to braddock at frederick, maryland, only twenty-five wagons could be obtained. franklin said it was a pity the troops had not been landed in philadelphia, since every farmer in the country thereabouts had a wagon. at braddock's earnest solicitation, franklin issued an ingenious and characteristic advertisement for one hundred and fifty four-horse wagons, and fifteen hundred saddle- or packhorses, for the use of this army. the value of transportation facilities at the time is proved by franklin's terms of payment, namely: fifteen shillings a day for each wagon with four horses and driver, and two shillings a day for horse with saddle or pack. franklin agreed that the owners should be fairly compensated for the loss of these wagons and horses if they were not returned, and was eventually nearly ruined by this stipulation. for the battle at braddock's field was disastrous to the english, and the claims of the farmers against franklin amounted to twenty thousand pounds. upon his appeal these claims were paid by the government under order of general shirley. franklin gathered these wagons and horses in york and lancaster counties, pennsylvania, and i doubt if york and lancaster, england, would have been as good fields at that date. [illustration: a wayside friend.] braddock's trail became the famous route for crossing the alleghany mountains for the principal pioneers who settled southwestern pennsylvania and western virginia, and all their effects were carried to their new homes on packhorses. the only wealth acquired in the wilds by these pioneers was peltry and furs, and each autumn a caravan of packhorses was sent over the mountains bearing the accumulated spoils of the neighborhood, under the charge of a master driver and three or four assistants. the horses were fitted with pack-saddles, to the hinder part of which was fastened a pair of hobbles made of hickory withes; and a collar with a bell was on each horse's neck. the horses' feed of shelled corn was carried in bags destined to be filled with alum salt for the return trip; and on the journey down, part of this feed was deposited for the use of the return caravan. large wallets filled with bread, jerked bear's meat, ham, and cheese furnished food for the drivers. at night the horses were hobbled and turned out into the woods or pasture, and the bells which had been muffled in the daytime were unfastened, to serve as a guide to the drivers in the morning. the furs were carried to and exchanged first at baltimore as a market; later the carriers went only to frederick; then to hagerstown, oldtown, and finally to fort cumberland. iron and steel in various forms, and salt, were the things most eagerly desired by the settlers. each horse could carry two bushels of alum salt, each bushel weighing eighty-four pounds. not a heavy load, but the horses were scantily fed. sometimes an iron pot or kettle was tied on either side on top of the salt-bag. ginseng, bears' grease, and snakeroot were at a later date collected and added to the furs and hides. the horses marched in single file on a road scarce two feet wide; the foremost horse was led by the master of the caravan, and each successive horse was tethered to the pack-saddle of the one in front. other men or boys watched the packs and urged on laggard horses. i do not know the exact mode of lading these packhorses. an english gentlewoman named celia fiennes rode on horseback on a side-saddle over many portions of england in the year . she thus describes the packhorses she saw in devon and cornwall:-- "thus harvest is bringing in, on horse backe, with sort of crookes of wood like yokes on either side; two or three on a side stands up in which they stow ye corne, and so tie it with cords; but they cannot so equally poise it but ye going of ye horse is like to cast it down sometimes on ye one side sometimes on ye other, for they load them from ye neck to ye taile, and pretty high, and are forced to support it with their hands so to a horse they have two people women as well as men." at a later date this packhorse system became that of common carriers. five hundred horses at a time, after the revolution, could be seen winding over the mountains. at lancaster, harrisburg, shippensburg, bedford, fort pitt, and other towns were regular packhorse companies. one public carrier at harris ferry in had over two hundred horses and mules. when the road was widened and wagons were introduced, the packhorse drivers considered it an invasion of their rights and fiercely opposed it. it is interesting to note that the trail of the indians and the horse-track of these men skilled only in woodcraft were the ones followed in later years by trained engineers in laying out the turnpikes and railroads. we are prone to pride ourselves in america on many things which we had no part in producing, on some which are in no way distinctive, and on a few which are not in the highest sense to our credit. of the conestoga wagon as a perfect vehicle of transportation and as an important historical factor we can honorably and rightfully be proud. it was a truly american product evolved and multiplied to fit, perfectly, existing conditions. its day of usefulness is past, few ancient specimens exist; and little remains to remind us of it; the derivative word stogey, meaning hard, enduring, tough, is a legacy. stogeys--shoes--are tough, coarse, leather footwear; and the stogey cigar was a great, heavy, coarse cigar, originally, it is said, a foot long, made to fit the enduring nerves and appetite of the conestoga teamsters. this splendid wagon was developed in pennsylvania by topographical conditions, by the soft soil, by trade requirements, and by native wit. it was the highest type of a commodious freight-carrier by horse power that this or any country has ever known; it was called the conestoga wagon from the vicinity in which they were first in common use. these wagons had a boat-shaped body with curved canoe-shaped bottom which fitted them specially for mountain use; for in them freight remained firmly in place at whatever angle the body might be. this wagon body was painted blue or slate-color and had bright vermilion red sideboards. the rear end could be lifted from its sockets; on it hung the feed-trough for the horses. on one side of the body was a small tool-chest with a slanting lid. this held hammer, wrench, hatchet, pincers, and other simple tools. under the rear axletree were suspended a tar-bucket and water-pail. in the interesting and extensive museum of old-time articles of domestic use gathered intelligently by the historical society of bucks county, pennsylvania, are preserved some of the wagon grease-pots or _tar-lodel_, which formed part of the furniture of the conestoga wagon. a tree section about a foot long and six inches in diameter was bored and scraped out to make a pot. the outer upper rim was circumscribed with a groove, and fitted with leather thongs, by which it was hung to the axle of the wagon. filled with grease and tar it was ever ready for use. often a leather _tar-lodel_ took the place of this wooden grease-pot. the wheels had broad tires, sometimes nearly a foot broad. the wagon bodies were arched over with six or eight bows, of which the middle ones were the lowest. these were covered with a strong, pure-white hempen cover corded down strongly at the sides and ends. these wagons could be loaded up to the top of the bows and carried four to six tons each,--about a ton's weight to each horse. [illustration: conestoga wagon.] sleek, powerful horses of the conestoga breed were used by prosperous teamsters. these horses, usually from four to seven in number, were often carefully matched, all dapple-gray or all bay. from baltimore ran wagons with twelve horses. they were so intelligent, so well cared for, so perfectly broken, that they seemed to take pleasure in their work. the heavy, broad harnesses were costly, of the best leather, trimmed with brass plates; often each horse had a housing of deerskin or bearskin edged with scarlet fringe, while the headstall was gay with ribbons and ivory rings, and colored worsted rosettes. bell-teams were common; an iron or brass arch was fastened upon the hames, and collar and bells were suspended from it. each horse save the saddle-horse had a full set of musical bells tied with gay ribbons; among these were the curious old ear-bells. in england these ear-bells dangled two on each side on a strap which passed over the horse's head behind the ears and buckled into the cheeks of the headstall. on the forehead stood up from this strap a stiff tuft or brush (a russian cockade) of colored horsehair fixed in a brass socket. even the reins were of high colors, scarlet and orange and green. the driver walking alongside, or seated astride the saddle-horse, governed the perfectly broken and intelligent creatures with a precision and ease that was beautiful to see. a curious adjustable seat called a lazy-board was sometimes hung at the side of the wagon, and afforded a precarious resting place. these teamsters carried a whip, long and light, which, like everything used by them, was of the finest and best materials. it had a fine squirrel-skin or silk "cracker." this whip was carried under the arm, and the conestoga horses were guided more by the crack than by the blow. all chronicles agree that a fully equipped conestoga wagon in the days when those wagons were in their prime was a truly pleasing sight, giving one that sense of satisfaction which ever comes from the regard of any object, especially a piece of mechanism, which is perfectly fitted for the object it is designed to attain. an american poet writes of them:-- "the old road blossoms with romance of covered vehicles of every grade from ox-cart of most primitive design to conestoga wagons with their fine deep-dusted, six-horse teams in heavy gear, high hames and chiming bells--to childish ear and eye entrancing as the glittering train of some sun-smitten pageant of old spain." the number of these wagons was vast. at one time over three thousand ran constantly back and forward between philadelphia and other pennsylvania towns. sometimes a hundred would follow in close row; "the leaders of one wagon with their noses in the trough of the wagon ahead." these "regulars" with fully equipped conestoga wagons made freighting their constant and only business. farmers and teamsters who made occasional trips, chiefly during the farmers' dull season--the winter--were called "militia." a local poet wrote of them:-- "militia-men drove narrow treads, four horses and plain red dutch beds, and always carried grub and feed." "grub," food for the driver, and feed for the horses was seldom carried by the regulars; but the horses when unharnessed always fed from the long troughs which were hitched to the wagon pole. all these teamsters carried their own blankets, and many carried also a narrow mattress about two feet wide which they slept upon. this was strapped in a roll in the morning and put into the wagon. often the teamsters slept on the barroom floor around the fireplace, feet to the fire. some taverns had bunks with wooden covers around the sides of the room. the teamster spread his lunch on the top or cover of his bunk; when he had finished he could lift the lid, and he had a coffinlike box to sleep in--but this was an unusual luxury. mcgowan's tavern was a favorite stopping place. the barroom had a double chimney and fire-places; fifteen feet of blazing hearth meant comfort, and allured all teamsters. the blood of battle stained the walls and ceiling, which the landlord never removed to show that he "meant business." the conestoga wagons were in constant use in times of war as well as in peace. they were not only furnished to braddock's army, as has been told, but to the continental army in the war of the revolution. president reed of pennsylvania wrote to general washington in that "the army had been chiefly supplied with horses and waggons from this state (pennsylvania) during the war," and it was also declared that half the supplies furnished the army came from the same state. reed deplored the fact that a further demand for over one thousand teams was to be made on them, and said the state could not stand it. during the war of these wagons transported arms, ammunition, and supplies to the army on the frontier. long lines of these teams could be seen carrying solace and reënforcements to the soldiers. [illustration: the stage waggon. while the old waggoner is stopping to drink, poor jack the soldier is bidding his wife good bye.--she has come a long way with her children to see him once more: and now is going home again in the waggon. she does not know whether she shall ever see him again.--jack was obliged to leave his country life, and his good master, and his plough and his comfortable cottage, and his poor wife and little ones to go and be a soldier, and learn to fight, because _other people_ would quarrel.] in england a huge, clumsy wagon was used for common carrier and passenger transportation, until our own day. it was inferior to the conestoga wagon in detail and equipments. illustrations from an old print in a child's story-book are given of these wagons on page . their most marked characteristic was the width of wheel tire. from the middle colonies the conestoga wagon found its way to every colony and every settlement; nor did its life end in the eastern states or with the establishment of railroads. renamed the "prairie schooner," it carried civilization and emigration across the continent to the golden gate. till our own day the white tilts could be seen slowly travelling westward. the bleaching bones of these wagons may be still seen in our far west, and are as distinct relics of that old pioneer western life as are the bones of the buffalo. a few wagons still remain in pennsylvania, in lancaster county; the one painted by hovenden in "westward ho" is in the collection of the bucks county historical society. one toiled slowly and painfully, in the year , up the green hillsides of vermont, bearing two or three old people and a few shattered household gods--the relics, human and material, of a family that had "gone west" many years ago. chapter xii early stage-coaches and other vehicles the story of the stage-coach begins at a much later date than that of the tavern; but the two allies reached the height of their glory together. no more prosperous calling ever existed than that of landlord of an old-time stage-tavern; no greater symbol of good cheer could be afforded. though a popular historical novel by one of our popular writers shows us the heroine in a year of the seventeenth century conveyed away from her new england home in a well-equipped stage-coach, there were no stage-coaches at that date in new england, nor were they overfrequent in old england. stow says, in his _survey of london_ ( ): "of old time, coaches were not known in this island but chariots or whirlicotes." the whirlicote is described as a cot or bed on wheels, a sort of wheeled litter, and was used as early as the time of richard ii. the first coach made in england by walter rippen was for the earl of rutland, in . the queen had one the next year, and queen elizabeth a state coach eight years later from the same maker. that splendid association--"the company of coach and harness makers," was founded by charles ii. in may, . [illustration: english coach, .] venomous diatribes were set in print against coaches, as is usual with all innovations, useful and otherwise. of them the assertions of taylor the "water poet" are good examples. he said that coaches dammed the streets, and aided purse-cutting; that butchers could not pass with their cattle; that market-folk were hindered in bringing victuals to town; that carts and carriers were stopped; that milkmaids were flung in the dirt; that people were "crowded and shrowded up against stalls and stoops"--still coaches continued to be built. the early english stage-coaches were clumsy machines. one of the year is shown on the opposite page. with no windows, no seats or railing on top, and an uncomfortable basket rumble behind, they seem crude and inconvenient enough when compared with the dashing mail-coaches which were evolved a century later, and were such a favorite subject with english painters, engravers, and lithographers for many years. those pictures expressed, as dickens said, "past coachfulness: pictures of colored prints of coaches starting, arriving, changing horses, coaches in the sunshine, coaches in the snow, coaches in the wind, coaches in the mist and rain, coaches in all circumstances compatible with their triumph and victory, but never in the act of breaking down or overturning." a copy of one of those prints of an english mail-coach, in the height of its career, is shown opposite page . stage-wagons were used throughout england as a means of cheaper conveyance. they were intolerably slow and equally clumsy. on page a leaf from an old-time english story-book shows two of these lumbering vehicles, which ill compare with the english mail-coaches. coaching days in england have had ample and entertaining record in instructive and reminiscent books, such as: _brighton and its coaches_, by william c. a. blew, ; _the brighton road_, _etc._, by charles g. harper, ; _old coaching days_, by stanley harris, ; _annals of the road_, by captain malet, ; _down the road_, _etc._, by c. t. s. birch reynardson, ; _coaching days and coaching ways_, by w. outram tristam, . we have no similar anecdotic and personal records of american coaching life, though we have the two fine books of modern coaching ways entitled _driving for pleasure_, by francis t. underhill, and _a manual of coaching_, by fairman rogers, both most interesting and valuable. we began early in our history to have coaches. even governor bradstreet in his day rode in a hackney coach. john winthrop, of connecticut, had a private coach in ; sir edmund andros had one in boston in . at the funeral of the lieutenant-governor in in boston there were plenty of coaches, though there were few in new york; the provincial governors usually had one. watson, in his _annals of philadelphia_, gives a list of all private citizens who kept carriages in that city in --there were but thirty-eight. there were three coaches, two landaus, eighteen chariots, and fifteen chairs. eleven years later only eighty-four philadelphians had private carriages. in , when the city had a population of about fifty thousand, eight hundred and forty-seven carriage-owners appear: among them were found thirty-three coaches and one hundred and fifty-seven coachees. the testimony of the traveller bennet, who was in boston in , is most explicit on the subject of travel and transportation in that city and vicinity:-- "there are several families in boston that keep a coach and a pair of horses, and some few drive with four horses; but for chaises and saddle-horses, considering the bulk of the place, they outdo london. they have some nimble, lively horses for the coach, but not any of that beautiful black breed so common in london. their saddle-horses all pace naturally, and are generally counted sure-footed; but they are not kept in that fine order as in england. the common draught-horses used in carts about the town are very small and poor, and seldom have their fill of anything but labor. the country carts and wagons are generally drawn by oxen, from two to six according to the distance, or the burden they are laden with." [illustration: quicksilver royal mail, .] the traveller weld thus described the peculiarly american carriage called a "coachee":-- "the body of it is rather longer than a coach, but of the same shape. in the front it is left quite open down to the bottom, and the driver sits on a bench under the roof of the carriage. there are two seats in it for passengers, who sit in it with their faces to the horses. the roof is supported by small props which are placed at the corners. on each side of the door, above the panels, it is quite open; and, to guard against bad weather, there are curtains which let down from the roof and fasten to buttons on the outside. the light wagons are in the same construction, and are calculated to hold from four to twelve people. the wagon has no doors, but the passengers scramble in the best way they can over the seat of the driver. the wagons are used universally for stage-coaches." a vehicle often mentioned by judge sewall and contemporary writers is a calash. it was a clumsy thing, an open seat set on a low and heavy pair of wheels. a curricle had two horses, a chaise one; both had what were called whip springs behind and elbow springs in front. a whisky was a light body fixed in shafts which were connected with long horizontal springs by scroll irons. a french traveller tells of riding around boston in a whisky. the chair so often named in letters, wills, etc., was not a sedan-chair, but was much like a chaise without a top. the french chaise was introduced here by the huguenots before the year . the yankee "shay" is simply the fancied singular number of the french chaise. we improved upon the french vehicle, and finally replaced it by our characteristic carriage, the buggy. chariots were a distinctly aristocratic vehicle, used as in england by persons of wealth, and deemed a great luxury. one was advertised in boston in as "a very handsome chariot, fit for town or country, lined with red coffy, handsomely carved and painted, with a whole front glass, the seat-cloth embroided with silver, and a silk fringe round the seat." it was offered for sale by john lucas, a boston coach-builder, and had doubtless been built by him. the ancient chariot shown on page , formerly belonging to john brown, the founder of brown university, is preserved at the old occupasnetuxet homestead in warwick, rhode island, securely stored in one of the carriage houses on the estate, a highly prized relic of days long ago. in this ancient vehicle general washington rode from place to place when he made his visit to rhode island in august, , escorted by john brown, the ancestor of its present owners. [illustration: "one hoss shay."] the body of this old chariot is suspended on heavy thorough-braces attached to heavy iron holders as large as a man's wrist, the forward ones so curved as to allow the forward wheels to pass under them, in order that the chariot may be turned within a short compass. it has but one seat for passengers, which will accommodate two persons; and an elevated seat for the driver, which is separate from the main body. the wheels are heavy, the hind ones twice the height of the forward ones, the tires of which are attached to the felloes in several distinct pieces. [illustration: washington chariot.] it is easy to picture the importance attached to buying or owning a wheeled vehicle in a community which rode chiefly on horseback. contemporary evidence of this is often found, such as these entries in the diary of rev. joseph emerson of malden. in the winter of he writes:-- "some talk about my buying a shay. how much reason have i to watch and pray and strive against inordinate affection for the things of the world." a week later, however, he proudly recalls the buying of the "shay" for £ _s._, which must have made a decided hole in his year's salary. his delight in his purchase and possession is somewhat marred by noting that his parishioners smile as he is drawn past them in his magnificence; it is also decidedly taken down by the vehicle being violently overturned, though his wife and he were uninjured. it cost a pretty penny, moreover, to get it repaired. he scarce gets the beloved but sighed-over "shay" home when he thus notes:-- "went to the beach with of the children in my shay. the beast being frighted when we all were out of the shay, overturned and broke it. i desire--i hope i desire it--that the lord would teach me suitably to repent this providence, to make suitable remarks on it, and to be suitably affected with it. have i done well to get me a shay? have i not been too fond & too proud of this convenience? should i not be more in my study and less fond of driving? do i not withold more than is meet from charity? &c." shortly afterward, as the "beast" continued to be "frighted," he sold his horse and shay to a fellow-preacher, rev. mr. smith, who--i doubt not--went through the same elations, depressions, frightings, and self-scourgings in which the puritan spirit and horseman's pride so strongly clashed. on may , , jonathan wardwell's stage-coach left jonathan wardwell's orange tree in boston and ran to rhode island--that is, the island proper. at any rate, it was advertised in boston newspapers as starting at that date. in there was a road-wagon over the same route. in two imported stage-coaches were advertised for this road, and doubtless many travellers used these coaches, which connected with the boats for new york. [illustration] the early coaching conveyances were named. in it was a "stage-chaise" that ran between salem and boston, while a "stage-coach" and "stage-wagon" were on other short routes out of boston. in a "stage-chariot" was on the road between boston and marblehead. "flying mail-stages" came later, and in thomas beals ran "mail stage carriages between boston and providence." in england there were "flying-machines" and "flying-waggons." an old english road-bill dated ends with this sentence, "the rumsey machine, through winchester, hung on steel springs begins flying on the rd of april from london to poole in one day." on the paulus hook route to philadelphia in the proprietor announced a vehicle "in imitation of a coach"--and perhaps that is all that any of these carriages could be rightfully called. one of the clearest pictures which has come down to us of travelling in the early years of our national existence is found in the pages relating the travels of a young englishman named thomas twining, in the united states in the year . he journeyed by "stage-waggon" from philadelphia, through chester and wilmington, to baltimore, then to washington, then back to philadelphia. he fully describes the stage-wagon in which he made these journeys:-- "the vehicle was a long car with four benches. three of these in the interior held nine passengers. a tenth passenger was seated by the side of the driver on the front bench. a light roof was supported by eight slender pillars, four on each side. three large leather curtains suspended to the roof, one at each side and the third behind, were rolled up or lowered at the pleasure of the passengers. there was no place nor space for luggage, each person being expected to stow his things as he could under his seat or legs. the entrance was in front over the driver's bench. of course the three passengers on the back seat were obliged to crawl across all the other benches to get to their places. there were no _backs_ to the benches to support and relieve us during a rough and fatiguing journey over a newly and ill-made road." mr. jansen, who resided in america from to , wrote a book entitled _the stranger in america_. in it he described the coach between philadelphia and new york with some distinctness:-- "the vehicle, the american stage-coach, which is of like construction throughout the country, is calculated to hold twelve persons, who sit on benches placed across with their faces toward the horses. the front seat holds three, one of whom is the driver. as there are no doors at the sides, the passengers get in over the front wheels. the first get seats behind the rest, the most esteemed seat because you can rest your shaken frame against the back part of the wagon. women are generally indulged with it; and it is laughable to see them crawling to this seat. if they have to be late they have to straddle over the men seated further in front." it will be readily seen that the description of this coach is precisely like that given by weld in his _travels_, and like the picture of it in the latter book. an excellent representation of this stage-wagon is given in mr. edward lamson henry's picture of the indian queen tavern at blattensburg, maryland, a copy of which is shown facing page . cruder ones may be seen in the various advertisements of eighteenth-century stage lines. the coach-body of the year had an egg-shaped body and was suspended on thick leather straps, called thorough-braces, which gave the vehicle a comparatively easy motion. after being worn these frequently broke, and one side of the coach would settle. the patient travellers then alighted, took a rail from an adjoining fence, righted up the body of the coach, and went on slowly to the next village for repairs. this coach had a foot-board for the driver's feet, and a trunk-rack bolted to the axletrees. one is here shown, and an old cut on page . a few still exist and are in use. [illustration: stage-coach of .] ten years later the fashion of coaches had changed, and of boats, as shown by the cut on the opposite page. this view is at the first lock on erie canal above albany. all the various forms of coaches were superseded and made obsolete by the incomparable concord coach, first built in concord, new hampshire, in . the story of the concord coach is one of profound interest, and should be given in detail. it has justly been pronounced the only perfect passenger vehicle for travelling that has ever been built. to every state and territory in the union, to every country in the world where there are roads on which such a coach could run, have these concord coaches been sent. in spite of steam and electric cars they still are manufactured in large numbers, and are still of constant use. there is really very little difference between the older concord coaches, such as the one used by buffalo bill, shown on page , and one of the stanch, well-equipped modern ones used in mountain travel, such as is shown facing page . [illustration: stage-coach of .] the word stage-coach was originally applied to a coach which ran from station to station over a number of stages of the road, usually with fresh horses for each stage. it was not used to designate a coach which ran only a short distance. mr. fairman rogers notes as an example of the curious changes of language the custom in new york of calling a short-route omnibus a stage. we all recall the tottering broadway stages; we still have the fifth avenue stages with us. this debased use of the word is not an americanism, nor is it modern. swift speaks of riding in the six-penny stage; and cowper has a similar usage. the word drag, originally applied to a public road-coach, now is used for a coach for private driving. the incorrect american use of the word tally-ho, as a general name for a coach and four, dates from , when colonel delancey kane first ran his road-coach from the brunswick hotel in new york to pelham. it chanced to be named tally-ho after english coaches of that name, and the word was adopted from the individual to a class. barge, as applied to a long omnibus, is apparently a modern americanism. i heard it first about ten years ago. alighting from the cars, travel-tired and dusty, at a new england coast town one july afternoon, we asked the distance to a certain hotel; and we were told it was four miles, and we could go either by sloop or barge, and that "the barge got there first." we gladly welcomed the possibility of closing our journey with a short, refreshing water trip, but decided that the sloop might be delayed by adverse winds, and we would trust to the barge, which we inferred was propelled by steam. on stating our preference for the barge we were waved into a long, heavy omnibus harnessed with a "spike" team of three jaded horses that soon stumbled along the dry road, choking us with the dust of their slow progress. after riding nearly half an hour we called out despondingly to the driver, "when do we reach the wharf?" "we ain't goin' to the wharf," he drawled. "where do we take the barge then, and when?" "you're a-ridin' in the barge now," he answered, and thus we added another example to our philological studies. [illustration: old concord coach.] our first conveyance of goods and persons was by water, and the word transportation was one of our sea terms applied to inland traffic. mr. ernst has pointed out that many sea terms besides the word barge have received a land use. "the conductor shouts his marine 'all aboard,' and railroad men tell of 'shipping' points that have nothing to do with navigation. we ship by rail, and out west they used to have 'prairie schooners.' of late we go by 'trolley,' and that word is borrowed from the sailors. our locomotives have a 'pilot' each, and even 'freight' has a marine origin." the first line of stages established between new york and philadelphia made the trip in about three days. the stage was simply a jersey wagon without springs. the quaint advertisement of the route appeared in the _weekly mercury_ of march , :-- "philadelphia stage waggon and new york stage boat perform their stages twice a week. john butler with his waggon sets out on monday from his house at the sign of the 'death of the fox' in strawberry alley, and drives the same day to trenton ferry, where francis holman meets him, and the passengers and goods being shifted into the waggon of isaac fitzrandolph, he takes them to the new blazing star to jacob fitzrandolph's the same day, where rubin fitzrandolph, with a boat well suited will receive them and take them to new york that night: john butler, returning to philadelphia on tuesday with the passengers and goods delivered to him by francis holman, will set out again for trenton ferry on thursday, and francis holman, &c., will carry his passengers and goods with the same expedition as above to new york." the driver of this flying machine, old butler, was an aged huntsman who kept a kennel of hounds till foxes were shy of philadelphia streets, when his old sporting companions thus made a place for him. with such a magnificent road as the national road, it was natural there should be splendid coaching upon it. at one time there were four lines of stage-coaches on the cumberland road: the national line, pioneer, good intent, and june bug. curiously enough, no one can find out, no one is left to tell, why or wherefore the latter absurd and undignified name was given. an advertisement of the "pioneer fast stage line" is given on page . relays of horses were made every ten or twelve miles. it was bragged that horses were changed ere the coach stopped rocking. no heavy luggage was taken, and at its prime but nine passengers to a coach. these were on what was called troy coaches. the troy coach was preceded by a heavy coach built at cumberland, and carrying sixteen persons, and a lighter egg-shaped vehicle made at trenton; and it was succeeded by the famous concord coach. often fourteen coaches started off together loaded with passengers. the mail-coach had a horn; it left wheeling at six in the morning, and twenty-four hours later dashed into cumberland, one hundred and thirty-two miles away. the mail was very heavy. sometimes it took three to four coaches to transport it; there often would be fourteen lock-bags and seventy-two canvas sacks. [illustration: concord coach at toll gate.] the drivers had vast rivalry. here, as elsewhere all over the country, the test of their mettle was the delivery of the president's message. there was powerful reason for this rivalry; the letting of mail contracts hinged on the speed of this special delivery. dan gordon claimed he carried the message thirty-two miles in two hours and twenty minutes, changing teams three times. dan noble professed to have driven from wheeling to hagerstown, one hundred and eighty-five miles, in fifteen hours and a half. the rivalry of drivers and coach-owners extended to passengers, who became violent partisans of the road on which they travelled, and a threatening exhibition of bowie knives and pistols was often made. when the baltimore and ohio railroad was completed to wheeling, these stage-coaches had their deathblow. [illustration] the expense of travelling in between philadelphia and pittsburg, a distance of two hundred and ninety-seven miles, was twenty dollars by stage with way-expenses of seven dollars, and it took six days. the expense by wagon was five dollars a hundred weight for persons and property, and the way-expenses were twelve dollars, for it took twenty days. in england, in the prime days of coaching, rates were fourpence or fivepence a mile inside, and twopence or threepence outside. the highest fares were of course on the mail-coaches and fast day-coaches; the lower rates were on the heavy night-coaches. at an early date there were good lines of conveyance between boston and providence, and from providence to other towns. the early editions of old almanacs tell of these coaching routes. _the new england almanack_ for gave two routes to hartford, the distances being given from tavern to tavern. _the new england town & county almanack_ for announced a coach between providence and norwich, "a day's journey only," and two coaches a week between providence and boston, also performing this journey in a day. in , israel hatch announced daily stages between the two towns; he had "six good coaches and experienced drivers," and the fare was but a dollar. he closed his notice, "he is also determined, at the expiration of the present contract for carrying the mail from providence to boston, to carry it gratis, which will undoubtedly prevent any further under-biddings of the envious." "the envious" was probably thomas beal, whose rival carriages were pronounced "genteel and easy." his price was nine shillings "and less if any other person will carry them for that sum." when passenger steamboats were put on the route between providence and new york these lines of coaches became truly important. often twenty full coach-loads were carried each way each day. the editor of the _providence gazette_ wrote with pride, "we were rattled from providence to boston in four hours and fifty minutes--if any one wants to go faster he may send to kentucky and charter a streak of lightning." but with speed came increased fares--three dollars a trip. this exorbitant sum soon produced a rival cheaper line--at two dollars and a half a ticket. the others then lowered to two dollars, and the two lines alternated in reduction till the conquered old line announced it would carry the first booked applicants for nothing. the new stage line then advertised that they would carry patrons free of expense, and furnish a dinner at the end of the journey. the old line was rich and added a bottle of wine to a like offer. mr. shaffer, a fashionable teacher of dancing and deportment in boston, an arbiter in social life, and man about town, had a gay ride on monday to providence, a good dinner, and the promised bottle of wine. on tuesday he rode more gayly back to boston, had his dinner and wine, and on wednesday started to providence again. with a crowd of gay young sparks this frolic continued till saturday, when the rival coach lines compromised and signed a contract to charge thereafter two dollars a trip. [illustration: new omnibus "accommodation."] in all the lines in eastern massachusetts and new hampshire, and others in maine and rhode island, were formed into a syndicate, the eastern stage company; and it had an unusual career. the capital stock consisted of four hundred and twenty-five shares at a hundred dollars each. curiously enough, the contracts and agreements signed at the time of the union do not ever mention its object; it might be a sewing-machine company, or an oil or ice trust. it had at once an enormous business, for it was born great. the profits were likewise enormous; the directors' meetings were symposiums of satisfaction, and stockholders gloated over their incomes. in there were seventy-seven stage-coach lines from boston; the fare to albany (about two hundred miles) was six dollars, and eight dollars and seventy-five cents by the "mail line." the fare to worcester was two dollars; to portland, eight dollars; to providence, two dollars and a half. in there were one hundred and six coach lines from boston. the _boston traveller_ was started as a stage-coach paper in , whence its name. time-tables and stage-lists were issued by badger and porter from to . after twelve years, the eastern stage company was incorporated in new hampshire, but even then luck was turning. there was no one shrewd enough to heed the warning which might have been heard through the land, "look out for the engine," and soon the assets of the stage company were as dust and ashes; everything was sold out at vast loss, and in --merely a score of years, not even "come of age"--the eastern stage company ceased to exist. on its prosperous routes, during the first ten years, myriads of taverns had sprung up; vast brick stables had been built for the hundreds of horses, scores of blacksmiths' forges had been set up, and some of these shops were very large. these buildings were closed as suddenly as they were built, and rotted unused. this period of the brilliant existence of the eastern stage company was also the date of the coaching age of england, given by stanley harris as from to . the year , which saw the publication of _pickwick_, wherein is so fine a picture of old coaching days, was the culminating point of the mail-coach system. just as it was perfected it was rendered useless by the railroad. in the earliest colonial days, before the official appointment of any regular post-rider, letters were carried along the coast or to the few inland towns by chance travellers or by butchers who made frequent trips to buy and sell cattle. john winthrop, of new london, sent letters by these butcher carriers. in "indian posts" carried the albany winter mail. with a retrospective shiver we read a notice of that "whoever inclines to perform the foot-post to albany this winter may make application to the post-master." lonely must have been his solitary journey up the solemn river, skating along under old cro' nest. the first regular mounted post from new york to boston started january , . he had two "port-mantles" which were crammed with letters, "small portable goods and divers bags." it was enjoined that he must be active, stout, indefatigable, and honest. he changed horses at hartford. he was ordered to keep an eye out for the best roads, best ways through forests, for ferries, fords, etc., to watch keenly for all fugitive servants and deserters, and to be kind to all persons travelling in his company. during the month that he was gone the mail was collected in a box in the office of the colonial secretary. the arrivals and departure of these posts were very irregular. in we read, "our philadelphia post (to new york) is a week behind, and not yet com'd in." in unusual or violent weather the slowness of mail carriage was appalling. salem and portsmouth are about forty miles apart. in march, , the "post" took nine days for one trip between the two towns and eight days the other. he was on snowshoes, and he reported drifts from six to fourteen feet deep; but even so, four to five miles a day was rather minute progress. it is pleasant to read in the _winthrop letters_ and other correspondence of colonial days of "journeys with the post." madam knight rode with him, as did many another fair traveller with his successors at later dates. a fragment of a journal of a young college graduate, written in , tells of "over-taking the post, who rode with six dames, neither young nor fair, from hartford to boston." he tells that the patient squire of dames was rather surly when joked about his harem. mrs. quincy tells of travelling, when she was a little girl, with the post, who occupied his monotonous hours by stocking-knitting. [illustration] the post-riders, whose advertisements (one of which is here shown) can be found in many old-time newspapers, were private carriers. they "resolv'd to ride post for the good of the publick," etc. they were burdened by law with restrictions, which they calmly evaded, for they materially decreased the government revenue in sealed mail-matter, though they were supposed to be merchandise carriers only. in , hugh finlay was made postal surveyor by the british government of the mail service from quebec, canada, to st. augustine, florida. he made a very unfavorable report of postal conditions. he declared that postmasters often had no offices, that tavern taprooms and family rooms in private houses were used as gathering places for the mail. letters were thrown carelessly on an open table or tavern bar, for all comers to pull over till the owners called; and fresh letters were irregularly forwarded. the postmaster's salary was paid according to the number of letters he handled, and of course the private conveyance of letters sadly diminished his income. private mail-carriage was forbidden by law, but the very government post-riders were the chief offenders. persons were allowed to carry merchandise at their own rates for their own profit, so post-riders, wagon-drivers, butchers, ship captains, or any one could carry large sealed letters, provided they were tied to any bundle or box. sham bundles of paper or straw, weighing little, were thus used as kite-tails to the letters. the government post-rider between newport and boston took twenty-six hours to go eighty miles, carried all way-letters to his own profit, and bought and sold on commission. if he had been complained of, the informer was in danger of tarring and feathering. it was deemed all a part of the revolt of the provinces against "slavery and oppression." the rider between saybrook and new york had been in his calling forty-six years. he carried on a money exchange to his own profit, and pocketed all way-postage. he superintended the return of horses for travellers; and finlay says he was coolly waiting, when he saw him, for a yoke of oxen that he was going to transfer for a customer. no wonder the mails were slow and uncertain. in it took four days for mail to go from new york to boston--in winter much longer. george washington died on the th of december, . as an event of universal interest throughout the nation, the news was doubtless conveyed with all speed possible by fleetest messenger. the knowledge of this national loss was not known in boston till december . two years later there was a state election in massachusetts of most profound interest, when party feeling ran high. it took a month, however, to get in all the election returns, even in a single state. the first advertisement or bill of the first coaching line between boston and portsmouth reads thus:-- "_for the encouragement of trade from portsmouth to boston._ "a large stage chair, "with two horses well equipped, will be ready by monday the th inst. to start out from _mr. stavers_, inn-holder at the sign of the _earl of halifax_, in this town for boston, to perform once a week; to lodge at ipswich the same night; from thence through medford to charlestown ferry; to tarry at charlestown till thursday morning, so as to return to this town next day: to set out again the monday following: it will be contrived to carry four persons besides the driver. in case only two persons go, they may be accommodated to carry things of bulk and value to make a third or fourth person. the price will be _thirteen shillings_ and _six pence_ sterling for each person from hence to boston, and at the same rate of conveyance back again; though under no obligation to return in the same week in the same manner. "those who would not be disappointed must enter their names at _mr. stavers'_ on saturdays, any time before nine in the evening, and pay one half at entrance, the remainder at the end of the journey. any gentleman may have business transacted at newbury or boston with fidelity and despatch on reasonable terms. "as gentlemen and ladies are often at a loss for good accommodations for travelling from hence, and can't return in less than three weeks or a month, it is hoped that this undertaking will meet with suitable encouragement, as they will be wholly freed from the care and charge of keeping chairs and horses, or returning them before they had finished their business. "portsmouth, april, ." a picture and account of the stavers inn are given on page . these stages ran throughout the winter, except in bad weather, and the fare was then three dollars a trip. this winter trip was often a hard one. we read at one time of the ferries being so frozen over that travellers had to make a hundred-mile circuit round by cambridge. this line of stages prospered; and two years later "the portsmouth flying stage-coach," which held six "insides," ran with four or six horses. the fare was the same. [illustration: old coach and sign-board, barre, massachusetts.] on this stavers line were placed the first mail-coaches under the english crown. when finlay (the post-office surveyor just referred to) examined the mail-service in the year , he found these mail-coaches running between boston and portsmouth. mr. ernst says, "the stavers mail-coach was stunning, used six horses in bad weather, and never was late." these coaches were built by paddock, the boston coach-builder and tory. stavers also was a tory, and during the revolution both fled to england, and may have carried the notion of the mail-coach across the sea. at any rate the first english mail-coach was not put on the road till ; it ran between bristol and london. it was started by a theatrical manager named palmer, office work or coaching. the service was very imperfect and far from speedy. herbert joyce, historian of the british post-office, says, "in there was not a single town in the british kingdom at the post-office of which absolutely certain information could have been obtained as to the charge to which a letter addressed to any other town would be subject." the charge was regulated by the distance; but distances seemed movable, and the letter-sender was wholly at the mercy of the postmaster. the government of the united states early saw the injustice of doubt in these matters, and congress ordered a careful topographical survey, in - , of the post-road from passamaquoddy to st. mary's, and also established our peerless corps of topographical engineers. foreigners were much impressed with the value of this survey, and an old handkerchief, printed in by r. gillespie, at "anderston printfield near glasgow," proves that the practical effects of the survey were known in england before the english people had a similar service. this handkerchief gives an interesting statement of postal rates and routes at the beginning of this century. around the edge is a floral border, with the arms of the united states, the front and reverse of the dollar of , a quartette of ships of war, and portraits of washington, adams, jefferson, and "maddison" intertwined. its title is "a geographical view of all the post towns in the united states of america and their distance from each other according to the establishment of the postmaster general in the year ." by an ingenious arrangement of the towns on the main coast line and those on the cross post-roads, the distance from one of these points to any other could easily be ascertained. the "main line of post towns" extended "from passamaquoddy in the district of maine to sunbury in the state of georgia." the object in publishing such a table as this was to make a durable record by which it was possible for the people to compute easily and with a handy helper what the cost of postage on letters would be. the following "rates of postage" are given on the old handkerchief:-- "single letter conveyed by land for any distance not exceeding miles, cents. over , not exceeding miles, cents. " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " for " "" double letters are charged double; and triple letters, three times these rates, and a packet weighing one ounce avoirdupois at the rate of four single letters. let us compare conditions in these matters in america with those in scotland. while england had, in the first half of the eighteenth century, coaches in enough number that country folk knew what they looked like, scotland was barren not only of coaches but of carriages. in there were no chariots or chaises north of the tay. not till was there a coach between edinburgh and glasgow; this journey of forty-six miles could, by the end of the century, be done in twelve hours. in there was once a month a coach from edinburgh to london; it took twelve to sixteen days to accomplish this journey, and was so perilous that travellers made their wills before setting out. there were few carts and no such splendid wagons as our conestogas. cadgers carried creels of goods on horseback; and sledges, or creels borne on the backs of women, were the means of transportation in northern scotland until the end of the eighteenth century. these sledges had tumbling wheels of solid wood a foot and a half in diameter, revolving with the wooden axletree, and held little more than a wheelbarrow. scotch inns were as bad as the roads; "mean hovels with dirty rooms, dirty food, dirty attendants." servants without shoes or stockings, greasy tables with no cloths, butter thick with cows' hairs, no knives and forks, a single drinking-cup for all at the table, filthy smells and sights, were universal; and this when english inns were the pleasantest places on earth. mail-carriage was even worse than personal transportation; hence letter-writing was not popular. in the london mail-bag once carried but a single letter from edinburgh. so little attention was paid to the post that as late as the letters were sometimes not taken from the mail bag, and were brought back to their original starting place. scotland was in a miserable state of isolation and gloom until the turnpike road act was passed; the building of good roads made a complete revolution of all economic conditions there, as it has everywhere. [illustration: quincy railway pitcher.] the first railway in america was the quincy railroad, or the "experiment" railroad, built to carry stones to bunker hill monument. a tavern-pitcher, commemorative of this quincy road, is shown here. two views of the baltimore and ohio railroad, printed on plates and platters in rich dark blue, are familiar to china collectors. one shows a stationary engine at the top of a hill with a number of little freight cars at a very singular angle going down a steep grade. the other displays a primitive locomotive with coachlike passenger cars. all the first rail-cars were run by horse-power. peter parley's _first book on history_ says, in the chapter on maryland:-- "the people are building what is called a railroad. this consists of iron bars laid down along the ground and made fast, so that carriages with small wheels may run upon them with facility. in this way one horse will be able to draw as much as ten horses on a common road. a part of the railroad is already done, and if you choose to take a ride upon it you can do so. you enter a car something like a stage, and then you will be drawn along by two horses at a speed of twelve miles per hour." the horse-car system, in its perfection, did not prevail until many years after the establishment of steam cars. it is curious to note how suddenly, in our own day, the horse cars were banished by cars run by electricity; as speedily as were stage-coaches cast aside by steam. a short time ago a little child of eight years came running to me in much excitement over an unusual sight she had seen in a visit to a small town--"a trolley car dragged by horses." many strange plans were advanced for the new railways. i have seen a wood-cut of a railway-coach rigged with masts and sails gayly running on a track. i don't know whether the inventor of this wind-car ever rigged his car-boat and tried to run it. another much-derided suggestion was that the motive power should be a long rope or chain, and the notion was scorned, but we have lived to see many successful lines of cars run by cable. kites and balloons also were seriously suggested as motive powers. it was believed that in a short time any person would be permitted to run his own private car or carriage over the tracks, by paying toll, as a coach did on a turnpike. the body of the stage-coach furnished the model for the first passenger cars on the railway. a copy is here given of an old print of a train on the veazie railroad, which began to run from bangor, maine, in . the road had two locomotives of stevenson's make from england. they had no cabs when they arrived here, but rude ones were attached. they burned wood. the cars were also english; a box resembling a stage-coach was placed on a rude platform. each coach carried eight people. the passengers entered the side. the train ran about twelve miles in forty minutes. the rails, like those of other railroads at the time, were of strap-iron spiked down. these spikes soon rattled loose, so each engine carried a man with a sledge hammer, who watched the track, and when he spied a spike sticking up he would reach down and drive it home. these "snake heads," as the rolled-up ends of the strap-iron were called, sometimes were forced up through the cars and did great damage. "snake heads" were as common in railway travel as snags in the river in early steamboating. [illustration: veazie railway.] the boston and lowell, boston and providence, and boston and worcester railroads were all opened in . the locomotive used on the boston and worcester road was called the meteor. the cars were coach-shaped and ran on single trucks. the freight cars were short vans or wagon-bodies covered with canvas like a conestoga wagon. a picturesque view of an old railway train is given opposite page in the picture painted by mr. edward lamson henry, called "the arrival of the train." it shows a train at a way station between harrisburg and lancaster, in the year , and a comparison between the coaches on the track and the coach and horses waiting near by will show that the same model served for both. accidents were many on these early roads; some were fatal, some were ridiculous. the clumsy locomotive often broke down, and horses and oxen had to be impressed to drag the cars to the nearest station and repair shop. an old print showing "uncle ame morris's" oxen serving as a locomotive on a railroad near danbury, connecticut, is given on page . coaching accidents had seldom been fatal, and ancient citizens were appalled at the deaths on the rail. never was the cry of "the good old times" so loudly heard as in the early days of the railroad. especially were the injuries by escaping steam and by communicated fire deemed horrible and unbearable. an old-school blood thus summarized all these sentiments: "you got upset in a coach--and there you were! you get upset in a rail-car--and, damme, where are you?" the roadbed of the track was laid thus, as shown in the words of a state report made to the massachusetts legislature on january , :-- "a continuous stone wall, laid so deep in the ground as not to be moved by the effects of the frost; and surmounted by a rail of split granite about a foot in thickness and depth, with a bar of iron on top of it of sufficient thickness for the carriage wheels to run." my father, who rode on one of these rock-bedded railways, told me that the jarring was inexpressibly tiring and even distressing. they were in use but a short time. but the cars had no springs, and the jarring continued to some degree. it produced headaches and an incessant itching of the skin. the primitive brake-power was a hand or foot brake, and a car stopped with a jolting which was almost as severe as the shock felt to-day in a collision. a more primitive brake-power was in vogue on the newcastle and frenchtown railroad, where the engineer would open his safety valve at each station and several strong negroes would seize the end of the train and hold it back while the station agent thrust sticks of wood through the wheel-spokes. crooked roads were favored, so the engineer and conductor could "look back and see if the train was all right." these were easily managed with the short coach-like railway carriages. [illustration: the arrival of the train.] it would be impossible to repeat all the objections against the establishment of the railroads, besides the loss of life. these objections far outnumbered those made against coaches centuries previous. the farmers would be ruined. horses would have to be killed because wholly useless. there would therefore be no market for oats or hay. hens would not lay eggs on account of the noise. it would cause insanity. there would be constant fires from the sparks from the engine. it was declared that no car could ever advance against the wind. the _boston courier_ of june , , said in an editorial:-- "the project of a railroad from boston to albany is impracticable, as every one knows who knows the simplest rule of arithmetic, and the expense would be little less than the market value of the whole territory of massachusetts; and which, if practicable, every person of common sense knows would be as useless as a railroad from boston to the moon." [illustration: uncle ame morris' oxen serving as a locomotive.] captain basil hall rode by stage-coach in over the present route of the boston and albany railroad. he described the hills, ravines, and rivers, and said, "those yankees talk of constructing a railroad over this route; as a practical engineer, i pronounce it simply impossible." all the sentimental objections of all the sentimental objectors may be summed up in the words of the best beloved of all coachmen, tony weller:-- "i consider that the rail is unconstitutional, and a inwader o' privileges. as to the comfort--as an old coachman i may say it--veres the comfort o' sitting in a harm-chair, a lookin' at brick walls, and heaps o' mud, never comin' to a public 'ouse, never seein' a glass o' ale, never goin' thro' a pike, never meetin' a change o' no kind (hosses or otherwise) but always comin' to a place ven you comes to vun at all, the werry picter o' the last! as to the honor and dignity o' travellin', vere can that be vithout a coachman, and vats the rail to sich coachmen as is sometimes forced to go by it, but a outrage and a insult! and as to the ingen, a nasty, wheezin', creakin', gaspin', puffin', bustin' monster always out o' breath, with a shiny green and gold back like a onpleasant beetle; as to the ingen as is alvays a pourin' out red-hot coals at night and black smoke in the day, the sensiblest thing it does, in my opinion, is ven there's somethin' in the vay, and it sets up that 'ere frightful scream vich seems to say, 'now 'eres two hundred and forty passengers in the werry greatest extremity o' danger, and 'eres their two hundred and forty screams in vun!'" chapter xiii two stage veterans of massachusetts there still stands in shrewsbury, massachusetts, at the junction of the westborough road with the old "king's highway," a weatherbeaten but dignified house, the pease tavern; it is shown on page . this house was for many years a popular resort for the teamsters and travellers who passed back and forth on what was then an important road. behind the house was originally a large shed with roof and open sides for the protection from rain or snow of the great numbers of loaded wagons. in another covered shed at the side of the house were chairs and tables for the teamsters and shelves for any baggage they took from their wagons. this shed for the accommodation of the teamsters would indicate to me that they were not so unreservedly welcome at this tavern as at many others on the route. miss ward, in her entertaining book, _old times in shrewsbury_, says that under this shed, in the side boards of the house, slight holes were cut one above the other to a window in the second story. these holes were large enough to hold on by, and to admit the toe of a man's boot; by dexterous use of hands and feet the teamsters were expected to climb up the outside wall to the window, and thus reach their sleeping apartments without passing through the hall and interior of the house. this was, it was asserted, for the convenience both of the family and the travellers. in the wayside inn at sudbury a small special staircase winding in the corner of the taproom led to the four "drivers' bedrooms" above. one of the upper rooms in the pease tavern was a dancing hall. across this hall from wall to wall was a swing partition which could be hooked up to the ceiling when a dance was given, but at other times divided the hall into two large bedrooms. this was a common appurtenance of the old-time tavern. [illustration: pease tavern.] major john farrar, an officer in the revolution, first kept this shrewsbury inn, and greatly rejoiced when washington visited it in his triumphal journey through the country. his successor as landlord, levi pease, was a man of note in the history of travel and transportation systems in massachusetts. he was a shrewsbury blacksmith who served through the entire revolutionary war in a special function--which might be entitled a confidential transportation agent: he transferred important papers, carried special news, purchased horses and stores, foraged for the army, and enjoyed the full confidence of the leaders, especially of lafayette. in , when peace was established, he planned to establish a line of stages between boston and hartford, and thus turn his knowledge of roads and transportation to account. wholly without funds, he found no one ready to embark in the daring project and work with him, save one young stage-driver, reuben sykes or sikes, who braved parental opposition, as well as universal discouragement, and started with a stage-wagon from hartford to boston at the same hour that captain pease set out from boston to hartford. each made the allotted trip in four days. the fare was ten dollars a trip. empty stages were soon succeeded by prosperous trips, and in two years the penniless stage agent owned the boston inn opposite the common, in boston, on the spot where st. paul's church now stands. the line was soon extended to new york. [illustration: old arcade, shrewsbury, massachusetts.] josiah quincy gives a far from alluring picture of pease's coaches in the earliest days:-- "i set out from boston in the line of stages lately established by an enterprising yankee, pease by name, which at that day was considered a method of transportation of wonderful expedition. the journey to new york took up a week. the carriages were old and shackling, and much of the harness made of ropes. one pair of horses carried the stage eighteen miles. we generally reached our resting place for the night, if no accident intervened, at ten o'clock, and after a frugal supper went to bed with a notice that we should be called at three the next morning, which generally proved to be half-past two. then, whether it snowed or rained, the traveller must rise and make ready by the help of a horn-lantern and a farthing candle, and proceed on his way over bad roads, sometimes with a driver showing no doubtful symptoms of drunkenness, which good-hearted passengers never fail to improve at every stopping place by urging upon him another glass of toddy. thus we travelled, eighteen miles a stage, sometimes obliged to get out and help the coachman lift the coach out of a quagmire or rut, and arrived at new york after a week's hard travelling, wondering at the ease as well as expedition of our journey." it should be added to this tale that young quincy was in love, and on his way to see his sweetheart, which may have added to his impatience. this condition of affairs was not permitted to remain long. captain pease bought better horses and more comfortable wagons, and he persuaded townships to repair the roads; and he thus advertised in the _massachusetts spy_, or the _worcester gazette_, under date of january , :-- "stages from portsmouth in new hampshire, to savannah in georgia. "there is now a line of stages established from new hampshire to georgia, which go and return regularly, and carry the several mails, by order and permission of congress. "the stages from boston to hartford in connecticut, set out, during the winter season, from the house of levi pease, at the sign of the new york stage, opposite the mall, in boston, every _monday_ and _thursday_ morning, precisely at five o'clock, go as far as _worcester_ on the evenings of those days, and on the days following proceed to _palmer_, and on the third day reach _hartford_; the first stage reaches the city of _new york_ on saturday evening, and the other on the wednesday evening following. "the stages from _new york_ for _boston_, set out on the same days, and reach _hartford_ at the same time as the boston stages. "the stages from _boston_ exchange passengers with the stages from _hartford_ at _spencer_, and the hartford stages exchange with those from _new york_ at _hartford_. passengers are again exchanged at _stratford ferry_, and not again until their arrival at _new york_. "by the present regulation of the stages, it is certainly the most convenient and expeditious way of travelling that can possibly be had in america, and in order to make it the cheapest, the proprietors of the stages have lowered their price from four pence to three pence a mile, with liberty to passengers to carry fourteen pounds baggage. "in the summer season the stages are to run with the mail three times in a week instead of twice in the winter, by which means those who take passage at boston in the stage which sets off on monday morning, may arrive at new york on the thursday evening following, and all the mails during that season are to be but four days going from boston to new york, and so from new york to boston. "those who intend taking passage in the stages must leave their names and baggage the evening preceding the morning that the stages set off, at the several places where the stages put up, and pay one-half of their passage to the place where the first exchange of passengers is made, if bound so far, and if not, one-half of their passage so far as they are bound. "n. b. way passengers will be accommodated when the stages are not full, at the same rate, viz. three pence only per mile. "said pease keeps good lodging, &c. for gentlemen travellers, and stabling for horses. "boston, jan. nd, ." pease obtained the first government contract within the new united states for carrying the mails; and the first mail in this new service passed through worcester on the th of january, --such changes had three short years brought. all was not ease for him even then; he still drove the stage, and endured heat and cold; and when new england snowstorms could not be overcome by the mail-coach, like many another of his drivers, he shouldered the mail-bag and carried the mail on snowshoes to boston town. he died in , after having received from the government the first charter granted in massachusetts for a turnpike. it was laid out in from boston through south shrewsbury to worcester, nearly parallel to the old road. it transformed travel in that vicinity and, indeed, served to alter all town relations and conditions. this grant and his many incessant efforts to establish turnpikes conferred on levi pease the title of the "father of the turnpike." many other charters were soon granted, and the state was covered with a network of turnpikes which were in general thronged with vehicles and livestock, and were therefore vastly profitable. from the prospectus of the sixth massachusetts turnpike company, incorporated in to build a road from amherst to a point near shrewsbury, we learn that the turnpike from northampton to pittsfield paid twelve per cent dividend. on these great, bustling, living thoroughfares a sad change has fallen. in bedford, raystown, somerset, greensbury, in scores of towns, weeds and grass grow in the ruts of the turnpike. the taverns are silent; some are turned into comfortless farm-houses, others are closed and unoccupied, sad and deserted widows of the old "pikes," far gone in melancholy decline. many of the methods familiar to us in railroad service to-day were invented by pease, and were crudely in practice by him. he introduced the general ticket office in , and no railroad office to-day sells tickets to all the points served by pease. his stage office was in state street, boston. he evolved what we now term the "limited" and "accommodation" service of railroads; in fact, the term "limited" originated with mail-coaches limiting passengers to a specific number. pease's fast mail line took but four passengers in each coach, and ran to new york three times a week with the mails. the slower line charging lower prices ran the other days of the week and took all applicants, putting on extra coaches if required. this service began in . tolls were commuted on massachusetts turnpikes before , so that condition of railroad travel is a century old. not far from this pease tavern is a sulphur spring which has some medicinal repute, and which attracted visitors. to reach it at one time you passed close to the house of the indian, old brazil, and his wife nancy, and this was always a ticklish experience. miss ward tells their blood-curdling story. his real name was the gentle title basil, but he had been a pirate on the high seas, and brazil was more appropriate. he and his wife thriftily ran their little farm and industriously wove charming baskets and peddled them around the neighboring towns. these last leaves on the tree were, for all the perceptions of shrewsbury folk, peaceful creatures as they were honest; but when brazil had been treated to a good mug of hard cider at tavern or farm-house (and no one would fail thus to treat him) he told of his past life with such fierce voice and horrid gesture as made him equally a delight and a terror to the children and to many older folk as well. [illustration: harrington tavern, shrewsbury, massachusetts.] he had been a bloodthirsty villain; scores, perhaps hundreds, of helpless souls on captured craft had perished at his gory hands. he detailed to the gaping loungers at the tavern with a realism worthy a modern novelist how he split the heads of his victims open with his broadaxe--exactly in the middle--"one half would fall on one shoulder, tother half on tother shoulder! ugh! ugh!" and with another pull of cider, husband and wife trotted contentedly home. about they died as they had lived, close--and loving--companions. as a fitting testimonial to the pirate's end, the village boys put a charge of gunpowder in the brick oven of the peaceful little kitchen and blew the pirate's house in fragments. at a time when he could not afford to pay high boston rents, pease made shrewsbury his headquarters. this may account for the large number of old taverns in the town, several of which are portrayed in these pages,--the old arcade on page , harrington's tavern on page , balch tavern on page . the exchange hotel, still standing and still in use as a public house, was the stage office for pease's stage line in worcester. this interesting old landmark, built in , was owned by colonel reuben sykes, the partner of pease; and other coach lines than theirs centred at the exchange, and made it gay with arrival and departure. as the united states arms, sykes's coffee-house, sykes's stage-house, thomas exchange coffee-house, and thomas temperance exchange in the days of the washingtonian movement, this hotel has had an interesting existence. president washington in "stopped at the united states arms where he took breakfast, and then proceeded on his journey. to gratify the inhabitants he politely passed through town on horseback. he was dressed in a brown suit, and pleasure glowed in every countenance as he came along." lafayette was also a guest; and through its situation opposite the worcester court-houses on court hill the tavern has seen within its walls a vast succession of men noted in law and in lawsuits. [illustration: balch tavern, shrewsbury, massachusetts.] from to a brilliant comet flashed its way through the stage-driving world of new england; it was hon. ginery twichell, who was successively and successfully post-rider, stage-driver, stage proprietor, most noted express rider of his times, railroad superintendent, president of the boston and worcester railroad, and member of congress. some thirty years ago or more a small child sat in the "operating room" of a photographer's gallery in worcester. her feet and hands were laboriously placed in a tentatively graceful attitude and the back of her head firmly fastened in that iron "branks-without-a-gag" fixture which then prevailed in photographers' rooms and may still, for all that i know. a sudden dashing inroad from an adjoining room of the photographer's assistant with the loud and excited exclamation, "ginery's coming, ginery's coming," led to the immediate and unceremonious unveiling of the artist from the heavy black cloth that had enveloped his head while he was peeping wisely through the instrument at his juvenile sitter, and to his violent exit; he was followed with equal haste and lack of explanation by my own attendant. thus basely deserted i sat for some minutes wondering what a ginery could be, for there was to me a sort of menagerie-circus-like ring in the word, and i deemed it some strange wild beast like the pygarg once exhibited at the old salem tavern. at last, though fully convinced that my moving would break the camera, i boldly disengaged myself from the claws of the branks, ran to a front window, and hung peering out at the ginery over the heads of the other occupants of the gallery, who regarded with eager delight no wild or strange beast, but a great stage-coach with six horses which stood reeking, foaming, pawing, in front of the baystate house across the street. a dignified and self-contained old man, ruddy of face, and dressed in a heavy greatcoat and tall silk hat, sat erect on the coachman's seat, reins well in hand--and suddenly ginery and his six horses were off with rattle of wheels and blowing of horn and cheers of the crowd; but not before there was imprinted forever in unfading colors on my young brain a clear picture of the dashing coaching life of olden days. it was an anniversary of some memorable event, and the member of congress celebrated it by once more driving over his old-time coaching route to meet the cheers and admiration of all beholders. the predecessor of baystate house, the old central hotel, was the headquarters of twichell's stage line during the sixteen years of his connection with it. it was built in , and rooms in it served various purposes besides those of good cheer--one being used as a county jail. i do not doubt that the coach which i saw was the one thus referred to in the _boston traveller_ of june , , as mr. twichell occasionally drove it until the year of his death:-- "the venerable coach built by moses t. breck of worcester, and used years ago in the heart of the commonwealth by hon. ginery twichell for special occasions before railroads were fairly in vogue, passed through our boston streets on friday. the vehicle was of a most substantial pattern; no repairs have been needed through all these years except an occasional coat of varnish and new upholstering. in , by request of the citizens of the town of barre, seats were added on the top of the vehicle, so that a party of persons could be accommodated ( inside and outside). the largest load ever carried by the ponderous carriage was a party of ( ) sixty-two young ladies of worcester who, uniformly dressed, were driven on a blackberry excursion to the suburbs by mr. twichell himself, eight matched horses being required on the occasion. during the exciting presidential campaign of , the staunch vehicle was used for conveying the sovereigns to and from political gatherings in the town surrounding old quinsigamond." there is still living in boston, at an advanced age, but of vigorous mental powers, mr. henry s. miner, the last stage-driver of ginery twichell's stage-route, perhaps the last person living who was connected with it. he has scores of tales of stage-coach days which he has capacity to frame in interesting language. i am indebted to him for many letters full of information and interest. he says: "ginery twichell was a shrewd, quiet, persevering man of but few words, and those to the point; his voice was clear and low, never raised to horses or men. affable, sociable, he was a man that would make friends and hold them. he was smooth-shaven and red-faced, but strictly temperate. he had one habit of rubbing his hands rapidly when in earnest conversation. he had but a common school education and might be called a self-made man. before through railroads were completed, mr. twichell collected the november election votes on horseback, from greenfield to worcester, miles, covering the distance in four and one-half hours. he had relays of horses and men every to miles. as the work always came in the night, he was many times thrown by his horse stumbling, but always came out all right. at one time he slept in his clothes with buckskin underwear, at the american house in worcester, in wait for despatches from english steamers. he had men and horses on the road to norwich for one week waiting also. when the dispatches arrived he mounted his horse and started for norwich; he met the boat, and the despatches were in new york hours ahead of any other line. i am the only one of his drivers living, and one hostler is living." [illustration: advertisement of twichell's stage line.] a friend who remembers riding with twichell eulogizes him in the warmest terms for his accommodating spirit and happy faculty of making all his passengers as comfortable as possible. he had an inexhaustible fund of racy anecdotes which he would tell so well that it was a perfect treat to ride upon the box with him. he was a general favorite, especially with the country folks, and the boys and girls on the road, and with these he always had a joke to crack whenever it came his way to do so, to the infinite amusement of the travellers whom he had in charge. he carried many small and valuable parcels, and executed commissions for the people like an expressman. after a period of self-denial in early life, throughout which he had saved his liberal earnings carefully, he was enabled to purchase from mr. stockwell the stage and two horses which he drove between athol and barre. about he started with mr. burt and mr. billings a stage line from brattleboro to worcester. [illustration: ginery twichell's ride.] in he was engaged in driving a stage of his own between barre and worcester. not long afterwards he was sole owner of a line from greenfield, massachusetts, to brattleboro, vermont. the postmaster-general about this time advertised for mail contracts, and ginery twichell went to washington. it was supposed by the owners of the other lines, who knew he had gone thither, that he would not undertake to execute more than one contract, but his own private views, it appears, were somewhat broader, for he contracted with the government to carry the mails upon a number of routes, greatly to the astonishment of others in the business; and what was better still, he accomplished what he had undertaken very satisfactorily to the postmaster-general, and came to be regarded as a sort of napoleon among mail contractors. he became the owner of a large number of fine stages and horses. he ran a line from worcester to northfield, sixty miles, three times a week; from worcester to winchester, fifty-five miles, daily; from worcester to keene, fifty-four miles, three times a week; to templeton twenty-five miles, daily; from templeton to greenfield, forty-eight miles, daily; from barre to worcester, forty-four miles, daily. in all this was two hundred and eighty-six miles of stage-route, and it took a hundred and fifty-six horses to do the work. the picture shown on page is from a lithograph published in , entitled,-- "the unrivaled express rider, ginery twichell, who rode from worcester to hartford, a distance of sixty miles in three hours and twenty minutes through a deep snow, january , ." it commemorates an exploit of his which was much talked of at the time it took place. chapter xiv a staging centre the story of the tavern and stage life of the town of haverhill, new hampshire, may be told as an example of that aspect and era of social history, as developed in a country town. it shows the power the stage-coach was in bringing civilization and prosperity to remote parts of the states, what an illumination, what an education. haverhill is on the connecticut river somewhat more than halfway up the western boundary line of the state of new hampshire, at the head of the cohos valley. it is a beautiful fertile tract of land which had been cleared and cultivated by the indians before the coming of the white man. it is lovely and picturesque with its broad intervales, splendid mountains, and peaceful river winding in the sweeps and reaches of the oxbow; so lovely that longfellow declared haverhill the most beautiful spot he ever had seen. the town has but little colonial history. it had no white settlers till ; but the first who did take up land and build there were, as was the case with nearly all new hampshire towns, men of unusual force of character and energy of purpose; by revolutionary times the town was well established, and its situation and resources made it the authorized place of rendezvous for the troops destined for canada. at the end of the war, when the danger of indian invasion lessened, the town grew rapidly, but there were still only bridle-paths blazed through the woods by which to connect with the world, and until this century its only roads were the river road, the coventry road over morse hill, and the old road from plymouth, new hampshire. but the day of the turnpike and vast changes was dawning. in , in this town, still poor and struggling, were men who contributed their share to the building of the old cohos turnpike from plymouth through warren to haverhill. the old post-rider, faithful john balch, who had carried on foot and on horseback the scant letters throughout the dangerous days of the revolution, was succeeded by colonel silas may in a dutch wagon, carrying packages and the mail. as he drove into town blowing his horn he inaugurated a change for haverhill that was indeed a new life. by a permanent stage line was established between concord and haverhill through plymouth; and the first coach came down the long hill on its first trip, with loud and constant blasts of the horn, with a linchpin gone, but wheel safely in place clean up to the tavern door, thanks to silas may's skilful driving. a leading spirit in obtaining the turnpike charter and one of the proprietors of the first stage line was colonel william tarleton (or tarlton), then a dashing young fellow of great elegance of manners; he kept the tarleton tavern on tarleton lake on the pike till his death. every stage and team that went down or up the pike stopped there to water the horses, with water in which was thrown salt; and every passenger had at least a hot drink. his hostelry was famous for two generations, and all the while there swung in the breezes that swept over tarleton lake the old sign-board which is shown here. it is an oaken board on which is painted on one side an indian and the name william tarlton and date, ; on the other a symbol of plenty. it is owned by his grandson, amos tarleton, of haverhill, to whose cordial interest and intelligent help i owe much of this story of haverhill's coaching days. [illustration: sign-board of tarleton inn.] the turnpike line from concord to haverhill was scarcely under way when a rival line was started which came through hanover, and connected with the stage line to new york. others followed with surprising quickness; the chief were lines to boston, new york, and stanstead, canada; lesser lines of coaches ran to the white mountains, to montpelier, vermont, to chelsea, vermont, and elsewhere. the reason for this sudden growth of haverhill was found in its position with regard to the neighboring country; the topography of upper new england made it a proper and natural travel centre. as many coaches came into haverhill every night and started out early the next morning, as many passengers changed coaches there, it can be readily seen that the need of taverns was great, and a number at once were opened. often a hundred and fifty travellers were set down daily in haverhill. the bliss tavern was one of the first to be built and is still standing, a dignified and comfortable mansion, as may be seen from its picture on page . its landlord, joseph bliss, was a man of influence in the town, and held several important offices; his house was the headquarters where the judges of the court and the lawyers stopped when court was held; for haverhill was a shire town, a county seat, from . at some of the courts of the general sessions of the peace as many as twenty-two justices were present; and court terms were longer then than now, so justices, lawyers, clients, sheriffs, deputies, jurors, and witnesses came and remained in town till their law business was settled. sometimes the taverns were crowded for weeks. the court and bar had a special dining room and table at bliss's tavern, to which no layman, however high in social standing, was admitted. on sundays all went to the old meeting-house at piermont, where there was a "judges' pew." sometimes executions took place in town--a grand day for the taverns. when one burnham was hanged there in , ten thousand people witnessed the sight. old and young, mothers with babes, lads and lasses, even confirmed invalids thronged to this great occasion. [illustration: sign-board of tarlton inn.] besides the court and its following, and the pampered travellers in stage-coaches, haverhill taverns had by other classes of customers. backward and forward from upper new hampshire and vermont to boston, portsmouth, and salem, rolled the great covered wagons with teams of six or eight horses bearing the products of the soil and forest to the towns and the products of the whole earth in return. these wagons, which were the conestoga wagons of pennsylvania, made little appearance in new england till this century; they were brought there by the war of ; but they had there their day of glory and usefulness as elsewhere throughout our whole northern continent. the two-wheeled cart of the earliest colonists, clumsily built and wasteful of power, was used long in new england for overland transportation; though the chief transfer of merchandise was in the winter by "sledding." there seems to have always been plentiful snow and good sledding every year in every part of new england in olden times, though it is far from being so to-day. the farmer, at that season of the year, had little else to do, and the ancient paths were soon made smooth by many sleighs and sleds. mr. henry s. miner gives me a very interesting account of these freight wagons in new england as he remembers them in ante-railroad days. though the traffic was small in amount compared with that of the present day, it was carried on in a way which gave a sense of great life and action on the road. as even little towns furnished freight for several teams, the aggregate was large, and as they neared boston the number of teams on the highway seemed enormous. these passed through towns on the turnpike every day, sundays included. no vocation called for sturdier or better men. the drivers were almost invariably large, hearty, healthy yankees, of good sense and regular habits, though they were seldom total abstainers. they could not be drunkards, for their life was too vigorous; long whip in hand, they walked beside their teams. the whip was a sign of office, seldom applied to a horse. they had to be keen traders, good merchants, to sell advantageously the goods they carried to town and to choose wisely for return trips. country merchants seldom went to the cities, but depended wholly on these teamsters for supplies. [illustration: bliss's tavern.] the wagons were of monstrous size, broad and high. each horse had a ton of freight. no one was a regular teamster who drove less than four horses. but there were other carriers. a three-horse team called a "spike," a two-horse team called a "podanger," and a single horse with cart called a "gimlet," were none of them in favor with tavern-keepers or other teamsters. still, if the smaller teams got stuck in the mud or snow, the regulars would good-humoredly help them out. whatever accident happened to a teamster or his wagon or horses, his fellow-craftsmen assisted him, while stage-drivers, drovers, or any other travelling citizens were never looked upon for help. an old man who drove one of these teams in his youth says:-- "when these large teams were hooked to the wagons, the starting word was 'whoo-up'; and the horses would at once place themselves in position. then, 'order, whope, _git_.' to turn to the left, 'whoa, whoa,' softly; to the right, 'geer there.' for a full stop, 'whoa who-oof,' in louder voice, and all would come to a standstill. it was a fine sight to see six or eight good horses spread out, marching along in each other's steps, and see how quick they were to mind the driver's voice. good drivers always spoke to their teams in a low voice, never shouted. the teamsters walked beside their teams, twenty miles a day the average. the reins were done up on each horse's hames, allowing them to spread apart with ease, a check-rein from the bit over the hames to keep them where they belonged. you could never teach a horse anything that wasn't checked up. the wagons weighed from eighteen hundred to twenty-two hundred pounds. some wagons had an adjustable seat called a lazy-board." with winter snows the wagons were generally housed; hundreds, yes, thousands of sleighs, pods, and pungs took their place. the farmer no longer sent to town by wagon and teamster; he carried his farm produce to town himself, just as his grandfather had in the days of the cart and sled before the revolution. winter brought red-letter days to the new england farmer; summer and autumn were his time of increase, but winter was his time of trade and of glorious recreation. [illustration: old sleigh with double dashboard.] friendly word was circulated from farm to farm, spread chiefly at the sabbath nooning, that at stated date, at break of day the long ride to market would begin. often twenty or thirty neighbors would start together on the road to town. the two-horse pung or single-horse pod, shod with steel shoes one inch thick, was closely packed with farm wealth--anything that a new england farm could produce that could be sold in a new england town. frozen hogs, poultry, and venison; firkins of butter, casks of cheeses,--four to a cask,--bags of beans, peas, sheep-pelts, deer hides, skins of mink, fox, and fisher-cat that the boys had trapped, perhaps a splendid bearskin, nuts that the boys had gathered, shoe pegs that they had cut, yarn their sisters had spun, stockings and mittens they had knitted, homespun cloth and linen, a forest of splint brooms strapped on behind, birch brooms that the boys had whittled. so closely packed was the sleigh that the driver could not sit; he stood on a little semicircular step on the back of the sleigh, protected from the cutting mountain winds by the high sleigh back. at times he ran alongside to keep his blood briskly warm. to troy and portland went some winter commerce, but boston, portsmouth, and salem took far the greatest amount. on the old cohos turnpike trains of these farm sleighs were often a half mile long. the tavern-keepers might well have grown rich, had all these winter travellers paid for board and lodging, but nearly all, even the wealthiest farmers, carried their own provender and food. part of their oats and hay for their horses sometimes was deposited with honest tavern-keepers on the way down to be used on the way home; and there was also plenty of food to last through the journey: doughnuts, cooked sausages, roast pork, "rye and injun" bread, cheese, and a bountiful mass of bean porridge. this latter, made in a tub and frozen in a great mass, was hung by loops of twine by the side of the sleigh, and great chunks were chopped off from time to time. this itinerant picnic was called in some vicinities tuck-a-nuck, an indian word; also mitchin. it was not carried from home because tavern-fare was expensive,--a "cold bite" was but twelve and a half cents, and a regular meal but twenty-five cents; but the tavern-keeper did not expect to serve meals to this class or to such a great number of travellers. his profits were made on liquor he sold and sleeping room he gave. the latter was often simple enough. great fires were built in barroom and parlor; each driver spread out a blanket or fur robe, and with feet to the fire, the semicircle slept the sleep of the healthy and tired and cider-filled. ten cents this lodging cost; but the sale of rum and cider, toddy and flip, brought in dimes and dollars to the tavern-keeper. many a rough story was told or old joke laughed at before the circle was quiet; quarrels, too, took place among so many strong and independent men. [illustration: old passenger pung.] it can readily be seen how important the tavern must have been in such a town as haverhill, what a news centre, what an attraction, what an education. newspapers were infrequent, but none were needed when newcomers from all points of the compass brought all there was to tell from everywhere. mine host was the medium through which information was spread; he came into close contact with leaders in law, politics, and business, and dull he must have been if he did not profit in mental growth. but he could not be dull, he had to be companionable and intelligent; hence we find the tavern-keeper the leading man in town, prominent in affairs, and great in counsel, and it was to the stage-coach he owed much of his intelligence and influence. chapter xv the stage-driver in a home-library in an old new england town there were for half a century two sets of books which seemed strangely alien to the other staid occupants of the bookshelves, which companions were chiefly rows of encyclopædias, scott's novels, the _spectator_ and _tatler_, a large number of books of travel, and scores of biographies, autobiographies and memoirs of pious "gospellers," english and american, chiefly missionaries. these two special sets of books were large volumes, but were not placed primly and orderly with others of their own size; they were laid on their sides thrust high up among the smaller books on the upper shelves as if to escape notice under the frames of the glazed doors. they were strictly tabooed to all the younger members of the family, and were, indeed, well out of our reach; but satan can find library steps for idle and very inquisitive little souls to climb, and we had read them eagerly before we were in our teens. one set was that inestimable and valuable work _london labour and london poor_, which was held to be highly improper reading for the young, but which i found very entertaining, as being of folk as remote from my life as if they were gnomes and elves. the other volumes were pierce egan's _book of sports_; and one, a prince of wicked books, entitled _life in london: or the day and night scenes of jerry hawthorne, esq., and his elegant friend corinthian tom accompanied by bob logic, the oxonian, in their rambles and sprees through the metropolis_. this also was by pierce egan. [illustration: relay house.] that this latter most reprehensible book (from the standard of the puritan household in which it was found) should have been preserved at all must have been, i think, from the fact that the illustrations were by cruikshank, and delightful pictures they were. though this book was so ill-regarded in new england, its career in england was a most brilliant one. it was the most popular work in british literature in the years to ; in fact, to many englishmen it was _the_ book, _the_ literature, of the period. one claim it has to the consideration of the reading public to-day: it is perhaps the best picture existing of society, or, as it was termed in the words of the day, of "life, fashion, and frolic," in the times of george iv. thackeray tells, in his article on george cruikshank, of the lingering fondness he had for this old book, but even when he wrote could find no copy either in the british museum or in london circulating libraries. it was dramatized by several hands, and had long runs on the stage both in england and the united states; and i do not doubt wealthy young men in the large american cities tried to emulate the sports of the london tom and jerry. in the peculiar affectations of the bucks and bloods of that day, from the king down, shown in the love of all low sports, in association, even familiarity, with low sportsmen, and in the domination of the horse in sporting life, we see the reason for the high perfection and participation of the rich in coaching in england--a perfection which was aped in some respects in america. coaching is less talked about than other sports by jerry and the elegant corinthian tom (whose surname is never once given), probably because their dissipations and sprees were those of the city, not of turnpike roads and green lanes. but the life of the day, perhaps the idlest, most aimless era of fashion in english history, the life most thoroughly devoid of any spirituality or intellectuality, yet never exactly unintelligent and never dull, lives forever in pierce egan's pages; and lives for me with the intensity of reality from the eager imprinting on the fresh memory of a little child of unfamiliar scenes and incomprehensible words, knowledge even of whose existence was sternly forbidden. i obtained from these books a notion of an english coachman, as an idealized being, a combination of phoebus apollo, a roman charioteer, and the prince regent. i fancied our american coach-drivers as glorious likewise, though with a lesser refulgence; and i distinctly recall my disappointment at the reality of the first coachman of my first coach-ride from charlestown, new hampshire. a man, even on a day of indian summer, all in hide and fur: moth-eaten fur gloves, worn fur cap with vast ear-flaps and visor, and half-bare buffalo-hide coat, and out of all these ancient skins but one visible feature, a great, shining, bulbous nose. but even the paling days of stage-coaches were then long past; and the ancient coachman had long been shorn of his glory. in the days of his prime he was a power in the land, though he was not like the english coachman. from mr. miner and others who remember the great days of stage-coach travel, i learn that our american drivers were a dignified and interesting class of men. imposing in bearskin caps, in vast greatcoats, and with their teams covered with ivory rings, with fine horses and clean coaches, they and their surroundings were pleasant to the eyes. they acquired characteristic modes of speaking, of thinking. they were terse and sententious in expression, had what is termed horse sense. they had prudence and ability and sturdy intelligence. they carried from country to town, from house to house, news of the health of loved ones, or of sickness when weary nurses were too tired to write. a kindly driver would stop his horses or walk them past a lane corner where an anxious mother or sister waited, dreading; and passengers in the coach would hear him call out to her, "john's better, fever's all gone." they were character-readers, of man and horse alike. they had great influence in the community they called home, and their word was law. they were autocrats in their own special domain, and respected everywhere. no wonder they loved the life. harrison bryant, the veteran yankee whip, inherited a fine farm in athol. he at once gave up his hard life as a driver, bade good-by to the cold and exposure, the long hours of work, the many hardships, and settled down to an existence of sheltered prosperity. on the third day of his life on the farm he stood at the edge of a field as a stage passed on the road. the driver gave "the happy farmer" a salute and snapped his whip. the horses started ahead on the gallop, a passenger on top waved good-by to him; the coach bounded on and disappeared. farmer bryant walked sombrely across the field to his new home, packed his old carpet-bag, went to the stage-office in the next town, and two days later he swept down the same road on the same coach, snapping his whip, waving his hand, leaving the miles behind him. he was thus one week off the coach-box, and at the end of his long life had a well-established record of over one hundred and thirty-five thousand miles of stage driving, more than five times round the world. [illustration: the relay.] a letter written by an "old-timer" says:-- "i remember many of the old stage-drivers. what a line was the old 'accommodation' put on by gen. holman and others! what a prince of drivers was driver day! handsome, dressy, and a perfect lady's man! how many ladies were attracted to a seat on the box beside him! then such a team, and with what grace they were guided! how many young men envied his grace as a driver! so, also, what gentlemen were the tavern-keepers of that day! they studied to please the public by their manners, though behind the scenes some of them could spice their conversation with big words." a very vivid description of the dress of the old stage-drivers of haverhill and other new hampshire towns was given me by mr. amos tarleton, an old inhabitant of the town. he says:-- "the winter dress of these old drivers was nearly all alike. their clothing was of heavy homespun, calfskin boots, thick trousers tucked inside the boots, and fur-lined overshoes over the boots. over all these were worn canadian hand-knit stockings, very heavy and thick, colored bright red, which came up nearly to the thighs, and still over that a light leather shoe. their coats were generally fur or buffalo skin with fur caps with ear protectors, either fur or wool tippets. also a red silk sash that went round the body and tied on the left side with a double bow with tassels." can you not see one of those hairy old bears peering out of his furs, vain in scarlet sash and tassels, and with his vast feet planted on the dashboard? what were on his fore paws? double-pegged mittens, leather gauntlets, fur gloves, wristlets, and muffettees? mr. twining declared that the skill of american drivers equalled that of english coachmen, though they had little of the smart appearance of the latter, "neither having the hat worn on one side, nor greatcoat, nor boots, but wearing coarse blue jackets, worsted stockings, and thick shoes." a traveller calling himself a citizen of the world, writing in , noted with pleasure that the drivers on american coaches neither asked for nor took a fee, but simply wished the passengers a polite good morning. other englishmen greeted this fact with approval. mr. miner tells us "tipping" was unknown--which was so customary, indeed so imperative, in england. sometimes travellers who went frequently over the same route would make a gift to the driver. the custom of "shouldering," which was for the coachman to take the fare of a way-passenger--one who did not register or start at the booking-office--and pocket it without making any return to the coach agent or proprietor, was universal in england. some coach companies suffered much by it, and it was a tidy bit of profit to the unscrupulous coachman. shouldering was common also in the new world, and called by the same name. there were no "spotters" on coaching lines as on street railways. as in every trade, profession, or calling, stage-coaching had a vocabulary--call it coaching slang if you will. among english coachmen "skidding" was checking with a shoe or drag or "skid-pan" the wheels of the coach when going down hill, thus preventing them from revolving, and slackening the progress of the coach. "fanning" the horses was, in coachman's tongue, whipping them; "towelling" was flogging them; and "chopping" the cruel practice of hitting the horse on the thigh with the whip. "pointing" was hitting the wheeler with the point of the whip. a "draw" was a blow at the leader. if the thong of the whip lapped round any part of the harness, it was called "having a bite." "throat-lashing" was another term. [illustration: view of middletown, connecticut.] another and expressive use of the word bite was to indicate a narrow strip of gravel or broken stone on the near side of a winding road on a steep hill. the additional friction on the wheel on one side made a natural drag or brake, while the wheels of the ascending coach did not touch it. the drivers on local lines grew to be on terms of most friendly intimacy with dwellers along the route. they bore messages, brought news, carried letters and packages, transacted exchange, and did all kinds of shopping at the citywards end of the route. an old coach-driver in ayer, massachusetts, told me with much pride that he always bought bonnets in boston for all the women along his route who could not go to town; and that often in the spring the bandboxes were piled high on the top of his coach; that he never bought two alike, and that there wasn't another driver on the road that the women would trust to perform this important duty save himself. the great bell-crowned hat which the driver wore in summer on lines leaving boston often was crammed with papers and valuables, and one of the rules of the eastern stage company at one time was, "no driver shall carry anything except in his pocket." it is said many of the drivers grew bald from the constant weight on their heads. the constant imbibing of ale, brandy, and rum-and-milk by english coachmen at coaching inns was echoed in america by drivers at every tavern at which the stage-coach stopped. the driver was urged to drink by coach passengers who had far better have implored him not to drink. many an old driver showed by the benignant purple glow of his nose that the importunities of the travellers had been duly silenced by more than ample hard cider, gin, and new england rum. a great day on the coaches was when schoolboys and college boys went home on their vacations. the tops of the coaches were filled with their square boxes, which packed like cord-wood. on these boxes and within the coach swarmed the boys, pea-shooters in hand. a favorite target was the pike-keeper at the toll-gate, and those who left the coach first fared worst. our boys have but a feeble imitation of these good times when they riot into a railway car together for a few hours of hurried travel to their city homes. the stage-drivers were universally kind and careful of all children placed under their charge; even young children, boys and girls, were intrusted to their care. one old gentleman tells me that in the days of his youth he rode by stage-coach to and from school, and so strong was his longing for a seafaring life, with such a flavor of salt water and tar did he englamour every unusual event, that it was inevitable with the imaginativeness of a child he should compare this trip by stage to a sea voyage; the roads and fields he mentally termed the ocean, the driver was the captain, the inside of the coach the cabin, the top the deck, and so on. he was honored by having a seat with the driver; and as the day waned, and the ship came to anchor, and all disembarked for supper at a stage tavern, he was further honored by eating supper with the driver and being treated to a glass of toddy. after the coach was again under way the driver had some tardy compunctions that the toddy had been rather strong drink for a growing boy, and said plainly that he feared the young traveller felt the liquor and might tumble from his high seat. he was not reassured when the boy answered dreamily, "never mind, i can swim." after glancing sharply at him, the driver stopped his horses, and ignominiously forced the boy to descend and make the rest of the journey inside the coach. nothing is more marked than the changes in travelling-bags and trunks from those of stage-coach days. when our ancestors crossed the ocean they transported their belongings in wooden chests--common sea-chests and chests of carved wood. i have seen no mention of _trunks_ in any old colonial inventories, though trunks existed and are named by shakespere. these old trunks were metal coffers, and usually small. when judge sewall went to england in , he bought trunks for his little daughters--trunks of leather or hide with their initials studded in metal nails. this shape of trunk lasted till the days of the railroad. nearly all old families have one or more of these old trunks in their garrets. they were stout enough of frame, and heavy enough of frame to have lasted in larger numbers, and for centuries, but their heavy deerskin or pigskin covering often grew sorely offensive through harboring moths; and as they held but little, and were very heavy, they were of no use for a modern wardrobe. their long narrow forms, however, were seen laden on every stage-coach, in company with carpet bags and leather sacks, and the schoolboy who owned one was a proud fellow. an ancient travelling bag is shown on page . it is of a heavy woollen homespun stuff ribbed like corduroy, mounted with green leather bindings, straps, handles, etc. it is shaped like a mail-bag, and the straps laced through large eyelet holes. this bag is believed by its owners to have held the possessions of john carver on the _mayflower_. [illustration: deer's hide and pigskin trunks.] not only were stage-drivers respected by all persons in every community, but they had a high idea of their own dignity and of the importance of their calling. little jack mendum, who drove the salem mail-coach, did not deem it an exaggeration of his position when he roared out angrily in answer to a hungry passenger who kept urging him to drive faster, "when i drive this coach i am the whole united states of america." one coachman who drove from boston to hartford was deeply tanned by summer suns and winter winds, and his mates spoke to each other of him as black ben. an english traveller, bustling out of the coach office with importance, shouted out: "i and my people want to go with black ben; are you the coachman they call black ben?" "blackguards call me black ben," was the answer, "but gentlemen call me mr. jarvis." the list of the coach-drivers employed by the eastern stage company still exists, and has been printed by mr. rantoul. from it we learn that coach-driving went by families--it was an hereditary calling. many families had two sons in this work, there were four potter brothers, three ackermans, and three annables, all coachmen. their names were often curious, moses caney, john foss, perley annable, eppes potter, ben savory, fortune tozzer. mr. miner writes thus of stage-terms and stage-horses:-- "every horse had a name. it was 'git up, jo; gwan, boys or gals; you are shirky, bill; you want touching up, ben; if you don't do better, ben, i'll swap you for a mule.' all kinds of expressions. some drivers would fret a team to death, while others would get over the road and you would never hear hardly a loud word to the team. it was just as drivers themselves were constituted. all kinds of horses were used in a stage team, runaways, kickers, biters, and all kinds of tricksters. if the owners could not manage them they went on stage teams, and did good work, and never died. they were seldom sick, as they were well-fed and groomed, and had quick time and short trips. we had some fine teams of matched horses, especially on the connecticut river roads, which would have sold for seven hundred to a thousand dollars a pair. the horses were usually what were termed native horses, large, full of muscle and gimp, of english descent." [illustration: old carpet bag.] it was the testimony of john lambert, an english gentleman who travelled here in the early years of this century, that the horses used on coaches in all settled parts of the united states were as good as english coach-horses. it serves to show with force the pride and vanity of coach owners and drivers to be told that on the boston and salem line the coachmen sometimes attached false sweeping tails to the horses, to dress them up as it were and put on a good appearance--this is ante- if not anti-docking days. elaborate rules for coach-driving are given in old-time and modern manuals of coaching. mr. fairman rogers's descriptions are the plainest. mr. miner tells very simply of the old modes of driving in his day:-- "on four-horse teams were four reins. the near wheel-horse rein came under the little finger of left hand, the leader over the next finger. the off wheel-horse rein over third finger, right hand, leader over first finger. six horses would require two more reins, and one more finger on each hand. some drivers would wear mittens, and have one rein over and one under the fingers. these among good reinsmen were called dummies or old farmers. the whip was carried in the right hand, horizontally pointing to the left, toward the ground, not as pictured at the present day. a good driver who was interested in his team always sat up straight, and kept his reins and whip in a stylish manner. he talked to his horses as he would to a person. every horse knew him; they knew him by his voice whether they were late for cars or early, and just where to make up time if late. a driver of this kind always had a good team, able to respond under all conditions." even the whip of good drivers was of regulation size. the rule of perfection was that it should be five feet one and one-half inches from butt to holder and twelve feet five inches long from holder to end of point of lash--so it was an imposing machine. on summer routes in the mountains of new hampshire the stage-driver lingered long. over the backbone of vermont he guides in our own day a few rusty coaches. among the popular stage-drivers of the new hampshire mountains before the advent of frequent railroads, were charles sanborn, of pittsfield, who drove between centre harbor and west ossipee; and h. p. marden, who drove between plymouth and the profile house, white mountains, during the summer months; and james f. langdon, of plymouth,--the three being among the last to give up the reins and the whip, when called to that far-away country "from whence no traveller returns." in , mr. sanborn drove between centre harbor and north conway, a distance of thirty-five miles. he drove over that route eleven years, at first requiring but forty horses, while in no less than one hundred and twenty were in constant use, besides a large number of coaches, wagons, and sleighs. on one of his round trips, mr. sanborn took three hundred and fifty dollars in passenger fares alone, while the express business was proportionately large. of course all this seems small to those who know little of the days before railroads ran by every man's dooryard, but those who have "staged it" in the old times will understand what a busy time the driver on such a route must have had. mr. sanborn was over six feet in height and of herculean frame, his broad shoulders and sturdy gait betokening a strength which gave his passengers the greatest confidence in his ability to carry them safely through any accident. he seldom lost his temper, even under the most trying circumstances, and was a jolly man withal. major lewis downing of concord tells me that on his route sanborn had the good-will of every one, and in pittsfield, where was his home, he was highly esteemed for his sterling character and strict integrity. in england the coachmen and coaches had an annual parade, a coaching-day, upon the royal birthday, when coach-horses, coachmen, and guards all were in gala attire. in america similar annual meetings were held in many vicinities. in concord, new hampshire, which was a great coaching centre, an annual coaching parade was given in the afternoon and a "stagemen's ball" in the evening. "knights of the whip" from new hampshire and neighboring states attended this festival. the ball was held in the celebrated grecian hall--celebrated for its spring floor--which was built over the open carriage-houses and woodsheds attached to the eagle coffee-house, called now the eagle hotel. this dancing hall, built in , took its name from the style of its architecture. at one end was a great painting of the battle of new orleans, with jackson on horseback. it was the rallying-point for all great occasions,--caucuses, conventions, concerts, even a six weeks' theatrical season. political economists solve the problem of a sudden loss of one trade by saying that others can easily be found. but it is difficult for a man learned in one handicraft to become proficient in others; and it is most difficult for the old or even middle-aged to learn a new trade. no more melancholy example of an entire class of workmen deprived of work and subsistence through no fault of their own can be found than in these old coachmen, especially in england. their work left them with astonishing rapidity, and they refused to realize the fact that their occupation was going out of existence, and that railroads would supersede coaches. in england the employment of the drivers of coaches on the railroads was almost unknown; they ended their days as humble workers in stables or as omnibus drivers, or, worse still, upon carts working on the road; sorry lives compared to the cheery work on a coach. a few took to farming, and made pretty poor work of it. [illustration: sign of david reed's tavern.] in america, especially in new england if they were young and strong and quick-witted enough to read coming events and adjust themselves early in the day to altered conditions, they obtained positions on the railroads, as brakemen, conductors, ticket-sellers, express-agents, depot-masters, never as engineers--driving horses does not fit a man to drive an engine. often these brakemen and conductors advanced in position as the railroads grew. it was not unusual a decade ago in the obituary notices of men who had acquired wealth through the railways, to read that these men had in early life been stage-drivers; but they were usually men who had amassed some capital before the era of the railroad, or very young stage-drivers when steam carriage came. benjamin pierce cheney, one of the wealthiest men of boston, an owner of vast railroad properties, founder of the rich cheney express company, chief owner of the american express company, one of the wells-fargo company, one of the builders of the northern pacific and other great western railroads, began his business life a strong boy of seventeen driving the coach from exeter, new hampshire, to nashua. for six years he drove fifty miles every day; then he became stage agent, and agent for the lowell and nashua railroad, then railroad owner. chester w. chapin (afterwards president of the boston and albany railroad) ran a stage line between springfield and hartford. the early members of the firm which formed harnden's express were nearly all connected with stage-coach lines. certainly much consideration was shown the old employees of the stage roads. it was said by an old coachman of the eastern stage company that all its men were given positions on the railroads if so desired; "all who wished had something to do," and facilities were given them also to benefit by the new railroads. for instance, after the steam cars were running between salem and boston the stage-drivers from portsmouth and other towns were given free passes on the railroad. they could thus go to boston and transact their old "errand-business," from which they had so much profit. the fast-growing express companies of harnden and adams also employed many of the old workers on the stage-coach lines. some resisted the new mode of travel. major shaw of salem threatened to ruin the railroad with a new opposition stage line, but americans in general have been ever quicker to accept changes and innovations than the english. they were more "uptaking," as the scotch say,--that is, quicker to perceive, accept, and adopt; we breathe in that trait with the air of the new world; so american coach employees accepted the railroad and profited by it. chapter xvi the romance of the road the traveller in the old stage-coach was not tantalized by the fleeting half-glimpse of places which we gain in railroad travel to-day. he had ample time to view any unusual or beautiful spot as he passed, he had leisure to make inquiry did he so desire, he had also many minutes, nay hours, to hear any traveller's tale that could be told him by a fellow-journeyer or by the driver. this last-named companion, going over the stage road day after day, talking constantly, querying frequently, grew deeply versed in its lore, its history. he knew the gossip, too, of each house he passed, he knew the traditions and tales of each locality; hence in his company every mile of the road had some point of deep interest. roger mowry's tavern was the first one established in the town of providence. it escaped destruction in king philip's war, when nearly all the town was burned, and stood till the present day. when a coach started out from that old tavern, it passed the burying ground and a dense growth of barberry bushes which grew along the roadside. there seems to have been, in many places, a suspicion of uncanny reputation connected with barberry bushes. in one spot a dense group of bushes was said to harbor a vast snake; in another it shaded an indian's grave; a third concealed a ghost. the barberry was not a native of america; it is an immigrant, and has the further ill name of blasting any wheat near which it is planted. the grewsome growth of barberry bushes near mowry's tavern was the scene of the first serious crime of the settlement of providence plantations. the town carpenter, a thrifty and much respected young man named clauson, much beloved by roger williams, was found dying one winter morning in near "a clump of barberry bushes" at the parting of the paths "near roger mowry's tavern." his head was cloven open with an axe, and the dying man accused a neighbor named herndon of being the instigator of the crime; and with a spirit never learned from his old master, the gentle williams, he left a terrible curse upon the children and children's children of john herndon, that they should ever "be marked with split chins and be haunted by barberry bushes." an indian named wanmanitt was arrested for having done this terrible deed, and was locked up in the mowry tavern. he was probably executed for it, though the town records only contain a preliminary story of his trial. with bills for interpreters and for a boat and guard and powder and shot and liquor, all to go with the prisoner to newport jail, the indian murderer vanishes down the bay out of history. john herndon lived on peacefully for many years, branded, doubtless, in the minds of many; but there is no record that the futile imprecation of the dying man ever was fulfilled. as the stage-coach runs along through old narragansett, it comes to another scene of crime, of horrible crime and horrible punishment--that of hanging in chains. this demoralizing sight was almost unknown in america. you can scarcely read a tale, a history of old english life, without hearing of men "hanging in chains." that most popular of children's books, _the fairchild family_, has a typical english scene, wherein the solemn english father, in order to make his children love each other the more, takes them through a lonely wood to see the body of a man hanging in chains on a gibbet, a horrible and revolting sight. travellers on the portsmouth road in england, after the year , passed at hind head a gibbet with three men swinging in chains, three barbarous murderers of an unknown sailor--not a pleasant outlook for tired riders on the coach. by the old south ferry in narragansett, a man was murdered by a fellow-traveller. at the inn where they had rested the last night one of them spent on this earth, a woman had dressed his hair, and she noted a curious white lock which grew like our artist whistler's in a thick head of black hair. on this single identification was built a chain of evidence which ended in that unusual and terrible sight in the new world, the body of a criminal hanging in chains. it swung there till the poor bones dropped to the earth, and finally the great chains rusted apart. then schoolboys took the heavy links which had bound a sight they had not seen, and with equal bravado and apprehension cracked open their winter store of hickory nuts and butternuts with the last emblem of an obsolete law. not far from this scene is a crossroads which could be viewed from the stage-coach, but i trust no traveller saw there the execution of a law as obsolete and as barbaric as hanging in chains. for on this crossroads took place several of those eccentric, ridiculous performances known as "shift-marriages." any widow, about to be married again, could be free from all debts of her dead husband's contracting by being married at the crossroads, "clad only in her shift." sometimes she was enjoined to cross the king's highway four times thus scantily clad. george hazard, justice, made entry in the town book of south kingston, rhode island, that abigail calverwell on the d of february, , was taken in marriage "after she had gone four times across the highway in only her shift and hair low and no other clothing." think of this poor creature, on this winter's night, going through such an ordeal. another narragansett widow, jemima hill, was married at midnight "where four roads meet," clad only in her shift. another entry in a town record-book specifies that the bride had "no other clothing but shifting or smock." let me hasten to add that these marriages were not peculiar to rhode island; they took place in many of the colonies, certainly in pennsylvania and in all the new england states. as the old narragansett coach sped on through connecticut, it passed lonely spots which were noted for other sad tales and traditions, but were ever of keen interest to all passers-by. for at the crossroads "where four roads meet," were buried suicides, with a stake thrust through the heart. this was a cruel old english and dutch law. we learn from judge sewall all of the public obloquy and hatred of a suicide in massachusetts. one poor fellow found dead was buried in disgrace under a pile of stones at a connecticut crossroads, but the brand of self-destruction was taken from him at a later date, when much evidence was secured that he was murdered. if our narragansett coach went over the ridge hill, the driver surely pointed out the spot where a lover once hid his coach and horses till there rode up from a bridle-path near by the beauty of narragansett, "unhappy hannah robinson," who jumped from her horse into the coach and drove off headlong to providence to be married. an elopement should end happily, but the adjective ever attached to her name tells the tale of disappointment, and it was not many years ere she was borne back, deserted and dying, lying on a horse-litter, to the spacious old home of her childhood, which is still standing. and one day down this road there came hotly lashing his horses a gay young fellow driving tandem a pair of narragansett pacers, and he scarcely halted at the tavern as he asked for the home and whereabouts of the parson. but the tavern loungers peeped under the chariot-hood and saw a beautiful blushing girl, and they stared at a vast, yawning, empty portmanteau, strapped by a single handle to the chariot's back. and soon two angry young men, the bride's brothers, rode up after the elopers, who had been tracked by the articles of the bride's hastily gathered outfit which had been strewn from the open portmanteau along the road in the lovers' hasty flight. who that rides on a railway car ever hears anything about elopements or such romances! parson flagg, of chester, vermont, made his home a sort of yankee gretna green; the old stage-drivers could tell plenty of stories of elopers on saddle and pillion who rode to his door. [illustration: midsummer along the pike.] the traveller by the coach learned constant lessons from that great teacher, nature. even if he were city bred he grew to know, as he saw them, the various duties of country life, the round of work on the farm, the succession of crops, the names of grains, and he knew each grain and grass when he saw it, which few of city life do now. he saw the timid flight of wild creatures, rabbits, woodchucks, squirrels, sometimes a wily fox. my father once, riding on a stage-coach in vermont, chased down a mountain road a young deer that ran, bewildered, before its terrible pursuer. at night the traveller heard strange sounds, owls and a smothered snarl as the coach entered the woods--a catamount perhaps. he heard the singing birds of spring and noted the game-birds of autumn; and in winter they could watch the broad and beautiful flight of the crows, free in snowy woods and fields from the rivalry of all fellow feathered creatures. he saw the procession of wild flowers, though he, perhaps, did not consciously heed them, and he knew the trees by name. the stage-driver showed his passengers "the biggest ellum in the county," and "the best grove of sugar-maples in the state." he pointed out a lovely vista of white birches as "the purtiest grove o' birch on the road," and there was a dense grove of mulberry trees, the sole survivors of silk-worm culture in which were buried so many hours and years of hard labor, so much hard-earned capital, so many feverish hopes. and towering a giant among lesser brothers, a glorious pine tree still showing the mark of the broad arrow of the king, chosen to be a mast for his great ships, but living long after he was dead and his ships were sunken and rotten, living to be a king itself in a republican land. [illustration: a vista of white birches.] the foot-farer, trudging along the outskirts of the village, is often shut out by close stone or board barriers from any sight of the flowering country gardens, the luxuriance of whose blossoming is promised by the heads of the tall hollyhocks that bend over and nod pleasantly to him; but the traveller on the coach could see into these old gardens, could feast his eyes on all the glorious tangle of larkspur and phlox, of tiger lilies and candytuft, of snowballs and lilacs, of marigolds and asters, each season outdoing the other in brilliant bloom. and what odors were wafted out from those gardens! what sweetness came from the lilacs and deutzias and syringas; from clove-pinks and spice bush and honeysuckles; how weird was the anise-like scent of the fraxinella or dittany; and how often all were stifled by the box, breathing, says holmes, the fragrance of eternity! the great botanist linnæus grouped the odors of plants and flowers into classes, of which three were pleasing perfumes. to these he gave the titles the aromatic, the fragrant, the ambrosial--our stage-coach traveller had them all three. from the fields came the scent of flowering buckwheat and mellifluous clover, and later of new-mown hay, sometimes varied by the tonic breath of the salt hay on the sea marshes. the orchards wafted the perfumes from apple blossoms, and from the pure blooms of cherry and plum and pear; in the woods the beautiful wild cherries equalled their domestic sisters. [illustration: the hollyhocks' promise.] how sweet, how healthful, were the cool depths of the pine woods, how clean the hemlock, spruce, fir, pine, and juniper, and how sweet and balsamic their united perfume. and from the woods and roadsides such varied sweetness! the faint hint of perfume from the hidden arbutus in early spring, and the violet; the azalea truly ambrosial with its pure honey-smell; the intense cloying clethra with the strange odor of its bruised foliage; the meadowsweet; the strong perfume of the barberry; and freshest, purest, best of all, the bayberry throwing off balm from every leaf and berry. even in the late autumn the scent of the dying brakes and ferns were as beloved by the country-lover as the fresh smell of the upturned earth in the spring after the farmer's plough, or the scent of burning brush. [illustration: the cool depths of the pine woods.] fruit odors came too to the happy traveller, the faint scent of strawberries, the wild strawberry the most spicy of all, and later of the dying strawberry leaves; even the strong and pungent onions are far from offensive in the open air; while the rich fruity smell of great heaps of ripe apples in the orchards is carried farther by the acid vapors from the cider mills, which tempt the driver to stop and let all taste new apple-juice. in the days of the stage-coach we had on our summer journeys all these delights, the scents of the wood, the field, the garden; we had the genial sunlight, the fresh air of mountain, plain, and sea; and all the wild and beautiful sights which made the proper time for travel--the summer--truly joyful. now we may enjoy a place when we get there, but we have a poor substitute for the coach for the actual travelling--a dirty railway car heated almost to tinder by the sun, with close foul air (and the better the car the fouler and closer the air) filled, if we try to have fresh air, with black smoke and cinders; clattering and noisy ever, with occasional louder-shrieking whistles and bells, and sometimes a horrible tunnel--it has but one redeeming quality, its speed, for thereby the journey is shortened. [illustration: taylor's tavern. , danbury, connecticut.] cheerful friends on the old roads were the milestones and guideposts. milestones had an assured position in social life, a dignified standing. it would be told of a road as a great honor and distinction, and told fitly in capitalized sentences thus, "this elegant road is fully set with well-cut milestones." a few of the old provincial milestones remain, and put us closely in touch with the past. in governor hutchinson's day milestones were set on all the post-roads throughout massachusetts. several of these are still standing; one is in worcester, in the heart of the city, marked " mls. to boston, mls. to springfield, ." another is in sutton. it is five feet high and nearly three feet wide. it is marked " mls. to boston. b. w." the letters b. w. stand for bartholomew woodbury, a genial tavern-keeper of sutton. it shows a custom which obtained at that date. it was deemed most advantageous to a tavern to have a milestone in front of it. possibly the tale of the stone shown in its lettering urged wayworn travellers to halt and rest within the welcoming door. bartholomew woodbury's tavern was a few rods from the spot marked for the stone, but the government permitted him to set this stone by his doorside, at his own expense, beside the great horse-block. tavern-keeper and tavern are gone, and the old road sees few travellers. occasionally some passer-by, inquisitive like myself of the presence of the old stone, will halt as did the traveller of old, and pull away the curtain of vines, and read the lettering of this gravestone of the old woodbury tavern. [illustration: m. m. taylor's milestone.] another landlord who appreciated that the milestone served as a magnet to draw customers to the tavern taproom was landlord taylor, who kept the old tavern known as "taylor's," in danbury, connecticut. the house with the milestone is shown on page and the milestone alone on page . [illustration: peleg arnold's milestone.] judge peleg arnold was one of the most active patriots in northern rhode island during the revolution; for many years he carried on a tavern at union village, a suburb of woonsocket, and his house was noted for its excellence and hospitality. not far from his tavern to the northward the "great road" from smithfield into mendon wound through woods and meadows and over the northern hills of rhode island. in this great road was a small foot-path through the woods, and was indicated by marked trees leading from cabin to cabin; but in it had taken upon itself the dignity of a cart-path and then became the subject of discussions on town-meeting days. peleg arnold had been one of the men to re-lay the old road, and it was near the northern boundary of his farm that he set up the old milestone shown here. for more than a hundred and twenty-five years this stone has served to brighten the hearts of travellers, for they have learned to know that this silent and inanimate guide can be relied upon as to distances with much more certainty than can the words of residents in the neighborhood. when benjamin franklin was postmaster-general, he set an indelible postmark in many ways on the history of our country; and many mementos of him still exist. among them are the old milestones set under his supervision. he transacted this apparently prosaic business with that picturesque originality which he brought to all his doings and which renders to every detail of his life an interest which cannot be exceeded and scarcely equalled by the events recorded of any other figure in history. he drove over the roads which were to be marked by milestones, seated in a comfortable chaise, of his own planning, and followed by a gang of men, and heavy carts laden with the milestones. attached to the chaise was a machine of his invention which registered by the revolution of the wheels the number of miles the chaise passed over. at each mile he halted, and a stone was dropped which was afterward set. the king's highway, the old pequot trail, was thus marked and set. a few of these milestones between boston and philadelphia are still standing, one in new london, another at stratford, and are glanced at carelessly by the hundreds of thousands who glide swiftly past on wheels bearing more accurate cyclometers than that of franklin. guide-boards always stood at the crossings of all travelled roads; indeed, they stood where the roads were scarce more than lines among the grass and low shrubs. since our day of many railroads, and above all, since the interlacing network of trolley lines has spread over all our eastern lands where once the stage-coach ran, many guide-boards have disappeared and have not been replaced. you find them often at the angles of the road lying flat in grass and bushes; or standing split, one-sided, askew, pointing the road to the skies, or nowhere. when in trim and good repair in the days of their utility and helpfulness, they were friendly things, and the pointing hand gave them a half-human semblance of cheerful aid. where the road led through woods or rarely frequented ways, they were friends indeed, for all ways looked alike, and one might readily go far astray. the mile of the guide-board was an elastic one, and sometimes a weary one. guide-boards, even poor ones, are still most welcome. no one in the country ever has any correct estimate of distances; a distance "a little better than three miles" before you usually increases by an extraordinary law instead of decreases after you have driven nearly a mile to "about four mile." the next road-jogger says "nigh on to a mile"; and then you may be sure a few hundred feet farther on to jump back to a slow and wise rejoinder of the original distance, "hard on to four mile." [illustration: the watering trough.] another wayside friend of the traveller in coaching days was the watering trough. it was frequently a log of wood hollowed out, indian fashion, like a dug-out, filled with the lavish bounty of untrammelled nature by a cool pure rill from a hillside spring. one of these watering troughs is shown on this page. in the days of the glory of the stage-coach and turnpike, fine stone troughs chiselled like an egyptian sarcophagus took the place of the log dug-out. they had their supply from a handled pump, which was a more prosaic vehicle than the pipe made of hollowed tree-trunks which brought the spring-water; but it had also a certain interest as the water spouted out in response to the vigorous pumping, and it has been immortalized by hawthorne. our artesian wells, and sunken pipes, and vast reservoir systems are infinitely better than the old-time modes of water supply, but we miss the pleasure that came from the sight of the water, whether it was borne to us on the picturesque well-sweep by wheel and bucket, or old chain pump; it was good to look at as well as to taste, and it refreshed man even to see cattle and horses drinking from the primitive trough. there is always something picturesque and pleasant in an old bridge, and of historic associations as well. the great logs such as form a wooden bridge over a narrow stream are the most natural waterspans, those of the primitive savages. by fallen tree-trunks placed or utilized by the indians, the colonists first crossed the inland streams, adding parallel trunks as years passed on and helping hands multiplied; and finally placing heavy, flat cross-timbers and boards when hand-saws and sawmills shaped the forests' wealth for domestic use. the old arched stone bridges are ever a delight to the eye and the thoughtful mind. look at the picture of the old topsfield bridge shown on the opposite page. it was built in over the ipswich river. it shows the semicircle--simplest of all arched forms--which is happily within the compass and ever the selection of rustic builders. the shallow voussoirs speak of security and economy rather than of monumental effect; the irregular shape and size of the stones tell a similar tale, that there was ample and fitting material near by, in every field. the arched stone bridge is a primitive structure; the sort of construction that may be found in the so-called "cyclopean" walls of earliest greece; and this very simplicity is a distinct beauty, that, added to its fitness and durability, makes the bridge a thing of satisfaction. [illustration: topsfield bridge.] how charming are the reflections in the stilly waters, the arch making the perfect circle, ever an attractive and symbolic form. how cool and beautiful is the shadowy water under these stone arches; but it cannot be reached by the rider in stage-coach or on horseback, as can the brook spanned by a wooden bridge. this has often a watering place which spreads out on one side of the road, a shoal pool of clear, crystal, dancing water. the bottom is cut with the ruts of travellers' wheels, but the water is pure and glistening; the pool is edged heavily with mint and thoroughwort and a tangle of greenery pierced with a few glorious scarlet spires of cardinal flowers, and some duller blooms. how boys love to wade in these pools, and dogs to swim in them, and horses to drink from them. the wooden bridge seems in midsummer a useless structure, fit only to serve as a trellis for clematis and sweet brier and many running vines, and to be screened with azalea, clethra, and elder, and scores of sweet-flowered shrubs that add their scent to the strong odor of mint that fills the air, as the sensitive leaves are bruised by careless contact. [illustration: the shadowy water under the arches.] there was a closeness of association in stage-coach travel which made fellow-passengers companionable. one would feel a decided intimacy with a fellow-sufferer who had risen several mornings in succession with you, at daybreak, and ridden all night, cheek by jowl. even fellow-travellers on short trips entered into conversation, and the characteristic inquisitiveness was shown. ralph waldo emerson took great delight in this experience of his in stage-coach travel. a sharp-featured, keen-eyed, elderly yankee woman rode in a vermont coach opposite a woman deeply veiled and garbed in mourning attire, and the older woman thus entered into conversation: "have you lost friends?" "yes," was the answer, "i have." "was they near friends?" "yes, they was." "how near was they?" "a husband and a brother." "where did they die?" "down in mobile." "what did they die of?" "yellow fever." "how long was they sick?" "not very long." "was they seafaring men?" "yes, they was." "did you save their chists?" "yes, i did." "was they hopefully pious?" "i hope so." "well, _if you have got their chists_ (with emphasis) and they was hopefully pious, you've got much to be thankful for." perhaps this conversation should be recorded in the succeeding chapter, but in truth the pleasures and pains of stage-coach travel ran so closely side by side that they can scarce be separated. many pleasant intimacies and acquaintances were begun on the stage-coach; flirtations, even courtships, were carried on. one gentleman remembers that when he was a big schoolboy he rode on the coach from pittsfield, new hampshire, to dover, and he cast sheep's-eyes at a pretty young woman who was a fellow-passenger. he had just gathered courage to address her with some bold, manly remark when the coach stopped and a middle-aged man of importance entered. soon all other passengers got out and the three were left in the coach; and the boy heard the man recall himself to the girl as having been her teacher when she was a child. he soon proceeded to make love to her, and made her a proposal of marriage, which she did not refuse, but asked a week's time to consider. "and during all this courting," said my informant, with indignant reminiscence after fifty years, "they paid no more attention to my presence than if i had been pickwick's fat boy." the pleasures of coaching days have been written by many an english author in forcible and beautiful language. thomas de quincey sang in most glowing speech the glories of the english mail-coach. he says:-- "modern modes of travelling cannot compare with the old mail-coach system in grandeur and power. they boast of more velocity, not, however, as a consciousness, but as a fact of our lifeless knowledge, resting upon _alien_ evidence; as, for instance, because somebody _says_ that we have gone fifty miles in the hour, though we are far from feeling it as a personal experience; or upon the evidence of a result, as that we actually find ourselves in york four hours after leaving london. apart from such an assertion, or such a result, i myself am little aware of the pace. but seated on the old mail-coach we needed no evidence out of ourselves to indicate the velocity.... the vital experiences of the glad animal sensibilities made doubts impossible on the question of our speed. we heard our speed, we saw it, we felt it a-thrilling; and this speed was not the product of blind insensate energies that had no sympathy to give, but was incarnated in the fiery eyeballs of the noblest among brutes, in his dilated nostril, his spasmodic muscles and thunder-beating hoofs." nothing more magnificent and inspiring could be written than his _going down with victory_--the carrying the news of the victory at waterloo on the mail-coach to english hamlets and towns; it is a gem of english literature. chapter xvii the pains of stage-coach travel in describing the pleasures and pains, the delights and dangers, the virtues and vicissitudes of the travel of early days by stage-coach in america, i have chosen to employ largely the words and descriptions of contemporary travellers rather than any wording of my own, not only because any such description of mine would be simply a transcription of their facts, but because there is a sense of closeness of touch, a pleasant intimacy, and indeed a profound sympathy thereby established with those old travellers and modes of travel which cannot be obtained by modern wording; nor indeed can their descriptions and travellers' tales be improved. careless or ignorant writers often portray early stage-coach travel in america in the same terms as would be used of similar travel in england, and as having the same accessories; it was in truth very different in nearly all of its conditions, as different as were the vehicles used in america. i do not believe that travellers in coaching days found much pleasure in long journeys by stage-coach. they doubtless enjoyed short trips, or possibly a day on a coach, as we do now, but serious travel was serious indeed. in winter it must have appeared a slow form of lingering death. grant thorburn, the new york seedsman, tells of the first journey he ever made by land. it was in the winter of ; he was then fifty-eight years old. "we left hoboken with about fifteen passengers closely packed in a stage with wheels, and a very neat coach, and so foolish was i and ignorant (never having travelled on land) i thought this same fine close carriage would go through thick and thin with me all the way to albany: in two short hours my eyes were opened. we stopped in hackensack at a tavern grocery grogshop and post-office all under one roof, for we carried uncle sam's letter bags, which was another grievance, as we had to stop every few miles to change the mails. the keeper of the office began to bluster and swear he had neither carriages covered or uncovered to forward so many passengers. he said the jockey club in new york took all the money and gave him all the trouble. in short, says he, unless you remain here till four o'clock p.m. you must go on with such conveyance as i can furnish. we applied to our hoboken driver. he said his orders were to drop us at hackensack and bring back the coaches; and sure enough he turned about and back he went. i stepped into the barroom--a large place. in the centre stood a large old-fashioned tin-plate stove, surrounded by fifteen or twenty large lazy fellows. after waiting an hour we were sent forward, viz. two in an open chair, four in an open wagon, and the remainder, eight i think, in a common jersey farming wagon, all the machines being without covers. it now commenced raining, and by the time we got to the next stage, we looked like moving pillars of salt, our hats and coats being covered to the thickness of an eighth of an inch with ice transparents. at the town of goshen we changed the mail, thawed our garments, and ate our dinner. as we got north the sleighing got better, so we were accommodated with a covered box and runners, but alas! it was like the man's lantern without a candle. the cover was of white wood boards placed a quarter of an inch apart without paint, leather, or canvas to protect them from the weather. "we travelled all night. the rain and snow descending through the roof, our hats were frozen to our capes, and our cloaks to one another. in the morning we looked like some mountain of ice moving down the gulf stream. i thought the machine used at the dry dock would have been an excellent appendage to have lifted us bodily into the breakfast room: and this is what the horse-flesh fraternity in new york advertise as their _safe_, _cheap_, _comfortable_, and expeditious winter establishment for albany." [illustration: dalton winter stage.] this latter account is certainly a hard blow to the lover of the "good old times." of tough fibre and of vast powers of endurance, both mental and physical, must have been our grandfathers who dared to travel overland in winter time. coaches were often "snowed up" and had to be deserted by the passengers, who were rescued in old pods and pungs, such as are shown on pages and , and the journey had to be continued in some of the awkward coach-bodies or "boobies" set on runners like those on pages and . coaches were also overturned or blown off bridges by heavy winds. somewhat varied was captain hall's experience on the trip from fredericksburg to richmond during the following january. the stage-coach was appointed to start at a.m., but at the blank looks of the captain, the stage agent said, "well, if it is so disagreeable to the ladies, suppose we make it five?" the fare was five dollars. it took seventeen hours to travel the sixty-six miles, and the coach stopped at ten taverns on the way. at each his fellow-passengers all got out and took a mint julep; perhaps he did likewise, which might account for the fact that he pronounced the trip a pleasant one, though it rained; "your feet get wet; your clothes become plastered with mud from the wheel; the trunks drink in half a gallon of water apiece; the gentlemen's boots and coats steamed in the confined air; the horses are draggled and chafed by the traces; the driver got his neckcloth saturated"--and yet, he adds, "the journey was performed pleasantly." [illustration: chepachet winter stage.] there were days in july, in midsummer, when in spite of the beauties of nature, the journey by stage-coach on the unwatered roads was not a thing of pleasure. whether on "inside" or "outside," the traveller could not escape the dust, nor could he escape the fervor of the july sun. and when the eye turned for relief to green pastures and roadsides, there was reflected back to him the heated gold of the sunlight, for the fields flamed with yellow and orange color. sometimes accidents occurred. one may be described, using the contemporary account of it to show what danger was incurred and through what motive powers. in january, , there was a sharp competition between the two stage lines running between albany and new york, and apparently the stage-drivers on the rival lines could no more be kept from racing than the old-time steamboat captain. the accident was thus told in a newspaper of the day:-- "_to the public_: the stage from new york to albany was overset on the highlands, on friday last, with six passengers on board; one of whom, a gentleman from vermont, had his collar-bone broken, and the others were more or less injured, and all placed in the utmost jeopardy of their lives and limbs by the outrageous conduct of the driver. in descending a hill half a mile in length, an opposition stage being ahead, the driver put his horses in full speed to pass the forward stage, and in this situation the stage overset with a heavy crash which nearly destroyed it, and placed the wounded passengers in a dreadful dilemma, especially as the driver could not assist them, as it required all his efforts to restrain the frighted horses from dashing down the hill which must have destroyed them all. it was, therefore, with the greatest difficulty, and by repeated efforts, the wounded passengers extricated themselves from the wreck of the stage. such repeated wanton and wilful acts of drivers to gratify their caprice, ambition, or passions, generally under the stimulus of ardent spirits, calls aloud on the community to expose and punish these shameful aggressions." it should be added, in truth, that accidents on stage-coaches were seldom with fatal results. stage-coach travel was more disagreeable than deadly. a stage-coach driver who had driven three hundred days a year for thirty-five years, could boast that there had never been a serious accident while he was driving, and scarcely any injury had been received by any passenger. before the days of the turnpike the miserable bridges, especially of the southern colonies, added to the terrors of travel, though i have not learned of frequent accidents upon them. the poet moore wrote in the year of virginia bridges:-- "made of a few uneasy planks in open ranks, over rivers of mud." near fayetteville, north carolina, in , a traveller by coach thus found the bridge:-- "three large logs were stretched across the creek, called sleepers, and these supported a number of misshapen pieces called rafters, thrown on at random, without being fixed either by nails or pins. they had been disturbed by a freshet, and the driver alighted to adjust them. on entering the bridge, the fore wheels gathered the rafters in a heap which stopped the progress of the coach. this was just as the driver was whipping up the fore horses. they sprang forward, and disengaging themselves with a jerk, by pulling out the staple of the main singletree, they set off at full speed with the singletree rattling at their heels." one horse was killed, the patient passengers alighted and pulled the coach free themselves. at the next creek the horses plunged in the water and swam across, while the passengers held up the mail-bags to keep them dry. weld tells of similar bridges and experiences in in virginia. many of the bridges were rickety floating bridges. mr. twining experienced the sense of insecurity, the dread of sinking, which i have also felt in crossing a floating bridge in a heavy vehicle. mr. twining tells also of the constant necessity of trimming and balancing of the stage-wagon by all the passengers leaning to one side to prevent it from overturning in the deep ruts which abounded. mr. weld wrote that the driver "frequently called out, 'now, gentlemen, to the right,' upon which all the passengers stretched their bodies halfway out of the carriage to balance on that side. 'now, gentlemen, to the left,' and so on." one traveller tells of a facetious travelling companion,-- "'a son of neptune and of mars also,' and could adapt the technical language of these professions to the different movements of the stage. when the coach heeled to one side he would call out, 'to the right and left and cover your flanks--whiz!'--and when we passed a stream or ford he would sing out, 'by the deep nine,' accompanied with all the movements of heaving the lead. the day was clear, pleasant, and healthy; and in this strain of merriment and good humor we prosecuted our journey much to our satisfaction." folk were easily amused in coaching days. one of the old stage-drivers tells the following incident of stage travel. he was driving from dover, new hampshire, to haverhill, massachusetts. during the spring months the roads were often in a bad condition, and six horses and sometimes ten were needed to draw the coach. in epping, new hampshire, was a particularly hard place, locally known as the "soap mine." through this mine of mud the driver hoped to guide his coach and six. but the coach was heavily loaded, and in spite of the efforts of the skilful driver the team was soon fast in the mud, the wheels settling to the hubs. all attempts of the horses to start the coach were in vain. the driver finally climbed down from his seat, opened the coach door and told the passengers the condition of things, and politely asked them to get out and thereby lighten the load. this they all positively refused to do; they had paid their fares and did not think it their duty to get out into the mud. the driver said, "very well," quietly closed the door, and seated himself by the roadside. in a few minutes the passengers asked, "what are you doing there?" the driver calmly replied: "the horses cannot draw the load. there is only one thing i can do. i shall wait until the mud dries up." [illustration: advertisements from connecticut journal, july , .] it is needless to say that they did not wait for the mud to dry. the state of the roads and the regard of some persons for stage-coach travelling is shown in a letter written early in this century by a mother to a girl of eighteen, visiting at cambridge, and impatient to return home. as the roads were bad her father delayed his going for her. her mother says:-- "your papa would not trust your life in the stage. it is a very unsafe and improper conveyance for young ladies. many have been the accidents, many the cripples made by accidents in those vehicles. as soon as your papa can go, you may be sure he will go or send for you." there was one curious and most depressing, even appalling, condition of stage-coach travel. it seemed to matter little how long was your journey, nor where you were going, nor whence you started, your coach always started before daybreak. you had to rise in the dark, dress in the dark most feebly illumined, eat a hurriedly prepared breakfast in the dark, and start out in the blackness of night or the depressing chill of early morning. we read that the greatest number of deaths take place in the early morning, at daybreak, and it is not surprising, since it is the time, of all the hours of the day, when earth offers the least to the human soul to tempt it to remain here. it is no unusual thing to read in travellers' accounts of journeys by stage-coach, of riding ten miles on the coach, and then--breakfasting. we cannot wonder, therefore, at the records of incessant dram-drinking during coach travel which we always find in any minute accounts. an english eye-witness, captain basil hall, thus described the beginning of a trip from providence to hartford in october, :-- "the nominal hour of starting was five in the morning; but as everything in america comes sooner than one expects, a great tall man walked into the room at ten minutes before four o'clock to say it wanted half an hour of five: and presently we heard the rumbling of the stage coming to the door upwards of thirty minutes before the time specified. fortunately there were only five passengers, so we had plenty of room; and as the morning was fine we might have enjoyed the journey much, had we not been compelled to start so miserably early. at the village of windham we dined in a cheerful sunny parlour on a neatly dressed repast excellent in every way, and with very pleasant chatty company." so forehanded were american coach-agents and coach-drivers that such premature starts were not infrequent. many a time an indignant passenger, on time, but left behind, was sent off after the coach in a chaise with a swift horse at full gallop. josiah quincy tells thus of a trip on the lancaster road during the winter of :-- "at three o'clock this morning the light of a candle under the door and a rousing knock told me that it was time to depart, and shortly after i left philadelphia by the lancaster stage, otherwise a vast illimitable wagon, capable of holding some sixteen passengers with decent comfort to themselves, and actually encumbered with some dozen more. after riding till eight o'clock we reached the breakfast house, where we partook of a good meal." [illustration: "a wet start at daybreak."] longfellow wrote of his first acquaintance, in the year , with the wayside inn, otherwise howe's tavern, at sudbury, massachusetts: "the stage left boston about three o'clock in the morning, reaching the sudbury tavern for breakfast, a considerable portion of the route being travelled in total darkness, and without your having the least idea who your companion might be." charles sumner, writing in of a trip to washington, says: "we started from boston at half-past three monday morning with twelve passengers and their full complement of baggage on board, and with six horses. the way was very dark, so that, though i rode with the driver, it was some time before i discovered we had six horses." the unfortunate soul who wished or was forced to travel from boston to new york in was permitted a very decent start at ten in the morning. he arrived in worcester at eight at night. thereafter at worcester, hartford, and stamford he had to start at three in the morning and ride till eight at night. we can imagine his condition when arriving in new york. the lancaster and leominster stages left boston at sunrise. john melish, the english traveller, in , was called to start at two in the morning, when he set out from boston to new york. badger and porter's stage register for gives the time of starting of the stage to fitchburg as a.m.; the albany stage was the same hour. the stage for keene set out at a.m., and the one for bennington at a.m. the stage for norwich, connecticut, in started at a.m. in , the albany coach left at a.m. when we remember the meagre "light of other days," the pale rays of a candle, usually a tallow one, the smoky flicker of a whale-oil lamp, the dingy shadow of an ancient lantern, we can fancy the gloom of that early morning departure; and when it was made in snow, or fog, or rain, there seemed but scant romance in travel by stage-coach. a fine picture by mr. edward lamson henry, "a wet start at daybreak," is reproduced opposite page . it is interesting and picturesque--to look at; but it was not interesting to experience. [illustration: the wayside inn.] chapter xviii knights of the road it is impossible to read of the conditions of life on the public highway in england and not wonder at the safety and security with which all travel was carried on in the american colonies. in great britain shop-robbing, foot-padding, street assaults, and highway robberies were daily incidents. stage-coach passengers were specially plundered. from end to end of england was heard the cry of "stand and deliver." day after day, for weeks together, the hampstead, islington, dover, and hackney coaches were stopped in broad daylight, and the passengers threatened and robbed. the mail from bristol to london was robbed every week for five weeks. scores of prisoners were taken, and scores more strung up on the gallows; many were shipped off to the plantations because on hanging day at tyburn, there was not room enough on the gallows for the convicted men. all classes turned outlaws. well-to-do farmers and yeomen organized as highwaymen in the western counties under the name of "the blacks." justices and landed gentry leagued with "the owlers" to rob, to smuggle, and defraud the customs. even adam smith confessed to a weakness for smuggling. travellers journeyed with a prayer-book in one hand and a pistol in the other. nothing of this was known in america. citizens of the colonies travelled unhampered by either religion or fear. men and women walked through our little city streets by night and day in safety. the footpads and highwaymen who were transported to this country either found new modes of crimes or ceased their evil deeds. not only on convict ships came highwaymen to america. as redemptioners many rogues came hither, sure thus of passage across-seas and trusting to luck or craft to escape the succeeding years of bound labor. among the honest men seized in english ports, kidnapped, and shipped to america were found some thieves and highwaymen, but all--whether "free-willers," convicts, or "kids"--seemed to drop highway robbery in the new world. we were nigh to having one famous thief. great moll cutpurse, had her resources been of lesser sort, had been landed in virginia, for she was trapanned and put aboard ship, but escaped ere ship set sail. perhaps 'twould have been of small avail, for in virginia, with its dearth of wives, even such a sturdy jade as moll, "a very tomrig and rumpscuttle," sure had found a husband and consequent domestic sobriety. there was one very good reason why there was little highway robbery in america. early in our history men began to use drafts and bills of exchange, where the old world clung to cash. english travellers persisted in carrying gold and bank-notes, while we carried cheques and letters of credit. to this day the latter form of money-transfer is more common with americans than with the english. express messengers in the far west carrying gold did not have to wait long for a jesse james. but our typical american scamp has ever been the tramp, formerly the vagabond, not the highwayman; though the horse thief kept him close companion. [illustration: sign-board of perkins inn, hopkinton, new hampshire.] by this absence of the highwaymen, our story of the road has lost much of its picturesqueness and color. i have envied the english road-annalists their possession of these gay and dashing creatures. their reckless buoyancy, their elegance, their gallantry, their humor, make me long to adopt them and set them on our staid new england roads or on pennsylvania turnpikes. dick turpin, claude duval, beau brocade--how i should love to have them hold up benjamin franklin or john adams! there was no lack of rogues in the colonies, but their roguery did not take the outlet of highway robbery. one henry tufts, a famous vagabond, has left an amusing and detailed history of his life and deeds. he stole scores of horses by sneaking methods, but never by open seizure on the road. he began his wrong-doing after the universal custom of all bad boys (but why be invidious?--of all good boys, too), by robbing orchards. he soon raised himself to be a leader in deviltry by the following manoeuvre. a group of bad boys were to have a stolen feast of bread and cucumbers; for the latter esteemed viand they raided a cucumber patch. as they seated themselves to gorge upon their ill-gotten fare, henry tufts raised a cry that the robbed cucumber farmer was upon them. all fled, but tufts quickly returned and ate all the feast himself. he survived the cucumbers, but pretended to his confederates that he had been captured and had promised to work out the value of the spoils in a week's hard labor. this work sentence he persuaded them to share; he then farmed out the lot of young workmen at a profit, while they thought themselves nobly sharing his punishment. he lived to great old age, and, though at the last he "carried his dish pretty uprightly," it was by taking a hand at forgery and counterfeiting that he lived when burglary became arduous; his nature, though irretrievably bad, was never bold enough to venture his life by robbing on the highway. a very interesting thread of tuft's story is his connection with the war of the revolution; and it awakens deep compassion for washington and his fellow-generals when we think how many such scamps and adventurers must have swarmed into the federal army, to the disorder of the regiments and to their discredit and to the harassment alike of patriot officers and patriot soldiers. there were frequent aggressions at the hands of rogues in the middle states, and they became known by the name of skinners. cooper's novel, _the spy_, gives an account of these sneaking bands of sham patriots. among those who allied themselves on the side of the king was a family of notorious scoundrels, five brothers named doane. the story of the doanes is both tragic and romantic. they were sons of respectable quaker parents of bucks county, pennsylvania, and during the revolutionary war became celebrated for their evil deeds. they were all men of remarkable physical development, tall, strong, athletic, and all fine horsemen. before the war they were of good reputation, and it is said proposed to remain neutral; but the doanes were not permitted to take a middle course, and soon enrolled themselves as tories, which at once engendered a bitter feeling between them and their whig neighbors. they began their career of infamy by robbing and plundering in the neighborhood, gradually extending their field of operations into neighboring counties. sabine's _loyalists_ gives the names of three other doanes--kinsmen who were allied with the five brothers in their evil deeds. their place in historical books and history comes to them through their services to the british officers during the war. in a dingy chap-book entitled _annals of the revolution, or a history of the doanes_, full credit is assigned to moses doane for giving information to general howe, and planning with him the stratagem which led to the victories of the british on long island. the edge hill skirmish, laid out by doane and agreed to by howe and lord cornwallis, was to be an important move of the british. the move was lost by the prompt and brave action of mrs. lydia darrach, who overheard the plot and carried news of it to washington. in the terrible massacre at wyoming the doanes took prominent part. the close of the war seemed but to increase their career of crime. each brother had a sled drawn by four horses. there was heavy snow and a long season of sleighing in , and they fairly raided the entire state, robbing again and again on the highway. at last an act was passed by the general assembly of pennsylvania "to encourage the speedy apprehending and bringing to justice of divers robbers, burglars, and felons," naming the doanes, and offering a large reward for their capture and a gift of £ to any person injured in helping to arrest them, or £ to the family of such a helper should he be killed while aiding the cause of justice. joseph doane was finally secured in prison. he broke jail, however, and escaped to new jersey, where, like many another thief and rogue of his day, he found occupation as a school-teacher. he then fled to canada, and died peacefully at an advanced age. two brothers, abraham and mahlon, were hanged in philadelphia. moses, the leader of the outlaws, had the most tragic end. he was the most cruel and powerful of them all; of famous athletic powers, it was said he could run and jump over a conestoga wagon. in the latter part of the summer of , the doanes went to the house of one halsey who lived on gallows run, and asked for something to eat, and halsey sent his son to a neighboring mill to get flour for them. the boy told that the doanes were at his father's house, and the miller sent the word to a vendue in the neighborhood. a party of fourteen armed and mounted men promptly started to capture them. the house was surrounded. on approaching the men saw through the clinks of the logs the doanes eating at table, with their guns standing near. william hart opened the door and commanded them to surrender, but they seized their arms and fired. hart seized moses doane, threw him down, and secured him. then robert gibson rushed into the cabin and shot doane in the breast, killing him instantly. colonel hart sent the body of the dead outlaw to his unhappy father, who was also tried for sheltering the robbers, and burnt in the hand and imprisoned. [illustration: russel tavern, arlington, massachusetts.] the most noted scourge of the eighteenth century was tom bell. he was for years the torment of the middle colonies, alike in country and in town. he was the despair of magistrates, the plague of sheriffs, the dread of householders, and the special pest of horse-owners. meagre advertisements in the contemporary newspapers occasionally show his whereabouts and doings. this is from the _new york weekly post boy_ of november , :-- "the noted tom bell was last week seen by several who knew him walking about this city with a large patch on his face and wrapt up in a great coat, and is supposed to be still lurking." two years later, in april , , we read:-- "tuesday last the famous and notorious villain tom bell was apprehended in this city and committed to jail on suspicion of selling a horse he had hired some time ago of an inhabitant of long island. his accuser 'tis said has sworn expressly to his person, notwithstanding which he asserts his innocence with a most undaunted front and matchless impudence. we hear his trial is to come off this week." his most famous piece of deviltry was his impersonation of a pious parson in new jersey. he preached with as much vigor as he stole, and his accidental resemblance to the minister increased his welcome and his scope for thieving. so convinced was the entire community that it was the real parson who robbed their houses and stole their horses, that on his return to his parish he was thrust into prison, and a clerical friend who protested against this indignity was set in a pillory in trenton for false swearing. still, tom bell was not a highwayman of the true english stamp; he more closely resembled a sneak thief. [illustration: sign-board of gifford's tavern.] in the year the little child of cornelius cook, the blacksmith of westborough, massachusetts, and of his wife eunice, lay very close to death. as was the custom of the day, the good old parson, dr. parkman, and his deacons prayed earnestly over the boy, that the lord's will be done; but his mother in her distress pleaded thus: "only spare his life, and i care not what he becomes." tom cook recovered, and as years passed on it became evident by his mischievous and evil deeds that he had entered into a compact with the devil, perhaps by his mother's agonized words, perhaps by his own pledge. the last year of this compact was at an end, and the devil appeared to claim his own as tom was dressing for another day's mischief. tom had all his wits about him, for he lived upon them. "wait, wait, can't you," he answered the imperative call of his visitor, "till i get my galluses on?" the devil acquiesced to this last request, when tom promptly threw the suspenders in the fire, and therefore could never put them on nor be required to answer the devil's demands. [illustration: sign-board of wells' tavern.] tom cook became well known throughout massachusetts, and indeed throughout new england, as a most extraordinary thief. his name appears in the records of scores of new england towns; he was called "the honest thief"; and his own name for himself was "the leveller." he stole from the rich and well-to-do with the greatest boldness and dexterity, equalled by the kindness and delicacy of feeling shown in the bestowal of his booty upon the poor and needy. he stole the dinner from the wealthy farmer's kitchen and dropped it into the kettle or on the spit in a poor man's house. he stole meal and grain from passing wagons and gave it away before the drivers' eyes. a poor neighbor was ill, and her bed was poor. he went to a thrifty farm-house, selected the best feather bed in the house, tied it in a sheet, carried it downstairs and to the front door, and asked if he could leave his bundle there for a few days. the woman recognized him and forbade him to bring it within doors, and he went off with an easy conscience. in dr. parkman's diary, now in the library of the american antiquarian society at worcester, under the date of august , , is this entry: "the notorious thom. cook came in (he says) on purpose to see me. i gave him w{t} admonition, instruction, and caution i could--i beseech god to give it force! he leaves me with fair words--thankful and promising." there came a time when his crime of arson or burglary led to his trial, conviction, and sentence to death. he heard the awful words of the judge, "i therefore sentence you to be hanged by the neck till you are dead, dead, dead," and he called out cheerfully, "i shall not be there on that day, day, day." and when that day came, surely enough, his cell was empty. tom cook was most attractive in personal appearance; agile, well formed, well featured, with eyes of deepest blue, most piercing yet most kindly in expression. he was adored by children, and his pockets were ever filled with toys which he had stolen for their amusement. by older persons he was feared and disliked. he extorted from many wealthy farmers an annual toll, which exempted them from his depredations. one day a fire was seen rising from the chimney of a disused schoolhouse in brookline, and tom was caught within roasting a stolen goose, which he had taken from the wagon of a farmer on his way to market. the squire took him to the tavern, which was filled with farmers and carters, many of whom had been his victims. he was given his choice of trial and jail, or to run a gantlet of the men assembled. he chose the latter, and the long whips of the teamsters paid out many an old score of years' standing. a very amusing story of highway robbery is told of john buckman of buckman's tavern, of lexington, massachusetts (which is shown on page ). an old toper bought a bottle of rum, and the by-standers jokingly asked him what he would do if he were attacked on the road. he answered solemnly that he would rather give up his life than his rum. john buckman slipped out of the room, took a brass candlestick that had a slide that could be snapped with a noise like the trigger of a pistol. he waylaid the rum-lover not far from the tavern, and terrified him so that he quickly gave up his beloved bottle. this was a famous joke when john told it in the tavern taproom, but john did not laugh the next day when he was arrested for highway robbery and fined fifty dollars. in the year there took place the nearest approach to a highway robbery on the english methods that had ever happened in america. it was the robbery of the mail-coach which ran between baltimore and philadelphia. the story is thus told by one of the victims:-- "havre de grace, "thursday morning, o'clock. "john h. barney, esq., "_sir_: i take the earliest opportunity to send you by an express an account of what happened to the mail last evening. about miles from this place the driver of your mail wagon and myself were attacked by three highwaymen, each armed with a double barrelled pistol and a dirk. they had, previous to our arrival, built a rail fence across the road, and immediately on our driving up they leaped from behind the same, where they lay concealed, and presented their pistols, threatening to blow our brains out if we made any resistance. we were then carried some distance from the road into the woods; there they tied the driver and myself to a tree and commenced searching the mail. every letter was opened and all the bank notes taken out; they showed me a large bundle of bills, and i much fear the loss will be found very great. they were from until o'clock busily employed in opening the letters. after they had done this they tied us to the back of the wagon, mounted three of the horses and galloped off towards baltimore. they were all white men--had their faces blackened, and neither of them appeared more than . i have just arrived at this place and have stated the facts to the deputy postmaster, who will use every exertion to recover the letters that remain in the woods. they did not take anything belonging to me, & appeared not to wish anything but bank notes. they were all dressed in sailor's trowsers and round jackets, & were about the middle size; two wearing hats & the other having a silk handkerchief tied around his head. "i am your obt. servt. "thos. w. ludlow. "p. s. they called each other by their several names--johnson, gibson, and smith, but i expect they were fictitious." at that date and season of the year the "eastern mail," on account of the heavy roads, was carried in a light carriage called a dearborn, with four horses. this lieutenant ludlow of the united states navy obtained permission to accompany the driver in this mail-carriage. they left baltimore at three o'clock and were held up at eleven. one robber desired to shoot lieutenant ludlow and the driver, but the others objected, and, on leaving, offered the driver ten dollars. they took no money from ludlow, and though they looked at his handsome gold repeater to learn the time, they carefully returned it to his pocket. the very next day two men named hare, known to be journeymen tailors of baltimore, entered a clothing shop in that city, and made such a lavish display of money that they were promptly arrested, and over twenty thousand dollars in money and drafts was found upon them. they were puny fellows, levi hare being but twenty years old, and contemporary accounts say "one person of average strength could easily manage them both." the total amount of bills and drafts recovered amounted to ninety thousand dollars, and made the robbery the largest ever attempted. a few days later a third brother hare was arrested, and thirteen hundred dollars was found in his house. the third robber proved to be john alexander. a baltimore newspaper dated may , gives an account of the sentence of the three men after their interesting trial:-- "on thursday last john alexander, joseph t. hare, and lewis hare were brought before court to receive sentence. judge duval presided--first addressed lewis hare and sentenced him to ten years' imprisonment--j. t. hare and alexander sentenced to death. as jos. t. hare was proceeding from the court house to prison accompanied by the constable, they had to cross jones' falls, over which the trunk of a tree was laid for foot passengers to walk on; when they arrived in the middle of the creek hare made an attempt to release his hands from his irons, and to knock the constable into the creek; it proved fruitless, but in the scuffle hare tore off the lappelle of the constable's coat. after he reached prison he made an attack on the turnkey and nearly bit off his finger." i have seen an amusing old chap-book entitled _the life of the celebrated mail robber and daring highwayman joseph thompson hare_, and it has a comical illustration of "the scuffle between hare and the constable," in which the constable, much dressed up in tight trousers, tailed coat, and high silk hat, struggles feebly with the outlaw as they balance like acrobats on the narrow tree-trunk. the whole account of this mail robbery has a decidedly tame flavoring. the pale tailors, so easily overcoming a presumably brave naval officer and a government mail-carrier; the leisurely ransacking of the mail-bags; the speedy and easy arrest of the tailors and recovery of their booty, and the astonishing simplicity of transporting the scantily guarded felon across a creek on a fallen tree as though on a pleasant country ramble, all combine to render it far from being a tale of terror or wild excitement. the account of the death of the highwayman is thus told in the _federal republican and baltimore telegraph_ of september , . "the execution. "agreeably to public notice, the awful sentence of death was yesterday inflicted on j. thompson hare and john alexander, in the presence of a vast concourse assembled to witness the ignominious ceremony. their lives have expiated the crime for which they suffered. justice has no demands on them in the grave. "the gallows was sufficiently elevated above the walls of the prison to afford a distinct view of the unfortunate men to spectators at the distance of several hundred yards. "hare has made a confession which is now hawking about town for sale. in it he observes that, 'for the last fourteen years of my life i have been a robber, and have robbed on a large scale, and been more successful than any robber either in europe or in this country that i ever heard of.'" this lying dying boast of hare fitly closes his evident failure as a highwayman. an account of a negro highwayman is given in the _federal republican and baltimore telegraph_ of september , . [illustration: relay house, mattapan tavern.] in the early years of this century there existed in eastern massachusetts an organized band of thieves. it is said they were but one link in a chain of evil night-workers which, with a home or shelter in every community, reached from cape hatteras to canada. this band was well organized, well trained, and well housed; it had skilful means of concealing stolen goods in innocent-faced cottages, in barns of honest thrift, and in wells and haystacks in simple dooryards. one mild-manered and humble house had a deep cellar which could be entered by an ingeniously hidden broad-side door in a woodshed; into this cave a stolen horse and wagon or a pursued load of cribbed goods might be driven, be shut in, and leave no outward sign. other houses had secret cellars, a deep and wide one beneath a shallow, innocuous storage place for domestic potato and apple bins, and honest cider barrels. in a house sheltering one of these subterranean mysteries, a hard-working young woman was laboriously and discreetly washing clothes when surprised by the sheriff and his aids, who wisely invaded but fruitlessly searched the house. nothing save the simplest household belongings was found in that abode of domesticity; but in later years, after the gang was scattered, a trap-door and ladder were found leading to the sub-cellar, and with chagrin and mortification the sheriff remembered that the woman's washing tubs stood unharmed upon the trap-door during the fruitless search. an amusing battering ram was used by another woman of this gang on the sheriff who came to her house to arrest one of those thieves. the outlaw fled upstairs at the approach of the officer, but his retreat was noted, and the man of law attempted to follow and seize him. the wife of the thief--his congenial mate--opposed the passage of the sheriff, and when he attempted to push her one side and to crowd past her, she suddenly seized the crosspiece over the staircase, swung back by her hands and arms, planted both feet against the officer's chest, and knocked him down with such a sudden blow and consequent loss of wind, that the thief was far away ere the sheriff could move or breathe. the leader of this band of thieves was an ingenious and delightful scamp--one george white. he was hard to catch, and harder to keep than to catch. handcuffs were to him but pleasing toys. his wrists were large, his hands small; and when the right moment came, the steel bracelets were quickly empty. locks and bolts were as easily thrust aside and left far, far behind him as were the handcuffs. at last he was branded on his forehead h. t., which stands for horse thief; a mean trick of a stupid constable who had scant self-confidence or inventiveness. curling lovelocks quickly grow, however, and are ill in no one's sight; indeed, they were in high fashion in similar circles in england at that time, when various letters of the alphabet might be seen on the cheeks and brow of many a gay traveller on the highway when the wind blew among the long locks. [illustration: wilde tavern, . milton, massachusetts.] term after term in jail and prison were decreed to george white when luck turned against him. yet still was he pardoned, as he deserved to be, for his decorous deportment when behind bars; and he had a habit of being taken out on a writ of _habeas corpus_ or to be transferred; but he never seemed to reach his journey's end, and soon he would appear on the road, stealing and roistering. the last word which came from him to new england was a letter from the ohio penitentiary, saying he was dying, and asking some of his kin to visit him. they did not go, he had fooled them too often. perhaps they feared they might put new life into him. but the one time they were sure he lied he told the truth--and his varied career thus ended. flying once along a massachusetts highway on a stolen horse, george white was hotly pursued. at the first sharp turn in the road he dismounted in a flash, cut the horse a lash with his whip, altered the look of his garment with a turn of his hand, tore off his hat brim and thus had a jaunty cap, and started boldly back on foot. meeting the sheriff and his men all in a heat, he fairly got under their horses' feet, and as they pulled up they bawled out to know whether he had seen a man riding fast on horseback. "why, yes," he answered ingenuously, "i met a man riding as though the devil were after him." they found the horse in half an hour, but they never found george white. he once stole a tavern-keeper's horse, trimmed the mane, thinned out the tail, and dyed the horse's white feet. he led the renovated animal in to the bereft landlord, saying innocently that he had heard his horse was stolen, and thought he might want to buy another. he actually sold this horse back to his owner, but in a short time the horse's too evident familiarity with his wonted stable and yard and the fast-fading dye revealed the rascal's work. to another tavern-keeper he owed a bill for board and lodging, which, with the incongruity of ideals and morals which is often characteristic of great minds, he really wished to pay. the landlord had a fine black horse which he had displayed to his boarder with pride. this horse was kept temporarily in a distant pasture. white stole the horse one night, rode off a few miles, and sold it and was paid for it. he stole it again that night from the purchaser, sold it, and was paid. he stole it a third time and returned it to the pasture from whence it never had been missed. he then paid his board-bill as an honest man should. [illustration: ashburnham thief detecting society.] these gangs of horse thieves became such pests, such scourges in the northern states, that harassed citizens in many towns gathered into bands and associations for mutual protection and systematic detection of the miscreants. a handbill of the "ashburnham thief detecting society" had an engraved heading which is reproduced on this page, which showed a mounted thief riding across country with honest citizens in hot pursuit. the thief detecting society of hingham had, in , eighty-seven members. it used a similar print for a heading for handbills, also one of a boy stealing apples--as a severe lesson to youth. in the year an abrupt and short but fierce attempt was made at highway robbery and burglary in albany. the story as told in a chap-book is so simple, so antique, so soberly comic, that it might be three centuries old instead of scarce one. the illustrations, though of the date , are of the standard of art of the seventeenth century. it seems a piece of modern philistinism to spoil the story--as i must--by condensation. the title of the book is _the robber, or pye and the highwayman_, and the irony of giving pye place before the highwayman or any place at all will be apparent by the story. in this tale two sturdy albany dames shine as models of courage and fearlessness by the side of the terror-stricken burghers of the entire town, whose reputation to a man was only saved from the branding of utter and universal cowardice by the appearance and manly carriage and triumph at the end of the night's fray of old winne the pennypost. there put up that year in december at an albany tavern a young man who gave his name as johnson; he was aristocratic in bearing and dress, dark of complexion, sombre of aspect, but courteous and pleasant, "with a daring but cultivated eye." when questioned of himself and his business, however, johnson was silent and taciturn. his magnificent horse and pair of splendid pistols were noted by the solid dutch burghers and sharp yankee traders who smoked and drank beer within the tavern walls; and one wintry afternoon the stranger was seen carefully cleaning the pair of pistols. on that bitter night, a man--none other than our black-browed highwayman--rode clattering up to the toll-gate two miles below the town, and called out to open the gate; when the wife of the toll-keeper appeared to do that duty he jumped from his horse, rushed in toward the house, demanding in a terrible voice all the money in the toll till and chest. the woman was terrified at this demand, yet not so scared but she could at his first approach throw the fat bag with all the accumulation of toll money under the porch, and do it unseen by the highwayman; and she at once asserted tearfully, with the alacritous mendacity born of sharp terror (the account says with great earnestness and womanish simplicity), that her husband had gone to the agent in town with all the month's collections, leaving her but a few shillings for change, which she displayed in the gate-drawer for proof. disgusted but credulous, the villain rode off with loud oaths, baffled in the simplest fashion by dame trusty no. . [illustration: sign-board of williams tavern.] he then went to the tavern of john pye, the wealthy landlord, on the west troy road. he found the house locked peacefully for the night, but forced a window and entered. in the barroom and kitchen, the fire was carefully covered to keep till morning. lighting his dark lantern with the coals, he then poured water on both fires and extinguished them, and i have puzzled long in my mind wondering why he dallied, risking detection by doing this. he then went to the room where pye and his wife were peacefully reposing, and rudely awakened them. mrs. pye, promptly assuming the rôle she carried throughout, jumped from her bed and asked him what he wished. he answered, the chap-book says, "silently," "i deal with your husband, madam, not with you"--and a more fatuous mistake never issued from lips of highwayman. to pye he then said, "your money or your life." pye, heavy with sleep--and natural stupidity--seemed to fancy some trick was being played on him in mischief, and to the highwayman's demand for money answered, half alarmed, half peevish, "it's damned little money you'll get out of me, my lad, as the thing is but indifferently plenty with me." but he was roused at last by the fierceness of threats and gestures, and whimpered that his money was below; and the two proceeded downstairs to the taproom by the light of the robber's lantern. the moment they left the room, mrs. pye ran softly to a bedroom where slept two sojourners at the inn, wakened them with hurried words of the robber's visit and her beloved pye's danger, and made appeals for help; and as an emphatic wakener pulled them out of bed upon the floor. then she ran swiftly back to bed. in the meantime the terrified pye recalled that his wife had the keys of the taproom till which held his money, and he and the highwayman returned to her bedroom and demanded them from her. "i'll give the keys to thee nor no man else," she stoutly answered. "thee must, i tell thee," whined pye, "or worse may happen." "pye, i'll not give up my keys," still she cried, and seized a loaded gun by the bedside; for fierce answer the highwayman fired his pistol at pye. with lamentable outcries pye called out he was a dead man, and his arm fell to his side. his wife thrust the gun in his hands, shouting, "fire, pye, fire! he's feeling for another pistol." "i cannot," he quavered out, "i cannot hold the gun." she pushed it into his hands, held up his arm, aimed for him, and between them they pulled the trigger. in a second all was utter darkness and stillness: they had hit the highwayman. he pitched forward, fell on his lantern, put it out, and lay as one dead. here was a situation for a good, thrifty, staid albany vrouw, a dying husband on one side, a dead highwayman on the other, all in utter darkness. she ran for coals to the barroom and kitchen fires. both were wet and black. she had no tinder box, coals must be brought from a neighbor's. she suddenly bethought of an unusual fire that had been lighted in the parlor the previous evening for customers, where still might be a live coal. this was her good fortune, and with lighted candle she proceeded to the scene of attack. pye lay in a swoon on the bed, but by this time the highwayman had vanished; and safe and untouched under the bed were five hundred dollars in gold and five hundred more in bills, which, it is plain, pye himself had wholly forgotten in his fright. in the meantime where were the two "knights of the bedchamber," as the chap-book calls them? far more silently than the robber they feared had they slid downstairs, and away from the tavern into hiding, until the highwayman rode past them. they then tracked him by trails of blood, and soon saw him dismounted and rolling in the snow as if to quench the flow of blood. though they knew he was terribly wounded and they were two to one, they stole past him at a safe distance in silence to the protection of the town, where they raised the cry of "a robber! watch! murder! help! a band of highwaymen! pye is dead!" oh, how bravely they bawled and shouted! and soon a hue and cry was started from end to end of albany town. with an extraordinary lack of shrewdness which seemed to characterize the whole of this episode of violence, and which proved johnson no trained "swift-nick," as charles ii. called highwaymen, instead of making off to some of the smaller towns or into the country, he rode back to albany; and soon the night-capped heads thrust from the little dutch windows, and terrified men leaning out over the dutch doors, and the few amazed groups in the streets saw a fleet horseman, hatless, with bloody handkerchief bound around his head, come galloping and thundering through albany, down one street, then back again to the river. when he reached the quay, the horse fearlessly sprang without a moment's trembling a terrible leap, eight feet perpendicular, twenty feet lateral, out on the ice. all screamed out that horse and rider would go through the ice and perish. but the ice was strong, and soon horse and rider were out of sight; but mounted men were now following the distant sound of hoofs, and when the outlaw reached what he thought was the opposite shore, but what was really a marshy island, one bold pursuer rode up after him. the robber turned, fired at him at random, and the albany brave fled in dismay back to his discreet neighbors. but honor and courage was now appearing across the ice in the figure of captain winne, the pennypost, who was heard to mutter excitedly in his semi-dutch dialect: "mine cott! vat leeps das horse has mate! vull dwenty feet! dunder and bliksem! he's der tuyfel for rooning!" winne was an old indian fighter, and soon he boldly grappled the highwayman, who drew a dagger on him. winne knocked it from his hand. the highwayman grappled with him, wrenched away his club, and hit the pennypost a blow on his mouth which loosened all his front teeth (which, the chap-book says, "winne afterwards took out at his leisure"). winne then dallied no longer; he pulled down the handkerchief from the robber's forehead, twisted it around his neck, and choked him. in the morning twilight the great band of cautious albanians gravely advanced, bound the highwayman securely, and carried him in triumph back to jail. he was placed in heavy irons, when he said, "iron me as you will, you can hold me but a short time." all thought he meant to attempt an escape, but he spoke with fuller meaning; he felt himself mortally wounded. they put an iron belt around his waist and fastened it by a heavy chain to a staple in the floor. they placed great rings around his ankles, chained them to the floor, and then chained ankle-bands and belt together. they would have put an iron collar and chain on him also, but he said, "gentlemen! have some mercy!" and a horrible wound at the base of the brain made them desist. [illustration: sign-board of williams tavern.] poor mrs. pye visited him, with much distress of spirit, and sympathized with him and grieved over him as he lay face downward on the stone floor. and it arouses a sense of amused indignation to know that he asked earnestly for pye and expressed deep regret at having injured him--he wasn't badly hurt, anyway. our heroine, dame pye, certainly deserved a better and braver husband, and it is pleasant to know that she outlived pye and found, if not a more courageous mate, certainly a very fine young one--her bar-keeper, forty years younger than herself. the highwayman escaped the tree, for he died in jail. there is reason to believe he was a southerner of good birth. the horse was so widely described and exploited that his story reached a virginia gentleman, his real owner, from whom he had been stolen. the sagacious animal had been trained to follow a peculiar whistle, and to jump at anything. the gentleman proved his ownership and took the splendid animal-hero home. in the year a highwayman was executed in massachusetts, mike martin, or captain lightfoot, who really was a very satisfactory outlaw, a real hightoby-crack, though he was only an imported one, not a native production. his life, as given by himself, is most entertaining. he had to his father a kilkenny irishman, who apprenticed the boy early in life to his uncle, a brewer. the brewer promptly beat him, he ran home, and got a bigger beating. in truth, he was a most beatable brat. when sixteen years old he joined the ribbonmen, a political organization that committed many petty crimes and misdemeanors, besides regulating landlords. when his father found out the kind of company kept by the young rascal, he beat him again. mike promptly took as a salve five guineas from his father's trunk, opening it with a master-key which had been kindly made for him by a ribbonman, and which he was enjoined to keep constantly with him as a conveniency. he says, "i had always stolen in a small way." with his five guineas he ran away to dublin, and pretended reformation and remorse so successfully to a cousin that the latter employed him in a distillery. in return he stole petty amounts continually from his cousin's money chest, by help of his master-key. soon he was a settled outcast, and at this juncture met at an inn a fine, handsome clergyman, about forty years of age, over six feet tall, dark-eyed, of great muscle and strength; his name was john doherty. in spite of his black clerical dress he seemed somewhat mysterious in character, and after pumping martin he disclosed in turn that he was the famous highwayman, captain thunderbolt. he at once claimed martin as one of the real sort, and they were talking over a union of forces and schemes when a party of dragoons came to the inn in pursuit of thunderbolt. he escaped through a window, but in a week's time came back dressed as a quaker and joined his companion, who at the age of twenty-one thus blossomed out as a real knight of the road, as captain lightfoot, with a pair of fine pistols and a splendid horse, "down the banks," to keep company with thunderbolt's "beefsteak." thus equipped, these two gentlemen rode as gentlemen should, to the hunt. there, alone, to prove what he could do, mike martin robbed four huntsmen, and to his pride was mistaken by them for thunderbolt himself. but the huntsmen soon had their turn; sheriffs and soldiers drove the two knights to the woods; and after weeks of uncomfortable hiding mike martin was properly penitent and longed for an honest man's seat in a tavern taproom. there is no retreat, however, in this career; the pair of robbers next entered a house, called all the people together, and robbed the entire trembling lot. through scotland and ireland they rode till the highways got too hot for them, advertisements were everywhere, a hue and cry was out, and thunderbolt fled to america. mike martin, terrified at the multiplying advertisements and rewards, disguised himself, and sailed for new york. quarrels and mutiny on shipboard brought him ashore at salem, where he worked for a time for mr. derby. he soon received a sum of money from his father's estate and set up as a brewer. but salem yankees were too sharp for the honest highwayman, and he lost it all and had to take again to the road. from portsmouth to canada,--from pedlers, from gentlemen,--on horseback, in chaises,--he ran his rig; finally, in spite of advertisements in newspapers and printed reports and handbills at every country inn, he worked his way back to new hampshire; and on a moonlight night he found himself horseless in the bushes. two men rode up, and one held back as mike martin stepped forth. "who's that?" said the foremost man. "i'm the bold doherty from scotland," said he, taking thunderbolt's name and not in vain. "and what are you after?" said the shaking traveller. "stop and i'll show you." mike then presented his pistol and demanded of the gentleman his money or his life. promptly money and papers were turned over. "stand back by the fence," said the highwayman. "here, jack, look after this fellow," he swaggered to make the traveller think he had an accomplice; and he mounted the fine horse and rode off. he robbed some one in some way every few miles on the road till he was back in salem. there he promptly acquiesced to the decorous customs of the new england town, and went to a lecture; on his way home from his intellectual refreshment, he asked the time of a well-dressed man. "can't you hear the clock strike?" was the surly answer. "i'll hear your watch strike or strike your head," was the surprising reply. out came watch and money with the cowardly alacrity ever displayed at his demands. from thence to the sun tavern in boston, where he learned of a grand party at governor brooks's at medford. he said in his confession, "i thought there might be some fat ones there and decided to be of the company." after an evening of astonishing bravado and recklessness, displaying himself at taverns and on the road, he held up major bray and his wife on the medford turnpike, near the ten mile farm which once belonged to governor winthrop. the gentlefolk were in "a genteel horse and chaise." madam bray began to try to conceal her watch-chain, but captain lightfoot politely told her he never robbed ladies. major bray turned over his watch and pocketbook, but begged to keep his papers. martin said later, "the circumstances as given by major bray at the trial were correct, only he forgot to state that he was much frightened and trembled like a leaf." after stopping other chaises, he took the surprisingly foolhardy step of going to the tavern at medford, where he found already much excitement about the robbery of major bray, and met many suspicious glances. he rode off, and soon a crowd was after him crying, "stop thief." [illustration: poore tavern and sign-board.] in his mad flight his stirrup broke, he fell from his horse and dislocated his shoulder; thence through fields and marshes on foot till he dropped senseless from pain and fatigue. when he recovered, he tied his suspenders to a tree at one end and the other end to his wrist and pulled the shoulder into place. then by day and night through farms and woods to holliston. in the taproom of the tavern he called for brandy, but he saw such a good description of himself with a reward for his capture, while he was drinking off his glass, it took away his appetite for the dinner he had ordered. he was then tired of foot travel, and stole a horse and rode to springfield. here he put up at a tavern, where he slept so sound that he was only awakened by landlord, sheriff, and a score of helpers who had traced the horse to springfield. major bray's robbery was unknown there, but he was tried for it, however, when it was found out, on october , and convicted and sentenced to death. he cheerfully announced that he should escape if he could, but he was put in heavy irons. when in jail at lechmere point he struck the turnkey, mr. coolidge, on the head with his severed chain. he pushed past the stunned keeper, thrust open the door, and ran for his life. he was captured in a cornfield and coolidge was the man who grabbed him. it was found that he had filed through the chain with a case-knife, filled the cut with a paste of tallow and coal-dust, and though the link had been frequently examined the cut had never been noted. he declared he would have escaped, only the heavy chain and weight which he had worn had made him lose the full use of his legs, and he had to run with one end of the chain and a seventeen-pound weight in his hand. [illustration: monroe tavern, lexington, massachusetts.] he was executed in december and behaved with great propriety and sobriety. he showed neither cant, levity, nor bravado. he prayed silently just before his death, professed penitence, and went to the gallows with composure. he arranged his dress and hair carefully before a glass, showed a kind disposition to all, and finally gave the signal himself for the drop. a tall and handsome scamp, with piercing blue eyes and fine complexion, his marked intelligence and sweetness of expression made him most attractive. his frame was perfect in symmetry, and he was wonderful in his strength and endurance--truly an ideal highwayman; it must have been a pleasure to meet him. thus it is very evident that neither highway robbery nor highwaymen thrived in america. they mended their ways very promptly--and apparently they wanted to. a very striking example of this is in the american career of captain thunderbolt, the friend and teacher of mike martin. when he set foot on american soil, he tamely abandoned all his old picturesque wicked ways. he settled first in dummerston, vermont, where he taught school and passed his leisure hours in seclusion and study. he then set up as a physician, in newfane, vermont, calling himself dr. wilson, and he moved from thence to brattleboro, where his house stood on the present site of the railroad station. he married the daughter of a prominent brattleboro farmer, but was too stern and reserved to prove a good american husband. he lived to be about sixty-five years old, and had a good and lucrative professional practice. i know two authentic cases of highway robbery of stage-coaches in new england; one was from the driver, of a large sum of money which had been entrusted to him. it was his wife who stole it. she was not prosecuted, for she returned the money, and it was believed she would not have taken it from any one else. the other theft was that of a bonnet. just as a stage was to start off from a tavern door, a woman jumped on the step, seized the bonnet of a woman passenger, tore it from her head, and made off with it before the outraged traveller's shrieks could reach the driver and stop the coach; and--as the chronicler solemnly recounted to me--the robber was never heard of more. these two highwaywomen have the honors of the road. it may be deemed somewhat grandiloquent to term to-day this theft of a bonnet "highway robbery"; but i can assure you a fine bonnet was a most respected belonging in olden times, and if of real dunstable or fine leghorn straw and trimmed with real ostrich plumes it might be also a costly belonging, and to steal it was no light matter--indeed it was a hanging matter. for in boston, when john hancock was governor, a woman was hanged for snatching a bonnet from another's head and running off with it. chapter xix tavern ghosts england was ever the birthplace and abiding-place of ghosts. thoroughly respectable most of these old residents were, their manifestations being stereotyped with all the conventionalities of the spirit world. when the colonists came to the new world the friendly and familiar spectres did not desert their old companions, but emigrated also, and "sett down satysfyed" in enlarged log cabins, and houses built of american pine, just as the planters did; and in these humbler domiciles both classes of inhabitants were soon as much at home as they had been in oaken manor houses and stone castles in the "ould countrie." in new england the tavern was often the chosen place of abode and of visitation of spirits; like other travellers on life's weary round, these travellers on the round of the dead found their warmest welcome at an inn. naturally new conditions developed new phenomena; the spirits of unhappy peasants, of cruel barons, of hated heirs at law, of lovelorn ladies, found novel companions, among whom the manitous and wraiths of the red men cut the strangest figure. the ghosts of pirates, too, were prime favorites in america, especially in seaboard towns, but were never such frequent visitors, nor on the whole such picturesque visitors, as were the spirits of indians:-- "the ghosts that come to haunt us from the kingdom of ponemah, from the land of the hereafter." [illustration: sign-board of dewey tavern.] i have known a good many tavern ghosts of indians--though their deeds as recounted are often far from being original or aboriginal. reuben jencks owned a tavern that had a very good indian ghost. this ghost was not one of the inconsiderate kind that comes when you are awake, and half scares you to death; this noble red man stole in silently by night, so silently that the sleeper never awakened, and hence was never frightened, for nothing seems overstrange, uncanny, or impossible in a dream. even when the indian brandished his tomahawk and seized the visited one by the hair of the head, it never seemed to be anything more than might be expected, nor did he ever appear overfierce in his threats and gestures. nevertheless in course of time his appearances gave a name to the apartment he visited; it came to be known as the indian chamber. and travelling chapmen, pedlers, or traders who had been over the route frequently, and had heard the tale at every trip, sometimes objected to sleeping in the room--not that they were afraid--but it was somewhat of a nuisance. it was not known that any indian ever had received aught of injury at the hands of any at the black horse tavern, save the derivative injury from too frequent and liberal draughts of hard cider, which was freely dealt out to every sorry brave who wandered there. there were some simpletons who said that the indian's visits were to resent the injury done to another old inn, a rival down the road, named the pine tree, but which bore the figure of an indian on its sign-board, and was oftener known as the indian tavern. this was nonsense. the pine tree had no visitors because it did not deserve them, had a vile table and a worse stable, while the black horse tavern gave the best of the earth to its guests. reuben jencks had not been born in this tavern. he inherited it from an uncle, and he was already married and had a family of small children when the tavern came to him. another baby was born soon after, and as the indian chamber was the largest in the house, mrs. jencks quietly disposed of the objections of timid and superstitious chapmen and pedlers by taking the room for her own sleeping apartment. it would seem to be a brave warrior, albeit a savage and a ghost, who would enter a room as densely populated as that of mr. and mrs. jencks. there was for the repose of landlord and landlady a vast four-post bedstead with curtains, valance, and tester of white dimity; and under this high bed was thrust by day a low trundle bed. at night it was drawn out, and upon it slept the three little daughters of the jencks family. upon an old high-backed settle set on rockers slept reuben jencks, jr., the deposed king of the family. adjustable bars slipped in the front of this settle made it a safe crib. this stood on one side of the fireplace, and the new baby reposed, when he slept at all, in a deeply hooded mahogany cradle. there was a great fire ever and cheerfully burning in the fireplace--and yet to this chamber of infantile innocence and comfort came the saturnine form of the indian ghost. [illustration: cutter's tavern sign-board.] he was, in one sense, a thoroughly satisfactory apparition, being suitably clad in full trappings of war, buckskin and turkey feathers, bear's teeth and paint; he was none of those miserable half-breed travesties of indians who sometimes still sneaked round to the tavern kitchen, clad in vile clothes of civilization, so greasy and worn and dirty that a blanket would have been as stately in comparison as a roman toga; indians devoid of bravery, dignity, and even of cunning, whose laziness, high cheek-bones, and hair coarse as a horse's tail, and their unvarying love of rum, were the only proofs of indian blood; whose skin, even, had turned from copper tawny to dingy yellow. to mrs. jencks, reposing in state among her abundant goose feathers on the high bedstead, came one night the spectre in her dreams, pulled off her nightcap, seized her by her long hair, dragged her downstairs and out of doors, pointed fiercely to the roots of the great cedar at the gate, muttering all the while in broken english of avenging an insult to his race. as mrs. jencks awoke wholly uninjured, she merely laughed at her vision, saying that all the talk she had heard had made her dream it. but when she had dreamt it three times, three nights running, and the ghost kept speaking of an act of insult to him, that it must be avenged, removed, etc., and kept ever pointing to the base of the cedar tree, ben jencks insisted on digging for what he felt sure was hidden treasure. he and his menials dug deep and dug wide, and nearly killed the splendid old cedar, but found nothing. the next time the ghost appeared he dragged the astral body of mrs. jencks down to the other cedar tree on the right-hand side of the gateway. ben jencks dug again with the same result. neither he nor the ghost was daunted, and a fine apple tree in the garden next the orchard was the next victim. it was a sapson apple tree, the variety which all the children loved, and it ceased bearing for several years. as it wilted and pined after the rough spading at its roots, mrs. jencks doggedly vowed never to repeat any of the ghost's lies again. [illustration: clock with painting of pahquoique house.] we must not be too contemptuous of this unprincipled indian spirit. he simply belonged to a class of ghosts of whom andrew lang says complainingly that they have a passion for pointing out places and saying treasures or skeletons are buried within; whereas it always proves that nothing of the sort is ever found. there are liars among the living as well as of the dead, and mrs. jencks's indian never said it was a treasure--he only hinted darkly at the buried thing being associated with some degradation or insult to the indian race. the treasure was all in ben jencks's brain--and the brains of his friends. mrs. jencks's silence to her husband did not prevent her however from having several treasure-hunts alone by herself, after the indian's renewed visits and pointing finger, for he changed nothing in his programme save the spot he indicated. she spent an entire day pulling and poking among the attic rafters. she rolled out several empty cider barrels from a distant cellar corner, and even dug a hole there secretly. her husband at last discovered her mysteriously poking a hole down a disused well, and promptly had the well cleaned out; but of course nothing was found save the usual well contents, and thus the years rolled on. one morning lucy jencks whimpered that the indian had pulled her out of bed in the night and pointed out to her where to hunt. lucy was nearly eleven years old; a clever, sharp, active little yankee, who helped to shell peas and string beans and scour pewter, and who could knit famously and spin pretty well. this brought her naturally in the company of her elders, and she proved the influence of the ghost talk she had heard by repeating the indian's words that "the derision of his ancient race, the degradation of his ancient customs, must be avenged." derision and degradation are too big words for a little girl to use untutored, or for an indian ghost either; and in truth they were not the precise words he had spoken at first. but parson pillsbury had been present at the digging under the sapson apple tree, a piously sceptical but secretly interested spectator, and he had thus explained the somewhat broken "injun-talk" which mrs. jencks reported. it proves the tractability and intelligence of this ghost of a heathen that he ever after used the words of the puritan minister. the ghost pointed out to lucy jencks a very inaccessible spot to be searched. it was the farther end of a loft over a shed, and had to be entered by a short ladder from a leanto. this loft was packed solidly with the accumulated debris of three-quarters of a century, portions of farm tools, poor old furniture, boxes, barrels, every old stuff and piece that was too mean even for the main attic, in which were poor enough relics. it had never been searched or sorted out since ben jencks came to the tavern, and i doubt whether mrs. jencks would have listened to a ransacking then but for one circumstance, the jencks family were going to leave the black house tavern--and they really ought to know exactly what was in it ere they sold it with its contents. they had not been driven from the family home by this indian spirit of dreams, but by a more powerful spirit--that of emigration. neighbors and friends in rutland and worcester were going to ohio--that strange new territory, and they would go too. a single dead indian, and such a liar, too, seemed of but little account when they thought of the infinite bands of very live indians in their chosen home. [illustration: wright tavern, concord, massachusetts.] mrs. jencks and lucy climbed the ladder to the loft, opened the single shutter, and let in a narrow dancing ray of dusty sunlight on the crowded desolation within. lucy pointed between bars and barrels and bags, with slender white finger, at a large and remote box which a slender, strong, copper-colored hand had pointed out to her in her dreams. her mother sternly sent her below to do her stent at quilt-piecing, and she tearfully and unwillingly descended. it was nearly an hour ere the strong arms of mrs. jencks had dislodged and repacked the unutterable chaos to the extent of reaching the box. clouds of dust dimmed the air. she untied and removed a rotten rope that bound the box, which even in the dim litter looked like the upper half of a coffin. within lay something swathed in linen bands and strips of old flannel--newspapers were then too precious for wrappings. she struck it, and there came a faint rattle of metal. the thought came to her of the description of a mummy which she had read a few nights before in the almanac. she paused; then twisted in and among the boxes to the head of the ladder. she could hear the sound of perseverance singing a hymn. perseverance abbott was the "help," the sister of a farmer neighbor, and she was baking "rye and injun" bread for the teamsters who would stop there at nightfall. mrs. jencks called down, "persy, come here a minute!" "i'll tell her to come," piped up the shrill voice of lucy, who was hovering at the base of the ladder and evidently meant to be "in at the death." perseverance appeared, floury and serene, at the foot of the ladder. "i'll come," she said, in answer to mrs. jencks's appeal for assistance, "because i know you're scairt, and i ain't a-goin' to see ben jencks a-huntin for them indian bones again. i've been dyin', anyway, to clear this out ever since i come here, an' this'll be the beginnin'." "persy," said mrs. jencks, hesitatingly, "it seems to be something dead." "dead!" answered her hand-maid, "i'll bet it's dead after layin' here forty, perhaps a hundred year!" an atmosphere of good sense and fearlessness seemed to halo her about; still both women unwrapped the heavy thing, the mummy, with care. a bare shining scalp came first to view. "it's a wig-block," shouted perseverance in a moment, "yes, and here's curling irons and wire wig-springs." it was "grandpa's wig-block," so reuben jencks said, when he saw it later; his grandfather had added to his duties of tavern-keeper, roadmaster, selectman, and deacon, that of wig-maker. and in that day, when all men of any station wore handsome flowing wigs, and all, even poor men, wore wigs of some kind, it was a calling of importance. moreover, an indian with a tomahawk cut but a sorry figure when he tried to scalp a man who wore a wig; it was a deriding insult to the warlike customs of the whole indian race. [illustration: sign-board of moses hill's inn.] there is a fine old brick tavern still standing in a new england seaboard town, and now doing service as a rather disreputable road house. it is a building rigidly square, set due north, south, east, and west, with four long, narrow doors opening over broad door-stones to the four ends of the earth. a long tail of summer and winter kitchens, a wash-room, brew-house, smoke-house, wood-rooms, sheds, barns, piggeries, pigeon-houses, hen-houses, once stretched a hundred feet or more adown the road, part of which is now torn down. each joint of the tail helped loyally in olden times to furnish good cheer to the traveller. the great square rooms of the main house are amply furnished; one was a taproom, and in each second-story room still are two double beds, save in the corner room next the kitchen tail of the house, where stands nailed firmly to the floor of the room a somewhat battered oaken table. a little open staircase in the corner of this room leads down to the working end of the house, and was used in olden days to carry supplies to the upper table from the lower kitchen. it has been many a year since good cheer was spread on that broad oaken board, though at one time it was the favorite dining place of a choice brotherhood of old salts, called the mariners' club, who gathered there when on shore to tell tales of wild privateering, and of sharp foreign trade, and to plan new and profitable ventures. many of these mariners' clubs and marine societies existed in seaport towns at that golden time in new england's marine commercial history. [illustration: sign-board of john nash's tavern.] this room was the scene about seventy-five years ago of a somewhat unusual expression of feminine revolt--that is, both the expression and the revolt were unusual. one of the most constant frequenters of the tavern, the heaviest eater and deepest drinker, the greatest money-spender at these mariners' dinners, was one captain sam blood, who ran a large coasting brig, which made but short trips to atlantic seaports. thus he was ever on hand for tavern fun. he had a large and rather helpless family which he kept somewhat in retreat on a gloomy farm two miles inland; his mother old and feeble, yet ever hard-working; a large number of untidy children, and, worst of all, a sickly wife, a tall, gaunt woman who whined, and whined, and ever whined from her patch-covered couch, over the frequent desertions of her spouse to the tavern-table, and his wilful waste of money, while she could never leave the house. one night a specially good dinner was set in the mariners' room, roast and boiled meats, pies and puddings, a grand array of full pitchers, decanters, and bottles; the assembled group of old salts were about to ascend from the taproom to seat themselves comfortably at the round table for solid work, when a terrible crash and scream were heard, each seeming louder than the other, and before the startled eyes of the landlord and his guests, as they rushed up and into the room, there were all the steaming dishes, all the streaming bottles, with table-cloth and plates in a disorderly hopeless wreck on the floor. "who could have done it?" "there he goes," shouted one captain, as he ran to the window; and, surely enough, a slender man in nautical garb was seen striking out from under the sheltering walls of the ell-kitchens and sheds, and running desperately across the snowy fields. full chase was given and the marauder finally captured; he was swung roughly around with oaths and blows, when sudden silence fell on all. it was sam blood's wife in sam blood's togs. "i'll settle for this dinner," said sam blood, blackly. on his next voyage mrs. blood sailed with the captain. with the usual ethical inconsistencies which prevail in small communities, mrs. sam blood the despoiler attracted more attention and sympathy than mrs. sam blood the poor, hard-working, sickly wife; it was the universal talk and decision of all the women in town that the captain's wife needed a change of scene; and she had to take it in that ironical form decreed to the wives of old-time ship-owners, in a voyage of uncertain length and certain discomfort on a sailing vessel, with no woman companion and the doubtful welcome of the male members of the crew. off she went to savannah. at that port she was no better, cried all the time (the first mate wrote home), and seemed little like the woman of spirit who had wrecked the mariners' dinner. the captain decided to go with a cargo to south america to see how the tropics would serve the ailing woman. his old home crew shipped back to boston, not caring for the trip far south, and a crew of creoles and negroes was taken on the supplemental trip. when captain blood and his schooner at last came into port at home, he landed with sombre countenance, a mourning widower, and soon was properly clad in trappings of woe. mrs. sam blood was no more. her husband stated briefly that she had died and was buried at sea off the island of jamaica. a discreet and decent term of mourning passed, and mrs. blood, as is the way of the living--and of the dead--was quite forgotten. once more the mariners' club was to have a dinner, and once more the table in the mariners' room was spread with good cheer and ample drink. captain blood, in somewhat mitigated bereavement, was among the thronging guests who lingered over a final stomach-warmer at the bar. the landlord ran out of the room and roared down the main stairs that dinner was ready, and even as he spoke, crash! smash! came a din from the mariners' room, and there was all the dinner and all the broken bottles with the table-cloth and the upset table on the floor. it was a very unpleasant reminder to sam blood of a very mortifying event, and his friends sympathized with him in silence. this time no miscreant could be found in house or on farm, but the landlord suspected a discharged and ugly servant, who might have run down the little corner staircase, as mrs. blood had before him. the ruined dinner was replaced by another a week later. the guests were gathered, the landlord was bearing a last roast pig aloft, when smash! crash! came again from the mariners' room. every one in the house rushed up in tremendous excitement: the table-cloth was off, table upset, bottles smashed. an ominous silence and a sense of the uncanny fell on all in the room; some glanced askance at sam blood. more than one sharp-eyed old salt noted that the great, hairy, tattooed hands of the widower shook amazingly, though his face was the calmest of all the bronzed, weather-beaten figure-heads staring around. _there has never been a meal served from that table since_, though many a meal has been spread on it. the landlord, a stubborn man of no nonsense and no whims, grimly nailed the legs of the table to the floor, and proceeded to set the succeeding dinner on the bare boards. it mattered not, cloth or no cloth, every dinner small or great was always wrecked. watchers were set, enjoined not to take their eyes from the table, nor themselves from the room. something always happened, an alarm of fire, a sudden call for help, an apparent summons from the landlord--this but for a single moment, but in that moment smash! crash! went the dinner. captain blood lived to a rather lonely and unpopular old age, for he was held responsible for the decay and dissolution of the mariners' club; and unjustly enough, for neptune knows it was no wish of his. when occasional dinners and suppers were given by nautical men in wholly mundane rooms in other taverns, with no spiritual accompaniments,--that is, in the form of ghosts,--the captain was left out. men did not hanker for the companionship of a man who left port with a wife and came home with a ghost. he has been dead for decades, and is anchored in the old hill graveyard, where he sleeps the quiet sleep of the righteous; and the name and virtues of elvira, his beloved wife, are amply recorded on his tombstone. but her ghost still walks, or at any rate still wrecks. i don't like ghosts, but i really should like to meet this lively and persistent yankee wraith, clad in the meek and meagre drooping feminine attire which was the mode in the early part of this century, or perhaps tentatively mannish in peajacket and oilskins as in her day of riot of old. i really wish i could see the spry and spiteful spirit of mrs. sam blood, with her expression of rampant victory as she twitches the table-cloth off, and wrecks the bottles, and says in triumphal finality, "i'll settle for this dinner"; thus gaining what is ever dear to a woman, even to the ghost of a woman--the last word. [illustration: montague city tavern.] late on a november night in the early part of this century the landlord and half a dozen teamsters sat drinking deep in the taproom of the buxton inn. these rough travellers had driven into the yard during the afternoon with their produce-laden wagons; for a heavy snow was falling, and it was impossible wheeling, doubtful even whether they could leave the inn in forty-eight hours--perhaps not for a week. their board would not prove very costly, for they carried their own horse-provender, and much of their own food. some paid for a bed, others slept free of charge round the fire; but all spent money for drink. it was a fierce storm and a great fall of snow for the month of the year--though november is none too mild any year in new england. though this snow was too early by half to be seasonable, yet each teamster was roughly merry at the others' expense that he had not "come down" on runners. with dull days of inaction before them there was no need for early hours of sleep, so all talked loud and long and drank boisterously, when suddenly a series of heavy knocks was heard at the front door of the inn. bang! bang! angrily pounded the iron knocker, and the landlord went slowly into the little front entry, fumbled heavily at the bolt, and at last threw open the door to a fine young spark who blustered in with a great bank of snow which fell in at his feet, and who was covered with rolls and drifts of snow, which he shook off debonairly on all around him, displaying at last a handsome suit of garments, gold-laced, and very fine to those country bumpkins, but which a "cit" would have noted were somewhat antiquated of cut and fashion. he at once indicated and proved his claim to being a gentleman by swearing roundly at the landlord, declaring that his horses and servant were housed ere he was, that they had driven round and found shelter in the barn before he could get into the front door. he could drink like a gentleman, too, this fine young fellow, and he entered at once into the drinking and singing and story-telling and laughing with as much zest as if he had been only a poor common country clown. at last all fell to casting dice. the stakes were low, but such as they were luck all went one way. after two hours' rounds the gentleman had all the half-dollars and shillings, all the pennies even, in his breeches pocket; and he laughed and sneered in hateful triumph. sobered by his losses, which were small but his all, one teamster surlily said he was going to sleep, and another added, "'tis high time." and indeed it was, for at that moment old janet, the tavern housemaid, came in to begin her morning round of work, to pinch out the candles, take up part of the ashes from the chimney-hearth, fill the kitchen pots and kettles, gather in the empty bottles and glasses; and as she did so, albeit she was of vast age, she glanced with warm interest at the fine figure of fashion slapping his pockets, sneering, and drinking off his glass. "why, master," she said, staring, "you do be the very cut of sir charles off our sign-board." "let's see how he looks," swaggered the young blade; "where's a window whence we can peep at him?" all trooped to a nigh window in the tavern parlor to look at the portrait of sir charles buxton on the swing-sign, but to no avail, for there was yet but scant light without, and they peered out only on thick snowdrifts on the window panes. but when they reëntered the kitchen, lo! their gay companion was gone. gone where? back on the sign-board, of course. all who heard the oft and ever repeated wonder-tale would have scoffed at the fuddled notions of a drunken group of stupid teamsters, but the dollars and shillings and pennies were gone too--the devil knows where; and who was to pay the score for the double bowl of punch and the half-dozen mugs of flip sir charles buxton had ordered while the dicing was going on, and a large share of which he had drunk off with all the zest of flesh and blood? besides, janet had seen him, and janet's eye for a young man could never be doubted. [illustration: the old abbey, bloomingdale road, new york.] i spent one night a few summers ago in a tavern haunted by the ghost of a dead past. a sudden halt in our leisurely progress from town to town, caused by a small but unsurmountable accident to our road-wagon, found us in a little massachusetts village of few houses. the blacksmith had gone to a neighboring village to spend the night. it was twilight, and we decided not to attempt to reach our intended place for sojourning, six miles distant. we asked of a passer-by which house was the tavern. "there isn't any," was the cheerful answer; "if you stay here over night you'll have to stay at the poorhouse." now this was rather an unalluring alternative to any self-respecting citizen, but the night was coming on, and, after vainly searching for some resident who had ever had summer boarders, we determined to investigate the poorhouse. we found it the best house in the village. it was the almshouse, but it had been for half a century a tavern in reality, when the post-road lay through the town and travellers were more frequent than to-day. there was evidence of its tavern days in the old taproom, which had been converted into a store-room. the house with twenty acres of land had been bequeathed to the town by one of the old bourne family that had lived in it so long. this last bourne owner was a childless widower, a st. louis man, who had been away from the home of his youth since early childhood and had little love of it from old associations. [illustration: tavern pitcher. apotheosis of washington.] the poormaster and his wife we found to be tidy, respectable folk, even folk of a certain dignity, who owned the adjoining farm. their own house had burned down. so for ten years they had run the poorhouse. it had not proved a very difficult task. often there were no occupants; one year there were two portuguese cranberry pickers, stricken with rheumatism from exposure in the cranberry bogs. now both are married to american wives and own prosperous cranberry bogs of their own. the poorhouse had its usual quota on the night of our sojourn; we found two paupers living there. [illustration: after the shower.] there was not time to prepare an extra meal of extra quality for the travellers who came so suddenly for a night's shelter, but the good tea, plentiful milk, fine bread and butter, honey, hot griddle-cakes, and fried bacon bore testimony of ample fare and good housewifery. the two paupers sat at the table and ate with us--a silver-haired old man of exquisite cleanliness, and a grotesque little humpback. we noted that the old man was ever addressed by all who spoke to him as mr. bourne, and during his short absence from the room after supper the poor-mistress told us that the almshouse had been the home and this the farm of his grandfather. the supper was served in the great kitchen, and here we sat till a curfew bell rang from the little church belfry at nine o'clock. considerable jealousy was shown by both paupers in their eager desire to talk with us, and we learned that the dwarf was regarded as a genius; he composed wonderful epitaphs, and had written poetry for the county newspaper. he could set type, and could thus earn his living, but was temporarily more feeble than usual, on account of a weight falling on his back; after a few months he would go to work again. he represented the brilliant and intellectual element of communal life, but was hopelessly plebeian; while mr. bourne stood for blood and breeding. this the dwarf peter scorned, being a socialist in his creed. a curious and touching atmosphere of simplicity and confidence filled the old kitchen. the farmer and his wife were deeply solicitous for the comfort and health of their two charges; and as i sat there, tired by my long drive, a little lonely from the strangeness of the surroundings, there was nevertheless a profound sense that this poorhouse was truly a home. [illustration: sign-board grosvenor inn.] it was in the middle of this night that the experience came to me of the greatest sense of passive comfort that i have known--and think of the absurdity, in a poorhouse! we heard at midnight a light patter of quick rain, and soon soft footsteps entered and our window shutters were carefully closed. "it's me," said our landlady, ungrammatically and pleasantly. "i didn't mean to wake you, but i always go to mr. bourne's room when it rains to close his window for fear he'll take cold, so i looked at yours," and the old-time figure in petticoat, shawl, and ruffled nightcap withdrew as quietly as it had entered. then came the hour of half-sleep, a true "dozy hour," as thackeray said. in this poorhouse, with no book, no ready light, i fain must lie in silence, hence an hour such as has been told in perfection in a simple yet finished piece of descriptive english; let me give the classic prose of sam pepys--the words are his--but the happy hour was mine as well as his:-- "rode easily to welling, where we supped well, and had two beds in the room, and so lay single, and still remember it that of all the nights that i ever slept in my life i never did pass a night with more epicurism of sleep; there being now and then a noise of people stirring that wakened me, and then it was a very rainy night, and then i was a little weary, that what between waking, and then sleeping again one after another, i never had so much content in all my life." when we awoke the following morning mr. bourne was awaiting our coming with some eagerness. the dwarf was absent, and the old man apologized for one or two of peter's remarks the night before which had seemed to him uncivil. these were, however, only some of peter's mild bitternesses about division of property, the injustice of modern laws, the inequalities of taxation, etc., which had seemed harmless enough in the mouth of a pauper. while waiting the leisurely repairs of our vehicle at the hands of the captured blacksmith, i yielded to mr. bourne's eager invitation to come with him to see a piece of land he owned. "it's been in the family near two hundred years," he said proudly. "peter says i ought to be ashamed to tell of my folks' grasping all them years god's gift of the soil that ought to be just as free as the ocean and the sky; but i'm glad i've got it. peter's folks came from middleboro way, and never did own no land nor nothin', and i've noticed it's them sort that's always maddest at folks as does have family things." after a few minutes of silence he added: "peter can't help it. it's born in him to feel that way, just as it's born into me to feel proud of my property." we walked along the sandy road under the beautiful autumnal sky. a dense group of stunted cedars and one towering fir tree rose sombrely in a little enclosed corner below the church. "this is my property," said the old man, cheerfully, "and they're all bournes and swifts in it. there lies my great-grandfather, the old parson, under that flat stone come from england. here is my mother. that slate headstone over there is for my brother lost at sea on one of his voyages. i am going to be put exactly here. them four stones i put to mark it. and peter hasn't any graveyard--don't even know where his father is buried--so he's going to lie over here in this corner. he's the only one as ain't a swift or a bourne, and it's a great honor to him. he's had to pay me for it, though; he's written me an epitaph, and it's a good one; it'll be the best one in the whole graveyard." [illustration: the parting of the ways.] index abbott's tavern, - . accidents on coaches, _et seq._ "accommodation," service in travel, , . _adam and eveses garden_, . adams, john, quoted, on landlord, ; on drinking habits, , ; on revolutionary sentiments, - , ; on revolutionary song, . addison, quoted, - . ah-coobee, . albany, n. y., tavern at, - ; foot post to, ; stage line at, - ; highway robbery in, _et seq._ ale, use of, . alexander, john, highway robbery by, _et seq._ alexandria, va., turnpike at, . alleghany mountains, pack-horses on, . almshouse, ghost story of, _et seq._ american house, springfield, fare at, . ames, nathaniel, tavern of, _et seq._; almanacks of, ; sign-board of, . amherst, mass., sign-boards at, , . anchor inn, . andover, mass., tavern license in, - . andros, sir edmund, wine list of, ; coach of, . angel tavern, . animals, at taverns, - . animals' heads, sign-boards of, . annals of the revolution, . annual parade, . apples, in new england, ; in virginia, ; in new york, ; names of, . arcade tavern, . arlington, mass., taverns at, . armitage, joseph, ordinary-keeper, . arnold, david, tavern of, . arnold, peleg, tavern of, ; roads of, ; milestone of, - . artists, as sign-board painters, _et seq._ ashburnham thief detecting society, handbill of, . ashton, john, cited, . auctions. _see_ vendues. ayers, john, _et seq._ bacchanalians, . backgammon, at coffee-houses, . badger and porter's stage lists, , . bag-o'-nails, . balancing on stage-coach, - . balch, john, post-rider, . balloons, at taverns, ; on railroads, . baltimore, md., taverns in, ; wine prices at, - ; turnpikes in, ; conestoga wagons at, ; highway robbery in, _et seq._ baltimore and ohio railroad, . bannocks, tuggie, - . bar, in taverns, . barbadoes, rum in, . barbadoes brandy, . barbadoes liquor, . barberries, superstitions about, - . barge, use of word, - . barnum, p. t., quoted, . barnum's hotel, baltimore, prices at, - . barre, sign-board at, . barre, colonel, . barre and worcester stage line, . barrington, r i., prices at, - . bartlett, eliphalet, tavern of, . bay path, - . beakers, glass, . beal, thomas, coach line of, - . bear, as a mark, . beaumont, quoted, . beehive tavern, . beer, brewing regulated by law, ; price established, ; in new york, ; in virginia, - . bell savage, . bell teams, . bell, tom, story of, - . bellarmine jug, . bellows-top, . bells, on pack-horses, ; on conestoga wagons, - . bennett, quoted, , , - . berkeley, governor, quoted, . bethlehem, penn., tavern at, _et seq._ beverige, - . beverly, mass., ordinary at, . bible and key, . bible and peacock, . biblical names, of towns, ; of taverns, . bickerdyke, quoted, . bilboes, , . billiards, forbidden, . bills of fare, - . bingham house a tavern, . birch, beer of, ; vistas of, . bispham's tavern, trenton, - . bissell's tavern, - . "bite," . black ben, anecdote of, . black, william, quoted, . black horse tavern, winchester, . "blacks," . black horse tavern, ; shows at, . black jacks, . black sam. _see_ samuel fraunces. black strap, . bladensburgh, md., tavern at, . bliss, joseph, . bliss tavern, haverhill, n. h., , . blood, sam, ghost story of, _et seq._ blue anchor tavern, boston, names of chambers, ; landlord of, . blue anchor tavern, cambridge, bills at, . bogus, . bonaparte, jerome, . bonnets, bought by stage-drivers, ; highway robbery of, . book auctions, . boreel building, . boston, ordinaries in, , , - , , - ; night watch in, ; smoking fined in, ; ale-houses in, ; liquor sellers in, ; disorder in, - ; taverns in, ; oldest inn in, ; pillory in, ; bridges in, _et seq._; coaches in, _et seq._; stage-coach lines from, _et seq._, _et seq._ boston, sarah, - . boston and hartford stage line, _et seq._ boston and lowell r. r., . boston and providence r. r., . boston and worcester r. r., first cars on, . boston _courier_, objects to railroads, . boston tea party, . boston _traveller_, . bound children, . bowen inn, prices at, - . bowls, forbidden, . box, fragrance of, . brackett, landlord, - . braddock, general, horses and wagons for, _et seq._ braddock's trail, . bradford, printer, of philadelphia, - . bradish, sister, encouraged in brewing, . bradstreet, simon, bills of, ; rides in coach, . brakes, early, . brandy-wine, . bray, major, robbery of, _et seq._ brazil, story of, _et seq._ breck, samuel, cited, . bridges, sign-boards on, ; of fallen trees, , ; building of, ; of stone, ; of wood, - ; insecurity of, _et seq._ bridle-paths, . brissot, quoted, . _british apollo_, . brookfield, mass., tavern at, ; war at, _et seq._ brookline, mass., turkey-shoot in, ; tavern, anecdote of, - . brown, john, chariot of, - . browner, deb., - . bryant, harrison, anecdote of, - . buck horn tavern, . buckman tavern, , - , . bucks county historical society, pennsylvania, , . buffalo bill, coach of, . buggy, . bull and mouth, - . bull-baiting, . bully dawson, punch recipe of, - . bunch of grapes, lecture at, , - . bunting, . burke, edmund, quoted, . burlington, mass., tavern at, - . burnaby, quoted, . burning at stake, - . burns, george, . bush, as tavern-sign, . butchers, as letter-carriers, . butler, coach-driver, . buxton inn, ghost story of, _et seq._ bynner, edwin lasseter, quoted, - . cable cars, . calash, described, . calibogus, . calves' head soup, . cambridge, mass., seating meeting at, - ; first landlord at, ; first liquor license at, ; selectmen's bills at, ; negro burned in, - . canajoharie, n. y., stages at, ; spelling of name, . canary, use of, . canton, mass., flip in, . captain lightfoot, . captain thunderbolt, - , . "carding," forbidden, . carriages, for pleasure, ; in philadelphia, . cars on railroads, _et seq._ carts, near boston, ; in new england, . cart-bridges, . cartways, . castle inn, scene at, - . cat and wheel, . catfish suppers, - . catherine wheel, . cato's house, - . cattle tracks, . cavalry corps, in massachusetts, . central hotel, worcester, . centrebrook, conn., tavern at, - . chain bridge, newburyport, . chair, described, . chaise, described, - ; french, . chalking his hat, . chapin, c. w., . chariots, , - . charles river, bridge over, _et seq._ charlestown, mass., great house at, . charlestown, n. h., tavern at, ; coachman at, . cheney, b. p., . chester, vt., marriages at, . "chopping," . church, dr., a traitor, . cider, use of, _et seq._; price of, , , ; manufacture of, . ciderkin, . cider-royal, . city hotel, hartford, bill of fare, . city hotel, new york, _et seq._ city tavern, new york, _et seq._ claret, use of, . clark's inn, philadelphia, _et seq._ clawson, john, murder of, - . clifford's tavern, thief sold at, - . clubs, in taverns, . cluffe, richard, anecdote of, - . coachee, described, . coaches, in england, - ; objections to, ; books about, - ; in america, _et seq._; in scotland, . coachmen, in england, , , - . coast path, . cochran, mordecai, . coffee, introduction of, ; abuse of, . coffee-houses, in london, - ; in new york, - ; in philadelphia, - ; in boston, - . coffyn, tristram, keeps ordinary, . cohos turnpike, . cohos valley, . cole, samuel, keeps ordinary, . coles, robert, two sentences of, . collier, william, wine seller, . collin's tavern, . comfortier, . commutation, in travel, . concerts, at taverns, . concord, mass., lack of ordinary in, ; tavern at, . concord, n. h., coach-making in, - ; stagemen's ball at, . conestoga wagons, first appearance in history, - ; payment for use of, ; a pride, ; shape of, ; equipment of, - ; number of, ; in revolution, ; in war of , ; in new england, _et seq._ conkey tavern, - . connecticut, laws in, ; apples in, . convicts sent to america, . cook, tom, _et seq._ coolidge, turnkey, . cooper, james fenimore, quoted, - . cooper tavern, . corduroy roads, - . courts held in taverns, - . cowper, quoted, . cox, lemuel, bridges of, _et seq._ craft's tavern, . creels, transportation by, . criminals, public punishment of, _et seq._; sale of, - . cromwell's head tavern, - . crosby, j., advertisement of, - . curricle, described, - . cutpurse, moll, . cutter, joseph, tavern of, . danbury, conn., railroad incident at, . dancing, forbidden, , ; at new york ball, . danforth, nicholas, sells wine, . danforth, samuel, anecdote of, . dankers, quoted, . darrach, mrs. lydia, action of, . daughters of liberty, . davenport, george, tavern bill of, - . deer seen from coach, . de lanceys, house of, - , - . de lancey arms, bull-baiting at, . dennie, joseph, - . de quincey, quoted, . dicing forbidden, . dickens, charles, quoted, . distances, elastic, . doanes, story of, _et seq._ dogs, turnspits, - . doherty, john, . doolittle tavern, . door-latch, iron, . dorchester, mass., tavern at, . drafts, in america, - . "draw," . dress of stage-drivers, - . drift of the forest, . drivers, rivalry of, ; of wagons in new england, . driving, rules for, - . drunkenness, laws about, _et seq._, - ; of coachmen, , . dunbarton, n. h., - . dunton, john, quoted on landlord, , ; on punch bowl, . dutch, drink of, . duxbury, mass., ordinary at, , . dwight, dr., quoted on landlords, . eagle coffee-house, concord, n. h., . eagle tavern, east poultney, vt., . eagle tavern, newton, n. h., - . ear-bells, . earl of halifax tavern, - , . early start of stage-coaches, , _et seq._ east poultney, vt., taverns at, . east windsor, conn., tavern at, - . eastern stage company, _et seq._; drivers of, , . eastern stage house, . ebulum, . egan, pierce, books of, - . egg-hot, egg-nogg, cato's, . egg-nogg stick, . eicholtz, sign-board by, . electrical machines, at taverns, . ellery tavern, gloucester, accounts at, - . elopements, - . emerson, joseph, ownership of a "shay," - . emerson, r. w., anecdote told by, - . endicott, governor, bills of, ; apples planted by, . enlisting, _et seq._ epping, n. h., anecdote of coaching at, - . ernst, c. w., quoted, , , . essex bridge, . essex turnpike, . everett, david, . exchange coffee-house, boston, _et seq._, . exchange hotel, worcester, . exchange tavern, boston, . execution day, , . experiment railroad, . falstaff inn, . farming, . farrar, major john, keeps tavern, . father of the turnpike, . fayal wine, use of, . fayetteville, n. c., bridge at, - . federal convention inn, _et seq._ ferries, ordinaries at, ; establishment of, ; frozen in, . fessenden, t. g., . fiennes, celia, quoted, - . finlay, hugh, quoted, - . fireplaces, - . fisher, joshua, . fitchburg, mass., tavern at, . fitzhugh, colonel, apple trees of, . flagg, parson, marriages of, . flip, description of, ; early note of, ; in canton, mass., ; in england, ; recipe for, ; price of, ; taste of, . flip dog, . flip glasses, - . flip iron, . floating bridges, , . flowers, of gardens, ; of fields, ; of orchards, . flying machines, . flying mail stages, . flying wagons, . foot-bridges, . foot-paths, , . foot-port, . fountain inn, baltimore, md., . fountain inn, medford, mass., _et seq._ four alls, - . fox and hounds, . fox-chase, , . franklin, benjamin, home of, a tavern, ; quoted, - ; on sign-board, ; at tavern, ; secures wagons for braddock's army, - ; milestones of, ; cyclometer of, . franklin inn, . fraunces, samuel, - . fraunces tavern, - . freemasons, at tavern, , _et seq._ freight cars, . frey, s. l., cited, . furs, . games, prohibited, . gardens, . garrigues ferry, . gates on turnpikes, . general ticket office, of pease, . genessee valley, . gentlemen sailors, _et seq._ germantown, penn., . ghosts, in england, ; in taverns, ; of indians, . gig, . gimlet team, . gin, use of, . gloucester, mass., tavern bills at, - . goat and compass, . _going down with victory_, . golden hill inn, - . golden lion, . good intent coach line, . good woman, - . grafton, mass., indians at, . grease-pot. _see_ tar-lodel. green bush, . green dragon inn, - . greenfield, mass., tavern at, . gregory's tavern, albany, - . greyhound tavern, , . grog, . "grub," . guide-boards, . "gumption," . hall, basil, quoted, , , - , , . hall, francis, quoted on landlords, . hammond, john, quoted, - . hancock, john, on sign-board, ; at liberty tavern, . hancock tavern, . handkerchief with postal lists, _et seq._ hanging in chains, . hardy, governor, dinner to, . hare brothers, highway robbery by, _et seq._ harnesses of conestoga wagons, . harrington tavern, shrewsbury, mass., . hartford, conn., tavern at, - ; ordination bill at, . harvard college, cider at, ; commencement at, ; love-making in, - ; pillory in, . harvey, governor, complaint of, . hat tavern and sign-board, . hatch, israel, coach lines of, - . haverhill, n. h., tavern and stage life in, - . hawthorne, quoted, . hayden tavern, sign-board of, , . hays' tavern, brattleboro, . hen and chickens, - . henry, edward lamson, collections of, - . herndon, john, curse of, . hicks, sign-board by, . highwaymen, in england, , ; in america, _et seq._ highwaywomen, . hingham, mass., thief detecting society of, . histrionic academies, . hogarth, sign-board by, . holden, mass., flip at, - . holland, j. g., quoted, . holyhead road, - . horns as tavern-signs, . horse-bridges, . horse-cars, . horse-paths, . horse thief, _et seq._ horses as tavern-signs, ; rearing of, ; plenty of, ; of conestoga breed, ; in boston, ; on new england wagons, ; on stage-coaches, - ; false tails on, . hotels, evolution of, - . hottle, . hound-handle pitcher, . hundredth town, . hutchinson, governor, milestones set by, . ibbetson, sign-board by, . indian queen tavern, bladensburg, . indian queen tavern, philadelphia, - . indians, sale of rum prohibited to, , ; leniency to, _et seq._; on sign-boards, ; attack on brookfield, _et seq._; wars of, _et seq._; paths of, _et seq._; as mail-carriers, - ; ghosts of, . inn, use of word, . insurance office in tavern, . inveigling of girls' affections, - . ipswich, mass., landlord at, ; shipping at, . ipswich river, bridge on, . irish workers on roads, - . jackasses, sale of, . jacks. _see_ black-jacks. jansen, quoted, . jefferson, thomas, quoted, . jencks, reuben, tavern of, _et seq._ jencks tavern, ghost story of, - . johnstown, n. y., tavern at, . jokes, of landlords, _et seq._; at taverns, . jordan, john v., account of the rose tavern, . josselyn, john, quoted, , . joyce, herbert, quoted, . june bug, coach line, . kalm, quoted, . kennebunk road by the sea, . kentucky, metheglin in, . "kids," . kieft, director, quoted, . kill devil, , . king's arms, boston, inventory of, _et seq._ king's arms, newport, play at, _et seq._ king's college, services at, . king's head tavern, brooklyn, - . kittery, me., makes road, . knights, sarah, quoted, _et seq._; journey of, . knot bowl, indian, . lackawanna, pauper sold at, . lafayette, on sign-boards, ; at taverns, , , . lamb, charles, quoted, . lamb tavern, . lambert, john, quoted, . lancaster, mass., cider at, . lancaster, penn., taverns in, _et seq._, - ; sign-boards in, ; conestoga wagons in, , ; pack-horses at, ; steam cars at, ; stage-coach at, - . lang, andrew, quoted, . langdon, j. f., . la rochefoucauld, cited, . la tour, indignity to his companion, . lay preacher, - . lebanon tavern, . lecture day, . lemons, sign of, . lemons, . "leveller," . lexington, mass., taverns at, - ; highway robbery at, . ley, lord, at boston ordinary, . liberty poles, . liberty trees, _et seq._ license, of taverns, _et seq._ _life in london_, - . lighthouse, sandy hook, - . lime rock, r. i., tavern at, . "limited" service, of travel, . linnæus, classification of, . literary club of walpole, - . little falls, n. y., fare at, . lloyd, governor, house a tavern, . locomotives, early, , . loggerhead, - . loggets, forbidden, . london coffee-house, philadelphia, . londonderry, ireland, bridge at, . _london labour and london poor_, . longfellow, quoted, . lottery, for sandy hook lighthouse, ; at taverns, . louis philippe, at tavern, . lowell, quoted, . _loyal garland_, . _loyalists_, . lucas, john, chariot of, . ludlow, lt., robbery of, _et seq._ macadamized roads, _et seq._ macraby, alexander, quoted, . madeira, use of, , ; prices of, , . madigolum, . madison's war, . mail, transportation of, ; by butchers, ; by indians, ; by post, ; irregularity of, ; conditions of service, - ; in england, ; in scotland, _et seq._; in united states, , . mail-coaches, on holyhead road, - ; at whitestown, n. y., ; at canajoharie, ; in england, , ; in america, , _et seq._; glories of, . mail stage carriages, . maize, beer from, , . malaga, use of, . malden bridge, . man full of trouble, _et seq._ man loaded with mischief, _et seq._ man making his way through the world, - . manners at taverns, . mansion house, philadelphia, - . march, hugh, keeps an ordinary, - . marden, h. p., . mariners' club, . market, winter ride to, - . markham, gervayse, . marlborough, mass., . "marmalet-madams," . martin, mike, career of, _et seq._ maryland, road house in, ; pillory in, ; turnpikes in, , ; railroads in, - . massachusetts grand lodge, . mather, cotton, quoted, . mather, increase, quoted, . mather, samuel, quoted, . may, silas, opens stage line, . mcadam, james, . mcadam, loudon, . mcgowan's tavern, - . mead, use of, - . meals, price of, ; at early taverns, - , . medford, mass., tavern at, _et seq._ meeting-house, relation to tavern, - ; discomforts of, . melish, john, quoted, , , . mendenhall ferry tavern, - . mendum, jack, anecdote of, - . merchants' coffee-house, . metheglin, use of, - ; price of, . mileposts, in massachusetts, - ; in connecticut, - ; in rhode island, . militia, . miller, "devil" dave, - . "mimbo," . miner, h. s., quoted, , , . "mitchin," . mohawk turnpike, _et seq._ molasses, rum from, ; beer from, . monk, george, . monroe tavern, . monteith punch bowl, . moore, thomas, quoted, . moose, exhibited, - . morland, george, sign-board by, . morton, thomas, punished in bilboes, . mowry, roger, tavern of, . mowry's inn, . mulberry trees, . mulled wine, recipe for, . murline, jacob, love-making of, - . nahant hotel plate, . naming of chambers, - . nangatuck, conn., tavern at, . narragansett, travel in, , _et seq._; murder in, ; shift marriages in, ; elopement in, - ; burial of suicide in, . narragansett pacers, . national line, . national road, travellers on, , ; construction of, _et seq._; coach lines on, _et seq._ negro highwayman, . negus, . neighborliness, of colonists, . newbury, mass., ordinary at, . newburyport, mass., tavern at, ; bill at, - ; bridge at, . newburyport turnpike, . new connecticut path, . new exchange, n. y., - . new hampshire, stage-drivers in, - . _new liberty song_, . new london, conn., milestone at, . new netherland, taverns in, . newport, r. i., turtle-feast at, ; play at, _et seq._ newspapers, at taverns, - . new york, taverns in, _et seq._, ; just from, . night-watch, rules in boston, ; in bethlehem, penn., _et seq._; rhymes of, . ninepins, forbidden, . nipmuck trail, . noah's ark, . norfolk, va., impressment in, - . _notions of the americans_, , - . nutmeg-holders, . nutmegs, use of, - . "ocuby," . ohio company, organization of, . ohio, settlement of, _et seq._; emigration to, . old connecticut path, . oldmixon, quoted, . olmstead, nicholas, in pillory, . olney tavern, . omnibus, . ordinaries, use of word, , ; reasons for establishment of, ; inducements to keep, ; restrictions upon, - , , - . ordination ball, . ordination beer, . ordination day, ; liquor at, . "owlers," . pack-horses, in england, , ; on alleghany mountains, - ; common carriers, . paddock, coaches of, . palmer, starts mail-coaches, . parkman, dr., diary of, . parley, peter, quoted, , - . parlor, of tavern, - . patriot brothers, sign-board, . paulus hook, stage-coaches from, . paupers, sale of, - . peachy, . pease, levi, _et seq._ pease tavern, _et seq._ peg mullen's beefsteak house, - . pelham, mass., tavern at, - ; tolls at, . pembroke tavern, sign-board of, . penn, richard, home a tavern, . penn, william, quoted, . pepys, samuel, quoted, . pequot trail, milestone on, . perkins inn, sign-board of, . perry, . persimmons, beer from, . phelps, joseph, . philadelphia, penn., taverns in, , - ; as a port, ; sign-boards in, ; freemasons in, ; courts in, ; carriages in, ; lines of stages, , - . phillips house, . pick-a-back, across rivers, - . pig and carrot, . pillion, . pillory, . pine trees of the king, . pine tree tavern, . pioneer line, - . pipe-tongs, . pitcairn, major, anecdote of, . pitt, william, sign-board of, , , , . pitt tavern, . plays, at taverns, _et seq._ plymouth, mass., first wine sellers in, . plymouth path, . "pod," . "podanger," . "pointing," . pompoins. _see_ pumpkins. poore tavern, . portsmouth, n. h., tavern at, - ; stage line at, _et seq._ portsmouth road, . post, riding with, ; by foot, - ; duties of, ; in haverhill, n. h., . postal rates, . postlethwaite's tavern, - . postmaster, salary of, . post-riders, - . potatoes, beer from, . potter, paul, sign-board by, - . pottle, . prairie schooner, . pratt, matthew, sign-board by, . prescott, mass., tavern at, - . press-gang, - . prices of tavern fare, , , , - , , , - . products, of new england farm, - . providence, r. i., first ordinary at, , ; liberty tree at, ; rival coach lines from, _et seq._ providence path, . province arms, new york, _et seq._ province house, boston, a tavern, . prygman, . pseudonyms, . pumpkins, beer from, , . punch, use of, , , ; derivation of, ; recipe for, - , ; price of, , ; names of, - . punch bowls, _et seq._ punch bowl tavern, turkey-shoot at, . punch-tasters, . "pung," . punishments, _et seq._ putnam, israel, a landlord, . pye, john, robbery of, _et seq._ pygarg, . quakers, whipped, . quarles, quoted, . quawbang, . queen's birthday, celebration of, . queen's head, . quick, elmira, sold as pauper, - . quincy, eliza s., quoted, . quincy, josiah, quoted, , - , - . quincy railroad, . quoits, forbidden, . rabbit, on sign-board, . railroads, early, _et seq._; objections to, - ; discomforts of, . rainbow coffee-house, . raleigh inn, . rambarge. _see_ rumbarge. rambooze. _see_ rumbooze. ramsey, landlord, - . recruiting offices, taverns as, _et seq._ redemptioners, . red rose of the olden time, _et seq._ reed, president, quoted, . regulars, . reins, on conestoga wagons, ; on stage-coaches, . revere, paul, engraving by, ; quoted, . rhymes, of taprooms, ; of night-watch, - . ribbonmen, . riedesel, baron, quoted, . road-bed of early railroads, . road house, . road wagon, . roads, earliest, ; quality of, ; in england, _et seq._ robinson, hannah, elopement of, . robinson's tavern, . rogers, fairman, quoted, . rose tavern, . royal exchange tavern, boston, . rum, first use of word, ; derivation of word, ; varying prices, , ; in mixed drinks, _et seq._ rumbarge, . rumbooze, description of, . rum bottles, . rumbowling, . rumbullion, . rumfustian, description of, . russel tavern, . rye, n. y., ordinary at, . sack, selling prohibited, ; early mention of, _et seq._; application of name, ; price of, ; in america, _et seq._ sack-posset, use of, ; recipe for, - . sail boats, on sign-boards, . sailors, on sign-boards, - . salem, mass., tavern bill of, ; sign-board in, - ; woman keeps tavern in, ; animal shows at, . salem, n. j., tavern prices at, . salem and boston turnpike, . salt, on pack-horses, . saltonstall, nathaniel, protest of, - . sanborn, charles, . sandy hook lighthouse, - . sangaree, . sassafras, beer of, . scents, of woods, ; of gardens, - ; of fields, - ; of fruits, . schoolboys on coaches, - . schuylkill bridge, . scotchem, - . seabury, liquor seller, . sea terms in land travel, . seating the meeting, - . selectmen, bills of, - . sewall, samuel, judge, compared with pepys, ; character of, - ; on a wedding, - ; buys trunks, ; on suicide, . shad, planked, . shaffer, anecdote of, . shaw, major, on railroads, . "shay," ; cost of, . shays's rebellion, _et seq._ sherris-sack, . shift marriages, . ship in distress, . shouldering, . shows, in taverns, . shrewsbury, mass., tavern talk at, ; taverns at, _et seq._ shuffle-board, forbidden, . sign-boards, in early ordinaries, - ; use of, _et seq._; materials of, ; in business, - ; incongruity of, _et seq._; on bridges, - . sign-posts, established, . sikes. _see_ sykes. silent woman, . singing, forbidden, . skidding, . skinners, . slat sign, . sledding, . sledges, transportation by, , . sleeping accommodations, - , . slide-groat, forbidden, . sling, . small drink, described, . smith, adam, on smuggling, . smoking-tongs, . snake heads, . sniggers and vesta's gap, turnpike to, . snow-shoes, post on, ; mail carried on, . sons of liberty, , . south kingston, r. i., shift manages at, . southworth, constant, wine seller, . sowrings, - . _spectator_, . spike team, . sports of the innyards, . sprague, francis, ordinary-keeper, . springfield, mass., fare at, . spruce, beer of, - . stadt harberg, . stage, use of word, - . stage-chair, . stage-chaise, . stage-chariot, . stage-coaches, of year , ; in england, , ; in boston and rhode island, - ; in pennsylvania, ; of year , - ; application of word, ; in pennsylvania, ; rates on, , ; rates in england, ; from portsmouth, _et seq._; sights from, _et seq._; courtship on, - . stage-drivers, ; characteristics of, _et seq._; dress of, - ; shopping done by, ; drinking habits of, ; names of, ; on railroads, ; tales of, . stage-lists, . stage-men's ball, . stage-wagons, in england, , ; out of boston, ; in pennsylvania, , . stamp act, . stark, general, victory of, . state house inn, philadelphia, . stavers coaching line, _et seq._ stavers inn, - , - . stickney tavern, sign-board of, . st. john's lodge, . stocks, use of, , . "stogies," - . stone wall, . stow, quoted, . stratford, conn., milestone at, . stratton, arad, tavern of, . streets, naming of, . strong waters, selling prohibited, . struggling man, - . stuart, gilbert, sign-board by, . stuyvesant, governor, laws of, . sudbury, mass., tavern at, , , . suicides, burial of, . sumner, charles, quoted, . sun-line house, . suspension bridge, . swift, dean, quoted, , . "swiftnicks," . switchel, . sykes coffee-house, . sykes, reuben, _et seq._, . talleyrand, at tavern, . tally, forbidden, . tally-ho, use of word, . tap-houses, new york, - . taproom rhymes, . taprooms, , _et seq._ tar-bucket. _see_ tar-lodel. tar-lodel, - . tarleton arms, . tarleton inn, story of, - ; sign-board of, , . tarleton, wm., - . tavern behind nazareth, . taverns, use of word, ; in southern colonies, _et seq._; establishment of laws about, , - ; prices at, , , , - ; names of rooms in, ; in new netherlands, _et seq._; names of, ; as war rendezvous, ; as auction rooms, ; as business exchanges, ; as insurance offices, ; as jails, , ; on albany turnpike, ; in scotland, . also see names of towns and ordinaries. taylor, m. m., milestone of, ; tavern of, . taylor, the water poet, quoted, . taylorsville, penn., bridge sign-board at, . teamsters, . thackeray, w. m., cited, . thief detecting societies, . thieves, band of, _et seq._ thomas' exchange coffee-house, . thorburn, grant, quoted, - , - . three broiled chickens, . three crowns, lancaster, penn., - . three jolly sailors, . three loggerheads, . throat-lashing, . tipping, . tippling-houses, . tithing-man, duties of, . tobacco, restrictions on use of, - ; as payment, ; drawers for, . toby fillpots, . todd, margaret, . todd, robert, - . toddy, derivation of word, - ; made of rum, ; price of, . toddy-stick, description of, . toll-boards, , . toll-gates, on mohawk turnpike, . tolls, rates of - ; commuted, . tontine association, . topsfield bridge, . "towelling," . transportation, by water, ; on horse-back, _et seq._ travelling-bags, . trenton, n. j., tavern fare at, , ; bridge at, . trout, boiled, . troy coaches, . trunks, old time, . tryer, on punch, . "tuck-a-nuck," . tufts, henry, story of, _et seq._ turkey-shoot, - . turnpikes, _et seq._, _et seq._; in scotland, , ; profits on, ; desertion of, . turnspit dogs, - . turtle, as gifts, . turtle-feasts, . tuttle, sarah, love-making of, - . twining, thomas, quoted, , , . twist, slang term, . twitchell, ginery, career of, _et seq._; coach of, ; description of, ; makes election returns, ; obtains mail contracts, . tyler, royall, . union place hotel, new york, fare at, . vardy, luke, . veazie road, . vendues, at coffee-houses, , ; at taverns, ; of thieves, ; of paupers, _et seq._ victuallyng-house, . virginia, ordinaries in, _et seq._; metheglin in, . wadsworth inn, springfield, - . wagons, going to ohio, _et seq._; in england, ; rates on, ; in new england, - . walker's tavern, , . wall decorations, . walnut tree chips, beer from, . walpole, n. h., literary life in, - . wanmanitt, trial of, . wardwell, john, stage-coach line of, - . wardwell, lydia, whipped, . warning out of town, . warren, general, at tavern, . warwick, r. i., stocks at, ; chariot at, - . washington bowers, . washington crossing the delaware, . washington, george, at boston, ; farewell to army, ; at taverns, , , - ; news of death, . washington tavern, lancaster, penn., ; philadelphia, penn., , ; westfield, mass., ; holmesburgh, penn., - ; wilbraham, mass., . washingtonian reform, . watch. _see_ night-watch. water, travel by, . water-cider, . watering-troughs, - . waterloo tavern, lancaster, penn., - . watson, quoted, , . wayside inn, , , , . webster, daniel, cited, ; at taverns, - . weddings, at ordinary, . weed, thurlow, quoted, . weld, quoted, , . weller, tony, quoted, . wells' tavern, sign-board of, . west, benjamin, sign-boards by, _et seq._ westborough, mass., tavern at, . west boston bridge, . westfield, mass., tavern at, . whig tavern, . whip, of conestoga teamsters, ; of stage-drivers, . whipping-post, - . whirlicote, . whiskey, described, . whistle-belly-vengeance, . white, captain, keeps ordinary, . white, george, exploits of, _et seq._ whitestown mail stages, . whittier, quoted, . wickford, r. i., tavern at, . wilder, joseph, cider of, . willet, edward, . williams, roger, quoted, . williams tavern, sign-board of, - . wilson, richard, sign-board by, . wines, in virginia, ; prices of, - . winn, john, home of, _et seq._ winn, joseph, in revolution, . winne, the penny-post, bravery of, - . winter, coach travel in, _et seq._ winthrop, john, on a disturbance in boston, - ; on health-drinking, ; quoted, ; pick-a-back, . winthrop, john, jr., owns a coach, ; sends letters, . wolcott, governor, apples planted by, . wolcott, oliver, at tavern, . wolfe, general, sign-board of, , . wolfe tavern, brooklyn, conn., ; boston, mass., ; newburyport, mass., ; sign-board of, ; bill of, . wolf-rout, . women, as tavern-keepers, , ; burned at stake, ; on horse-back, ; in stage-coaches, ; as highway robbers, ; hanged in boston, . woodbury, bartholomew, . woodbury tavern, milestone at, . woodman tavern, . woodside, sign-boards by, . woodward, james, punished, , . worcester, mass., singing at, ; milestone in, - . wright, robert, punished, . wright tavern, . yale college, cider at, . yard of flannel, . yellow cat, . yellow cottage, - . york, me., sign-board at, ; road at, . york county, penn., tavern rates in, . zinzendorf, count, night-watch rhymes of, _et seq._ home life in colonial days by alice morse earle illustrated by photographs, gathered by the author, of real things, works, and happenings of the olden times crown vo. cloth. gilt top. $ . the mail and express: "the volume is unique; nothing quite like it has ever been attempted before. the result is a valuable as well as an entertaining work. it is full of information, much of it curious, and all of importance to one who desires to know how his forefathers lived." the dial: "the work is mainly and essentially an antiquarian account of the tools, implements, and utensils, as well as the processes of colonial domestic industry; and it is full enough to serve as a moderate encyclopædia in that kind.... this useful and attractive book, with its profuse and interesting pictures, its fair typography, and its quaint binding, imitative of an old-time sampler, should prove a favorite." education: "mrs. earle has made a very careful study of the details of domestic life from the earliest days of the settlement of the country. the book is sumptuously illustrated, and every famed article, such as the spinning-wheel, the foot-stone, the brass knocker on the door, and the old-time cider mill, is here presented to the eye, and faithfully pictured in words. the volume is a fascinating one, and the vast army of admirers and students of the olden days will be grateful to the author for gathering together and putting into permanent form so much accurate information concerning the homes of our ancestors." literature: "mrs. earle's fidelity in study and her patient research are evident on every page of this charming book, and her pleasantly colloquial style is frequently assisted by very beautiful illustrations, both of the houses of the colonists, from the primitive cave dug-out of the hillside and made to answer for warmth and shelter, to the more comfortable log cabin, the farmstead with its adjacent buildings, and the stately mansion abiding to our own day." child life in colonial days by alice morse earle _profusely illustrated_ crown vo. cloth. gilt top. $ . commercial advertiser: "once more mrs. earle has drawn on her apparently inexhaustible store of colonial lore, and has produced another interesting book of the olden days.... mrs. earle's interesting style, the accuracy of her statements, and the attractive illustrations she always supplies for her books make the volume one to be highly prized." buffalo express: "mrs. alice morse earle performs a real historical service, and writes an interesting book. it is not a compilation from, or condensation of, previous books, but the fruit of personal and original investigation into the conditions of life in the american colonies." american hebrew: "alice morse earle has written much to place us in intimate knowledge with the life of old america. the most charming volume of all, however, is her latest, 'child life in colonial days.'" the macmillan company fifth avenue, new york transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. superscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}. transcriber's note: minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. words printed in italics are noted with underscores: _italics_. [illustration: j. sturgess del. et lith. m&n. hanhart imp. wyle cop. shrewsbury. a minute to .] an old coachman's chatter with some practical remarks on driving. by a semi-professional, edward corbett, _colonel late shropshire militia_. _with eight full-page illustrations on stone, by_ john sturgess. london: richard bentley and son, publishers in ordinary to her majesty the queen. . [_the right of translation and all other rights reserved._] to my quondam passengers of days gone by i venture to dedicate this volume, thanking them for their former support and hoping for their kind patronage of this little book. contents. page introduction chapter i. the royal mails chapter ii. the royal mails (_continued_) chapter iii. accidents chapter iv. combating with snow, fogs, and floods chapter v. nothing new under the sun chapter vi. horses chapter vii. the roads chapter viii. a scientific chapter chapter ix. a note on the horn chapter x. the holyhead road chapter xi. the brighton road chapter xii. early days chapter xiii. old times chapter xiv. coachmen: where did they come from chapter xv. guards chapter xvi. where did they all go to? chapter xvii. some characters chapter xviii. monotony chapter xix. tandem chapter xx. the convict ship chapter xxi. driving chapter xxii. driving (_continued_) chapter xxiii. the end of the journey appendix - list of illustrations _on stone_ by john sturgess. i. wyle cop, shrewsbury, "a minute before twelve" _frontispiece._ ii. horses in a heap, leader down, wheelers falling over him _to face page_ iii. went over bank and hedge " iv. obstruction on the bridge " v. galloped the five mile stage in eighteen minutes " vi. extra pair of horses for fast coaches for steep ascents " vii. once more running a steeplechase " viii. we met the loose horse tearing down the hill " _on wood._ the extra coach at christmas " diagrams. i. a neat meeting " ii. a muffish meeting " iii. down hill " iv. a sudden emergency " v. the team extended " vi. the team gathered " an old coachman's chatter, with some remarks on driving. introduction. i think it is dr. johnson who has somewhere remarked, that "everyone who writes a book should either help men to enjoy life or to endure it." whether these few pages will have the former effect i know not, but if they only help to dispel _ennui_ for an hour or two, they will not have been written quite in vain, and, at any rate, i trust they will not be found so unendurable as to be unceremoniously thrown out of the railway carriage window, or behind the fire. though several books on the same subject have been already published, i entertain a hope that this may not prove "one too many," as the interest taken in coaching, so far from diminishing, would appear to be increasing, judging by the number of coaches running out of london and other places, some even facing the inclemency of winter in the love for the road. the number of private drags also never was so large. "nimrod" put it at twenty to thirty in the early part of the century. it must be nearly four times that now. i have not the vanity to suppose that i can contribute anything more racy or better told than much that has gone before, but having engaged in coaching as a matter of business, and in partnership with business men, when and where coaches were the only means of public travelling, and having driven professionally for upwards of four years, i have had the opportunity of looking behind the scenes, and have had experiences which cannot have fallen to the lot of most gentlemen coachmen, and certainly will fall to the lot of no others again. i lay no claim to literary merit, nor will what i offer savour much of the sensational or perhaps of novelty; but this i can say, that it is all drawn from personal knowledge, and that, with the exception of one old friend, who has had great experience on some of the best coaches in england, i am indebted to no one for my facts, which has not been the case in all which has been published, judging from some inaccuracies i have met with. to mention only one, which, if considered for a moment, is so improbable, not to say impossible, that it surely must be a misprint. in "highways and horses" we are told that the fare for one passenger by mails was eight shillings outside and twelve inside for a hundred miles. why, this is less than parliamentary trains! it would have been impossible to have horsed coaches at such prices. the real rate was from fourpence to fivepence per mile inside, and from twopence to threepence outside for that distance. the highest fares were charged by the mails and fast day coaches, the heavy night coaches having to be content with the lower rate. the reader will observe that i do not confine myself to what were called, _par excellence_, "the palmy days of coaching," but have brought it down to a period twenty years later, when the coaches, though comparatively few, were still running in considerable numbers in out-of-the-way districts, upon the old lines, and by those who had learned their business in those palmy days. the pace was not generally so great, judged by the number of miles to the hour, but, taking into consideration the great inferiority of the roads, there was little or no falling off. indeed, i doubt whether over some roads, eight miles an hour was not harder to accomplish than ten had been over the better roads. of course, as in earlier days, the work was unequally done, sometimes good, sometimes bad, and sometimes indifferent. if these pages should happen to fall into the hands of any of the many thousand passengers i have had the pleasure of driving, and on whom i hope father time has laid benevolent hands, perhaps some of them may recognize scenes which they themselves experienced; and to others memory may bring back the recollection of happy wanderings, thereby causing renewed pleasure. for, as the poet says: "when time, which steals our hours away, shall steal our pleasures too, the memory of the past shall stay, and half our joys renew." in the remarks on driving, i do not profess to have written a treatise or to have by any means exhausted the subject--that, indeed, were hard to do; a coachman should be always learning;--they are the result of having carefully watched old and experienced hands, together with such instructions as they gave me, followed up by long and continuous practice. i know that some, whose opinions are entitled to the greatest respect, hold different views upon some points; but, at any rate, whether others agree with me or not, they will see, from the examples i have given, that i have practical reasons for all that i advance. i should like to add that these pages were in ms. previously to the publication of the seventh volume of the badminton library, and, indeed, i have not yet had the pleasure of reading it; therefore, if i have enunciated doctrines the same as are there given, i cannot be accused of plagiarism. i have felt compelled to make this statement on account of the very high authority of the writers in that book, and when we agree, i shall experience the satisfaction of knowing that i travel in good company. i have been led on by my subject to spread my wings, and fly to southern latitudes; indeed, i have ventured, like mr. cook, to take my readers a personally-conducted tour round the world, i will not say exactly in search of knowledge, though, to most, what i have introduced them to must be an unknown world. so fast, indeed, has the world travelled in the last half century, that it has now become ancient history, indeed, sufficiently out of date to afford interest to an antiquary. "_seated on the old mail-coach, we needed no evidence out of ourselves to indicate the velocity. the vital experience of the glad animal sensibilities made doubts impossible. we heard our speed, we saw it, we felt it as a thrilling; and this speed was not the product of blind insensate agencies that had no sympathy to give, but was incarnated in the fiery eyeballs of the noblest among brutes, in his dilated nostril, spasmodic muscles, and thunder-beating hoofs._"--de quincey. an old coachman's chatter, with some remarks on driving. "going down with victory. "_the absolute perfection of all the appointments, their strength, their brilliant cleanliness, their beautiful simplicity, but more than all the royal magnificence of the horses were, what might first have fixed the attention. on any night the spectacle was beautiful. but the night before us is a night of victory, and, behold, to the ordinary display what a heart-shaking addition! horses, men, carriages, all are dressed in laurels and flowers, oak-leaves and ribbons. the guards as officially his majesty's servants, and such coachmen as are within the privilege of the post office, wear the royal liveries of course, and on this evening exposed to view without upper coats. such costume, and the laurels in their hats dilate their hearts by giving them a personal connection with the great news. one heart, one pride, one glory, connects every man by the transcendent bond of his national blood. the spectators, numerous beyond precedent, express their sympathy with these fervent feelings by continual hurrahs. every moment are shouted aloud by the post-office servants and summoned to draw up the great ancestral names of cities known to history through a thousand years--lincoln, winchester, portsmouth, gloucester, oxford, bristol, manchester, york, newcastle, edinburgh, glasgow, perth, stirling, aberdeen--expressing the grandeur of the empire by the antiquity of its towns, and the grandeur of the mail establishment by the diffusive radiation of its separate missions. every moment you hear the thunder of lids locked down upon the mail-bags. that sound to each individual mail is the signal for drawing off which is the finest part of the entire spectacle. then come the horses into play. horses! can these be horses that bound off with the action and gestures of leopards? what stir! what ferment! what a thundering of wheels! what a trampling of hoofs! what a sounding of trumpets! what farewell cheers! what peals of congratulation, connecting the name of the particular mail, 'liverpool for ever,' with the name of the particular victory, 'salamanca for ever,' the consciousness that all night long, and all the next day, perhaps even longer, many of these mails like fire racing along a train of gunpowder, will be kindling at every instant new successions of burning joy, has an obscure effect of multiplying the victory itself_"--thomas de quincey, _the english mail-coach_. chapter i. the royal mails. it is not within the scope of a book on coaching to go behind the time when mail bags were conveyed on wheels, and the coaches became public conveyances, carrying passengers as well as mail bags. the first mail coach was put on the road between bristol and london in the year , and it is worthy of remark that it was originated by a man who had previously had no practical knowledge of either post office or road work. in this respect, curiously enough, the same remark applies to what became so very large a business in the sister isle, as to be quite a national institution. in the former case mr. palmer, to whose energy and perseverance the mail coach owed its existence, was by profession a theatrical manager, whilst the inaugurator of the irish car business, which grew to such large dimensions as to employ more than a thousand horses, was a pedlar, neither of which businesses would appear to lead to horse and road work. bianconi's cars involuntary bring to my mind a recipe given me many years ago by one of his foremen for preventing crib-biting in horses. it would hardly pass muster with the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, but he declared it was always effective if applied in the first instance. it was to nip off a very small piece from the tip of the horse's tongue. i never tried it, but can quite understand why it was a cure, as horses almost invariably commence the vice by licking the manger, and this process rendered the tongue so tender as to put a summary end to this preliminary proceeding. but this by the way. before, however, carrying the history of the mails further, i am tempted to introduce the reader to an account of a highway robbery of mail bags, which occurred in yorkshire in the year , and which shows that the change in the way of conveying the mails was not commenced before it was wanted. the following letter from the post-office in york, gives a full and graphic account of the circumstance. "post-office, york, _february nd, _. "sir,--i am sorry to acquaint you that the post-boy coming from selby to this city, was robbed of his mail, between six and seven o'clock this evening. about three miles this side selby, he was accosted by a man on foot with a gun in his hand, who asked him if he was the post-boy, and at the same time seizing hold of the bridle. without waiting for any answer, he told the boy he must immediately unstrap the mail and give it to him, pointing the muzzle of the gun at him whilst he did it. when he had given up the mail, the boy begged he would not hurt him, to which the man replied, 'he need not be afraid,' and at the same time pulled the bridle from the horse's head. the horse immediately galloped off with the boy who had never dismounted. he was a stout man dressed in a drab jacket and had the appearance of a heckler. the boy was too much frightened to make any other remark upon his person, and says he was totally unknown to him. "the mail contained bags for howden and london, howden and york, and selby and york. i have informed the surveyors of the robbery, and have forwarded handbills this night to be distributed in the country, and will take care to insert it in the first paper published here. waiting your further instructions, i remain with respect, sir, "your obliged and obedient humble servant, "thos. oldfield." although two hundred pounds' reward was offered nothing more was ever found out about this transaction for about eighty years, when the missing bag was discovered in a very unexpected manner, which is so well described in a notice contained in the _daily telegraph_ newspaper of august th, , that i cannot do better than give their account. after describing the nature of the robbery it goes on to say, "so the matter rested for nearly eighty years, and it would probably have been altogether forgotten but for a strange discovery which was made a few days ago. as an old wayside public-house, standing by the side of the high road near selby, in a district known as churchhill, was being pulled down, the workmen found in the roof a worn and rotten coat, a southwester hat, and a mail bag marked selby. this led to further search, and we are told that in digging fresh foundations on the site of the old hostel, a large number of skeletons were found, buried at a small distance beneath the surface. there can be no doubt that in what were affectionately known as 'good old times,' strange scenes occurred at road-side inns, especially on the great roads running north and west from london. the highwaymen of those days were a sort of local robin hood, and were only too often on best of terms with the innkeepers. nothing, indeed, is more likely than for the relic of the highwayman's plunder to be brought to light from out of the mouldering thatch of an old wayside inn. the unearthing of the skeletons is a more serious matter, and looks as if the selby hostel had, as many old houses have, a dark history of its own." the existence of the skeletons was, however, accounted for by archæologists in a more natural, if less sensational manner. they arrived at the conclusion that the spot had been the site of a very old christian burial ground, whence called churchhill; and this opinion would appear to be borne out by the fact of the skeletons having been encased in a very primitive sort of coffin, consisting of nothing more than the trunk of a tree, which had been sawn asunder and hollowed out to receive the body, the two halves being afterwards closed together again. if they had been the victims of foul play, they would probably have been buried without any coffins at all. the old mail bag, after some dispute about ownership, came into the possession of the post-office, and is to be seen in the library of that establishment at the present time. like all other new inventions, the change in the manner of conveying the mails was not without its adversaries, and among the different objections raised one was that it would lead to bloodshed. these objectors, who were, i suppose, the humanitarians of the day, grounded their argument on the fact that the post-boys were so helplessly in the power of the highwaymen, that they made no attempt to defend the property in their charge, but only thought of saving their own lives and limbs; and it is clearly shown by the case adduced that this is what did happen upon such meetings, and small blame to the boys either. but they went on to prophesy, which is not a safe thing to do. they said that when the bags were in the charge of two men, coachman and guard, well armed, they would be obliged to show fight, which would lead to carnage. it was rather a quaker sort of argument, but, perhaps, it was "friends" who employed it. possibly the change did not all at once put a stop to the attentions of the gentlemen of the road, but as i have not found in the archives at the general post-office--which are very complete--any records of an attack upon the mail coaches, we may infer that none of any moment did occur. at any rate, the scheme seems to have met with popular approval, judging by two cuttings i have seen from newspapers of the period, which i introduce as conveying the public opinion of the time. the first is dated january th, , and says, "within these last few days ministers have had several meetings with the postmaster-general, secretary, and other officers of the general post-office, on the subject of the regulation of mails, which is to make a branch of the budget this year. it is proposed that instead of the mail-cart, there shall be established carriages in the nature of stage coaches, in the boot of which the mail shall be carried, and in the inside four passengers. the advantages proposed from this regulation are various. the passengers will defray the whole expense of the conveyance. the progress of the post will be considerably quicker, as the coach is to wait but a certain time in every place, and the time to be marked on the messenger's express, that there be no intermediate delay. the parcels which are now transmitted from one place to another by the common stage coaches and diligences, to the injury of the revenue, will by a restriction be confined to the mail coaches, and, indeed, the public will prefer the security of the general post-office to that of the private man; for the same reason of safety, persons will prefer travelling in these carriages, as measures are to be taken to prevent robbery. the plan is expected to produce a great deal of money, as well as to afford facility and security to correspondence. it will give a decisive blow to the common stages, and in so far will hurt the late tax, but that loss will be amply recompensed. the plan is the production of mr. palmer, manager of the bath theatre, and he has been present at the conference on the subject." the other cutting is of the same year, and says: "a scheme is on foot, and will be put in execution on monday se'ennight, to send by a post coach from the post-office at eight o'clock in the evening, letters for bath, bristol, bradford, calne, chippenham, colnbrook, devizes, henley, hounslow, maidenhead, marlborough, melksham, nettlebed, newbury, ramsbury, reading, trowbridge, wallingford, and windsor. the coach is also to carry passengers." as will be seen from these extracts the post-office must have made a very good bargain, as they only paid one penny a mile to the horse contractors, which must have been considerably less than the cost of the boys, carts, and horses. who found the coaches is not stated, but, in later years, though contracted for by the post-office, they were paid for by the coach proprietors. at any rate, the fares paid by the passengers, of whom only four were carried, must have been very high, for the coach had to pay to the exchequer a mileage duty of one penny, thereby taking away all that was given by the post-office for the conveyance of the letters. there are no records to show in what order of rotation the different mail coaches came into existence; but i know that the one to shrewsbury commenced running in , and many others must have been put on the roads about that time, as i find that in , no less than twenty left london every evening, besides seven that were at work in different parts of england. the work, however, appears to have, been very imperfectly performed. the coaches must at first have been cumbersome. in the year , the coach to norwich, _viâ_ newmarket, weighed cwt. qrs., and one to the same place, _viâ_ colchester, weighed cwt., which, however, must have been well constructed, as those coaches were known to have carried as many as twenty-two passengers. there was also what was called a caravan, or three-bodied coach, _via_ ipswich, carrying twelve inside, weighing cwt. qrs., and is stated to have followed the horses very well indeed. in november, , bezant's patent coach was first submitted to the post-office, and was first used on the coach roads in the spring of . previously the mail coaches were very heavy and badly constructed, and made of such inferior materials that accidents were general and of daily occurrence, so much so that the public became afraid to venture their lives in them. the general establishment of mail coaches took place in the spring of . the terms on which mr. bezant, the patentee of the patent coaches supplied then, was that he engaged to provide and keep them in constant and thorough repair at two pence halfpenny the double mile. at first, from want of system, these coaches were often sent on their journeys without being greased, and generally even without being washed and cleaned, with the result that seldom a day passed that a coach wheel did not fire. as the business became more and more matured, spare coaches were put on the roads, so that each one on arriving in london should have two complete days for repair. this increased the number of coaches to nearly double. as each came into london it was sent to the factory at millbank, nearly five miles off, to be cleaned, greased, and examined, for which the charge of one shilling was to be paid for each coach, and this price included the drawing of the coach to millbank and back. before this arrangement was made, it was nothing unusual for passengers to be kept waiting for a couple of hours, whilst some repairs were being done, which were only discovered to be necessary just as the coach was about to start, and then the work was naturally done in such a hasty manner that the coach started in far from good condition. the coach masters objected to this payment of one shilling for drawing and cleaning, and stated that if it was enforced they would require threepence per mile instead of one penny, which would have made a difference of twenty thousand pounds a year to the post-office revenue. in the end an agreement was made with the patentee, and the post-office paid the bills. in , mr. bezant, who was an engineer from henley-on-thames, died, and the business fell into the hands of mr. vidler, his partner, and in the following year there were one hundred and twenty of those coaches in use on the mail roads. their weight was from cwt. to cwt. qrs. i have not been able to find any time-bills for this early stage of the work, and do not, therefore, know at what pace the mail coaches were expected to travel, but, judging from the rather unique instruction issued to a guard in the year , great pace on the road was not desired. perhaps, however, this omission is not important, as the time of arrival at the journey's end must have depended very much upon how many accidents were experienced on the road. it reminds me of the coachman on the dover road, who, on being asked by a passenger what time he arrived in london, replied, "that the proper hour was six o'clock, but that he had been every hour of the four-and-twenty after it." instructions to a guard given in . "you remember you are to go down with the coach to weymouth, and come up with the last tuesday afternoon. take care that they do not drive fast, make long stops or get drunk. i have told you this all before." the following letter addressed in the same year to one of the horse contractors throws some light upon the way in which the work was done. "some time since, hearing that your harness was in a very unfit state to do duty, i sent you a set, as is the custom of the office to supply contractors whose harness and reins are bad, when they do not attend to the representatives of the office. the harness cost fourteen guineas, but, as they had been used a few times with the 'king's royal,' weymouth, you will only be charged twelve for them." who would have supposed that from so unpromising a beginning there should have developed the most perfect system of road travelling which the world has ever seen? verily, it goes to prove the truth of the old adage that "practice makes perfect." this same year, on th may, the liverpool and hull mail coach was stopped by a pressgang outside liverpool. a rather serious affray took place, but no mischief was done. the mayor of liverpool was communicated with, and asked to give such instructions to the lieutenant of the gang as would prevent any further molestation. probably, the pressgang saw some passengers on the mail which they supposed to be seafaring men, but it goes to show that the relative positions and rights of the different branches of his majesty's service were not well understood. however this might have been, it appears that the guards and coachmen of the mails were capable of exerting their rights of free passage along the road to, at least, their full extent. in july, , three gentlemen were riding on horseback, when the liverpool and manchester mail coach came up behind them. it would appear that they did not attempt to get out of the way, whereupon the coachman is stated to have used his whip to one of them, and the guard pulled another off his horse, and then brought out his firearm, and threatened to shoot them. according to the guard's statement the gentleman, without speaking a word, stopped the horses of the coach by laying hold of the reins, and nearly overturned it. the coachman flogged the gentleman and his horse; the guard got down and begged them to be off, and when they were going to strike him he threatened to shoot them, upon which they let them go. after a full inquiry from passengers, etc., it was found that the guard's statement was false, and he was instantly dismissed, as was also the coachman. from the following instructions given in , to a contractor, asking how the coachman should act under certain circumstances, it appears that passengers were apt to be very inconsiderate and difficult to manage in those days, as they continued to be later on. "stick to your bill, and never mind what passengers say respecting waiting over time. is it not the fault of the landlord to keep them so long? some day, when you have waited a considerable time, say five or eight minutes longer than is allowed by the bill, drive away and leave them behind, only take care that you have a witness that you called them out two or three times. then let them get forward how they can." this is much more consideration than was generally shown in later years. i was once driving a mail when i had a yankee gentleman for one of the outside passengers, who was disposed to give trouble in this way, and after being nearly left behind once or twice, he told me that i was bound to give him five minutes at every change of horses. i told him i would not give him two if i could help it, and would leave him behind as soon as look at him. i guess he was smarter in his movements for the rest of the journey. the following instructions, issued to the guards in the same year, seem to point to their having delivered single letters as they passed through the villages, but i certainly never saw such a thing done in later years. in all the towns there were probably post-offices, though such things were then few and far between, not as they are now, in every village. "you are not to stop at any place to leave letters, etc., but to blow your horn to give the people notice that you have got letters for them; therefore, if they do not choose to come out to receive them, don't you get down from your dickey, but take them on, and bring them back with you on your next journey. you are ordered by your instructions to blow your horn when you pass through a town or village. be careful to perform this duty, or i shall be obliged to punish you." in the months of january and february, , the whole country was visited by most serious storms and floods. it is described in the post-office minutes as "dreadful;" great holes were made in the roads, and many accidents happened through both coachman and guard being chucked from their boxes, and frequently coaches arrived having lost the guard from that cause. many bridges were washed away all over the country, of which three alone were between doncaster and ferrybridge. the mail coach between edinburgh and newcastle took a day longer than usual to do the journey. nearly all the coaches that attempted to perform their journeys had to take circuitous routes on account of floods. bridges were washed away, roads rendered impassable by great holes in them, and, in scotland and the north of england, blocked by snow. in the south, a fast thaw set in, which suddenly changed to intense cold, leaving roads simply sheets of ice. through the combined exertions of the postmasters, a large number of whom were also mail contractors, many of the roads were cleared sufficiently to admit of the coaches running, but it was months before the mails began to arrive with punctuality, and many mail coach routes had to be altered on account of the roads and bridges not being repaired. this was owing, in most instances, to the road commissioners and local authorities failing to come to settlement in supplying the money for the work to be done, and in many instances the postmaster-general was compelled to indict them for neglecting to put the road in good repair. the guards suffered very much from the intense cold and dampness, and many were allowed, in addition to the half-guinea per week wages, a further half-guinea, as, on account of their having no passengers to carry, they received no "vails." all their doctors' bills were paid, and the following are but a few of the many guards who received rewards for the manner in which they performed their duty. john rees, guard from swansea to bristol, who, in consequence of the waters being so rapid, was obliged to proceed by horse, when near bridgend, was up to his shoulders, and in that condition, in the night, did not wait to change his clothes, but proceeded on his duty; was awarded one guinea. thomas sweatman, guard to the chester mail, was obliged to alight from his mail box at hockliffe to fix the bars and put on some traces, up to his hips in water in the middle of the night, after which it froze severely, and he came in that condition to london; awarded half a guinea. john jelfs rode all the way from cirencester to oxford, and oxford to cirencester through snow and water, the coach not being able to proceed; awarded five shillings. to our modern notions, the post-office authorities hardly erred on the side of liberality, but half a guinea was thought much more of in those days. chapter ii. the royal mails (_continued_). by the beginning of the new century the mail coach system appears to have begun to settle into its place pretty well. mr. vidler had the contract for the coaches, which he continued to hold for at least a quarter of a century, and appears to have brought much spirit to bear upon the work. in the year he was evidently engaged in making experiments with the view of making the coaches run lighter after the horses, and also to test their stability. he writes to mr. johnson, the superintendent of mail coaches, may , saying, "as below, i send you the particulars of an experiment made this morning with a mail coach with the five hundredweight in the three different positions," and he accompanied this letter with cards, of which i give an exact copy. post coach. mail. lbs. to remove with cwt. on | lbs. to remove with front wheels. | cwt. on front wheels. | lbs. to remove with cwt. on | lbs. to remove with hind wheels. | cwt. on hind wheels. | lbs. to remove with cwt. in | lbs. to remove with centre of the coach. | cwt. in centre of coach. mail. balloon. lbs. suspended over a pulley | it required lbs. to move moved the mail on a horizontal | the balloon. plane. | | weight cwt. lbs. | weight cwt. qr. lbs. | fore wheels feet inches. | fore wheels feet inches. | hind wheels feet inches. | hind wheels feet inches. | the fore wheel raised on a block, | the fore wheel of the balloon stood at inches without | would only stand at . upsetting. | | the hind at - / . double-bodied coach with fore and hind boot. weight cwt. fore wheels feet inches. hind wheels feet inches. lbs. suspended over a pulley moved this coach on a horizontal plane. the fore and hind wheels raised on blocks at inches did not upset the coach. it required only lbs. to move this coach with cwt. in front boot. lbs. to move it with cwt. in the hind boot. - / lbs. to move it with cwt. in the centre of the body. i confess i am not expert enough to quite understand all this, but i have been induced to place it before the reader, as it occupies little space, and may be of interest to those who have a practical acquaintance with mechanics. i am equally at a loss to say what sort of conveyance the balloon or the double-bodied coach were. the postmaster-general, and those under him, appear to have always been ready to listen to any proposals or suggestions made to them for the improvement of coaches, even if, as in the case below, they were not very promising. in the year , the rev. mr. milton tried to persuade the postmaster-general to adopt a system of broad wheels to save the roads, and got it adopted by a reading coach; but, as might be expected, it was found to add immensely to the draught, and is described as being the only coach which distressed the horses. the rev. gentleman must have been a commissioner of some turnpike trust, and had imbibed such a predilection for broad wheels for the sake of the roads, that he resembled the tanner, who affirmed that "there was nothing like leather." even without the wheels being broad, the difference between square tires and round tires is enormous. this was brought to my notice very strongly one summer when the round tires which were worn out were replaced by square ones. the difference to the horses in the draught was considerable, but it was most striking when going down hill, where the change made the difference of a notch or two in the brake. but, without having broad wheels, coaches were by far the best customers the roads had. they paid large sums of money, and really benefited the roads, rather than injured them. a road is more easily kept in repair when it has a variety of traffic over it. when, as is commonly the case now, it is nearly all single horse work, the wheels and the horses always keep to the same tracks, and the new metal requires constant raking to prevent the road getting into ruts; whereas, with a variety in the traffic, the stone settles with little trouble. probably little or no alteration took place in the build of the mail coaches during mr. vidler's contract, but at the expiration of it the telegraph spring, the same as was at work under the other coaches, was substituted for what was termed the mail coach spring, which had hitherto been in use as the hind spring. this alteration had the desirable effect of shortening the perch, which was favourable to draught, and, at the same time, it let down the body, which was of a square build, lower down between the springs, which added to the stability. the same axles and wheels were continued, only that the tires, instead of being put on in "stocks," were like those on other coach wheels fastened on in one circle. as late, however, as the year , the post-office authorities did not appear to be quite satisfied, as an enquiry was instituted; but i cannot find that any change of much value was suggested, and certainly none was the outcome of the enquiry. a mr. j. m'neil, in his evidence, said that there was no reason why, if the front part of the carriage was upon telegraph springs, the hind part should not be upon c springs. this, no doubt, would check the swing attendant upon the c spring, but might give a rather rude shock to the telegraph spring in doing so. four years later i find that the sum of thirty shillings was allowed for "drawing the pattern of a coach." the plan, however, was not forthcoming. the following statement shows how large the business of the mail coach department had become by the year , just half a century after its establishment. in england alone the number of miles travelled daily by mail coaches was , . the amount of expense for forwarding the mails was £ , ; amount of mail guards' wages £ , ; the number of them employed was ; the number of roads on which the coachman acted as guard was ; the number of roads on which the patent coaches were used was , and on which not used was . the patent coaches, therefore, seem to have been brought into use slowly. mileage warrants (october, ). at d. at - / d. at - / d. at d. at d. at - / d. at d. paid yearly sums. received no pay. perhaps i shall find no better place than this for introducing the reader more intimately to the mail guards. it will be seen that their numbers were very considerable, and as they had exceedingly onerous and responsible duties to perform (and that sometimes at the risk of their lives), and were the servants of the post-office, it would naturally have been expected that they should have been well paid. all that they received, however, from the post-office was ten shillings and sixpence a week and one suit of clothes, in addition to which they were entitled to a superannuation allowance of seven shillings a week, and frequently received assistance in illness. for the rest they had to trust to the tips given to them by the passengers, and i think it speaks well for the liberality of the travelling public that they were satisfied with their places; for having post-office duty to perform in every town they passed through, they could have had little opportunity to confer any benefits upon them. on the subject of fees, too, their employers blew hot and cold. at one time, as has been observed, they made them an allowance for the loss of "vails"; and at another, as will be seen by the accompanying letter, the practice was condemned. a complaint had been received from a passenger respecting fees to coachmen and guards; but the letter will speak for itself. "i have the honour of your letter, to which i beg leave to observe that neither coachman nor guard should claim anything of 'vails' as a right, having ten and sixpence per week each; but the custom too much prevailed of giving generally each a shilling at the end of the ground, but as a courtesy, not a right; and it is the absolute order of the office that they shall not use a word beyond solicitation. this is particularly strong to the guard, for, indeed, over the coachman we have not much power; but if he drives less than thirty miles, as your first did, they should think themselves well content with sixpence from each passenger." it goes on to say that the guard was suspended for his conduct. i don't know how far coachmen were contented with sixpence in those days; but i know that so small a sum, if offered, would have given little satisfaction in later years, if not returned with thanks. it will still be in the recollection of a good many that in the early days of railways the mail bags were only forwarded by a certain number of trains, which were called mail trains, and were in charge of a post-office guard. they may also call to mind that there used to be attached to those trains some carriages a good deal resembling the old mail coaches, and constructed to carry only four passengers in each compartment. so difficult is it to break altogether with old associations. the guards were then placed on what was termed the treasury list, and their salary was raised to seventy pounds a year and upwards. before i pass on from the subject of the guards, i should like to put once again before the reader the onerous and, indeed, dangerous nature of their duties, and the admirable and faithful way in which they performed them. among other reports of the same nature i have selected the following, which occurred in november, :-- "the guard, rands, a very old servant, on the ludlow and worcester line, states the coach and passengers were left at a place called newnham, in consequence of the water being too deep for the coach to travel. i took the mail on horseback until i could procure a post chaise to convey the bags to meet the mail for london. this lost one hour and fourteen minutes, but only forty-five minutes' delay on the arrival in london." out of their very moderate pay, those of them working out of london, and in ireland, were called upon to pay the sum of six shillings and sixpence quarterly to the armourer for cleaning arms, but in the country they looked after their own. how far these were kept in serviceable order i have no means of knowing, but judging from a very strange and melancholy accident which occurred in ireland, those in charge of the armourers appear to have been kept in very fit condition for use, indeed, if not rather too much so. the report says, "as the sligo mail was preparing to start from ballina, the guard, samuel middleton, was in the act of closing the lid of his arm chest, when, unfortunately, a blunderbuss exploded, one of the balls from which entered the side of a poor countryman, name terence m'donagh, and caused his instant death." if this had occurred now, i suppose, by some reasoning peculiarly hibernian, this accident would have been laid at mr. balfour's door. as has been shown by the mileage warrant the remuneration paid to the coach proprietors for horsing the mails was, with the exception of two or three cases, always very small. how they contrived to make any profit out of it, with at first only four passengers, is to me a mystery. i can only suppose that the fares charged to the passengers were very high. as the roads improved, and the conveyances were made more comfortable and commodious, three outside passengers were allowed to be carried, and the pace being accelerated, no doubt many of the mails had a pretty good time of it till the roads were sufficiently improved for the fast day coaches to commence running. up to this time the only competition they experienced was that of the slow and heavy night coaches, and all the "_élite_" who did not object to pay well for the improved accommodation, travelled by the mails, which were performing their journeys at a good speed considering the then condition of the roads. in the year , according to a table in the edition of "patterson's roads," published in that year, the mail from london to chester and holyhead, which started from the general post-office at eight o'clock on monday evening, arrived at chester at twenty-five minutes past twelve on the morning of the following wednesday, thus taking about twenty-eight hours and a half to perform a journey of one hundred and eighty miles. the "bristol" occupied fifteen hours and three-quarters on her journey of one hundred and twenty miles, whilst that to shrewsbury, which at that time ran by uxbridge and oxford, consumed twenty-three hours in accomplishing the distance of one hundred and sixty-two miles, and, as nimrod remarked in his article on the road, "perhaps, an hour after her time by shrewsbury clock." this shows a speed of nearly eight miles an hour, which, if kept, was very creditable work; but upon this we see that nimrod casts a doubt, and he adds "the betting were not ten to one that she had not been overturned on the road." by the year , some considerable acceleration had taken place. the shrewsbury mail, which had then become the more important holyhead mail, performed the journey to shrewsbury in twenty hours and a half, and was again accelerated in the following year, but to how great an extent i have no knowledge. i only know that a few years later the time allowed was reduced to sixteen hours and a quarter, and she was due at holyhead about the same time as, a few years previously, she had reached shrewsbury, or twenty-eight hours from london; and thus, owing in a great degree to the admirable efficiency of mr. telford's road-making, surpassing by six hours the opinion expressed by him in the year , that the mail ought to go to holyhead in thirty-four hours. the remuneration paid to the horse contractors was, with very few exceptions, always very small, as the table already introduced shows. notwithstanding all the improvements in the mails, however, when the fast day coaches became their rivals, they more and more lost their good customers and then began the complaints about the small amount paid by the post-office. so much, indeed, did this competition tell, that when the shrewsbury mail became the holyhead, and changed its route from the oxford road to that through coventry, the contractors would accept no less than a shilling a mile, fearing the opposition they would have to meet by those who had lost the mail on the other road. it was, however, largely reduced afterwards, but to what extent i have not ascertained; and again, upon an acceleration in , it was increased to fourpence, with the proviso that if it shared less than four pounds a mile per month during the ensuing year, the price should be raised to fivepence. the chester mail also obtained a rise to sixpence at the same time, as it did not earn four pounds a mile; doubtless in consequence of its having ceased to carry the holyhead traffic. the dissatisfaction of the contractors, appears to have continued, and, indeed, became more intense as the coaches improved and multiplied, till at last a committee of the house of commons was appointed to investigate the circumstances, which, however, i should have thought were not very far to seek; but at any rate, it elicited some good, sound, common sense from mr. johnson, the superintendent of mail coaches. he was of opinion that anything under fivepence a mile was too little, and that mail coaches which received less than that were decidedly underpaid. still the competition was so great that persons were generally found to undertake the contract for less; but he did not desire to bring forward persons to take it at less than threepence a mile, as it would be injurious to them if they excited that sort of opposition. he considered that a dividend of four pounds a mile a month was sufficient to cover loss, but with scarcely sufficient profit. indeed, fast coaches ought to share five, and i can quite bear him out in this. he was, evidently, a very sensible, practical man, and knew that innkeepers would be found to horse mails for almost nothing, merely for the sake of the prestige which attached to them, the increased custom they brought to the bar, and old rivalry, which was often exceedingly strong, and he preferred to pay a fair sum to be sure and keep responsible men. he considered that mails, on account of the limited number of passengers, worked at a disadvantage when opposed by other coaches; and no doubt he was right, because if a coach carrying fifteen or sixteen passengers was nearly empty to-day, it would be remunerated by a full load to-morrow; whereas, the mail with only seven, when full, could not be reimbursed by one good load. it required to be pretty evenly loaded every day to make it pay. he said a majority of our mail coaches are not earning what is considered the minimum remuneration for a public carriage. he considered that to run toll free and duty free was sufficient to secure them against competition, but, curiously enough, this never seems to have been tried, for though the roads were compelled to let the mails run without paying toll, the chancellor of the exchequer always claimed the mileage duty, which was twopence a mile. there was also a duty of five pounds for the stage-coach licence, or what was termed the plates, which they were obliged to carry. the mails, however, were excused from carrying the plates, as it was said his majesty's mails ought not to be disfigured; but whether they enjoyed the more substantial benefit of having the five pounds remitted i have not been able to ascertain. as time went on, and fast coaches increased, mr. johnson must have been at his wit's end to know how to get the mail bags carried. mail carts appear to have been an expensive luxury, as they cost a shilling a mile, and he could generally do better with the coach proprietors. in some cases there was so much difficulty in filling up stages that it was repeatedly necessary to send orders that if no horses were to be found to take the coach over a certain stage, to forward it by post horses. the norwich mail, through newmarket, received eightpence a mile, of which two hundred pounds seems to have been advanced to help the proprietors out of difficulties, and to induce them to go on at all; but that mail was very strongly opposed by an excellent day coach, the "norwich telegraph," from the "golden cross," charing cross. so little at this time was the post-office work valued where it interfered with the hours or increased the pace, that a night coach on the same norwich road as the mail declined to compete, and it was suggested, but not carried out, to put a guard upon a coach, making a contract with him to carry the letters, giving them some advantage for so doing, which would make it worth their while; and a coach at one time was employed to carry the bags between alton and gosport, which were brought to the former place by the poole mail. it did not, however, meet with mr. johnson's approval. he says, "i think that the use of coaches in that way goes directly to destroy the regular mail coach system. i think that if any coach from london to manchester were to be allowed to carry ten outsides, it never would arrive within an hour of the present mail coach, from the interruption which is occasioned by the number of outside passengers, not to speak of the insecurity of the bags." no doubt he was quite right, as a rule; but if he lived to witness the "telegraph" coach perform with regularity that journey of one hundred and eighty-six miles in eighteen hours, he would have confessed that there might be exceptions to the rule. he says, speaking generally of the system, with a justifiable spice of _esprit de corps_, "i think we should look to the general result of the mail coach system, and that we should provide the best expedient we can for cases of difficulty. if we employed such coaches we could not prevent the parties from writing royal mail coach upon them, and writing royal mail coach office upon all their establishments in the towns where they reside; all of which would go very much to destroy the distinction by which the present mail coaches greatly depend, and we should consider that after the mail coach system has supplied all the uses of the post-office, it is still valuable as a national system. it originally set the example of that travelling which is so much admired, not only at home, but even throughout europe, and i hope continues to set an example now. i am persuaded that the manner in which the stage coaches have been accelerated arose entirely from their desire to rival the mails upon their old plan, and they now try to keep as close to them as they can, though, in all long distances, they are certainly very far behind. persons of the first distinction travel by the mail coaches. i don't mean amateur whips, but persons who depend upon the regularity, security, and comfort of the mail coach, and being less likely to meet with disagreeable passengers." he adds, "i am not aware of any coach that goes as fast as the mail for a hundred and fifty miles, not even the 'wonder,' and if some days as fast, they are able, whenever they think proper, to relax their speed, which the mail, being under contract, cannot do." the keen competition between the mails and other coaches is well emphasized by a letter written by mr. spencer, the coach proprietor at holyhead, to mr. chaplin in london, complaining that as the "nimrod" had commenced running through to holyhead, they were obliged to carry passengers at lower fares, and saying that he had by that night's mail booked a lady through to london, inside, for four pounds; and from my own experience, i can quite believe this, as some of the ladies of the principality are like mrs. gilpin, who, though on pleasure bent, had a frugal mind. when i was driving the "snowdonian" upon one up journey, upon looking at the "way-bill," as i left dolgelly, i perceived that there was a lady booked, to be taken up a mile or two out of the town, to go a short distance, the fare for which was three shillings and sixpence "_to pay_." she took her place in the coach in due course, and having alighted at her destination, i demanded her fare from her, upon which she assured me that she could only pay half-a-crown, as she had no more money with her. i told her that i was responsible for the full fare, and that she really must pay it; and when she saw that i was determined to have no nonsense about it, she asked me if i could give her change for a sovereign, to which i replied, "yes, or two, if you like;" whereupon, she opened her purse and exposed to my delighted eyes two or three shiners. but to show how serious was the reduction made by the holyhead mail, it will be sufficient to say that the fares by the edinburgh mail, which ran a distance of only one hundred and thirty miles more, were eleven guineas and a half inside, and seven and a half outside: a full way-bill amounting to sixty-eight guineas and a half. now this, with fees to coachmen, guards, and porters, would make a journey to the northern capital from the southern one cost about fourteen pounds for an inside passenger, and about ten for one travelling outside, and it occupied forty hours. the distance may now be performed in nine hours and at a cost of two pounds, or less by parliamentary train. we have seen the mail bags no heavier than could be carried by a boy riding a pony, but before the railway system commenced they had increased to such an extent that some mail coaches could carry no more, and, in two cases, they required to be subsidised. for some time the "greyhound," shrewsbury coach, was paid every saturday night for two outside places to birmingham, in consideration of their carrying two mail bags as far as that town on account of the number of newspapers; and when that coach ceased running the holyhead mail was paid for outside places to enable them to dispense with that number of passengers, and find the extra space required for these bags. the dover mail also received assistance in the form of an extra coach once a week for the foreign, or what were called the black bags, as they were dressed with tar to render them waterproof. with this before me i cannot help asking myself whether it was not somewhat of a leap in the dark to reduce the postage at one bound from the existing high rates to one penny. if the railways had not been constructed with the celerity they were, there must have been great difficulty and increased expenses in conveying the mails, as it would have been impossible for the mail coaches to carry them and passengers as well. i suppose, however, we must conclude that sir rowland hill had, with great foresight, and much consideration, assured himself that such would be the case with the railways, and that he might safely trust to their rapid development and co-operation for carrying out his great project. though the result might not have been equally clear to others as to himself, he was only like the great engineer, george stephenson, who, when examined before a committee of the house of commons, for the sake of humouring the distrust and nervousness of his interrogators, placed the speed at which he expected the trains to travel at ten miles an hour, though, at the same time he quite reckoned upon, at least, double that speed. the mail coaches working out of london had a gala day every year. on the king's birthday they all paraded, spick and span, with the coaches new or else freshly painted and varnished, the coachmen and guards wearing their new scarlet liveries, picked teams with new harness, and rosettes in their heads: blue and orange ones in old george the third's day; but the orange, for some cause or other, was changed to red in the succeeding reign. in this form they formed up and paraded through several of the principal thoroughfares at the west end, returning to their respective yards preparatory to the serious business of the night. it was a very pretty pageant, but there was another scene connected with them, and which, to my mind, was quite, if not more interesting, which could be witnessed every week-day evening in st. martin's-le-grand, between the hours of half-past seven and eight. soon after the former hour all the mail coaches--with the exception of seven or eight, which left london by the western roads, and received their bags at the "white horse cellar," or "gloucester coffee-house," to which places they were taken in mail carts--began to arrive at the general post-office to receive their bags. they turned into the yard, through the gateway nearest to cheapside, and took up their places behind the building in a space which has been very much encroached upon since by buildings, and, as eight o'clock struck, they were to be seen emerging through the lower gateway, and turning off on their respective routes, spreading out like a sky rocket as they advanced into the country. during the long days in summer they turned out nearly as smart as upon the royal birthday, but on a dark, stormy blustering evening in december or january, when snow or rain were falling steadily, there was an appearance of business, and very serious business about them. the scarlet coats were obscured from view by the somewhat elaborate upper coats which have been elsewhere described; and there was a feeling of serious reality about the whole thing, not unlike that which comes over one upon seeing a ship start on a long voyage, or a regiment embarking for foreign service. one felt that they would probably meet with more or less difficulty, or, at any rate, that there was an arduous task before them. the horses would be changed, the coachmen would be changed, the guards would be changed, probably there would be a considerable change in the passengers, but the wheels roll on for ever, or, at any rate, till they arrive at their journey's end, which, in some cases, would extend not only through that night, but continue till darkness again returned, when the same work went on through another night, and in two or three instances was not concluded till the sun was again high in the heavens; and so admirably was the service performed that the betting was long odds in favour of each coach reaching its destination at the correct time. they had to contend not only with climatic influences, but sometimes the malice of man placed stumbling-blocks in their way. the same diabolical spirit which induces men at the present time to place obstructions across the permanent way of railways, led some miscreants in november, , to place several gates at night right across the road near warrington, which caused the guard of the leicester mail to get down ten times to remove them, and, but for the moonlight, would have caused serious accidents, and a cart was also fixed across the road. gates were also, on a subsequent occasion, placed on the road near stockton to catch the chester mail. the perpetrators of these wanton outrages do not appear to have been discovered, or they would doubtless have met with their deserts, as the postmaster-general was armed with large powers for protecting and preventing delay to the mails. among other convictions for interrupting the free passage of the mails, one toll-gate man near henley is recorded to have been fined fifty shillings, and also different carters in sums up to thirty shillings. an innkeeper was liable to the forfeiture of his licence for such an offence. the most trying time for the coachmen and guards were the two first hours on the road. after that, few vehicles were moving about, but up to that time a large number of all sorts, many of which were without lights, were in motion, and not only was a very careful look-out by the former necessary, but the latter had often, especially on thick nights, to make a free use of his horn to avoid collisions. the roads for the first ten miles out of town, as far as barnet to the north and hounslow to the west, might, when the days were not at their longest, be said to be a blaze of light. between the down mails leaving london and the day coaches arriving, none with less than three lamps, and many with five, and some even with six, it was a bad look-out for travellers who drove horses that were frightened at lights. indeed, i have known some persons very nervous on this subject. they seemed to think that because the strong light dazzled them, it must have the same effect upon the coachman's eyes; and, when i have been driving a coach very strongly lighted, i have known men to leave the road and drive into a field to get out of my way. the presence of a number of coaches carrying powerful lights, and going both ways, probably does have the tendency of throwing small carriages without lamps into the shade, and so making it more difficult to see them. an aspiring costermonger, trying to thread his way with his donkey and cart among the numerous other vehicles, might be overlooked without much difficulty among such a brilliant company. chapter iii. accidents. i have sometimes been asked, when i was driving coaches, whether i had ever had an accident, to which i was able to reply for a good many years, that, though i had been very near several, i had been fortunate enough to steer clear of them. i had experienced different things which might easily have ended in an accident, such as a leader's rein breaking, the bit falling out of a wheel horse's mouth, a fore wheel coming off, and similar things, but had always managed to pull up without coming to grief. the case of the wheel might have been attended with very serious consequences if we had been going fast at the time, but fortunately it occurred just when i had pulled up to go slowly round a corner. at last, however, it did come, and i think i may say "with a vengeance," though it was not accompanied with any loss of life or limb, or indeed any very serious consequences. it occurred when i was working the aberystwith and caernarvon "snowdonian." a pole chain broke when descending a rather steep fall of ground, which caused the coach to approach the off-side of the road, and, as the lamps threw their light very high, i did not see a large stone, commonly called in the parlance of the road, "a waggoner," until it was close under the roller bolt, and immediately afterwards the fore wheel struck it with such violence that the concussion threw the box passenger and myself off the box. he was thrown clear of the coach, whilst i was pitched over the wheelers' heads, but, alighting upon the leaders' backs, was quietly let down to the ground between them. this, mercifully, laid me what the sailors call "fore and aft," and consequently the coach was able to pass over without touching me, and beyond a broken arm, i was little the worse. the horses galloped on for a few hundred yards, and then ran the off-side wheels up the hedgebank, upsetting the coach into the road. this was somewhat of a lesson to me, for perhaps i had got the horses into the habit of going rather too fast down the falls of ground, of which there were several in the stage, but if i had not made play there, it would have been impossible to keep time. we were horsed by one of the hotel proprietors in caernarvon, and it was certainly the worst team i ever drove. underbred to start with, and, though our pace was not fast, yet from age and other infirmities too slow for it even such as it was. nevertheless, time was bound to be kept somehow, as we not unfrequently carried passengers who wanted to proceed from caernarvon by the up mail train, and there was not much time to spare. there was one thing i never would do, and that was to call upon good horses, the property of one proprietor, to fetch up time lost by the bad ones belonging to another. i have previously alluded to being near accidents in consequence of a broken rein, and when i was driving the aberystwith and kington "cambrian" i had a very near shave indeed from that cause. we had just commenced the descent of radnor forest on the up journey, and i had begun to "shove 'em along a bit," when the near lead rein broke, and, consequently, the leaders got, to use a nautical phrase, athwart the wheelers. of course, i tightened the brake at once, and was able to bring the coach to a standstill before any harm was done, as the pole held, and the horses were quiet, but another yard or two more and the coach must have gone over, as the leaders were already jammed in between the wheelers and a high hedgebank, with their heads turned the wrong way. [illustration: j. sturgess del. et lith. m&n. hanhart imp. horses in a heap. leader down, wheelers falling over him.] perhaps some reader may say, "what a shame it was to use such reins, they ought not to be able to break;" and of course they ought not, but horsekeepers were not the most reliable of men, and no coachman could possibly find time to examine the harness at every stage. if leading reins could be cut out of one length of leather, there would be very few or no breakages, but as they are obliged to be made of several lengths sewn together, they are liable to break, as they get old, from the stitches becoming rotten. nevertheless such things ought not to happen, but as i knew they would, i always carried about me two short straps the same width as the reins, one about two inches long, with a buckle at both ends, and the other with a buckle at one end and a billet at the other, so that a breakage would be easily repaired at whatever part it might occur. i have twice had three out of the four horses in a heap, from a leader coming down and the two wheelers falling over him; but in such a case as this there is very little danger if the coachman has the presence of mind not to leave his box till there is sufficient strength at the horses' heads to prevent them jumping up and starting off frightened. these, and a few others which have come to the front in connection with other subjects, are all the accidents and close shaves which i have experienced as a coachman; and when i call to mind the many thousand miles i have driven, over some very indifferent roads, with heavy loads, at all hours, in all weathers, and with all sorts of "_cattle_," i think i may consider myself fortunate. but then i was insured in the "railway passengers' insurance company," and recommend all other coachmen to do the same. so much for my own experiences. now for a few which have been gone through by others. [illustration: j. sturgess del. et lith. m&n. hanhart imp. went over bank & hedge.] all those which have resulted from climatic influences will be introduced in connection with their respective causes, but i will venture to present to the reader others which, from one cause or another, possess more or less a character of their own, and are distinguished either by extraordinary escapes, great recklessness, or some other remarkable feature. the first i shall notice is distinguished by the singularity of the escapes, and i cannot convey the circumstances connected with it better than by giving the report of the inspector upon the accident which occurred to the gloucester and caermarthen mail on december , . he says:-- "it appears from the tracks of the wheels, which are still visible, owing to the frost setting in immediately after the accident, that about a hundred yards before the cart was met, the mail was in the middle of the road, leaving room on either side for the cart to pass, and at this distance the cart was seen to be on the wrong side of the road. the coachman called out in the usual way when the carter crossed to his near side of the road, and had the coachman gone to his near side, no accident would have occurred; but, by the tracks of the wheels, it is quite clear that the coachman took the off-side of the road in a sort of sweep, when the leaders coming in front of the cart, and not being able to pass, went over the bank and hedge, the latter being low; and then the wheelers followed in as regular a manner as if they had been going down a street, and all the four wheels of the coach went on the bank straight forward and went down the precipice in this manner for some short distance before the mail went over, which it did on the right side, and turned over four times before it was stopped by coming against an oak tree. but for this impediment to its progress it would have turned over again and fallen into a river. the pole was broken at both ends, and the perch and hind springs were broken. the fore boot was left in its progress; the mail box was dashed to atoms, and the luggage and bags strewed in all directions. a tin box containing valuable deeds was broken, and the deeds scattered in all directions, but have been all recovered, and are safe in colonel gwynne's possession, to whom they belong. when the coach came against the tree it was on its wheels. colonel gwynne caused it to be chained and locked to the tree till the inspector should see it. the distance from the road to the tree is eighty-seven feet. the passengers were colonel gwynne on the box, mr. d. jones, mr. edwards, and mr. kenrick on the roof, and mr. lloyd harris and mr. church inside. colonel gwynne jumped off when he saw the leaders going over the bank, as did edward jenkins the coachman and compton the guard. the latter was somewhat stunned at first, but all escaped with slight hurt. "mr. d. jones was found about half-way down the precipice, bleeding much, having received several cuts about the head and face, and was a good deal bruised and in a senseless state. mr. harris, when the coach came in contact with the tree, was forced through the part from which the boot had been separated, and fell into the river. he remembers nothing of the accident except feeling cold when in the river, from which, somehow or other, he got out and went to a farmhouse near, where he was found in a senseless state. he has a severe cut on the upper lip, but both he and mr. jones are recovering rapidly. mr. kenrick was not hurt in the least. the accident appears to have been one of the most extraordinary ever heard of, and the escape of the passengers with their lives most miraculous. the coachman's conduct seems to have been most censurable. he is reported by the guard and passengers to have driven the whole of the way most irregularly. he was remonstrated with by them, but, as has been seen, with no effect. one of the passengers thought he was drunk, but the guard says he did not observe it, but that he only heard him speak once. the horses were so little injured that they were at work the next day in their usual places." the coachman was afterwards brought before the magistrates, when he pleaded guilty to negligence and being on the wrong side of the road, and was fined five pounds. on th january, , when the falmouth and exeter mail was about three miles from okehampton, the coachman drove against a heap of stones which had been placed too far out from the off-side of the road, and the concussion was so great that both himself and the guard were thrown off. the horses, finding themselves under no control, immediately went off at a smart pace, and, although they had three sharp turns to take, and a hill to go down, actually arrived at the okehampton turnpike gate without the slightest accident. there was one gentleman inside, who was not aware that anything was amiss, but merely thought the coachman was driving too fast. perhaps the despised turnpike gate prevented a serious accident in this case. in july, , the ipswich mail, when arriving at colchester, the coachman flack, as is usual, threw down the reins and got down when no horsekeeper was at the horses' heads, and they galloped off till the near leader fell and broke his neck, which stopped them. probably this accident would not have occurred if the coach had been fitted with a brake, which the coachman ought to put on tight before leaving his box. an old friend of mine writes me, "one night i was a passenger in the glasgow mail, driven by captain baynton, and felt rather uneasy when i found we were racing with the edinburgh mail for the stamford hill toll-gate. the consequence was, we cannoned in the gate, and a most awful crash ensued, killing two wheel horses and seriously injuring the other two. it is needless to say that billy chaplin never allowed the captain to take the glasgow mail out of the yard again." anything more reckless than this could not possibly be. not only were they racing down hill, but the gate was too narrow to admit of both coaches going through abreast; consequently, unless the nerve of one of the coachmen gave way before it was too late, so as to make him decline the contest in time, a smash was inevitable. neither had they the excuse that they were driving opposition coaches. on september th, , when the coachman of the ipswich mail was getting into his seat at the "swan with two necks" yard in lad lane, the horses suddenly started off, knocking down the man who was attending at their heads, and throwing the coachman off the steps. they then proceeded at a rapid pace into cheapside, when the coach, catching the hind part of the poole mail, the concussion was so great that it threw the coachman of that mail from his box with such violence that he was taken up senseless, and was carried to the hospital in a dangerous state. the horses of the ipswich mail, continuing their speed, ran the pole into the iron railings of the area of mr. ripling's house, which breaking, fortunately set the leaders at liberty, when the wheel horses were soon stopped without doing any further damage. to anyone who remembers the situation of the yard of the "swan with two necks," it will be a matter of surprise how four horses, entirely left to their own guidance, could possibly steer the coach clear of the different corners between it and cheapside. the following is an instance of a coach absolutely rolling over. the "liverpool express," when near chalk hill on her journey to london, though not a particularly fast coach, was going at a great pace, as the stage was only four miles, and she was making time for a long stage to follow. somehow or another she got on the rock, which is easily done with a coach heavily loaded on the roof if the wheel horses are not poled up even, or not the right length, and the coach is kept too much on the side of the road. though i have elsewhere said a good deal on the subject of pole chains, i have been induced to make a practical application here for the benefit of any young coachmen who may be disposed to spring their teams on a nice piece of flat ground. but to return to the "express." it was a very old coach, and the transom plate was so much worn as to have become round, and she rolled over, killing one passenger and severely injuring two more. "they were thrown off like a man sowing wheat broadcast," says my informant. one passenger brought an action against the proprietors and recovered heavy damages, though they tried to saddle it on the coachman's driving too fast; but the jury laid it to the bad state of the transom plate, and gave damages accordingly. the following accident, like many others, is one which ought not to have happened at all, and it appears to me that, after all the investigation which took place, the saddle was put upon the back of the wrong horse. however, i will give the post-office minute upon the occasion:-- "london and worcester mail coach accident caused through carrying an extra passenger on the box, july th, . "as the mail coach was entering broadway, the horses ran away; when the leading reins breaking, the coach was drawn against a post, and the pole and splinter bar were broken. fortunately, the coach did not overturn. the reason for the horses taking fright could not be ascertained, but the guard stated that the book-keeper at oxford had insisted on placing an extra passenger on the box seat with the coachman, who had declared since the accident that, if the extra passenger had not been on the box seat, he would have been enabled to stop the horses. "an order was issued that the book-keeper and coachman were to be summoned, with the intent of punishing them both with the utmost rigour of the law; as regards the coachman for allowing an extra person to ride with him, and the book-keeper for insisting that the coachman (who was in a manner obliged to obey his orders) should carry the passenger on the seat with him. "the inspector found, when applying for the summons, that he could only proceed against the coachman. the case was heard before the magistrates at oxford, when the coachman was fined in the penalty of fifty shillings and costs." the question was raised as to asking the contractor to dismiss the coachman, but the opinion of the postmaster-general was that the punishment had fallen on the wrong man, and he would, therefore, not insist upon his dismissal. i should have supposed that, in such a case as this, the guard would have had power to summarily prevent an extra passenger being carried. if he had not that power he surely ought to have had it, and if he did possess it, and did not exercise it, he alone was to blame. but, after all, it is difficult to understand how the presence of a third person on the box could have contributed to the breaking of the reins, which was the ultimate cause of the accident. amongst the other old institutions and customs which i have raked up from the dust-heap of time, is the law of deodand, and i will now, by means of an accident, give a practical insight into the working of it. as the holyhead mail was one day galloping down a sharp pitch in the road at shenley, three boys on their way to school, as was a not uncommon practice with boys in those days, tried which of them could run across the road nearest to the horses' heads of the coach. two of them got across in time and escaped without harm, but the third, being foolhardy, tried to return; the lamentable result of which was that the near side leading bar struck him and knocked him down, causing the mail to run over him, and he was killed on the spot. a coroner's inquest was held, before which the coachman had to appear, but no blame was attached to him, although a deodand of one sovereign was levied on the coach. the law appears to have worked hardly in this case. if any one was to blame, it must have been the coachman, and it was rather rough on the proprietors to fine them indirectly for an accident over which they could have no control. there was a coach from cambridge to london, called the "star," what was called an up and down coach; that is, leaving cambridge in the morning, and returning again in the evening, from the "belle sauvage," ludgate hill, which was driven by joe walton, a very steady, good coachman, but which, nevertheless, met with a very serious and expensive accident. sir st. vincent cotton, well known afterwards on the brighton road, whenever he travelled by the "star," was allowed by mr. nelson, the london proprietor, to waggon it, and it was considered a great piece of condescension on the part of old joe to give up the ribbons to anyone; but the baronet was a first-rate amateur, and a liberal tipper, so he waived the etiquette. on one of these occasions the "star" was a little behind time, and st. vincent was making it up by springing the team a little too freely, which set the coach on the rock, and old joe becoming nervous, seized hold of the near side reins and thus threw her over. calloway, the jockey, who was on the coach, had his leg broken, and the accident altogether cost the proprietors nearly two thousand pounds. sir st. vincent was unable to assist them much, as he was hard-up at the time. probably the fact of the coach being driven by an amateur was not without its effect upon the costs, as, whether he was to blame or not, a jury would not be unlikely to arrive at the conclusion that he was the wrong man in the wrong place. and now i will wind up this formidable chapter of accidents with one which indicates that the palmy days were passing away, and as it is always somewhat painful to witness the decay of anything one has been fond of, i will draw the veil over the decadence of a system which arrived nearer to perfection than any other road travelling that was ever seen in the world. sufficient to say that my own experience on a journey during that winter on the holyhead mail quite confirms the description given of the state of the horses and harness. i was on the box of the mail one night in the month of january in that winter, when i saw the old short tommy, which had lain so long on the shelf, reproduced, to enable time to be kept, and in one place there lay by the side of the road the carcase of a horse which had fallen in the up mail. perhaps it was not very much to be wondered at that the proprietors should be unwilling to go to the expense of buying fresh horses at such a time, but they carried their prudence so far that it partook of cruelty. the mail coach minute of the general post-office says: "collision between the holyhead mail coach and the manchester mail coach, june, , at dirty house hill, between weedon and foster's booth." "both coachmen were in fault. the holyhead coach had no lamps, and the explanation of their absence was that th june of that year was the coronation day of our beloved queen, and the crowd was so great in birmingham that, in paying attention to getting the horses through the streets, and having lost considerable time in so doing, in the hurry to get the coach off again, the guard did not ascertain if the lamps were with the coach or not. the manchester coach, at the time of the accident, was attempting, when climbing the hill, to pass the carlisle mail coach, and was ascending on the wrong side of the road. the horses dashed into each other, with the result that one of the wheel horses of the holyhead mail, belonging to mr. wilson, of daventry, was killed, and the others injured, one of the leaders seriously. the harness was old, and snapped like chips, or more serious would have been the consequences. in fact, the horse killed was old and worn-out, otherwise, the sudden concussion might have deprived the passengers of life, and, probably, more horses would have been killed. as it was difficult to decide which of the two coachmen was most in the wrong, it was left to the two coachmasters to arrange affairs between themselves." how the holyhead, the manchester, and the carlisle mails ever got together on the same road i am unable to say, but can only suppose that the railway being open at that time from liverpool and manchester to birmingham, the bags were in some way handed over to them for conveyance as far as was possible, and were then consigned at the terminus at birmingham to their respective mail coaches; but, even then, i should have thought that the weight of the bags could not have been sufficient to necessitate a separate coach for each place. chapter iv. combating with snow, fogs, and floods. how vividly do these words recall the many wet and snowy journeys which i have experienced, both as coachman and passenger, in years gone by, and, strange as it may appear to most people now-a-days, with no unpleasurable associations, though no doubt it was rather trying at the time. snowstorms, in particular, were very detrimental to coachmen's eyes, particularly when accompanied with high winds. a good look out forward could on no account be relaxed, and that placed the eyes in such a position as was most favourable for the large flakes to fall into them. one coachman on the holyhead mail, i forget his name, lost his sight from the effects of a snowstorm in the pass of nant francon, but probably his eyes had already been weakened by previous experiences of the same nature. i don't think my own have even quite recovered the effects of three winters over the base of cader idris. but, notwithstanding all the bad weather i have been exposed to, i cannot call to mind having ever been wet through outside a coach; but then i always took care to be well protected by coats, and all other contrivances for withstanding it. i have, however, seen a fellow-passenger, when he dismounted from a coach at the end of an eighty miles' journey, performed in soaking rain, whose boots were as full of water from the rain having run down him, as if he had just walked through a brook. i never had the misfortune of being regularly snowed up, though i have had some experience of snowdrifts. one of the winters that i drove the "harkaway" was accompanied by a good deal of snow, and the road for part of the journey, which ran over high and exposed ground, became drifted up, preventing the coach running for two days. on the third, however, as a slight thaw had set in, it was determined to try and force a way through, especially as the road surveyor had sent some men to clear away the snow. as far as the coach road was concerned, however, these men might nearly as well have stayed at home, as they had confined their attention to letting off the water where it had melted, and when the coach arrived at the spot the drifts remained very much as they had been. under these circumstances, instead of the proverbial three courses there were only two offered to us--namely, to "go at it or go home." i chose the former alternative, and, catching the horses fast by the head, sent them at the first drift with such a will, that, between the force of the pace and a struggle or two besides, the coach was landed about half way through, when it stuck fast. the workmen now came to our assistance, and dug us out, and i had then only to do the same at the other two drifts, and we managed to catch a train at machynlleth, though not the right one, as it had taken us two hours to cover a distance of one mile and a half. though i have always been fortunate enough to keep clear of dangerous floods, i did so once only by a detour of seven miles, thereby lengthening the day's drive to one hundred, and this reminds me of a rather droll request that was once made to me. i was driving my drag with a party going to a picnic, and in the course of the drive we had to ford a river which had risen very considerably from the rains of the previous night. when we had got about half-way across, the water had become deep enough to rise a foot or so up the leaders' sides, and the spray was dashing over their backs. of course, there was nothing to be done except to push on, but a lady called to me from behind, begging me either to turn round, or else put her down. if i had acceded to her last request, she would have met with a cool reception! notwithstanding all that was done by the great improvement made in roads, together with the superior class of horses employed and the general excellence of the coachmen, nothing could be effected to prevent loss of time or accidents occurring through severe snows, floods, and fogs, and the mail-bags were from these causes delayed, although, as we have already seen, almost superhuman efforts were made by the guards to get them through the stoppages. neither were the postmaster-general and his subordinates wanting in using all the means in their power, whether by expenditure of money or in any other way, to secure the safety and punctuality of the mails. the expenses incurred during serious snows, in paying for the removal of the snow or for extra horses to the coaches, were considerable. in one heavy snowstorm the sum of one hundred and ninety pounds was paid for these purposes, and for another the cost was one hundred and sixty. at one time the attention of the postmaster-general was called to a snow-plough, and the following circular was issued in december, , to the postmasters: "i send you some copies of a description of snow-plough, which has been used with great advantage in former seasons for the purpose of forcing a passage through the snow, and i have to request that you will communicate with the magistrates, commissioners, trustees, and surveyors of roads, or other influential persons, urging their co-operation in endeavouring to remove the impediments to the progress of the mails. the postmaster-general relies on all possible efforts being made by yourself and others to secure this important object, and i would suggest whether, among other methods, the passage of the mail coaches through the snow might not be facilitated by placing them on sledges." whether any pattern of snow-plough or sledge accompanied this missive is not clear, but, judging from some correspondence on the subject, i should fancy there was. nothing appears to have been done with either implement, and, indeed, it is not very likely that they would have been popular with the horse contractors. if the snow-ploughs had succeeded in clearing a space sufficient to permit of the passage of a coach, it would probably have left the road in a very heavy state, and i should doubt whether in the climate of this country sledges would have been found of much use. our frosts are seldom intense enough, and too frequently accompanied with thaws, to allow of the surface being in a fit state for their use for sufficient length of time to make it worth while adapting the coaches to them. if sledges had been brought into general use, probably a good many proprietors would have followed the example set them by one of their number, who, when the coachman had succeeded by great exertions in getting his coach through the snow, said to him, "why don't you stick her?" and, strange to relate, she did stick in a drift on the next journey. dense fogs, although not altogether stopping the traffic on the roads, were more conducive to accidents than heavy snows, which did absolutely prohibit progress. in the latter case, at the worst, conveyances were reduced to a complete standstill, and there was an end of it for the time; but if the fog was of such a density as to be capable of being cut with a knife and fork an attempt must be made. though we hear from time to time of all traffic being stopped in the streets of the metropolis, i never recollect to have known of coaches being quite reduced to that state of helplessness; and, here again, the postmaster-general is found providing what remedy he could. in november, , he ordered links to be prepared, but with the assistance of those, even if carried by men on horseback, only very slow progress could have been effected. it is one of the greatest evils attendant on a fog that it renders lamps useless, and very much circumscribes the light thrown by a link. if the fog was not very thick indeed, it was possible, though it might be attended by some little risk, to keep going pretty well, but when it became so dense as to hide the horses from the coachman's view there would be no travelling beyond a foot's pace. one could keep pushing along pretty well, as i recollect having done myself when driving a mail, and time had to be kept if at all possible, as long as the hedges could be distinguished, though i hardly knew how soon my leaders would be in the middle of a lot of loose horses which i could not see, but distinctly hear clattering along just in front of us. notwithstanding all the care that could be taken, accidents were the inevitable result of the attempts made to keep going, of which i will now give one or two instances, though they were not of a serious nature. on december rd, , the gloucester and stroud mails, which ran for a long distance over the same ground, were both drawn off the road and upset in a thick fog, and within a few days of this occurrence the edinburgh mail was overturned into a ditch, owing to the fog being so thick that the coachman could not see his horses. but floods were most to be dreaded. as has been shown, though fogs and snowstorms were great hindrances to locomotion, and the cause of a vast amount of inconvenience and expense, they were seldom attended with loss of life, whereas sad records of fatal issues are to be found in connection with floods, to a few of which i will call the reader's attention. on september th, , when the birmingham and liverpool mail reached smallwood bridge, it turned out that the bridge had been blown up by the force of the water, and the coachman, not being aware of it, the coach was precipitated into the river. the guard was washed down under a remaining arch. the coachman caught hold of a stump and saved himself. of the three inside passengers, one being a slender, active young man, managed to get out by breaking the glass of the window, and helped to save the guard. the two others sunk to the bottom with one of the horses, and nothing could be seen but water. strange to say, however, the bags were eventually recovered, when the letters were carefully spread out to dry, and were, most of them, eventually delivered in tolerable condition. some few fragments are to be seen now at the general post-office. moreton, the guard, was washed down about two hundreds yards, when he caught hold of a tree, and remained there up to his neck in water for an hour before he was rescued. a most serious flood took place near newport pagnel, in november, , though, fortunately, not attended with any fatal consequences, though the stoppage of traffic was very great. the report to the general post-office was, "owing to a sudden rise in the waters near newport pagnel, two mails, six coaches, and a van were unable to proceed on their journeys, and, but for the hospitality of mr. r. walker, brick-maker, the passengers, amounting to upwards of sixty persons, would have been exposed during the tempestuous night to all the severities of the season. he most kindly opened his doors, and generously offered to the passengers and horses every assistance and comfort in his power; turning his own horses out of the stables to afford shelter to those of the mails." on february th, , the milford haven mail met with a most serious accident. the following is the report of the inspector, which, though rather involved, affords a graphic account of the circumstances, and i think i cannot do better than give it in his words. he says, "about two o'clock in the morning, when crossing a small bridge near the river towy, about six miles from caermarthen, on the london road between caermarthen and llandilo, owing to the heavy falls of snow and rain on the mountains and a rapid thaw afterwards, which caused the river to overflow the bridge and high road, the morning also being very dark, and the rain falling heavily, the coach was overtaken by the flood, and before the coachman was aware of it, the water rose to such a height in a few minutes that the four horses were unfortunately drowned, and all on the coach would undoubtedly have shared the same fate but for the meritorious conduct of a passenger named john cressy (a servant in the employ of sir richard phillips), who swam through the flood for about one hundred yards, and secured some boats, which he brought to their assistance, just as the water had reached the top of the coach, and by this means all the passengers, together with coachman, guard, and mails, were saved. john cressy was awarded fifteen pounds by the postmaster-general for his gallant conduct." some years after this, but i have not got the date, a somewhat similar accident happened on the down journey of the gloucester and aberystwith mail. the water had flooded the road at lugwardine to a considerable depth, and one of the arches of the bridge had collapsed; the result of which was that coach, horses, passengers, and all were precipitated into the water, and were with great difficulty rescued, and though no life was lost at the time, one passenger, a mr. hardwick, died afterwards from being so long immersed in the water. chapter v. nothing new under the sun. there can be but few left now who are able to call to mind that the style of coaches which now run in the summer months from the "white horse cellars," and traverse the different roads out of london, were to a great extent anticipated more than fifty years ago. but so it is, and i have a vivid recollection of having seen, in the years or , a remarkably well-appointed coach start from the "cellars," which created quite a crowd of people, even in those days when coaches were as common as blackberries. it was named the "taglioni," after a favourite _danseuse_ of those days, and ran to windsor and back in the day. it was painted blue, with a red undercarriage, the family colours of lord chesterfield, who horsed it, in conjunction with count d'orsay and prince bathyani. young brackenbury was the professional coachman, for, though his lordship and his brother proprietors drove very frequently, they kept a curate to do the work when they had other things to do which they liked better. brackenbury used to wear a most _récherché_ blue scarf, with "taglioni" embroidered on it by the countess's own hands. his lordship had the credit of being a very good coachman, as will be seen from the few lines i venture to produce, which appeared in one of the sporting periodicals of that time:-- "see chesterfield advance with steady hand, swish at a rasper and in safety land, who sits his horse so well, or at a race, drives four in hand with greater skill or grace." no doubt, the "taglioni" did take her share in the ordinary business of a public conveyance, and not, as in the present day, of carrying only parties on "pleasure bent," but it had a certain spice of the toy about it; and i should think did not much exercise the minds of pears or shepherd, who each had a coach on the same road. as a boy, i had an eye for a coach, and remember, as well as i remember old keat's birch, seeing those two coaches pass through eton. shepherd's was a true blue coach, and travelled on the maxim of "certain, though slow." pears drove a coach painted chocolate with red undercarriage, and was altogether a smarter turn-out than the gentle shepherd, and travelled somewhat faster, but, i believe, ran little chance of being run in for furious driving. whilst i stand in fancy upon the classic ground of eton, there arises before my sight a pageant, which for better or worse has now, like so many other antique customs, passed away never to be revived. i suppose this is a necessary accompaniment of the progress of the age, and that "montem" could hardly have been carried on in the days of the boiling kettle. it would have been as easy to get blood out of a stone as _salt_ from a rushing train; besides which the present facilities of locomotion would have brought together an exceedingly miscellaneous gathering at salt hill, to say the least of it. still it was a unique institution, and contained in it a very kindly feeling--that of giving a little start in the world to a youth who had attained the top rung of the college ladder, and was entering upon his university career. most of the ways and doings of old eton have found plenty of chroniclers. the institution in the library is never forgotten. the birch and the block always come in for their fair share of comment, but the triennial festival of "montem" has, so far as i am aware, not received anything like the same amount of attention; and as i acted a part in two of them, both in blue and red, i will venture to intrude upon the patience of the reader whilst i make a short digression, emboldened thereto by the fact that eton customs have already been handled, as well as the ribbons, in a book on coaching. well, then, "montem" was celebrated every third year. the day's work began by four boys, selected for the purpose and gaily habited, starting off by two and two, early in the morning, to scour the principal roads in the neighbourhood, and gather donations in money--called for the occasion "_salt_"--from all the travellers they met with. by this means a nice sum was collected, which was given to the senior boy on the foundation upon his leaving the college for the university of cambridge. at a later hour, about ten o'clock, the whole school assembled in the college square. the sixth form, if i recollect rightly, wore fancy dresses, representing some classical or historical characters, and attended by one or two pages, selected from the lower boys, and also wearing fancy dresses. the fifth form wore a rather heterogeneous dress, a mixture of military and civil. it consisted of a red coat and white trousers, with a sword and sash, surmounted by a cocked hat, from which was fluttering in the wind a feather, such as was worn by a field-marshal or a general officer, according to the taste of the wearer, or in what he could get. the lower boys were dressed in blue jackets and white trousers, each carrying in his hand a white wand, in length about six or seven feet, and in the procession were mixed alternately with the semi-military fifth form. in this formation they marched round the quadrangle of the college, upon debouching from which a somewhat strange scene ensued. the wearers of the red coats drew their swords and began hacking vigorously at the wands, which were held out by their owners for the purpose of being cut to pieces. the swords, however, were so blunt that more wands owed their destruction to the hands of the blue boys than the swords of the red. the work of destruction being accomplished, the whole fell in again and marched to salt hill, where dinners were provided for them by their different houses; and dinner being ended, they returned to college as they liked. the two hotels at salt hill are, i believe, now converted to other uses, and the dwellers there would be as much astonished to see a "montem," as one of the hundred and odd mails and coaches which passed their doors in those days. chapter vi. horses. a book about coaching would be very incomplete without touching on the subject of horses, as they were like the main spring of a watch: the coach could not go without them. of course, a very large number of horses were employed in the coaches, and i can remember that many people feared that, if coaches ceased to run, the number and quality of the horses bred in the country would deteriorate, in consequence of this demand for them falling off; but that, like most prognostications of the same sort, has proved to be unfounded, and i should think the number of horses at the present time employed in public conveyances, must exceed considerably what it was in the days of road travelling. however that may be, no doubt very large numbers were kept by the different coach proprietors, both in town and country, at the head of which stood mr. chaplin, with about thirteen hundred; and a very large capital was invested in the business, though probably not so large as might be supposed by the uninitiated; for, judging by my own experience, i should say that the price of horses used for that purpose has been over-stated. nimrod, who was no doubt a very competent authority on the subject, at the time he wrote his article in the _quarterly review_,[ ] puts the average price at twenty-five pounds, with about thirty pounds for those working out of london; but i think those prices are rather high. [ ] _quarterly review_ for , vol. , pages - . this statement may appear erroneous to those who would judge by the sums now obtained for the horses which have been running in the summer coaches out of london in the present day; but the two businesses have little in common, except that the coaches go on wheels and are drawn by horses. six months' work on a coach, loaded as they used to be, would take more out of the horses employed in them than would two years in the coaches which look so pretty at hatchett's on a fine summer morning, and no one could have afforded to give high prices for what wore out so quickly; not but that horses increased in value for the work required of them as they became seasoned to it; but, again, some wore out in the seasoning. many horses, doubtless, were bought at the price of twenty-five pounds, and perhaps in some cases a little over, though those were exceptional cases, and for myself, i can say that i never found it necessary to exceed that sum; but in drawing the average, we must not leave out of the calculation the large number of horses which found their way into coaches in consequence of the infirmity of their tempers, and, i may add, of the bad management they had been subjected to. if a horse, though from no fault of his own, ran away with the parson's or lawyer's "four-wheeler," he was immediately offered to the nearest coach proprietor. if another kicked a commercial traveller out of his buggy, he was at once offered to the coach proprietor. if a gentleman's carriage-horse took to any bad habit, which rendered him unfit for his work, or unpleasant to the coachman to drive, he also was offered to the coach proprietor; and i once came into possession of a very good horse at the price of ten pounds from this last cause. he had taken to jibbing, probably because he had a very light mouth, which caused him to resent the bearing rein, and was offered to me for the above-named sum, at which i immediately closed. the coachman brought him to my stable in time for him to be harnessed and take his place in the team going out that evening, and he stayed to witness the start, quite expecting, i make no doubt, to see some fun. i put him at lead, by the side of a very good horse, though, by the by, he had brought a coach to grief when placed alongside of the pole. of course, there was no bearing rein, and he only just stood for a moment till the bars began to rattle against his houghs, when he started off with a bound and a hop, and never gave the slightest trouble. horses also got into coaches in consequence of unsoundnesses, which, though little or no detriment to them for work, reduced their market value very considerably; and i once became possessed, for the sum of eighteen pounds, of a very fine horse, nearly thorough-bred, and only five years old, because he had become a roarer, and which had been bought as a hunter for one hundred guineas only a short time previously; but though he ran over a nine-mile stage with some very heavy hills upon it, having no weight on his back, he never made the slightest noise. there are other causes of unsoundness, such as crib-biting, which are no detriment to a coach-horse, though lowering their value in the market. then, again, if a horse fell and chipped his knees, whether it arose from any fault or not, he was, as a general rule, sold out of a gentleman's stable; and i once picked up an excellent horse merely for fear he should break his knees. he was a very well-made animal, with the exception that he turned his toes in. he was the property of a clergyman, who must have known little or nothing about horses, and, i suppose, some knowing friend who thought he _did_ know must have alarmed him by telling him that the horse was certain to come down with such a pair of forelegs; so, to save a greater loss, a horse worth thirty pounds at least came into my possession for twenty. so far from falling, he was a safe goer, both in saddle and harness. the instances to which i have alluded may be classed perhaps more as shortcomings and failings than vice, but to those must be added many whose tempers were apparently incorrigible, and they could only be put in a coach, as those who travelled post would not put up with them. just one word _en passant_ on that mode of travelling, as it must be quite unknown to the majority of people now living; but, as one who can recollect it, i venture to say that a well-built comfortable carriage with four post-horses was the perfection of travelling. it is not to be denied that it took a day or two to get over the same distance as is now travelled by a train in a few hours, but the inns on the road were good, generally afforded comfortable accommodation, the cooking was also good, and the wine very fair, of which it was usual to order a bottle for the "good of the house." some of them had a special character for what were called sleeping-houses, and travellers would continue their journey for an extra stage for the purpose of reaching one of these houses for the night. the attention paid to posting travellers was very great. upon the carriage stopping at the door, the entrance was perceived to be lined by the hostess, waiters, chambermaids, etc., and the universal question was, "will you please to alight?" if they elected to proceed, the cry was immediately raised, "first and second turns out," and in a minute would be seen approaching two mounted postboys, with two other men leading the hand horses, and in about three minutes they were off again, dashing along at about nine miles an hour. if, however, the day's journey was ended, the dusk of evening was exchanged for a comfortable private sitting-room with a bright fire--no public rooms in those days. at the time appointed a comfortable dinner would be served, the _piece de resistance_ being very commonly placed on the table by the host himself. indeed, one of the great recommendations of the inns of those days was that the host and hostess interested _themselves_ in the comfort of their guests. if we add to this the fact that at the beginning of the journey you were taken from your own door, and at the end of it landed at your own or a friend's door, without the experiences of a crowded railway station, there may be something to be said in favour of it. i can imagine i hear someone say, "oh, yes, it might have been pleasant enough for those swells who could afford to pay for four horses, but how about the smaller fry who were obliged to be contented with the modest pair?" well, i must confess that the odd mile or two an hour did make a difference, and posting in a travelling carriage packed with all its boxes, and containing four or five persons about it, such, in fact, as was called by the postboys a "_bounder_, having everything except the kitchen grate," was often, especially in winter, not unattended with discomfort and tediousness. how well can i recollect, when quite a child, at the end of a day's travelling of seventy or eighty miles on a winter's day, when twilight was fast sinking into darkness, envying the people who i could see through the windows of the houses, sitting round a blazing fire! and, indeed, the blacksmith, blowing up the fire on his hearth and making the sparks fly from the iron by the blows administered by his brawny arms, possessed much attraction. this, however, was quite made up for on the down journey later in the year. this, indeed, was unalloyed delight. after having been "cribbed, cabined, and confined" in london for five months, with nothing more nearly approaching to the country than hyde park and kensington gardens (and in those days there was not a flower-bed in either of them), when one emerged from the suburbs, which was sooner done in those days than now, and the eye beheld the fields and green hedges, made brilliant by wild flowers, it seemed a very elysium; and to hold in one's hand a posy of dog-roses was bliss itself, even though they had received a peppering of road dust. i have always loved a dog-rose since, and shall continue to do so as long as i live. the longest summer day was hardly long enough for taking in such happiness. no amount of railway travelling will ever leave behind such happy reminiscences of childhood. then, again, there was time and opportunity for other things, which can never be the case in railway travelling; amongst which was the childish pleasure of being fitted with a new straw hat whilst the horses were being changed at dunstable. it was not all _couleur de rose_, neither was it all labour and sorrow. like all other things in this world, it had its lights and shades. perhaps it may be urged against this that there is no time for such a mode of travelling now. it may be so, but, as a nearly worn-out old roadster, it strikes me there may be too much haste for comfort. it was undeniably slow and expensive, though it may be doubted whether people generally spent more money in travelling than they do now. the facilities offered by railways cause the present generation to move about a great deal more freely than did their ancestors. but all this is skirting, and i must return to the scent, which was, i think, very much the sort of horses which we coachmen had to drive. they were, indeed, often a very queer lot, but they had to be driven, and were driven. of course, four of this sort were not put all together; there were always one or two steady ones among them. but even if they had been, and all had determined to do wrong, it is most improbable that all would have gone wrong in the same way, and one could have been played off against another. this is one great advantage in four. in single harness, if the horse takes to bad ways, you have the whole team against you, but that is, as i have said, very unlikely with four. perhaps this may account for the old saying that "half the coachmen were killed out of gigs." when i got a horse that was very troublesome, i always found that doubling him, that is, making him run his stage double, brought him to his senses in the course of a week or two. some may say it was not right to risk the lives and limbs of the passengers, by using unruly horses, but, practically, very little danger was incurred. i will not say that no accidents ever occurred from this cause, but they were very rare. if an accident should have happened, and a life been lost from that cause, the old law of "deodand" would have touched up the proprietor's pockets severely; besides which, horses of this description were only entrusted to the hands of well-tried men. notwithstanding all this, however, accidents did occasionally happen from this cause, and sometimes of a very serious nature, one or two of which i will now produce. the first was an exceedingly calamitous one, and i think i cannot do better than use the words of a friend of mine, who was an eye-witness to the scene, as they will be more likely to convey a full idea of the horrible appearance presented by the mingled heap of injured human beings and horses, with the coach on the top of them, than anything i can say at second hand. he says: "i was staying at the 'white horse,' at hockliffe, for a few days, and on the first night i was disturbed by a man knocking at the front door and shouting, 'get up, the "greyhound" is overturned and all the passengers are killed.' upon hearing of this terrific slaughter," he proceeds to say, "i got up, and with others started to the scene of the catastrophe, which was about a mile and a half distant, opposite to a large mansion called 'battleden house,' then the residence of sir g. p. turner, and there we found a mass of human beings and horses all of a heap. the coachman was under the coach with his leg broken, many of the passengers dangerously injured, and two horses had legs broken. it was a shocking sight to witness, and melancholy to hear the squealing of horses, and the passengers moaning." after all, however, it was found that there was not so much damage done here to the passengers as would have been expected. none were killed, nor any so seriously injured but that they were able to be conveyed to their destinations in a few days. the cause of the accident originated in the near side wheeler accomplishing what she had tried to do many times before, viz., kick over the pole, which broke, when, of course, all control was lost, and the coach was overturned into the ravine where it was found. in the other case no injury was sustained by anyone except the culprit himself, who must have been an exceedingly violent brute. in october, , when near maidenhead a horse in the bristol mail kicked so violently that he broke the pole-hook and harness, and put out his own shoulder in his fall. blind horses, again, found their way into coaches, and, if high mettled ones, performed very good work. the worst of them was, that they became too knowing about the corners, and when at wheel, where they were generally driven (though in ireland i have had both leaders blind), if the coachman was not on the look out for it, might hang him into one. some however, were very bold, and high couraged. i recollect one which ran in the lead of the "greyhound" out of shrewsbury, of this sort. he was so handsome a horse, that, if he had been all right, he would have commanded at least a hundred guineas for a gentleman's carriage, but being blind, of course, was only fit for a coach. one day, when i was travelling by that coach, and was as usual driving, he quite won my heart by the high couraged manner in which he elbowed his way through the large droves of cattle which were being driven along the road from shrewsbury fair. the reader will now understand how it came to pass that the average value of coach-horses was so low, as these blemished, unsound, and vicious ones never cost more than fifteen pounds, and very often not much above half that sum. i once purchased a good mare for the very modest figure of twenty-five shillings. it may be asked, how was it possible to buy a horse fit to run a coach, or indeed do any fast work, for such a sum? to which i reply, that she had only one place where she could possibly be utilized, and that at the time she came into my possession coaches were continually being supplanted by railways, and therefore there was very little demand for such as her. she had neither size nor form for a wheeler, even if she would have condescended to go there, and only of use on one side at lead, i forget which, and i suppose would very promptly have made fragments of any carriage behind her in single harness. she was, however, a real good leader where she chose to go, and i drove her in a match team of chestnuts for a considerable time. i bought her with confidence, as i had frequently driven her in another coach previously. talking of only going on one side, i do not think coachmen always consider this enough. there is a theory with many gentlemen, and their coachmen, that the sides should be changed frequently; but with hard work, such as that in a coach, horses do their work better and easier to themselves by always going in the same place. at one time i was horsing a coach, and driving one side, as it was called, another coachman driving the other; and, consequently, we both drove the same horses over some stages. he said to me, "that in one of my teams, one leader could not go up to the other." i asked him on which side he drove him. he replied, "i put him on the off side, because i can get at him better there." i said, "you try the near side," which was where i always drove him, "and you will not want to get at him." of course, if a horse begins to hang to one side, it has become time to change him. the vices which most commonly brought horses into coaches were jibbing and kicking. i do not recollect to have ever known a case of either of them being thoroughly eradicated, though they were sufficiently kept under to render them of little moment; but they were liable to return if a fresh hand took hold of them, especially if he showed any signs of indecision. it is astonishing how soon horses find out a change of hand. the great thing to attend to with jibbers is not to keep them standing. if they have time to plant themselves they will give trouble; but if the coachman is up and off at once, they will generally start. with kickers at wheel i never found two or three good punishments over the ears to fail in bringing them into subjection, or, at any rate, sufficiently so, though a "ventilated" front boot might occasionally be the result. with a road coach, however, this did not much signify. a leader might be harder to tame, as he cannot be got at in the same way. i have heard it said of some one that he was so excellent a whip that he could hit a fly on a leader's ear. i can only say i never saw it done. but if a leader will not stand still to kick, he can be driven; kick and keep going doesn't much matter. in justice to the horses, however, it must be said that they are not the only ones to blame. no small number of them are rendered vicious, or unsteady, by mismanagement, and irremediable mischief is not unfrequently produced from quite unexpected causes. to give one instance: i am convinced that many a leader is set kicking by the pole-chains being too slack. i fancy i hear someone say, "what on earth have the pole-chains to do with the leaders?" well, i will try and show how intimately they are connected. when pulling up or going down-hill, the wheel horses must come back towards the coach sufficiently to tighten the pole-chains. they will thus be nearer the coach, or further off, by just that number of inches. then, as the leaders' reins are held in the same place as the wheelers', they must also come back by the same number of inches, which may, in the case of very slack pole-chains, be sufficient to allow the bars to fall upon the leaders' houghs, which is a fertile source of kicking; and it is a very true saying that a horse which has once kicked in harness is never to be trusted again. for a large number of jibbers i believe the bearing rein to be responsible. but, after all, horses are queer creatures. they have as many fads and fancies as men and women. some will kick for being touched in one spot, and some in another. i drove a leader for some time who was easily set kicking by the bar touching him above his houghs; but upon lengthening his traces by two or three holes, so as to let the bar fall below the hough, in case it should touch him, he was quite contented. and, again, some horses will kick when touched by a low pole, others by a high one. coupling reins also are frequently so arranged as to be a cause of discomfort to horses. it is manifest that when one horse carries his head high, and his partner low, the coupling rein of the former should be above that of the latter; and, again, if one horse tosses his head, and his coupling rein is the under one, he must cause much annoyance to the other, especially if he has a light mouth. parliament has now passed a bill for the purpose of regulating the traffic in horseflesh. such an act, if it had been placed on the statute book, and had resulted in creating a demand for horseflesh for food, would have been a great boon to stage coachmen formerly, as they would not have been called upon to wear out the old horses. it would have paid the proprietors better to put them up to feed when they became stale, and fatten them for the market. it would also have prevented much suffering to horses. and now, if any reader is astonished at the price of horses, if he has never heard of a less price for a set of harness than sixty guineas, he will be incredulous when i mention the cost of that generally used with coaches. eighteen pounds was the top price usually given, and i have driven with well-shaped and good-looking harness which only cost sixteen. indeed, at walsall, which was the chief emporium for low-priced harness, if two or three sets were taken at the same time, they could be had for eleven pounds each. collars were not included. of course, such harness as this did not last long, and, perhaps, was not the cheapest in the long run; though i doubt whether the leather was not better then than it is now, being all tanned with oak bark. chapter vii. the roads. as the railways are dependent upon the excellence of the permanent way for the pace at which they can travel, so were coaches indebted to the good state of the roads for the great speed at which they were able to perform their journeys by day and night; and it may be safely said, without fear of contradiction, that in no other country had they been brought so near to perfection, although a good deal of improvement still remained to be done, and would have been effected if the railway era had been postponed for another decade. everything that could be thought of to lighten the draught was being adopted. not only were hills cut down and valleys filled up, but on one hill on the holyhead road, between dunstable and brickhill, a tram of granite had been laid on one side of the road to render the draught lighter to carriages ascending the hill, though it had been very greatly eased by a deep cutting through the chalk. i was one day travelling up by the "wonder," and when going up this hill, harry liley, who was driving, although it was a hard frost, put the wheels upon the tram to show me what a help it was to the horses. if it was of so much benefit when the frost had hardened the road, what must it have been when the road was soft? if these trams had become general, they would have saved the extra pair of horses which used to be frequently employed to pull the fast coaches up the worst ascents. notwithstanding all that had been done on the main roads, there remained miles and miles of cross roads which were traversed by coaches at high speed, where little had been effected in the way of lowering hills, and it was then that the greatest care and skill were required to ensure the safety of heavily loaded coaches. it must be recollected that up to quite the latter end of the great coaching days no patent breaks were in use. they were not invented till about the year , and were very slow in coming into use. i knew a case of the post-office authorities refusing their sanction for the proprietors to have one attached to a mail coach at their own expense, because they thought it would break the contract with the coachmaker, and i can quite imagine that the breaks were no favourites of those who miled the coaches, as there was not only the original cost, but the use of one has a considerable influence in wearing out the hind wheels. i had on one occasion undertaken to horse a coach over a stage, when the coach was supplied by one of the proprietors, and to save his hind wheels he wanted to omit the break. i immediately said, that no horse of mine would be put to a coach which was sent out without a break, as i believed them to be a great security against accidents. i have known of one instance, however, where, a break caused an accident instead of preventing it, but then the hind wheels must have been in a shameful condition, as they both broke upon its application. i really think that wheel horses held back better in the days before breaks came into use than they do now. it was then necessary to take a hill in time, as it was called, which meant going slowly over the brow, and about half-way down it; and horses were, by this means, better educated in holding than they are now, when it is not generally necessary even to slacken the pace at all, as the pressure upon the horses can be regulated by the break. this is also an enormous help to a fast coach, even if it did not render the use of the skid almost unnecessary. i was once talking this subject over with little bob leek, who, from having driven the "hirondelle" for some years, was a very competent judge, and i remarked that i thought a break was worth a mile an hour to a coach. he replied, he thought it was worth two, and i have little doubt he was right over hilly roads, such as some which the "hirondelle" travelled over. it was to the system of turnpike trusts, now unfortunately no more, that this country is indebted for the general excellence of its roads, and against which i never heard more than two objections raised. one, that it was very unpleasant and annoying to be obliged to stop at the toll bars and pull out the money when the fingers were cold, and the other, that it was a very expensive method of collecting money. the first of these objections, i think, may be passed over in silence. it, no doubt, is unpleasant to do anything which requires the use of the fingers when they are cold, but surely that should not be held to be sufficient reason for putting an end to a system which in the main worked well. to the second a plea of guilty must be returned; but with mitigating circumstances. indeed, there was no necessity for it at all, if the trustees had carried out their work well. the "pikers," as they were called, did, no doubt, make a good living out of the business, but so do most middlemen, and they need not have been permitted to make an exorbitant profit. but before going further, perhaps, i had better explain what a "piker" is, as they, like the dodo, no longer exist. well, then, they were a class of men who leased the turnpike tolls, each of them generally taking all the gates in a larger or smaller district. sam weller said they were "misanthropes who levied tolls on mankind;" but, as a general rule, these men did not collect themselves, but employed others to do it, who resided in the houses. of course, these "pikers," like other people, thought their first duty was to themselves, and they usually put their heads together previous to the lettings of the gates, and agreed to divide the spoils amicably, instead of bidding against one another. there was nothing, however, to prevent the trustees putting in collectors, the same as the pikers did, and by that means find out the real value of the tolls, and at the same time keep mr. piker up to the scratch. this, indeed, was often done, but when it was omitted, great losses were incurred, as i have found to my own advantage. the tolls were not levied under the general turnpike act of parliament, but under local acts, and it was usual to insert in these local acts a clause compelling coaches to pay toll both going and returning, even if drawn by the same horses. this, i think, was a decided hardship, but it was generally mitigated by the pikers allowing them to pay for only three horses instead of four, making six a day instead of eight, and this led to a contest which i once had with a piker. at the first gate, a short distance out of machynlleth, the lessee of it refused this concession to the "harkaway" coach; therefore, when the day arrived for the annual letting, my partner and myself outbid him and took the gate, putting in a collector, and at the end of the year, after paying for the collecting, we had fifty pounds to divide between us. now, i think i have shown that if proper care was taken by the trustees, no necessity existed, on this score, for abandoning the turnpike system, for in this one example they gratuitously threw away at least sixty pounds a year, which ought to have been available for repairing the roads. in another trust on the same road, the trustees tried to be a little too sharp. as i have already said, the tolls were levied under local acts, and in this case, the special clause relating to coaches had been, either intentionally or inadvertently, omitted, and we consequently claimed that the coach should, like all other conveyances, be exempted from paying if returning with the same horses. the trustees, however, contended that a public conveyance was liable to pay both ways, independently of a special clause to that effect. the question was referred to counsel's opinion, which was given in favour of the coach, and this so exasperated the trustees that they proceeded in hot haste to erect a new toll-gate to catch it after the change of horses. in their hurry, however, they forgot that there were yet three months before the annual letting of the gates, and they found themselves face to face with the difficulty that no one could be persuaded to become a lessee for that short period. in this dilemma, we coach proprietors stepped in, and, _faute de mieux_, were accepted as lessees, the result being that, instead of paying the toll at the end of the three months, we retired from the business with a profit of thirty shillings, after paying the expenses of collecting. on the day following, the stables were changed to the other side of the gate, and the coach ran through free with a ticket from the previous one. these seem small things to write about, but they afforded some interest and amusement at the time, and may be worth mentioning as being a sample of the life. the turnpike system, no doubt, like all other human inventions, had its defects, but to it we are indebted for the excellence of our internal communications; and i cannot help thinking that it was unjust both to the bondholders and the ratepayers to allow it to die out. though the former were fairly liable to the diminished value of their property caused by the rivalry of the railways, they, or those before them, had honestly lent their money upon the understanding that the acts of parliament would be renewed from time to time, and it was little short of robbery to allow them to expire. hardships, no doubt, did exist in some districts from the excessive number of the toll gates, especially in wales, where it was no uncommon thing to be called upon to pay at three gates in a distance of ten or twelve miles. this was found so burdensome that it produced the rebecca riots in south wales, which led to the passing of an excellent act for that part of the principality, and if that act had been extended to north wales and england, the turnpike gates would, most probably, have been standing at the present day, and i know not who would have been losers by it, except the doctors and the timber merchants and other hauliers. at any rate, the cost of repairing the roads fell on those who enjoyed the benefit. the system, on the whole, worked well, and might easily have been made to work better, and i entertain no doubt, indeed, i know it, that large numbers of those who clamoured against it, would now recall it if possible. if it was expensive to collect the tolls, it appears to be impossible to collect a wheel and van tax. it is easier to destroy than to build up, and i only hope that, after the same length of trial, it may not be found that it would have been wiser if we had remained contented with the old form of county government, which had done its work so well for a great number of years. since the above was penned the south wales turnpike act has expired, thereby saddling £ , a year upon those who do not use the roads, instead of upon those who do. where is rebecca now? chapter viii. a scientific chapter. i had intended to conclude my remarks on the subject of the mail coaches, but have been induced to invest in another chapter by an ingenious proposal which was brought to the notice of the postmaster-general in the year . if it led to no results, at any rate it shows that there were those who took a keen interest in the subject. [illustration] the rev. w. milton, rector of heckfield, hartford bridge--the same reverend gentleman whose acquaintance we have previously made as the advocate of broad wheels--invented a coach, which he claimed would prevent overturns and breakdowns. the body of it was this shape, which i give as it appears in the minutes on the subject, still preserved at the general post-office. it is certainly singularly deficient in graceful curves, and i can only suppose that it is meant to indicate the manner in which the luggage box was placed. at any rate, we are told that the coach was so constructed that nearly all the luggage was carried in a box below the body of the carriage, which was not higher than usual; but the appearance of the coach was deemed heavy, and as the load was low, it was thought that the draught would be heavier than the coaches then in use. many coaches which loaded heavily with luggage were already furnished with a receptacle for it denominated the "slide," which was fixed under the hind axle, and thus, no doubt, did add considerably to the draught; but to remedy this, as we shall see, mr. milton makes use of unusually high wheels. to prevent breakdowns the coach was fitted with idle wheels on each side of the luggage box, with their periphery below the floor, and each as near as was requisite to its respective active wheel. these idle wheels were ready, in case of breakdowns on either side, to catch the falling carriage, and instantly to continue its previous velocity, till the coachman could pull up the horses. the bottom of the luggage box was fourteen inches from the ground, and the idle wheel five or six inches. the following extracts will convey a better idea of the value of the invention. it evidently received a practical trial:-- "mr. ward, the coachman, soon found what he might venture, and he took the coach accordingly over such ground as would most assuredly have caused an overturn of any stage-coach with its usual load. this was repeatedly done in the presence of six insides and ten outsides, besides the coachman. seven parts, perhaps, in ten of the load, which was nearly three tons, lay on the hind wheels. these, by the patentee's directions, were six feet high, and with no dishing, and, as he deemed, sufficiently strong. they did not fail; but it was the opinion of mr. thomas ward, and all the practical men on the spot, that they were not such as could show the principle of safety as to dangerous and side-long ground up to its full extent. as it was, however, any common coach would have gone over at fifty different places during the stage which this coach took without the least symptom of overturning. a linch-pin of one of the hind wheels was taken out. the coach went on, and presently off came the wheel, and down dropped the carriage about seven inches on a small idle wheel, which immediately continued the motion without the least inconvenience to the outside passengers or puzzle to the horses, and the shock was not greater than what was produced by taking over a stone in the night, and, if it had been required, the coach might have been taken five or six miles by means of the idle wheel; and mr. thomas ward very confidently thinks these two circumstances of safety would invariably attend any stage-coach so constructed." so confident was the reverend patentee that he wrote the following challenge: "i have no fear that either science or practice can effectually controvert the following remark: supposing, in a stage-coach as at present, that the centre of gravity be four feet above the main axle, and the width on the ground the same in two cases, then the higher the wheels the greater will be the danger of an overturn from an equal cause. it is not so with me, for the higher the wheels the deeper may the luggage box be, so that the antidote follows the growth of the danger; and here, from the full conviction i have of its truth, i wish to offer the following opinion: let seven or eight parts in ten of the total load be within the hind wheels, and let them be at least six feet high, on horizontal cylindric arms, by this disposition, compared against the present, more than one horse in forty would be saved or spared, for the goodness of the draught would come out even through the intricacy of the medium, the fore-carriage; but in many coaches the door at the middle of the side does not permit so advantageous a hind wheel, and that at the expense just mentioned." the invention was not accepted by the postmaster-general, although it was, to some extent, admitted to combine a principle of safety with the celerity required in mail carriages. the cost, however, of such a change in the mail coaches would have been very heavy, which, no doubt, had a good deal to do with its rejection. the fact, however, is that these inventions were not wanted, clever as they might have been and effective where required. the mail coaches were not called upon to travel over "dangerous and side-long ground," but upon fairly good roads at the worst, for which the coaches, as then constructed, possessed quite sufficient stability, and the idle wheels, however great the security they would have imparted to heavily-loaded stage-coaches, were not required on the mails, where the sustaining power was so great in proportion to the comparatively light loads which they carried, that a broken axle was unknown among them, and it was impossible for a wheel to come off with mr. vidler's axle and boxes; and, of course, the idle wheels must have added to the weight. although these patent-safety coaches were rejected by the post-office, they did find favour in one or two quarters. one worked for some time between london and stroudwater, and several were in use in reading, as the following certificate will prove:-- "we, the proprietors of the reading coaches, beg leave thus jointly to inform our friends and the public that we have each of us, during the last five weeks, tried the rev. w. milton's patent-safety coach, built by brown and day. we are fully persuaded that its draught will be as fair as that of any coach on the road, and have such a conviction of the safety of its principles, that we have no doubt that we shall be induced to put them on as early as shall be convenient to every coach we have. "signed, "williams & co., coachmasters, london and reading; "e. edwards, coachmaster, reading; "j. moody, coachmaster, london." it is very disappointing that no drawing appears to have been preserved showing what these coaches looked like when they stood up upon their wheels; but evidently the patent parts were capable of being applied to the ordinary coaches, as is proved by the following portion of an advertisement:-- "any particulars regarding these coaches and the application of the principles of it to stage-coaches at present in use may be had by applying to brown and day, coachmakers, reading." and again they say, "the safety of the plan depends upon the union of the two principles. the same charge will be made for the application of the luggage box or idle wheels, where either may be required separately, as for the two together." the postmaster-general appears to have been fortunate in the number of his counsellors, but, judging by the following suggestion, it would have required a very great multitude to produce wisdom. indeed, a more objectionable change could hardly have been thought of. by a memorandum at the general post-office, it appears that in february, , the rev. w. c. fenton, of doncaster, made a suggestion that postilions should be substituted for the coachmen. the suggestion was rejected, as it was considered that the change of postilions would necessarily be much more frequent than the change of coachmen, and therefore the chances of delays would be greatly multiplied. it was also thought that, were such a mode of driving adopted, it would be the means of raising the fares, and the mails would again require support. many of the coachmen drove from forty to fifty miles without a change. the postmaster-general, duke of richmond, considered the horses had enough to do without carrying additional weight. the horses would not only have had the weight of an extra man to share among them, but they would have had to carry both men in a way best calculated to distress them. the easiest way for a horse to move a weight is by his draught, the worst when placed upon his back. then again there was the difficulty of who was to pay the postilions. they must have been changed at every stage, and i should think the passengers, although in those days pretty well accustomed to giving fees of one sort or another, would have objected to being _kicked_ by two postboys at the end of every stage. i can fancy i hear one of the uninitiated exclaim, "i should think they would object to such treatment as that at any time," but, in the language of the road, the word _kicking_ had no brutal signification attached to it--it only meant asking the passengers for their fees, and the word _shelling_ was often used to express the same process in less objectionable language. the word was understood something in the way that an irishman uses the word _kilt_, which the following anecdote will explain:-- an english gentleman had rented some shooting in ireland, and had gone over to enjoy the sport. on the morning after his arrival, having engaged a lot of boys to beat for him, he started off to look for game, but before he had gone very far, after firing a shot, he heard a great commotion and chatter among the boys. thereupon he called out to them to ask if anything was the matter, to which the answer he received was, "nothing your 'anour,' only you've kilt a boy." i need hardly say, that, being a stranger to the country, he was very much alarmed till he reached the spot where the boys were assembled, when he discovered, to his infinite relief, that the word "kilt" conveyed no mortal signification in that country. i will venture to give a few more instances of the propositions made to the postmaster-general. some were certainly ingenious, but he very wisely could not be induced to give up a system which had been well proved, for what at the best, and however clever in itself, was untried. on september th, , mr. peter m'kenzie of paddington offered to construct a steam engine to run on rails at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. he asserted that the mountains of wales or any other part of the united kingdom would not impede its velocity. to enable him to build a small model he asked that a hundred and fifty or two hundred pounds might be advanced to him. as may be supposed this was refused him, and the plan was abandoned. this gentleman also claimed that in the idea of printing newspapers by steam first originated with him. mr. john england, writing from aberdeen in august, , wants the department to adopt a travelling carriage or machine, which was impelled by means of the expansion and contraction of compound fluids. the machine was stated to weigh about lbs. the plan was not entertained. again, in the year the same person submitted an improved machine worked on the same principle, but, as may be imagined, it met with no better result than the first. in the next suggestion we appear to be approaching the present railway system, but i should suppose that he intended laying his rails by the side of the turnpike roads. mr. thomas gray, writing from brussels in november, , suggests steam coaches on iron rails. in support of it, he stated that the journey to edinburgh would be done in half the time taken by the mail coaches, and that the expense of laying the iron rails would be more than covered by the extra passengers that could be carried in the additional coaches which could be run. this also met with a cold reception, and no doubt appeared at the time to be simply speculative, yet the light of time compels us to take a different view, and to recognize in it the germs of a great invention. mr. james rondeen, of lambeth, on june rd, , submitted a scheme to convey the mails by engines consuming their own smoke, of four or six-horse power, which would cost from two hundred and fifty to three hundred pounds each, and impel a coach at the rate of from fifteen to twenty miles an hour. he estimated that there were two hundred and eighty coaches running daily from london and on the cross roads, the work of which, if his scheme was adopted, would be performed by eighty-two engines. this scheme was considered an extraordinary one, but the condition of its acceptance imposed by the inventor could not be complied with. i should gather from what is said here, that mr. rondeen's plan was of the nature of a traction engine to run upon the existing turnpike roads, and, if i am right, the postmaster-general of that day had a better opinion of that mode of progression than of the system of rails. no doubt, several descriptions of traction engines were tried, but none succeeded, and i have heard of surveyors of turnpike roads laying such extra thick coverings of stone on the roads as to clog the engine wheels; but however this may be, experience has proved that they are not capable of much pace, however useful they may be found for slow traffic. a mr. knight, in january, , suggested an elevated road or railway. the carriage was to be slung from the road on rails above, and two men, suspended in it at the bottom, would turn machinery to propel it along the groove or railway. after the idea had been talked over by mr. knight with the head of the mail coach department, the latter was satisfied that it would be of no use to the post-office. a mr. elmes of regent street, in october, , offered to convey the mails to any part of the united kingdom at the rate of from fifteen to seventeen miles an hour, by means of a mechanical carriage, which could be worked by horses or not. he stated that his contrivance would reduce the cost of conveyance to about a quarter of that then incurred. it need hardly be said that this proposal was too indefinite to be entertained. on the th of november, , a mr. thorold, of great milton, norfolk, suggested the application of steam to mail coaches for propelling them on turnpike roads. this plan appears to have been considered feasible, as it is recorded that the plan was not adopted, as it was considered best to wait until the idea was _seen_ in practice. on april , , a mr. cadogan williams submitted a plan for the rapid conveyance of mails by means of tubes. the outline of his plan was this: that a square of cast-iron or brick be laid from one stage to another, with its extremities communicating with vaults of sufficient magnitude for the purpose; one vault having an air-evaporating apparatus, and the other a condensing, such as is used to blow iron furnaces worked by steam power. at the neck of the tube joining the condensing apparatus should be two stoppers, on the principle of those that are used in beer cocks. between the stoppers should be a door for putting in the box of letters. on closing it the stoppers should be turned, and the condensed air would exert itself in the box and produce its rapid movement. this was certainly very ingenious, if somewhat complicated. at any rate, he was informed that his plan was not applicable to the purposes of the department. and now comes a really wonderful proposal. a mr. slade, on may , , offered to convey the mails at the rate of a mile a minute; but he appears not to have been of a very communicative disposition, as he did not state by what means this very high rate of speed was to be obtained, but he estimated the cost for carrying out his plan at two thousand pounds a mile. as may be supposed, this was considered too visionary and costly to be enquired into further. and now i have got what i think will raise a smile. it will hardly be believed, but so it was, that a royal engineer--an officer, i suppose--suggested that the mails should be conveyed by means of shells and cannon. his idea was to enclose the letters in shells and then fire them to the next stage, three miles distant, and then to the next stage, and so on to the end of the journey. he said a good bombardier could drop the shell within a few feet of the spot where the next one was stationed. as early as the year a trial was made of a drag, or break, apparently a good deal resembling the breaks now so generally applied to wheels. in that year a drag, as it was then called, was introduced by a mr. simpson to the post-office authorities, and was tried on the brighton and worcester mails; but the advantages claimed for it by the patentee were not borne out in practice. the advantages claimed were that in case of the reins or pole breaking, or horses running away, the drag could be at once applied by the guard without leaving his seat, as it was put in action by a lever or shaft affixed to the body of the coach, and worked by hand. it does not appear, however, to have possessed sufficient attractions for it to be brought into general use, as nothing more is heard of it. in the year i don't suppose there was much to be feared from horses running away! before quite taking leave of science i will venture to touch upon a subject which, if not exactly science, is nearly related to it. at any rate, it can only be solved, if at all, through the medium of science. i can fancy i hear some votary of science exclaim with some indignation, "what is this doughty question which is to puzzle science?" to this i can only answer that if science has or can solve it satisfactorily, i humbly beg its pardon for doubting its powers. well, the subject i am raising is expressed by the word _traction_. traction, i mean, as connected with pace. what is the difference in power required to move a given load at ten miles an hour and at five miles an hour? i have somewhere seen it argued as if it was the same, and that therefore the horses must suffer greatly over the latter part of a stage, supposing that their powers were less and the weight to be drawn remained the same. of course, the weight does in one sense continue the same, but every coachman who has had any experience in driving will have observed how much longer time it requires to pull up a coach going at a high speed than one at a slow pace; which of itself proves that after the coach is once set in motion and has acquired a fast pace, the exertion required to keep it going is considerably reduced. without for a moment forgetting the cardinal truth that "it is the pace which kills," it is quite apparent that the disease and the remedy, to some extent at least, travel together. another fact which can be attested by all old stage coachmen, and which goes strongly to prove how much reduced the draught is by pace, is that four light horses can get a load up a steep pitch at a gallop which they would be quite incapable of surmounting at a walk. then there is another item which adds to the complexity, which is this--that the greater the weight, the longer the time required for pulling up. it would seem, therefore, as if a heavy weight, to a certain extent, assisted its own propulsion. the same circumstances are observed on the railways, and, probably, from the hardness of the metal on which their wheels run, it is still more apparent than on a road. i was once travelling for a short distance upon a locomotive engine without a train behind it, and upon asking the driver how long it would take to bring his engine to a standstill, he said, "i could stop it almost immediately now, but it would be very different with a long train behind her." probably there are few coachmen who have driven any great number, of miles through whose brain this question has never trotted, but without arriving at any solution of it. at any rate, i confess my own ignorance, and only throw down the question at the feet of science after the custom of the ages of chivalry, when the herald threw down the gauntlet into the midst of the assembled knights, to be picked up by the best man. the following narrative will convey some idea of the force of velocity which appertains to the wheels of a coach travelling at a high speed:-- as the "mazeppa" coach was proceeding on her journey from monmouth to gloucester, when descending a hill about three miles from the former place at a fast pace, the tire of the near hind wheel came off, and the impetus was so great that it caused it to pass the coach and run on for nearly half a mile, thus proving that the power required to draw a carriage when it has attained much speed must be very much diminished. it only requires to be kept moving. chapter ix. a note on the horn. many guards on the day coaches carried key bugles, on which some of them were able to play exceedingly well, and helped to while away many a half hour on the journey; but on the mails and night coaches, the former especially, straight horns were employed. formerly these were all made of tin, hence the "yard of tin," but in later years a good many copper or brass ones came into use, and a few, in quite late years, adopted a twisted horn without keys, much like the infantry field bugle used in the army. [illustration: j. sturgess del. et lith. m&n. hanhart imp. obstruction on the bridge.] these horns, of whichever sort, were generally efficacious in warning carts, carriages, or other vehicles to get out of the way, but were of little avail against the worst obstruction met with on the roads. at that time all the sheep, cattle and pigs which travelled from one part of the country to another were obliged to make use of the highways, and though the drovers were possessed of marvellous skill in avoiding the turnpike roads on account of the tolls, nevertheless large droves and flocks were not unfrequently met with, and were the cause of considerable delay, and also sometimes of altercation. i was once forcing my way through a large drove of cattle, rather more unceremoniously than the drover approved of, when he threw his heavy stick at my head, and only narrowly missed it; and here perhaps it will not be out of place to introduce a few cases which exhibit the danger incurred by coaches from the presence of cattle and sheep, whether in droves and flocks or straying on the roads. on november th, , the preston and carlisle mail, after changing horses at garstang, when about three miles on the road to preston, in crossing a bridge over the lancaster and preston canal, encountered some drove cattle in the road, when the coach was coming down the bridge, which is a declivity, and the coachman pulled his horses too much to the off-side of the road to avoid the cattle, and the off wheels ran up the bank and upset the coach. nobody seems to have been injured. a curious accident happened to the devonport mail _en route_ to bath, on november th, . the guard's report says: "a short distance from new house, a bullock straying on the road became frightened at the light of the lamps, and attempted to leap the hedge, but falling back against the leaders, the horses all sprung across the road, and running the coach into the hedge, threw the coachman off the box, and the wheels passed over him." he, the guard, then proceeds to say that he only lost one hour and a half's time, but gives no account of what became of the coachman. his whole thoughts appear to have been concentrated on his business, and he reminds one of the anecdote about the trainer and the old woman. as a string of race-horses were out at exercise one morning, one of them bolted and came into collision with some obstacle which threw him down, seriously injuring him, and killing the lad who was riding him. the unfortunate lad was soon removed, and the trainer was lamenting over the horse when he was accosted by an old woman, who happened to be passing by at the time, and began to condole with him on the accident. he replied, "ah! it is a bad job, indeed, i am afraid he will never be able to run for another race;" but, says she, "how's the poor boy?" "oh! drat the boy, he's dead," was the answer. sheep were sometimes the cause of accidents. on january th, , when the london and hull mail was within a mile of peterborough, the horses shied at a flock of sheep, and ran the coach into a ditch six feet deep, overturning it, and causing three hours' loss of time. and now, having indulged in a stave on the guards' horns, perhaps the coachmen's whips may feel themselves neglected if i have no word to say about them, and on this subject it must be admitted that rather different opinions prevailed. _tot homines tot sententiæ._ some preferred, i think most professionals did, a stiff crop and a light thong, but others, especially amateurs, were in favour of a supple stick with a heavier thong. the latter are no doubt easier to manage in a high wind, and can also be caught up with greater facility; but, in my humble opinion, the former are far preferable for general use, a supple stick and a heavy thong being insufferable in wet weather. in the selection of a whip it is easy to observe whether the person selecting is an old hand or not. if he is he will pick out a crop without knots, or with as few as possible, whereas the tyro is nearly sure to take the knotty one. the large knots, of course, tend to keep the thong, when caught, from slipping down towards the hand, but it ought to be caught tight enough to stay in its proper place without them, and sticks always break first at the knots. some people are now in favour of long crops. i fancy a cricketer might as well demand a bat of extra length. in old days w. and t. ward, who were by odds the best whipmakers, never thought of turning out whips with crops of greater length than five feet two or three inches to the holder, and most were not quite so long. beyond this length it becomes almost impossible to obtain a good balance. a very long stick must be top heavy, and i will defy anyone to use a long top heavy whip as effectually as one that is of a more handy length. even when the cattle were good, and but little whip was required, thongs soon became rotten from the sweat of the horses and the rain, and to avoid the frequent necessity for new ones, what were called "three quarters and middles" were made, which coachmen were generally able to splice on for themselves. thongs also wear out more quickly if they are not kept supple, for which purpose a dressing of two-thirds hog's lard and one-third bees wax will be found very efficacious. chapter x. the holyhead road. i have endeavoured to show in a previous chapter, on the subject of coachmen, with what rapidity the carrying business of the country increased and multiplied, but, perhaps, this may be better elucidated by taking some particular road and district, and devoting a separate chapter to the subject; and probably no better road can be selected for this purpose than that from london to holyhead, which, judging from the amount of money and care expended upon it, one may naturally conclude was better adapted for great speed than any other, and this, i believe, really was the case. some particular portions of other roads might have been better--for instance, the hartford bridge flats--and as great, or possibly still greater pace accomplished; but for the distance over which this road extended, no other could vie with it; and i will venture to say, that on no other were an equal average number of miles of fast work performed; and we must recollect that it is one thing to go very fast for a short distance, but another to keep that pace up for the distance of from one hundred miles and upwards. well, then, if we take this road, and make birmingham, the most important town on the road, a sort of centre of a district, we shall obtain a pretty good insight into the subject. the metropolis of the midlands has always been celebrated for its public spirit, and it has nowhere been made more conspicuous than in the way it met the demand for good coaches. in the year , i find there were twenty-three coaches advertised in _aris's gazette_ (which was the principal medium of advertisement at that time in the midlands) to run out of birmingham to all parts of the country, though no doubt there were others, for it would appear that some inns, from which coaches ran, did not avail themselves of that medium of publicity. probably, therefore, after making all allowances, we shall not err much in putting the total number at thirty. four years later, in , the number of those advertised had risen to no less than thirty-eight, and making the same allowance for those not advertised, the total can hardly be placed at less than forty-five, an increase of fifteen in four years. from this time the number was steadily added to, till by the year , which may be called the culminating point (making allowances for those not advertised, of which three occur to my memory at once--namely, the "rocket" night, and "triumph" day coaches, through oxford and henley to london, and the "erin-go-bragh" from liverpool, driven by tolly, all three horsed by mr. waddle from the "hen and chickens," in new street), there must have been at least sixty. during these years also the pace had not been neglected, as several of these new coaches travelled at great speed, and the pace of those of older standing had been increased. in the year , considerable stimulus was given to speed by a great acceleration in the time of the holyhead mail. about which time the "union" commenced to perform the journey from shrewsbury to london, through birmingham and oxford, in four hours less time. the "oxonian" also, over the same ground, was accelerated five hours. it will tend to exhibit the great keenness with which the competition was carried on, if i here introduce two advertisements which appeared in the newspapers during this period. in the month of june, , the following advertisement appeared in _aris's gazette_:-- "the 'greyhound,' only carrying passengers and small parcels, leaves birmingham at a quarter past nine in the evening, arriving in london at a quarter to eight on the following morning. this coach has an imperial on the roof to prevent luggage being placed there, and passengers' luggage must be sent to the office in time to be forwarded by the 'economist.'" an attempt was at one time made to light this coach with gas, but the practice was, i believe, discontinued. unless it proved of very great benefit in the power of light, it had certainly one great drawback, which was that the necessary apparatus occupied the whole front boot, causing that receptacle to be altogether useless for the carriage of parcels. again, in july, , the following advertisement appeared in the _shrewsbury chronicle_:-- "isaac taylor, ever grateful for the distinguished support he has received from the public, announces a new and elegant fast day coach to london, called the 'stag,' every morning at a quarter before five, arriving at the 'bull and mouth,' opposite the general post-office, at seven the same evening. i. t. has been induced to commence running the 'stag' to prevent the celebrated 'wonder' being in any way injured by racing, or at all interfered with in the regularity which has been hitherto observed in that coach." it will be observed here, that the "stag" was advertised to run the distance of one hundred and fifty-four miles in fourteen hours and a quarter. whether this pace was really intended to be always maintained may perhaps be doubtful. probably it depended a good deal on the amount of racing with the "nimrod," but of this more will be heard presently. for the present, however, we will retrace our steps for a few years, and take a journey or two with the "tally-hoes," and go more into particulars than has yet been the case. previously to the great improvement which i have denoted in the night travelling, a great advance had been established in the day work by the three "tally-hoes." these coaches were put on the road about the year , and were among the fastest coaches in england. why all three bore the same name i never heard, and cannot understand, unless it were with the view of intensifying the keenness of the opposition, which, as they were all on the road at the same time, was very great. i suppose, however, that it was found to create inconvenience in practice, as they were soon supplied with distinctive titles--one being designated the "independent tally-ho," another the "eclipse tally-ho," and the other the "patent tally-ho." they were timed at ten miles an hour, but when racing, as was frequently the case, were not particular to a mile or two, and, of course, went much faster. indeed, on the recurrence of what may be called the coach festival, may st, they more than once covered the distance, one hundred and eight miles, under seven hours. the "independent tally-ho," started from london from the "golden cross," charing cross, horsed by horne as far as colney, and driven by andrew morris to dunstable, where the box was filled by an old friend of mine, to whom i am indebted for assistance in compiling this book, but whose name i am not at liberty to mention, who also horsed it as far as stoney stratford. out of birmingham it started from the "nelson," horsed by radenhurst, and driven to daventry and back by harry tresslove, who was an excellent waggoner, and always galloped the five-mile stage between dunchurch and the "black dog" in eighteen minutes. the road was straight, hard, and flat, and ran between a splendid avenue of trees--perhaps some of the finest elms in the world--the property of lord john scott. the stage was horsed by the landlord of the "bell," at dunchurch, who could afford to do the work well, as he reaped the benefit of the coach breakfasting at his house on the up journey, and dining there on the down one. the "eclipse tally-ho" was horsed out of ludlow on one side by mrs. mountain, from the "saracen's head," snow hill, and consequently sometimes called "mountain's tally-ho," and on the other side by chaplin, from the "swan with two necks," lad lane, as far as colney, and driven by tom boyce, who also horsed it over twenty-five miles of the lower ground. it was horsed out of birmingham by waddle. [illustration: j. sturgess del. et lith. m&n. hanhart imp. galloped the five mile stage, in eighteen minutes.] the "patent tally-ho" ran from the "belle sauvage," ludgate hill, and horsed by robert nelson as far as south mimms, and was driven out of london by old bob flack, who also horsed twenty-five miles of the lower ground. it will be observed that a change had come over coaching, in that the coachmen were covering a good many stages of the lower ground. probably this arose partly from the innkeepers, now that the opposition had become so exceedingly keen, not caring for the business, and also partly from the great change which had taken place in their social position and character. they were become quite a different class of persons to what they had been a generation before, and, indeed, such might be expected to be the case, as the occupation was one which brought them into contact with gentlemen, and it was entirely their own faults if they derived no benefit from such association. the pace, in consequence of the severe competition, had also become so severe that the old style of coachman, who had been accustomed to take it easy, and stop at most of the roadside inns he passed, and got half-seas over before arriving at the end of the journey, could no longer be employed, and their places had to be filled with an altogether different class of men. indeed, it was no longer the disgusting work, in which he was most esteemed who could hit the hardest, and had for its supporters only the lower grades of society, but had become one which no gentleman need be ashamed to be occupied in, or have lost his self-respect by embracing; and, doubtless, if coaching had not been supplanted by railways, the press of competition, which is felt by all classes, would have induced more of them to turn their attention to it. in new countries, such as our colonies, what a man's employment is, so long as it is honest and respectable, goes for little or nothing, provided he is a gentleman in every sense of the word. he may drive a bullock dray in the morning, and associate with the _élite_ in the evening--at least, so it was when i knew australia a "long time ago," which would appear to be a better system than our own more exclusive one. probably, however, it would be impossible to carry it out in an old and wealthy country like that in which we live. the dust kicked up by the tally-hoes was not long laid in birmingham before the three shrewsbury coaches came bustling through the town on their journey to london. of these the "wonder" probably had the most world-wide fame of any coach in england. it set the fashion of day coaches running long distances, and was the first ever established to cover much above one hundred miles in a day, the distance from london to shrewsbury being one hundred and fifty-four; and it was unrivalled in its punctuality. it was horsed by sherman out of london, from the "bull and mouth" to st. albans, to which place he worked most of his coaches on that road, though he extended the distance in the case of one birmingham night coach for some time as far as daventry, a distance of seventy-four miles. whether this was done because he considered it too good a thing to part with, or that it was so poor a concern that no one would join him in it, i do not know. the "wonder" was driven out of london by wood as far as redbourn, from whence harry liley worked till he met john wilcox, when they both turned back; and between birmingham to shrewsbury, sam hayward occupied the box. i need hardly say that on such a coach, which was the pride of the road, they were all first-rate artists. the "wonder" was allowed to enjoy the fruits of its enterprise, and to go on its way unmolested for several years; but by the year , or thereabouts, its success as a good loading coach tempted opposition, and the "nimrod" was called into existence. it started from london on alternate days from the "bull inn," holborn, and the "belle sauvage," ludgate hill, horsed from the former by horne, and from the latter by r. nelson, and worked by them, side by side, to redbourn, and driven by my old friend already mentioned on the "independent tally-ho," who drove it to near stoney stratford and back, making a drive of one hundred miles a day. on one occasion, in consequence of the up coach being delayed by a broken pole, he was obliged to drive on till he met it below daventry, which lengthened the day's work to about one hundred and seventy miles without a rest. this distance is, i think, one of the longest ever driven at one time. mr. kenyon has been known to drive the "wonder" the whole journey from london to shrewsbury, which is nearly equal; but i fancy it has seldom if ever been exceeded, except by the memorable drive of captain barclay, who undertook for a bet to drive two hundred, and won it. but to return to the "nimrod." the opposition of these two coaches was, as one would have thought, fierce enough, but it was not sufficient to satisfy the wounded feelings of the "wonder" proprietors, who were indignant at anyone presuming to oppose the coach of which they were so justly proud. after a few years, therefore, the "stag" was ushered in by the glowing advertisement i have given in a previous page. it was started to run a little in front of the "nimrod," which was followed by the "wonder," and was therefore pretty well nursed. the orders given to the "nimrod" coachman were, if the "wonder" pressed to keep first, which caused him of course to run into the "stag," and then, as may well be imagined, the racing became somewhat exciting, and the "wonder," we may rely upon it, did not always act up to the pacific course laid down for her in the advertisement, and the result was that the three coaches sometimes arrived all together at the "peacock" at islington two hours before time. perhaps the greatest wonder would have been if a coachman had been found who would not have joined in the fun when it was going on under his eyes. when the proprietors found they could not kill one another by racing, they tried the suicidal plan of cutting down fares, which were reduced, between london and birmingham, from two pounds eight shillings inside to thirty shillings, and outside from thirty shillings to one pound. this, coupled with the wear and tear of horse flesh caused by the pace, was, of course, ruinous, and one of them told me that he lost fifteen hundred pounds in a little over twelve months by it. why an agreement could not have been come to whereby the coaches should have run at different times seems to be a puzzle. one would have supposed that it would have answered better for them to have set out with an hour or two between them, which would have afforded better accommodation to the public. i can only imagine one reason which actuated them, which is, that every traveller would have taken the first coach as long as there was room for him in it, for fear of the others being full, and so the first would have had an undue advantage, and little or nothing might have been left for the last. there was also another fast night coach between london and birmingham, called the "emerald," driven out of the latter place by harry lee, whose complexion was of a very peculiar colour, almost resembling that of a bullock's liver, the fruit of strong potations of "early purl" or "dog's nose," taken after the exertions of the night and before going to roost. besides all the coaches i have named, the oxford road was not neglected. the well-known "tantivy" commenced running over it between birmingham and london about the year , and must have proved successful, for in the same proprietors put on another fast day coach, called the "courier," to start at a quarter before seven in the morning, and precede the old-established coach, which started two hours later. there was also a third road between the great metropolis and that of the midlands which ran through warwick, banbury, and buckingham, and which was traversed by the birmingham mail, and, if i recollect right, also by a night coach called the "crown prince." it was not, however, on the london roads only that coaches increased and multiplied, for in the year the "fairtrader" commenced running to liverpool, and three other new coaches were advertised in other directions--namely, the "red rover" to brecon, the "beehive" to manchester, and the "criterion" to chester. at this time, there was also an exceedingly keen opposition between birmingham and derby. one of the coaches was horsed and driven by captain baring, and the other was horsed by stovin and driven by captain douglas, who has been already mentioned as piloting the sheffield mail. he was a most determined fellow, and stood at nothing. indeed, the animosity between these two jehus was quite alarming when they encountered one another, and at last became so intense that they resorted to the dangerous expedient of crossing one another, which, on one occasion, caused douglas to run into baring's coach, thereby causing a smash and bruising several passengers, but very fortunately none were seriously injured. this is the only instance i ever knew of coachmen driving opposition coaches entertaining a personal animosity for one another. and now we have arrived at the last coach which was put on the road between london and birmingham. in the year a very fast day mail was started to run to birmingham and to go on to crewe, where it transferred mails and passengers to the railway for conveyance to liverpool, and was largely patronised by irish m.p.'s, as it ran in connection with the packet to the sister isle, and booked through. half a dozen of those notables of the day could frequently be seen travelling by her at one time. it was timed at twelve miles an hour. it was horsed by sherman of the "bull and mouth" out of london, and was driven by h. liley, who had long experience on the "wonder" over the lower ground. at redbourn, he was replaced on the box by my before-mentioned friend as having driven both the "independent tally-ho" and afterwards the "nimrod," and he drove till he met the up coach tooled by jonathan morris, when they changed, each one returning to the place from which he started, and it was taken into birmingham by t. liley, a brother of harry. he had previously driven the "eclipse tally-ho," and jonathan morris had had his experience upon the "hibernia," already mentioned as running between liverpool and cheltenham. he was pitted on that coach against jordan, who drove the "hirondelle," and was noted as a "butcher," but was possessed of great strength and had adamantine nerve, and only a first rate practitioner had a chance with him. jonathan was quite a different class of coachman, and saved his stock as well as the pace and load would allow him, and i have myself seen him trot by jordan in ascending the wyle cop in shrewsbury, when the latter had nearly flogged his horses to a standstill. perhaps i should add, in fairness to jordan, that, though he had a beautiful team, it was composed of light horses, and that the other coach was drawn by horses possessing more size and power for enabling them to get a load up a steep ascent. i have been particular in giving the antecedents of these coachmen, as, of course, they were picked out as especially qualified for the great pace at which this mail was timed, and it was a feather in their caps. indeed, it may be said that, as at that time the end of coaching was within measurable distance, they represented "the survival of the fittest." about this time the postmaster-general started several day mails besides the one just mentioned. there was one on the brighton road, and one between birmingham and shrewsbury, which left the holyhead road at shiffnal, and, passing through ironbridge, joined it again about four miles from shrewsbury, and probably there were others of which i have no cognizance. chapter xi. the brighton road. so much has already been written about the brighton road that, perhaps, it may seem presumptuous in me to re-open the subject, but as i have noticed the birmingham road, i will venture to dwell very shortly upon the brighton one, as they may be said to have been the antithesis to each other, much in the same way as now the business of the southern railways differs from that of what are called by way of distinction the heavy lines. no observant person can, i think, arrive in london from the south and drive through town straight to one of the large railway stations in the north, without being struck with the difference of the traffic. so it was in the coaching days; on one road business was paramount, on the other a little time for pleasure could be indulged in. i do not mean to say that they carried on the old practice of throwing away ten minutes or a quarter of an hour at each change of horses; far from it. the work was admirably done, but it had not about it the severe utilitarianism which was the prevailing feature with the other. the horses on the northern road showed, as a rule, more blood, and the coaches gave the idea of their having been built with a view to carrying loads at a high rate of speed. nothing seemed wanting to ensure pace with safety, whilst, at the same time, there was nothing to lead anyone to suppose for a moment that they were anything but stage coaches. on the other hand, on the road to the fashionable watering-place, some of the coaches, from the small amount of lettering upon them, and bright pole chains, might at first sight have been mistaken for private drags. notwithstanding all this pace, it must not be supposed that a journey by one of those fast coaches on the northern road was a hurried, uncomfortable day's work, with no time to eat a comfortable meal. on the contrary, though only twenty-five minutes were allowed for dinner, so much assistance was generally given in waiters to carve and wait upon the passengers, that a by no means bad dinner could be made in the allotted time; and to show that the food was not otherwise than palatable, i may instance the case of a medical gentleman residing at brickhill (i think), but, at any rate, in the town where the up "wonder" dined, who, whenever possible, went in with the passengers and made his dinner with them. i will now venture on a few circumstances and anecdotes connected with the brighton road, which may help to portray the differences i have been describing in the two roads; but, before doing so, i should like to remark that anyone writing at this time on the subject is liable to make mistakes, as those coaches in some cases changed hands, as, for instance, at one time the "age" was the property of and driven by mr. stevenson, and at a later period was in the possession of sir st. vincent cotton. of this coach it has been written by nimrod that "mr. stevenson had arrived at perfection in his art and had introduced the phenomenon of refinement into a stage coach." i never happened to see this coach in his time, but can well remember sir st. vincent cotton on the box of his neat brown coach, with bright pole chains. a friend of mine says, "well i remember harry stevenson, with his beautiful team, starting from the 'white horse cellars,' and calling for his box passenger at the united service club, and from thence to the 'elephant and castle,' the final stop before departure for brighton, and his guard, george carrington, who was the essence of neatness and politeness to his passengers." this coach was for a short time driven by sackville gwynne, who ran through all his property, and died in liverpool, where he was driving a cab. it would be tedious to enumerate half the coaches, nearly thirty in number, which ran out of brighton every day, and many of them the best looking turns-out in the kingdom. a few as specimens will suffice. first and foremost came the "times," starting at seven in the morning, arriving at charing cross at twelve, and returning to brighton at two, driven by sam goodman. bob brackenbury, a first-rate amateur whip at that time, used to drive from brighton to sam goodman's farm, a distance of eleven miles, and back again in the evening. then there was the "dart," another up and down coach, driven by bob snow, a first-rate artist. some may even now remember his rubicund face, which he had just helped to colour with a pint of sherry after his dinner, as he mounted his box like a workman, when returning from the "spread eagle," gracechurch street, with his faultless drab great-coat, and a bale of white muslin round his neck; and such top boots! the "elephant and castle" was his first stopping-place, to meet the west end branch coach; and here he always replenished his inner man with a glass of hot brandy and water with a spoonful of ground ginger in it, as he said, to assist his digestion. after he started from there, it was woe-betide the poor horse that offended him before he reached reigate, where the "dart" stopped for dinner, and in those days the city merchants and stockbrokers knew how to take care of themselves. his only opponent was the "item," driven by charles newman, who was always wretchedly horsed, and could not come near him. another well known face on this road was that of john willan, who, after having lost a good fortune on the turf, started the "arrow," which was also horsed by horne and sam goodman. this coach was mostly supported by the _élite_ of the sporting world. the turn-out was altogether most unique. the late duke of beaufort had some horses at work on this road at one time. he horsed a coach called the "quicksilver," and bob pointer was the coachman (one of the best waggoners in england). he drove till he met charley harker half way, and then turned back. one very fine day the duke went, as was not unusual, with some friends to see the "quicksilver" start from the red office, and there found our friend bob, not in the most upright position, just about to take hold of the ribbons from the off-wheeler's back. as soon as his grace saw how matters stood he took them out of his hands, and drove up till he met the other coach, which he drove back, and after kicking the passengers handed the money to bob, telling him not to let him see him in that state again. the warning, however, was not attended to for long, for, although the best of coachmen, he was a very wet 'un. i will now ask the reader to fancy himself for a moment transported by the touch of columbine's wand into the midlands, and set down in the fashionable town of cheltenham, which, fifty years ago, was justly famed for its fast and well-appointed coaches, as well as for its health-giving waters. though situated far inland it was, like brighton, very much dependent on the same element for its prosperity, and was frequented by much the same class of people, though the efficacy of the waters at one place depended upon external, and at the other upon internal application. still they resembled one another in drawing together a society of persons who had little or no occupation except that of either bathing in or drinking the water. the high street of cheltenham presents now a very different aspect to what it did at the time i am writing about, when the seats on the sunny side were occupied by visitors looking at the coaches passing to and fro or turning into the "plough" yard. it was a sight worth coming for to see those well-horsed coaches. there were, first, the london coaches arriving: the "magnet," driven by jemmy witherington, and the "berkely hunt," with frank martindale on the box, who was always the pink of neatness--indeed, as he once said to me a good many years afterwards, "you know, i was a bit of a dandy in those days." then there was also the london day mail with four greys, running alternately to the "plough" and "queen's hotel," and later on in the day the "hirondelle," driven by finch, a rather wet soul, and the "hibernia," arrived from liverpool, both of which coaches are incidentally mentioned in another chapter, and were two of the fastest in england. besides them, there were others running to bath, bristol, leamington, birmingham, and other places, and by the time all these had been inspected, it was time to think of dinner. and now, having already made this chapter something of a "fugitive piece," i will, for the second time, make use of the fairy wand, and by one of its miraculous touches translate us back again to the brighton road, which, being the one on which so many amateurs have become professionals, may be not inappropriately called the border land between them, and, therefore, as rather pointed out for considering the difference between them. of course, in one sense, the demarcation is as plain as the nose on one's face. the man who drives for pay is a professional, at any rate for a time; but the question i would now raise is not that, but one more likely to prove an apple of discord--i mean what allowance should be made between them in estimating their proficiency in driving. what might be good for one might be decidedly under the mark for the other. to more fully explain my meaning, i will take a strong case. sir st. vincent cotton, as is well known, drove professionally for some years on the brighton road after having been acknowledged to be a first-rate amateur, and the question is, how soon after taking to the box professionally could he have been expected to pass muster with the professionals? perhaps some will say that he was quite as good a coachman before as after he took to the bench professionally. no doubt his is a strong case, and i only give it as one in point; but, for myself, i very much doubt whether, even in those _coachy_ days, it was possible for a man to get sufficient practice, only as an amateur, to make him equal to one who drove professionally. doubtless, among the professionals there were men who never with any amount of practice became good coachmen; but then we must remember that in all classes and conditions of men some are to be found who, from indolence or taking no pride in their work, never even reach mediocrity, whilst others are too conceited to learn; but these were in a small minority, and in driving, as in all other crafts, practice makes perfect. if it confers no other benefit, it must strengthen the muscles, and, no doubt, imparts a handiness, readiness, and resource which nothing else can produce. the difference is, perhaps, oftener to be observed in the whip hand than the rein one. a well-practised professional with a pair of sluggish leaders will make every cut tell, and then bring the thong up to his hand without staring about to see where the wind had blown it to; whereas, it would too often be the case with an amateur that, for want of having had sufficient practice, half his cuts fell flat, and not unfrequently, especially on a windy or wet day, he will get hung up in some part of the harness or in the pole chains, or possibly even round the stock of the wheel. it is not only in the art of driving that this difference is to be met with, but it extends to huntsmen and jockeys. in neither of these occupations does a gentleman attain to sufficient proficiency to be called more than a good amateur, which implies that he is not equal to a professional, or at any rate to a good one. now, why is this? surely not because he was born a gentleman, and is, therefore, disqualified by nature. still less, because education has unfitted him. no--it is simply because he does not give up his time to it, but only follows it as a recreation. cricket might, perhaps, at first sight, contradict this rule, but in truth, i believe it only tends to confirm it. the gentlemen are able to hold their own with the players, but then, whilst the cricket season lasts, they work as hard as the professionals. to come to the point, then, how soon after taking to the bench professionally ought an amateur to cease to claim any indulgence in criticism? i do not, of course, mean a muff, whose natural inaptitude might render him proof against any amount of practice, but one called "a good amateur whip;" and, probably, it would not be erring much to say that a period of from one to two years, with sixty to eighty miles of driving a day, including a fair share of night work, is sufficient to land him at the top of the profession, if the _gift_ is in him. talking of the "gift," reminds me of a conversation which once took place between the late mr. j. taylor, who kept the "lion" yard in shrewsbury, and the well known "chester billy." they had been talking on the subject of driving, and the latter finished it by saying, "well, master, it is a gift," to which the other replied, "it is, billy, and it's a pity you never got it." i need hardly say, the old man turned away rather disgusted, and, no doubt, with the firm conviction that his master was no judge. perhaps, in opposition to what i have said, i may be directed to some instances where very fine samples of driving have been executed by gentlemen. i will only mention two of them. the first took place in times long ago, and is thus described by nimrod. "perhaps one of the finest specimens of good coachmanship was performed by sir felix agar. he made a bet, which he won, that he would drive his own four horses in hand up grosvenor place, down the passage into tattersall's yard, around the pillar which stands in the centre of it, and back again into grosvenor place, without either of the horses going at a slower pace than trot." so long a time has expired since this feat was performed, and all spectators have passed away, that it is impossible to criticise it in any way. many, however, must be still alive who remember the old tattersall's, and they will be able to appreciate the difficulty of the task. the other is quite of a recent date, only occurring last summer, and was performed by my friend, mr. pryce hamilton, who was the victor in the obstacle competition. not having seen this, i am unable to say anything about it, but make no doubt that those who laid out the course did not err on the side of leniency to the coachmen, and that it was a feat of no easy performance. but, then, these things are hardly tests of every day coachmanship. no doubt they require very neat handling of the reins, but, of course, the horses have individually the best of manners, and the teams are as hardy as it is possible to make them; but if the whip had been wanted in tattersall's yard, perhaps sir felix might have lost his bet. perhaps, it may be thought by some that the time i have stated is an unnecessarily long apprenticeship. it may be for some, but for myself, i can answer that, whether from natural stupidity or not, it was no more than i required. driving, if by that is understood a perfect knowledge of the art, is, like most other things, a plant of slow growth, and, to any one who has given much thought and attention to it, it is surprising how long he finds something to learn. for myself, although i had done many hundreds of miles of spare work for different coachmen, and out of different yards, with the approval of the proprietors, i did not find that i had been able to overcome shortcomings and defects, of which i was conscious, till i had driven regularly for three summers, and, perhaps, even then many remained of which i was unconscious. if there are any who think there is no difference between amateur and professional coachmen, i would ask them why there was not one of the owners of the "old times" put up to drive the justly celebrated match instead of selby? chapter xii. early days. though it is rather a singular coincidence that my earliest experiences should be laid in the same neighbourhood as has been more than once mentioned by the late mr. birch reynardson in "down the road," if the incidents are different, i suppose it will not signify much if the road is the same. i have no recollection that we ever did actually drive opposition to one another, but it is not impossible that we may have done so, as i was in the habit of driving the "royal oak," which he mentions as running opposition to the "nettle," on which coach he frequently handled the ribbons. however this may be, i can recollect well that he bore the character of a good, powerful coachman, and i only hope i may be able to approach him at all in my powers of description. his spirited narratives carry one's thoughts back to scenes of a kindred nature, after a lapse of half a century, nearly as fresh as if it were only yesterday. for, reader, i am another old coachman, having driven one coach ninety-three miles a-day during one summer, and have worked another about fifteen thousand miles a-year for three years, besides others for myself, or for other coachmen. i well recollect the "yard of tin"; indeed, when a youth, i possessed one, and flattered myself i could blow it pretty well. such, indeed, was my passion for the road, that i was not satisfied till i could perform every feat performed by coachmen or guards. to pass from the back of the coach to the front, or _vice versa_, was sometimes accomplished by guards, and, of course, i must do the same, creeping between the hind wheel and the body, whilst the coach was proceeding at the rate of ten miles an hour. this was not a very easy performance, but to get up and down whilst the coach was in motion was not at all difficult, and doing this once led to my being mistaken for a professional guard. i was travelling through north wales, from oswestry to bangor, by a pair-horse coach, which, of course, did not aspire to much pace, and, as the day was wet, the road was heavy, which brought the two-horse power to a walk up some of the hills, slight as mr. telford's engineering skill had made them. upon these occasions i got down to walk, and as my pace was faster than that of the horses, i was part way down the next hill before they overtook me, when, motioning to the coachman not to pull up, i returned to my seat by his side, and after having done this once or twice he said, "i beg your pardon, sir, but were you ever a guard on any coach?" it is somewhat strange that mr. reynardson and i should both have good reason for remembering the llanymynech toll-bar, but its existence was nearly being impressed on my mind by a far more serious accident than killing poor piggy. many years ago, about the year , before i had the honour of wearing his majesty's uniform, i used to indulge my love of driving by starting from my father's house, about three miles from welshpool, about five o'clock in the morning, and walking to that town for the pleasure of driving the "royal oak" coach, which started at six, and returning the same day by the down coach. thereby getting a drive of about eighty miles, and the pace was fast, especially if the "nettle" was supposed to be near, for we knew by experience that it followed very quickly; so there was pretty well enough of practice to be had. on one of these mornings, when we were about two miles on our journey, harry booth, the coachman, who was sitting by my side, whistled to the horses, which started them off beyond my powers of holding them. i said, "for goodness' sake be quiet," when he coolly replied, "i thought you wanted to drive." fortunately, however, they came back to me after going a short distance, and we completed the nine miles to llanymynech in thirty-five minutes from the start. this was, perhaps, a rather rough way of learning to drive, and something like throwing a fellow into deep water to teach him to swim. at any rate, it taught me to gallop, and a coachman who could not do that was of little use on a good many coaches in those days. this, however, is a digression, as it was on the return journey of that day that i nearly came to grief at the llanymynech toll-bar. it occurred in this way-- the "royal oak" did not carry a guard, and tom loader, the coachman, having resigned his seat to me when the coaches met, had retired to the one usually occupied by that functionary. as, however, he was not accustomed to guard's work, he was deficient in the activity necessary for slipping the skid pan under the wheel whilst the coach was in motion, and when he tried to do so at the top of llanymynech hill he failed in the attempt. consequently, we got over the brow of the hill without the wheel being locked, and, as there were no patent breaks in those days, there was nothing for it but a gallop, as the wheel horses were unable to hold the big load of passengers and luggage, and, of course, the lurches of the coach became considerable, to say the least of it. the turnpike gate, which was at the bottom of the hill, was rather a narrow one, and a collision seemed not altogether improbable, when, just as the leaders reached the gate, the passenger sitting on the roof seat behind me became so much alarmed that he seized hold of my right arm, thereby rendering any use of the whip impossible if it had been necessary, which, fortunately, it was not, as the coach was then in a safe direction, though rather too near the off-side gate-post to be pleasant. if the whip had been wanted to make the off-wheel horse pull us clear of the post i was helpless, and a collision would have been attended with an awful smash, as we were going at the rate of a mile in five minutes at the time. killing the pig would have been nothing to it. whilst on the subject of toll gates i am reminded that i did on one occasion break one all to pieces, and, though chronologically out of place here, i am tempted to introduce it. it occurred many years subsequently to the affair at llanymynech, when i was residing at aberystwith, and, as often happened whilst there, i was working the shrewsbury and aberystwith mail between the latter place and newtown for one of the regular coachmen, who wanted a few days' rest. one morning on the down journey, on our reaching the toll gate at caersws, the gatekeeper threw it open to allow the mail to pass, but, as he did not throw it sufficiently far back to hold in the catch, the high wind blew it back again, causing it to come in contact with the stock of the near fore wheel. of course, it was too late to pull up, but, fortunately, the gate was old and very rotten, and doubled up with the collision. it was broken all to pieces, but, with the exception of a few slight cuts on the horses from splinters of wood, no injury was sustained. the toll-bar man was disposed to give some trouble, but little rhodes, the post-office guard (for it was one of the last mails that carried them), shut him up with the remark that the penalty for delaying the mails was fifty pounds. before taking leave of the subject of racing, such as was carried on by the "royal oak" and "nettle" coaches, i am induced to make a few remarks about it. perhaps, some one on reading what i have said, may be disposed to exclaim, "how dangerous it must have been!" and, indeed, mr. reynardson says in "down the road," speaking of these coaches, "they were often too fast to be quite safe, as i sometimes used to fancy." to this, the result of his practical experience, i will not demur, suffice it to say that, though i have known a coachman of the "royal oak" fined for furious driving, i never knew a case of one scattering his passengers. of course, it was not altogether unaccompanied by danger, but, judging by results, it could not have been very serious, as the accidents which occurred from it were not greater than were produced by other causes. indeed, there are some reasons why they may have been less. when coaches were running strong opposition, everything, horses, coaches, and harness, were all of the very best, and none but real "artists" could be placed upon the box. (i think i hear a whisper that sometimes boys got there.) they were, therefore, secure from any accident caused, as was sometimes the case, by carelessness and penuriousness, which, to my own knowledge, have been productive of some very serious ones, as i shall show. about twenty-five years ago, during one summer, two accidents occurred on the road between dolgelly and caernarvon, which might easily have been prevented--one of which was accompanied by serious loss of life, and which was to be attributed entirely to the use of old worn-out coaches and harness, or inferior coachmen and horses, such as, if the pace had been greater, no one would have ventured to employ. to the other accident there was a rather comic side, though not, perhaps, exactly to the sufferer. the coach was upset a few miles from barmouth, on the road to harlech, and the coachman's shoulder was dislocated; whereupon, a medical practitioner, who was passing at the time, mistaking the injury for a fracture, splintered it up. this treatment, of course, did not tend to mend matters, and the shoulder continued so painful that upon arriving at caernarvon another surgeon was called in, who perceived the real nature of the injury, and reduced the dislocation. then, again, as a fact, there was not so often, as may be supposed, a neck-and-neck race with two coaches galloping alongside of each other. such things did occur at times, when the road was wide enough to admit of it; but much oftener the coachmen did not try to give one another the "_go-bye_," except when the leading one was called upon to stop to pick up or put down a passenger, or for any other purpose. it was understood that on those occasions, if the opposition was close behind, the one which stopped should pull to his own side of the road, leaving space to pass. then the other one, getting in front, would "_spring 'em_" to try, if possible, to complete his next change of horses and be off again without being passed. no coachman, who knew his business, or was not utterly reckless, would think of racing down hill, though occasionally, no doubt, they did take liberties at the top of a hill and come to grief. there could, however, be no danger in trying to pass when ascending a hill, and then was the opportunity for the coachman with the lightest load or strongest team to challenge his opponent. of course, the leading one would not give his rival the road if he could help it, and i have had my near-side leader's bar rattling against his off-side hind wheel before he would give me room to pass; but there was no danger involved in that, as, being on the ascent, i could have pulled up at any moment. as to there being any danger in merely galloping a coach, i am sure there is not, even at a high speed, provided the wheel horses are well matched in stride, the team well put together, and kept well in hand, and when there is sufficient draught to keep the leaders' traces tight. this will be apparent from the fact that, however much a coach may have been lurching previously, as soon as the leaders commence drawing, she becomes perfectly steady. of course with the pole chains too slack there would be danger. then, again, the build of the coach has a good deal to do with it. for very fast work, coaches were generally kept what was called near the ground. those which were built by shackleford, of cheltenham, for the "hirondelle," which raced with the "hibernia," between that town and liverpool, at a pace as great if not greater than any coaches in england, were contracted to be made so that the roof should not exceed a certain height from the ground. i forget now what the exact measurement was, but it was some inches less than the general build, and to enable this to be done the perch was slightly bent. the "hibernia" coaches also, which were supplied by williams, of bristol, were admirably adapted for the work they had to perform, being low and remarkably steady, but heavier than those of their opponent. indeed, williams's coaches were not favourites with coachmen on account of their weight, but as they were generally contracted for by the mile, those were most profitable to the contractor that required the least repairs. i have heard of a coachman complaining to mr. williams about the weight of his coaches, to which the laconic answer was a five-shilling piece, and "don't you bother about that." these two coaches always made the first of may a day for more than ordinary racing, and performed the journey on those occasions at a very accelerated pace. i am afraid, at this distance of time, to say exactly by how much the time was shortened, but certainly by two or three hours, and as the ordinary time was twelve hours and a half to cover the distance of one hundred and thirty-three miles, the pace must have been very severe. on one of these annual festivals there was a lady travelling inside the "hirondelle," and one of the proprietors, thinking she might be alarmed at the terrific pace the coach was going at, offered to "post her" the remainder of the journey without extra charge. she, however, was quite equal to the occasion, and replied that she was much obliged by the offer, but that she liked going fast. this showed well, not only for her nerve, but also that the driving was good, and that the coachmen "made their play" judiciously. chapter xiii. old times. it may seem strange to those who have never had any experience of road travelling, that the memory of hours spent in journeys, when the passengers by public conveyances had only the choice between passing a whole day, and still more, a night, exposed to all the vicissitudes of the british climate, or else in what, compared even to a third-class carriage on a railway, was little better than a box upon wheels, should conjure up reminiscences of happy hours passed under circumstances which must naturally appear to those who have never tried it, absolutely insufferable. such, however, i believe to be the case, and i very much doubt whether anything like the same affectionate reminiscences will linger about the present luxurious mode of travelling. at the present age, in consequence of the generally increased luxury, there has arisen an impatience of discomfort unknown to previous generations. whether this arises from the fact that journeys are now so soon accomplished that one never feels it necessary to try and make the best of it, and affords no opportunity for a trial of pluck and endurance, dear to the heart of an englishman, i know not; but that there is something deeply seated in human nature, which takes delight in recounting what it has gone through in the way of suffering is certain; or, perhaps, it may be that there was something which addressed itself to the love of sport, innate to man, in travelling behind four horses. this point i will not venture to decide. certain it is that coaching has always been supposed to be nearly related to sporting. in the daytime, especially in fine weather, there is something very exhilarating in passing quickly through the air, and hearing the rapid steps of four horses on the hard road; and then there was, at least by day, just time enough, even on the fastest coaches, to run into the bar occasionally, whilst the horses were being changed, to have a glass of brown sherry, and exchange a word and a laugh with the pretty barmaid--for they were all pretty! at any rate, these things helped to break the monotony of the journey. again, if the traveller desired to become acquainted with the country he was passing through, he could be in no better place for seeing it than on the outside of a coach, which by passing through the towns on the route afforded a much better idea of what they were like in architecture and other things, than by only skirting them, as must necessarily be the case on a railway. i often fancy that entering a town from a railway station is something like sneaking into a house by the back door. night travelling, no doubt, had its serious drawbacks, but they were, to some extent at least, alleviated by a stoppage of sufficient time to get a good supper, such as would warm up the cockles of the heart, and enable the passengers to start again warm, and with a fresh stock of pluck to endure what they could not cure. at any rate, they knew no better. i tell my grandson that he loses twelve hours of his holidays from eton now, since he does not have what i look back upon as a downright jolly night. instead of not leaving college till the morning of breaking up as at present, the "rocket" coach of the old days, from london to birmingham and shrewsbury, used on the previous evening to come to slough empty, where it arrived about seven o'clock, and at which place we boys who were going long journeys in that direction were allowed to join it; and right well we filled it, inside and out, though the latter was the most coveted position, as being thought more manly. i recollect on my second journey home, though it was the christmas holidays, my anxious parents having secured an inside place for me, i exchanged it with another boy, "without receiving the difference," so that i might not travel inside, and after that i was left to my own choice. as it was known some days before what the load would be composed of on those nights, an extra good supper was provided at oxford, to which we did ample justice, and, as the coach was pretty much at our service on that occasion, there was time to enjoy ourselves thoroughly, which we did to our hearts' content, and started off again warm and comfortable and as "jolly as sand-boys," though i must admit we did know what cold feet were before arriving at birmingham about eight o'clock on the following morning. that, however, coach travellers expected, and would, perhaps, have been rather disappointed without it. on these nights the coach used to be so heavily loaded with luggage that things were hung to the lamp-irons, and everything else that could be pressed into the service, and on one sharp, frosty night some small articles were slung under the hind axle, amongst which was a basket of fish; unfortunately, this had been allowed to hang so low down that it came in contact with the hard, frosty road, and when the place was reached where it was to be delivered, nothing could be found but the basket with the bottom out, the cod and oysters having been scattered on the road. the "rocket" was not so fast a coach as its name might imply, and old rook, who drove one side between birmingham and shrewsbury, though a good coachman of the old school, was not very particular to ten minutes or so, but would sometimes stop and take a little pleasure on the road; and i well remember passing through bilson when a bull was being baited on a piece of open ground between the houses, and close to the roadside, and he pulled up to watch the operations for some time. there was a story told of him, that he had a friend who was a pig dealer, whose business frequently caused him to be walking in the same direction as the coach, and if there was room he would give him a lift. one day he came up with his friend walking at his very best pace, when, as usual, he offered him a ride, to which he replied, "no thank you, old fellow, not to-day; i am in a hurry, and can't while." i cannot say that the return journey carries with it the same pleasurable recollections, even after this distance of time. the "triumph" coach by which it was performed, was a night one between shrewsbury and birmingham, and travelled by day above the latter town, but as it had only a pair of horses up to there it was a very slow affair, starting from shrewsbury at eleven o'clock at night, and not arriving at birmingham before six on the following morning. to send a boy back to school on a two-horse power, which consumed seven hours in covering forty-four miles, seems rather like "adding insult to injury." the only amusement we could by any possibility indulge in was when we came to a turnpike gate, when the collector was sleepy and slow in opening it, to cry out "fire!" as loud as we could to alarm him. we found that the cry of "murder!" had no effect. my recollection also reminds me that we did not always travel home by the "rocket." one easter holidays three of us started from eton to post to london in one of the old yellow post-chaises, when soon after passing slough, the demon of mischief taking possession of us, we determined to have some fun on the road, for which purpose we changed half-a-crown into coppers, and using them as missiles, made a stealthy attack upon the shop windows as we drove along. this fun lasted very well till after changing horses at hounslow, but upon passing through brentford, whether we had become too bold and careless, or whether the inhabitants of that town were a sharper race, i don't know, but we all of a sudden found ourselves the object of much interest to them, and a man running out of a shop, seized hold of our horses' heads, and calling us all the young blackguards he could think of, presented his little account for broken glass, etc., etc. i need hardly say that this was immediately settled without haggling, and telling the post-boy to make the best of his way, we soon left the town of brentford, and further hostile attention on the part of its inhabitants, behind us. in the previous generation a case occurred when a journey home from eton was performed on a much grander scale than that which i have just recorded, and as it was of necessity performed by road, may not be inappropriately introduced in this place. the then bishop of worcester, dr. cornwall, had two sons at eton, and on a certain election monday they started to go home to their paternal mansion at diddlesbury, situate in corvedale in the county of salop, where the bishop resided a good deal of his time. the family temper was of rather a hasty nature, and something occurred after the young gentlemen had proceeded a certain distance on the journey which stirred up this hereditary failing, the altercation becoming so strong that they parted company, each one ordering out a post-chaise and four for his own individual use; and it ended in first of all one of them arriving at his destination in a post-chaise and four from ludlow, followed in about a quarter-of-an-hour by the other brother in a similar conveyance. report does not say how the right rev. father received his sons, but if he had a spice of the family temper, he probably gave them a "_mauvais quart d'heure_" as the frenchman says. at any rate, one thing is certain, that it would puzzle the picturesque little town of ludlow at the present time to turn out "_two fours_" without a long warning. chapter xiv. coachmen: where did they come from? coachmen, as they used to be, are now nearly, or quite, lost to sight, and it is difficult to describe them. most of the descriptions given of them have been, more or less, caricatures; still, from the time of tony weller, they have been a rather peculiar people, although that character, as depicted by dickens, was more in keeping with a previous generation, and even highly coloured for that, and as unlike what they were in the palmy days of coaching as were two men i saw at hatchetts a summer or two ago, dressed in such great-coats as were never seen down any road, and with such hats upon their heads as, i should think, never made their appearance anywhere, unless it was on the stage. they were a sort of gog and magog of the road. the coachman of the fastest and best days, which really lasted for a comparatively small number of years, was better educated, and was rarely slangy in his dress, which was well suited to his avocation, and, except in winter, would not generally attract attention. at that season, however, he did require to be well protected against weather, for he had to face all sorts, and that for nearly a whole day or night at a time. on one journey the rain might fall incessantly, on another our changeable climate would produce clear weather accompanied by intense frost, whilst on the following day there might be a driving snow, the wind blowing the flakes into the eyes till it was almost impossible to see the road. now all these alternations of weather had to be taken into account, and, i believe, the art of resisting them had well-nigh reached perfection; therefore, with the dread before my eyes of wearying some of my readers, i am tempted to enter with some minuteness into the subject, as, judging from the garments now usually worn, the art is lost in the present day. it was a well established fact that two moderately thick coats gave more warmth and kept out wet better than one which was very thick, and besides which, a very thick coat becomes insufferably heavy after being out many hours in the rain. indeed, a great change had taken place in the dress of coachmen. as the pace increased, and better bred horses were employed, and greater activity was required in the coachmen, the cumbersome old great-coat, with innumerable capes, had to make room for garments which interfered less with the movements of the wearer. i need hardly say to those who have had much experience, that there is no hope of keeping dry and warm if the neck is not secured by an ample upper neckcloth; for, tying up this part of the body not only excludes the wet and cold, but also has the effect of keeping in the natural heat of the body. nothing chills worse than a cold draught passing up the sleeves and coming out at the neck, and to prevent this what were called coachman's cuffs were employed. these consisted of a piece of cloth about six inches in length, which buttoned over the sleeve of the ordinary coat, and when over these were added, first, a strong cloth coat, and over that a waterproof cape with sleeves, and ample enough to spread well over the apron, no wet and little cold could penetrate. protected in this way, and with a relay of dry woollen gloves and whips, a not unpleasant day might be spent on the coach box even when the elements were unpropitious. when a man is cased in all these clothes, he can hardly help being a little stiff in his movements, and this imparted a peculiar gait which betrayed the occupation. the left hand also generally acted as a tell tale, as the rounded position in which the wrist was necessarily held during many hours of the day could not be altogether thrown off at other times. it was not uncommon for guards in the fast day coaches to wear red coats, not the post-office guard's livery, as i have seen at hatchett's, but an ordinary hunting coat. as roads improved pace increased, and fast day coaches gradually appeared, notably the three "tallyhoes" between birmingham and london, distinguished from one another by the words "eclipse," "patent," and "independent;" also the "york house," bath, and the "berkely hunt," cheltenham. it was not, however, till about the year that the "wonder" commenced running between shrewsbury and london, a distance of one hundred and fifty-four miles, and it ceased running the whole journey through in the year or . and this having been the first coach which attempted to cover so long a journey in one day, it marks with sufficient accuracy the time during which coaching was at its zenith. of course, there were many fast and good coaches running after this date; but subsequent to the year , most of the roads, taking their start from the metropolis, were, more or less, pressed upon by railways, and the coaches were either taken off altogether, or else the distance run was curtailed. we may therefore put down about twenty-five years as the period during which the coaches covered the roads, though many equally good ones continued to run in scotland, wales, and other remote places for many years later. [illustration: j. sturgess del. et lith. m&n. hanhart imp. extra pair of horses for fast coaches, for steep ascents.] during this quarter of a century the fun was fast, not to say furious, and with such rapidity did coaches increase and multiply, that it is a wonder how the demand for coachmen was satisfied, for to become one fit to be entrusted with a fast coach, and one which loaded heavily, necessitates no little practice. from whence then was this demand supplied? principally, i believe, like that in other trades, on the hereditary principle. it was no uncommon thing for old coachmen to have several sons at work; but, as the box of a good day coach was a lucrative post, a considerable number of men were gradually attracted to it from superior positions in life. the value of a "drive" differed very much, according to the loading of the coach, distance driven, whether single or double journey, or whether the passengers were what was called "_good cloth_," or the contrary; but one which did not bring in twenty shillings a day was not thought much of, and some were worth double. this may appear a large remuneration to be received for a day's work, seldom occupying more than nine or ten hours; but i know it is not overstated, as i have not only been told it by others, but have myself fingered forty-five shillings in one day. perhaps, however, i should add that i was then driving as much as ninety-three miles a day, and had no guard. there were also other sources from which money was made, and from which coachmen driving slow coaches were enabled to make amends for the inferior quality of their passengers; and, indeed, in quite old days, the best wheel of the coach was often his. the late mr. jobson, who for many years kept the "talbot hotel" in shrewsbury, and horsed the "nimrod," which ran opposition to the "wonder," had previously driven the "prince of wales" coach between that town and birmingham, during which time he had the opportunity of buying up the guineas, when they were called in by the mint, at a trifle under their standard value, and being able to dispose of them at their full price he realised a handsome profit. again, fish was not an unusual article to be made the subject of trading, and i once was tempted to embark in this business myself, but, as the sequel will show, not with satisfactory results. when i was driving the "snowdonian," i was frequently asked by friends and acquaintances on the road to bring some fish from caernarvon, as the towns through which i passed were badly supplied with it. accordingly, one morning, hearing that a good catch of fish had been brought in, i invested, before starting, in forty pounds of very nice small salmon at sixpence a pound, with the expectation of obliging friends, and at the same time making some profit for my trouble. however, i was soon undeceived. as i went from place to place i announced with a feeling of much complacency that i had got the long-wanted article, but in most cases the answer was that they did not want salmon--any other fish would have been acceptable. consequently, when i arrived at the end of my journey, i found that more than half was left in hand. pickled salmon was the standard dish on my table for a fortnight. it was my first and last appearance in the character of a fishmonger. i tried no other sort of fish, as i thought they were too dainty if they could not eat salmon. but perhaps i have digressed too far, and will return to where coachmen sprang from in the required numbers. i once sat by the side of a captain douglas, who had seen service in the peninsular war, and was then driving the birmingham and sheffield mail out of the former town, and a quiet, nice coachman he was. he had a long stage of sixteen miles to lichfield, and brought his team in fresh at the end of it. from the officer coachman i come to the private. he was named marsh, and had served at waterloo with the th regiment, and after leaving the army, had driven a coach between maidstone and london for many years. when i first became acquainted with him, he had, like a good many others, followed the receding tide to the west, and was driving one side of the aberystwith and shrewsbury mail, between the former place and newtown, during which time i occasionally worked for him; but, like an old soldier, he was always, if possible, ready for duty. it is curious enough that i first came across him on a waterloo day, when he modestly remarked, upon the subject being alluded to, "i happened to be there." i had lost sight of him for some years, till i observed a notice of him in the _world_ newspaper of july th, . it occurred in a short account of lord albemarle, and mentioned the interest he took in "the old soldier matty marsh, private th foot, who was wounded at waterloo, witnessed the funerals of wellington and napoleon, drove a coach from maidstone for many years, and recently died at the advanced age of ninety-four years." i never heard him allude to either of the funerals, and don't very well see how he could have been at that of napoleon's; but so far as i know, he may have attended both. a few postboys were elevated to the "bench," notably little dick vickers, of the holyhead mail; but few of them were equal to the task, and, indeed, some of them could not even handle four-horse reins sufficiently well for black work, and consequently the night coachmen were occasionally pressed into this service, much to their dislike, and this once led to a rather droll scene. a gentleman, who had taken to professional coach driving, found himself one day let in for the job of driving a hearse, and, of course, was obliged to get himself up for the occasion something like a mute, when catching sight of himself in a glass, he was so much struck with his personal appearance, that he remarked, "well, if only some of my family could see me now, i wonder what they _would_ say?" indeed, it is difficult to determine from what ranks and professions the large body of coachmen required in those days was not recruited. i suppose few would have looked among the list of publishers for one, but, nevertheless, one, at any rate, from that business was drawn into the service of the road, not having been successful in the former trade. a letter from an old friend of mine, also a coachman, will, i think, interest or amuse some readers, and will show that he possessed a considerable amount of grim humour, as well as some acuteness in business. "many years ago," says my friend, "i took up my residence for a short time at the 'kentish hotel' in tunbridge wells--the best hotel there, and at that time there were very few houses built upon the common. after stopping there some time, the season ended, and the exodus of visitors had commenced, i took the box seat on stockdale's coach. i must tell you he had been a large publisher in piccadilly, but failed, and then took to the road, this being the first coach he had driven, and being part proprietor. he was an exceedingly good amateur whip, but still, not a first-rate artist, as he would try to make you believe. "a short time before we started, a lady with her maid, who had been stopping in the hotel, sent her luggage to be placed on the coach, and upon stockdale seeing it, he said to the porter, 'how many passengers, tom?' 'two, sir,' says tom. 'scale it, tom,' says he, which he immediately did. when twelve shillings was demanded for extra luggage, the lady said, 'i never paid it before, and have taken two inside places.' 'you see, _ma'ame_,' says he, 'i horse this coach over maramscote hill, and i cannot carry your luggage for nothing; you will bring the kitchen range next time if you have nothing to pay.' "having seated myself very comfortably on the box seat, our friend stockdale and myself lit our cigars, going at a fair pace till we were descending maramscote hill, the skid-pan being on the wheel. the wheel horses did not step well together, and we rocked very considerably, which led me to observe he had better be careful, or he would put the passengers down to count them. upon this he turned round to me, looking daggers, and asked me to look what was painted on the board at the side of the hill, and looking, i read, '_dry rubbish may be thrown here_.' you may be sure i did not offer any more advice for the remainder of the stage; but our _contretemps_ soon cooled down, and when we were changing horses, 'i say, governor!' says he, 'forget the dry rubbish, and come in and take a little cold brandy and water. it's the only place i ever go into on the road, for it's the only place where you can escape being poisoned.' after our refreshment we went at a very jolly pace, having robert nelson's horses, which were first-rate, and soon arrived at the belle sauvage, ludgate hill, where we found a great bustle of coaches, and luggage just come by other coaches, arriving from different parts of the country, and porters were calling out, 'any passengers for leeds "courier," "hope," "halifax,"'" etc., etc. it was not only necessary that a coachman should be able to drive well, which required time and practice to acquire, but, what was of nearly equal importance, he had to learn how to get his coach quick through the country. indeed, his was a position of no small responsibility, for he had the lives and limbs of the passengers in his hands, and as, when was sometimes the case with a strong opposition, his orders were simply "_be first_" his was no very enviable situation. when he could do all this with the minimum of wear and tear of the stock, he was a very valuable man to his employers. as a rule, i think they were fairly careful of the stock, though certainly on slow coaches, when a little time lost could be recovered without much difficulty, the horses by no means always reaped the full benefit of the time allowed them. this, however, it must with justice be admitted, was not altogether the fault of the coachmen. the proprietors were too prone to encourage delay for the custom it brought to the "bar," and if a coachman was heard to decline the offer of a glass of sherry or brandy and water from his box passenger, he might expect black looks. of course, with the fastest coaches, such delays were impossible, neither could the coachman find time to pull up and patronize the house of a friend, as was frequently done by his brethren on the slower drags. i have heard of the late mr. isaac taylor, of shrewsbury, when he wanted to select from among his coachmen one fitted for a fast coach, adopting the following plan: one of his coaches was driven by a man who he knew to be coachman enough for the job, but he was not so sure about his power of getting through the country. he, therefore, one day, quietly seated himself inside this man's coach, and after a time his doubts were confirmed, for on pulling up at a roadside inn, the landlady, without observing him, said to the coachman, "mr. so-and-so, how will you have your eggs done to-day? shall they be poached or boiled?" i need hardly add, he remained on the slow coach. a smart coachman usually took his place in changing horses, and it is quite possible, as i know from experience, having been timed by a box passenger, to effect the change in one minute and a half, with only one horse-keeper, assisted by coachman and guard; but to do this, each one must know his own place; they must not be tumbling over one another. the best drill i ever knew for this purpose was as follows: as the coach gradually stopped, the guard got down, and ran forward to unhook the near leader's outside trace, and then drew the near lead rein through the territs, after which he changed the near wheel horse, and finished by running the near lead rein. the horse-keeper, on the off-side, unhooked the remaining lead traces, uncoupled the wheel horses, and changed the off-side one. the coachman, getting down from his box as fast as he could, finished changing the leaders. the horses had, of course, previous to the arrival of the coach, been properly placed; one wheeler on each side of the road, and the leaders coupled. this, of course, could only be carried out when the team was pretty quiet to "put to," for with queer tempered ones, all sorts of dodges had to be resorted to, attended sometimes with considerable loss of time. occasionally, it would be necessary to run a leader's rein the first thing, and then the coachman had to bustle up to his box as quick as he could, trusting to the horse-keeper and guard to get the traces hooked as best they might. again, some wheelers could not bear to be poled up till after the coach was started. horse-keepers were often exceedingly smart at this sort of work, though they varied a good deal, so much so, that it was no uncommon thing for "queer ones" to start better from one end of the stage than the other. these said horse-keepers were a rough lot, and no great wonder, for they had rough work to do. they were frequently expected to attend to eight horses, four out and four in, every day, or to take charge of six, with eight out and eight in, during the course of the day. but, what was worse than the work, they constantly had vicious horses to attend to, and such as it was dangerous to approach in the stall. to meet this difficulty, i have known a long cord used, with one end fastened to the head collar, and the other made fast to the stall-post, by which the horse could be pulled back far enough to enable the horse-keeper to keep clear of his heels whilst entering the stall. i was once travelling at night, when, upon arriving at the end of a stage, the coachman said to the horsekeeper, "mind what you are about with that horse," pointing to a fresh one, "he bit a piece out of a man just before starting." it struck me as not a very enviable position to be left, in the middle of a dark night, to look single-handed after four dirty horses, and one of them a "savage." but to return to changing horses, for it was an item of the very greatest importance in fast work. it was necessary at times to use a twitch with kickers, or to strap up one foreleg, though i have known this latter insufficient to keep the hind feet on the ground, and was once compelled to "rarey" a mare before she would suffer herself to be put to the coach. she was, from some cause or another, the worst tempered horse i ever met with. when i first knew her, she was the property of a gentleman residing at dolgelly, but her temper was so violent and untractable, that she had got the better of one or two breakers, and the ostler at the "wynnstay arms" at machynlleth, having undertaken to conquer her, she had been taken there for that purpose. it happened that i had promised to drive, a day or two afterwards, for another coachman, who wanted a rest, and as his coach did not start till after i had arrived with the "harkaway" from barmouth, and was back again in time for my return coach, i was able to oblige him, little thinking what i had undertaken. on looking over the team before mounting my box, what should i espy but this very animal at off-lead. "oh," says i, "then this is the way you are going to be broken? well, we shall see how we can agree." and taking up the reins, i mounted the box. cautioning the horse-keeper not to touch her, but to keep alongside the other leader through the archway out of the inn yard, and to be sure and make him carry his bar well, we started, the hitherto unmanageable mare giving very little trouble, and, after a few more journeys in the coach, she was considered to have finished her education, and returned home. i suppose, however, that she was not much to the taste of her owner, as she was very soon purchased, for a small sum, by my partner, mr. e. jones, of the "ship hotel," dolgelly, and put to run in the "harkaway." i drove her for many months, and considered that she was quite subdued, though it was always necessary to strap up a foreleg when putting her to the coach, and she was always nasty in the stable. all of a sudden, however, as spring came on, she returned to her old tricks, and thought so little of having a leg strapped up, that she kicked her bar over the top of the coach, and was so violent that it was impossible to "put her to." i determined, therefore, to "rarey" her, so, getting a long rope, and fastening it to the foreleg which was not strapped, and passing it over her withers, i gradually pulled her down, and, after the most approved "rarey" fashion, sat upon her. after a few minutes, i allowed her to get up, but she seemed still to be very light behind, so i put her into her place at near-lead, all the while keeping a strain upon the rope, and so kept her peaceable whilst the traces were hooked, the rein run, etc. then, handing over the rope to the guard, i got into my place, when it became, "let 'em go, and take care of yourselves." the brute went right enough for about a couple of hundred yards, when all of a sudden, she ran her head into the near-side hedge, and set to kicking in earnest; but as this movement exposed her flank, i was soon able to make it too hot for her, and she finished the stage to dolgelly quietly. i drove her again the next day, but she continued so violent that, as we carried a great many ladies and children at that time of year, she was taken away for fear of alarming them, especially as some parts of the road were not of the safest. chapter xv. guards. the guard of the olden day was generally exceedingly quick in putting on the skid and taking it off, which with fast coaches travelling hilly roads, before the patent break was in use, was of first-rate importance. most of them were able to do the former without entirely stopping the coach, but only a very few could unskid without the coachman pulling up and backing his horses. it required a man of unusual strength and activity to unskid whilst the coach was in motion, as it was necessary for him to twist the wheel back out of the pan with the right hand, and at the same moment to seize the chain with the left, and hang it to the hook on the coach, and these skid-pans were not a very light weight. probably few of my readers will know the manner in which wheels were dragged in a frost, therefore i will try and explain it here. it is manifest that the usual way of doing it would have been not only useless, but absolutely mischievous, as it would have had a tendency to pull the hind part of the coach into the side of the road when it was slippery. the method adopted, therefore, was to tie a strong chain round the felloe of the wheel, in such a position that it pressed upon the ground and broke up the surface sufficiently to get a good hold on it. this chain was then fastened to the safety hook. guards were frequently obliged to work very long hours, as it was usually the case that, on coaches running long distances, one of them would cover the ground driven over by four coachmen. in severe weather this was naturally very trying, consequently, they did not work every day. for instance, the "wonder," from shrewsbury to london, a distance of one hundred and fifty-four miles, had three guards, each of whom worked two double journeys and then rested for one. the object of these men going the whole journey no doubt was that there should be no break in the parcel department, which might have caused delay or loss. talking of the "wonder" reminds me that, fast as it travelled, the proprietors had intended doing better. the late mr. taylor, who horsed it out of shrewsbury, told me that it had been in contemplation to expedite it so as to perform the journey in thirteen hours instead of sixteen, and that, to enable this pace to be kept up, the stages would have been limited to six miles each, and the coach was not to stop to pick up passengers, or for any other business, except at the changes. this idea, however, was abandoned when it was seen that the railways would certainly obtain possession of the traffic. i question whether the public would have been satisfied with the proposed arrangement. they would have complained very much of being obliged to go two or three miles to get on to the coach when it passed their own doors. but really that part of the plan was hardly necessary. horsed as the "wonder" was, and travelling over such a first-rate road, it would not have puzzled it much to do twelve miles an hour; but then every stage exceeding seven miles must have been divided. some guards were quite natty with their parcels and luggage. i was one day, when driving the aberystwith and shrewsbury mail, amused with jem large, who was one of the guards on it at the time, and perhaps the best to get a coach through a country that i ever drove. he had, as usual, before leaving shrewsbury, packed the front boot so carefully that he could lay his hand upon everything in it even in the dark. when, however, the mail arrived at welshpool, it was found necessary to change the coach, and as jem was occupied with post-office business, he was unable to attend to the front boot, and, consequently, what he had placed at the top of one was promptly consigned to the bottom of the other. when we reached caersws a passenger left us, and jem opened the boot to take out his portmanteau; but what did he see? instead of what he wanted being at the top, it was now at the bottom, and with many groans and anathemas he began to dive in pursuit of it, and as he disappeared further and further the language which i heard from under my feet became more and more pointed, till at last it became quite unparliamentary, even for the present day. the situation of guard was a very responsible one also in a pecuniary point of view, as he had the power of defrauding his employer to a very considerable extent, and the temptation to do so was enhanced by the pace the coach travelled at; more especially was this the case when the opposition was keen, and i fear it was sometimes too strong to be resisted. to obviate this he always carried with him a "way-bill," and the theory was that it was compared by the book-keeper with the number of passengers on the coach at each stage. it often happened, however, that by the time the parcels had been given in and compared with the way-bill, the horses were changed and the coach was off again without the passengers having been counted, and thus having afforded opportunities for what was called "shouldering," that is, pocketing a passenger's fare, or "swallowing him," as it was sometimes denominated. everything had to be done at the "change," as there was no convenience for the guard to go over his parcels, as is done in a van on the railways. by the bye, i wonder what john ash would have thought of himself if he had got down from the back of the "wonder" with a pencil behind his ear? to a certain extent, what were termed "shorts" were allowed, as it was customary for all passengers' fares not exceeding two shillings to be the perquisite of the coachman and guard on coaches, and of the latter only on mails, as he was the servant of the proprietors, carrying the way-bill and having charge of the parcels. the post-office guard was occupied with his bags; but his was a rather anomalous position, receiving only the munificent sum of ten shillings and sixpence a week from the post-office, and being supposed to eke out a living by fees from the passengers, to whom he had little or no time to attend. of quite late years, however, this was corrected, and the few who were then employed were more liberally dealt with. they received as much as seventy pounds a year from the post-office; but then they were not supposed to take fees from the passengers, or, at any rate, not to ask for them. so much was this system of "shorts" an acknowledged thing, that i have had two shillings handed to me by the book-keeper as i was getting on to my box, with the following remark, "i took it from him, thinking he might fork out something more when he gets down." these perquisites, however, were not altogether untaxed, as coachmen were expected to subsidize the wages of the horse-keepers to the amount of one shilling a week, and sometimes more. talking of parcels brings to my mind a rather comical scene i once witnessed. it so happened that one day i came across one of the "tourist" coaches, running between caernarvon and dolgelly, which had pulled up at a wayside inn about thirteen miles from tan-y-bwlch. i was attracted by the coachman, whose name was, if i recollect rightly, roberts, intently studying the address on a small parcel. it evidently caused him great trouble to decipher it, as he first turned it up, and then he turned it down, but neither right side up nor wrong side up could he satisfy himself, and, at last, looking up and seeing me, he came for assistance out of his difficulties, saying he was not a very good scholar. when i looked at the address, i said, "you should have left this at tan-y-bwlch." "well, dear me," said he, "that was a bad job; indeed, it is doctor's stuff." chapter xvi. where did they all go to? having indicated to some extent the sources from which the great demand for coachmen were supplied, i will venture to dwell, for a moment, and not without feelings of regret, on the subject of their no less rapid disappearance from the scene. it will, i am aware, have little or no interest to many: well, then, let them skip it; but some there may be, into whose hands this little volume finds its way, who have sufficient remembrance of old days to be interested in it, and, at any rate, it shall not occupy much space. it is always a melancholy thing to see any class of men suddenly deprived of their means of subsistence from no fault of their own. it is very easy to say that if one trade fails another must be found, and to some political economists this appears to be a sufficient solution of the difficulty, but it by no means has that effect on the sufferers. a man who has thoroughly learned one handicraft, can very seldom become a proficient in any others; and it is always the inferior workmen who are left out in the cold. driving, like other trades, was not learned without much practice, and does not fit a man for any other business. where, then, did they vanish to? the guards could, and i believe did, to a large extent, find employment on the railways in the same capacity, and, probably, some coachmen also; but this could not absorb all, or, indeed, any very large proportion of them. his means of subsistence consisted in his power of driving horses. he could not drive a steam engine. it is difficult to say where they all dispersed to. a considerable number, no doubt, found employment upon omnibuses in london and other large towns; but that was a sorry life, indeed, like slavery compared to freedom, to one who had been accustomed to the cheery work on a coach. many of those who had had the good fortune to drive good paying coaches, and had been thrifty, invested their savings in inns, and, in some cases, in hotels of some importance. a few, some of whom i have previously mentioned, followed the receding tide, and obtained drives upon summer coaches. one who could horse a stage was pretty sure of getting a drive on one of them, as there was frequently some difficulty in finding people to cover the middle ground. some few took to farming, but i cannot call to mind anyone who prospered as an agriculturist. i fear the larger part died off rapidly. they were never a long-lived class of men. strange as it may sound, the natural healthiness of the employment tended to shorten their lives. the constant passing through the air promoted great appetites, which, for the most part were fully gratified, and this, together with insufficient exercise, produced disease. i have known some who took a good walk before or after the day's drive, who lived to a hale old age, but too many seemed to think that the driving was sufficient exercise, though it could only have been very bad teams that made it so; worse than were put to coaches of late years. joe wall, who drove the manchester "telegraph" out of london, used to take his exercise in a very aristocratic manner, as he always kept one, and sometimes two hunters, at hockliffe, where he left the coach, and enjoyed his love for sport, as well as getting healthy exercise, and occupying the time which would otherwise have hung heavy on his hands, and possibly might have led him into mischief. this, however, had its drawbacks, and, on one occasion, was very near leading to a difficulty of no small magnitude. he had, as usual, been out hunting, and had, unfortunately, experienced a bad fall, which incapacitated him from driving the return coach, and, at first, it seemed as if it could not find its way to london that evening, for it was not every one, even though he might call himself a coachman, who was capable of driving a coach at the pace at which the "telegraph" was timed, on a dark winter's evening, along a road crowded with so large a number of vehicles of all descriptions as would be the case on one approaching the metropolis. as good luck, however, would have it, an efficient substitute turned up in the shape of a very able and experienced hand, who had driven equally fast coaches. a few became horse-dealers, and i knew one who was for many years the highly-valued stud-groom to the late sir w. w. wynn, but, if i ever heard it, i have quite forgotten what coach it was that simpson drove. i believe he was a good coachman, but he had the misfortune, though by no fault of his own, to capsize the hound van, nearly killing that prince of huntsmen, john walker. i once knew a guard who had previously followed the occupation of clown in a circus. his experience there had made him active enough for anything, but he and the coachman did not, i fancy, get on very well together, as the latter used sometimes to speak of him in derision as "my fool." chapter xvii. some characters. there was a great character who drove out of machynlleth at that time. his name was david lloyd, and he worked the mail between that place and dolgelly round by towyn and the coast. when he came to a certain long fall of ground, he would put his team into a gallop, and then, taking a small twisted horn, which he slung in a strap over his shoulder, would blow almost without ceasing, especially when it was dusk, as was more or less the case during a considerable part of the year, and, as his right hand was fully occupied with the horn, if he wanted to take a pull at the reins he made use of his foot. it was dark for the greater part of the year before he reached the end of the journey, and, as his sight was not very good at night, he would sometimes say to his box passenger, "if you please, sir, will you tell me what is coming towards us." perhaps the passenger after looking, would say "a cart," to which david would reply, "then i was get out of his way;" but if the answer was "a gig," or "a carriage," he would say, "then he was get out of my way," and would keep straight on. dolgelly at that time contained a few boon companions, some of whom were rather given to practical joking. one morning there happened to be on the box seat one of these gentlemen, and when they had proceeded a few miles on the road, he pulled a pill-box out of his pocket and took some of the pills. upon seeing this, david said to him, "if you please, sir, what have you got there?" he replied, "only a few pills, which i find very beneficial after a hard night." "well, indeed," says david, "i had a rather heavy night; was you please give me some of them?" "all right," says he, "hold out your hand," when he poured several pills into it; and upon david asking how many he was to take, he said, "take them all," which he did; and the sequel was, that he drove his coach to machynlleth, but another man brought it back in the evening. for two summers, when i was driving the aberystwith and kington "cambrian," i had ben haslam as guard, who was also something of a character, and quite one of the old coachmen. he had driven for many years out of london on different coaches, and, like a good many others, had followed the receding tide, and had got down to herefordshire, where coaches lingered for several years, and then on to wales, where, at that time, railways had not penetrated. he was full of anecdotes connected with the road, and towards autumn, when the down loads were usually very light, i would sometimes get him to sit by me on the box that he might enliven the way with some of them. he had one story which amused me, of the only really crusty coachman i ever heard of. they were, as a rule, very cheery, genial spirits, and, indeed, had not much cause to be otherwise. there were few pleasanter lives. they were generally made a great deal of, indeed, perhaps rather too much so at times, although, as a body, they bore their honours becomingly. between the patronage they received from the gentlemen and the deference shown them by the horse-keepers and others, it is hardly to be wondered at if sometimes their heads were a little turned, and they became rather too big for their boots. there was a story told of one, who was rather cheeky, giving great offence to a parson, who was his box passenger, by saying that he was not going to drive the next day, but should send his curate. they were, however, not very unfrequently taken down a peg by a lick from the rough side of a crusty proprietor's tongue; but on the whole, they were, as tony weller said, "priviledged indiwiduals." but to return to the crusty coachman. his name was spooner, and he drove out of oxford, and, though often causing trouble with the passengers by his want of urbanity, he was too valuable a servant to get rid of. as was not so very unusual with him, he had been lately called to account for some want of civility to a passenger, whereupon he announced his determination never to speak to one of them again, and he kept his word, till one day, a gentleman who was going to travel by his coach, asked him some question, but after repeating it several times and eliciting no reply, turned to the proprietor, who was in the office, saying, "your coachman is so surly, he won't answer a single question i put to him." the proprietor asked him what he meant by not answering the gentleman, to which he replied, "if i do speak to him he will only complain, like that other fool did the other day." on another occasion his whole coach was occupied by musicians, coming to play at a ball at oxford, and, as he did not expect very good pay from them, he was not in the best of tempers. it happened that at the last change of horses before arriving at oxford, a boy, who had been sent with a fresh horse, was returning by the coach, and, as every seat was occupied, he sat upon the footboard by the bandmaster's feet, and after they had gone a short distance, pulled a jew's harp out of his pocket and began to play upon it. upon this the bandmaster asked the boy to allow him to try what he could do with it, saying, "he could play a good many instruments, but had never tried a jew's harp." the new instrument proved too much for him, whereupon old spooner looked at him with scorn and contempt, and said, "you are a pretty sort of a man for a bandmaster, and cannot play a jew's harp." he also narrated how, when the great western railway was opened over only certain lengths, and coaches were employed over the other ground, some of those were conveyed certain distances on trucks, and the coachmen travelled in their respective coaches. of course they did not overflow with affection for their rivals, and the way they tried to annoy them was by getting out of their coaches and applying the breaks to the wheels of the trucks. this reminds me of how very slow all those connected with coaches, as also those who took a warm interest in them, were to realize the fact that their occupation was fast leaving them, and that the railways would, before many years, have entirely superseded the old system of travelling. we were not, however, the only people who were somewhat sceptical on the subject, though with us, no doubt, the wish was father to the thought; but the _times_ newspaper, whilst admitting the financial success of the liverpool and manchester railway, warned investors against speculative imitation, saying, "where there are good roads and convenient coaches, it would be a mistake to alter existing arrangements." every little failure of the railways raised our spirits and gave strength to the hope that they would fail, as all attempts to utilize steam upon ordinary roads had hitherto done. at first, they were unable to keep time in frosty weather, as the driving-wheels kept turning round and round on the same spot of the slippery rail. in the beginning of january, in the year , i was travelling down to shrewsbury by the holyhead mail. it was the first night of the long frost and snow-up of that winter, which continued for two months, and the roads were so much blocked up with snow, that for a few days the coachmen and guards held a sort of wake at dunchurch. on the night i travelled down the frost set in exceedingly sharp, and the only up mail that kept time was the holyhead, which had come by road the whole distance through north wales. the other mails, whose bags had been brought to birmingham by what was then called the grand junction railway, were after time, as the trains could make but slow progress on the slippery rails. the coachman and i, two silly creatures as we were, made ourselves happy with the conviction that railways must always be a failure for fast work, and that the coaching business was not in such great danger after all. no doubt this opinion was entertained by a good many others, and led to losses, by inducing some coach proprietors to oppose the railways instead of coming to terms with them. it was on this journey, if i recollect rightly, that i had my last experience of that conveyance, long since quite lost to sight, and now nearly so to memory, that perhaps i may be pardoned if i linger for a few moments to raise it, or its ghost, before the eyes of the present generation, especially as i have seen some not very accurate descriptions of them. the old hackney coach, though frousty and damp, was generally roomy and easy, as it had nearly always commenced its career in gentlemen's service, and had consequently been built by one of the best coachmakers of the day, and so far was decidedly better than the modern "bounder." it carried about it a character of decayed respectability, not to say grandeur, and upon entering one of them it was not impossible for a gentleman to be greeted by his own quarterings upon the panel. they were as ramshackling looking things as could be imagined, with occasionally, wheels of different colours, and the horses and coachman, together with his clothes, seemed made to match. but to return to coaches proper again: one called the "dart" used to run between oxford and london, driven by a coachman who was commonly known by the name of "black will;" and one fine morning the box seat was occupied by an oxford don, who thought he would enjoy the air on his journey. after they had gone a short distance he addressed our friend black will, saying, "are you the coachman they call black will?" his answer was, "blackguards call me black will, but gentlemen call me mr. walters." it is needless to say that this shut up the don for the remainder of the journey. dick dicas drove the "cambrian" between llangollen and dolgelly for several years, and one day it so happened that among the outside passengers there was a ventriloquist. as they drove along the road a man was seen walking leisurely across a field in the direction of the coach, when the ventriloquist threw his voice so as to make it appear that he was calling to it to stop. of course, dick pulled up, thinking he had got another passenger; but as he did not quicken his pace, he began to get impatient, for he was not a job under any circumstances, and called out to him to "come on," and "do you suppose i can wait here all day for you?" at last, as he approached nearer, he said, "what do you want with me?" when friend dick answered, "why, you called me to stop." "i did nothing of the sort," replied the man in the field. "i tell you you did," said dick, waxing warmer. "well, i'm not coming with you, anyhow," said the leisurely man; whereupon there was nothing left for dick to do but to drive on, not in the best of tempers, as may be supposed. whether he ever knew of the trick played upon him i do not remember to have heard, but if he did find it out in time, i suspect he made it hot for the ventriloquist. at one time cambridge could boast of a clever poet as a coachman. tom cross was his name, and he drove the lynn coach from the "golden cross," charing cross. he wrote "the conflagration of rome," and "paul before nero," and some wags among the undergraduates said the idea was given him by the fat from the bacon he was frying in the garret igniting. but be that as it may, they were very clever compositions. i fancy it was this man who published the first book on coaching which has appeared in print. chapter xviii. monotony. i have sometimes been asked if i did not find it very monotonous to be always travelling the same road day after day. some might have found it so, but i never did. there was never wanting something to break through the monotony. one was brought into contact with fresh passengers every journey, and constantly some fresh incident arose. indeed, on many roads the scenery alone would beguile the time. in leafy england there are few roads on which there is not something to admire even if other parts are devoid of attraction, and with the real lover of scenery, the eye does not easily tire of looking at the same picture. i must admit that i have been especially favoured in this respect, as my drives lay through some of the most lovely scenery in wales, notably the valley of the mawddach, so eulogistically spoken of by the late judge talfourd; and also the magnificent scenery of snowdonia. i can never forget the remarkable reflection in the water with which i was once favoured at port madoc, on the down journey from caernarvon to aberystwith. as we passed over the embankment and bridge, which at that place unite the counties of caernarvon and merioneth, the whole of the mountain range for many miles round, including snowdon and the remarkable peak-shaped cnicht, together with many other mountains, whose names i cannot now call to mind, were reflected in the clear water of the estuary, which was then at full tide, as clearly as they could have been in a mirror. it was a sight not to be erased from memory. then, again, he was a fortunate man who drove seventy or eighty miles a day, who had no horse to deal with which would not pretty effectually banish _ennui_ for one stage. again, the coach was the bringer of the news of the day, and, moreover, never stayed long enough in one place but that it was always "welcome in and welcome out," and this brings to my mind a rather amusing incident--at least, it was good fun to one side--which occurred at a contested election a good many years ago. on the occasion of a warmly-contested election for montgomeryshire, in the year , i had been to welshpool to vote for my friend mr. c. w. w. wynn, and when, on my down journey, i arrived at machynlleth, there being no electric telegraph, great anxiety was felt to know the state of the poll. this i gave them as far as it was known when i left welshpool, but the returns from some of the strongest conservative districts not having then been received, it was very far from perfection. however, it being favourable to the other side, they jumped at it, and it was not my business to undeceive them; so in their flush of confidence and the height of their happiness, they backed their man freely. the next morning, when i returned with my up coach, the final result of the poll was known, which was in favour of the conservatives, and they had only to pay and look pleased, which, to their credit, i believe they did very good-humouredly. i think i have now shown that if there is monotony in always driving the same road, it may, at any rate, be monotony with variations, and a strong opposition at once scattered it all to the winds, as one day one would be in front, and on another the other one. night driving had always a strong fascination for me. the sensation of always, as it were, driving into darkness, not knowing what would appear next, kept up the zest of the thing. i do not mean to say that i was in love with poking along in a dark night with only two indifferent lamps; but having time to keep, and plenty of light, i did enjoy. no fast coach could be said to be efficiently lighted without five lamps--two on each side and one under the footboard. the best lamps for throwing a strong light forward which i ever used, were made by messrs. kay and johnson, of edinburgh. they were what were designated "argand burners," and being constructed strong and without unnecessary ornament, were sold to stage coachmen for four pounds ten shillings the pair. as they only threw their light nearly straight ahead, they required to be supplemented, except upon very wide, good roads, by other lamps placed lower down on the coach, which threw a strong light to the side; and with them, and one under the footboard, if there were no fog, the darkest night could be set at defiance. i always-used the best sperm oil, as i found that colza oil had a tendency to become thick from the shaking of the coach, which caused the brightness of the light to become dimmed. at night, also, a coachman must depend upon his hands to tell him how his horses are working, and as he may never see some of the teams by daylight at all, his left hand is all he has got to rely upon to inform him how the horse-keepers are doing their duty by the stock, and whether they are doing well or not. chapter xix. tandem. i have never been very much of a tandem driver, for having been entered upon stage coaches, and driven them for a good many hundred miles before getting hold of a tandem, i must confess i rather looked down upon it, and regarded it somewhat in the light of a toy. the first time of my embarking in one i felt like the proverbial tin kettle to the dog's tail. there was no weight behind the horses to bring them to their collars, and they appeared to be almost drawing by my hands, like the yankee trotters. of course, that sensation went off after a little practice, and, though it is a team that requires careful handling, it is one exceedingly well adapted for heavy roads, as there is great strength of horse power in proportion to the load which is usually placed behind them. this not only enables one to ascend steep hills with ease, but also greatly facilitates the descent, as it is almost impossible to place a sufficient load upon only two wheels to overpower the shaft horse. it was in the act of descending hills that most coach accidents happened, by the load overpowering the wheel horses; and, of course, the load on a tandem cart can never be top heavy, which was another fertile source of accidents to coaches. when i first tried my hand at tandem i was quartered at chatham, and being cut off from the coaches i had been accustomed to drive, my hands itched for the double reins, and i condescended to the hitherto despised tandem; but upon my first attempt, i soon found myself brought up with the leader on one side a small tree and the wheeler on the other. rather a humiliating position for one who thought himself a coachman! at that time, however, i little realized how much practice is required to master the science of driving, though i must confess that something short of that ought to have kept me clear of the tree. this brings to my recollection a scene which occurred during the time i was quartered in that garrison, which throws some light on the manners and customs of military life half a century ago. it so happened, as also occurred to mr. pickwick and his friends on another occasion, that a ball was held at the assembly rooms in rochester, and a good sprinkling of officers from the barracks were present, among which i counted one. when the small hours of the morning were reached, and it was time to return home, another officer and i, each in full uniform, jumped on the boxes of two of what were then termed "dicky chaises," and raced nearly as fast as the old screws could gallop along the streets of rochester and chatham up to the barracks; and upon our arriving there the gates were thrown open, and we did not finish our race till we reached the officers' quarters. it was, however, in the australian colonies that i did most of my tandem driving, and as the roads in those new countries were often, to say the least of it, imperfectly made, and houses were few and far between, causing a journey of sixty or seventy miles in the day to be sometimes necessary, i found it a team by no means to be despised. it was early in the year of that i landed at hobart town (now abbreviated to hobart), from the good ship "layton," of five hundred tons burden, after a voyage of nearly five months, which had brought out four hundred convicts, who were in those days sent out under a small military guard; and it was not long after finding myself on terra firma before the old craving took possession of me, nor long after that before it was gratified, as already a good foundation had been laid. a dear old brother officer, many years dead, who had gone out with a previous guard, had had a tandem cart built; and he also supplied leader and harness, i finding wheeler and coachman, as he did not care for driving; so i think i had the best of it. however, both were satisfied, which is not always the case. in that lovely island, then called van diemen's land, but now tasmania, there were many miles of roads as good as any to be found in england, constructed by convict labour, and admirably engineered over the hills. indeed, the greater part of the one hundred and twenty miles between hobart and launceston was good enough for almost any pace, as i can vouch for from having driven the whole distance both ways. i was not, however, allowed to remain in that delightful island for long, but was sent away with a detachment of two companies to the colony then called swan river, but now changed to west australia; and there we bid adieu to roads such as are generally understood by that word. all that was ever done there at that time was to cut off the trees, when they were in great numbers, about a foot from the ground; so anyone may imagine how the horses stumbled over one stump and the wheels bounded over another. in other places, where the trees were few and the bush thin, nothing was done unless it were what was called "blazing," which consisted of cutting off a piece of bark from some of the trees to indicate what was meant to be a road; but in many parts nothing at all had been done, and the traveller had nothing to show him the road except a few wheel marks, and was obliged to thread his way between the trees as best he could. even in the settlements there was no attempt at macadam. these were just the circumstances to show off a tandem to the best advantage and for finding out its merits, which i soon had an opportunity of doing, as an agricultural gathering was to be held at a place called york, about eighty miles from the capital, perth, where we were quartered. my old friend and i determined to make a start for the scene of festivity. the tandem cart, which had come with us, was looked over, and the harness rubbed up; but the difficulty was how to get horsed, as we had none of our own at that time. however, without very much trouble we engaged two of some sort, though one of them turned out to be as much plague as profit, as the sequel will show. he was in the lead, and for a good while we were quite unable to make him budge an inch in the right direction. at last we saddled him, and my companion mounting, armed with a good stick, began to lay about him so vigorously that the brute made off fast enough; but his rider was so intent on keeping him moving that he quite forgot to look what direction he was going in, and led the way off the road into the bush, though, indeed, there was little difference between them. i was almost falling off my box from laughter, much less was i able to make myself heard to recall him into the road. at last, however, the direction was changed and the road regained, but i don't think i have ever laughed so much before or since, so ridiculous was the scene. well, we managed to get as far as the first settlement on the road, about ten miles, where a good many others, all riding, had collected from different parts, and were bound to the same destination; and here we met with a good samaritan indeed, in the shape of a friend who had settled in the colony, and was riding a very nice quiet mare, which he most kindly exchanged with us for our leader. the only drawback to this arrangement was that she was followed by a foal at her heels, which every now and then would pass between the leader and wheeler, and it was as much as i could do to avoid injuring it. we travelled pretty comfortably, however, in this manner for a good many miles till it became dark, when it was necessary to light the lamps, as there remained some miles to be covered before arriving at the end of the day's journey; the delay at starting having thrown us behind time. if it was difficult to thread the way among the stumps and avoid running over the foal in the daylight, i leave the reader to judge what it was after dark; sufficient to say that we jumped and bumped first over one stump and then over another, the horses continually blundering over them as well. however, all's well that ends well, and we reached the journey's end at last for that day. a solitary hostelry it was in the midst of the bush, miles distant from any other habitation, generally little used, but on the present occasion full to overflowing. as we approached the house in the dark, voices as of quarrelling reached our ears, for it so happened that a certain naval officer, who was not usually given to falling out, but who, like many others of his craft, was safer "aloft" than on a horse's back, had just ridden up at a sharp pace to the house, and the landlord, appearing at the door with a light at the same moment, made the horse stop short, which caused the rider to be deposited on the ground, and he, thinking it had been done intentionally, was very wrathful; mine host, also becoming heated, made use of the words that had caught my ears as i drove up, which were, "if the gentleman wants a game of fives, i am his man." after a few minutes, however, peacemakers appeared upon the scene, explanations took place, and harmony was restored. the house was so crowded that none but those who had taken the precaution to bespeak beds beforehand could get them, and, of those, i will not venture to say how many slept in the same one. the rest of us had to deposit our carcases where we could, and i got possession of a sofa, in what i suppose must be called the coffee-room, where i lay down and went to sleep, but only for a very short time, as the bugs, the most voracious i ever met with, nearly pulled me off it. i then tried the floor, but with, if possible, worse results, so, like the man in the song of the "cork leg," "i soon got up and was off again." by this time i had had enough of the inside of the house, and therefore betook myself out of it, where i found some natives in their small tents made of bark, and gathering some wood and getting a light from them, i soon had a fire, and lying down by it, with the driving cushion for a pillow, passed the rest of the night in peace and comfort. probably by this time a railway has been constructed through this country, and for all i know a grand company hotel may have taken the place of the old "half-way house" in the bush. these said natives always went about in those days, and probably do now--though perhaps civilization and bryant and may may have rendered it unnecessary--well provided with a light; and it was the usual thing, when meeting them in the bush, to see one or two women carrying what was termed a fire stick, which consisted of two pieces of bark placed together, and of such a nature that it kept alight for a considerable length of time; nor, indeed, to anyone who had witnessed the labour it was to them to strike a light in their primitive fashion, would this carefulness of the household fire excite any wonder. i will endeavour to explain how they did it. as was my frequent custom, i was passing a few days in the bush, hunting kangaroos, and the first evening upon arriving at our camping ground, we told the native, who was accompanying us as guide, that he must strike a light, but he replied, "no, white fellow make fire." we said, "black fellow have no fire to-night if he no make it;" and after a good deal of persuasion he was prevailed upon to set to work, which he did in the following manner:-- first, he cut a sort of reed which grew upon a shrub, which went by the name of the black boy, bringing one end to a point. he then got a flat piece of stick, about a foot in length, in the middle of which he made a small hole, just large enough to hold the pointed end of the reed. then after heaping a small quantity of the dryest old leaves he could find upon the flat stick, he inserted the point of the reed into the hole in it in an upright position, then holding the stick firm by sitting down and putting his feet upon it, he commenced to rub the reed backwards and forwards between his hands so energetically that in the space of about ten minutes or less, some smoke made its appearance, which was very soon followed by fire. it was certainly an ingenious way of striking a light, but decidedly laborious, and very primitive even in comparison with the old tinder-box and matches, which i can recollect as the only means the _civilized_ world had of obtaining a light. like other savages living in fine climates, where food could be obtained with little labour, they were naturally indolent, of which i had an amusing instance on one occasion. i was walking one very hot summer clay along what, by courtesy, was called a street in perth, which--though laid out with the view of being at some future time, and now probably is, a wide and handsome thoroughfare--consisted at that time of deep sand, when, from a native sitting basking in the sunshine on the opposite side, i was accosted in a plaintive tone with the words, "white fellow, money give it 'em." i pulled some small coin out of my pocket, and held it out in my hand for him to fetch, but instead of exerting himself to get up, he said, "oh, white fellow bring it 'em." after this length of time i cannot charge my memory with what the result was, but suppose he had to fetch it. it is much to the credit of the settlers in this colony that these children of nature had, at that time, and i dare say it is the same now, been always kindly treated, and so far from the advent of the white man being the signal for the diminution of the dusky one, the aborigines, in some parts of the colony at the time i am speaking of, were actually increasing in numbers. especially was this the case with the tribe which lived round perth, and it was accounted for in this way. they had a rough and ready way of maintaining the balance of power among themselves, which was that upon the death of a man in one tribe, one of his relations speared one belonging to some other adjoining tribe to keep the balance even, and as what was called the perth tribe was supposed to be under the protection of the whites, they were left pretty much unmolested in this way. though averse to anything like labour, some of them made fairly good shepherds, but the same man was not allowed by his tribe to work continuously. i heard of a case in which one man regularly served a settler in the capacity of shepherd for six months in the year; that is to say, he worked for three months, after which he went away for the same length of time, sending another to fill his place; at the expiration of which time he returned to his charge for another three months. if he had taken service permanently, his tribe would have speared him, so jealous were they of their liberty, and, like many others better instructed, rejecting the good things within their reach. i have made a long digression, which i hope has not wearied the reader, and it is time to return to the solitary hostelry in the bush, which was the only one at that time where any accommodation could be obtained for the whole journey between perth and york. at an early hour of the morning all the guests at the "half-way house" were astir, comparing notes of their nocturnal experiences, and getting breakfast; and when in due time a start was effected, there was a goodly cavalcade, we two being the only ones on wheels. riding is the universal mode of traversing the bush. at the "half-way house" we had met with the man from whom we had hired our horses, and he changed with us, giving us the one he was riding, so that we were enabled to return the mare and foal to our kind benefactor, and we reached our destination the same day without any further adventures. we had been kindly asked to stay at the house of a settler close to the settlement for two or three days, and he received us with that true and genuine hospitality which so universally distinguished the residents in all parts of australia, and nowhere more than in the colony i am now writing about. of course, the accommodation they could offer was not particularly commodious, but the welcome was warm, and nothing that could be obtained, and no trouble that could be taken, were considered too much to make the guests comfortable. though accommodation was always made in the house for the guests, there were sometimes no stables, and the horses were obliged to be tethered in the bush near the house, and, consequently, no one ever thought of going from home without having a tether rope coiled round his horse's neck. of course, in so sparsely populated a district, houses were few and far between, and, consequently, there was but little society, though a matter of twenty miles or so would not deter one resident from visiting another; and as news was scarce in these backwoods, anyone coming from the more accessible parts, and therefore a bearer of news, especially if it emanated from the "old country," was very acceptable. as i remarked before, however, occasionally, at the less busy times of the year, one settler would ride over to pay a visit to a neighbour fifteen or twenty miles distant, and having arrived at his destination, after removing the saddle and bridle, and tethering his horse, would offer himself at the house, where he was certain of finding a hearty welcome. there was a story told of one having done this who, after enjoying himself till well on in the night, and having been rather powerfully refreshed, thinking it time to return home, replaced the saddle and bridle upon his horse, but forgot all about the tether rope, and, consequently, continued riding round and round in a circle, whilst he most complacently thought he was pursuing his homeward journey. after partaking of our good friend's hospitality for two or three days, we retraced our steps to perth, without anything occurring worthy of note; but fully convinced, by experience, of the peculiar adaptability of tandem for travelling over bush roads. it would hardly be possible to use a four-wheel carriage under such circumstances. in those out-of-the-way places people cannot be very particular, and are obliged to improvise things as best they can. on one occasion, when visiting a friend in the bush, i came across two others, who were driving an unusual team. i can only designate it as an "inverted pick-axe." it consisted of a horse, as usual, in the shafts of a dog-cart, with two abreast in front of him. upon remarking on the peculiarity of the turn-out, and asking how it answered, i was told that the team was not very handy. the cause of this did not require much time to discover, for there were no coupling reins to the leaders, who were only kept together, like g o horses in a plough, by a single strap. with the help of some strong string i rigged out coupling reins, and they went on their way rejoicing. the danger commonly alleged against tandem is that the leader can turn round and face you. i never had this happen to me, but fancy it is little to be dreaded if the coachman will not loose his thong, but keep it caught up ready to administer a good dose of double thong over the horse's face as soon as he comes within reach. if worst comes to worst, however, a two-wheeled conveyance is able to turn on its own ground, and follow the horses, even if it is in the wrong direction. chapter xx. the convict ship. in the last chapter the reader was casually introduced to a convict ship, and as it is now about half a century since they became obsolete, it may not be altogether without interest to some readers to have a short account of them from one who can say _quorum pars fui_. i will therefore venture upon a short digression, which, though it introduces a subject foreign to the one which this little book professes to treat upon, nevertheless may yet bring a coach upon the stage when least expected. probably to the mind of some readers the very name of a convict ship will conjure up all sorts of horrors, culminating in a surprise, the capture of the ship by the convicts, and in all who resisted them being thrown overboard. well, at any rate, no such thing occurred on board the "layton," nor did it ever on board any vessel carrying male convicts; though i have heard that such a thing did happen once to one conveying women, which having no military guard on board, the crew intrigued with the prisoners and carried the ship into some port on the south american coast. the convicts were under the immediate charge of a naval surgeon, and, as i have already mentioned in the last chapter, he was supported by a small military guard. when first brought on board every man had irons on his legs, but upon the ship getting to sea, these were gradually knocked off as the surgeon considered could be done with safety. one-third of the guard were always on duty on the poop of the ship, with their muskets (it was in the time of old "brown bess," with flint locks) loaded, and placed in a rack ready to hand; and to prevent any sudden rush to attack them, a strong wooden barricade was erected just abaft the mainmast, about seven feet high, with no opening through it except a small, low door in each gangway, just large enough to admit of one person passing through in a stooping posture. with very few exceptions, the convicts gave no trouble. they had a saying among themselves that they were patriots, who left their country for their country's good; and an opportunity occurred during the voyage for some of them to do good service, which greatly improved their condition upon landing. as is not very unfrequently the case in that latitude, when off the cape de verd islands, the ship was caught in a violent squall, when the chief mate, who was in charge of the deck, "luffed up," and had commenced to take in sail, till the skipper appeared on the scene, who, without giving himself sufficient time to consider, immediately put the ship before the wind. by this action the sails, which were being reefed, were refilled suddenly, with the result of several of the masts and spars being carried away; and the saddest thing was that several of the crew, who were aloft at the time, went overboard with the rigging, and three poor fellows were drowned, notwithstanding all that could be done to save them. i believe sailors recognize two ways of acting under these circumstances: the one what the mate did, to reduce sail; the other what the captain did, to run before the wind. as a land-lubber, i give no opinion between them; but a mixture of the two cannot help being fatal, as was the case with us. never shall i forget the crash, crash, crash, of the falling masts. if, however, the skipper made a mistake this time, he showed himself quite equal to the occasion at a subsequent period of the voyage. he and i were pacing the poop together, when suddenly the cabin-boy came up and whispered something to him which i did not catch, but which had the effect of making him scuttle at double-quick time. in about a quarter of an hour he returned, saying, "what do you think i was wanted for?" of course, i answered, "i do not know." "why," he replied, "they had set fire to a cask of spirits in the lazaret." "what on earth did you do?" i said. "well," says he, "i sat upon the bunghole." this move on his part had the effect of excluding the air, and, consequently, of extinguishing the fire. it was a quick, smart thing to do, and saved what would have been an awful catastrophe--a ship on fire at sea, with about five hundred souls on board, and not boat accommodation enough for one hundred. at the end of nearly a five months' voyage we found ourselves sailing up the beautiful storm bay, and never did land appear so lovely to my eyes before. the anchor was soon let down in the river derwent, and the convict ship lay with her living freight off hobart town. it is wonderful how time passes on board ship where there is nothing to mark it, and in this case the only break we had to the daily routine was occasional tiffs between the surgeon and the skipper. the former was anxious to get to the end of the voyage as quickly as possible, as he received ten shillings a head for all the prisoners that landed alive, and was sorely put out when every effort was not made to keep the old tub moving. the skipper, on the other hand, being paid by the month, preferred his comfort, and was fond of making all snug for the night in rough weather, and turning in, whilst we soldiers looked on with patience, if not contentment, for, as was the usual custom, we had received an advance of four months' pay upon leaving england, and didn't much care about landing till some more had become due. it is poor fun to go on shore with an empty pocket. i believe it was unfortunate for the convicts that the system of transportation was obliged to be abandoned, as any of them in those new countries were able to return to an honest life if they really chose to do so, which, in an old and thickly populated country like england, is a very difficult thing to do. at the time i am writing about, the system of assigned servants was in practice, and though it was liable to much abuse, and was largely abused, still it had this advantage, that it admitted of their return to ordinary life long before their sentences had expired. the system though, as i think, good in itself was shamefully administered, especially in the earliest years of the colony. at that time any free man or woman who had settled in the colony was not only entitled to a convict servant or servants, but could have any prisoner they liked, and this naturally led to the grossest abuses, of which the following is an example:-- some men in england managed to find out that on a certain night, one of the mail coaches (and here comes in the coach) was to carry a large amount of bullion, which they concluded would be placed in the front boot of the coach, as the safest place, and in this they were not disappointed. they then secured the four inside places for that night, and whilst on the journey set to work to make a way into the boot and abstract the coin. upon arriving at the end of the journey they immediately handed this over to their wives, who were in readiness to receive it, and straightway made off with it. the men were taken up, tried and convicted of the robbery, and sentenced to transportation. soon after they landed in the new country they were assigned to their respective wives as servants, and, as is said in the children's story books, "lived very happily ever after." such a glaring case as this of course could hardly occur a second time, but sufficient care was never taken to see that convicts were only assigned to those masters whose character and position warranted it. at last, like many other things, good in themselves, it was abandoned altogether, instead of the trouble being taken to administer it properly. there was one institution i must mention connected with convict life, as i suppose it was quite peculiar to van diemen's land. a penal settlement was established for those who committed offences after their arrival in the colony, situated on a small peninsula called port arthur, and separated from the mainland by a very narrow isthmus. across this, called eagle hawk neck, there was placed a line of savage dogs, each one chained to a kennel with just sufficient length of chain to prevent anyone passing through the cordon without being seized, and at the same time short enough to prevent the dogs fighting each other.[ ] [ ] two works giving a vivid picture of convict life in australia have appeared--_the broad arrow_, and _for the term of his natural life_, by the late marcus clarke. what strides have been made since then! whether greater by sea or land appears doubtful; but one thing is certain--that the last forty years has produced more change on both elements than the previous hundred. in the year captain cook started on his voyage of discovery in a vessel of four hundred and sixty tons--about the same size as those that were in use at the time i have treated of; and i need not remind the reader of the immense growth in the size of ships since then. the time consumed in going from one part of the world to another has also been altered in a no less remarkable manner. if to those who, at the present day, would shrink from trusting their lives and comforts for a long voyage to any vessel of less than three or four thousand tons, a ship of only five hundred tons, such as i have already mentioned, seems uncomfortable, if not hazardous, what will they say when i mention that the vessel on board of which i returned to england measured only two hundred and eight tons--probably about the same size as the largest boat carried on board some of the leviathan steamers of the present day. but, however hazardous they may think it, i believe that so far from any extra danger being incurred from sailing in these small ships, it was not only as safe, but, judging from the accounts we read of the damage sustained by these monsters of the deep in heavy weather, the balance may be in favour of the smaller craft. they were so buoyant that they rose with the waves instead of going through them, and, like the little "eudora," in which i made the homeward voyage, were like a duck upon the water. in my own case, the small size of the ship had a special advantage, as i was allowed to take the wheel whenever i liked, which could hardly have been the case in a large one; and really the steering her over the grand waves in the pacific and atlantic oceans in half a gale of wind was not very much inferior to driving a racing coach. one day, however, i was let in for rather more than i bargained for. it was blowing an increasingly heavy gale off cape horn, such as it knows how to blow in that part of the world in winter, and the hands were all aloft taking in sail, when the skipper turned to me and said, "i wish you would take the wheel and send the man forward, as i want more strength aloft." thus the whole crew were in the rigging, and if by any mistake i had allowed the sail they were reefing to fill, they must have been carried overboard with it. it may seem rather a happy-go-lucky way of sending a ship to sea, for the crew to be so short-handed as to make it necessary to call in the aid of a passenger in such an emergency, but those were the "pre-plimsoll days," and before ships' masters and other officers were subjected to examinations. in one ship on board which i sailed, the owner was overheard to say to a friend who had accompanied him on board, "with such a captain and such a mate, i only wonder the ship ever comes home safe again." if we return to the other element we shall see that though improvements had taken place, to some extent, as early as the beginning of this century, still little had been effected before the year . from that date great improvements were made in everything connected with road travelling, so much so, that we in england congratulated ourselves that it had pretty well arrived at perfection, when, lo and behold! a new power asserted itself, and produced such a metamorphosis that few persons not exceeding fifty years of age have ever taken a long road journey in their lives. road travelling is as much a thing of the past as "pigtails," and if it were not for the few coaches running in the summer from hatchett's and other places in london, the shape of such a thing would be forgotten by most people. as it is, those give but a slight notion of what a long coach used to look like when commencing its journey of or miles. it would be looked upon as a curiosity if one was placed in the baker street bazaar, or some other suitable site, loaded as they used to be. probably there are not twenty of us now living who have put one of these loads on with our own hands, or would have any idea of how to build it up. [illustration: the extra coach at christmas.] the loads, especially about christmas, on the night coaches used to be "prodigious," as dominie samson would have said. an inexperienced eye would almost expect the coach to collapse under them when the load was of such dimensions that the ordinary luggage strap was not long enough to span the pile, but had to be supplemented with what was called a lengthening strap, which consisted of a strap about four feet long, with a buckle at one end, and the whole length perforated with holes. nothing saved them but their admirable construction, which combined the greatest strength with moderate weight; those built to carry the heaviest loads seldom exceeding a ton or twenty-two hundredweight, and the perch being short was favourable to draught. for a great many years they were nearly all perch coaches, as it was pretty well the universal opinion that under-spring coaches were not so steady or well calculated for heavy loads and high speed. this opinion, however, was in later years considerably modified, and most coachmen that i was acquainted with had arrived at a conclusion favourable to the under-spring build. i can say this for them, that the fastest work i ever did was on one of them, and also that the heaviest load i ever drove was on another of that description; and i cannot but "speak well of the bridges which carried me safe over," for they performed their journeys admirably. they certainly possess the advantage of weighing two or three hundredweight less, and, from the splinter-bar being higher, the line of draught from the wheel horses' collars to the roller bolts is straighter. though they are lighter, they lose nothing in strength when originally so constructed; but i would not recommend anyone to convert a perch coach, as i once did so with the result that the front boot came away from the body. chapter xxi. driving. those who aspire to distinction on the coach box now-a-days, are deprived of two great helps, perhaps the two greatest helps, which were enjoyed by their predecessors--i mean example and practice. as a lad i always, when travelling, got the box seat, if possible, and never took my eyes off the coachman's hands; the consequence was that when i became old enough to be trusted with the ribbons, i naturally fell into the form which i had noticed in them, and then followed the second help, which was the opportunity of driving sixty to eighty miles a day. "easy the lesson of the youthful train, when instinct prompts and when example guides." it is very difficult to explain clearly the motions of the hands in shooting or fishing, and it is no easier to do so in driving. a few hours of careful observation are of more value to a beginner than a great deal of instruction. if he starts in a bad form it is long odds against his ever getting out of it. i have heard opinions broached by young men of the present day which would not have found favour fifty years ago, and, though i will not venture to say that no changes have taken place for the better since then, i would call to mind the fact, that as driving was then the real business of life to thousands, and that coachmen at that time had a much more extensive practice than can be obtained now, the presumption is that they were likely to have found out the right way to go to work. indeed, there were _artists_ in those days--men who would drive any brute that could be harnessed, and could get any load through the country at almost any pace and in all weathers, by night or day. but before going further on this subject, perhaps it will be better to lay a foundation. before horses can be driven satisfactorily they must be properly put together, and to this end everyone who aspires to be a coachman should have a practical knowledge of how his team should be harnessed and "put to the coach." it has been truly remarked that horses well put together are half driven. now, first, for a few faults, one of the greatest of which, and one not very uncommon, is to have the pole chains too slack. if they are hooked so that there is no strain upon them when the traces are tight, they are slack enough, and more than that is bad, as it takes away the power of the horses over the coach and of the coachman over the horses, and has oftener than generally supposed been the cause of a kicking bout, as i have endeavoured to show in a previous chapter. the london "'bus men" do have their pole chains very slack, and they are right, because their horses are continually falling upon the slippery streets, and it gives them room to struggle and get up again with little danger of breaking the pole; but this does not apply to road work, and there, if the pace is very fast, it is dangerous from its tendency to make the coach rock. i am always puzzled when i see coachmen driving with the present fashion of long coupling reins. what good can they see in them? here again the 'bus men, who i suppose set the example, have reason on their side. they sometimes require to alter a coupling rein on the journey, and, from being able to reach the buckle from their seat, can do so at any stopping, without help from the conductor, who is engaged with the passengers; but this can never be necessary with a gentleman's drag or a coach. in the one case there is the groom, and in the other, the guard, to do what is required--that is to say, in the latter case, if there is time to do anything at all, for i recollect on one occasion having to drive an eleven mile stage in an hour, when the horsekeeper had carelessly reversed the reins by putting the leading draught one's inside and the coupling reins outside, but the pace was too good to alter. it appears to me that the long coupling reins only add to the weight, which is necessarily considerable, without conferring any benefit, and, indeed, when, as i have seen them, they are so long that the buckle touches the left hand, they can hardly be unattended with danger. when i first learned driving scarcely anyone thought of going without bearing reins, they were considered by all, except a few who were looked upon as innovators, to be as necessary as the traces. their utility, however, soon began to be questioned, and they rapidly came into disuse in the coaches, and no doubt horses do work easier to themselves without them, especially with heavy loads and fast pace. still they are of use occasionally, and i have employed a slack one to the cheek of the bit when a horse has a trick of throwing out his head and snatching at his reins, and so making it impossible to prevent his rein slipping through the fingers, which should never occur. i believe that bearing reins may also be useful, and indeed a security (though as a general rule i hate them) when, as is the fashion now, a pair of high-bred powerful horses are put to draw a victoria or some other very light carriage, for doubtless a bit does act more powerfully when accompanied by a bearing rein than without one. i dare say i shall be thought very old fashioned, but i do not think that horses do generally go as pleasantly to the coachman with such very light weights behind them, as when there is weight enough to make them feel their collars. a team, to go pleasantly, should have a load proportioned to its power, so that they may have something to pull at besides the coachman's hand. it must be admitted also in their favour, that bearing reins do prevent wheel horses rubbing and scratching their bridles against the pole chains when standing still. like many other old established institutions, they continued to have their advocates for a long time, and by some very competent judges bearing reins were considered necessary for safety, as will appear from the anecdote i am about to narrate. when they were first being dispensed with, ned cracknell, who drove a birmingham day coach called the "triumph," left them off. upon the coach arriving at hounslow one day, who should be standing there but mr. chaplin, commonly known as billy chaplin, the proprietor out of london, and before cracknell had time to get on his box, though they were very quick in changing at hounslow, he observed that there were no bearing reins, and only snaffle bits in the horses' mouths, whereupon he called out, "hallo, mr. cracknell, what monkey tricks are these you are playing? if you don't put on the curb bits and the bearing reins, you don't take the 'triumph' coach out of the 'swan with two necks' again." probably he was quite right about the snaffle bits, as the following instance will show:-- seven mail coaches used to leave the "white horse cellars" every evening, and at one time there was a great rivalry between the devonport mail, commonly called the "quicksilver," driven by captain davies, and the stroud mail, driven by harry downs, a broken-down gentleman, for here i may remark, though it is a fact well known to most people, that in those days it was no uncommon thing to see well-bred men driving stage-coaches. but to return. as the stroud mail with four bright bays, and the "quicksilver" with four bright chestnuts, were racing at a very merry pace, our friend harry's bays, having only snaffle bits, bolted across turnham green, which would probably be a feat incapable of accomplishment now, and an old friend of mine, who was travelling by it, and by the bye a very good coachman himself, says, "i experienced a very unsmooth journey until we reached the road again, and by that time the 'quicksilver' was through brentford." of late years there has sprung up a fancy that blinkers are not only unnecessary, but absolutely an evil, and a good deal of newspaper correspondence has been the result, without going very far towards elucidating the subject. so far as i am able to understand the controversy, the opponents of blinkers consider they have proved their case when they tell us that horses, when accustomed to it, are not frightened by seeing the carriage behind them, and that therefore there can be no danger in going without them. that horses can be used to seeing the carriage behind them without taking fright, there can be no doubt, but that by no means ends the question. those on the other side say, and with truth, that in double harness, when the bridles are without blinkers, one horse does occasionally, either from tossing his head or some other cause, injure the eye of the other one by striking it with the cheek of the bit. a well-fitting blinker is no discomfort to a horse, and i think i can bring forward a case which will go very far to prove that they may be of great use. one evening when i was driving the "harkaway" coach on the down journey, when within about a mile from dolgelly, as we rounded a sharpish corner of the road, the leaders caught sight of some boards which had been left, very improperly, on the near side of the road, and were so much frightened at the sight that they bolted right across to the other side of the road, and, that being rather narrow, it was as much as i could do to prevent the coach running into the off-side hedge, which would most certainly have ended in a spill, and probably have been attended with very disastrous consequences, for, as was usual in summer, there was a good load of passengers and luggage. we must recollect that a horse, from the position of his eye, has the power of seeing a long way behind him, which is necessary to his safety in a wild state, as he depends very largely for defence upon his heels; consequently, any object which alarms him continues in sight for a long time, and in the case i have just mentioned, i am certain that if they could have seen the object of their terror another moment, nothing i could have done would have saved an accident. perhaps i shall be told that if these horses had never been driven in blinkers they would not have shied at the boards; to which i can only answer that saddle horses which have never had their sight restricted in their lives are by no means free from the fault of shying. as i have already remarked, a well-fitting blinker can cause no discomfort to a horse, as it presses upon and rubs no part of the head, and, to say the least of it, they may be a great safeguard against accidents. with regard to those other parts of the harness now more or less disused, what shall be said? well, a good deal will depend upon circumstances. where there is no bearing rein a crupper may not be necessary upon level roads if the pads are well shaped; but if they are not, or the road is hilly, those on the wheel horses may work forward and wound the withers. with leaders this is less likely to occur, for their reins run in a straight line through the pad territs; but the reins, taking a turn from the wheel pad territs up to the coachman's hand, have a tendency to work those pads forward. i have used a light pad for leaders made without a tree, which is what i like best for them, and which, from fitting closer to the horses' backs, hardly can work forward, and they are less likely to rub the withers if they do; but probably this make would not be strong enough for wheel harness except upon level ground, where there is very little holding back. i must confess that i do hold to the old lines, "here's to the arm which can hold 'em when gone, still to a gallop inclined, sir; heads in the front without bearing reins on, and tails with no cruppers behind, sir." without wheel pads the coachman must lose power immensely. he has not only lost the leverage caused by the change of direction of the reins from the pads to his hand, but he can hardly have his horses so well in hand but that he will require to shorten his reins through his left hand if, from any cause, he wants to get a stronger pull upon his horses; and this, in my humble opinion, is inadmissible in really good driving, except upon very rare exceptions. i fear i shall meet with a good deal of dissent to this statement, and can fancy that already i hear some one saying that it is impossible. doubtless it is not easy, and requires much practice, more, perhaps, than can fall to the lot of most men now-a-days; but that it is possible i know, as i think i can make out clearly at a future time. half a century ago i do not remember ever to have seen leading reins run anywhere except over the heads of the wheel horses, between the ears. perhaps it was rather rough on the wheel horses to keep their heads up with the bearing rein, and then put the weight of a pulling leader's rein on the top of it; but there is a good deal to be said in favour of head territs, and when horses are allowed to carry their heads as low as they like, the principal objection to them is removed; and they certainly help to keep the leading reins higher, and therefore less likely to be caught under a leader's tail, which sets some horses kicking, and, at any rate, interferes with the running of the rein. when leading reins are run through the throat latch, they are very easily caught by the tail, and when this is done, the best thing i have found to keep the rein clear of a kicking leader is to pass both leading reins through a ring, and then run the kicker's rein through the inside of the wheeler's throat latch. i have seen the leader's rein run through the outside of his bar, but fancy the other method is better. [illustration: j. sturgess del. et lith. m&n. hanhart imp. once more running a steeple chase.] occasionally a wheel horse will make himself exceedingly objectionable to the one in front of him by tossing his head, and i once had a case of this sort so bad that the leader's mouth had no peace. i ran the rein direct from his pad to the wheel hame territ, and concord was at once established. before leaving the subject of the ribbons, perhaps i may as well touch upon the subject of "pinning them." shall they be pinned or shall they not be pinned? it is not a subject of so much interest now as it used to be, since, whether on a private drag or a modern coach, there is generally time enough to buckle and unbuckle; but in former days this was not always the case, for in very fast work there was not a moment to spare. is then the practice of going without the buckle dangerous or not? nimrod, in his article in the _quarterly review_ denounced it, calling it a "mere piece of affectation." a postmaster-general also denounced the practice as being the cause of accidents. of course, if the reins are short, which they ought not to be, there is the danger of their being drawn through the hand, but the plan i have adopted in such a case has been to tie a knot in the end of the rein, so that it was impossible for it to slip out of my hand. and now, having quoted two high authorities in favour of pinning, i will cite the same number of instances which tend to favour the other side of the question. the first occurred to the gloucester and aberystwith mail about forty years ago when on its down-journey, and was a rather curious incident. when the mail changed horses at torrington, just as it was starting, the leaders, both old steeplechasers, named blue bonnet and cleanthus, sprang off with such force as to break the pole-hook, and, of course, took the swinging bars with them, and the leading reins went through the coachman's hand with the rapidity of lightning. fortunately, however, these were not buckled, and the horses got off clear, perhaps indulging in the idea that they were once more running a steeplechase, and so they continued their career till they arrived at the toll-gate at stoke edith, which, trying to jump, they broke into atoms, at the same time clearing themselves of most of the harness, indeed, all except the bridles and collars, and were found some time afterwards grazing quietly by the side of the road. now if the reins had been buckled it would have been impossible for the coachman to unbuckle them quick enough to allow the horses to get clear off, and an accident of a very serious nature would most likely have happened, as, it being an election day, the mail was very heavily loaded with passengers and luggage. [illustration: j. sturgess del. et lith. m&n. hanhart imp. met the loose horse tearing down the hill.] the other case occurred to a coach which we put on in summer between dolgelly and machynlleth as a sort of auxiliary to the "harkaway." it was only a three-horse power, and one morning on the up journey the leader was so alarmed by a dog running and barking at him that he sprang round suddenly, and the bar very fortunately twisted out of the pole-hook as he did so; and jack andrews, who was driving, not having buckled his reins, had only got to let them run through his fingers to release him entirely from the coach. as i was following with the "harkaway" about half a mile behind, i was astonished to meet the loose horse tearing down the hill towards us, terrified by the bar banging about his houghs and the reins dangling at his heels, i feared i should shortly come upon a smash, which certainly must have been the case if the horse had not been able to go away clear of the coach. and now, gentle readers, i leave you to take your choice, premising that, for myself, i lean to unpinned ribbons. perhaps it may not be generally known now that, long years ago, in the days of the slow and heavy, it was the custom to use what was called "the short wheel rein;" that is, they were just long enough to hook upon the finger. in those days, also, coachmen did not catch their whips, only giving the thong a few turns round the crop at the upper ferrule. having now, i think, said enough on the subject of harness, we are ready to proceed to mounting the box. nimrod has somewhere said that a good coachman could almost be perceived by the manner in which he put his gloves on, or words to that effect; but without going so far as that, i believe the way in which he mounts his box is no bad criterion. how different to see a practised hand approach his team with confidence, and the almost mechanical way in which he handles the reins, from the hesitation and fumbling so often apparent in a tyro. let us picture him to ourselves as he approaches his horses, how easily he catches his whip, the crop held well up so as not to run the chance of the thong being entangled in the wheeler's ears, and there are no festoons of the thong. then taking hold with the left hand of the leading reins, nearly up at the territs, beginning with the near side, he gives them a pull sufficient to satisfy himself that no impediment exists to their free running, and passes them to the centre finger of the right hand; after which, doing the same with the wheel reins, he places them on the forefinger of the right hand, in which position they are ready to be transferred to the left hand, only reversing the fingers. this will prevent any necessity for sorting the reins after having mounted the box, and thus enabling him to start without a moment's delay. the other two fingers should be tightly pressed upon the reins to prevent them slipping. i should not have entered into all this minutiæ if i had not seen, on one or two occasions, the reins divided by placing one finger between the two nearside reins, and the other between the off-side ones. then there is another form to be equally deprecated, which, though seldom seen in double reins, is far too common with those driving a pair, or in single harness. i mean the thumb pressed down upon the reins and pointing to the front, a position which must inevitably pin the elbow to the side, and be destructive of all strength. [illustration: a neat meeting.] [illustration: a muffish meeting.] but i have seen what is even worse. i once beheld a gentleman performing in hyde park, who, finding himself seriously incommoded with the slack of his reins, stretched out his right hand over the left, seizing the reins in front of it, and then, like sailors hauling a rope hand over hand, proceeding to pass his left hand to the front and take hold of them in front of the right hand. i have frequently seen this manoeuvre practised by coachmen driving one, or a pair, but only this once did i see the trick played on a four-horse box, and i should think, when it was completed, that the reins must have very much resembled a pack of cards well shuffled, and admirably calculated to land the coach in a ditch after dark. if there is leisure for looking carefully over each horse before starting, the strain upon the reins, as previously recommended, is not necessary, but when every moment of time is of importance, that is quite impossible, and especially is it so at night, but for all practical purposes it will generally be found sufficient; and to try and point my moral, i will mention what happened to one of the best coachmen i ever saw handle the ribbons. one evening, after dark, charles tustin, with the up aberystwith and shrewsbury mail, as he was driving out of newtown, found when he wanted to turn at the end of the first street, that the near wheel draught rein would not run, and consequently the coach came in collision with the corner shop. now if he had taken a pull at his reins, as i have ventured to recommend, and as i have little doubt he usually did, he would have found out that the horsekeeper had carelessly fastened the rein in question between the hame and the collar. he was too good a coachman not to make the least of an accident, and no harm happened to anything except the glass in the shop window. there is, however, one exception to this rule, which is that some horses are so exceedingly nervous that if they find out when the coachman is mounting his box, they are immediately all over the road, and these must be humoured. it is very important that the reins should be so arranged in the right hand before leaving the ground that they can be transferred to the left in working order immediately upon placing both feet on the footboard, for some horses will brook no delay; and if the coachman is not at once in a position to say, "let 'em go, and take care of yourselves," almost before he is seated, there may be a jibbing bout, or a mess of some sort. with some teams it is, or at any rate used to be "if you will not when you may, when you will you shall have nay." i had at one time a leader of so nervous a temperament, though very good tempered, that, having to pull up to take up a passenger in the street just after leaving the inn yard, and where a brass band was playing, he reared so high, that in his descent he fell clean over his partner, but, as he had no vice, no injury was sustained except some slight breakages to the harness. on being "put to" on one occasion he so alarmed the box passenger that he took only one step from the footboard to "terra firma," and if he had not been nearly as quick in getting back he must have been left behind, as it was my taking up the reins and mounting the box which started the horse off in his capers. with such horses as these, when the rein is run and the inside trace hooked, it is time to be off, and the horsekeeper must hook the other as best he can, but if the coachman is not smart with his reins he cannot do it. i hope i shall not weary the reader with these digressions, and make him exclaim, "what an egotistical old ass he is," but as i do not pretend to say that no improvements have taken place in the art of driving during the last forty or fifty years, i am endeavouring to enforce my recommendations with facts which have occurred to myself or those i have known. chapter xxii. driving. well, the ideal coachman is now on his box, and i hope with straight knees, feet close together, and well out in front of him, shoulders well thrown back, and arms hanging naturally, and without any effort, to his sides. the left arm should be straight or nearly so, and hand lightly resting against the outside of the left thigh, with the wrist slightly rounded and the thumb a little turned up; that is to say, when the horses are drawing. the difference between his hand when in this position and when the elbow is bent and the hand brought up towards the body, should be just the difference between slack and tight pole-chains. when more power is wanted the hand will be raised and the wrist turned so as to bring the back of the hand to the front. this will throw the elbow a little forward, which will add greatly to the strength of the arm, and by this time the right hand would most probably have taken hold of the off-side reins, which of itself lends much to the power of the other. i fear i may have made myself but imperfectly understood, but perhaps the accompanying sketches may assist in explaining what i mean. the reins, by right, should never be allowed to slip through the fingers. it looks bad, to say the least of it, to see a coachman shortening them, and, at night especially, is not safe. i know that this is not easy to do, and perhaps impossible to most amateurs, as it requires constant practice to give the necessary strength to the fingers, and the difficulty is much enhanced by well cleaned reins, especially if they are thin. i know that many good coachmen differ with me as to the position of the left arm, and, like a dear old friend of mine, and good coachman, now no more, say that a straight arm is not neat. for myself i am unable to see the want of neatness in it; but even if there is i cannot consent to sacrifice strength, and i am convinced that no man can, under all circumstances, be thoroughly powerful on his box, who drives habitually with a bent arm. with the fear of being called egotistical before my eyes, i will again endeavour to enforce what i have advanced by a case in point. one afternoon on the down journey with the "harkaway," when within about a mile from dolgelly, the skid-pan, though nearly a new one, broke off at the neck, and the force of the jerk upon the safety hook broke that also. the whole weight of the load consequently, and it was a bumper, came immediately upon the necks of the wheel horses, naturally somewhat startling them; and if i had lost hold of their heads for a second, they would most likely have been frightened, and refused to hold, when there would have been nothing but galloping for it, but by having the left arm in the position i have endeavoured to explain, i was enabled at the same moment to apply the brake, and keep a firm hold of the horses' heads. [illustration: down hill.] [illustration: a sudden emergency.] it is from driving with a bent arm that one hears people say they cannot work their own brakes. if i had been in that form on the occasion i have mentioned, i must first of all have used the right hand to shorten the reins through the left, before i could have employed it to put on the brake. as it was, the wheelers landed the coach down the hill without serious difficulty, though one of them was only four years old, and by no means a strong holder. i cannot understand how any coachman can like to have his brake worked for him. the want of it differs so much from day to day, depending upon the load, the state of the road and other causes, that nothing but his own left hand can tell him how to work it. i am sure i should have been impossible to please. it is a most invaluable thing when properly used, but is very liable to be abused. few things are more aggravating than to see it so applied as to cause horses to draw down hill, as i have often witnessed. the change from drawing to holding back, brings fresh muscles into play, and must therefore be a great relief to horses, as we know the change from up hill to down, and vice versa, is to us when walking. before leaving the subject of reins, which may be called the "key of the position," i would venture to raise my voice against what is too often done, which is to pass the right hand across to pull the near side reins. hands across is very proper in a country dance, but a little of it goes a long way in driving. it is more honoured in the breach than in the observance. if the team is well "put together" and the reins are properly held in the left hand, the wrist should be sufficiently supple to lift a near wheel horse nearly off his legs. it is a good test that all is as it should be if, upon pulling up to unskid, the wheelers will back the coach off the skid-pan without any difficulty. of course, the right hand must be used to the off-side reins, which itself is a help to the left, but no shortening of the reins through the fingers of the left hand should be wanted, and to reach the right hand out to grasp the reins in front of the left, as i have seen done, is absolutely insufferable. [illustration: the team extended.] [illustration: the team gathered.] i was once talking on this subject to charles tustin, with whose name i have already taken liberties, when he remarked that a coachman should take up his reins at the beginning of a stage, and never have to alter them in his left hand till he throws them down at the end of it. some drivers i have seen appear to think it a sign of a light hand to be constantly fiddling with the reins. i believe it is more a sign of a fidgeting hand, and i am quite sure, from experience, that hot-tempered horses settle down much better without it. the less their mouths are meddled with the better. there is one use, however, to which the right hand may sometimes be applied, which is to take hold of the near lead rein and loop it up under the left thumb upon turning a sharp corner to the left, and also if a near wheel horse throws himself against the pole in going down hill or pulling up, to do the same with his rein. from the position a horse in this posture has placed his pad territs in, the rein will naturally become slack and useless, and by shortening it in the way i have described, the left arm resumes its power, and, what is of nearly as much importance, the right is free to use the whip, which will probably be wanted at such a crisis. one hint may not be out of place here as it may not have occurred to some, and that is, when bringing up the right hand to take hold of the off-side reins, not to reach forward with it, but to bring it up just touching the left, and to seize the reins immediately below that hand. the right hand can then be passed along the reins as far as is necessary, placing a finger to separate the lead and wheel, when either can be pulled separately as may be required. this may seem to some so small a thing, as not to be worth bothering about, but it is by attending to minutiæ that the accomplished coachman is made; neither is it of such very small importance, as i have known a coach upset for want of its being attended to, and it is especially necessary at night when everything is done by feel. old griffie williams, as honest a fellow as ever lived, but not the most accomplished of coachmen, who for many summers partly horsed and drove the "tourist" coach between aberystwith and dolgelly, when descending a hill on his up journey, wanted to pull his horses out of the near side of the road, and, reaching forward too far with his right hand, he took up the near wheel rein together with the off-side ones. of course, the more he pulled at the reins the harder he pulled the near wheeler towards the near side of the road, and it ended in the wheels running up the hedge bank, and putting the coach on its side into the road. fortunately he was, as usual, going slowly, and very little harm was done to anyone. upon my asking him afterwards how he came to scatter his passengers, he replied, "inteed, i was put them down as nice as was go to bed." young coachmen may possibly mistake the weight inseparable from four-horse reins from having got them too tight, but upon looking they may see that the curb-chains are slack, and if that is the case the reins are not too tight. it is not desirable to hold horses too hard, but if a lot of slack is out a coachman is helpless if a horse falls or anything else goes wrong. moreover, horses generally go better for being well held together. a coachman driving a coach, such as they used to be, who loosed his horses' heads, was generally soon brought to the use of his whip, whilst the same horses, well held together, would be fresh at the end of their stage. i can now call to mind an instance of this. about half a century ago it was a common lounge in shrewsbury for those whose time was not fully occupied, to collect at the top of the wyle cop, where the "lion hotel" was situated, to see the "hirondelle" and "hibernia," liverpool and cheltenham coaches, come up the hill, and perhaps sometimes a bet might be made as to which would be first, for they did a good deal of racing. of course, i never let the opportunity slip when i was in that ancient borough of forming one of this number. the late mr. isaac taylor had, at that time, a team of chestnuts as good as could be put to a coach working in the "hirondelle" on the down side between shrewsbury and leighton, a stage of about eight miles. little bob leek, a very clever coachman, used to drive the up side from shrewsbury, and jordan, a very powerful man, the down side. when they met they changed coaches, each returning over his own ground, which he drove double. shrewsbury was, i believe, the correct place for the coaches to meet at, but, as the opposition was keen, it depended on the racing whether they met in shrewsbury or a few miles on either side of it; and i have seen this same team driven by jordan, and when he was hard at work with his whip to get up the hill, ascend it another day when driven by bob leek with ease, and he sitting on his box as if he had nothing to do. and, strange as it may appear to some, i believe one of the best tests that can be applied to a coachman is that he should appear to do nothing. i suppose, however, that this rule applies to most other crafts, for what a man does well he does easily to himself, and one who is always hard at work may be set down as a muff. i know from experience that this rule applies to steering a ship. if a helmsman is seen to be constantly at work with the wheel, it is a sure proof that he is not a good hand at it. just the movement of a spoke or two occasionally is generally enough in the hands of a good helmsman. and now i will bring the subject of driving to an end by giving a few hints, which, though simple in themselves, and probably known to many of my readers, may not have suggested themselves to some modern coachmen, for the simple reason that they have never felt the want of them, but which were well known to those coachmen whose business it was to get a coach through a country with all sorts of cattle, and when every little dodge was a help. one of the commonest evils which befell coachmen was to deal with jibbers, they caused the loss of so much time. a kicker, especially if a well-bred one, would kick and keep going too, but a jibber sometimes stuck to the same ground if not got off with the first attempt. as a rule, flogging is of no use, though i have a few times in my life succeeded in making it too hot for them; and, of course, with three good starters one wheeler may be dragged on if he does not lie down. sometimes, however, a whole team was not to be trusted. i was once travelling from aberystwith to oswestry by the "engineer" coach, and, as usual, was working, when, upon nearing machynlleth, wigram, the coachman, said to me, "you will find the next a good team, but they are all jibbers." i asked him if any one of them was a better starter than the others, to which he replied, "well, perhaps the off wheeler is a little." the hint was sufficient, and as soon as i was on the box i laid the whip quietly over the off wheeler before trying to start the others, and then immediately pulling the leaders across to the near side, and at the same time speaking to them, the start was effected without any trouble. perhaps it may be thought by some that this was no very great test, as the horses were always what was called "running home," that is, they had always their own stable at each end of the stage. at the risk, therefore, of tiring the reader and being accused of egotism, i will venture to mention one other case where there was no assistance from that cause; and as a failure to start makes a fellow look foolish, there can be no harm in impressing upon the minds of young coachmen what will, in nine cases out of ten, save them from being placed in such a situation. i was quartered with my regiment, the nd highlanders, in the royal barracks, dublin, so many years ago that the garrison steeplechases were run off at maynooth instead of punchestown as at present, and we had got up a regimental drag for the occasion, of which i was waggoner. as we were starting to return home, the off wheeler jibbed, much to the delight of the paddies, who had come there for a day's "divarshun," and had some fun in them in those days. of course, a small crowd was fast collected, and everyone was giving advice and wanting to help, the old irishman's remedy of lighting a fire under him not being forgotten. i made everyone stand clear, and would not allow anybody to touch a horse, and then, after giving them a minute or two to settle down, i laid the whip lightly over the near wheeler, and then pulling the leaders across to the off side, spoke to them, and we were off in a jiffy. the pulling the leaders across is very important, as it greatly facilitates the draught. there is also another good result which frequently follows the pulling of the leaders across in case of a jibbing wheeler, which is, that as he will probably have only placed his legs with the view of resisting forward motion, a sudden rough lateral bump of the pole may disconcert his plans and render it necessary for him to move his feet, in which case he is more than half conquered, unless, indeed, he lies down, which the coachman should be too quick to permit. i think i have already remarked that flogging makes flogging, especially if the horses' heads are loosed too much. it adds, no doubt, somewhat to the labour of the coachman, but for all that he should always keep a good hold of his horses' heads, and a pull of the reins and then giving back again i have often found more efficacious than a good deal of whip. this movement used sometimes to be called by the uncomplimentary name of the "blackguard's snatch," but, in spite of an ugly name, it often had salutary results, and with a weak team, heavy load, and time to keep, a coachman could not afford to despise anything. i have known sluggish leaders very much astonished when hit on the inside. having only been accustomed to the punishment coming from the outside, they do not know what to make of it when coming from another quarter. it is not difficult to hit the near leader from behind the off pretty sharply, but it is by no means easy to do the same on the other side. it requires the elbow to be well raised, and the back of the hand turned well downwards, for, of course, the thong must be sent under the bars. if done well these are very neat hits. very hard-pulling leaders are often easier brought back by sending the other one well up to them than by pulling at them. i have had a raking leader, irritated by a very slow partner, try to bolt, and by hitting his partner have brought him back directly; but he must be "hit sly," so as to make no noise with the whip. the same thing will occur when a hard-pulling leader has a harder puller put alongside him--he comes back at once. with two leaders of unequal strength it is a good plan to cross the inside traces. it is an assistance to the weaker one, and tends to keep the coach straight. check reins are often of use to bring these sort of horses together, and i have, with a very hard puller, had a long one from his nose-band back to the pole-hook. lastly, what about kickers, which were, perhaps, the most numerous of all the reprobates that found their way into coaches. i have known a short stick placed between the bottom of the collar and the horse's jaws so as to keep the head raised, in which position he cannot kick badly; but i never used one myself, as i never knew a good dose or two of counter irritation over the ears fail to make a sufficient cure of a wheel horse to enable him to be driven, and a little kicking by a leader does not so much signify if he will keep moving at the same time. there was an old saying, "point your leaders and shoot your wheelers," which, perhaps, some of the younger generation may not have heard. it does not very often require to be put in practice, especially at the present time, as it is only really necessary in awkward turns, such as the "swan with two necks," in lad lane, in former days, and, more recently, the "belle vue" yard at aberystwith. of course, there were many more, but these two will suffice as specimens of what i mean. the latter i have known a coachman of long experience fail to get into, in consequence, as i suppose, of his not observing this precept. to get into this yard two turns had to be taken in a very limited space. the first was to the left, into a street just about wide enough for two coaches to pass, and as soon as the coach and horses were straight after completing this turn, it was time to point the leaders to the right for the narrow entrance to the yard, and if that operation was not accompanied by a shoot of the wheelers to the left, the off hind wheel would not pass clear of the gate post. this "shoot" is a momentary thing, and should be done by a twist of the left wrist. if the right hand is called in to assist it looks bad. more like a man playing the harp than driving four horses, and, moreover, it is wanted to the off-side reins at the same time. if the turns are in the contrary direction, of course the manipulation of the reins must be done with the right hand. the "point and shoot" would be a great assistance at an "obstacle contest." while on the subject of turns, perhaps i may be allowed to offer another small hint, which, though stale news to many, may be a useful wrinkle for others. it is a good plan, when rounding a sharp corner with a top-heavy load, to make the turn so as to place the outside wheels as much as possible on the crest of the road. this can be effected, if the angle is to the left, by keeping near to the off-side of the road as you approach the bend, and then making a rather short turn so as to hug the near side hedge, by which means the outside wheels will be placed on the highest part of the road, just when the coach most requires the support, and this also gives the coachman more freedom in case of his meeting any vehicle in the middle of the turn. should the angle be to the right instead of the left, the principle is just the same. there yet remain two or three other subjects connected with driving, which, though of comparatively little importance in the present day, must, nevertheless, be taken into account in the making of a perfect "waggoner:" these are the power of using the whip and a capacity to judge of pace. we commonly hear a man called a good whip, thereby meaning a good coachman; but the fact is that comparatively few coachmen in the present day use their whips really well, for the simple reason that they are not called upon to do so. still the necessity might arise, and then the power of doing so might save an accident. at any rate, a man who can only use one arm is but half a coachman. from what i have said on previous occasions, it will not, i think, be supposed that i am an advocate for "hitting 'em all round," but in days of yore no man could be considered really safe who was not able to hit when necessary, and to hit hard. i received an early lesson on this subject when i was at work on the birmingham and manchester express, taking a lesson from wood, who was my first mentor. there was at off wheel what was called a "stiff-necked one" that no pulling at was able to turn if he took it into his head to resist, and i was helplessly approaching a coal cart, when wood said, "why don't you hit him?" i obeyed the hint with so satisfactory a result, that i have never since forgotten it, and have to thank it for getting me out of accidents, one of which at once recurs to my memory, and may perhaps tend to impress it on the minds of others. i was driving a coach on the dover road, and as we were ascending shooter's hill a four-horse posting job appeared coming towards us at a good pace, when, upon pulling the reins to draw to the near side of the road, i found that the off wheel horse refused to obey them, and persistently hung to the off side. the posting job was coming nearer with rapid strides. the reins were evidently useless, and it was a matter for the whip, whether i could hit hard enough. if i could not, nothing remained but to pull up, and ignominiously beckon to the postboys to pass on the wrong side. however, i dropped into him with such effect that he became in as great a hurry to cross the road as the proverbial duck before thunder. but perhaps this old road joke may convey no meaning to many in the present day, so i may as well explain. it was a favourite conundrum, when some ducks hurried across the road under the leaders' noses, and apparently at the imminent risk of their lives, "why do ducks cross the road before thunder?" do you give it up? because they want to get to the other side. perhaps i may be permitted here to introduce another old road story. a boy in charge of a sow and pigs was asked by a passenger the following question: "i say, my boy, whose pigs are those?" _boy._ "why, that old sow's." _querist._ "i don't mean that, you stupid boy. i want to know who's the master of them." _boy._ "oh, the maister of 'em? why, that little sandy 'un. he's a deuce of a pig to fight." but to return to ducks for just one minute. it is commonly said that it is impossible to run over a duck, and in truth, clumsy as they appear to be on their legs, it is very nearly so, though i did once accomplish the feat. i was driving fast round a rather sharp turn in the road, when i suddenly found myself in the middle of them, and one was unable to waddle off quick enough to save his life. then, again, to be a judge of pace, although of little importance now, should form part of a coachman's education. if a gentleman driving his private drag thinks he is going at the rate of twelve miles an hour when he is only going nine, it amuses him and hurts no one, neither is it very essential for those who drive the modern coaches from hatchett's and other places. they, with few exceptions, only run by day, so that the coachman can consult his watch at every milestone if he likes, and the horsing is so admirable and the loading so light that he can experience no difficulty in picking up some lost time. in the old days, however, it was very different. if only five minutes were lost, it was often difficult to recover it with full loads and heavy roads, and, perhaps, weak teams. moreover, at night the time-piece could only be seen at the different changes, and then, if the coachman was no judge of pace, he might easily find at the end of a ten miles' stage that he had lost five or ten minutes. to be a good judge of pace requires experience, as the pace that horses appear to be going is very deceptive. when the draught is heavy horses step short, and, though their legs move as rapidly as usual, time is being lost, or at best only kept with difficulty; whilst, on another day, when circumstances are different, load lighter and road hard, the horses step out, and the result is that over the same stage and with the same team, instead of losing time it is hardly possible to throw it away. again at night horses always seem to be going faster than they really are, and perhaps this may have had something to do with the idea that horses go better by night than day, so happily explained, as mr. reynoldson tells us, by billy williams, who said it was because the driver had had his dinner. apropos of billy williams, i may relate an anecdote of him, which i had from undeniable authority, but which i do not think is generally known. his honour, as he was called, the late honourable thomas kenyon, used not unfrequently to ask him, or some other coachman, to spend a day or two at pradoe, and he also made a practice of driving his own drag to chester races on the cup day. on one of these occasions it happened that billy was at pradoe, and was to accompany the party to chester. the day being hot, and his honour thinking that billy, whose get up was always breeches and top boots, would be more comfortable in lighter clothing, made him a present of a pair of white trousers, such as were commonly worn by gentlemen of that period. billy having received them, went to put them on, and returned looking quite smart and cool. it turned out, however, afterwards, that he had only worn them over his usual garments! there remains one other item to mention, which, though not absolutely a part of driving, is yet of so much importance that without it all knowledge may fail at an important crisis. nerve is the article i mean, or what may be called the next door to it, that confidence which is begotten of practice. an inferior coachman with this is generally safer than one who is his superior in neatness and knowledge, but without this gift. when a man's nerve fails him, he loses his head, and then he is unable to make use of any knowledge he possesses, whereas, one with nerve and strength would pull through a difficulty and save an accident. nerve, no doubt, is largely constitutional, but it is capable of being very much strengthened by use and practice. but of all things to try nerve commend me to the locomotive engine. though i had driven coaches for many years under all imaginable circumstances, and my nerve had never failed me, i must confess that i never thoroughly understood what it meant till i had had the experience of a ride on a locomotive engine. to find myself travelling at a high speed, without there being the slightest power of guidance, caused a sensation i had never experienced before. all that the engine-driver could have done, if a pointsman had made a mistake, was to try and stop the engine before it ran into anything else; whereas, on a road, when the driver has the power of guiding as well as stopping, if he is unable quite to accomplish the latter he may do so sufficiently to enable him to escape a collision. to explain my meaning i will shortly narrate what has happened to myself. i was driving rather fast over a nice level length of road, and was overtaking a waggon drawn by three or four horses. the waggoner very properly pulled to his own side of the road, and anticipating no difficulty i kept on at the pace i was previously going, but just as my leaders arrived within a short distance of the waggon, the horses overpowered the waggoner and crossed the road immediately in front of them. to stop the coach was impossible, but i was just able to check the pace sufficiently to enable me to pull across to the near side of the road, and pass on the wrong side. in the case of a railway there would be no such chance. there they could only stop, or have an accident. one gets used to everything after a time, and, i suppose, if i had been an engine-driver, i should become so accustomed to this as to think nothing of it; but, as it was, i never felt so helpless. i cannot conceive a greater trial of nerve than to be driving at the rate of twenty miles an hour, or more, among a labyrinth of rails, and entirely dependent on other people for safety. it is not very long ago since i saw in a newspaper an account of a pointsman being found dead in his box! i am reminded of the hackneyed saying of an old coachman in the early days of railways: "if a coach is upset," he said, "why, there you are; but if an accident happens to a railway train, where are you?" it is now upwards of twenty years since the last time i handled four-horse reins, and more than fifty-five since the first time, and i am not going to say that no improvements have taken place during that long period of time. possibly some may have been found, but i must confess that those i have heard of do not appear to me to come into that category. it is a common reply to those who stand up for old systems that they were slow. that, at any rate, can hardly be alleged in the present case, for, though i admire the very smart thing done by poor selby between london and brighton, i think, when we consider the fast work habitually done in coaches in days of yore, and still more on the first of may and other special occasions, it must be admitted that the pace has, to say the least, not increased. indeed, allowing for stoppages, taking up and putting down passengers, which lost many minutes in a journey, and the heavy loads carried, by neither of which was the "old times" troubled, i think the brighton feat, good as it was, has often been surpassed. the three birmingham tally-ho's generally had a spurt on the first of may, and more than once performed the journey of a hundred and eight miles under seven hours--the best record, i believe, in existence. pace, however, at last, is a relative thing, and eight or nine miles an hour on one road may be really as fast as twelve or thirteen on another. i can safely say that, though i have driven some fast coaches in my time, i never had a day of harder work to keep time than in doing eighty miles in ten hours. what with one weak team in the early part of the journey, hilly roads, a heavy load, and frequent delays for changing passengers and luggage, the last stage of nine miles had to be covered in forty-two minutes to bring us in to time and catch the train. before finally bidding adieu to the subject of driving, it may perhaps be allowed me to say a few words about harness and the fitting of it. of course it hardly needs saying that a coachman _ought_ to be familiar with every strap and buckle of it, though this intimate knowledge may be dispensed with by those who only drive their own teams, and are always waited on by one or two good and experienced servants. indeed, from what i witnessed in hyde park several years ago, i have had my suspicions whether these same servants are not sometimes utilised on early mornings in training the teams, and putting them straight for the masters' driving in the afternoon. i once saw a drag brought round to the right at the magazine without the gentleman in charge of the box touching the off-side reins with his right hand at all; and i fail to see how this could have been accomplished unless the horses were as well trained to it as circus steeds. still, however perfect these men may be as gentlemen's servants, their experience has not generally led them to attend very closely to the exact fitting of the harness--the collars particularly--which used often to be the plague of their lives to stage coachmen, and even might give trouble to a gentleman, if driving an extended tour. a few hints, therefore, from an old hand may perhaps not be thrown away. with horses freshly put into harness their shoulders are always liable to be rubbed, and they require the greatest care and attention; and one thing should always be insisted on in these cases, which is to wash the shoulders with cold water after work, and to leave the collars on till they have become quite dry again. but if care is necessary in the case of gentlemen's work, what must have been that required with coach horses--especially if running over long stages, with heavy loads and in hot weather. of course, a good deal depended upon the care of the horse-keeper; but nothing he could do had any chance of keeping the shoulders sound if the collars "_wobbled_" which they certainly always will do if the least light can be seen between the collar and the upper part of the horse's neck. then, again, it is most important for the collar to be the right length to suit the individual horse. one which carries his head high will require a longer one in proportion than one which carries it low, because the former position of the head has the effect of causing the windpipe to protrude. on stage-coach work we never cared so much about the weight of the collar as the fitting, and offering a fairly broad surface to the pressure. two or three pounds extra weight in a collar is nothing compared to the comfortable fitting of it, as we ourselves know to be the case with half-a-pound or so when walking a long distance in strong boots. if a wound should appear, after all the care that can be taken, a paste made of fullers' earth with some weak salt and water will nearly always effect a cure, if the collar is properly chambered, so as to remove all pressure from the part. in case of a shoulder showing a disposition to gall, i always carried in the hind boot two or three small pads, which i could strap on to the collar, so as to remove the pressure temporarily till it could be chambered; and any gentleman embarking on a driving tour would find this to be a good precaution to take, especially if he is going into out-of-the-way districts. i will conclude in the words of horace-- "si quid noviste rectius istis, candidus imperti: si non his utere mecum." chapter xxiii. the end of the journey. and now, ladies and gentlemen, "i leave you here," and trust i have given you no cause for complaint on the score of either civility or politeness to my passengers. i fear that in some places the road may have been heavy and the pace slow. perhaps it may be thought that the style is incoherent, to which i can only say that such is usually the character of chatter; and if i have written anything which has afforded some interest or amusement, my most ardent hopes are satisfied. the tale i have told has, in one sense, been told before, but so many fresh phases and incidents were so constantly turning up in the old mode of travelling, that it is not necessarily a twice-told tale. probably the first idea of most readers upon closing the book will be, "how thankful i am that my lot was not cast in the days of my father or grandfather;" and this naturally leads to the reflection that when the busy wit of man had not produced so many inventions for evading the minor ills of life, the first idea was to endure them; but now, when fresh schemes of all sorts and descriptions are being propounded every day to render life easy, it is to cure them; and if this does not go to the length of making artificial wants, no doubt it is the wisest course to adopt. to the old hand, however, who has not forgotten his early experiences, this eagerness to escape all hardship may seem to savour of softness and effeminacy, but i make no doubt that, though not called forth as it used to be in the days of yore, there still exists in the youth and manhood of old england the same pluck and power of endurance when duty calls, as there ever was; and that as long as we continue to cherish our old field sports and games, we are not in much danger of losing them. it were folly to stand up for road travelling as against the greater convenience of railways; still, i confess to a lingering feeling of regret that what was brought to such a state of perfection should have so completely vanished, and i think i cannot express these feelings better than by a short anecdote. many years ago, when hunting with the late sir w. w. wynn's hounds, when they had the advantage of the guidance of john walker, i asked him which pack, whether the large or small, showed the best sport and killed the most foxes. his answer was, "well, i really think the large pack does kill most foxes and give the best sport altogether, but _i like the little ones_." and if asked which is the best mode of travelling, whether by road or rail, i must confess that, as a travelling machine for conveying us from one part of the country to another, the railway is the best both for safety, speed, and economy; but having said this, i am constrained to make the same sort of reservation as was made by john walker, and say, "_i like the coaches_." most noticeable of all, perhaps, was the plucky effort made in to revive the favourite "red rover" coach between london and manchester, which had been discontinued upon the opening of the london and birmingham and the grand junction railways. it was "the last charge of the old guard," and shared the same fate. it may be interesting, however, to append a copy of this singular notice--one more evidence of the reluctance of englishmen to be beaten, even at long odds. the very date at foot is significant, for the enterprise was embarked on in the teeth of the approaching winter. the red rover re�stablished throughout to manchester. bull and mouth inn. it is with much satisfaction that the proprietors of the red rover oach are enabled to announce its re�stablishment as a direct conveyance throughout between london and manchester, and that the arrangements will be the same as those which before obtained for it such entire and general approval. in this effort the proprietors anxiously hope that the public will recognize and appreciate the desire to supply an accommodation which will require and deserve the patronage and support of the large and busy community on that line of road. the red rover will start every evening, at a quarter before seven, by way of coventry stafford macclesfield birmingham newcastle-under-lyne and walsall congleton stockport and perform the journey _in the time which before gave such general satisfaction_. [symbol: pointing hand] it will also start from the "moseley arms" hotel, manchester, for london, every evening, at nine o'clock. edward sherman ) _joint_ john weatherald and co. ) _proprietors_. _london_, _october , _. an old song may come in here:-- "the road, the road, the turnpike road, the hard, the brown, the smooth, the broad, without a mark, without a bend, horses 'gainst horses on it contend. men laugh at the gates, they bilk the tolls, or stop and pay like honest souls. i'm on the road, i'm on the road, i'm never so blithe as when abroad with the hills above and the vales below, and merry wheresoe'er i go. if the opposition appear in sight, what matter, what matter, we'll set that all right." in the introduction i ventured to point out some inaccuracies which i had observed in a statement made upon the subject of coach fares, and as it is probably one which few remember anything about, i give a statement of what would be about the profit and loss of a month's working of a coach for a hundred miles. receipts. a full load on the way-bill both ways. £ s. d. inside passengers outside parcels ----------- £ ----------- month's receipts deduct expenses ----------- £ ----------- payments. daily £ s. d. toll-gates, at s.[ ] hire of coach, per mile - / d. mileage duty, d.[ ] washing and oiling coaches ----------- ----------- for weeks monthly. road booking-offices £ end booking-offices making share bills oil and trimming lamps, say ----------- total £ ----------- [ ] it was usual for coaches to come to terms with the pikers to pay for three horses instead of four. [ ] there had also to be paid £ licence duty yearly when the plates were taken out. this makes £ s. to be divided per mile, which, of course, would give a very handsome profit; but full loading could not be expected every day, and if it was reduced to half loads, it would not be such a very fat concern. the cost of each horse was usually put at s. d. a week, including blacksmith, and that, supposing a man to cover a ten-mile stage for which eight horses would be ample if not running on sundays, would cost £ a week, or £ a month, leaving, at about half loading, say £ profit. but from this has to be deducted saddler, veterinary surgeon, and wear and tear, the two latter of which depend, to a certain extent, on circumstances over which he has not much control, as it depends upon such things as sickness in the stables and accidents. [_appendix._] his majesty's mails. [illustration: v. r.] g. p. o. appendix. list of mail coaches which worked out of london. { hounslow, } from the { maidenhead, } "spread eagle," { reading, } gracechurch street, bath, { newbury, } and through { } "swan with two { hungerford, } necks," { marlborough, } lad lane. { devizes, } { aylesbury, } { bicester, } from the birmingham, { } "king's arms," through { banbury, } holborn bridge. { leamington, } { warwick, } { croydon, } brighton, { reigate, } from the through { crawley, } "blossoms inn," { cuckfield, } lawrence lane. { hounslow, } { reading, } from the bristol, { newbury, } "swan with two through { marlborough, } necks," { calne, } lad lane. { chippenham, } { bath, } carlisle--_see glasgow_. { barnet, } { st. albans, } { dunstable, } { northampton, } chester, { hinckley, } from the through { atherstone, } "golden cross," { lichfield, } charing cross. { stafford, } { nantwich, } { tarporley, } { hounslow, } { bagshot, } { basingstoke, } { andover, } devonport, { salisbury; } from the through { sherborne; } "swan with two { chard, } necks," { honiton, } lad lane. { exeter } { dartford, } from the { rochester, } "swan with two dover, { sittingbourne, } necks," through. { faversham, } lad lane. { canterbury, } { ware, } { buntingford, } { royston, } { caxton, } from the edinburgh, { huntingdon, } "bull and mouth," through { grantham } st. martin's-le-grand. { newark } { doncaster } { ferry bridge, } { york, } { northallerton, } { darlington, } { durham, } { newcastle, } { alnwick, } { berwick, } { dunbar, } { haddington, } { basingstoke, } { andover, } { salisbury, } exeter, { blandford, } from the through { dorchester, } "bull and mouth," { bridport, } st martin's-le-grand. { axminster, } { honiton, } { barnet, } { hatfield, } { baldock, } { biggleswade, } { stilton, } { stamford } from the glasgow, { grantham, } "bull and mouth," through { newark, } st martin's-le-grand. { doncaster, } { wetherby, } { boroughbridge, } { greta bridge, } { appleby, } { carlisle, } { hounslow, } { maidenhead, } from the gloucester, { henley, } "cross keys," through { nettlebed, } wood street, { oxford } and { witney, } "golden cross," { burford, } charing cross. { cheltenham, } { barnet, } from the { woburn, } "swan with two { newport-pagnel, } necks," halifax, { market harborough, } lad lane, through { nottingham, } and { sheffield, } "bull and mouth," { huddersfield, } st. martin's-le-grand. { } from the { } "golden cross," hastings, { farnborough, } charing cross. through { tunbridge, } and "bolt in tun," { lamberhurst, } fleet street. { barnet, } { st. albans, } { coventry, } from the holyhead, { birmingham, } "swan with two through { wolverhampton, } necks, { shrewsbury, } lad lane. { oswestry, } { north wales, } { barnet, } { hertford, } { biggleswade, } from the { stilton, } "spread eagle," hull, { peterborough, } gracechurch street, through { folkingham, } and { lincoln, } "swan with two { brigg, } necks," { across the humber to } lad lane. { kingston-upon-hull } { barnet, } { bedford, } leeds, { higham ferrers, } from the through { kettering, } "bull and mouth," { nottingham, } st. martin's-le-grand. { sheffield, } { wakefield, } { barnet, } { st. albans, } from the { coventry, } "swan with two liverpool, { lichfield, } necks," through { newcastle-u-lyne, } lad lane. { knutsford, } { warrington, } { caxton, } from the louth, by { peterborough, } "bell and crown," boston, { deeping, } holborn, and through { spalding, } "saracen's head," { spilsby, } skinner street. { barnet, } { st. albans, } { dunstable, } { northampton, } from the manchester, { market harborough, } "swan with two through { leicester, } necks," { derby, } lad lane. { ashbourne, } { congleton, } { macclesfield, } { ilford, } norwich, { romford, } by ipswich, { brentwood, } from the through { chelmsford, } "spread eagle," { witham } gracechurch street. { colchester, } norwich, by { epping, } from the newmarket, { bury st. edmunds, } "belle sauvage," through { thetford, } ludgate hill. { kingston, } from the portsmouth, { esher, } "white horse," through { guildford, } fetter lane and { godalming, } "bolt in tun," { petersfield, } fleet street. { hounslow, } from the { staines, } "swan with two southampton { bagshot } necks," and poole, { alton, } lad lane, and through { alresford } "bell and crown," { winchester, } holborn. } from the {hounslow, } "cross keys," stroud, { henley, } wood street, through { abingdon, } and the "swan { faringdon, } with two necks," { cirencester, } lad lane. { lynn, } from the wells { ely, } "swan with two (norfolk), { cambridge, } necks," through { royston, } lad lane. { ware, } { uxbridge, } { beaconsfield, } { high wycombe, } { oxford, } from the worcester, { woodstock, } "bull and mouth," through { chipping norton, } st. martin's-le-grand. { moreton-in-marsh, } { evesham, } { pershore, } { romford, } { chelmsford, } { witham, } from the yarmouth, { colchester, } "white horse," through { ipswich, } fetter lane. { saxmundham, } { lowestoft, } so much for the main arteries, but the account would hardly be complete without showing how the more remote and out-of-the-way districts were provided for. i will, therefore, add the routes of a few mails which might be considered as prolongations of some of those already mentioned, but they were worked under fresh contracts and with fresh coaches. south wales was served by three--one from bristol and two from gloucester, as shown below:-- { new passage ferry, { newport, bristol to { cardiff, milford haven, { cowbridge, by { neath, { caermarthen. { ross, { monmouth, gloucester to { abergavenny, milford haven, { brecon, by { llandovery, { caermarthen, { haverfordwest. gloucester to aberystwith, by ross, hereford, kington, rhayader, and dyffryn castle. the gloucester and milford was, i think, driven out of gloucester at one time by jack andrews, a very good coachman, and over the lower ground there was a man of the name of jones. i may, perhaps, be told that that is not a very distinguishing mark of a man in those parts, perhaps it is not, but if the name failed to convey a knowledge of who he was, he, at any rate, possessed one very characteristic feature which was that he always drove without gloves whatever might be the state of the weather. if he saw his box passenger beating his hands against his body or going through any other process with the vain hope of restoring the circulation into his well-nigh frozen fingers, his delight was to hold out his gloveless hand and say, "indeed, now there is a hand that never wore a glove." and this recalls to my memory another anecdote which was told me a great many years ago, and which, though it refers to the other extremities, may not be inappropriately introduced here. it appertains to a very well known character already mentioned, the well known billy williams, often spoken of as chester billy. i am aware that tales are sometimes engrafted on remarkable characters which are also told of others, still i believe i shall not be doing a wrong to any one if i tell this as "'twas told to me," of our old friend billy. at any rate, it is too good to be lost, so here it is. on one very cold winter morning it happened that billy had a box passenger who was stamping his feet on the footboard in the vain attempt to restore the circulation of the blood, which led billy to remark, "your feet seem cold this morning, sir," to which the gentleman answered, "i should think they were, are not yours?" "no," says billy, "they're not;" adding, "i expect you wash 'em." "wash them," says the passenger, "of course i do, don't you?" "no," was the reply, "i should think not, i _iles_ 'em." the manchester mail was also prolonged to carlisle, though the direct carlisle mail went by a rather shorter route, but then the populous district on the west coast had to be provided for. it travelled through preston, lancaster, kendal and penrith. this was, over some of the ground at any rate, one of the fastest mails in england. again, in addition to these, which may be said to have had their origin in london, there existed a considerable number of what were called "cross country mails," some of which ran long distances and at high speed, connecting together many important districts. a few of them i will mention, beginning with the bristol and liverpool, which was a very fast one. { aust passage ferry, bristol to { monmouth, liverpool, { hereford, by { shrewsbury, { chester, { woodside ferry. { bath, bristol to { tetbury, oxford, { cirencester, by { fairford, { faringdon. { warrington, { manchester, liverpool { rochdale, to { halifax, hull, { bradford, by { leeds, { tadcaster, { york. bristol { gloucester, to { wincanton, birmingham, { droitwich, by { bromsgrove. birmingham { lichfield, to { derby, sheffield, by { chesterfield. and no doubt there were several others in one part of the country or another, but i have been unable to meet with any regular list of them, though it is very unlikely that such a road as that between bristol and exeter by taunton, for example, should have been left out. this road certainly had a fast coach on it. the "royal exeter" ran from cheltenham to exeter through gloucester and bristol, driven between cheltenham and bristol at one time by capt. probyn, and afterwards by william small. it was a fast coach, stopping for dinner at nisblete's, at bristol, and then proceeding on its journey to exeter. then, again, there was a populous and important district through the staffordshire potteries, from birmingham to liverpool and manchester, which must have been provided for somehow, but it is not impossible that this may have been effected by the bags being conveyed to lichfield by the sheffield, and then transferred to the down liverpool and chester mails. there were also running short distances what were called third class mails, which carried twelve passengers, and the coachman was in charge of the bags. on one of them which ran between shrewsbury and newtown i did a good deal of my early practice. and now, having given a list, more or less perfect, of the mails which traversed england and wales, perhaps a few words on the subject of the pace at which they travelled may not be without interest. after singling out the london and birmingham day mail, which was timed at twelve miles an hour, it is impossible to say, at the present date, which was the fastest coach. that the "quicksilver" was the fastest mail, i have no doubt, though i believe the palm has been disputed by the bristol, and perhaps some others; for if a passenger asked a coachman which was the fastest, he was very likely to be told that the one he was travelling in was. i cannot, however, believe that any of these claims could have been supported by facts. "_cui bono?_" we can see at a glance why the devonport should be pushed along as fast as possible, because the journey was a long one; but the distance to bristol was only one hundred and twenty miles, and whether the mail arrived there at eight or nine o'clock in the morning would have been thought little of in those days, but in a journey of two hundred and twenty-seven miles half a mile an hour makes an appreciable difference. it would seem reasonable, therefore, that the longer mails should have been accelerated as much as possible, and so i believe it really was the case, and that the holyhead was, after the "quicksilver," the fastest out of london. at any rate, i know that, when travelling by it, we always passed all the other mails going the same road, and that included a considerable number, as the north road and the holyhead were synonymous as far as barnet, and, moreover, the post-office was likely to have screwed up these two mails the tightest, as one carried the irish bags and the other had the correspondence of an important dockyard and naval station. to single out the fastest coach would be still more impossible. the "wonder" had a world-wide reputation, which was well deserved, both for the pace and regularity with which she travelled and the admirable manner in which she was appointed in every way; but what gave that coach its preponderating name was the fact of its being the first which undertook to be a day coach over a distance much exceeding one hundred and twenty miles. the manchester telegraph must have surpassed the "wonder" in pace, and, certainly, when we consider the difference of the roads and the hills by which she was opposed in her journey through derbyshire, had the most difficult task to accomplish; and, again, the "hirondelle" was timed to go the journey of one hundred and thirty-three miles between cheltenham and liverpool in twelve hours and a half, which is a higher rate of speed than the "wonder," which was allowed fifteen and a half hours to cover the one hundred and fifty-four miles between london and shrewsbury, and on a far superior road. i have been induced to enter into this subject because one sometimes now-a-days meets with people who appear to have a somewhat hazy idea about it, and talk glibly of twelve miles an hour as if it was nothing so very great after all. well, i am not going to deny that it can be done, because i know that it has been effected by the birmingham day mail, as already stated, and i have also been told by an old inspector of mails that in the latter days they did contrive to screw some scotch mails up to that speed; but i am sure i can safely say that no mail or stage-coach ever was timed at even eleven miles an hour during the main coaching days, however much faster they might have gone when racing or on special occasions, though i believe it would have been attempted, at any rate, if road travelling had not been put an end to by the railways. twelve miles an hour is very great work to accomplish. why, when stoppages of all sorts are allowed for, it means thirteen miles, and that means galloping for the greater part of the way. though the subjoined list is not comprehensive, nor indeed absolutely accurate, it may be worth inserting, as conveying a fair idea of what coaches ran. principal night mails some noted day coaches time (including stoppages) miles from of mail london. to h. m. - / bath { "beaufort hunt," "york { house," "white hart." bedford "times." birmingham { "tally-ho," "tantivy," { "greyhound," "economist," { "rocket," "eclipse," { "triumph," "crown prince," { "emerald," "albion," "day," { etc. brecon "red rover." brighton { "red rover," "times," { "age," "quicksilver," { "pearl," "dart," "arrow," { "vivid." bristol { "prince of wales," "monarch," { "regulator." cambridge "star." cheltenham (_see below_) { "berkeley hunt," "rival," { "magnet," "favourite." chester "criterion." - / devonport "quicksilver." dover exeter { "telegraph" ( miles) { hours; "defiance" { ( miles), hours; { "nonpareil," "herald." gloucester - / halifax "hope." hastings hereford "champion," "tiger." holyhead - / hull leeds "courier," "rockingham.' - / liverpool { "umpire," "fair trader," { "express," "erin-go-bragh." louth lynn manchester { telegraph" ( miles), { hours minutes, { "beehive", "estafette," { "peveril of the peak," { "cobourg," "red rover." monmouth "mazeppa," "royal forester." - / norwich _viâ_ ipswich "shannon." - / norwich _viâ_ newmarket "phenomenon." poole "phoenix." portsmouth { "diligence," "regulator," { "hero." shrewsbury { "wonder," hours { minutes; "nimrod," "stag," { "union," "oxonian." southampton "star." stroud wetherby (glasgow mail) weymouth "king's royal." windsor "taglioni." worcester york (edinburgh mail) "wellington." liverpool and preston - / edinburgh and aberdeen { "defiance" ( hrs. { min., including { min. ferry). cheltenham and liverpool { "hirondelle," "hibernia" { (see above). shrewsbury and { "royal oak," "nettle," welshpool { "engineer." and aberystwith notes. the fastest coaches were the "defiance" (edinburgh and aberdeen), the "wonder" (shrewsbury and london), for which alone horses were kept, and the mail from liverpool to preston. the next fastest were the holyhead, exeter, and scotch mails, and those to bath and bristol (which last ones did not stop for meals on the road). the slowest is the stroud mail, but formerly was the worcester mail, which used to be most frequently overturned of any. the hastings and brighton mails had only two horses. for some reason or other, with which i am not acquainted, the liverpool mail, and, i believe, the halifax also, though leaving london at the same time as the others, had a day coach on the up journey, arriving at st. martin's-le-grand about p.m. one of the birmingham coaches was lighted by gas for a time, as far back as . a coach running every day between london and birmingham paid annually for toll-gates the sum of £ , . the double miles of the mails travelling reached at one time , a journey. scotch and irish mails. it is interesting to compare the running of the edinburgh and glasgow coaches out of london. both left st. martin's at the same hour, but by a different road. at alconbury ( miles out of london) the two coaches must have frequently been in sight of each other on a moonlight night--if punctual a bare four minutes divided them (not a yokel in that part of huntingdonshire but could discuss the merits of the rival whips)--and at grantham ( miles out) they probably transferred some mail bags picked up upon their different roads. at doncaster ( miles from london) less than a quarter of an hour divided the two vehicles after travelling all through the night and portion of the following day, a feat successfully performed that would make the hair of a modern south-eastern railway guard stand upon end. indeed, tradition says that the up and down coaches nearly always "crossed" within a few yards of the same bridge. even that northern metropolis, newcastle, was treated with scant ceremony; as soon as fresh horses were attached and the mail bags exchanged, the coach went forward without pause, the next "stop and examine coach" after york being at belford (near berwick-upon-tweed). with the edinburgh coach there were three halts only upon the road for refreshments, and these were liable to curtailment in heavy weather when any minutes had been lost on the way--at the ordinary stages the changes of horses being sometimes made in less than a minute. the glasgow coach, though over a considerably more uneven road, was slightly the quicker of the two, the rival distances by road being almost identical. this coach was not encumbered with heavy bags for the highlands, and had the additional stimulus for the first dozen miles or so out of london of racing the holyhead mail through barnet. this celebrated mail made its "first stop" (other than for change of horses) at birmingham, its second at shrewsbury, its third at corwen, and its fourth at bangor. the speed of this mail was no less than nine and three-quarters miles an hour, or over ten miles if stoppages are taken into account. at shrewsbury five minutes only were allowed for refreshments, and the timing of this coach was so close that it was due there one minute before the beautiful, varied, and sonorous clocks of that proud borough struck the hour of noon ( . a.m.). at wolverhampton it was timed to arrive also at one minute past the hour ( . a.m.), while the timepieces of the guards were checked once or twice on the road by special clocks, and the discrepancy, if any, taken note of in writing. another notable piece of "good running" was shown by the rival mails to caermarthen, which reached there from town the following evening. the gloucester coach arrived at eight o'clock ( miles), and was followed at only half-an-hour's interval by the bristol ( miles) coming by a different road the whole journey, and having often to face a rough sea when transferring its passengers at aust passage, near chepstow. this last mail was one of the quickest of all out of london; as far as bristol it was expedited in to run at the speed of ten miles and three furlongs an hour, prior to which time it had to cede the palm to the celebrated falmouth (or, as it was often miscalled, devonport--confusing it with the plymouth coach) quicksilver mail. no doubt a higher speed still would have been attained in the winter months had these coaches not to include so much night work in their running. it is very difficult, unless precise dates are attached, to give now the absolute distances travelled. each year roads were straightened out and bends removed, gradients modified, or minor deviations to towns of less importance struck out. a list of such accelerations will be found in mogg's edition of paterson and of the principal ordinary routes traversed in paterson, leigh, or cary. what prospects the coventry bicycle might have had _before_ the arrival of the telegraph and railway epoch it is difficult to conjecture; but its speed must then have placed it in the first rank of means of locomotion. . scotch mails. down. to thurso vi� edinburgh. miles _st. martin's-le-grand._ p.m. -- london dep. . night - / waltham cross arr. . -- ware " . -- - / buckland " . -- a.m. - / arrington " . -- huntingdon " . -- - / alconbury hill " . -- - / stilton " . -- stamford " . -- stretton " . day - / grantham { arr. . -- { dep. . -- - / long bennington arr. . -- - / newark " . -- - / scarthing moor " . -- - / barnby moor " . -- p.m. - / rossington bridge " . -- - / doncaster " . -- - / askerne " . -- - / selby " . -- york { arr. . -- { dep. . -- - / easingwold arr. . night thirsk " . -- northallerton " . -- darlington " . -- a.m. - / durham " . -- newcastle- { arr. . -- on-tyne { dep. . -- - / morpeth arr. . -- - / felton " . -- - / alnwick " . -- - / belford { arr. . day { dep. . -- - / berwick-on-tweed arr. . -- - / houndswood " . -- - / dunbar " . -- p.m. - / haddington " . -- - / edinburgh g.p.o. " . -- (_time on road_ h. m. _the quickest train time the journey has been performed in was on august , , when the king's cross train arrived in_ h. m.) perth arr. . night dundee " . -- a.m. aberdeen " . day p.m. -- iverness " . night a.m. thurso " . day to glasgow. miles. _st. martin's-le-grand._ p.m. london dep. . night - / barnet arr. . -- - / welwyn " . -- a.m. - / baldock " . -- - / caldecot " . -- - / eaton " . -- - / alconbury church " . -- - / stilton " . -- stamford " . -- stretton " . day - / grantham { arr. . -- { dep. . -- - / foston arr. . -- - / newark " . -- - / ollerton " . -- worksop " . -- p.m. - / bagley " . -- - / doncaster " . -- - / pontefract " . -- [asterism] _change for_ leeds _and_ wakefield. - / aberford arr. . -- [asterism] _change for_ bradford. - / wetherby. { arr. . -- { dep. . -- [asterism] _change here for_ york. boroughbridge arr. . night leeming " . -- catterick bridge " . -- foxhall " . -- - / greta bridge " . -- - / new spital " . -- a.m. brough " . -- appleby " . -- penrith " . -- hesketh " . -- _manchester mail_ . p.m., reaches _carlisle g.p.o._ . a.m. carlisle g.p.o. { arr. . -- { dep. . -- - / gretna arr. . -- ecclefechan " . day - / dunwoodie " . -- - / beattock bridge " . -- abington " . -- douglas mill " . -- lesmahagow bar. " bags dropped. p.m. - / hamilton " . -- - / glasgow g.p.o. " . -- (_time on road, hours._) . irish mails. down. to kingstown vi� holyhead. miles. _st. martin's-le-grand._ p.m. london dep. . night - / harriet arr. ---- -- - / st. albans " ---- -- - / redbourne " . -- - / dunstable " ---- -- a.m. - / brickhill " . -- - / stony stratford " . -- towcester " . -- - / daventry " . -- dunchurch " . -- - / coventry " . -- - / birmingham { arr. . day { dep. . -- - / wednesbury arr. . -- wolverhampton " . -- - / shiffnal " . -- - / heygate junction. " . -- - / wellington " . -- - / shrewsbury { arr. . -- p.m. { dep. . -- netcliffe arr. . -- - / oswestry " . -- - / chirk " ---- -- llangollen " . -- - / corwen { arr. . -- { dep. . -- - / tynant arr. . -- - / cernioge " . -- - / "new stables" " . night - / capel curig " . -- - / tyn-y-maes " . -- bangor { arr. . -- { dep. . -- anglesea ferry arr. . -- _here cross the menai straits at night by ferry until the opening of telford's suspension bridge, in ._ mona inn arr. . -- holyhead post office { arr. . -- { dep. kingstown arr. dublin " (_time on journey, h. m. present time on journey, h. m._) [asterism] _it may be curious to note that the present train mail service is under the liability of a penalty of £ s. for each minute it is after time through any avoidable cause._ to waterford (p) vi� gloucester and milford. miles. p.m. london dep. . night - / hounslow arr. . -- - / colnbrook " ---- -- - / slough " ---- -- maidenhead " . -- - / henley-on-thames " ---- -- nettlebed " ---- -- a.m. - / oxford { arr. . -- { dep. ---- -- - / witney arr. . -- burford " ---- -- - / northleach " . -- - / andoverford " ---- day - / cheltenham { arr. . -- { dep. ---- -- gloucester { arr. . -- { dep. ---- -- ross arr. . -- monmouth " . -- p.m. abergavenny " . -- brecon " . -- llandovery " . -- carmarthen " . night haverfordwest " hubberston " [asterism] _compare the quicker relative time to carmarthen made by the bristol mail immediately following, notwithstanding having to cross the bristol channel._ to waterford (p) vi� bristol and pembroke. miles _st. martin's-le-grand._ p.m. london dep. . night - / hounslow arr. . -- maidenhead " . -- reading " ---- -- a.m. newbury " . -- marlborough " ---- -- calne " . -- chippenham " ---- -- bath " . day bristol { arr. . -- { dep. ---- -- new passage ferry arr. . -- newport " ---- -- p.m. cardiff " . -- cowbridge " ---- -- neath " ---- -- swansea " . -- carmarthen " . night a.m. hobbs point " . -- pembroke " . -- western and foreign mails.-- .--up and down. falmouth exeter devonport mail.[ ] mail. mail. st. martin's-le-grand dep. . p.m. . p.m. . p.m. hounslow arr. ---- ---- . staines " ---- . ---- slough " ---- ---- ---- maidenhead " ---- ---- . newbury " ---- ---- . a.m. marlborough " ---- ---- . devizes " ---- ---- . bath " ---- ---- . bridgewater " ---- ---- . taunton " ---- ---- . p.m. collumpton " ---- ---- . bagshot " . p.m. ---- ---- andover " . a.m. . a.m. ---- salisbury " ---- . ---- yeovil " ---- . ---- chard " ---- . ---- amesbury " . ---- ---- ilchester " . ---- ---- honiton " . . p.m. ---- exeter { arr. . p.m. . . { dep. . ---- ---- newton arr. ---- . totnes " ---- . ashburton " . ---- plymouth " . ---- devonport { arr. . . { dep. ---- ---- liskeard arr. . lostwithiel " . st. austell " . truro " . falmouth " . a.m. _naval station for the departure of the foreign packets._ miles from london:--honiton, via amesbury, ; via salisbury, . exeter, via amesbury, ; via salisbury, ; via, taunton, . devonport, via amesbury, ; via taunton, . _packet arrives from abroad._ falmouth dep. . a.m. truro arr. . st. austell " . lostwithiel " . liskeard " . devonport { arr. ---- { dep. . . a.m. plymouth dep. ---- ---- ashburton " . p.m. ---- totnes " ---- . newton " ---- . exeter { arr. . ---- ---- { dep. . . p.m. . honiton dep. . . a.m. ---- ilchester " . ---- ---- amesbury " . ---- ---- chard " ---- . ---- yeovil " ---- . ---- salisbury " ---- . ---- andover " . a.m. . ---- bagshot " . ---- ---- collumpton " ---- ---- . taunton " ---- ---- . p.m. bridgewater " ---- ---- . bath " ---- ---- . devizes " ---- ---- . marlborough " ---- ---- . newbury " ---- ---- . a.m. maidenhead " ---- ---- . slough " ---- ---- ---- staines " ---- . p.m. ---- hounslow " ---- ---- . st. martin's-le-grand arr. . . . notes.--greenwich time throughout. the mails left london one hour earlier (at . p.m.) on sundays. the falmouth (nicknamed the "quicksilver") mail averaged over miles an hour between london and devonport. [ ] note. the falmouth mail was allowed minutes stoppage at ilminster ( . a.m. to . ), notwithstanding which it travelled between london and exeter at the average speed of miles and furlongs an hour. simmons & botten, printers, london, e.c. coaches and coaching book love, my friends, is your pass to the greatest, the purest, and the most perfect pleasure that god has prepared for his creatures. it lasts when all other pleasures fade. it will support you when all other recreations are gone. it will last you until your death. it will make your hours pleasant to you as long as you live. anthony trollope. [illustration: a mail-coach paul hardy] [illustration: _leigh hunt_ coaches and coaching embellished with pictures by paul hardy h. m. caldwell co. boston] [illustration: coaches and coaching] according to the opinion commonly entertained respecting an author's want of riches, it may be allowed us to say that we retain from childhood a considerable notion of "a ride in a coach." nor do we hesitate to confess, that by coach we especially mean a hired one; from the equivocal dignity of the post-chaise, down to that despised old castaway, the hackney. it is true that the carriage, as it is indifferently called (as if nothing less genteel could carry any one), is a more decided thing than the chaise; it may be swifter even than the mail, leaves the stage at a still greater distance in every respect, and (forgetting what it may come to itself) darts by the poor old lumbering hackney with immeasureable contempt. it rolls with a prouder ease than any other vehicle. it is full of cushions and comfort; elegantly coloured inside and out; rich, yet neat; light and rapid, yet substantial. the horses seem proud to draw it. the fat and fair-wigged coachman "lends his sounding lash," his arm only in action and that but little, his body well set with its own weight. the footman, in the pride of his nonchalance, holding by the straps behind, and glancing down sideways betwixt his cocked-hat and neckcloth, stands swinging from east to west upon his springy toes. the horses rush along amidst their glancing harness. spotted dogs leap about them, barking with a princely superfluity of noise. the hammer-cloth trembles through all its fringe. the paint flashes in the sun. we, contemptuous of everything less convenient, bow backwards and forwards with a certain indifferent air of gentility, infinitely predominant. suddenly, with a happy mixture of turbulence and truth, the carriage dashes up by the curb-stone to the very point desired, and stops with a lordly wilfulness of decision. the coachman looks as if nothing had happened. the footman is down in an instant; the knocker reverberates into the farthest corner of the house; doors, both carriage and house, are open;--we descend, casting a matter-of-course eye at the bystanders; and the moment we touch the pavement, the vehicle, as if conscious of what it has carried, and relieved from the weight of our importance, recovers from its sidelong inclination with a jerk, tossing and panting, as it were, for very breath, like the proud heads of the horses. all this, it must be owned, is very pretty; but it is also gouty and superfluous. it is too convenient,--too exacting,--too exclusive. we must get too much for it, and lose too much by it. its plenty, as ovid says, makes us poor. we neither have it in the republic of letters, nor would desire it in any less jacobinical state. horses, as many as you please, provided men have enough to eat; hired coaches, a reasonable number:--but health and good-humour at all events. gigs and curricles are things less objectionable, because they cannot be so relied upon as substitutes for exercise. our taste in them, we must confess, is not genuine. how shall we own it? we like to be driven, instead of drive;--to read or look about us, instead of keeping watch on a horse's head. we have no relish even for vehicles of this description that are not safe. danger is a good thing for giving a fillip to a man's ideas; but even danger, to us, must come recommended by something useful. we have no ambition to have tandem written on our tombstone. the prettiest of these vehicles is the curricle, which is also the safest. there is something worth looking at in the pair of horses, with that sparkling pole of steel laid across them. it is like a bar of music, comprising their harmonious course. but to us, even gigs are but a sort of unsuccessful run at gentility. the driver, to all intents and purposes, had better be on the horse. horseback is the noblest way of being carried in the world. it is cheaper than any other mode of riding; it is common to all ranks; and it is manly, graceful, and healthy. the handsomest mixture of danger with dignity, in the shape of a carriage, was the tall phaeton with its yellow wings. we remember looking up to it with respect in our childhood, partly for its loftiness, partly for its name, and partly for the show it makes in the prints to novels of that period. the most gallant figure which modern driving ever cut was in the person of a late duke of hamilton; of whom we have read or heard somewhere, that he used to dash round the streets of rome, with his horses panting, and his hounds barking about his phaeton, to the equal fright and admiration of the masters of the world, who were accustomed to witness nothing higher than a lumbering old coach, or a cardinal on a mule. a post-chaise involves the idea of travelling, which in the company of those we love is home in motion. the smooth running along the road, the fresh air, the variety of scene, the leafy roads, the bursting prospects, the clatter through a town, the gaping gaze of a village, the hearty appetite, the leisure (your chaise waiting only upon your own movements), even the little contradictions to home-comfort, and the expedients upon which they set us, all put the animal spirits at work, and throw a novelty over the road of life. if anything could grind us young again, it would be the wheels of a post-chaise. the only monotonous sight is the perpetual up-and-down movement of the postillion, who, we wish exceedingly, could take a chair. his occasional retreat to the bar which occupies the place of a box, and his affecting to sit upon it, only remind us of its exquisite want of accommodation. but some have given the bar, lately, a surreptitious squeeze in the middle, and flattened it a little into something obliquely resembling an inconvenient seat. if we are to believe the merry columbus of down-hall, calashes, now almost obsolete for any purpose, used to be hired for travelling occasions a hundred years back; but he preferred a chariot; and neither was good. yet see how pleasantly good humour rides over its inconveniences. then answer'd 'squire morley, "pray get a calash, that in summer may burn, and in winter may splash; i love dirt and dust; and 'tis always my pleasure to take with me much of the soil that i measure." but matthew thought better; for matthew thought right, and hired a chariot so trim and so tight, that extremes both of winter and summer might pass; for one window was canvas, the other was glass. "draw up," quoth friend matthew; "pull down," quoth friend john; "we shall be both hotter and colder anon." thus, talking and scolding, they forward did speed; and ralpho paced by under newman the swede. into an old inn did this equipage roll, at a town they call hodson, the sign of the bull; near a nymph with an urn that divides the highway, and into a puddle throws mother of tea. "come here, my sweet landlady, pray how d'ye do? where is cicely so cleanly, and prudence, and sue? and where is the widow that dwelt here below? and the hostler that sung about eight years ago? and where is your sister, so mild and so dear, whose voice to her maids like a trumpet was clear?" "by my troth," she replies, "you grow younger, i think: and pray, sir, what wine does the gentleman drink? "why now let me die, sir, or live upon trust, if i know to which question to answer you first: why, things, since i saw you, most strangely have varied; the hostler is hang'd, and the widow is married. "and prue left a child for the parish to nurse, and cicely went off with a gentleman's purse; and as to my sister, so mild and so dear, she has lain in the churchyard full many a year." "well; peace to her ashes! what signifies grief? she roasted red veal, and she powder'd lean beef: full nicely she knew to cook up a fine dish; for tough were her pullets, and tender her fish." prior. this quotation reminds us of a little poem by the same author, entitled the _secretary_, which, as it is short, and runs upon chaise-wheels, and seems to have slipped the notice it deserves, we will do ourselves the pleasure of adding. it was written when he was secretary of embassy at the hague, where he seems to have edified the dutch with his insisting upon enjoying himself. the astonishment with which the good hollander and his wife look up to him as he rides, and the touch of yawning dialect at the end, are extremely pleasant. "while with labour assiduous due pleasure i mix, and in one day atone for the business of six, in a little dutch chaise on a saturday night, on my left hand my horace, a nymph on my right: no memoirs to compose, and no post-boy to move, that on sunday may hinder the softness of love; for her, neither visits, nor parties at tea, nor the long-winded cant of a dull refugee: this night and the next shall be hers, shall be mine,-- to good or ill-fortune the third we resign: thus scorning the world and superior to fate, i drive on my car in processional state. so with phia through athens pisistratus rode; men thought her minerva, and him a new god. but why should i stories of athens rehearse, where people knew love, and were partial to verse? since none can with justice my pleasures oppose, in holland half drowned in interest and prose? by greece and past ages what need i be tried, when the hague and the present are both on my side? and is it enough for the joys of the day, to think what anacreon or sappho would say? when good vandergoes, and his provident _vrow_, as they gaze on my triumph, do freely allow, that, search all the province, you'll find no man _dàr_ is so blest as the _englishen heer secre ar'_ is." if prior had been living now he would have found the greatest want of travelling accommodation in a country for whose more serious wants we have to answer, without having her wit to help us to an excuse. there is a story told of an irish post-chaise, the occupier of which, without quitting it, had to take to his heels. it was going down hill as fast as wind and the impossibility of stopping could make it, when the foot passengers observed a couple of legs underneath, emulating, with all their might, the rapidity of the wheels. the bottom had come out; and the gentleman was obliged to run for his life. we must relate another anecdote of an irish post-chaise, merely to show the natural tendencies of the people to be lawless in self-defence. a friend of ours, who was travelling among them, used to have this proposition put to him by the postillion whenever he approached a turnpike--"plase your honour, will i drive at the pike?" the pike hung loosely across the road. luckily, the rider happened to be of as lawless a turn for justice as the driver, so the answer was always a cordial one--"oh yes--drive at the pike." the pike made way accordingly; and in a minute or two the gate people were heard and seen, screaming in vain after the illegal charioteers. "fertur equis auriga, neque audit currus." virgil. "the driver's borne beyond their swearing, and the post-chaise is hard of hearing." as to following them, nobody in ireland thinks of moving too much, legal or illegal. the pleasure to be had in a mail-coach is not so much at one's command as that in a post-chaise. there is generally too little room in it, and too much hurry out of it. the company must not lounge over their breakfast, even if they are all agreed. it is an understood thing that they are to be uncomfortably punctual. they must get in at seven o'clock, though they are all going upon business they do not like or care about, or will have to wait till nine before they can do anything. some persons know how to manage this haste, and breakfast and dine in the cracking of a whip. they stick with their fork, they joint, they sliver, they bolt. legs and wings vanish before them like a dragon's before a knight-errant. but if one is not a clergyman or a regular jolly fellow, one has no chance this way. to be diffident or polite is fatal. it is a merit eagerly acknowledged, and as quickly set aside. at last you begin upon a leg, and are called off. a very troublesome degree of science is necessary for being well settled in the coach. we remember travelling in our youth, upon the north road, with an orthodox elderly gentleman of venerable peruke, who talked much with a grave-looking young man about universities, and won our inexperienced heart with a notion that he was deep in horace and virgil. he was deeper in his wig. towards evening, as he seemed restless, we asked with much diffidence whether a change, even for the worse, might not relieve him; for we were riding backwards, and thought that all elderly people disliked that way. he insinuated the very objection; so we recoiled from asking him again. in a minute or two, however, he insisted that we were uneasy ourselves, and that he must relieve us for our own sake. we protested as filially as possible against this; but at last, out of mere shame of disputing the point with so benevolent an elder, we changed seats with him. [illustration: the post-chaise] after an interval of bland meditation, we found the evening sun full in our face. his new comfort set him dozing; and every now and then he jerked his wig in our eyes, till we had the pleasure of seeing him take out a nightcap and look very ghastly. the same person, and his serious young companion, tricked us out of a good bed we happened to get at the inn. the greatest peculiarity attending a mail-coach arises from its travelling at night. the gradual decline of talk, the incipient snore, the rustling and shifting of legs and nightcaps, the cessation of other noises on the road--the sound of the wind or rain, of the moist circuit of the wheels, and of the time-beating tread of the horses--all dispose the traveller, who cannot sleep, to a double sense of the little that is left him to observe. the coach stops, the door opens, a rush of cold air announces the demands and merits of the guard, who is taking his leave, and is anxious to remember us. the door is clapped to again; the sound of everything outside becomes dim; and voices are heard knocking up the people of the inn, and answered by issuing yawns and excuses. wooden shoes clog heavily about. the horses' mouths are heard, swilling the water out of tubs. all is still again, and some one in the coach takes a long breath. the driver mounts, and we resume our way. it happens that we can sleep anywhere except in a mail-coach; so that we hate to see a prudent, warm, old fellow, who has been eating our fowls and intercepting our toast, put on his night-cap in order to settle himself till morning. we rejoice in the digs that his neighbour's elbow gives him, and hail the long-legged traveller that sits opposite. a passenger of our wakeful description must try to content himself with listening to the sounds above mentioned; or thinking of his friends; or turning verses, as sir richard blackmore did, "to the rumbling of his coach's wheels." the stage-coach is a great and unpretending accommodation. it is a cheap substitute, notwithstanding all its eighteen-penny and two-and-sixpenny temptations, for keeping a carriage or a horse; and we really think, in spite of its gossiping, is no mean help to village liberality; for its passengers are so mixed, so often varied, so little yet so much together, so compelled to accommodate, so willing to pass a short time pleasantly, and so liable to the criticism of strangers, that it is hard if they do not get a habit of speaking, or even thinking more kindly of one another than if they mingled less often, or under other circumstances. the old and infirm are treated with reverence; the ailing sympathised with; the healthy congratulated; the rich not distinguished; the poor well met; the young, with their faces conscious of ride, patronised, and allowed to be extra. even the fiery, nay the fat, learn to bear with each other; and if some high-thoughted persons will talk now and then of their great acquaintances, or their preference of a carriage, there is an instinct which tells the rest that they would not make such appeals to their good opinion if they valued it so little as might be supposed. stoppings and dust are not pleasant, but the latter may be had on grander occasions; and if anyone is so unlucky as never to keep another stopping himself, he must be content with the superiority of his virtue. the mail or stage-coachman, upon the whole, is no inhuman mass of great-coat, gruffness, civility, and old boots. the latter is the politer, from the smaller range of acquaintance, and his necessity for preserving them. his face is red, and his voice rough, by the same process of drink and catarrh. he has a silver watch with a steel-chain, and plenty of loose silver in his pocket, mixed with half-pence. he serves the houses he goes by for a clock. he takes a glass at every alehouse; for thirst, when it is dry, and for warmth when it is wet. he likes to show the judicious reach of his whip, by twigging a dog or a goose on the road, or children that get in the way. his tenderness to descending old ladies is particular. he touches his hat to mr. smith. he gives "the young woman" a ride, and lends her his box-coat in the rain. his liberality in imparting his knowledge to any one that has the good fortune to ride on the box with him is a happy mixture of deference, conscious possession, and familiarity. his information chiefly lies in the occupancy of houses on the road, prize-fighters, bow street runners, and accidents. he concludes that you know dick sams, or old joey, and proceeds to relate some of the stories that relish his pot and tobacco in the evening. if any of the four-in-hand gentry go by, he shakes his head, and thinks they might find something better to do. his contempt for them is founded on modesty. he tells you that his off-hand horse is as pretty a goer as ever was, but that kitty--"yeah, now there, kitty, can't you be still? kitty's a devil, sir, for all you wouldn't think it." he knows that the boys on the road admire him, and gives the horses an indifferent lash with his whip as they go by. if you wish to know what rain and dust can do, you should look at his old hat. there is an indescribably placid and paternal look in the position of his corduroy knees and old top-boots on the foot-board, with their pointed toes and never-cleaned soles. his _beau-idéal_ of appearance is a frock-coat, with mother-o'-pearl buttons, a striped yellow waistcoat, and a flower in his mouth. "but all our praises why for charles and robert? rise, honest mews, and sing the classic bobart." is the quadrijugal virtue of that learned person still extant? that olympic and baccalaureated charioteer?--that best educated and most erudite of coachmen, of whom dominie sampson is alone worthy to speak? that singular punning and driving commentary on the _sunt quos curriculo collegisse_? in short, the worthy and agreeable mr. bobart, bachelor of arts, who drove the oxford stage some years ago, capped verses and the front of his hat with equal dexterity, and read horace over his brandy-and-water of an evening. we had once the pleasure of being beaten by him in that capital art, he having brought up against us an unusual number of those cross-armed letters, as puzzling to verse-cappers as iron-cats unto cavalry, ycleped x's; which said warfare he was pleased to call to mind in after times, unto divers of our comrades. the modest and natural greatness with which he used to say "yait" to his horses, and then turn round with his rosy gills, and an eye like a fish, and give out the required verse, can never pass away from us, as long as verses or horses run. of the hackney-coach we cannot make as short work as many persons like to make of it in reality. perhaps it is partly a sense of the contempt it undergoes, which induces us to endeavour to make the best of it. but it has its merits, as we shall show presently. in the account of its demerits we have been anticipated by a new, and we are sorry to say a very good, poetess, of the name of lucy v---- l----, who has favoured us with a sight of a manuscript poem, in which they are related with great nicety and sensitiveness. _reader._ what, sir, sorry to say that a lady is a good poetess? _indicator._ only inasmuch, madam, as the lady gives such authority to the anti-social view of this subject, and will not agree with us as to the beatitude of the hackney-coach.--but hold:--upon turning to the manuscript again, we find that the objections are put into the mouth of a dandy courtier. this makes a great difference. the hackney resumes all which it had lost in the good graces of the fair authoress. the only wonder is, how the courtier could talk so well. here is the passage:-- "eban, untempted by the pastry-cooks (of pastry he got store within the palace), with hasty steps, wrapp'd cloak, and solemn looks, incognito upon his errand sallies; his smelling-bottle ready for the alleys; he pass'd the hurdy-gurdies with disdain, vowing he'd have them sent on board the galleys: just as he made his vow, it 'gan to rain, therefore he call'd a coach, and bade it drive amain. 'i'll pull the string,' said he, and further said, 'polluted jarvey! ah, thou filthy hack! whose strings of life are all dried up and dead, whose linsey-wolsey lining hangs all slack, whose rug is straw, whose wholeness is a crack; and evermore thy steps go clatter-clitter; whose glass once up can never be got back, who prov'st, with jolting arguments and bitter, that 'tis of vile no-use to travel in a litter. 'thou inconvenience! thou hungry crop for all corn! thou snail creeper to and fro, who while thou goest ever seem'st to stop, and fiddle-faddle standest while you go; i' the morning, freighted with a weight of woe, unto some lazar-house thou journiest, and in the evening tak'st a double row of dowdies, for some dance or party drest, besides the goods meanwhile thou movest east and west. 'by thy ungallant bearing and sad mien, an inch appears the utmost thou couldst budge; yet at the slightest nod, or hint, or sign, round to the curb-stone patient dost thou trudge, school'd in a beckon, learned in a nudge; a dull-eyed argus watching for a fare; quiet and plodding, thou dost bear no grudge to whisking tilburies or phaetons rare, curricles, or mail-coaches, swift beyond compare.' philosophising thus, he pull'd the check, and bade the coachman wheel to such a street; who turning much his body, more his neck, louted full low, and hoarsely did him greet." the tact here is so nice of the infirmities which are but too likely to beset our poor old friend, that we should only spoil it to say more. to pass then to the merits. one of the greatest helps to a sense or merit in other things is a consciousness of one's own wants. do you despise a hackney-coach? get tired; get old; get young again. lay down your carriage, or make it less uneasily too easy. have to stand up half-an-hour, out of a storm, under a gateway. be ill, and wish to visit a friend who is worse. fall in love, and want to sit next your mistress. or if all this will not do, fall in a cellar. ben jonson, in a fit of indignation at the niggardliness of james the first, exclaimed, "he despises me, i suppose, because i live in an alley:--tell him his soul lives in an alley." we think we see a hackney-coach moving out of its ordinary patience, and hear it say, "you there, who sit looking so scornfully at me out of your carriage, are yourself the thing you take me for. your understanding is a hackney-coach. it is lumbering, rickety, and at a stand. when it moves it is drawn by things like itself. it is at once the most stationary and the most servile of commonplaces. and when a good thing is put into it, it does not know it." but it is difficult to imagine a hackney-coach under so irritable an aspect. hogarth has drawn a set of hats or wigs with countenances of their own. we have noticed the same thing in the faces of houses; and it sometimes gets in one's way in a landscape-painting, with the outlines of the rocks and trees. a friend tells us that the hackney-coach has its countenance, with gesticulation besides: and now he has pointed it out, we can easily fancy it. some of them look chucked under the chin, some nodding, some coming at you sideways. we shall never find it easy, however, to fancy the irritable aspect above-mentioned. a hackney-coach always appeared to us the most quiescent of movables. its horses and it, slumbering on a stand, are an emblem of all patience in creation, animate and inanimate. the submission with which the coach takes every variety of the weather, dust, rain, and wind, never moving but when some eddying blast makes its old body shiver, is only surpassed by the vital patience of the horses. can anything better illustrate the poet's line about "--years that bring the philosophic mind," than the still-hung head, the dim indifferent eye, the dragged and blunt-cornered mouth, and the gaunt imbecility of body dropping its weight on three tired legs in order to give repose to the lame one? when it has blinkers on, they seem to be shutting up its eyes for death, like the windows of a house. fatigue and the habit of suffering have become as natural to the creature as the bit to its mouth. once in half-an-hour it moves the position of its leg, or shakes its drooping ears. the whip makes it go, more from habit than from pain. its coat has become almost callous to minor stings. the blind and staggering fly in autumn might come to die against its cheek. of a pair of hackney-coach horses, one so much resembles the other that it seems unnecessary for them to compare notes. they have that within them which is beyond the comparative. they no longer bend their heads towards each other as they go. they stand together as if unconscious of one another's company. but they are not. an old horse misses his companion, like an old man. the presence of an associate, who has gone through pain and suffering with us, need not say anything. it is talk, and memory, and everything. something of this it may be to our old friends in harness. what are they thinking of while they stand motionless in the rain? do they remember? do they dream? do they still, unperplexed as their old blood is by too many foods, receive a pleasure from the elements; a dull refreshment from the air and sun? have they yet a palate for the hay which they pull so feebly? or for the rarer grain which induces them to perform their only voluntary gesture of any vivacity, and toss up the bags that are fastened on their mouths, to get at its shallow feast? if the old horse were gifted with memory (and who shall say he is not, in one thing as well as another?), it might be at once the most melancholy and pleasantest faculty he has; for the commonest hack has probably been a hunter or racer; has had his days of lustre and enjoyment; has darted along the course, and scoured the pasture; has carried his master proudly, or his lady gently; has pranced, has galloped, has neighed aloud, has dared, has forded, has spurned at mastery, has graced it and made it proud, has rejoiced the eye, has been crowded to as an actor, has been all instinct with life and quickness, has had his very fear admired as courage, and been sat upon by valour as its chosen seat. "his ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane upon his compass'd crest now stands on end; his nostrils drink the air; and forth again, as from a furnace, vapours doth he send; his eye, which scornfully glistens like fire, shows his hot courage and his high desire. sometimes he trots as if he told the steps, with gentle majesty, and modest pride; anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps, as who would say, lo! thus my strength is tried, and thus i do to captivate the eye of the fair breeder that is standing by. what recketh he his rider's angry stir, his flattering holla, or his _stand, i say_? what cares he now for curb, or pricking spur? for rich caparisons, or trappings gay? he sees his love, and nothing else he sees, for nothing else with his proud sight agrees. look, when a painter would surpass the life, in limning out a well-proportion'd steed, his art with nature's workmanship at strife, as if the dead the living should exceed; so did this horse excel a common one, in shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone. round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlock shag and long, broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide; high crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong; thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide; look, what a horse should have, he did not lack, save a proud rider on so proud a back." alas! his only riders now are the rain and a sordid harness. the least utterance of the wretchedest voice makes him stop and become a fixture. his loves were in existence at the time the old sign, fifty miles hence, was painted. his nostrils drink nothing but what they cannot help--the water out of an old tub. not all the hounds in the world could make his ears attain any eminence. his mane is scratchy and lax. the same great poet who wrote the triumphal verses for him and his loves, has written their living epitaph:-- "the poor jades lob down their heads, dropping the hide and hips, the gum down roping from their pale dead eyes; and in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless." _k. henry v, act ._ there is a song called the "high-mettled racer," describing the progress of a favourite horse's life, from its time of vigour and glory, down to its furnishing food for the dogs. it is not as good as shakespeare; but it will do to those who are half as kind as he. we defy anybody to read that song, or be in the habit of singing it or hearing it sung, and treat horses as they are sometimes treated. so much good may an author do, who is in earnest, and does not go in a pedantic way to work. we will not say that plutarch's good-natured observation about taking care of one's old horse did more for that class of retired servants than all the graver lessons of philosophy. for it is philosophy which first sets people thinking; and then some of them put it in a more popular shape. but we will venture to say that plutarch's observation saved many a steed of antiquity a superfluous thump; and in this respect the author of the "high-mettled racer" (mr. dibdin we believe, no mean man in his way) may stand by the side of the old illustrious biographer. next to ancient causes, to the inevitable progress of events, and to the practical part of christianity (which persons, the most accused of irreligion, have preserved like a glorious infant, through ages of blood and fire) the kindliness of modern philosophy is more immediately owing to the great national writers of europe, in whose schools we have all been children:--to voltaire in france, and shakespeare in england. shakespeare, in his time, obliquely pleaded the cause of the jew, and got him set on a common level with humanity. the jew has since been not only allowed to be human, but some have undertaken to show him as the "best good christian though he knows it not." we shall not dispute the title with him, nor with the other worshippers of mammon, who force him to the same shrine. we allow, as things go in that quarter, that the jew is as great a christian as his neighbour, and his neighbour as great a jew as he. there is neither love nor money lost between them. but, at all events, the jew is a man; and with shakespeare's assistance the time has arrived when we can afford to acknowledge the horse for a fellow-creature, and treat him as one. we may say for him, upon the same grounds and to the same purpose, as shakespeare said for the israelite, "hath not a horse organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a christian is?" oh--but some are always at hand to cry out--it would be effeminate to think too much of these things!--alas! we have no notion of asking the gentlemen to think too much of anything. if they will think at all, it will be a great gain. as to effeminacy (if we must use that ungallant and partial word, for want of a better) it is cruelty that is effeminate. it is selfishness that is effeminate. anything is effeminate which would get an excitement, or save a proper and manly trouble, at the undue expense of another. how does the case stand then between those who ill-treat their horses and those who spare them? [illustration: the stage-coach driver] to return to the coach. imagine a fine coach and pair, which are standing at the door of a house, in all the pride of their strength and beauty, converted into what they may both become, a hackney, and its old shamblers. such is one of the meditations of the philosophic eighteen-penny rider. a hackney-coach has often the arms of nobility on it. as we are going to get into it we catch a glimpse of the faded lustre of an earl's or marquis's coronet, and think how many light and proud hearts have ascended those now rickety steps. in this coach perhaps an elderly lady once rode to her wedding, a blooming and blushing girl. her mother and sister were on each side of her; the bridegroom opposite in a blossom-coloured coat. they talk of everything in the world of which they are not thinking. the sister was never prouder of her. the mother with difficulty represses her own pride and tears. the bride, thinking he is looking at her, casts down her eyes, pensive in her joy. the bridegroom is at once the proudest, and the humblest, and the happiest man in the world. for our parts, we sit in a corner, and are in love with the sister. we dream she is going to speak to us in answer to some indifferent question, when a hoarse voice comes in at the front window and says, "whereabouts, sir?" and grief has consecrated thee, thou reverend dilapidation, as well as joy! thou hast carried unwilling as well as willing hearts; hearts that have thought the slowest of thy paces too fast; faces that have sat back in a corner of thee, to hide their tears from the very thought of being seen. in thee the destitute have been taken to the poor-house, and the wounded and sick to the hospital; and many an arm has been round many an insensible waist. into thee the friend or the lover has hurried, in a passion of tears, to lament his loss. in thee he has hastened to condole the dying or the wretched. in thee the father, or mother, or the older kinswoman, more patient in her years, has taken the little child to the grave, the human jewel that must be parted with. but joy appears in thee again, like the look-in of the sunshine. if the lover has gone in thee unwillingly, he has also gone willingly. how many friends hast thou not carried to merry-meetings! how many young parties to the play! how many children, whose faces thou hast turned in an instant from the extremity of lachrymose weariness to that of staring delight. thou hast contained as many different passions in thee as a human heart; and for the sake of the human heart, old body, thou art venerable. thou shalt be as respectable as a reduced old gentleman, whose very slovenliness is pathetic. thou shalt be made gay, as he is over a younger and richer table, and thou shalt be still more touching for the gaiety. we wish the hackney-coachman were as interesting a machine as either his coach or horses; but it must be owned, that of all the driving species he is the least agreeable specimen. this is partly to be attributed to the life which has most probably put him into his situation; partly to his want of outside passengers to cultivate his gentility; and partly to the disputable nature of his fare, which always leads him to be lying and cheating. the waterman of the stand, who beats him in sordidness of appearance, is more respectable. he is less of a vagabond, and cannot cheat you. nor is the hackney-coachman only disagreeable in himself, but, like falstaff reversed, the cause of disagreeableness in others; for he sets people upon disputing with him in pettiness and ill-temper. he induces the mercenary to be violent, and the violent to seem mercenary. a man whom you took for a pleasant, laughing fellow, shall all of a sudden put on an irritable look of calculation, and vow that he will be charged with a constable rather than pay the sixpence. even fair woman shall waive her all-conquering softness, and sound a shrill trumpet in reprobation of the extortionate charioteer, whom, if she were a man, she says, she would expose. being a woman, then, let her not expose herself. oh, but it is intolerable to be so imposed upon! let the lady, then, get a pocket-book, if she must, with the hackney-coach fares in it; or a pain in the legs, rather than the temper; or, above all, let her get wiser, and have an understanding that can dispense with the good opinion of the hackney-coachman. does she think that her rosy lips were made to grow pale about two-and-sixpence; or that the expression of them will ever be like her cousin fanny's if she goes on? the stage-coachman likes the boys on the road, because he knows they admire him. the hackney-coachman knows that they cannot admire him, and that they can get up behind his coach, which makes him very savage. the cry of "cut behind!" from the malicious urchins on the pavement wounds at once his self-love and his interest. he would not mind overloading his master's horses for another sixpence, but to do it for nothing is what shocks his humanity. he hates the boy for imposing upon him, and the boys for reminding him that he has been imposed upon; and he would willingly twinge the cheeks of all nine. the cut of his whip over the coach is malignant. he has a constant eye to the road behind him. he has also an eye to what may be left in the coach. he will undertake to search the straw for you, and miss the half-crown on purpose. he speculates on what he may get above his fare, according to your manners or company; and knows how much to ask for driving faster or slower than usual. he does not like wet weather so much as people suppose; for he says it rots both his horses and harness, and he takes parties out of town when the weather is fine, which produces good payments in a lump. lovers, late supper-eaters, and girls going home from boarding-school, are his best pay. he has a rascally air of remonstrance when you dispute half the overcharge, and according to the temper he is in, begs you to consider his bread, hopes you will not make such a fuss about a trifle; or tells you, you may take his number or sit in the coach all night. a great number of ridiculous adventures must have taken place in which hackney-coaches were concerned. the story of the celebrated harlequin lunn, who secretly pitched himself out of one into a tavern window, and when the coachman was about to submit to the loss of his fare, astonished him by calling out again from the inside, is too well known for repetition. there is one of swift, not perhaps so common. he was going, one dark evening, to dine with some great man, and was accompanied by some other clergymen, to whom he gave their cue. they were all in their canonicals. when they arrive at the house, the coachman opens the door, and lets down the steps. down steps the dean, very reverend in his black robes; after him comes another personage, equally black and dignified; then another; then a fourth. the coachman, who recollects taking up no greater number, is about to put up the steps, when another clergyman descends. after giving way to this other, he proceeds with great confidence to toss them up, when lo! another comes. well, there cannot, he thinks, be more than six. he is mistaken. down comes a seventh, then an eighth; then a ninth; all with decent intervals; the coach, in the meantime, rocking as if it were giving birth to so many demons. the coachman can conclude no less. he cries out, "the devil! the devil!" and is preparing to run away, when they all burst into laughter. they had gone round as they descended, and got in at the other door. we remember in our boyhood an edifying comment on the proverb of "all is not gold that glistens." the spectacle made such an impression upon us, that we recollect the very spot, which was at the corner of a road in the way from westminster to kennington, near a stonemason's. it was a severe winter, and we were out on a holiday, thinking, perhaps, of the gallant hardships to which the ancient soldiers accustomed themselves, when we suddenly beheld a group of hackney-coachmen, not, as spenser says of his witch, "busy, as _seemed_, about some wicked gin," but pledging each other in what appeared to us to be little glasses of cold water. what temperance, thought we! what extraordinary and noble content! what more than roman simplicity! here are a set of poor englishmen, of the homeliest order, in the very depth of winter, quenching their patient and honourable thirst with modicums of cold water! o true virtue and courage! o sight worthy of the timoleons and epaminondases! we know not how long we remained in this error; but the first time we recognised the white devil for what it was--the first time we saw through the crystal purity of its appearance--was a great blow to us. we did not then know what the drinkers went through; and this reminds us that we have omitted one great redemption of the hackney-coachman's character--his being at the mercy of all chances and weathers. other drivers have their settled hours and pay. he only is at the mercy of every call and every casualty; he only is dragged, without notice, like the damned in milton, into the extremities of wet and cold, from his alehouse fire to the freezing rain; he only must go anywhere, at what hour and to whatever place you choose, his old rheumatic limbs shaking under his weight of rags, and the snow and sleet beating into his puckered face, through streets which the wind scours like a channel. night watchmen the readers of these our lucubrations need not be informed that we keep no carriage. the consequence is, that being visitors of the theatre, and having some inconsiderate friends who grow pleasanter and pleasanter till one in the morning, we are great walkers home by night; and this has made us great acquaintances of watchmen, moonlight, _mud_-light, and other accompaniments of that interesting hour. luckily we are fond of a walk by night. it does not always do us good; but that is not the fault of the hour, but our own, who ought to be stouter; and therefore we extract what good we can out of our necessity, with becoming temper. it is a remarkable thing in nature, and one of the good-naturedest things we know of her, that the mere fact of looking about us, and being conscious of what is going on, is its own reward, if we do but notice it in good-humour. nature is a great painter (and art and society are among her works), to whose minutest touches the mere fact of becoming alive is to enrich the stock of our enjoyments. we confess there are points liable to cavil in a walk home by night in february. old umbrellas have their weak sides; and the quantity of mud and rain may surmount the picturesque. mistaking a soft piece of mud for hard, and so filling your shoe with it, especially at setting out, must be acknowledged to be "aggravating." but then you ought to have boots. there are sights, indeed, in the streets of london, which can be rendered pleasant by no philosophy; things too grave to be talked about in our present paper; but we must premise, that our walk leads us out of town, and through streets and suburbs of by no means the worst description. even there we may be grieved if we will. the farther the walk into the country, the more tiresome we may choose to find it; and when we take it purely to oblige others, we must allow, as in the case of a friend of ours, that generosity itself on two sick legs may find limits to the notion of virtue being its own reward, and reasonably "curse those comfortable people" who, by the lights in their windows, are getting into their warm beds, and saying to one another, "bad thing to be out of doors to-night." supposing, then, that we are in a reasonable state of health and comfort in other respects, we say that a walk home at night has its merits, if you choose to meet with them. the worst part of it is the setting out; the closing of the door upon the kind faces that part with you. but their words and looks, on the other hand, may set you well off. we have known a word last us all the way home, and a look make a dream of it. to a lover, for instance, no walk can be bad. he sees but one face in the rain and darkness; the same that he saw by the light in the warm room. this ever accompanies him, looking in his eyes; and if the most pitiable and spoilt face in the world should come between them, startling him with the saddest mockery of love, he would treat it kindly for her sake. but this is a begging of the question. a lover does not walk. he is sensible neither to the pleasures nor pains of walking. he treads on air; and in the thick of all that seems inclement has an avenue of light and velvet spread for him, like a sovereign prince. [illustration: the hackney coach] to resume, then, like men of this world. the advantage of a late hour is, that everything is silent and the people fast in their beds. this gives the whole world a tranquil appearance. inanimate objects are no calmer than passions and cares now seem to be, all laid asleep. the human being is motionless as the house or the tree; sorrow is suspended; and you endeavour to think that love only is awake. let not readers of true delicacy be alarmed, for we mean to touch profanely upon nothing that ought to be sacred; and as we are for thinking the best on these occasions, it is of the best love we think; love of no heartless order, and such only as ought to be awake with the stars. as to cares and curtain-lectures, and such-like abuses of the tranquillity of night, we call to mind, for their sakes, all the sayings of the poets and others about "balmy sleep," and the soothing of hurt minds, and the weariness of sorrow, which drops into forgetfulness. the great majority are certainly "fast as a church" by the time we speak of; and for the rest, we are among the workers who have been sleepless for their advantage; so we take out our licence to forget them for the time being. the only thing that shall remind us of them is the red lamp, shining afar over the apothecary's door; which, while it does so, reminds us also that there is help for them to be had. i see him now, the pale blinker suppressing the conscious injustice of his anger at being roused by the apprentice, and fumbling himself out of the house, in hoarseness and great-coat, resolved to make the sweetness of the christmas bill indemnify him for the bitterness of the moment. but we shall be getting too much into the interior of the houses. by this time the hackney-coaches have all left the stands--a good symptom of their having got their day's money. crickets are heard, here and there, amidst the embers of some kitchen. a dog follows us. will nothing make him "go along"? we dodge him in vain; we run; we stand and "hish!" at him, accompanying the prohibition with dehortatory gestures, and an imaginary picking up of a stone. we turn again, and there he is vexing our skirts. he even forces us into an angry doubt whether he will not starve, if we do not let him go home with us. now if we could but lame him without being cruel; or if we were only an overseer, or a beadle, or a dealer in dog-skin; or a political economist, to think dogs unnecessary. oh! come, he has turned a corner, he has gone: we think we see him trotting off at a distance, thin and muddy, and our heart misgives us. but it was not our fault; we were not "hishing" at the time. his departure was lucky, for he had got our enjoyments into a dilemma; our "article" would not have known what to do with him. these are the perplexities to which your sympathisers are liable. we resume our way, independent and alone; for we have no companion this time, except our never-to-be-forgotten and ethereal companion, the reader. a real arm within another's puts us out of the pale of walking that is to be made good. it is good already. a fellow-pedestrian is company--is the party you have left; you talk and laugh, and there is no longer anything to be contended with. but alone, and in bad weather, and with a long way to go, here is something for the temper and spirits to grapple with and turn to account; and accordingly we are booted and buttoned up, an umbrella over our heads, the rain pelting upon it, and the lamp-light shining in the gutters; "mudshine," as an artist of our acquaintance used to call it, with a gusto of reprobation. now, walk cannot well be worse; and yet it shall be nothing if you meet it heartily. there is a pleasure in overcoming obstacles; mere action is something; imagination is more; and the spinning of the blood, and vivacity of the mental endeavour, act well upon one another, and gradually put you in a state of robust consciousness and triumph. every time you set down your leg you have a respect for it. the umbrella is held in the hand like a roaring trophy. we are now reaching the country: the fog and rain are over; and we meet our old friends the watchmen, staid, heavy, indifferent, more coat than man, pondering, yet not pondering, old but not reverend, immensely useless. no; useless they are not; for the inmates of the houses think them otherwise, and in that imagination they do good. we do not pity the watchmen as we used. old age often cares little for regular sleep. they could not be sleeping perhaps if they were in their beds; and certainly they would not be earning. what sleep they get is perhaps sweeter in the watch-box,--a forbidden sweet; and they have a sense of importance, and a claim on the persons in-doors, which, together with the amplitude of their coating, and the possession of the box itself, make them feel themselves, not without reason, to be "somebody." they are peculiar and official. tomkins is a cobbler as well as they; but then he is no watchman. he cannot speak to "things of night;" nor bid "any man stand in the king's name." he does not get fees and gratitude from the old, the infirm, and the drunken; nor "let gentlemen go;" nor is he "a parish-man." the churchwardens don't speak to him. if he put himself ever so much in the way of "the great plumber," he would not say, "how do you find yourself, tomkins?"--"an ancient and quiet watchman." such he was in the time of shakespeare, and such he is now. ancient, because he cannot help it; and quiet, because he will not help it, if possible; his object being to procure quiet on all sides, his own included. for this reason he does not make too much noise in crying the hour, nor is offensively particular in his articulation. no man shall sleep the worse for him, out of a horrid sense of the word "three." the sound shall be three, four, or one, as suits their mutual convenience. yet characters are to be found even among watchmen. they are not all mere coat, and lump, and indifference. by-the-way, what do they think of in general? how do they vary the monotony of their ruminations from one to two, and from two to three, and so on? are they comparing themselves with the unofficial cobbler; thinking of what they shall have for dinner to-morrow; or what they were about six years ago; or that their lot is the hardest in the world, as insipid old people are apt to think, for the pleasure of grumbling; or that it has some advantages nevertheless, besides fees; and that if they are not in bed, their wife is? of characters, or rather varieties among watchmen, we remember several. one was a dandy watchman, who used to ply at the top of oxford street, next the park. we called him the dandy, on account of his utterance. he had a mincing way with it, pronouncing the _a_ in the word "past" as it is in _hat_, making a little preparatory hem before he spoke, and then bringing out his "past ten" in a style of genteel indifference; as if, upon the whole, he was of that opinion. another was the metallic watchman, who paced the same street towards hanover square, and had a clang in his voice like a trumpet. he was a voice and nothing else; but any difference is something in a watchman. a third, who cried the hour in bedford square, was remarkable in his calling for being abrupt and loud. there was a fashion among his tribe just come up at that time, of omitting the words "past" and "o'clock," and crying only the number of the hour. i know not whether a recollection i have of his performance one night is entire matter of fact, or whether any subsequent fancies of what might have taken place are mixed up with it; but my impression is, that as i was turning the corner into the square with a friend, and was in the midst of a discussion in which numbers were concerned, we were suddenly startled, as if in solution of it, by a brief and tremendous outcry of--one. this paragraph ought to have been at the bottom of the page, and the word printed abruptly round the corner. a fourth watchman was a very singular phenomenon, a _reading_ watchman. he had a book, which he read by the light of his lantern; and instead of a pleasant, gave you a very uncomfortable idea of him. it seemed cruel to pitch amidst so many discomforts and privations one who had imagination enough to wish to be relieved from them. nothing but a sluggish vacuity befits a watchman. but the oddest of all was the _sliding_ watchman. think of walking up a street in the depth of a frosty winter, with long ice in the gutters, and sleet over head, and then figure to yourself a sort of bale of a man in white coming sliding towards you with a lantern in one hand, and an umbrella over his head. it was the oddest mixture of luxury and hardship, of juvenility and old age! but this looked agreeable. animal spirits carry everything before them; and our invincible friend seemed a watchman for rabelais. time was run at and butted by him like a goat. the slide seemed to bear him half through the night at once; he slipped from out of his box and his commonplaces at one rush of a merry thought, and seemed to say "everything's in imagination--here goes the whole weight of my office." but we approach our home. how still the trees! how deliciously asleep the country! how beautifully grim and nocturnal this wooded avenue of ascent against the cold white sky! the watchmen and patrols, which the careful citizens have planted in abundance within a mile of their doors, salute us with their "good mornings"--not so welcome as we pretend; for we ought not to be out so late; and it is one of the assumptions of these fatherly old fellows to remind us of it. some fowls, who have made a strange roost in a tree, flutter as we pass them--another pull up the hill, unyielding; a few strides on a level; and _there_ is the light in the window, the eye of the warm soul of the house--one's home. how particular, and yet how universal, is that word; and how surely does it deposit every one for himself in his own nest! printed in great britain by william brendon and son, limited plymouth transcriber's note: spelling and punctuation inconsistencies been harmonized. obvious printer errors have been repaired. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. please see the end of this book for further notes. coaching, with anecdotes of the road. coaching, with anecdotes of the road. by lord william pitt lennox, author of "celebrities i have known," etc. dedicated to his grace the duke of beaufort, k.g., president, and the members of the [illustration: coaching club] london: hurst and blackett, publishers. , great marlborough street. . _all rights reserved._ contents. chapter i. ancient charioteers--celebrated whips--introduction of carriages into england--mr. cresset's pamphlet--the state of the roads in --dangerous conveyances--the flying coach of --dean swift's poetical lines on his journey to chester--discomforts of inside travelling--travelling in bygone days chapter ii. dangers of travelling--anecdotes of highwaymen--innkeepers and highwaymen--stage-coach robberies--a 'cute lady--a journey to london under difficulties--travelling in --vanbrugh's description of an m.p.'s journey--sydney smith on modern improvement chapter iii. slow coaches--fast coaches--"the wonder" and "blenheim"--public dinners to the drivers--presentation of a silver cup to a driver of "the blenheim"--the young oxonians fairly taken in--nimrod on the shrewsbury and chester "highflyer"--baneful effects of railways on the road--"the deserted village"--wonderful feat of locomotion chapter iv. journey to bath in the palmy days of coaching--a driving giovanni--"parson dennis"--contrast to the above--tennant's description--the old brighton road--modern improvements--a squire of chapter v. coach _versus_ rail--description of a coach journey from london to bath--differences of opinion--the coach dinner--luxurious living--snug hÔtelleries--english _versus_ foreign cooking chapter vi. "moving accidents" by rail and coach--short time for the issue of railway tickets--reckless drivers--an affair of honour--anecdote of the late duke of wellington chapter vii. travelling in ireland--bianconi's cars--journey from cork to dublin in a post-chaise--irish wit--a poor-law commissioner--mr. peabody--sir walter scott and a genuine paddy--mr. charles bianconi--irish car drivers chapter viii. coach accidents--accident from racing--actions at law--mail robberies--robbery by convicts--a dangerous start--a drunken driver chapter ix. extraordinary occurrence--coach accidents--danger attending prince george of denmark's visit to petworth--the mails stopped by severe snowstorms--sledges used for the mails--death from inclemency of weather--dreadful storms--floods in scotland in --accident to the bath and devonport mails--mail robberies in --coaching in australia chapter x. coaching acquaintances--stage-coachmen of bygone and modern days--amateur drivers--requisites for driving--crack drivers--a popular dragsman--his privileges--his accomplishments chapter xi. 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 xii. amateur dragsmen--the late fitzroy stanhope--the old driving club of --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 xiii. 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 xiv. 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 xv. 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 xvi. hairbreadth escapes--drive to valenciennes with frederick yates--meet a dancing bear--result--wheel carriages in towns--state of the public streets--gay's description of them--hackney coaches--taylor, the water poet--robberies in london--first introduction of omnibuses chapter xvii. an adventure with ball hughes, commonly called "the golden ball"--a sensation at dartford--a relic of the commune--railways--pioneers of the rail--introduction of steam-carriages on roads--sedan chairs--paddy's practical joke--feuds between chairmen and hackney-coachmen chapter xviii. ancient and modern vehicles--practical jokes in england and france--french coaches--diligences--the malle-poste--carriages in the reign of louis xiv.--porte flambeaux--quarrels between rival coachmen--an english stage-coach in france--conclusion chapter i. ancient charioteers--celebrated whips--introduction of carriages into england--mr. cresset's pamphlet--the state of the roads in --dangerous conveyances--the flying coach of --dean swift's poetical lines on his journey to chester--discomforts of inside travelling--travelling in bygone days. chapter i. before i allude to the road as it is, let me refer to what it was, and in so doing bring my classical lore into play. pelops was a coachman, who has been immortalised for his ability to drive at the rate of fourteen miles an hour by the first of grecian bards. despite his ivory arm, he got the whip-hand of oenomaus, a brother "dragsman" in their celebrated chariot-race from pisa to the corinthian isthmus, owing more to the rascality of the state coachman, myrtilus, whom he bribed to furnish his master, the king of pisa, with an old carriage, the axletree of which broke on the course, than to his own coaching merits. hippolytus, too, "handled the ribbons well," but "came to grief" by being overturned near the sea-shore, when flying from the resentment of his father. his horses were so frightened at the noise of sea-calves, which neptune had purposely sent there, that they ran among the rocks till his chariot was broken and his body torn to pieces. virgil and horace sang the praises and commemorated the honours of the "whips" of their day. juvenal tells us of a roman consul who aspired to be a "dragsman"-- "volueri carpento rapitur pinguis damasippus; et ipse ipse rotam stringit multo sufflamine consul." again, i find the following lines:-- "sunt quos curriculo pulverem olympicum collegisse juvat metaque fervidis evitata rotis, palmaque nobilis terrarum dominos evehit ad deos." which may be thus rendered--"the summit of some men's ambition is to drive four-in-hand." propertius, too, exclaims against the tandem as rivalling the curricle--that is, according to some witty translators:-- "invide tu _tandem_ voces compesce molestas. et sine nos cursu quo sumus _ire pares_." horace writes:-- "_tandem_ parcas insane;" and to those who drive this dangerous vehicle the following line may not be inappropriate:-- "_tandem_ discedere campis admonuit." in addition to the above classical names, there were, early in the present century, hundreds of whips who raised the character of coachmen to the highest pinnacle of fame. let me instance:-- richard vaughan, of the cambridge "telegraph," 'scientific in horseflesh, unequalled in driving;' pears, of the southampton day coach; wood, liley, wilcocks, and hayward of the "wonder," between london and shrewsbury; charles holmes, of the blenheim coach; izaac walton, the mæcenas of whips, the braham of the bath road; jack adams, the civil and obliging pastor, who taught the young etonians to drive; bramble, faulkner, dennis, cross, and others, all of whom have long since departed this life. many professional stage-coachmen were men of good education. indeed, not a few had received the advantage of a college education, and could quote latin and greek in a manner that surprised some of their companions. they could also tell a good story and sing a good song; so that their society was much sought after, both on the box and in the snug bar-parlour. i will not here stop to discuss the question of rail and road, or to lament that the "light (coaches) of other days has faded," although many a man's heart sinks to the axle when he thinks of the past, and feels disposed to sympathise with jerry drag, "him wot drove," i quote his own words, "the old highflyer, red rover, and markiss of huntley." "them as 'ave seen coaches," says this knight of the ribbons, "afore rails came into fashion, 'ave seen something worth remembering; them was happy days for old england, afore reform and rails turned everything upside down, and men rode as natur' intended they should, on pikes with coaches and smart, active cattle, and not by machinery, like bags of cotton and hardware; but coaches is done for ever, and a heavy blow it is. they was the pride of the country, there wasn't anything like them, as i've heerd gemmen say from forrin parts, to be found nowhere, nor never will be again." _mais revenons à nos moutons_; my present object is to compare coaching as it is with coaching as it was. it may not here be uninteresting to mention that coaches were introduced into england by fitz allan, earl of arundel, a.d. , before which time queen elizabeth, on public occasions, rode behind her chamberlain; and she, in her old age, used reluctantly such an effeminate conveyance. they were at first drawn by only two horses; but, as a writer of those days remarks, "the rest crept in by degrees, as man at first ventured to sea." historians, however, differ upon this subject, for it is stated by stow (that ill-used antiquary, who, after a long laborious life, was left by his countrymen to beg his bread) that in , booner, a dutchman, became the queen's coachman, and was the first that brought the use of coaches into england; while anderson, in his "history of commerce," says, on the other hand, that about the use of coaches was introduced by the earl of arundel. it was buckingham, the favourite, who about began to have a team of six horses, which "was wondered at as a novelty, and imputed to him as a mastering pride." before that time ladies chiefly rode on horseback--either single, on their palfreys, or double, behind some person, on a pillion. a considerable time elapsed before this luxurious way of locomotion was enjoyed by more than a very few rich and distinguished individuals, and a very much longer time before coaches became general. in the year , at which period throughout the kingdom there were only six stage-coaches running, a pamphlet was written and published by mr. john cresset, of the charterhouse, urging their suppression; and amongst the grave reasons given against their continuance was the following:-- "these stage-coaches make gentlemen come to london on every small occasion, which otherwise they would not do but upon urgent necessity; nay, the convenience of the passage makes their wives often come up, who, rather than come such long journeys on horseback, would stay at home. then when they come to town they must presently be in the mode, get fine clothes, go to plays and treats, and, by these means, get such a habit of idleness and love of pleasure as makes them uneasy ever after." what would mr. cresset have said had he lived some forty years ago, in the palmy days of coaching--coaches full, able dragsmen, spicy teams, doing their eleven miles an hour with ease, without breaking into a gallop or turning a hair? or how surprised would the worthy chronicler of be at the present annihilators of time and space--the railroads, when "the convenience of the passage" enables parties to come up to london from liverpool, birmingham, manchester, bath, and bristol in time for the play or opera, and return home for dinner the following day. in pennant writes:-- "i travelled in the chester stage to london, then no despicable vehicle for country gentlemen. the first day, with much labour, we got from chester to whitchurch (twenty miles), the second day to the welsh harp, the third to coventry, the fourth to northampton, the fifth to dunstable, and, as a wondrous effort, on the last to london, before the commencement of the night. the strain and labour of six horses, sometimes eight, drew us through the slough of mireden and many other places. we were constantly out two hours before day, and as many at night. families who could afford to travel in their own carriages contracted with benson and co., and were dragged up in the same number of days by three sets of able horses." these coaches must have been not only very lumbering, but very dangerous conveyances, as the following newspaper paragraph, dated the nd of september, , will prove:-- "it were greatly to be wished that stage-coaches were put under some regulation as to the number of persons and quantity of luggage carried by them. thirty-four persons were in and about the hertford coach this day, which broke down, by one of the traces giving way. one outside passenger was killed on the spot, a woman had both legs broken; very few of the number, either within or without, but were severely bruised." rich or poor, high or low, prior to this were obliged either to walk or ride in the same manner that queen elizabeth did from greenwich to london, behind her lord chancellor. queen victoria is a graceful horsewoman. previous to the lamented decease of the prince consort, her majesty constantly appeared on horseback, and for all we know to the contrary, lord cairns is able to "match the world with noble horsemanship;" still we think that such an _entrée_ into london as that performed by the virgin queen would surprise the weak minds of the present generation. one can scarcely now realize the state of things when a passenger starting by the waggon from the metropolis at five o'clock in the morning, did not arrive at blackheath until half-past nine. for four hours and a half were the unfortunate travellers tossed, tumbled, jumbled, and rumbled over a road full of holes and wheel-ruts, out of which extra horses were employed to drag the lumbering vehicle. break-downs (not the popular dance of that name) were frequent; much time was occupied in repairing the waggons, and it often happened that, when a wheelwright could not be got, the road was blocked up by a broken-down vehicle. macaulay tells us that, during the year which immediately followed the restoration, a diligence ran between london and oxford in two days. the passengers slept at beaconsfield. at length, in the spring of , a great and daring innovation was attempted. it was announced that a vehicle, described as the flying coach, would perform the whole journey between sunrise and sunset. "this spirited undertaking was solemnly considered and sanctioned by the heads of the university, and appears to have excited the same sort of interest which is excited in our own time by the opening of a new railway. the vice-chancellor, by a notice which was affixed in all public places, prescribed the hour and place of departure. "the success of this experiment was complete. at six in the morning the carriage began to move from before the ancient front of all souls' college, and at seven in the evening the adventurous gentlemen who had run the first risk were safely deposited at their inn in london. the emulation of the sister university was moved, and soon a diligence was set up which in one day carried passengers from cambridge to the capital." in a contract was made to establish a coach for passengers between edinburgh and glasgow, a distance of forty-four miles. this coach was drawn by six horses, and the journey between the two places, to and fro, was completed in six days. at the close of the reign of charles ii. flying carriages ran thrice a week from london to all the chief towns; but no stage-coach appears to have proceeded further north than york, or further west than exeter. the ordinary day's journey of a flying coach was about fifty miles in the summer; but in winter, when the ways were bad and the nights long, little more than thirty miles. the chester coach, the york coach, and the exeter coach generally reached london in four days during the fine season, but at christmas not till the sixth day. the passengers, six in number, were all seated in the carriage; for accidents were so frequent that it would have been most perilous to mount the roof. the ordinary fare was about twopence half-penny a mile in summer, and somewhat more in winter. "this mode of travelling, which by englishmen of the present day would be regarded as insufferably slow, seemed to our ancestors wonderfully, and indeed alarmingly rapid; for, in a work published a few months before the death of charles ii., the flying coaches are extolled as far superior to any similar vehicles ever known in the world. their velocity is the subject of special commendation, and is triumphantly contrasted with the sluggish pace of the continental posts. but with boasts like these was mingled the sound of complaint and invective. "the interest of large classes had been unfavourably affected by the establishment of the new diligences, and, as usual, many persons were, from mere stupidity and obstinacy, disposed to clamour against the innovation. it was vehemently argued that this mode of conveyance would be fatal to the breed of horses and to the noble art of horsemanship; that the thames, which had long been an important nursery of seamen, would cease to be the chief thoroughfare from london up to windsor, and down to gravesend; that saddlers and spurriers would be ruined by hundreds; that numerous inns at which mounted travellers had been in the habit of stopping would be deserted, and could no longer pay any rent; that the new carriages were too hot in summer and too cold in winter; that the passengers were grievously annoyed by invalids and crying children; that the coach sometimes reached the inn so late that it was impossible to get supper, and sometimes started so early that it was impossible to get breakfast. "on these grounds it was gravely recommended that no public carriage should be permitted to have more than four horses, to start oftener than once a week, or to go more than thirty miles a day. it was hoped that, if this regulation were adopted, all except the sick and the lame would return to the old modes of travelling on horseback and by water. petitions embodying such opinions as these were presented to the king in council from several companies of the city of london, from several provincial towns, and from the justices of several counties." it is difficult to determine the exact period at which a stage-coach first appeared upon the road, for there is a wide difference between the stage-coach of the last century and the flying coaches of the previous one. although the stage-coach may have improved in speed, its discomfort still existed, as may be gleaned from the following lines written by dean swift on his journey from london to chester:-- "resolved to visit a far-distant friend, a porter to the bull and gate i send, and bid the man at all events engage some place or other in the chester stage. the man returns--''tis done as soon as said, your honour's sure when once the money's paid. my brother whip, impatient of delay, puts too at three and swears he cannot stay.' (four dismal hours ere the break of day.) roused from sound sleep--thrice called--at length i rise, yawning, stretch out my arms, half closed my eyes; by steps and lanthorn enter the machine, and take my place, how cordially, between two aged matrons of excessive bulk, to mend the matter, too, of meaner folk; while in like mood, jammed in on t'other side, a bullying captain and a fair one ride, foolish as fair, and in whose lap a boy-- _our_ plague eternal, but _her_ only joy. at last, the glorious number to complete, steps in my landlord for that bodkin seat; when soon, by every hillock, rut, and stone, in each other's faces by turns we're thrown. _this_ grandam scolds, _that_ coughs, the captain swears, the fair one screams, and has a thousand fears; while our plump landlord, trained in other lore, slumbers at ease, nor yet ashamed to snore; and master dicky, in his mother's lap, squalling, at once brings up three meals of pap. sweet company! next time, i do protest, sir, i'd walk to dublin, ere i ride to chester!" as dean swift died in , at the green old age of seventy-eight, the above lines were probably written about the close of the previous century; and certainly not much progress was made for the comfort of passengers, as i can myself bear testimony. i well remember the lumbering, slow coach that used to convey me from london to chichester thrice a year, when the holidays from westminster came about. it started at five o'clock in the morning, reaching its destination late in the evening, six inside passengers being stuffed in a small space capable of holding four comfortably. at all the hills--and there are plenty on this road--we were politely asked to descend from the vehicle, as the wretched horses could scarcely drag their heavy load even on level ground. it was always considered in those days dangerous to mount the roof; still any risk was better than being stifled inside, and often have i, despite the inclemency of the weather, taken the box seat, getting thoroughly wet through before half my journey had been accomplished. this reminds me of a witticism of a guard who, being told by a passenger that he had tried every sort of waterproof coat, but that nothing would keep him dry, "why, then," said the other, "don't you invest a penny in a yarmouth bloater? eat that, and i warrant you'll be dry all day?" none except those who have been victims to the misery of inside berths can imagine the wretchedness of them--a coach licensed to carry six inside--for so small was the space, so low was the roof, that the legs of the inmates were cramped, and their backs doubled up. then the atmosphere was most oppressive--forty, sometimes fifty, stone of human beings huddled together, with both windows up. again, the occupants--occasionally a fat nurse and a squalling baby; a farmer, rude in health and manners; a painted old jezebel, redolent of macassar oil and patchouli; a fledgling dandy, strong of musk; a bloated publican, on the verge of delirium tremens, who, as the old song says, "kept his spirits up by pouring spirits down;" a snuffy old maid, whose nasal organ was so supplied with "lundyfoot" that it set her companions sneezing immoderately. then the inside passengers were to be fed, and a strong odour of cheese, apples, oranges, cakes, brandy, rum, gin, beer prevailed everywhere. often in my early days have i travelled from london to brighthelmstone (now called brighton) in a coach thus described:-- "lewes and brighthelmstone--new machine to hold four persons, by charley, sets out by the 'george inn,' in the haymarket, st. james's at six o'clock in the morning, every monday, wednesday, and friday, in one day to the 'star' at lewes, and the 'old ship' at brighthelmstone, and returns from there every tuesday, thursday, and saturday. inside passengers to lewes to pay thirteen shillings; to brighthelmstone, sixteen shillings. to be allowed fourteen pounds weight of baggage, all above to pay one penny per pound." the above was a great improvement upon a coach previously drawn by six long-tailed black horses, thus described:-- "batchelor's old godstone, east grinstead, and lewes stage continues to set out every tuesday at nine o'clock and saturday at five o'clock from the 'talbot inn', in the borough, returning every monday and thursday. children in lap and outside passengers to pay half price. half of the fare to be paid at booking. performed, if god permit, by j. batchelor." i may here remind my readers that when the prince regent, afterwards george iv., selected brighton, as a marine residence, and squandered thousands and thousands of pounds upon the pavilion, the journey from london to this then small fishing town occupied two days; the first night being passed at reigate or at cuckfield, according to the road the stage travelled. about seventy-five years ago an attempt was made to run through in one day, and, to the surprise of many, was accomplished; but it was not until that the brighton road became (what it continued to be until the rail was introduced) the first in england for well-appointed coaches, first-rate teams, and gentleman-like drivers. harry stevenson, who was educated at cambridge, was the first to introduce the fast light coach, called the "waterwitch," and truly did he "_witch_ the world with noble _coach_manship." after a time this beau-ideal of dragsmen started another coach in lieu of the "waterwitch," which he called the "age," and which was unrivalled. who that ever saw that fancy team, the skewbald, dun, chestnut, and roan, sightly and full of action, leave the castle square, witnessed that which never has been and never can be equalled, in this or in any other country. with stevenson commenced the rage for driving public conveyances by noblemen and gentlemen, to which i shall refer in a future chapter. it may here not be out of place to lay before my readers a statement of the working of the stage-coaches in bygone days. in a stage-coach left london for oxford at seven o'clock in the morning, and reached uxbridge at midday. it arrived at high wycombe at five in the evening, where it rested for the night, and proceeded at the same rate for the seat of learning on the morrow. here, then, were ten hours consumed each day in travelling twenty-seven miles, and nearly two days in performing what was afterwards done under six hours by the "defiance" and other coaches. to go from london to york used to take six days. in i read of the edinburgh diligence, horsed with a pair, which set off daily from the "saracen's head," in the gallowgate, glasgow, at seven o'clock in the morning, and arrived at edinburgh at eight o'clock at night. this conveyance stopped at cumbernauld for an hour and a half in order to give the passengers time for breakfast, and again for the same time at linlithgow for dinner. a third stoppage took place in order that the passengers might enjoy their tea, when they again proceeded on their road, and were finally set down safely in the grassmarket of edinburgh at eight o'clock at night. about this period there was a ponderous machine with six broad wheels, and drawn by eight horses, called the newcastle waggon. in addition to passengers, it generally carried a great portion of the glasgow linen and cotton manufactures to the london market. it travelled at the rate of twenty-five miles a day, and was three weeks upon the road between glasgow and london, resting always upon the sundays. at that time the best mode of conveyance from glasgow to the english capital was by a trading vessel from borrowstounness; and so remarkable was a sight of london considered in glasgow, that a worthy citizen who bore the same christian and surname as another friend was, after his return from london, distinguished as "london john." the use of stage-coaches rapidly extended itself, and there was scarcely a town through which some stage-coach did not pass. after a time, the heavy six-inside lumbering vehicle gave way to the light four-inside fast coach; and from the year until the introduction of railways, nothing could exceed the "turns out" on the principal roads. in the distance between london and shrewsbury (one hundred and fifty-four miles), exeter (one hundred and seventy-one miles), and manchester (one hundred and eighty-seven miles) was done in a day. the mail to holyhead performed the journey (two hundred and sixty-one miles) in twenty-seven hours, and that to liverpool (two hundred and three miles) in twenty-one hours. the journey to brighton was accomplished at the rate of twelve miles an hour, including stoppages, and the bath, bristol, southampton, oxford, and cambridge coaches were famed for their excellent arrangements. in one of the stamford stage-coaches that daily ran to london performed the journey (ninety-nine miles) in nine hours and four minutes from the time of starting; although the passengers were allowed time to breakfast and dine upon the road. the coach must necessarily have run at the rate of twelve miles an hour. the fast coach had nearly a horse to every mile of ground it ran, reckoning one way, or "one side of the ground"--for example, from london to shrewsbury the distance is one hundred and fifty-eight miles, and the number of horses kept for the "wonder" coach was one hundred and fifty. the average price of horses for these coaches was about £ . fancy teams, and those working out of london, were rated considerably higher; but, taking a hundred miles of ground, well horsed, the above was about the mark. in these days it would be nearly if not quite double. the average period of each horse's service did not exceed four years. chapter ii. dangers of travelling--anecdotes of highwaymen--innkeepers and highwaymen--stage-coach robberies--a 'cute lady--a journey to london under difficulties--travelling in --vanbrugh's description of an m.p.'s journey--sydney smith on modern improvement. chapter ii. in the days i write of, macaulay tells us that the mounted highwayman, a marauder known to the present generation only from books, was to be found on every main road. hounslow heath on the great western road, finchley common on the great northern road, were, perhaps, the most celebrated of these spots; but there was hardly an open common or steep hill which was not infested with these enterprising plunderers. upon two occasions i fell in with these gentlemen of the road. once, when travelling in very early youth from london to goodwood, the chichester coach was stopped by two ill-favoured scoundrels, who were about to levy black mail on the inside passengers, when, fortunately, the sound of a travelling-carriage was heard, and thinking, probably, that the inmates of it might be armed, the robbers scampered off. the second adventure occurred to me when returning very late at night from tunbridge wells in a dennet with my trusty batman, john hargreaves, by my side. we were ascending the hill that leads into sevenoaks, my servant walking up it and i driving, when i heard a shrill whistle from one side of the road, which was immediately responded to. anticipating some mischief, i said "jump in," and, obedient to orders, hargreaves did so. happily, we had reached the summit of the hill, when one man rushed forward and attempted to seize the horse's bridle, while another tried to hang on behind the gig. hargreaves had my stick in his hand, a good ash plant, with which he struck the fellow a blow across the face, which made him relax his hold, while i gave a smart lash of the whip to my most willing horse, who started off at a tremendous pace down the hill, leaving my assailant sprawling on the ground, and within an inch of having his head run over by the wheel. "stage-coach robberies were of daily occurrence, and it was generally supposed that they were connived at by many innkeepers; so much so, indeed, that proclamations were issued warning all innkeepers that the eye of the government was upon them. their criminal connivance, it was affirmed, enabled banditti to infest the roads with impunity. that those suspicions were not without foundation is proved by the dying speeches of some penitent robbers of that age, who appear to have received from the innkeepers services much resembling those which farquhar's 'boniface' rendered to 'gibbet.'" in the "domestic intelligence" i read that "several passengers, both men and women, to the number of fifteen, going in three or four coaches towards bath and bristol, were set upon by some highwaymen (supposed to be soldiers) well armed, about stoke church, in oxfordshire (a very desolate part at that time), who robbed them all of very considerable value." another adventure may not prove uninteresting. two travellers were journeying together over a dreary common, when one remarked to the other that he trusted they should not fall in with any highwaymen, as he had one hundred pounds secreted in his boot. they had not gone many miles before they came to a most secluded spot, where four cross roads met; the new-laid earth round the finger-post, and a gibbet at some little distance, with a skeleton body suspended in chains to it, showed that two human beings had met with ignominious deaths. they had been companions in crime, and in robbing the mail the guard had been killed. an offer of a free pardon and two hundred pounds reward had been proclaimed, when one of the wretches, actuated by vile lucre, turned king's evidence, and sacrificed his friend. although he had taken part in the robbery, as he did not fire the fatal shot, his pardon was granted and the blood money awarded him. on the morning of the execution of his partner in guilt, remorse seized hold of the informer, and by his own hand he rid the country of a villain. the two travellers, who, i ought to say, had met accidentally at an inn, reached the spot i have described; the wind whistled across the heath--the chains of the gibbet clanked, the birds of carrion hovered over the new-made grave, in which the suicide had been buried, and the body of the murderer dangled in the air. as they passed the grave of the suicide, three men suddenly rushed forward, determined, as they swore, with a dreadful imprecation, to have the money or the lives of the travellers. "spare our lives! take all i have!" cried one. "here it is!" offering a handful of silver. "that won't do!" responded the highwayman. "i'll soon see what you have about you!" "stay!" said the other. "my companion has our money hid away in his boot." "traitor!" exclaimed his companion, while one of the gang, with blackened face and cocked pistol, proceeded to take off the boots of the terrified victim. "if you've spoken false," shouted the first, "i'll give you an ounce of lead for your pains." "he has spoken truth," responded the searcher. "here's a prize--a hundred pounds in bank of england notes!" securing the money, the two travellers were blindfolded and bound to the finger-post, while the horse was taken out of their gig and turned loose on the common. it was nearly an hour before they were released from their position, during which period the ill-used victim vented his anger pretty loudly. upon reaching the next town where a deposition was made before a magistrate, the worthy justice commented in rather a severe strain upon the base conduct of the miscreant who had acted so treacherous a part. "hear my palliation," meekly said the accused. "stand down; i've heard enough;" vociferated the man in authority. "one word," continued the other. "my object was not to screen myself at another's expense. my companion told me he had one hundred pounds in his boot; i had twelve hundred pounds in my waistband. had i been searched, that must have been discovered, and would probably have led to my companion being searched; so i thought it better to sacrifice the smaller to the larger sum. i now return the money i was the means of his being deprived of, and in future recommend him to be more prudent in keeping his own counsel." one more anecdote of the road must suffice:-- early in the present century a rider for a mercantile house in the city of london was attacked a few miles beyond winchester, by a highwayman, who, taking him by surprise, robbed him of his purse and pocket-book, containing cash and notes to a considerable amount. "sir," said the rider, with great presence of mind, "i have suffered you to take my property, and you are welcome to it. it is my master's, and the loss of it cannot do him much harm; but, as it will look very cowardly in me to have been robbed without making any resistance, i should take it kindly of you just to fire a pistol through my coat." "with all my heart," replied the highwayman; "where will you have the ball?" "here," said the rider, "just by the side of the button." the highwayman was as good as his word, but the moment he fired the rider knocked him off his horse; and, having stunned him with the blow, aided by a labourer who came up at the time, lodged him safely in winchester gaol. as late as the year stage-coach robberies continued, for i find in the stroud mail was robbed of bank-notes to the amount of two thousand eight hundred pounds; and in the following year the buckingham stage-coach was robbed of bills and notes to a considerable amount. occasionally the victims of a robbery advertised for the loss of any valued article, as will be seen by the following whimsical and good-humoured appeal extracted from salisbury's "flying post" of oct. , :-- "whereas six gentlemen (all of the same honourable profession), having been more than ordinary put to it for a little pocket money, did, on the th instant, in the evening, near kentish town, borrow of two persons (in a coach) a certain sum of money, without staying to give bond for the repayment, and whereas fancy was taken to the hat, peruke, cravat, sword, and cane of one of the creditors, which were all lent as freely as the money; these are, therefore, to desire the said worthies, how fond soever they may be of the other loans, to unfancy the cane again, and send it to will's coffee-house in scotland-yard, it being too short for any such proper gentlemen as they are to walk with, and too small for any of their important uses, and withal only valuable as having been the gift of a friend." as late as the year carriages were stopped at noonday in hyde park, and even in piccadilly, and pistols presented at the breasts of the most fashionable people. a celebrated highwayman, by name m'lean, was that year taken and executed. so eager were persons of all classes to see him that three thousand persons visited him one day after his condemnation. the usual reward offered by government for the apprehension of every highwayman was a hundred pounds. it was not safe to venture out after dark. travellers were armed in broad daylight, as though they were going to battle. in lady walpole's letters i find the following description of a very 'cute lady:-- "lady browne and i were, as usual, going to the duchess of montrose's at seven o'clock. the evening was dark. in the close lane, under the park pale, and within twenty yards of the gate, a black figure pushed by between the chaise and the hedge on my side. i suspected it was a highwayman, and so, i found, did browne, for she was speaking, and stopped. to divert her fears i was going to say, 'is not that the apothecary going to the duchess?' when i heard a voice cry 'stop!' and then the figure came back to the chaise. i had the presence of mind before i let down the glass, to take out my watch and stuff it within my dress under the arm. he said, "'your purses and watches?' "'i have no watch,' i replied. "'then, your purse.' "i gave it to him; it had nine guineas in it. it was so dark that i could not see his hand, but i felt him take it. he then asked for lady browne's purse, and said, "'don't be frightened, i will not hurt you.' "'no, you won't frighten the lady,' i said. "'no, i give you my word i will not hurt you,' he replied. "lady browne gave him her purse, and was going to add her watch; but he said, "'i am much obliged to you; i wish you good night,' pulled off his hat, and rode away. "'well,' said i, 'you will not be afraid of being robbed another time, for, you see, there is nothing in it.' "'oh! but i am,' she said; 'and now i am in terror lest he return, for i have given him a purse with bad money in it, that i carry on purpose.'" again we read that not only was it dangerous to travel in bygone days from a fear of being robbed and murdered, but the roads were so bad that scarcely a day passed but a coach stuck fast in the mud, and remained there until a team of cattle could be procured from some neighbouring farm to tug it out of the slough. on the best lines of communication the ruts were deep, the descents precipitous, and the road often such that it was hardly possible to distinguish it in the dusk from the uninclosed heath and fen which lay on both sides. "ralph thoresby, the antiquary, was in danger of losing his way on the great north road, between barnby moor and tuxford, and actually lost it between doncaster and york. pepys and his wife, travelling in their own coach, lost their way between newbury and reading. in the course of the same tour they lost their way near salisbury, and were in danger of having to pass the night on the plain. it was only in fine weather that the whole breadth of the road was available for wheeled carriages. often the mud lay deep on the right and the left, and only a narrow track of firm ground rose above the quagmire. at such times obstructions and quarrels were frequent, and the path was sometimes blocked up during a long time by carriers, neither of whom would break the way. "thoresby has recorded in his diary many perils and disasters that befell him. on one occasion he learned that the floods were out between ware and london, that passengers had to swim for their lives, and that a higgler had perished in the attempt to cross. in consequence of these tidings he turned out of the high road, and was conducted across some meadows, where it was necessary for him to ride to the saddle skirts in water. in the course of another journey he narrowly escaped being swept away by an inundation of the trent. "of course, during the period the waters were out coaches ceased to run. thoresby was afterwards detained at stamford four days on account of the state of the roads, and then ventured to proceed only because fourteen members of the house of commons, who were going up in a body to parliament with guides and numerous attendants, took him into their company." the great route through wales to holyhead was in such a state that, in , henry hyde, earl of clarendon, viceroy, on his way to ireland, was five hours in travelling fourteen miles from st. asaph to conway. between conway and beaumaris he was forced to walk great part of the way, and the countess was carried in a litter. his coach was, with great difficulty, and by the help of many hands, brought after him entire. in general, carriages were taken to pieces at conway, and borne on the shoulders of stout welsh peasants to the menai strait. at that period, and long after, the passage in the ferry-boat at the menai strait was slow and tedious, and the packet-boat from holyhead to kingstown seldom crossed over under eight or ten hours. now a man may, as i did last autumn, breakfast in london, and sit down to a half-past seven dinner in dublin. in sussex the roads were so bad that when prince george of denmark visited the stately mansion of petworth in wet weather he was six hours in going nine miles, and it was necessary that a body of sturdy hands should be on each side of his coach in order to prop it. of the carriages which conveyed his retinue, several were upset and injured. a letter from one of his suite has been preserved, in which the unfortunate gentleman-in-waiting complains that during fourteen hours he never once alighted, except when his coach was overturned or stuck fast in the mud. great contrast is offered in this narrative to the present state of travelling; "only, to be sure," as macaulay writes, "people did get up again with their heads on after a roll in the sussex mud, which, unhappily, is not always the case after a railway collision." arthur young, who travelled in lancashire in , has left us the following account of the state of the roads at that time. "i know not," he says, "in the whole range of language, terms sufficiently expressive to describe this awful road. let me most seriously caution all travellers who may accidentally propose to travel this terrible country to avoid it as they would a pestilence, for a thousand to one they break their necks or their limbs by overthrows or breakings down. they will here meet with ruts which i actually measured four feet deep, and floating with mud, only from a wet summer. what, therefore, must it be after a winter? the only mending it receives is tumbling in some loose stones, which serve no other purpose than jolting a carriage in the most intolerable manner. let me persuade all travellers to avoid this terrible country, which must either dislocate their bones with broken pavement or bury them in muddy sand." in a well-known passage, arthur young vents his spleen at the expense of the municipal authorities of lancashire, and reproachfully reminds them that, thanks to their abominable highways, london often suffers from want of animal food, while country farmers are unable to get more than five farthings a pound for good beef! a coach and six is in our time never seen, except as part of some pageant; the frequent mention, therefore, of such equipages in old books is likely to mislead. we hear of private carriages and public stage-coaches of six, and attribute to magnificence what was really the effect of a very disagreeable necessity. a pair of horses now would do ten times the work six did in the days i write of, and i cannot illustrate this better than by giving vanbrugh's most humorous description of the way in which a country gentleman, newly chosen a member of parliament, came up to london. on that occasion all the exertions of six beasts, two of which had been taken from the plough, could not save the family coach from being embedded in a quagmire. the scene takes place at uncle richard's house in london, previous to the arrival of his nephew, sir francis headpiece, a country gentleman and parliament man, who was strongly addicted to malt-liquor and field sports. although only forty-two years of age, it appears that sir francis had drunk two-and-thirty tuns of ale, while in the pursuit of the chase he had broken his right arm, his left leg, and both his collar-bones. uncle richard had just read his wiseacre nephew's letter, when james, the footman, enters hastily. "sir, sir," he exclaims, "they're all a-coming; here's john moody arrived already. he's stamping about the streets in his dirty boots, asking every man he meets if they can tell where he may have a good lodging for a parliament man, till he can hire such a house as becomes him. he tells them his lady and all the family are coming too, and that they are so nobly attended they care not a fig for anybody. sir, they have added two cart-horses to the four old bays, because my lady will have it said she came to town in her coach-and-six; and, ha, ha! heavy george, the ploughman, rides postilion." "very well, james," responds his master, "the journey begins as it should do. dost know whether they bring all the children with them?" "only squire humphrey and miss betty, sir; the other six are put to board, at half-a-crown a week a head, with joan grouse, at smokedunghill farm." "dost know when they'll be here?" "sir, they'd have been here last night, but that the old wheezy horse tired, and the two fore wheels came crash down at once in waggonrut lane. sir, they were cruelly loaden, as i understand. my lady herself, he says, laid on four mail-trunks, besides the great deal box which fat tom and the monkey sat upon behind." "so." "then within the coach there was sir francis, my lady, the great fat lap-dog, squire humphrey, miss betty, my lady's maid, mrs. handy, and dolly the cook; but she was so ill with sitting backward that they mounted her into the coachbox." "very well." "then, sir, for fear of a famine before they could get to the baiting-place, there were such baskets of plum-cake, dutch gingerbread, cheshire cheese, naples biscuits, macaroons, neats' tongues, and cold boiled beef--and in case of sickness, such bottles of usquebagh, black cherry brandy, cinnamon-water, sack, tent, and strong beer, as made the old coach crack again; and for defence of this good cheer and my lady's little pearl necklace, there was the family basket-hilt sword, the great turkish scimitar, the old blunderbuss, a good bag of bullets, and a great horn of gunpowder." "admirable." "then for band-boxes, they were so bepiled up to sir francis's nose that he could only peep out at a chance hole with one eye, as if he were viewing the country through a perspective-glass." sir john vanbrugh, who wrote the above admirable account of a journey to london, was the grandson of a protestant refugee from the netherlands, and the son of a wealthy sugar-baker. little is known of the history of his youth, or of that training which enabled him not only to become one of the most celebrated english architects, but also, in conjunction with congreve, to produce some excellent comedies. as an architect, he designed castle howard and blenheim; as a dramatist, his most successful plays were "the relapse" and "the provoked wife," and the uncompleted "journey to london," which was worked up by colley cibber into "the provoked husband." "the good of ancient times let others state; i think it lucky i was born so late." so wrote sydney smith, and it is a sentiment that all must concur in. the witty divine goes on to state:-- "a young man alive at this period hardly knows to what improvement of human life he has been introduced, and i would bring before his notice the following changes which have taken place in england since i first began to breathe in it the breath of life--a period amounting now to nearly seventy-three years. gas was unknown. i groped about the streets of london in all but the utter darkness of a twinkling oil lamp, under the protection of watchmen in their grand climacteric, and exposed to every species of depredation and insult. i have been nine hours sailing from dover to calais before the invention of steam. it took me nine hours to go from taunton to bath before the invention of railroads, and i now go in six hours from london to bath." the witty reverend then proceeds to refer to wooden pavements instead of stone ones, the new police instead of the superannuated "charleys," the well-appointed cab (what would he have said to the hansom)? in lieu of the lumbering hackney coach, waterproof instead of primitive pulp hats; he then calls the attention of the reader to the introduction of gentlemen's braces, colchicum, calomel, and clubs. he might have added, the greatest boons of all, the telegraph, which "wafts a sigh from indus to the pole," or, unpoetically speaking, announces in an incredibly short space of time the arrival of a friend in india or america, nor would he have omitted chloroform, which saves hours of agony and torture, and which is an especial blessing to the humbler classes, who, when undergoing some painful operation, have not the comforts of the wealthier class about them. chapter iii. slow coaches--fast coaches--"the wonder" and "blenheim"--public dinners to the drivers--presentation of a silver cup to a driver of "the blenheim"--the young oxonians fairly taken in--nimrod on the shrewsbury and chester "highflyer"--baneful effects of railways on the road--"the deserted village"--wonderful feat of locomotion. chapter iii. the term "slow coach" became proverbial, and was applied not only to the lumbering six-inside vehicles that travelled at almost a snail's pace, but to every schoolboy and collegian who possessed little or no gumption. unfortunately, in those days the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals did not exist, or many a hulking fellow would have been had up for his merciless use of the lash when urging his wretched cattle up a severe hill or over ruts recently laid down with large unbroken stones--smooth "macadamised" roads being not then in prospective existence. so heavy was the draught that an appeal was being constantly made to the passengers to alight and walk up any acclivity, which upon a wet day or when the mud was ankle-deep, was not a very pleasant thing. such was the system of travelling in the good old times, as they were called, when every affair of life moved on at a quiet, jog-trot pace. but when competition of the most eager kind became the order of the day, it cannot be said that mails or coaches stood still. the edinburgh mail ran four hundred miles in forty hours, stoppages included. the exeter day coach, the "herald," went over its ground, one hundred and seventy-three miles, in twenty hours, an admirable performance, considering the natural unevenness of the country; and the devonport mail performed the journey, two hundred and twenty-seven miles, in twenty-two hours. the increase of speed was alarming to those who had been accustomed to the old-fashioned slow coaches, and the rate at which the new vehicles travelled was considered reckless risking of human life. it may not be here out of place to observe that the first requisite in a coach horse is action, and the second sound legs and feet, with blood and bone. the third desideratum is good wind, as the power of respiration is called, without which the first and second qualifications avail but little for any length of time. a clear-winded coach horse will always keep his condition, and consequently his health, because he does not feel distress on a reasonable length of ground. the hunter or racer is good or bad, chiefly in proportion to his powers of respiration, and such equally applies to the coach horse. the food most proper, then, for a coach horse in fast work is that which affords ample support, without having a pernicious influence on his wind; or to use a more elegant, though not more forcible, expression, that which does not impair his respiratory organs by pressing on them. to return to the fast coaches, so splendidly were they horsed, and so admirably well did they keep their time, that they fully merited the following eulogium. at a dinner given at shrewsbury some five and thirty years ago by coachmen and guards to the honourable mr. kenyon, that gentleman, in proposing the health of mr. r. taylor, coach proprietor, made some interesting statements on the subject of stage-coach travelling. among other remarks, he said:-- "as a coach proprietor, mr. taylor was one of the most spirited in england. he had, at one time, two of the very best coaches that ever ran--the "hirondelle" and "wonder." no coach established for itself a higher reputation than the former. on may st, (the precise year he could not recollect) it accomplished its journey of one hundred and twenty miles in eight hours and twenty minutes--a speed few coaches could ever boast of. "he (mr. kenyon) was in shrewsbury that day, and saw a team of four greys, belonging to mr. taylor, enter the town, which had done their nine miles in thirty-five minutes. he recollected that there were two ladies inside the coach, who were informed that, as that day was appointed for a trial of strength, they might, if they were frightened at the speed, choose any other conveyance they pleased, and should be forwarded on their journey immediately; but their answer showed good blood; they said they were not aware that they had come at the great speed they had, and that they preferred going fast. "with regard to the 'wonder,' he himself left the 'lion yard,' shrewsbury, one morning at six o'clock, and was at islington the same evening at seven o'clock, being only thirteen hours on the road. on that occasion he was driven by four of the best coachmen he ever saw. "another instance of the reputation the 'wonder' had acquired was given him by his friend sir henry peyton, who had informed him that he had frequently seen persons at st. albans regulating their watches by the 'wonder' coach as it came into that town. this was the only instance he had ever heard of a coach regulating the time. it was clear that the coach could not have gained such a name for regularity without good cattle and good coachmen, and it was to the proprietors they were indebted." charles holmes, the driver of the "blenheim" coach was in the year presented with a silver cup bearing the following inscription, "presented to charles holmes by sir henry peyton on behalf of himself and two hundred and fifty subscribers, in testimony of their admiration of his good conduct as driver of the 'blenheim' coach for a period of upwards of twenty years." the subscription was limited to ten shillings, the actual half sovereign subscribed by the late duke of wellington was let into the bottom of the vase. the cup was presented to this first-rate "dragsman" after a dinner at the "thatched house," presided over by sir henry peyton. among the numerous anecdotes the road have furnished, perhaps one of the most amusing ones is the story of the oxford "defiance." term was over; the coach was full of young oxonians returning to their respective colleges; the morning was cold, wet, and miserable, when the well-appointed "drag" drove up to the "white horse cellar," piccadilly. "have you room for one inside?" asked as pretty a girl as you would wish to see on a summer's day. "what a beauty!" exclaimed one. "quite lovely!" said another. "perfect!" lisped a third. "quite full, miss, inside and out," replied the coachman. "surely you could make room for one," persevered the fair applicant. "quite impossible, without the young gentlemen's consent." "lots of room," cried the insides; "we are not very large; we can manage to take one more." "if the gentlemen consent," replied the driver, "i can have no objection." "we agree," said the inside quartette. "all right," responded the coachman. the fare was paid, and the guard proceeded to open the door, and let down the steps. "now, miss, if you please; we are behind our time." "come along, grandfather," cried the damsel, addressing a most respectable-looking, portly, elderly man; "the money is paid; get in, and be sure you thank the young gentlemen," at the same time suiting the action to the word, and, with a smile, assisting her respected grandfather into the coach. "here's some mistake. you'll squeeze us to death," cried the astonished party. "sorry to incommode you," replied the intruder; "i hope you won't object to have both windows up, i'm sadly troubled with a cough." at this moment, "all right, sit fast!" was heard; and the "defiance" rattled away, best pace, drowning the voices of the astonished oxonians. "nimrod" tells a good story of the shrewsbury and chester "highflyer," which started at eight o'clock in the morning and arrived at chester about the same time in the evening--distance forty miles. this was always a good hard road for wheels, and rather favourable for draught; and how, then, could all these hours be accounted for? "why, if a commercial gentleman had a little business at ellesmere there was plenty of time for that. if a real gentleman wanted to pay a morning visit on the road, there could be no objection to that. in the pork-pie season half an hour was generally occupied in consuming one of them, for mr. williams, the coachman, was a wonderful favourite with the farmers' wives and daughters all along the road. "the coach dined at wrexham, and wrexham church was to be seen--a fine specimen of the florid gothic, and one of the wonders of wales. then wrexham was also famous for ale, there being no public breweries in those days in wales; and, above all, the inn belonged to sir watkin. about two hours were allowed for dinner, but billy williams, one of the best-tempered fellows on earth, as honest as aristides, was never particular to half an hour or so. "'the coach is ready, gentlemen,' he would say; 'but don't let me disturb you if you wish for another bottle.'" what a contrast does this furnish to the hasty meals at the railway stations, where the bell for departure is heard long before the hungry passenger has swallowed half his scalding soup, or devoured his plate of cold meat! the removal of posting and coaching from the road has had a baneful effect upon every branch of trade and industry. one example from each line of railway will show the consequences of the change that has taken place. in the town of hounslow, which was the first stage on the great western road, there used to be kept, for the purposes of coaching and posting, two thousand five hundred horses. any person acquainted with the nature of the business is aware that it would not be by any means an exaggeration to say that every one of these horses, for keep, duty, shoeing, ostlers, harness, &c., occasioned an outlay of two pounds per week, so that there was a sum of five thousand pounds circulated every week in this one town, besides the money that was spent by travellers at the different inns; and a very considerable portion of that amount was paid for labour and distributed among the different tradesmen, every one of whom was benefited directly or indirectly. the state of things on the first stage of the western road will serve as an example for the whole of the remaining distance, as, of course, an equal number of horses was required all the way down the road, and the effect, therefore, was equally destructive upon all towns which were formerly thriving and prosperous--witness reading, newbury, hungerford, marlborough. on the northern road an equally disastrous effect has been produced. at barnet, where formerly messrs. bryant and newman, the rival postmasters, could produce three hundred to four hundred pairs of horses, and where, also an immense number of coach-horses were kept, the grass has grown over the inn yard. the same observation applies with equal force to all towns east and south of the metropolis. the above gave rise to the following parody on goldsmith's "deserted village":-- the deserted village. "quantum mutatus ab illo." hail, hounslow! primest town upon the road, where coaching once in all its glory showed, where careful drivers might be always found, ready when ostlers called to "bring 'em round." the member rattling up at slapping pace, to ease his conscience, or secure a place-- the maiden flying from a guardian's rage, in hymen's "union" venturing a stage-- these knew no more of anxious fear or doubt, when john the ostler cried, "the first turn out." once, hounslow, there was many a gallant team, the dragsman's pride, the helper's fruitful theme; how dashingly they sweep up to the well-known door, where rest awaited when their task was o'er; or, sleek of coat, and deck'd with trappings gay, bounding they met the labour of the day. landlord and whip gazed on the thriving trade, and dreamt of fortunes soon and surely made, for then alike both house and coach fill'd well, "and all went merry as a marriage bell." once it was thus--another age appears, and hounslow's smiles, alas! are turn'd to tears. no more is heard the mellow winding horn, waking the drowsy slumbers of the morn; no spicy "change" now waits for the down mail, for, woe is me! the "bristol's" on the "rail." no longer now is heard the busy din in the full yard that marks the prosperous inn; unheard is now the watching ostler's call; the only "pair" is weary of the stall. silent the joke of "boots," ne'er known to fail; the keeper's whistle and the postboy's tale. no waiter now bestirs him for the nonce, to answer fifty summonses at once; e'en bessy's self, so long the bar's fair boast, the cookmaid's envy, and the bagman's toast, whose winning smile was so well known to fame that for a ray each traveller duly came,-- e'en she--so hopeless, hounslow, is thy case-- hath packed her traps and bolted from her place. a time there was, ere railroads came in force, when every mile of ground maintained its horse; coach after coach then rattled briskly by, "live and let live" was then the wholesome cry. 'tis past! and now succeeds the general doom of landlord, barmaid, waiters, ostler, groom; the coachman's glories have for ever set, and "boots" has got a place--in the _gazette_. a popular writer who flourished some five and forty years ago quotes a letter from a personal friend, who boasts of the following wonderful feat of locomotion:-- "i was out hunting last season, on a monday, near brighton, and dined with my father in merrion square, dublin, at six o'clock on the following wednesday, distance four hundred miles." it was done thus:--he went from brighton in an afternoon coach that set him down in london in time for the holyhead mail, and this mail, with the help of the steamer to cross the channel, delivered him in dublin at the time mentioned. what would the writer say now, when, by leaving london at . a.m., he may dine at the table-d'hôte at the shelbourne hotel, dublin, at . p.m., with ample time to have a hot bath and change his dress before dinner is served? the writer then proceeds to say:-- "in this wonder-working age few greater improvements have been made in any of the useful arts than in those applied to the system of travelling by land. projectors and projects have multiplied with our years, and the fairy-petted princes of the "arabian nights' entertainments" were scarcely transported from place to place with more facility or dispatch than englishmen are in a.d. . from liverpool to manchester, thirty-six miles, in an hour and a half! surely dædalus is come amongst us again." what would the writer of the above have thought if he had lived to travel by what is termed the "flying dutchman," which now runs from london to plymouth in six hours and a quarter, and which, we understand, will shortly accomplish seventy miles an hour. to resume--or, as the gentlemanly gang under captain macheath say, "let us take the road" as it was at the period above mentioned. the edinburgh mail ran the distance (four hundred miles) in forty hours, stoppages included. the exeter day-coach, the "herald," performed her journey of one hundred and seventy-three miles in twenty hours; stevenson's brighton "age" kept its time to the minute; in short, from london to cheltenham, gloucester, worcester, birmingham, norwich, bath, bristol, southampton, oxford, cambridge, was little more than a pleasant summer day's drive. in order to accomplish the above fast journey two important considerations were required; first, that the horses should not be overworked, and, secondly, that they should be well fed. horses have increased greatly in price since the period i write of, and a team which would have cost a hundred guineas in could not now be had for two hundred and fifty guineas. the cost of coaches of the best materials varied from one hundred and forty pounds to one hundred and sixty pounds; generally speaking, they were hired from the maker at from twopence half-penny to threepence per mile. chapter iv. journey to bath in the palmy days of coaching--a driving giovanni--"parson dennis"--contrast to the above--tennant's description--the old brighton road--modern improvements--a squire of . chapter iv. i now proceed to describe the road as it was before panting steeds had givin way to puffing engines, iron greys to iron rails, coachmen and guards to stokers, and horseflesh to steam, which has been likened to water in a high state of perspiration. it was early in a morning, in the merry month of may, when i found myself at the "white horse cellar," piccadilly, just as the york house coach was starting for bath. i had previously secured the box seat, and, encased in a double-breasted drab coat, waited the arrival of a noble duke, then a marquis, well known to all the best coachmen on the road as a most liberal patron, and a first-rate whip himself. "sorry to have kept you," said the newcomer, "but swaine only sent home the whip i promised you this morning; you will find it in this narrow deal case." "allow me to give up my place to you," i said, addressing the marquis. "thank you a thousand times," he replied, "i am unfortunately engaged. we are going to man my new cutter, and pull to the red house and back." the case was handed up; the dragsman expressed his thanks. "all right behind, gentlemen," he thundered, fingering the ribbons in the plenitude of vehicular importance. away we went, rattling along the stony pavement of piccadilly at an awful rate to make up for the lost time. "nice morning, sir," said my companion, as we passed through the turnpike-gate that then stood opposite the entrance to the park, near apsley house. "the flowers are all a-blowing and a-growing." this line he sang, and then continued, "my missus gave me these beautiful violets about an hour ago." "'sam,' said she, 'i know i can trust you not to give them away to any girls on the road.'" i turned round to admire the bouquet and take a look at the wearer, who fully realised the description of the swell-dragsman immortalised in song by the late hon. fitzroy stanhope. he was a well-dressed, natty-looking fellow, decked out in a neat dark brown coat, white hat, corduroy breeches, well polished boots, cloth leggings, and a splendid pair of double-sewn buckskin gloves. a huge pair of whiskers, shaped like a mutton chop, fringed the borders of each cheek, and were (as a costermonger in knightsbridge irreverently remarked) large enough to pad a cart-saddle. in the course of conversation he invariably indulged the outside passengers with snatches of the popular ditties of the day, "oh, say not woman's heart is bought," "love has eyes," "will you come to the bower?" "savourneen deelish," "the thorn," and "sally in our alley." i soon discovered, from his manners and remarks, that my new coaching ally was a prodigious favourite with the fair sex, and from the roguish leer that he gave the respective damsels at the different inns and public-houses, i fancied he did not quite merit the confidence his wife placed in him. indeed, when we stopped to change horses at slough, i saw the faithless lothario present the pretty barmaid of the "red lion" with the bunch of violets, which she placed near her heart. nay, more, if my optics did not deceive me, he implanted a kiss on the rosy lips of the blooming landlady, who faintly exclaimed, "for shame, you naughty man." as i had won the good graces of this driving giovanni, not only by listening to the story of his conquests over the rural hebes, who dispensed their smiles and liquor to him, but by commending his voice in "pray, goody," which i declared to be equal to sinclair's, he offered me the reins just after passing the "sun inn" at maidenhead. "take 'em gently up the hill," said he, "and then you can have a spirt over the thicket." to say that i was proud is to say nothing, for, having passed a few months with a private tutor at littlewick green, within two miles of the spot where we were, i felt that i should cut no little figure as i drove by the "coach and horses," a wayside public-house where i and my companions used to keep our guns when at our tutor's. "do you pull up at the 'coach and horses?'" i inquired, in so nervous a manner--i was then young, and, as shakespeare writes, "in my salad days"--that the coachman, who is what is termed "wide-awake" upon all affairs of the heart, guessed my motive. "we can, sir, if you like," he responded. "perhaps dick has a parcel to leave for squire lee. anything for the thicket?" he continued, turning to the "shooter" behind, and giving him a knowing wink, a hint which the other took at once. "why, yes, sam; i wish to know whether mr. vansittart has sent for the empty sack i left there last monday." as we reached the well-known spot where i had passed many a half-hour in the society of the pretty, innocent girl whose fair face, blue eyes, auburn ringlets, and bewitching smile had turned the heads of all the youths in the neighbourhood, my heart began to palpitate, my hands to tremble, and i should have driven past the house had not my box companion caught hold of the reins with a firm grasp and pulled the horses up in front of the public-house. fortunately, my dulcinea had not noticed the hand that assisted me, and, seeing the coach stop, rushed to the door, exclaiming. "lord william! who would have thought it! how much you have improved in driving! do you recollect when you upset the dog-cart close to that pond?" "i hope your father is well," i replied, anxious to change the conversation; "and sally--i mean miss sadbroke--let the coachman and guard have a glass of your cream of the valley." "pray alight, my lord," said the coachman, "i was not aware who i had the honour of addressing. dick, show his lordship into the bar." i jumped down, rushed into the well-known snuggery, shook hands with poor old sadgrove, who was a victim to what he called the "rheumatiz," quaffed a glass of bright, sparkling ale, threw down a crown piece, kissed my hand to the blooming girl, and mounted the box, not a little elated with my adventure. but to quit this spot of juvenile reminiscences. we trotted past my tutor's house on the green, where i was cheered by the boys of the village school, and, after an agreeable drive, reached reading and then newbury. here the passengers were allowed twenty minutes for dinner, where we (i can answer for myself) did ample justice to the fare, which consisted of a splendid boiled leg of mutton and a ham-and-veal pie. "i go no further, gentlemen," said the coachman. "all right," i responded, handing him a gold seven-shilling piece, then a current coin of the realm. "good morning! and thank you, my lord," replied the deposed monarch of the whip. "i've told mr. dennis (commonly called parson dennis) that your lordship has your driving-gloves on." again mounting the box, i found myself seated by one of the smartest men i ever met with at that period on the road. there was an air of conceit about him that was truly amusing, and it was rendered doubly so by his affected style of conversation. unlike other dragsmen, he was dressed in the plainest style imaginable--a well-brushed black beaver hat, glossier than silk; a brown cutaway coat, dark oxford mixed overalls, highly-polished wellington boots, and fawn-coloured double kid gloves. the first object of my new companion was to inform me that he was well born, that he had been educated at oxford, and that he was the most popular man at bath; indeed, so much so that he was called the beau nash of the road. unquestionably, according to his own showing, he was entitled to that distinction, for he offered to point out all the sights of the english montpellier, including the assemblies, theatre, pump-room, crescents, gardens, walks, and abbey. so delighted was i with the dandified manner of my companion that the journey passed rapidly away. on leaving marlborough, he offered me the reins, which i accepted; and during the last stage he begged i would accept a pinch of the best petersham mixture, informing me that it was a present from the noble lord of that name, to whom he had been presented by an old oxford acquaintance. upon reaching the city of bladud and driving up to the "york house," mr. dennis, with the air of louis le grand, politely took off his hat, wished me good evening, thanked me for my gratuity, and said that if i mentioned his name at the hotel every attention would be paid to me. as a contrast to the above, let me show how our great-grandfathers travelled in . tennant writes as follows:-- "in march i changed my welsh school for one nearer to the capital, and travelled in the chester stage, then no despicable vehicle for country gentlemen. the first day, with much labour, we got from chester to whitchurch, twenty miles; the second day to the "welsh harp," the third to coventry, the fourth to northampton, the fifth to dunstable; and, as a wondrous effort, on the last to london before the commencement of the night. the strain and labour of six horses, sometimes eight, drew us through the slough of mireden and many other places. we were constantly out two hours before day, and as late at night, and in the depth of winter proportionately later. families who travelled in their own carriages contracted with benson and co., and were dragged up in the same number of days." the single gentlemen--then a hardy race--equipped in jack-boots, rode post, through almost impassable roads, guarded against the mire, defying the frequent stumbles and falls, pursuing their journey with alacrity, while in these our days their enervated posterity sleep away their rapid journeys in easy railway carriages, fitted for the soft inhabitants of sybaris. i can vouch for the latter, for i left york a few weeks ago at night, after delivering a lecture of an hour and a quarter, and was in bed in hans place by four o'clock in the morning. in bygone days a journey to brighton occupied one entire day. latterly the march of improvement has made rapid strides upon all roads. brighton can now be reached in an hour and thirteen minutes; first class fares, by express (which are about to be reduced), thirteen shillings and threepence; by ordinary trains, ten shillings; second class express, ten shillings; ordinary trains, seven shillings and ninepence; third class, four shillings and sixpence. an inside passenger by the old coach had to pay sixteen shillings to brighton; and for excess of luggage, if he carried what is now allowed to a first class passenger, a further charge of eight shillings and fourpence would be made; total, one pound four shillings and fourpence. "this is the patent age of inventions." so wrote byron, more than sixty years ago. had he lived in our time how much greater cause would he have had to make the remark; for since the days of the noble poet how many inventions have been introduced! steamboats and railways instead of canvas sails and horses; active, wide-awake policemen instead of superannuated, sleeping "charlies" of the dogberry school; brilliant gas in lieu of the darkness-made-visible light, "whose oily rays shot from the crystal lamp." no longer can we hail the "officious link-boy's smoky light," except during a dense thick, pea-soup coloured fog in the suicidal month of november. instead of paved streets we have macadamised roads, albeit, there are some wiseacres who are (to adopt the old joke) _putting their heads together_ to form a wooden pavement. we have light broughams and neat cabs instead of the rattling "agony" or hackney coach; iron vessels have taken the place of the "wooden walls of old england," though our gallant tars are still "hearts of oak;" light french wines have driven good old humble port from our cellars, much to the advantage of gouty subjects. last, not least, the improved system of locomotion enables the sportsman to hunt from london, to enjoy his breakfast and return to his dinner in the metropolis, to run down to ascot, epsom, egham, brighton, croydon, sandown park, windsor, and goodwood races, and be back at night, while the follower of old isaac walton may kill his trout in some of the berkshire or hampshire streams and enjoy the pleasure of his (the fish's) company at a seven o'clock dinner in london. of course, occasionally there are discomforts connected with the rail, for on a fine summer's day it is far more agreeable to view the country from a travelling chariot, britchka, or stage-coach, than to be shot forth like an arrow from a crossbow, at an awful rate, amidst a hissing, whizzing, ear-piercing, shrill, sharp noise, something between a catcall in the gallery of some transpontine theatre on boxing night and the war-whoop of the ojibbeway indians after a scalping-party in north america. then the odour! instead of the scent of the brier, the balmy bean-field, the cottage-side honeysuckle, the jessamine, you have an essence of villanous compounds--sulphur, rank oil, and soot. again, the railway traveller occasionally finds his luggage missing; sometimes it is lost; our only wonder is that the above does not happen more frequently when we find the platform filled with loungers of all classes. whether there are more fatal accidents by rail (in proportion to the excess of travellers) over those who formerly journeyed by road we know not for certain, but we are disposed to think there are not. therefore, to sum up, if the question was "road _versus_ rail," taking all the pros and cons into consideration, we should give the verdict for the defendant. the modern lover of field sports is no longer a drunken, rollicking, two or four-bottle man; he prefers the society of the ladies in the drawing-room to that of the half-inebriated gentlemen in the dining-room; he dresses in a becoming manner, seldom swears, and, as far as his means go, keeps open house. what a contrast is this to the sportsman of bygone days! perhaps, however, the following is the most curious picture of the sporting life and rude habits of the english country gentleman of the olden time, extant. "in the year lived mr. hastings, second son of an earl of huntingdon. he was, peradventure, an original in our age, or rather the copy of our ancient nobility in hunting, not in warlike times. he was low, very strong, and very active, of a reddish flaxen hair. his clothes, always green cloth, and never all worth (when new) five pounds; his house was perfectly of the old fashion, in the midst of a large park, well stocked with deer, and near the house rabbits, to serve his kitchen; many fishponds, great store of wood and timber, a bowling green in it (long, but narrow), full of high ridges, it being never levelled since it was ploughed. they used round lead bowls, and it had a banqueting house, like a stand, built in a tree. "he kept all manner of sport-hounds, that ran buck, fox, hare, otter, and badger; and hawks, long and short-winged. he had all sorts of nets for fish; he had a walk in the new forest and the manor of christ church. "this last supplied him with red deer, sea and river fish; and, indeed, all his neighbours grounds and royalties were free to him, who bestowed all his time on these sports. he was popular with his neighbours, and was ever a welcome guest at their houses; he, too, kept open house, where beef, pudding, and small beer, were to be had in plenty; his great hall was full of marrow bones, and full of hawks' perches, hounds, spaniels, and terriers, the upper side of which was hung with foxes' brushes, here and there a polecat intermixed. "the parlour was a very large room, and properly furnished. on a great hearth, paved with brick, lay some terriers, and the choicest hounds and spaniels. seldom but two of the great chairs had litters of young cats in them, which were not to be disturbed, he having always three or four attending him at dinner, and a little white round stick of fourteen inches lying by his trencher, that he might defend such meat as he had no mind to part with to them. "the windows (which were very large) served for places to lay his arrows, crossbows, stonebows, and other such-like accoutrements. the corners of the room full of the best chase hunting and hawking poles, an oyster-table at the lower end, which was of constant use twice a day all the year round, for he never failed to eat oysters before dinner and supper through all seasons; the neighbouring town of poole supplied him with them. the upper part of the room had two small tables and a desk, on the one side of which was a church bible, and on the other the 'book of martyrs.' "on the tables were hawks' hoods, bells, and such like, two or three old green hats, with their crowns thrust in, so as to hold ten or a dozen eggs, which were of a pheasant kind of poultry he took much care of, and fed himself. tables, dice, cards, and bowls were not wanting. in the hole of the desk were scores of tobacco-pipes that had been used. "on one side of this end of the room was the door of a closet, wherein stood the strong beer and the wine, which never came thence but in single glasses, that being the rule of the house strictly observed, for he never exceeded in drink or permitted it. on the other side was the door into an old chapel, not used for devotion; the pulpit, as the safest place, was never wanting of a cold chine of beef, venison pasty, gammon of bacon, or great apple-pie, with thick crust, extremely baked. "his table cost him not much, though it was good to eat at; his sports supplied all but beef and mutton, except fridays, when he had the best salt fish (as well as other fish) he could get, and that was the day his neighbours of best quality most visited him. he never wanted a london pudding, and always sang it in with 'my past lies therein--a.' "he drank a glass of wine or two at meals, very often syrup of gilliflower in his sack, and had always a tun glass without feet by his side, holding a pint of small beer, which he often stirred with rosemary. he was well natured, but soon angry; he lived to be a hundred; never lost his eye-sight, but always read and wrote without spectacles, and got on horseback without help. until past fourscore he rode to the death of a stag as well as any." chapter v. coach _versus_ rail--description of a coach journey from london to bath--differences of opinion--the coach dinner--luxurious living--snug hÔtelleries--english _versus_ foreign cooking. chapter v. "every medal has its reverse." many persons may be found who denounce coaching as an abomination; while others declare that railway travelling is most fatal only not to the lives, but to the comforts of her majesty's subjects. i pass over the dangers of the rail, and will lay before my readers the opinions expressed by the two contending parties. one declares that, among the many improvements of which this age has been productive--and many and vast have they been--that of travelling unquestionably bears the bell. the very word, however, has now become a misnomer. it is no longer travelling; it is flying over the country, luxuriously and triumphantly, at a pace that equals the hurricane. the rapidity with which travellers are now conveyed by steam over the length and breadth of the country is a social advantage which, for manifold purposes, cannot be too much appreciated. some may remember, and have not those suffered from, the old slow and sure system? "this racks the joints, this fires the veins, that every labouring sinew strains," might have been the motto of those stage-coaches which in former days pursued their way at the rate of six miles an hour, to the misery, inconvenience, and detention of every passenger that was doomed to the adoption of such conveyances. the pillory would now be preferable to the top of a stage-coach on its passage from london to exeter on a dark, tempestuous night in december. what inexpressible horrors does the very idea suggest! the expense, too, was no trifling consideration; for after the fare was paid, half of which was recouped if you did not put in an appearance, fees were incessantly demanded and wrung from the luckless traveller, as if he were a sheep born to be fleeced by a pack of merciless hirelings. ere you started on your journey, a porter rushed up, and, whether permitted or not, seized your carpet-bag or hat-box, and pitching them into the boot, regardless of their contents, would turn round and, with audacious effrontery, demand a fee for his trouble; ay, and if he did not get it would abuse you roundly to your face. then, the dignity of the box-seat! "_nota quæ sedes fuerat columbis_"--pigeons they were, with a vengeance, that occupied it. at what price was it purchased! entailing a double fee--one to the porter for casting your coat upon it, the other to the coachman for the privilege of sitting with your teeth in the wind, sharing his conversation, his rug, and his seat. talk not of the spicy team, the rattling bars, which for short journeys in fine weather was an agreeable way of travelling; but for distances the inside of a coach was almost insupportable. outside in winter not much better. then, again, the great improvement in travelling since the road gave way to the rail is never more deeply felt and rejoiced at than at easter, whitsuntide, and the festive season of christmas, as it enables so many more to visit their friends in the country than was formerly the case, with a greater amount, too, of comfort to themselves, and at a considerably less expense. in the old days of coaching and posting few, comparatively speaking, would be conveyed to or from the metropolis. those who travelled post were often detained for horses; and those who went by coach had to book their places weeks before, paying half the fare, and even then a heavy fall of snow might put an end to all journeys. now, instead of sitting for hours wet through from the pelting pitiless storm outside a coach--instead of being called by candlelight, and traversing the streets in a slow rumbling vehicle, the traveller can enjoy his breakfast in london, can be conveyed to the station in a fast-trotting hansom, can sit snugly protected from the weather, and reach his destination in a fourth of the time his predecessors could on the road. and here it may not be out of place to describe a journey by coach, say from london to bath, on a cold raw winter's day. i speak of the time when the old, crawling, creaking, rattling, six inside vehicle had not given way to the fast four-horse light coach. often have i travelled by one of these wretched conveyances to newbury, when i was at a private tutor's at donnington grove. as lucifer-matches had not then been introduced, the only method of getting a light was by striking a flint against a steel in a tinder-box. your candle lit, a hasty toilet made, you descended, if at an hotel, into a coffee-room, miserably lit, and reeking with the odour of gin, brandy, and punch. at that early hour, breakfast was out of the question. then there was the uncertainty whether the hackney-coach you had ordered over night would be forthcoming; if it did arrive, you reached the "white horse cellar" or "gloucester" coffee-house by a little before six, where a glass of rum and milk, or some "early purl," might be had. if an inside passenger, you were subjected to being "cribb'd, cabin'd, confined" in a small compass, without head or knee room, for nearly sixteen hours. if an outsider, there was the discomfort of cold winds, drifting snow, heavy rain, and dripping umbrellas. then the dinners on the road--twenty minutes allowed, with its scalding soup stained warm water, its tough steaks, its scotch collops, "_liquidis profusus odoribus_," its underdone boiled leg of mutton, its potatoes, hot without and hard within. then the scramble for a nook by the fire to dry the soaked coat, cloak, or hat; then the change of coachmen, all of whom expected to be remembered; then the fees to guard and porters. let anyone picture to himself or herself the miseries of such a journey, and be thankful that they have all nearly vanished under the mighty power of steam. having given the opinions of the advocates of the rail, i turn to those of the road, who thus describe the delights of a journey in a fast coach. they suppose a fine spring morning, when you find yourself seated by the side of a pleasant companion, behind four blood horses, the roads sufficiently watered by an april shower to lay the dust; the hedgerows shooting forth--buds unfolding, flowers bursting out; the birds carolling cheerfully, as if to welcome the return of spring; the sun smiling upon the snug cottages, the picturesque village churches, the small hamlets, the peaceful homesteads, the neatly-kept gardens, whose early produce were beginning to bloom--such were the _agréments_ of the road. every mile presented a new feature; the green fields, the earth teeming with fertility, the velvet lawns, the verdant fields, the luxuriant woods, the peaceful valleys, the shady lanes, the blossomed orchards, the "balmy odours" of nature--her breath upon the breeze--all combined to raise your dull spirits to a state of ecstasy. then the excitement as the well-appointed "drag" drove through the village, the guard sounding his cheerful horn, and the coach pulled up for a snack at a cleanly wayside public-house, where the buxom landlady and the pretty barmaid dispensed the creature comforts to the hungry guests, their appetites sharpened by a drive of some twenty or five-and-twenty miles. they then turn to the rail, declaring that, instead of the "balmy odours" of nature--her breath upon the breeze--the traveller is nearly suffocated with the rank smell of oil, smoke, gas, and sulphur. instead of gazing upon the beauties of england's rural scenery, you are whirled along at the rate of fifty miles an hour, amidst the densest smoke, the groanings of engines, through an embankment of chalk or clay. just as you are contemplating a fine mountainous view, a stately viaduct, a picturesque waterfall, or a placid lake, another train meets yours, and entirely hides the prospect from you. instead of the warm welcome at the inn, apostrophised by shenstone, or the less ostentatious, although not less sincere, reception at the wayside public-house, you are shown into a huge room that reminds you of the spot where the lions are wont to be fed at the zoological gardens, where all is noise, hurry, and confusion; where your pockets are emptied and your inner man not filled, from the caloric qualities of the food and the haste in which you are called upon to devour it; and last, not least, they compare the comfort of a barouche and four, a chariot and pair, starting at your own hour, stopping where you like, with the levelling system of the rail, where high-born dames of great degree are mixed with blacklegs and sharpers, where the "hereditary pillars of the state" congregate with whitechapel "gents" and corinthian "swells," where prim old maids are "cheek by jowl" with libertine _roués_, where young and innocent boarding-school misses sit next to _soidisant_ captains and needy fortune-hunters, where unprincipled debtors are placed opposite their clamorous creditors, where sage philosophers come in collision with unchained lunatics, and proud peeresses are brought in contact with the frail and fair ones of the demimonde. they then describe a stage-coach dinner, contrasting it with one that could be had at all good inns on the road when travelling luxuriously in your own carriage. and they lay the scene at the "red lion," henley-on-thames; at the "windmill," salt-hill; at the "pelican," newbury; at the "bear," reading; at the "sugar-loaf," dunstable; at the "dun cow," dunchurch; at the "hop pole," worcester; at the "king's arms," godalming; at the "castle," taunton; at the "lion," shrewsbury; at the "hand inn," llangollen, and at a variety of other excellent inns, many of which have been swept away since the introduction of the rail. they dwell upon the good old english country fare, which did not require the foreign aid of ornament. not that they censure french cooking; but what they find fault with--and i heartily concur in this--is an attempt to transmogrify native dishes into continental ones by what the newspaper advertisements term "a professed woman cook," who is as fit to send up a well-dressed _filet de volaille à la parisienne_, a _maintenon cotelette_, or a _vol au vent à la financière_ as she would be to play a match of polo at hurlingham, or to take the part of the countess in the "_mariage de figaro_." the plain and perfect english dinners in bygone days generally consisted of mutton broth, rich in meat and herbs; fresh-water fish in every form, eels stewed, fried, boiled, baked, spitch-cocked, and water-suchet; the purest bread and freshest butter; salmon and fennel sauce; mackerel brought down by coach from the groves of london, with green gooseberries, and the earliest cucumbers; a saddle of southdown, kept to a moment and done to a turn; mutton chops, hot and hot; marrow-bones; irish stews; rump-steaks tender and juicy; chicken and ham, plum-pudding, fruit tarts, trifles, and gooseberry-fool. then the produce of the grape--no thin, washy claret, at eighteen shillings a dozen; no fiery port, one day in bottle; no sherry at twenty-five guineas the cask; but fine old crusted port, sherry dry and fruity, madeira that had made more than one voyage to india. our readers must decide between the two opinions. chapter vi. "moving accidents" by rail and coach--short time for the issue of railway tickets--reckless drivers--an affair of honour--anecdote of the late duke of wellington. chapter vi. a great deal has been written and said upon the subject of accidents in travelling, and comparisons have been made between those caused by rail and road. there can be no doubt that there has been an awful sacrifice of life and an enormous amount of injury attributable to the rail. where hundreds formerly made their journeys by public mails and stage-coaches, or travelled in their own carriages, thousands upon thousands are now conveyed by steam; and out of those thousands how many are reckless and foolish!--scrambling into the carriages when they are moving, or rushing out before they stop. although it would be, humanly speaking, impossible to provide against accidents, for in or after a frost ironwork cannot be depended upon; still, some might be averted by extra care and diligence on the part of those to whom the lives of her majesty's faithful subjects are entrusted. i believe it is many years since an accident has occurred on the london, brighton, and south coast railway; and this is mainly owing to the unremitting attention of the general manager, j. p. knight, esq., and his staff; and probably there are other railways equally well looked after and equally free from danger. to render railway travelling safer than it now is, the following rules should be adopted:--first and foremost, the men should be better paid, and not overworked; secondly, the telegraph and signal duties should be placed in the hands of responsible and intelligent persons; and last, not least, punctuality in starting should be rigidly enforced, for in making up for lost time many have found to their cost that the old hunting maxim has been realised, "it is the pace that kills." to carry out the latter, luggage should be sent into the station a quarter of an hour before the time of departure, and the doors closed to passengers five minutes before the train leaves. how often have i seen trains delayed in london and at different stations in the country through the late arrival of some persons of distinction! the humbler classes do not fare quite as well, for many a farmer's wife, country girl, labourer, or mechanic has either been left behind or has been hustled into the third class carriages, leaving band-boxes, baskets, tools or implements on the platform. it is only a few months ago that i saw the above illustrated. at ---- station, just after the train was in motion, a well-appointed waggonette drove up, the coachman shouting "wait a moment!" the injunction was obeyed, the train was stopped, and in about four or five minutes two middle-aged ladies, a tiny specimen of the canine race, a luncheon basket, dressing case, work-basket, cloaks, umbrella, and parasols were deposited in a first class compartment, and a large amount of luggage placed in the van. the darling little white, curly-haired pet, "bijou" by name, soon emancipated itself from the muff in which it had been hid, much to the discomfiture of myself and other occupants of the carriage! mark the contrast! after about an hour's journey we stopped at a very rural station, and just as the whistle was about to be blown a quiet, respectable-looking female, evidently of the humbler grade, rushed out of the office with merely a small basket in her hand, exclaiming, "am i in time, guard?" "plenty," he responded, "for the next train." the whistle was heard, and the poor woman left behind, to ruminate for four hours upon her ill-luck. there is another evil which many of the railways have got rid of, and which we trust will shortly be universally adopted--i refer to the brief time allowed for taking tickets. in glasgow (i speak from experience) you may purchase your ticket in offices appointed for the sale of them independent of the railway station. to the public this is a special boon, and upon one occasion i found the benefit of it. i was engaged to give a lecture at the city hall, glasgow, which was to commence at eight o'clock. the night train to london left at twelve minutes after nine, so there was not much time to spare. by taking my ticket in the afternoon, leaving my portmanteau in the cloak-room, engaging an intelligent porter to take it out and have it ready for me, and benefiting by the kindness of my host, wm. holms, esq., m.p. for paisley, who conveyed me in his brougham from the lecture-hall to the station, i arrived in time for the train, reaching my london home in time for a ten o'clock breakfast, with ample time, as the yorkshireman says, "to have a wash before a bite." i now turn to accidents by road. these were principally caused through the carelessness of the drivers, a refractory team, a coach that had not been thoroughly inspected before starting, and occasionally by a coachman who had imbibed a considerable quantity of strong ale or fiery spirits. i could fill pages with accidents that have occurred to stage-coaches, in which many were killed and others most severely hurt. if i recollect right, a worcester coach, descending the steep hill into severn stoke, was overturned, none of the passengers escaping death; and on all the roads east, west, south, and north of london frequent upsets took place, more especially during the foggy month of november, where ditches bounded the main road. i well remember travelling from windsor to london on the box of moody's coach, driven by "young moody," as he was called in contradistinction to his father, the proprietor of it. i was on the box seat; and after passing cranford bridge a dense fog set in, one of those fogs that are described as resembling the colour of pea-soup. the coach was full inside and out. "i don't half like this," said moody. "if i can only manage to get safe to hounslow, i'll have the lamps lit." in those days lucifer-matches were quite unknown, so to get a light from any of the passengers was impossible; not so would it be at the present time, when almost every one carries with his pipe or cigar a box of matches. scarcely had my box companion uttered the above words when we were upset, an accident caused by our driving into a deep, broad ditch. i and the outsiders were pitched into the furze on the heath, anything but a bed of roses, while the insides were screeching for help. some of us ran to the horses to keep them quiet, others lent their aid in extricating three middle-aged ladies and an elderly gentleman who were confined in what one of the females described as the "opaque body of a stage-coach." after some trouble things were put to rights; happily, no one being severely injured. thinking it more than probable that if we attempted to proceed on our journey without lamps we should meet with another mishap, i got a labouring friend who came to our assistance to walk to the "travellers' friend," and borrow two lanthorns. this he accordingly did; so with the aid of our own lamps and the above lights we managed to reach hounslow in safety. from hounslow to london we had difficulties to contend against, for the dim oily rays of a few lamps and lights in shops had not then given way to the brilliancy of gas. a few years afterwards, when travelling inside the henley coach, an axletree broke, and we were upset into a drift of snow--soft, but rather cooling. upon this occasion an outside passenger had his arm fractured. my third and fourth upsets from private carriages will be duly recorded. it occasionally happened that driving out or into a yard, despite the warning "take care of your heads," some half-sleepy or inattentive passenger met with a serious accident by his head coming in contact with the roof. then, again, a skid would come off the wheel going down hill at an awful pace, which, of course, brought the passengers to grief. an inveterate kicker or a giber added to the dangers of the road, and a heavy snowstorm, in which the passengers had to descend and make their way to the nearest wayside inn or cottage, did not improve their condition. of course when due precautions were taken, the accidents were, comparatively speaking, few. i have travelled at a tremendous pace by the "hirondelle"--irreverently called the "iron devil"--by the "wonder," between shrewsbury and london, and by almost all the fast coaches between london and brighton, london and oxford, london and southampton, london and bath, and have never met with the slightest accident. in bygone days it was very agreeable, albeit rather expensive, to travel post, especially in your own light chariot or britchka; but to be dependent upon hack chaises on the road was far from pleasant. these chaises were not very well hung on springs, the windows seldom fitted closely, and the rattling noise reminded one of a dice-box in full play upon wheels. there was generally straw enough at your feet to hold a covey of partridges. although these vehicles were light and followed well, a great deal of time was wasted in shifting your luggage from one to another at every stage, or, at most, every other stage. i once left london on an affair of importance--namely, that of carrying a hostile message from a friend to a gentleman who resided near marlborough, and found it so difficult to rouse the ostler, postboy, and the man who looked after the chaises, that i got no farther than botham's at salt hill. i left the piazza coffee-house, where the letter had been concocted demanding an apology or a meeting, about eleven at night, was kept waiting for more than a half hour at the "red lion," hounslow, and only reached salt hill about half-past one in the morning. there, again, had i to awake the sleepy ostler and drowsy waiter, the latter of whom strenuously recommended me to sleep at the hotel and continue my journey at daylight. this i accordingly did; but what with the arrangement of the affair of honour, as it was called, and which ended amicably, i was nearly two-and-twenty hours on the journey by road that could now be accomplished with ease by rail in less than seven. i have alluded to two upsets that i have in the course of my life met with from private travelling-carriages. the first occurred in july, , when returning with the late duke of wellington from windsor to london. his grace had been dining with the officers of the royal horse guards (blues), in which regiment i had the honour of holding a commission, when, as we reached brentford, at night, the linch pin came out of the fore wheel of his carriage, by which it was upset. nothing would satisfy the people but drawing the carriage to london, which they certainly would have done but for the remonstrance of his grace, which finally succeeded. after a delay of half an hour the damage was repaired, and we reached london in safety. the accident might have proved a fatal one, for we were travelling as fast as four good horses could take us. had such a calamity happened to wellington, then in the prime of life, no one can hardly picture the consequences. happily his life was spared to add another conquest to those he had won on the banks of the douro, of the tagus, the ebro, and the garonne. the second and last upset i had was on the night of my return from canada, in , when, in driving through goodwood park, the postboys drove over a bank and, to use a common expression, "floored the coach." chapter vii. travelling in ireland--bianconi's cars--journey from cork to dublin in a post-chaise--irish wit--a poor-law commissioner--mr. peabody--sir walter scott and a genuine paddy--mr. charles bianconi--irish car drivers. chapter vii. travelling by road in ireland was and is very different from what it was and is in england. the mail and stage-coaches, almost similar to the english ones, were well-horsed, and kept their time very regularly. occasionally "a frolicsome baste," or "rale bit of blood who won the plate at the curragh," would start off at a tremendous pace, upset the "drag," the driver assuring the passengers that they were the "quietest craythures in ireland," adding, "i'll give it ye, ye bastes, ye venomous sarpints, when i get ye home." the harness, too, was not a little the worse for wear, having so often been mended with string and rope that in descending a hill it would break into "smithereens," and now and then, when whisky was in the ascendant, the jehu was so venturesome that in descending a hill he would come to grief. after a time the public cars, introduced by m. bianconi displaced the regular coaches. in form they resembled the common outside jaunting-car, but were calculated to hold from twelve to sixteen persons. they were admirably horsed, had steady drivers, the team generally consisting of three horses, which travelled at the rate of seven irish miles an hour, equivalent to nine english miles, the fares averaging twopence a mile. they were open cars, but a huge leather apron afforded protection from showers of rain, which are so prevalent in the sister isle. post-chaises, which are now nearly extinct, were awful conveyances. i have a very lively impression of a journey from cork to dublin some fifty years ago in these vehicles; the one furnished by the proprietor of the imperial hotel, cork (then, and i believe now, an excellent hôtellerie), which took me the first stage, was clean and comfortable; not so those that followed. springs they appeared to have none; or, if they had, they were so covered with rope that there was no elasticity left in them. they rattled worse than any fire-engine. the roof was so dilapidated and the windows so broken that, except for the honour of the thing, you might as well have had no covering at all; the harness came to pieces whenever "paddy" gave his horses a spurt, and the cattle were "divels to go." so disagreeable did i find the journey in a post-chaise that at youghal i engaged a car, and prosecuted my journey to dublin in cars. persons who have never travelled in ireland in these conveyances can have a very inadequate idea of the ready wit of the drivers. it has been admirably well told by mr. and mrs. s. c. hall, from whose work on the scenery and character of ireland i quote the following:-- some one told a story of a fellow who, on grumbling at the shilling gratuity at his journey's end, said, in a sly undertone, "faith, it's not putting me off ye'd be if ye knew but all." the traveller's curiosity was excited. "what do you mean?" "oh, faix! that ud be telling." another shilling was tendered. "and now," asked the gentleman, "what do you mean by saying if ye knew but all?" "that i driv yer honour the last three miles without a linchpin!" "will i pay the pike or drive at it, plase yer honour?" was the exclamation of a driver to his passenger as he suddenly drew up a few yards from the turnpike gate. when an assistant poor-law commissioner first visited cork, the coach by which he arrived set him down next door to the "imperial hotel," his place of destination. not being aware of this fact, he ordered a car and gave his direction to the driver. the fellow conducted him round the town and through the various streets and lanes, and, after an hour's driving, placed him at the hotel entrance, demanding and receiving a sum of five shillings, which his victim considered a reasonable charge. a few minutes afterwards he discovered the trick that had been played upon him. one of the richest characters of the class we encountered on the road from ross to wexford; he told us how he got his first situation. "the masther had two beautiful english horses, and he wanted a careful man to drive them; he was a mighty plisant gentleman, and loved a joke. well, there was as many as fifteen after the place, and the first that wint up to him was examined as follows:-- "'now, my man,' says he, 'tell me,' says he, 'how near the edge of a precipice would you undertake to drive my carriage?' "so the boy considered, and he says, says he, "'within a foot, plaze your honour, and no harm.' "'very well,' says he, 'go down, i'll give ye yer answer, by-and-by.' "so the next came up, and said he'd be bound to carry 'em within half a foot; and the next said five inches; and another--a dandified chap intirely--was so mighty nice that he would drive it within 'three inches and a half, he'd go bail.' "well, at last my turn came, and when his honour axed me how nigh i would drive his carriage to a precipice, i said, says i, "'plaze, yer honour, i'd keep as far off it as i could.' "'very well, misther byrne,' says he, 'you're my coachman,' says he. "och! the roar there was in the kitchen whin i wint down and tould the joke!" i heard a good story of the philanthropic peabody, who, though princely in his liberality, did not like to be imposed upon. upon one occasion he resisted an exorbitant demand, and only gave the car-driver his proper fare! "bedad!" said the man; "they may call you mr. paybody, but i call you mr. paynobody." another instance will suffice. as sir walter scott was riding with a friend in the neighbourhood of abbotsford, he came to a field-gate, which an irish beggar, who happened to be near, hastened to open for him. sir walter was desirous of rewarding this civility by the present of sixpence, but found that he had not so small a coin in his purse. "here, my good fellow," said the baronet, "here is a shilling for you, but mind you owe me sixpence." "god bless your honour," exclaimed pat, "may your honour live till i pay you." the irish car is so peculiar and characteristic an institution that a brief sketch of the author of the system may not be here out of place. mr. charles bianconi, a native of milan, came over to ireland in the year , and set up at clonmel as a picture-dealer. struck with the want of accommodation that existed between the various towns of the district, an idea entered his head of remedying the deficiency by introducing a new conveyance. he had heard that derrick, in , had been compelled to set out on horseback on a journey from cork to killarney, there being no public carriage to be had in the city of cork. between that period and no great improvement had taken place; so the enterprising italian, who had saved some money, started a car between clonmel and cahir. after struggling for some time against all the difficulties that ever attend a new scheme, after inciting the people to abandon their indifference, to conquer their prejudices, he so far succeeded as to enable him to run others to limerick and thurles. the public, hitherto apathetic, were roused into action; the new scheme met with universal patronage; soon bianconi's name was uppermost in everyone's thoughts; the double cars increased to nearly fifty in number, travelling daily over nearly four thousand miles. these vehicles were so constructed as to carry numerous passengers and a large amount of luggage; they were all built at the inventor's factory at clonmel; they travelled at the rate of six to nine statute miles an hour, and were admirably well adapted for all who journeyed for business or pleasure. for tourists they were invaluable, as from the cars extensive views of the country might be seen; moreover, the driver was always so full of genuine fun that he enlivened the whole journey with his quaint milesian sayings. generally, too, he was well acquainted with the locality, and would tell amusing anecdotes of the occupiers of the stately mansions in the neighbourhood, and of their humbler neighbours. the rail has in a great measure driven cars off the road, but they are still to be had at all the principal towns and at almost every village in ireland. the wit of the drivers is not at all deteriorated, and the cattle they drive are first-rate. upon a recent occasion i engaged a car at inistioge, in the county of kilkenny, from one mr. cassin, to take me to new ross; the distance is nearly ten english miles, and the driver, who had an eye for the picturesque, insisted upon taking me one way and bringing me back another; and from the time i left until my return i was kept in a fit of laughter. upon dismissing "paddy" i asked him what i had to pay. "five shillings, yer honour, for the car, and whatever you plaze for the driver." "but if i plaze to give you nothing?" "well, then, yer honour, i'll be perfectly satisfied, as you are quite a credit to the car." a good story is told of a car-driver who was conveying a tourist through a most picturesque part of ireland, when all of a sudden the "baste" began to kick, and showed evident symptoms of going faster down a hill than the unfortunate occupier of the car approved of. "don't whip him, driver, or you'll make him run away." "bedad, yer honour, ye needn't be afeard of that. he's a raal sodjer, and 'ud sooner die than run away." i must now take leave of ireland and return to england. chapter viii. coach accidents--accident from racing--actions at law--mail robberies--robbery by convicts--a dangerous start--a drunken driver. chapter viii. i have already referred to the numerous accidents that occurred on the road to stage and mail coaches, and could fill a volume with casualties caused by overturns, violent driving, horses proceeding miles without drivers, drunken coachmen, low gateways, overloading, breaking down, and racing. one of the most memorable events connected with racing occurred in , when thomas perdy and george butler were charged at the hertford assizes with the wilful murder of william hart, who was thrown off the holyhead mail, of which perdy was the driver, and which had been upset by the chester mail, of which butler was the driver. the grand jury having thrown out the bill for the capital offence, they were tried on a charge of manslaughter. two witnesses who were suffering severely from the accident deposed to the following effect:-- mr. archer, a respectable bootmaker, of cheapside, london, stated that he sat on the box with the prisoner perdy. when the coach arrived at that part of the road beyond highgate, where a junction is formed between the archway road and the old highgate road, the chester mail came up. both coachmen began to whip their horses and put them into a gallop, and drove abreast of each other at a furious rate for a considerable distance, when the driver of the chester mail slackened the pace of his horses, and seemed conscious of the impropriety of his conduct; but when the coaches approached towards st. albans, and had arrived at the hill about a mile from that town, the prisoner perdy put his horses into a furious gallop down the hill. his example was followed by the other prisoner, who endeavoured to overtake him; and a most terrific race ensued between the two carriages, the velocity of both increasing by their own accelerated descent down an abrupt hill. the road was wide enough for three carriages to pass each other; but the prisoner butler, perceiving that perdy was keeping ahead of him, pushed his horses on, and waving his hat and cheering, suddenly turned his leaders in front of the leaders of the holyhead mail, which, in consequence of being jammed in between the bank of the road and the other vehicle, was immediately upset. the consequences were frightful. the deceased was killed on the spot, the witness had a leg and an arm shattered most dreadfully; and a gentleman's servant, named fenner, was taken up almost lifeless. thomas fenner confirmed the last witness. he stated that both the prisoners were flogging their horses at a most furious rate down the hill, and he was convinced that the accident might have been avoided with common care, notwithstanding the velocity with which the horses were driven, as there was quite room enough for the chester mail to have passed the holyhead. mr. baron gurney summed up the case for the jury in an eloquent and impressive manner. the jury found the prisoners "guilty." the learned judge, in passing sentence, commented on the conduct of the prisoners in terms of strong animadversion. his lordship laid it down distinctly, as a proposition not to be disputed, that it was unlawful for the driver to put his horses into a gallop, and that he was answerable for all the consequences of an infringement of this law. the driver of a stage-coach was bound to protect even the intoxicated, the blind, the aged, and the helpless against their own want of caution or imprudence. the case now before the court presented circumstances of gross aggravation, and his lordship felt it his duty to pronounce the severest judgment that the law would allow, which was that the prisoners should be severally confined in the common gaol of this county for the term of one year. at the wiltshire assizes in , an action was brought by a mr. gooden against the proprietors of a mail coach, to recover damages for a serious injury sustained by the plaintiff, from its being overturned. it appeared in evidence that the plaintiff was an outside passenger, that the coach was overturned immediately on quitting the yard of the "red lion inn," salisbury, and that a compound fracture of the plaintiff's leg was the consequence of the accident. it seemed established that there was no gross misconduct on the part of the coachman to call for vindictive damages. mr. justice gibbs left it to the jury to determine whether the defendants were liable on account of the apparent heedlessness of the coachman in not leading the horses out of the yard, and it was agreed that if the jury found the defendants liable, the verdict should pass for all such expenses as the plaintiff had reasonably incurred, which were to be ascertained by a reference. the jury found a verdict for the plaintiff, and the referee assessed the damages at six hundred pounds. in the same year there was an inquest held upon a woman who was run over by a manchester coach, and the verdict was "accidental death," with a deodand of four pounds on the fore horse. on the night of november the rd, , six highwaymen attacked the ware coach on stamford hill, and after the customary amount of imprecations, led the horses, vehicle, and passengers under a gibbet; they then proceeded to rifle each individual, and tore out the breeches-pockets, and the skirts from the waistcoats of the gentlemen, to be certain of their contents, which amounted to above a hundred pounds. at the moment the thieves had completed their intentions, a gentleman's servant passed with a cart; the man was immediately summoned to surrender, which he did without resistance; part of the lading of this prize proved to be several hampers of wine. elated by the success of the evening, the highwaymen opened the hampers, seized the bottles, and emptied many in repeated healths to the owner of the liquid, which expanding the generous nature of the six, they insisted upon the stage coachman and his passengers solacing themselves for their misfortunes by repeated applications to the favourite beverage of the "rosy god;" then presenting each with two bottles, they were dismissed on their journey in a state nearly approaching intoxication. a horseman coming by, they robbed him of his palfrey, but plied him so hotly with their liquor that he seemed very little sensible of his loss; so that stumbling to his inn in his boots, with a bottle in each hand, he made all that he found in the kitchen drink of his wine, and gave them no small diversion by acting the story and knocking down several of the company, as the thieves did him. the person who afforded this diversion to his auditor and spectators on the memorable night of the robbery, appears to have retained much of the good-humour produced by the plundered wine when he wrote and sent the following advertisement to the editor of the "flying post:"-- "whereas some gentlemen of a profession that takes denomination from the king's highway, did borrow a little money of a certain person, near the gibbet at stamford hill, without any regard to that venerable monitor, on the rd of november last, at night; and though they were so generous as to make him drink for his money, yet at the same time they took from him a bright bay nag about thirteen hands high, his mane shorn, thorough-paced, trots a little, with a saddle, bridle, and pilch, without either bargain or promise of payment. he hopes they think his horse worth more than two or three bottles of wine, and desires they would restore him; or if anybody can give notice of him to george boon at the 'blue last,' in islington, so he may be had again, shall receive ten shillings reward." in the year , about nine o'clock in the morning, the "albion" coach took up as passengers twelve convicts from chester, who had been sentenced to transportation for life for various offences, and who were to be forwarded to portsmouth, for which purpose a portsmouth coach was to meet them at the "bull and mouth," london. the coach had no other passengers except the two keepers who had charge of the convicts. about nine in the evening the coach reached birmingham, where a new coachman and guard relieved the former ones, and the coach proceeded to elmedon, where the convicts partook of some refreshment. after having gone on four miles to meriden, the guard's attention was arrested by hearing one of the convicts filing the chain attached to his handcuffs. without apparently noticing the noise, he contrived to apprise the keeper of the circumstance, who took the guard's situation behind, the guard placing himself by the side of the coachman on the box. after this alteration everything became quiet, and there were no appearances of an attempt at escape. the coach now approached coventry, through which it passed; and after it had proceeded nine miles, in a sequestered part of the road, where trees extend on each side upwards of six miles, and not a house is near, in an instant four of the convicts seized hold of the coachman and guard, stopped the horses, and succeeded in fastening both coachman and guard with cords and straps. while this was going on, they stated that they did not intend to injure them or rob the coach, but were determined at every hazard to regain their liberty. while this scene was going on in front of the coach, five other convicts seized the keeper behind, and rifling his pockets obtained the keys of the handcuffs. the confusion outside was the signal to the remaining convicts within; instantly the keeper was laid hold of and confined, and, having got possession of his handcuff-keys also, they lost no time in manacling him. the convicts then descended, and began endeavouring to extricate themselves from their fetters, a work which occupied them some time, and in which, notwithstanding their violence and ingenuity, they made very little progress. while thus engaged, they were suddenly alarmed by the noise of a coach approaching, and immediately rushed to the fields. as the night was exceedingly dark, they succeeded in making their escape before the "alliance," liverpool coach, came up, by which time the guard and coachman had extricated themselves, and were assisting in unbinding the keepers. before the convicts were alarmed by the liverpool coach, they had detached the horses from the "albion," probably, if necessary, to make use of them in their flight. most of them were soon retaken. on the th an accident happened to the "red rover," manchester and london coach. when it arrived at stone, about twelve o'clock at night, it had ten outside passengers and one inside. it stopped as usual at the "falcon inn" to change horses. when the fresh horses were put to, eight of the outside passengers had resumed their seats, the gentleman inside retaining his place. the coachman and guard were one of them in the yard, and the other in the kitchen of the inn. the horses started off, turned the sharp corner of the road leading to stafford, and proceeded at a moderate pace. the outside passengers, on perceiving their situation, began to jump off the coach, and by the time the coach had proceeded a quarter of a mile on the road every outside passenger had quitted it. in their falls they all received injuries more or less severe. after the outside passengers had left the "red rover," the horses still pursued their course, and when the birmingham and liverpool mail met them near ashton they were going at a comparatively steady pace. the "beehive" afterwards met them near the turnpike gate, at which they were on the full gallop. they avoided, however, any collision with the "beehive," as they had previously done with the mail. on arriving at tillington, about a mile from stafford, the coach was upset. the gentleman inside, having early learned the situation in which he was placed, took his seat on the floor of the coach, and did not stir during the whole time; the consequence was that he escaped without the slightest injury. in august, , on the arrival of the falmouth mail at bodmin, many persons, as is usual at the assizes, were waiting to proceed by it to exeter, and four inside and three outside passengers were taken up there. the coach was driven by a man who was not the regular coachman, but was considered to be an experienced and sober man. the guard was a young man who had been but recently placed upon that station, and was not very well accustomed to the road. after proceeding a short distance the passengers perceived that the driver was very much intoxicated, and they insisted that he should not drive the coach further; accordingly the guard took the reins, and the coachman took his seat behind. shortly before reaching the "jamaica inn," situate on bodmin moors, and ten miles from that town, there is a very steep descent, with a sharp turn at the bottom of the hill, and then a steep ascent up to the inn, where the coach changes horses, and its proper time of arrival was about twelve o'clock. the people at the public-house were alarmed by several horses galloping up to the door and then stopping, and upon going out they discovered they were the mail horses, but with scarcely any harness upon them. it appeared that the guard intended to drag the wheel down the hill, but, the night being very dark and wet, and not well knowing the road, he had got beyond the brow of the hill before he was aware of it; he endeavoured to pull up, and it was believed the coachman got down to tie the wheel, but that he was too tipsy and fell down. the coach then proceeded down the hill at a most frightful pace. being heavily laden, it rocked from side to side, and on getting to the turn over it went with the most dreadful crash. the horses fortunately at once broke away. all the passengers were more or less stunned, and many of those outside were seriously injured with fractured ribs and bones. chapter ix. extraordinary occurrence--coach accidents--danger attending prince george of denmark's visit to petworth--the mails stopped by severe snowstorms--sledges used for the mails--death from inclemency of weather--dreadful storms--floods in scotland in --accident to the bath and devonport mails--mail robberies in --coaching in australia. chapter ix. one of the most serious accidents was caused by the breaking down of the hertford coach, by which nearly all the passengers, thirty-four in number, were severely hurt. an extraordinary occurrence connected with the road occurred in april, , when a gentleman of noble connection, high fashion, and large fortune had his carriage and horses seized on their way from brighton to london, in consequence of the carriage containing smuggled goods. a replevin was afterwards effected, on the payment of five hundred pounds. the real state of the case was as follows:-- the coachman had the folly to secrete two half-ankers of hollands gin within the vehicle; and his fellow-servant, the footman, angry at not being let into the secret, laid an information, and the seizure of the carriage and horse was the consequence. although, unfortunately, there have been of late years many fatal accidents by rail, caused by carelessness, inattention, and the over-working of pointsmen and others employed on the respective lines, i question much, taking into consideration the thousands on thousands that travel by steam, as compared with those that journeyed by the road, whether the accidents were not as serious and as numerous in the days of coaching as they now are. i shall confine myself to mail and stage-coaches, albeit private carriages and post-chaises were not exempt from breakings down, upsets, and other casualties, caused by drunken or reckless drivers, runaway horses, or by fragile springs, wheels, axletrees, and poles. macaulay, as i have already said, in describing the mishaps that befell prince george of denmark and his suite when visiting the stately mansion of petworth, draws a favourable contrast between the effects of an accident on the road in bygone days and a railway collision in our time; but the great historian would have thought differently had he been aware of the dangers of the road which i am about to record. prince george and his courtiers were overturned and stuck fast in the mud upon their journey; but, at the pace they travelled at, no serious consequence was to be apprehended--they were six hours going nine miles. i will now select out of a number a few cases of accidents caused by the inclemency of the weather, carelessness, and reckless driving. it often happened that during heavy snowstorms travelling was impracticable. in march, , the storm was so violent in scotland that the mails, especially those from the south, were stopped for several days, although no snow had fallen further south than carlisle. on many parts of the road between carlisle, edinburgh, and glasgow a path had to be cut out by the labour of men the whole way; the snow was so deep as to rise in many places above the heads of the outside passengers of the stage-coaches, while those in the inside saw nothing on their right and on their left but rough walls of snow. the mails dispatched from glasgow to the south were twenty-four hours proceeding to douglas mill, and the mail from glasgow to edinburgh only proceeded three miles, though drawn by six horses. the guard and coachman set forward with the mail-bags on horseback, and with great exertion reached holytown, seven miles further, in as many hours. on the following morning another attempt was made, but, after proceeding a mile, both coachman and guard were obliged to return to holytown. a number of men were then employed to clear the road, and at three o'clock in the afternoon they made a second attempt, but could only reach shotts, as the men engaged in cutting the road were obliged to desist, in consequence of the wind filling up the path as fast as they cleared it. next morning they started again at half-past five, and only reached edinburgh, in a very exhausted state, in about twelve hours. again, in one of the heaviest falls of snow ever remembered in this country took place on the christmas night. it extended over every part of the kingdom. so deep were the drifts of snow that in some of the lower grounds it was from forty feet to fifty feet deep; thus in many parts of the country all communication by the usual modes of travelling was entirely suspended. the impediments to the mails were of the most serious description. not a single mail of the th of december, which ought to have arrived by six o'clock on monday morning, reached the post office before half-past eight in the evening. of the mails sent out from london on christmas night, the dover went twenty miles and returned, the coachman and guard declaring the roads to be utterly impassable. the letters were conveyed daily from canterbury to dover on sledges drawn by three and four horses, tandem. occasionally they were forwarded by means of pack-horses. the fare for a passenger on a sledge was two pounds. occasionally passengers suffered from the inclemency of the weather. on one occasion when the bath coach arrived at chippenham, the people of the inn were surprised at seeing three outside passengers lying in a state of insensibility. on a nearer approach they perceived that vitality had been actually extinct in two of them for some time, the bodies being perfectly cold. the third, a soldier, had some faint signs of animation left, but he expired the following morning. on the above fatal night it rained incessantly, and the cold was intense. in one of the most terrible storms of thunder and lightning that had been witnessed for many years took place on the th of august, during which the royal mail, on its way from york to leeds, was overturned a short distance before its arrival at tadcaster. the vivid glare of the lightning and the roar of the thunder so affrighted the horses that they started off, ran the coach upon an embankment, and it was instantly overturned. there were three inside and three outside passengers, besides the coachman and guard, all of whom, with the exception of the coachman, escaped unhurt. a more serious accident occurred in october. whilst the coburg coach, on its way from perth to edinburgh, was receiving the passengers and luggage from newhalls pier, south queensferry, the leaders suddenly wheeled round, and, notwithstanding that the guard and coachman were almost instantly at their heads, coach and horses were precipitated over the quay. some of the outside passengers escaped by throwing themselves on the pier, but those in the inside were less fortunate. the inside passengers consisted of three ladies and one gentleman. the coach having fallen into the sea on its side, one lady and gentleman managed to get their heads thrust out of the window above the water till extricated from their perilous situation; the other two were taken out dead. the only outside passenger who kept his place on the coach until it was precipitated into the water was pitched into the sea a considerable distance, but, fortunately, saved himself by swimming ashore. the pole having broken, the leaders were saved, but the two wheel horses were drowned. another accident occurred at galashiels, where there is a bridge uniting two curves of the road; upon reaching it one of the horses commenced kicking, and in a few moments had its hind legs over the bar. the coachman tried to arrest their progress, but his efforts were useless, and the coach was overturned in a few seconds. at that time there were four persons inside; one lady had her arm broken, and a gentleman had his leg broken; the other passengers sustained serious injuries, one dying at galashiels from the effect of the injuries he sustained. about nine o'clock the same night the north briton coach was approaching chorley, in lancashire. the coach was meeting some waggons, and was followed by a number of carts. the coachman, to escape the waggons, drew on the opposite side, and, owing to the mist, went too far, and plunged the vehicle down a precipice. one man was killed on the spot. during the floods in scotland, in , the coast mail-coach, having left fochabers at four p.m., got forward, without any interruption, to the spey, where, in consequence of the boisterous rapidity of the torrent, sweeping along with it corn and wood in great abundance, the boatmen were with difficulty prevailed on to ferry the guard across. they stated their determination not to venture again while the current remained so strong. (since that period a substantial bridge has been thrown over the spey.) on his way to the findhorn the guard of the mail-coach called on mr. davidson, who resides about two miles to the eastward of that river. he accompanied the guard, and promptly procured six men to carry the mails across the river, which was done with scarcely any detention, although the ebbing current was fearfully strong. four of mr. davidson's men then volunteered their services and carried the bags on their backs to earnhill, where the guard procured a horse and cart, in which he proceeded to dyke. there the reverend mr. anken was waiting in readiness, with his servants and several lights, to assist to forward the mail. one of the servants from the manse waded before the cart for upwards of a mile, the water covering the road, in many places to the depth of three feet. in auldearn the guard was met by the reverend mr. barclay, who informed him that the bridge of nairn had been swept away. after a most boisterous night the cart arrived opposite to nairn, where, the guard blowing his horn, several persons instantly came forward and advised him not to attempt to cross the bridge, a great part of it having fallen. finding it, however, impossible to get a boat, he drove the cart back to auldearn, where he remained till three o'clock in the morning, when he again set out on his way to inverness; and, there being still from two to three feet in breadth of the bridge standing, he, with great peril, passed it. great apprehensions were entertained that the bridge of daviot would have been swept away, although founded on a rock considerably beyond the usual height of the water. if this bridge had been carried away the communication with the south by this road, at least for carriages and carts, would have been completely cut off, as there is no place within four miles of the highland road where the river is fordable. after much toil and perseverance the guard reached his destination at inverness. in july, , the bath mail-coach was overturned on its way from london, between reading and newbury, in consequence of the horses taking fright and bolting from the road into a gravel-pit. the coachman was thrown from the box among the horses, and received several contusions from being trod upon. the guard and a foreigner, who were on the top, were precipitated by the shock to such a distance, and with such violence, as would probably have proved fatal to them had not the earth and gravel on which they lighted been saturated with the rain that fell in the course of the day; and to the same cause may be ascribed the trifling injury done to the horses and the coach. in a few minutes after the accident took place a bath coach came up. the passengers rendered every assistance in their power, and, with some difficulty, succeeded in extricating the inside passengers from the mail. among them was a naval officer who was going to join his ship at plymouth, but he had suffered so much from the concussion that he was speechless and unable to move. he was conveyed to a small cottage on the roadside, but died the following day. in december of the same year, as the salisbury coach was on its journey to london, the fog was so thick that the coachman could not see his way, and on entering bedfont, near hounslow, the horses went off the road into the pond called the king's water, dragging the coach along with them. one of the passengers, mr. lockhart wainwright, a young man of five-and-twenty years of age, belonging to the light dragoons, was killed on the spot. the water was about two feet deep, with a soft bottom of mud about two feet more. whether he was suffocated in the mud or killed by a blow was not ascertained. in the inside of the coach were four females--the wife of the deceased, her maid, a swiss governess in the family of the marquis of abercorn, and another lady. they all narrowly escaped drowning. nothing but the speedy assistance from bedfont could have saved them. above one hundred persons were assembled in a few moments, most of them soldiers from bedfont. the soldiers leaped into the water and extricated the ladies from their perilous situation; the body of the coach lying on its side, with one of the horses drowned, and the rest kicking and plunging violently. the inside passengers were bruised, but not dangerously. mr. wainwright owed his death to his humanity. the night being very severe he had given his place inside to his wife's maid, and mounted the box beside the coachman, with whom he was conversing at the time of the accident. in april, , the dorking coach left the "elephant and castle" at nine o'clock, full inside and out, and arrived safe at ewell, when the driver and proprietor, joseph walker, alighted for the purpose of delivering a parcel from the back part of the coach, and gave the reins to a boy who sat on the box. while he was delivering the parcel to a person who stood near the after wheel of the coach the boy cracked the whip, and the horses set off at full speed. several attempts were made to stop them, but in vain; they passed ewell church, and tore away about twelve yards of strong paling, when, the wheels mounting a small eminence, the coach was overturned, and the whole of the passengers were thrown from the roof. some of them were in a state of insensibility, showing no symptoms of life. one female, who was thrown upon some spikes, which entered her breast and neck, was dreadfully mutilated, none of her features being distinguishable; she lingered until the following day, when she expired in the greatest agony. while the "true blue" coach, which ran daily between leeds and wakefield, was descending belle-hill (the precaution of locking the wheel not having been observed) the horses got into a gallop, and at the bottom, the coach being on the wrong side of the road, came in contact with a coal-cart with such violence as to break the shaft of the cart and to tear away the wheel of the coach with a part of the axletree. the coachman was thrown from the box and pitched with his head upon the ground, by which his skull was dreadfully fractured, and he died instantly. the coach went forward on three wheels for ten yards, and then fell over. one of the outside passengers received a severe internal injury, and very faint hopes were entertained of his recovery. another of the outside passengers was thrown under the coach, and had his thigh broken in two places. he was conveyed to the leeds general infirmary, and suffered the amputation of his limb, but died in the course of the night. in august, , as the devonport mail was leaving london, the horses, which were thoroughbred, took fright, and ran off at full speed. the coachman was unable to stop them, and in passing market street, the near wheels of the coach coming in contact with the lamp-post at the corner, the pole and splinter-bar were broken, the horses broke loose from the carriage, and galloped off, dragging the pole and broken bar after them, till the near leader rushed against the lamp-post at the corner of bury street, the next street to market street, with such force that she broke the spine of her back. another accident occurred on the th. the turnpike gate at matterby, between winchester and alresford, is placed at the foot of a hill. the horses of the london and poole mail, having become unmanageable at the top of the hill, descended it at a furious gallop, and came so violently in contact with the gate-post, that the post itself was broken off and carried to a considerable distance. one of the wheel-horses had his brains knocked out by the concussion, and the passengers were thrown nearly twenty yards from the coach. one of them was severely injured, but none were killed. the coachman had three ribs and his right arm broken, his eye knocked out, and his head otherwise so bruised and cut that blood flowed copiously from his mouth, nose, and ears. the guard saved himself by lying down on the footboard. the coach, notwithstanding the shock, was not overturned. again, on the rd, as the mail from barnstaple to bristol had changed horses at wivelscombe, and the coachman was about to mount the box, some noise in the street caused the horses to move down the hill. the coachman used every effort to stop them, till he was knocked down. they proceeded to the bottom of the hill, and in turning a corner the coach upset. of three outside passengers two were thrown with great violence over a wall, one of them receiving a severe contusion in the head, and the latter having an arm broken. the third was killed. an inside passenger had an arm fractured. in march, , as the manchester and huddersfield mail was returning from the former to the latter place, the horses broke out into a gallop in coming down the hill near thornton lodge, and became unmanageable. on arriving at longroyd bridge, the mail came violently in contact with the curbstone and the parapet, and the coachman and three outside passengers were precipitated over the parapet on the rocks and gravel below, a fall of eight or nine yards. the horses then broke the pole and proceeded with it at a furious rate to huddersfield, in the streets of which two of them fell from exhaustion, and, being entangled in the harness, a stop was put to the career of the other two. of the three passengers, one was found senseless, and died immediately; another had a leg broken; the coachman was much injured; the third passenger, though his fall was four feet lower than that of his companions in misfortune, sustained scarcely any injury. two other passengers and the guard were providentially thrown upon the road, and were but slightly hurt. in the month of september, , three fatal coach accidents occurred. on the th, as the peveril, manchester, and london night coach was on its way to london, and about five miles beyond bedford, the pole-chain got loose and one of the horses began kicking and plunging, and almost immediately the end of the pole attached to the coach became unfastened. the weight of the coach pressed upon the horses (the coach then being at the brow of a hill), and they had no power of resistance. the coachman kept the horses in the road till they reached the bottom of the hill, when the near wheels ran upon the grass, which was not more than four or five inches higher than the road, and caused the coach to overturn on the off side into the road. one gentleman attempted to jump off; he fell upon his face, and the coach fell upon him, and on the coachman. they remained nearly a quarter of an hour in that position, and when extricated the passenger was quite dead, and the coachman severely injured, one shoulder being dislocated, and his head and body much cut and injured. of the male passengers four had their shoulders dislocated. in the month of february, , as the liverpool mail coach was changing horses at the inn at monk's heath, between congleton and newcastle-under-lyme, the horses which had performed the stage from congleton having just been taken off, and separated, hearing sir peter warberton's foxhounds in full cry, immediately started after them with their harness on, and kept up the chase to the last. one of them, a blood mare, kept the track with the whipper-in, and gallantly followed him for about two hours, over every leap he took, until the fox, who was a cowardly rogue, had led them round in a ring fence, and ran to ground. the sportsmen who witnessed the feats of this gallant animal were sir harry mainwaring, messrs. cholmondeley, layford brooke, edwin corbett, davenport, townshend, pickford, &c. these spirited horses were led back to the inn at monk's heath, and performed their stage back to congleton the same evening, apparently in higher spirits for having had a gallop with the hounds. mail robberies, though not so prevalent as in former years, existed as late as the year ; for in the month of june, at the worship street office, information was given of a daring attempt to rob the mail between enfield and edmonton. in october of the same year a box containing five thousand pounds in notes and gold was stolen from the manchester and staffordshire coach. an extraordinary accident occurred in the same month, when a coach was burnt on the railway. as the "regulator" coach, from bristol to london, was proceeding on one of the uptrains to london, having a quantity of luggage on the top, owing to the large quantity of sparks which issued from the chimney, the luggage took fire, a fact which was only discovered by the coachman (who happened, fortunately, to have remained inside) seeing sparks of fire falling from the top of the coach by the window. the coachman, at the hazard of his life (the train going at the rate of forty miles an hour at the time), got out and clambered on the roof, and by great exertions removed the luggage from the roof, and thereby saved the greater part; but the brisk current of air created by the rapid speed at which the coach was progressing rendered all attempts to extinguish the flame unavailable until the roof was destroyed, when, the embers falling inside, the guard, who had come to the coachman's assistance, succeeded in putting out the fire. in mr. babbage, in his work on the "economy of manufactures," suggested a new plan of conveying the mail. the immense revenue of the post office would afford means of speedier conveyance. the letter-bags do not ordinarily weigh a hundred pounds, and were then conveyed in bulky machines of many thousand times the weight, drawn by four horses, and delayed by passengers. mr. babbage proposed the erection of pillars along each line of road, these pillars to be connected by inclined wires or iron rods, along which the letters inclosed in cylinders attached to the rods by rings are to slide; persons stationed on these columns were to forward the cylinders from each point, after having extracted the contents belonging to their own station. in this manner it was calculated that a letter might be sent (from pillar to post) to the furthest limits of the land in the course of a very small portion of time; from london to york, probably, in an hour or two. in the absence of pillars, and in the interior districts, it was suggested that church-steeples, properly selected, might answer the purpose, and in london the churches might be used for the circulation of the twopenny post. the introduction of the rail and the telegraph has completely remedied the evil mr. babbage complained of. in may, , much attention was excited in the neighbourhood of portland place by the appearance of a steam-carriage, which made its way through a crowded passage, without any perceptible impulse. there was neither smoke nor noise; there was no external force nor apparent directing agent; the carriage seemed to move by its own volition, passing by horses without giving them the least alarm. five gentlemen and a lady formed the passengers. one gentleman directed the moving principle, and another appeared to sit unconcerned behind, but his object was ascertained to be the care of the fuel and water. the carriage was lightly and conveniently built, not larger nor heavier than a phaeton. it went without the least vibration, and preserved a balance in the most complicated movements. the pace was varied from five to twelve miles an hour, according to pleasure. coaching is still the only means of conveyance in many parts of the australian colonies, and in certain districts where the roads are bad, or owing to the nature of the country, it is often attended with considerable danger. the following account of an accident which lately occurred in tasmania, taken from the "hobart town mercury," will probably be interesting to many who have travelled by coach in days gone by. "an extraordinary accident happened to the falmouth mail-coach on the th instant, and the passengers experienced an escape from an awful death, which seems little short of miraculous. after leaving the little township of cullenswood, the coach enters st. mary's pass, noted both for its extreme beauty and for the danger with which the journey through it is sometimes attended. about four hundred yards from the mouth of the pass on entering, the road is not more than twelve feet wide. a lofty wall of rock bounds the road on one side, and on the other is a precipice plunging almost sheer down to a depth of between one hundred and fifty and two hundred feet. "when page's coach arrived at this dangerous spot, on the day in question, a lad with two horses happened to be coming in the opposite direction. instead of retreating into one of the recesses made for the purpose, while the coach passed, the lad persisted in going on, and drove his horses between the vehicle and the cliff, one of the horses backing across the road in front of the coach, the horses in which took fright and fell, hanging over the precipice. with great presence of mind, the coachman cut the harness, and the horses, thus freed, fell through the brushwood down to the bottom of the precipice of which we have spoken. "fortunately for the occupants of the coach--messrs. wikborg and rattray, who were on their way to george's bay--the wheels caught in a log laid on the outside edge of the road, otherwise nothing could have prevented the coach and passengers from following the horses in their headlong fall, with what would almost certainly have been a fatal result. the horses, strange to say, were found almost uninjured, and an attempt was made to get them up the cliff again, but when one of the animals had succeeded in climbing about fifty feet from the valley, he slipped and fell to the bottom. subsequently a track was cut by some of the natives of the district, and both horses were got out safe and sound." chapter x. coaching acquaintances--stage-coachmen of bygone and modern days--amateur drivers--requisites for driving--crack drivers--a popular dragsman--his privileges--his accomplishments. chapter x. i once heard a man say that some of his pleasantest acquaintances were people he had picked up on stage-coaches; but i cannot say "ditto" to that. he must either have been singularly fortunate in his companions, or singularly unfortunate in his general acquaintances. a coaching acquaintance seldom--i should imagine--never ripened into intimacy; seldom, indeed, survived the occurrence that produced it. had the above authority included stage-coachmen, to a certain degree i would have indorsed his opinion; for, in bygone days, i have sat beside many agreeable dragsmen; and, from the time that the heavy coach gave way to the fast one, there has been a wonderful improvement in the coachmen. the driver was formerly a man of enormous bulk, with a rubicund face, greatly addicted to strong ale, often indulging in language the reverse of parliamentary. there are so many varieties of drunkenness, that it is difficult to define the state the old-fashioned coachman was too often reduced to. we hear of a man being "as drunk as a lord;" of being "on;" of being "muzzy;" of being "cut;" of being "two sheets in the wind;" of having "a drop too much;" of being "incapable." perhaps of the above epithets "muzzy" would be the most appropriate, as owing to the numerous stoppages at wayside public-houses, the coachman had a tankard to his lips every half-hour. the fast coachmen were well-conditioned, in many instances well-educated men, who could sing a song, and tell a good story to while away the time. they formed a great contrast to the old-fashioned coachmen of heavy coaches, who were too often drunkards, as i have remarked, and who were conspicuous for their inhumanity in the use of the double thong and a sort of cat-o'-nine tails called "the apprentice," with which they unmercifully lashed their wheelers. it was rather amusing, though mischievously so, to witness the consternation of the inside passengers when some amateur on the box "handled the ribbons." except with a very fast team, the coachman would turn to his companion and say, "if you have your driving-gloves on, and would like to take the reins over the next ten miles, you are welcome to do so." of course the reply was in the affirmative. if a tyro accepted the offer, it was very easy to discover the difference between the professional and the unprofessional, which the horses themselves seemed to feel. they became sluggish; not all the "gee upping" and "go alonging," and the harmless use of the whip, the lash of which usually got entangled in the lamp or harness, could keep them up to their work. this was so apparent that some inside passenger would put his head out of the window and inquire the cause of the creeping pace they were proceeding at. "a heavy piece of road, sir," responded the coachman, who thought more of the guinea or half-guinea he expected to receive than of the loss of time. "why, i declare," said the inquiring gentleman, resuming his seat, "there's a young fellow driving, and i rather think it must be his first attempt!" "oh, let me out!" exclaims an elderly spinster; "we shall be overturned." "disgraceful!" chimed in another. "it was only last week that the windsor coach met with an accident through the reckless driving of some inexperienced fellow." "i'll report you," said an old gentleman, just roused from his slumbers. "i paid my fare to be driven by the proper coachman, and not by a puppy who probably never sat behind four horses in his life." "and i'll have you dismissed, coachman, for risking our lives," added another. then came a jerk, which caused all the insides to break forth into the following exclamations: "there, i told you!" "we are going over!" "do, pray, take the reins, mr. coachman!" in the mean time the "swell dragsman" and his young friend were laughing heartily at the fears of their precious burden. "lots of fear, ma'am, but no danger," said the former, while the latter inquired where the coachman was going to "shoot his rubbish." when some experienced amateur took the reins, and with the aid of the whip judiciously applied, sent the sluggish steed along at the rate of ten miles an hour, the scene above described again took place, for the timid female passenger, like the widows of ashur, was "loud in her wail." in those days young etonians, harrovians, collegians, and officers were all taught to drive by the professional coachmen on the road, and anyone that could manage a refractory team over a stage or two of ten miles was deemed a proficient, and fit to belong to the four-horse driving club. a great many aspirants for coaching honours fancy that sitting quietly on the box, and guiding the animals safely along the road, without coming in contact with a post, a curb stone, or another carriage, is all that is required; but this is far from being the case. to become a downright good coachman, a man should be able to put the team together, so as to alter a trace or bit during the journey; he must take care that every horse does his work, and must keep the jades up to the collar. he must then be careful to ease his horses up a hill, spirting down one, and taking advantage of any level piece of road, make up for the slower pace of a heavier one. he must also learn how to handle his whip, so as to flip off a horse-fly from his leaders, and to double thong a refractory wheeler when gibbing or refusing to work; he must remain perfectly placid upon the box, even amidst danger never losing his head or his temper, always remembering that upon his presence of mind depends the fate of his passengers. many noblemen and gentlemen there are who can drive cleverly broken thoroughbred horses admirably well, but who would be at a loss if called upon to drive a stage-coach or a "scratch" team to epsom or ascot. there are, of course, many honourable exceptions, and i select a few, and there may be others, who could worthily fill the places of the late "oxford will," jack adams, "piers," "falkner," "probyn," and parson dennis. at the head of the list i would place two noble plantagenets--the duke of beaufort and his son, the marquis of worcester, who are _nulli secundus_; next the earls of sefton and craven, lords londesborough, aveland, carington, cole, and tredegar, colonels tyrwhitt, owen williams, the honourable c. white, and armytage, messrs. cooper, trotter, f. villiers, and h. wombwell. it may appear invidious to select the above when there are probably many more equally good; but i have witnessed the prowess of the above, and speak not only from what i have myself seen, but from what i have heard from others. there was something in the nature of a stage-coachman, a whip of bygone days, that _smacked_ (we mean no pun) of conscious importance. he was the elect of the road on which he travelled, the imitated of thousands. talk of an absolute monarch, indeed! the monarch even on his own highway was but a gingerbread one to the "swell dragsman." to him jem the ostler rushed in servile eagerness, to him boniface showed the utmost deference, for him the landlady ever had a welcome reception, towards him the barmaid smiled and glanced in perpetual amicability, and around him the helpers crowded as to the service of a feudal lord. survey him as he bowled along the road, fenced in coats in winter, or his button-hole decorated with a rose in summer. listen to the untutored melody of his voice, as he directed the word of exhortation to his spanking tits--three chestnuts and a grey--enforcing his doctrine with a silver-mounted whip, the gift of some aristocratic patron of the road, and he will present a feature of social life in england which no other country possessed. hark! already he is entering the village; the well-known horn sounds, the leaders rattle along the road, and the inhabitants rush out to bid him a hearty welcome. to some he grants a familiar nod, to others a smile of recognition, and a few only are honoured by the warmer salutation of, "ah! how are you, old fellow? glad to see you. why, you are as fresh as paint." he was regarded by all as a privileged person, being possessed of the power to speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, and, at the rate of ten miles an hour, bring the travelled husband to the partner of his sorrow and his joy. he could transport the lover to the feet of his mistress; he could convey the long-absent son to the arms of his doting parents; he could bear the schoolboy from the scene of his tasks to his much-sought-for happy holiday home. how delightful was it to behold him on a calm summer's evening bowling through the market town, through the well-watered streets, with a crew of ragged urchins, screaming and throwing rural bouquets, culled from the hedgerows and verdant meadows, on to the box-seat! a smile is on every face on hearing the sound of the horn--all run to the door to see the coach go by; the maid-servant drops her mop in the hope of a packet from her rustic admirer; the youngster plays truant for a few seconds in the anticipation of a cake from his too-indulgent mother; the shopman quits his counter to ascertain whether a bale of goods has been consigned to him from the metropolis; the potboy from the public-house holds out his rabbit-skin cap as the guard dexterously throws the neighbouring squire's daily newspaper into it; the barber extends his apron for his weekly journal; and even the parson, the pedagogue, the lawyer, and the exciseman, the four most influential inhabitants of the place, doff their hats as they recognise the popular "dragsman" and his well-appointed "turn-out." with respect to his accomplishments they were usually more select than numerous. i speak of the professional coachman of a century and a half ago, and not of the more gifted ones, and amateurs who came into fashion just before the rail drove horseflesh off the road. if the language of the old whip had not the art of a sydney smith, it had the easy style of nature, with expletive beauties more particularly its own. on the shakespearean principle that "discourse is heavy fasting," the coachman never changed horses at a wayside public-house or inn without fortifying his stomach with a snack. flowing, natural, anecdotal, and occasionally witty (garnished with a few hearty national attic anathemas) was the conversation of the driver in bygone days; while in the science of music he was generally no mean proficient, warbling forth "robin adair," "the thorn," "the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree," and other popular melodies of the day, to the delight of the outside passengers. chapter xi. 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 clean hands 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 the _qui vive_; his mottoes were "no trust," "_toujours_ pay, _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 of _day_--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 and _mis_-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 extreme _w_elocity," 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 is the perfection of neatness, one of adams's[ ] 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, [ ] 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 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 and laurels, 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 the neck 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." 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, proclaiming the 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 of perambulating 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. chapter xii. amateur dragsmen--the late fitzroy stanhope--the old driving club of --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, sir bellingham 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." 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 to none. 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 from accident 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 . 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 was one 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 bouquet of 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." 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- th 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 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: duke of beaufort. duke of sutherland. marquis of londonderry. earl of sefton. earl of macclesfield. lord londesborough. lord wenlock. lord aveland. * * * * * earl of abingdon. hon. l. agar ellis. colonel armytage. mr. j. l. baldwin. mr. hope barton. earl of bective. marquis of blandford. lord carington. mr. h. chaplin. colonel stracey clitherow. viscount cole. mr. w. cooper. earl of craven. mr. w. g. craven. colonel dickson. mr. h. w. eaton. lieutenant-colonel ewart. adrian hope. h. r. hughes. marquis of huntly. sir john lister kaye, bart. viscount macduff. count munster. officer driving st and nd life guards coach. lord muncaster. mr. w. e. oakley. mr. r. w. oswald. sir lawrence palk, bart. sir roger palmer, bart. major-general sir t. peyton, bart. lord poltimore. captain h. r. ray. mr. c. birch reynardson. sir. m. shaw stewart, bart. mr. ans. thomson. lord tredegar. sir henry tufton, bart. colonel tyrwhitt. mr. f. villiers. colonel the hon. c. white. captain whitmore. colonel owen williams. sir george wombwell, bart. mr. h. wombwell. marquis of worcester. officer driving "blues" coach. chapter xiii. 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 some men 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 favourites with 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 manoeuvre 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 "sæpe _stylum_ vertas," 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 and pair 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 as any 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 the amount 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 prevent this, 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." 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--some by 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 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 gaiety before 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 you were 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. chapter xiv. 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 little more 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 steppers that any one of them might justly have been termed the _rapid 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 the _suaviter in modo_ failed the _fortiter in re_ was 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 the _genus 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 was _nulli secundus_: he belonged to the old school; his team was 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 to objection. 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 that horses 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 the _ne plus ultra_ of 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 autocratical independence 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 the _sine quâ non_ of a good coachman--hands--are to be acquired, is still more difficult. 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 approaches the 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. chapter xv. 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 - , 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 morning or 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 is short 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 what _we_ had done in the peninsula, of _our_ triumphal entry into madrid, and of how _we_ had 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 the _bonhomie_ of 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 cortége and 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 a _gamin_, 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-looking cabriolet 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 only one. 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. chapter xvi. hairbreadth escapes--drives to valenciennes with frederick yates--meet a dancing bear--result--wheel carriages in towns--state of the public streets--gay's description of them--hackney coaches--taylor, the water poet--robberies in london--first introduction of omnibuses. chapter xvi. in addition to the splendid turns-out of the members of the coaching and four-in-hand club, every cavalry regiment and many infantry corps possess a regimental "drag," which is always well horsed and usually well driven. during the time i served in the army such a thing was unknown, and the only opportunities officers had of driving were when travelling by stage-coach, or when a tandem was improvised in the barrack-yard. many a hairbreadth escape have i had from one of these breakneck vehicles. when at a private tutor's at donnington, i and a young companion--alas! now no more--hired a tandem from botham, of the "pelican," newbury, to take us to reading. safely should we have arrived there but for a drove of oxen which met us on our way. the result was the accident related in a previous chapter, and my ankle was dislocated. my next attempt was when i was on the staff of the duke of wellington, at cambrai. frederick yates, then in the commissariat department, afterwards lessee of the adelphi theatre, was anxious, like myself, to visit an amateur performance by the officers stationed at valenciennes; and it was arranged that we should drive over in my dennet, to which he was to add a leader. all went well until we approached the plains of denain, when a man leading a dancing bear so frightened our steeds that they set off at a gallop, overturning us in a dry ditch. unfortunately for me, the handle of my sword, which i had stowed away in front of the apron, came in contact with my body and broke a rib; so, instead of enjoying my visit, i was laid up for a week at a not over-comfortable hotel. this was my second and last appearance in a tandem, and i strongly recommend those who value their limbs never to trust themselves to such a conveyance. in earlier days i have driven four horses many hundred miles on the road and through the crowded streets of the metropolis, and never once came to grief. let me now refer to the use of wheel carriages in towns, which is not of very ancient date among the english people. during the reign of james i. the drivers of both public and private carriages had no other accommodation than a bar, or driver's chair, placed very low behind the horses; in the following reign they rode postilion fashion. after the restoration they appeared with whip and spurs, and towards the end of the century mounted a coachman's box. this box, covered with a hammer-cloth, was in reality a box, and within it, or in a leather pouch attached to it, were tools for mending broken wheels or shivered panels, in the event of accidents occurring, which were by no means uncommon; in consequence, first, of the defective construction of the vehicles, which, according to davenant, were "uneasily hung, and so narrow that he took them for sedans on wheels;" in the second place, from the clumsy driving of carmen in the crowded thoroughfares; and, lastly and principally, from the nature of the streets themselves, full of all the worst perils a coachman could have to encounter. the state of the street ways, where the ruts lay half a yard deep, did not admit of rapid driving, and we read, even in the days of charles ii., of the royal coach being upset twice in getting from the city to westminster. at this date, and for some generations after, the custom was, when ladies traversed the city in carriages, for the gentlemen gallants to accompany them on horseback, riding in advance, or on each side. these formed a body-guard, not at all unnecessary or superfluous, looking to the swarms of "scourers," "knights of the road," and "goshawks" who made free warren of london streets and scrupled at no act of violence. the picture gay has left us of the street ways in the beginning of the eighteenth century will form some estimate of what they were at an earlier period:-- "where a dim gleam the paly lantern throws, o'er the mid pavement heapy rubbish grows, or arched vaults their gaping jaws extend, or the dark caves to common shores descend; oft by the winds, extinct the signal dies, or smothered in the glimmering socket lies. ere night has half rolled round her ebon throne in the wide gulf, the shatter'd coach o'erthrown sinks with the snorting steeds; the reins are broke, and from the crackling axle flies the spoke." the first hirable vehicles in london were the hackney-coaches, so called not from the village of hackney, as commonly supposed, but from the old word "to hack," or let on hire. the first hackney-coaches were stout-built vehicles, fitted for the rough roads of the time; they made their appearance originally in , and were kept at certain inns, where they had to be sent for when wanted, and these were only at this time twenty in number. in a proclamation issued by charles i., in , the king prohibited the general and promiscuous use of hackney-coaches in london, westminster, and their suburbs, as being "not only a great disturbance to his majesty, his dearest consort the queen, the nobility, and others of place and degree, but the streets were so pestered and the pavements broken up that the common passage was thereby hindered." it was therefore commanded that "no hired coaches should be used in london except to travel three miles out of the same." two years after the foregoing prohibition the king granted a licence for fifty hackney-coachmen in and about london and westminster, to keep twelve horses each. this licence was extended to other cities and towns. in course of time the increase of street carriages called forth the indignation of taylor the water-poet. what would that renowned king of scullers, whose wonted boast was that he had often ferried shakspeare from whitehall to paris garden, and ben jonson from bankside to the rose and hope playhouses, have said had he lived in the present days? probably the poor water rhymer would have drowned himself in his own element, or at least would have drowned his cares in a more spirited mixture. what a fearful picture did he draw of the calamity that assailed his trade! "we poor watermen have not the least cause to complain against any conveyance that belongs to persons of worth or quality, but only against the caterpillar swarm of hirelings. they have undone my poor trade, whereof i am a member. this swarm of trade spoilers, like grasshoppers or caterpillars of egypt, have so overrun the land that we can get no living on the water; for every day, if the court be at whitehall, they do rob us of our livings, and carry five hundred and sixty fares daily from us. i pray you but note the streets and the chambers or lodgings in fleet street or the strand, how they are pestered with coaches, especially after a masque or play at court, where even the very earth shakes and trembles, the casements shatter, totter, patter, and clatter, and such a confused noise is made that a man can neither sleep, speak, hear, write, nor eat his dinner or supper quiet for them; besides, their tumbling din, like counterfeit thunder, doth sour wine, beer, and ale, almost abominally, to the impairing of their healths that drink it, and the making of many a victualler's trade fallen." in a publication entitled "the thief," taylor writes:-- "carroches, coaches, jades, and flanders mares, do rob us of our shares, our wants, our fares; against the ground we stand, and knock our heels whilst all our profit runs away on wheels." the london shopkeepers, too, bitterly complained. "formerly," they said, "when ladies and gentlemen walked in the streets there was a chance of obtaining customers to inspect and purchase our commodities; but now they whisk past in the coaches before our apprentices have time to cry out 'what d'ye lack?'" taylor above referred to, does not appear to have entertained a very high opinion of the tradesmen of his day, for he writes:-- "when queen elizabeth came to the crowne, a coach in england then was scarcely knowne. then 'twas as rare to see one as to spye a tradesman that had never told a lie." hackney-coaches were admitted into hyde park before the year , but were expelled at that period, through the singular circumstance of some persons of distinction having been insulted by several women in masks; riding there in that description of vehicle. in , the robberies were so frequent in the streets of london, westminster, and parts adjacent, that lord townshend issued a notice offering a reward of £ "for each felon convict returned from transportation before the expiration of the term for which he or she was transported, who shall, by the means of such discovery, be brought to condign punishment." it appears by the above, that the murders, beatings, and robberies were perpetrated in a great degree by returned convicts, hackney-coaches being their special mark, as the following paragraph which appeared in the "postman" of the th of october, , will prove:-- "the persons authorised by government to employ men to drive hackney-coaches, have made great complaints for want of trade, occasioned by the increase of street robbers; so that people, especially in an evening, choose rather to walk than to ride in a coach, on account that they are in a readier posture to defend themselves, or call out for help if attacked. meantime, it is apparent that, whereas a figure for driving of an hackney-coach used lately to be sold for about £ , besides paying the usual duties to the commissioners for licensing, they are at this time, for the reasons aforesaid, sold for £ per figure goodwill." the conveyance now known as the omnibus was borrowed from our continental neighbours, for it was in existence in france two centuries ago. its rise and progress may not prove uninteresting. carriages on hire had long been established in paris, and were let out by the day or hour from the sign of st. fiacre. in a royal decree of louis xiv. authorised the establishment of a _carrosse à cinq sous_, got by a company, with the duke de rohan and two other noblemen at the head of it. the decree stated that these conveyances, of which there were originally seven, built to carry eight persons, should run at fixed hours, full or empty, to and from the extreme parts of paris; the object being to convey those who could not afford to hire carriages. the public inauguration of the new vehicles took place on the th of march, , and was attended with much state. three of the coaches started from the porte st. antoine, and four from the luxembourg. previous to their setting out, the principal legal functionary addressed the drivers, pointing out to them their duties to the public. after this harangue, the procession started, escorted by cavalry, the infantry lined the streets to keep them clear. writers disagree as to the reception these conveyances met with. sauval, in his antiquities of paris, affirms that the populace hooted the drivers and broke the windows of the carriages with stones; while, on the other hand, madame perrier, sister to pascal, describes the joy with which these "twopenny-halfpenny busses" were received. it appears, too, that the king took a trip in one at st. germain, and a _pièce de circonstance_ was got up at the théâtre marais, entitled "l'intrigue des carrosses à cinq sous." strange to say, when the fashionable parisians ceased to patronise the omnibus, it went completely out of favour, as the poorer class declined to travel in it. hence the company failed. in a society entitled "entreprise générale des omnibus" again introduced the system, which was thus alluded to in the newspapers of :-- "the omnibus is a long coach, carrying fifteen or eighteen people, all inside. of these carriages there were about half-a-dozen some months ago, and they have been augmented since; their profits are said to have repaid the outlay within the first year; the proprietors, among whom is m. lafitte, the banker, are making a large revenue out of parisian sous, and speculation is still alive." during the struggle of the three days in july, , the accidental upsetting of one of these vehicles suggested an idea that barricades could be formed out of a number of them; and this plan was tried and followed out. shortly after the introduction of the omnibus in paris, a public-spirited individual started two of these carriages in london, which ran from the bank of england to the yorkshire stingo, in the new-road, and were called "shillibeers," after the introducer. each of these vehicles carried twenty-two passengers inside, with only the driver and conductor outside; each omnibus was drawn by three horses, abreast, and the fare was one shilling for the whole distance, and sixpence for half. since that time the fares have been considerably lowered, and outside passengers are taken. chapter xvii. an adventure with ball hughes, commonly called "the golden ball"--a sensation at dartford--a relic of the commune--railways--pioneers of the rail--introduction of steam-carriages on roads--sedan chairs--paddy's practical joke--feuds between chairmen and hackney-coachmen. chapter xvii. an adventure which occurred to me some fifty years ago may not here be out of place. i was dining one day with ball hughes, commonly, from his wealth, called "the golden ball," when the conversation turned upon paris. "what say you to going there?" he asked. "i should like it much," i replied. "send for guy," continued he, addressing the butler; "and help yourself to claret, we shall not have much time to spare." before i could express my surprise, guy, the coachman, entered the room. "have the travelling-chariot with the four bays round in half-an-hour, and send the seats and imperial into my room to be packed. by the way," he proceeded, turning to me, "you will want some one to go and tell your servant to bring your clothes, we shall return in a week." "are you in earnest?" i inquired, somewhat taken aback at this hasty movement. "quite," he answered; "pass the bottle; and, john, take the small front imperial to lord william's lodgings in pall mall, tell his servant to pack it up, and we will call for it on our way." in half-an-hour the carriage was at the door; we took our seats, the faithful valet ascended the rumble, and the order was given, "make the best of your way to dartford, call as you go by at no. , pall mall." it was a lovely evening in july, and despite of having all the windows down we felt greatly oppressed with heat. "what say you to riding?" inquired my companion; "pull up, boys." "i am not in trim for riding," i replied, "with these thin white trousers, shoes, and silk stockings; my legs will be awfully chafed." "never mind, my good fellow, we will go as slow as you please, and you shall have your choice, short or long traces." the postilions had alighted, and, having borrowed their whips, we exchanged places, and in less time than i can describe it the golden ball was mounted on a high-stepping thoroughbred leader, while i was piloting two as handsome wheelers as ever trotted their twelve miles an hour. no event worthy of record occurred upon the road. it is true that the pole occasionally reminded my brother postilion that the traces were slack, that we grazed a carrier's cart upon entering deptford, that we frightened an itinerant vendor of apples and pears as we dashed over blackheath, and, finally, that we upset a one-horse chaise standing in the high street of the town identified with pigou and gunpowder. as we drove up to the door of the "bull inn" we found, to our great horror, a crowd assembled in front of it. "pull up!" i bellowed at the top of my voice. "i can't," responded my friend. "then turn in down the yard. take a good sweep, or we shall upset the carriage." we did turn in with no greater damage than carrying away a wooden post, breaking a lamp, rubbing a piece of skin off the near leader, and tearing his rider's hessian boot. a cheer was then heard from the assembled crowd. we jumped off our horses, gave them up to the two postilions, who had hastily descended from the carriage, and made our way to the entrance, where the landlord, landlady, waiter, and ostler stood, looking as much astonished as the inhabitants of edmonton did when johnny gilpin made his appearance in that town. unfortunately cowper was not with us to immortalise our adventure. "can we have four horses immediately?" asked ball hughes, in his blandest manner. "the packet starts early for calais." "first and second turn out!" shouted the ostler, while mine host could scarcely repress a smile. an _éclaircissement_ took place when it appeared that queen caroline, the ill-fated wife of the fourth george, had been expected; that some dartford paul pry had caught a view of the gold embroidered velvet jackets and caps of the postilions, and had given the signal for the cheers, mistaking the inmates of the carriage for at least lord hood in his chamberlain's dress, sir matthew wood in his aldermanic gown, or her majesty herself decked out in royal attire. finding we could not reach dover in time for the boat to calais we stopped for the night at the "rose," sittingbourne. i have already referred to the french omnibus; and it may not be here out of place to record an instance of the light-heartedness of our continental neighbours, who instead of erasing a most painful episode in the history of their country from their minds, appear to perpetuate it, as will be seen by the following statement extracted from one of their own journals:-- "the parisian omnibus company has preserved a curious relic of the late commune in the shape of an omnibus which the communists used for one of their barricades, and which was riddled through the street fights between the versailles troops and the insurgents by as many as eight hundred shots or bomb-shell splinters. the coachman's box is broken, and only one wheel hangs on to the vehicle." i have now given the _agrémens_ and _désagrémens_ of coaching, and have come to the conclusion that all unprejudiced persons would prefer the rail to the road, especially those to whom time and money are objects. a man may now breakfast in london and dine in dublin, and this journey can be performed at (as compared with former charges) a very considerable reduction. pullman's cars, now confined to the midland, and partly to the brighton line, will soon become universal. then a night journey will be free from exertion, and after a good night's rest the traveller will find himself some hundred miles from the place of departure. those, too, who indulge in "sublime tobacco," whether in the shape of a meerschaum, brier, clay pipe, a mild havannah cigar, or a latakia cigarette, can smoke in a covered carriage, instead as of old on the outside of a mail coach, amidst a pelting, pitiless storm. however, as tastes differ, there will always be a certain number of old stagers who, denouncing steam, will talk with rapture of the palmy days of the road, and of their delight when they went "coaching, a long time ago." railways were originally formed altogether of timber, and it was not until that the first experiment was tried, and that upon a very small scale, to determine the advantage of substituting iron for the less durable material. nor does it appear that this experiment was successful, or followed by any practical result, for in mr. carr claimed to be considered the inventor of cast-iron rails. the railways which were constructed up to the beginning of were all private undertakings, and each was confined to the use of the establishment--generally a colliery--in which it was employed. the public railways of the united kingdom are strictly creations of the present century. here i may remark that as early as the year the idea of applying the power of steam to locomotion first suggested itself. roger bacon, a franciscan friar, who flourished during the reign of henry iii., foretold that ships would some day move without sails, and carriages without horses; and though his scientific researches were not duly appreciated in his own times, he may fairly take rank with the greatest pioneers of modern discovery. in the days of charles ii., edward somerset, earl of glamorgan and marquis of worcester, invented and constructed the first steam-engine. his title to this honour has been the subject of dispute, some historians attributing to him a greater share of merit than there was sufficient evidence to warrant, while others deprive him of even that honour to which he possesses an indefeasible claim. possessing inventive genius of the highest order, he was considered a mad enthusiast, because his speculations were advanced so far before the age in which he lived, and he has been set down as a quack and impostor by men incapable of comprehending the nature or appreciating the value of his creations. the slow march of knowledge and of time has at last revealed the worth and established the character of an illustrious and unfortunate man of genius, who only lived to complete his mighty design and carry it happily into effect. macaulay thus refers to the marquis of worcester:-- "the marquis had observed the expansive power of moisture rarefied by heat. after many experiments, he had succeeded in constructing a rude steam-engine, which he called a fire-waterwork, and which he pronounced to be an admirable and most forcible instrument of propulsion." but the marquis was suspected to be a madman, and known to be a papist, his inventions therefore found no favourable reception. his fire-waterwork might, perhaps, furnish matter for conversation at a meeting of the royal society, but was not applied to any practical purpose. the next engine was invented by captain savery, in , for the purpose of raising water by the help of fire. newcomen came next, followed by james watt. and here i must pay a passing tribute to the inventive genius and wonderful discoveries of james watt, to whom, perhaps, more than to any other man, the world is indebted for the beneficial results which have flown from the development of steam power. some six hundred years after roger bacon's prophecy, another prophet arose. in , so writes a popular author, "george stephenson was a poor labourer, his son robert lying in his cradle; then the stage-coach dragged along its weary course at about five miles an hour, and a letter posted in london would reach edinburgh _perhaps_ in a week. in the father said to the son:-- "i tell you what i think, my lad. you will live to see the day, though i may not, when railroads will supersede all other modes of conveyance; when mail coaches will go by railway, and railways become the great highway for the king and his subjects. the time is coming when it will be cheaper for a working man to travel by railway than to walk on foot." a bold, a daring, but a great social and patriotic prediction: both father and son lived to see it fulfilled. these wonderful changes have been brought about through the perseverance of a quintuple alliance--the stephensons, brunels, and locke--of each of whom it may be said, if you seek his monument, "look not at the place of his birth, his abode, or his death, but survey his works throughout the greater part of the habitable globe." in the first locomotive constructed by george stephenson travelled at the rate of six miles an hour; in the "rocket" travelled at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, and obtained the prize of five hundred pounds offered by the directors of the liverpool and manchester railway company for the best locomotive. in the "firefly" attained a speed of twenty miles an hour; and at the present moment locomotives have increased their speed to over sixty miles an hour. merciless ridicule attended the introduction of railway travelling; and in reference to a proposed line between london and woolwich, a writer in the "quarterly review" not only backed "old father thames" against it for any sum, but assured his readers that the people of woolwich "would as soon suffer themselves to be fired off upon one of congreve's ricochet rockets as trust themselves to the mercy of such a machine--a high-pressure engine, and going at the rate of eighteen miles an hour." the reviewer adds that he trusts parliament will limit the speed of railways to eight or nine miles an hour, which is as great as can be ventured upon with safety. despite this prediction, the rail, as we all know, has proved a perfect success. when railways were first proposed, in order to prove to parliament that they would pay, persons called "traffic takers" were placed at the entrance of large towns to note down the traffic in and out of the town. when the brighton and south coast line was before the house of commons, and evidence was given as to the existing traffic, the counsel for the company suggested that they might be allowed fairly to say that this would be doubled, when increased means of travelling were afforded. this seems ludicrous now, when probably one train of passengers and one of goods carries considerably more than the above estimate. many ineffectual attempts have been made to introduce steam-carriages on the roads, and in mr. (afterwards sir) goldsworthy gurney--inventor of the steam-jet, emphatically called by engineers "the life and soul of locomotion"--constructed a carriage for that purpose. to show that it was capable of ascending and descending hills, of maintaining a uniformity of speed over long distances and on different kinds of roads, a journey was undertaken from hounslow barracks to bath and back. on arriving at melksham, where a fair was being held, the people made an attack upon the steam-carriage, wounding the stoker and the engineer severely on their heads from a volley of stones. the return journey was more satisfactory, as the whole distance (eighty-four miles), stoppages for fire and water included, was travelled over in nine hours and twenty minutes, the carriage at one time increasing its speed to twenty miles an hour. the duke of wellington and his staff met the carriage at hounslow barracks, and were drawn in his grace's barouche by the steam-engine into the town. from february to june, , steam-carriages ran between gloucester and cheltenham regularly four times a day, during which time they carried nearly three thousand persons and travelled nearly four thousand miles, without a single accident. every obstacle, however, was thrown in the way of this new invention; large heaps of stones were laid across the road eighteen inches deep, under the pretence of repairing the highway; and on an act of parliament being passed which imposed prohibitory tolls on turnpike trusts, the steam-carriage was driven off the road. on the journey to bath above referred to, the toll for the steam-carriage was six guineas each time of passing. about this period colonel sir james viney patronised a mr. pocock and the making of kites for the purpose of drawing a carriage, but these paper horses were ungovernable, particularly in a storm, and sir john gave them up for a couple of ponies, which, in truth, were almost as wayward. one conveyance alone remains to which i have not referred--the sedan chair, named after the town of sedan, in france. in early days i well remember a very gorgeous specimen of the above, emblazoned with the family arms, which used to convey my mother to evening parties; and as late as the year i have often, at leamington, edinburgh, and bath, made use of a sedan chair to take me to dinner. one advantage this conveyance had over a carriage was that, upon a snowy or rainy night, you could enter it under cover and get out of it in your amphitryon's hall. occasionally it was used by young spendthrifts against whom writs were out, as it enabled them to avoid the sheriff's officers. it was not always, however, a safe refuge, as hogarth, in one of his prints, represents a tipstaff seizing hold of some debtor he was in search of. early in the present century a very clever caricature appeared, in which an irishman was seen wending his way through dirt and slush, his legs and feet obtruding from a sedan chair--some waggish practical joker (the theodore hook of that day) having removed the bottom of it. two stout chairmen, aware of the trick that had been played upon their inside passenger, are selecting the dirtiest streets, or most flinty part of the road, while the unfortunate emeralder exclaims: "bedad! if it was not for the honour of the thing, i would as lief walk." the costume of the chairmen at bath was very peculiar: they wore long, light-blue coats highly ornamented with buttons about the size of a crown piece, the skirts of which reached down to their ankles; short "inexpressibles," white cotton stockings, shoes with buckles, and a huge cocked hat bound with gold lace. they were fine, powerful men, with calves to their legs which would have made the fortune of any fashionable footman. when sedan-chairs were first introduced, a great feud arose between the chairmen and the hackney-coachmen, which led to many serious disturbances. the contest was carried on with the greatest bitterness; and the hatred it engendered was equal to that of the montagues and capulets, the guelphs and the ghibellines, the red and white roses; eventually, through the interference of the law, peace was restored. wilson thus refers to the sedan-chair named after sedan on the meuse. in his life of james i., this passage, in speaking of the earl of northumberland, occurs: "the stout old earl, when he was got loose (he had been imprisoned), hearing that the great favourite, buckingham, was drawn about with a coach and six horses (which was wondered at then as a novelty, and imputed to him as a mastering pride), thought, if buckingham had six, he might very well have eight in his coach; with which he rode through the city of london to bath, to the vulgar talk and admiration; and, recovering his health there, he lived long after at petworth in sussex; bating this over-topping humour, which shewed it rather an affected fit than a distemper. "nor did this addition of two horses, by buckingham, grow higher than a little murmur. for in the late queen's time (elizabeth), there were no coaches, and the first lord had but two horses; the rest crept in by degrees, as men at first ventured to sea. and every new thing the people disaffect, they stumble at; sometimes at the action of the parties, which rises like a little cloud, but soon vanishes. "so after, when buckingham came to be carried in a chair upon men's shoulders, the clamour and noise of it was so extravagant that the people would rail on him in the streets, loathing that men should be brought to as servile a condition as horses; so irksome is every little new impression that breaks an old custom, and rubs and grates against the public humour; but when time had made those chairs common, every minion used them; so that that which gave at first so much scandal was the means to convey those privately to such places, where they might give much more. just like long hair, at one time described as abominable--another time approved of as beautiful." chapter xviii. ancient and modern vehicles--practical jokes in england and france--french coaches--diligences--the malle-poste--carriages in the reign of louis xiv.--porte flambeaux--quarrels between rival coachmen--an english stage-coach in france--conclusion. chapter xviii. few of my readers will remember the old hackney-coaches, and fortunate are they who live at a period when they can be driven about the metropolis and throughout all the principal towns in hansom cabs and "four-wheelers." the old hackney-coach was usually a broken-down, rickety vehicle, that had evidently seen better days; it usually bore the arms and crest of some noble family; the lining, torn and faded, showed signs of former grandeur, as did the harness, now patched and tied together with string. the horses looked more fit to furnish a meal for a pack of hungry foxhounds than to go through their daily work. the coachman, becaped and bebooted, was a long time descending from and ascending his box, and when seated there it required a large amount of "ge-upping" and "go-alonging," with the additional aid of whipping, to get his half-starved, broken-down animals into a trot. what a contrast to the hansom of the present day, which, generally speaking, is clean, admirably horsed, and well driven, so much so that the driver of a well-appointed two-wheeler, like tom tug, in "the waterman," "is never in want of a _fare_!" would that i could say the same of the four-wheeler! there are some exceptions; but the majority savour too much of the old hackney-coach to merit a eulogium. practical jokes have often been played by persons representing highwaymen for the time being; a most memorable one was practised by the celebrated john mytton, of halston. upon one occasion, a neighbouring clergyman was invited to dine at the squire's, as mytton was called, and in the course of the evening, the conversation turned upon the knights of the road. whether this casual topic gave the idea to the arch-hoaxer, or that the affair was premeditated, i know not, but it was shortly carried out. after a quiet rubber of whist, the reverend gentleman's carriage was announced, and he took his departure. he had not proceeded a hundred yards beyond the lodge-gate, when all of a sudden the carriage stopped, and a man with a black crape over his face presented a pistol, exclaiming, "your money or your life," his companion, equally disguised, catching hold of the horses. unarmed, and alone, resistance was in vain, he, therefore, gave his purse to the marauder. "this won't do," said the man. "i must have your watch." "spare that," beseechingly implored the clergyman. "it is of little value to anyone but myself, and was the gift of a beloved mother." "no time for sentiment," continued the other, "you must hand it out," at the same time cocking the pistol. the valued gift now changed hands, and the reverend gentleman was allowed to proceed to his home in safety. early the next morning he applied to a magistrate for assistance, and proceeded to halston to inform mytton of the disgraceful state of the country, when a man could be robbed within a few yards of his lodge. "i'll send for the constable," said mytton, "a reward shall be offered, and no exertion shall be wanting on my part to trace the scoundrel and get your property restored." the clergyman was brimming over with gratitude, when the squire continued. "come and dine here to-morrow, and i'll send an escort home with you. my keeper and a watcher will be more than a match for any two rascals that infest the road." the invitation was accepted, and in the meantime every exertion was made by the magistrate to discover the offenders. during dinner, the conversation naturally turned upon the bare-faced robbery. "i did not mind the fellows taking my money," said the victim. "albeit i could not well afford to lose it, but what i felt deeply was the loss of my watch. i would give any sum in my power to recover it." at that moment the second course was put on the table, for at the time i write of _dîners à la russe_ were unknown, and a large dish with a cover over it was placed before the host. "i wish," said mytton, addressing his clerical friend, "you would kindly carve the pheasants. i sprained my wrist out hunting last week, and if i attempt the job, it will be a case of 'mangling done here.'" the dish was removed and placed before the clergyman, and upon the cover being taken off, great was the delight and surprise of the victim to find his purse and watch occupying the place of the far-famed bird of colchis. an angry look at the perpetrator of this practical joke was soon transformed into a smile, for the delight of recovering the watch made him ample compensation for the anxiety of mind he had suffered. a hoax similar in some degree was practised in france on the baron de bezenval. this well-known nobleman was in on a visit at the house of m. de bercheni, beyond la ferté-sous-jouare, an estate now belonging to the family of castellane. it was the latter end of autumn. some bold poachers already disturbed the sport. the wind blew violently, and strewed the ground with leaves; the mornings were misty, the nights long, gloomy, and cold; but gloom never approached the place that the baron inhabited. the _après-dîner_ had been excessively merry, and all the company had gradually retired. m. de bezenval had announced his departure, and being almost the only guest in the room, took leave of the mistress of the house. "i hope to see you again soon," said he. "i hope so too," replied the lady with courtesy. he took his departure, and soon fell asleep in his post-chaise, wrapped up in thick fur. he was suddenly roused from his slumbers by a violent shaking. the postilion had been knocked off his horse, a number of armed men surrounded the vehicle, and their leader, whose face was blackened, seizing the baron, presented a pistol to his breast. "sir," said the baron, "your men do not know how to behave themselves--they should at least have given me time to draw my hunting-knife." without favouring him with a reply, they stripped him--his cane, rings, snuff-boxes of lapis-lazuli, and his two watches and chains decked with gems were wrested from him. "are you content?" cried bezenval. "no," replied they, "the chaise is ours, as all the rest; get out of it." he alighted, and the brigands dispersed, one only mounting one of the horses, and driving off at a gallop. "valentine, what is to be done?" said the baron to his servant. "i really do not know," replied the latter; "perhaps the wisest step is to go back to the château." thither they turned, and two hours of most fatiguing walking brought them to it. the gates were open, there were no servants in the courts, and none in the ante-rooms. he entered the drawing-room, and not a soul was in it. but what did his eyes first fall upon? his two watches and their chains were hanging to the chimney-piece! whilst he was gazing on them, immense shouts of laughter arose, and the bandits of quality crowded into the room in their several disguises. such was the method devised to bring back the agreeable baron de bezenval. having described coaching in england, it may not be uninteresting to give a brief notice of french coaching. it is now two hundred years ago that la fontaine wrote the following lines, which began his fable "la coche et la mouche:--" "dans un chemin, montant, sablonneux, malaisé, et de tous les côtés au soleil exposé, six forts chevaux tiroient une coche." at that time public and private vehicles had not yet undergone any very notable improvements. when an inhabitant of bordeaux or maçon took his departure for paris he made his will, leaving among other things "son corps à la diligence." eighty years previous, in the middle of the sixteenth century, private vehicles were not very numerous, if we judge by the predicament in which henry iv., king of france and navarre, found himself when he wrote to sully, "je n'ai pas pu aller vous voir hier, ma femme ayant pris ma coche." that _coche_ which we in england still call coach, and the driver of which has obtained the name of coacher--coachman was either _coche de terre_ or a _coche d'eau_, both conveying travellers and goods. the coche d'auxerre alone survived in france until our days. the steamboats have sunk it, in despite of its heroic resistance. it was only in the first year of the seventeenth century that _coches_ or _voitures_, were first ornamented, and provided with leather braces; they then assumed the generic name of _carrosses_, derived from _char_ and _charrette_. it would occupy too much space to write a history of their transformations and successive improvements, and to follow step by step the aristocratic succession of the carrosse, calêche, berline, landau, dormeuse, char-à-banc, demi-fortune, vis-à-vis, coupé, not omitting the cabriolet, phaeton, boguey, tilbury, kibitka, britzska, and other vehicles of the young fashion of all times. the public vehicles have made slower progress. the _diligences_ long continued worthy of their grandfathers the _coches_, and were very unworthy of their new name. at the beginning of the present century, in which everything now moves on so rapidly, two days and a night were still required to pass from paris to orleans. travellers slept on the road at etampes or pithiviers, a spot rendered immortal by perlet's admirable personification in "le comédien d'etampes;" hotel living, with its good fare and bad beds, being preferred to highroad living, with its obligato accompaniment of broken down cattle, rickety coaches, and highwaymen armed to the teeth. the diligences gave birth to the messageries, chaises, chaises-de-poste, and at a later period to the malle-postes, which, however, did not prevent certain provinces from enjoying a sort of progeniture of ancient coches, under the various names of voiturines, guimbardes, carrioles, and other instruments of torture, which enabled the traveller to accomplish easily, as the saying went, "twenty leagues in fifteen days." after that the real _diligences_, the real _messageries_, attained a degree of comfort for which the public were most grateful. to frequent changes and improvement of the horses were added the comfort of the vehicle; and last, not least, the lowness of the prices. the _malle-postes_, destined for the more rapid conveyance of letters, and at the same time of travellers eager to get over their journey quickly--thanks to the attention of the administration--were rendered admirably adapted to the public service, the primary object of their establishment, and to the private service of those who wished for comfort in their travels. the _caisse_ containing the despatches, the high station occupied behind by the courrier-conducteur of the mail, the _caisse_ reserved for travellers, the shape and size of which varied according to the seasons, and the comfortable seat for the passengers, deserved every praise. what could a traveller in those days, when steam was not in prospective existence, desire more than to travel from paris to bayonne, two hundred leagues, in fifty-six hours? the humbler history of the _fiacre_ also deserves to have a place here. the _carrosse_ gave birth to the _fiacre_ in the seventeenth century. that was the first coach devoted to public use. i have already said that the head-quarters of these vehicles were in rue st. antoine, paris, and were called "carrosses à cinq sous," five sous being the price for the hour. the _fiacres_ long had a bad name, and not undeservedly so. who does not remember, even in our days, the wretched equipages that stood on the rank? who has not had, at least once in his life, a quarrel with the drivers, often more vicious than their cattle? the cabriolets for town and country, and the _coucous_, were scarcely superior in any respect, as many have wofully experienced. times, however, have altered, and, during the last few years incredible improvements have taken place, not only in the vehicles, but also in the horses and their drivers. transformations almost as wonderful as that of cinderella's fairy carriage have been effected. the carriages are better constructed and suspended, and are arranged more comfortably inside. the creation, too, of one-horse coupés (broughams) has successfully provided for the wants of the public, and at the present time a vast number of new companies, under various names, have vied in skill and conferred upon the people vehicles of tasteful shapes, horses in good condition, totally unlike the _rosses_ of former days, harness neat, drivers in uniform liveries, and above all, civil and attentive. to complete this sketch, let me pay a parting tribute to the parisian omnibus, that accommodating carriage which takes you up at all hours, at every moment, in the street or at your door, and carries you without any delay to any street or door you wish to alight at--sociable vehicles which, for the trifling sum of thirty centimes, convey you two leagues from the barrière de l'etoile to that of the trône, and from the madelaine to the place de la bastille. would that i had space to review all the varieties of that obliging vehicle, which, it is said, appeared at nantes, before it invaded the streets, quays, and boulevards of the capital! were i to enumerate the "hirondelles," "favorites," "dames françaises," "parisiennes," "beauvaises," "orléannaises," &c., and point out all their graces and charms, it would lead me on to the history of locomotion by conveyance, and the celebration of steam, steamboats, railroads, trains, and their marvellous rapidity. let me conclude with this observation--namely, that the number of vehicles of all sorts which were wont daily to circulate in the streets of paris exceeded sixty-one thousand; the cabriolets, hackney-coaches, diligences, and omnibusses--or, as the erudite coachman called them omnibii--amounted, out of the above number, to twenty thousand. what they are at this present moment i have no means of ascertaining. at the commencement of the seventeenth century there were not fifty carriages to be seen in paris; in the reign of louis xiv. all the world possessed them, as they would have been unable to present themselves at court. no longer could they go to the palace on horses, although the privilege was still allowed to certain members of parliament. this, however, ceased entirely about the middle of the reign of louis xiv. the adoption of this general use of wheel carriages produced a great change in the habits of social life, and had much influence on the political state of the country. the state of public roads, which the necessity of travelling on horseback imposes, must immediately influence all military movements and all communication of intelligence, must triple the expense of all commercial transfers, and prevent, or render difficult, all merely social meetings, except between the nearest neighbours. when laporte, the _valet de chambre_ to anne of austria, tells us that in the winter of the year , between piteaux and paris, on the route of orleans, the road was so bad that the queen was obliged to sleep in her carriage because neither the mules nor carts that carried her baggage could possibly arrive, we may conceive how little winter travelling there could have been in france. although coaches were already known and used in paris, they were so unlike the modern vehicles of the same name that the pleasures, engagements, and assignations of the young men were still pursued on horseback. a printed paper is yet extant in the royal, or rather republican library at paris, announcing in all its details to the public the establishment by government of _porte-flambeaux_ and _porte-lanternes_; persons provided with them were to be posted at the louvre, the palais de justice, and in other public places at paris. these extempore illuminations must have been very necessary in the streets of a great town still frequented by horsemen, where no aid of light was derived either from the doors of private houses or the windows of shops; the habitual darkness only made more visible from the occasional flambeaux carried before some persons of distinction by their own servants, or accompanying their coach. this establishment of _porte-flambeaux_, which was to take place in october, , was announced with all the forms of a long preamble, and surrounded with all the exclusive privileges which could have accompanied the most important measure of internal government. it furnished a curious example of the minute details into which the hierarchy of despotic power had already entered in france. it called itself "the establishment of _porte-flambeaux_, or _porte-lanternes_, for the town and suburbs of paris, and other towns, by letters patent of the king, approved of by parliament, and the prices regulated by this august body." then follows the orders, which forbid anybody from carrying a "link," or "lantern," without an express permission from the individual who has obtained this privilege from the king, to the exclusion of all others, under pain of a thousand francs (£ ) penalty. the price fixed for the hire of a _porte-lanterne_ was three sous a quarter of an hour, for persons who went on foot; for those who went in carriages five sous. the public are then assured that the convenience of being able to go out at night with lights will prove such a boon to all, more especially to men of business and in trade, that the streets will be more frequented, much to the discomfiture of thieves and vagabonds. to nightly depredators, the darkness of the streets must have been very favourable, as we ourselves know it is in london during a dense fog. thus we see boileau makes one of the torments of a town life the dread of thieves: "que dans le marché neuf tout est calme et tranquille, les voleurs à l'instant s'emparent, le bois le plus funeste, et le moins fréquenté, est, au prix de paris, un lieu de sûreté, malheur donc à celui qu'une affaire imprévue engage un peu tard au détours d'une rue, bientôt quatre bandits lui servant les côtés, la bourse, il faut se rendre." it will thus be seen that the roads in france, and streets in paris, in bygone days, were as bad as those of england and london; for we find that frequent and fatal _rencontres_ took place from disturbances in the streets. the prince de conti and the comte de soissons' coaches meeting in a narrow place near the louvre, by the bad driving of their coachmen, jostled against each other, and came to blows between their followers, who, departing in that fashion one from another, did, against the next morning call and assemble together such numbers of their followers, as that the duke de guise joining his brother-in-law, prince de conti, and the prince de condé with the comte de soissons, his uncle, they came out into the streets with at least three or four hundred mounted men. in a record of that time, i find the following:-- "there do daily break forth new quarrels between the nobility in this town (paris), who are here in greater numbers than usually have been heretofore, whereof one being between monsieur d'andelot and monsieur balagny was presently taken up; and another fell out the other day between colonel d'ornano and one monsieur st. andré, who, fighting in the streets, were both hurt, and to avoid the mischief that might ensue from such meetings, the gates of the town were for a time shut up." how long the monopoly of _porte-lanternes_ continued a profitable concern i know not; but at the end of the reign of louis xiv. the luxury of carriages was so universal that riding among the young men was confined entirely to the _manége_, to hunting, and to their military life. a change of dress had indeed necessitated a change in their mode of conveyance. the military costume was no longer that of the court; their boots and cloaks had disappeared, except when with their regiments; and the knots of ribbons, the short sleeves, the long ruffles, the lace, fringe, and embroidery, and the flowing periwigs now general, were perfectly incompatible with an evening drive from the louvre to the marais. i may here remark that the first english stage-coach seen in france was launched at dieppe in the month of october, . the horses being put to, mr. plant, of london, a coachman of about eighteen stone weight, and a real john bull, mounted the box, and astonished the inhabitants as much by his dexterity in cracking his whip as by the bulk of his person for the burden of his horses. away he started for st. denis amid the various grimaces of the populace. a company of london proprietors have obtained the permission of the authorities to run english stage-coaches between st. denis and paris. three more of these vehicles were on their route for the same destination, with english coachmen and harness. the success of the undertaking was far different from what was expected, and after a time the enterprise was abandoned, the parisians preferring their lumbering conveyances to the well-appointed "drag." in conclusion, i am delighted to find that the love of coaching is not extinct, that at the present time there are some admirably well-appointed teams to be daily seen at the old "white horse cellar," and that they are yearly on the increase. we have the brighton, the dorking, the guildford, the oxford, the tunbridge, the windsor, and the watford, with cattle that would delight the eyes of a peer, were he alive to see them. both the amateur and professional "dragsmen" do their work well, and during the summer season nothing will prove more agreeable than the box-seat or an outside place on one of the above mentioned coaches. i have now reached the last stage, and shall throw aside the ribbons. i trust the journey has been a pleasant one; if so, in the phraseology of the road, i shall say, "i go no further. please remember the coachman." the end. london: printed by a. schulze, , poland street. erratum. page line _for_ peer _read_ pears transcriber' note: as it states in the erratum, the word "peer" has been changed to read "pears" on page . available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/coachingdaysways cumi transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text in small capitals has been changed to upper case. [illustration] coaching days & ways by e. d. cuming with illustrations by g. denholm armour the british sport series hodder and stoughton coaching the many boons conferred by mr. john palmer upon his generation faded before the advance of the railways; but he has deserved well of posterity, if only for that he altered the coach team from three horses to four. until that enterprising man undertook to demonstrate that the coach could carry letters more rapidly and safely than could the post-boy, our ancestors had been content with the unicorn team; but after palmer had astonished the world by making the journey from bath to london, in , at the rate of nearly seven miles an hour, the team of four horses gradually but steadily supplanted that of three in the stages on almost every road in the country. [illustration: _the stage coach: old times painting by g. d. armour._] [illustration] it is generally assumed that fast coaching only came into existence after the macadamisation of the roads; but this is not quite the case. under favourable conditions the speed attained in pre-macadam days was nearly as great as it became later. the _sporting magazine_ of june says: 'lately one of the stage coaches on the north road ran from london to stamford, a distance of miles, in hours minutes. the passengers, four in number, breakfasted and dined on the road, so it must have run at the rate of miles an hour all the time it was travelling.' the 'old heavies' discarded under palmer's drastic rule worked out their lives as ordinary stage coaches, and some of these remained on the road until well on in the nineteenth century. nimrod's description of the old-time coachman is worth giving:-- 'the old-fashioned coachman to a heavy coach--and they were all heavy down to very recent times--bore some analogy with the prize-fighter, for he stood highest who could hit hardest. he was generally a man of large frame, made larger by indulgence, and of great bodily power--which was useful to him. to the button-hole of his coat were appended several whipcord points, which he was sure to have occasion for on the road, for his horses were whipped till whipping was as necessary to them as their harness. in fair play to him, however, he was not solely answerable for this; the spirit of his cattle was broken by the task they were called to perform--for in those days twenty-mile stages were in fashion--and what was the consequence? why, the four-horse whip and the nottingham whipcord were of no avail over the latter part of the ground, and something like a cat-o'-nine-tails was produced out of the boot, which was jocularly called the "apprentice"; and a shrewd apprentice it was to the art of torturing which was inflicted on the wheelers without stint or measure, but without which the coach might have been often left on the road. one circumstance alone saved these horses from destruction; this was the frequency of ale-houses on the road, not one of which could then be passed without a call. 'still, our old-fashioned coachman was a scientific man in his calling--more so, perhaps, than by far the greater part of his brethren of the present day, inasmuch as his energies and skill were more frequently put to the test. he had heavy loads, bad roads, and weary horses to deal with, neither was any part of his harness to be depended on, upon a pinch. then the box he sat upon was worse than pandora's, with all the evils it contained, for even hope appeared to have deserted it. it rested on the bed of the axletree, and shook the frame to atoms; but when prayers were put up to have it altered, the proprietors said, "no; the rascal will always be asleep if we place his box on the springs." if among all these difficulties, then, he, by degrees, became a drunkard, who can wonder at his becoming so? but he was a _coachman_. he could fetch the last ounce out of a wheel-horse by the use of his double thong or his "apprentice," and the point of his lash told terribly upon his leaders. he likewise applied it scientifically, it was directed under the bar to the flank, and after the third hit he brought it up to his hand by _the draw_, so that it never got entangled in the pole-chains, or in any part of the harness. he could untie a knot with his teeth and tie another with his tongue, as well as he could with his hands; and if his thong broke off in the middle, he could splice it with dexterity and even with neatness as his coach was proceeding on its journey. it short, he could do what coachmen of the present day cannot do, because they have not been called upon to do it; and he likewise could do what they never tried to do--namely, he could drive when he was drunk nearly as well as when he was sober. he was very frequently a faithful servant to his employers; considered trustworthy by bankers and others in the country through which he passed; and as humane to his horses, perhaps, as the adverse circumstances he was placed in by his masters would admit.' time has dealt kindly with the reputation of the old stage coachman, and popular tradition holds him, as nimrod portrayed him, a whip of unrivalled skill. that there were such men is perfectly true;[ ] but not every stage coachman was an expert: not all were skilful or even careful, and not all were civil: and if, as nimrod says, they could drive as well when drunk as when sober, the cold light of contemporary record shows that there was ample room for improvement. take the following:--on the th of may the coachman of the portsmouth coach to london was intoxicated, and "when he came to the foot of the hill on wimbledon common, instead of keeping straight on turned to the left and found himself in putney lane, where turning the corner of mr. kensington's wall in order to get again into the road to wandsworth, the coach was overturned." he appears to have driven on to the bank by the roadside. the ten outside passengers were all more or less hurt, one dying from her injuries, and the coachman himself had both legs broken. accidents due to reckless driving and racing were very common, despite the law[ ] of which made a coachman who, by furious driving or careless, overturned his coach, liable to a fine not over five pounds. the following is typical:-- 'last night occurred one of those dreadful catastrophes, the result of driving opposition coaches, which has so stunned the country with horror that sober people for a time will not hazard their lives in these vehicles of fury and madness. 'two coaches that run daily from hinckley to leicester had set out together. the first having descended the hill leading to leicester was obliged to stop to repair the harness. the other coachman saw the accident and seized the moment to give his antagonist the _go by_, flogging the horses into a gallop down the hill. the horses contrived to keep on their legs, but took fright at something on the road, and became so unmanageable in the hands of a drunken coachman, that in their sweep to avoid the object of their alarm, the driver could not recover them so as to clear the post of the turnpike gate at the bottom of the hill. the velocity was so great that the coach was split in two; three persons were dashed to pieces and instantly killed, two others survived but a few hours in the greatest agony; four were conveyed away for surgical aid with fractured limbs, and two in the dickey were thrown with that part of the coach to a considerable distance, and not much hurt as they fell on a hedge. the coachman fell a victim to his fury and madness. it is time the magistrates put a stop to these outrageous proceedings that have existed too long in this part of the country.' (_st. james's chronicle_, th july ). the frequency of upsets is suggested by a letter which appeared in the papers in . the writer, who signs himself 'a sufferer,' begs coach proprietors to direct their servants, when the coach has been overturned, 'not to drag the passengers out at the window, but to replace the coach on its wheels first, provided it can be accomplished with the strength they have with them.' after coaches began to carry the mails, accidents grew more numerous. we can trace many to the greater speed maintained, others to defective workmanship which resulted in broken axles or lost wheels, many to top-heaviness, and not a few to carelessness. the short stage drivers, on the whole, were the worst offenders. for sheer recklessness this would be hard to beat:-- 'during the dense fog on wednesday last, as a woolwich coach full of inside and outside passengers was driving at a furious rate, just after it had passed the six bells on its way to town, the coachman ran against a heavy country cart. the stage was upset, and those on the roof were pitched violently against an empty coal waggon; two of them fell on the shafts, one of whom had a shoulder badly dislocated; the other had his jawbone broken, with the loss of his front teeth. a greenwich pensioner, with a wooden leg, had an arm broken, and some contusions on the head.' (_bell's life_, th december ). it would be easy to compile a list of accidents due to causes unforseen, each one, illustrating a different danger of the road. here are a few:-- 'tuesday afternoon, as one of the brighton stages was leaving london at a rapid pace, the pole broke in lambeth, and the coach was upset. several passengers had limbs broken and others were injured.' (_bell's life_, th august ). 'a fatal accident befel the woolwich tally ho opposition stage on tuesday. coming down the hill from the green man the horses became restive, the coachman lost his command, and immediately the whole set off at full speed. in turning a corner the coach upset, being heavily laden outside. out of sixteen persons only one escaped without a leg or arm broken, and four are not expected to survive. the coach was literally dashed to pieces. the inside passengers were more lacerated than those outside, owing to the coach being shattered to pieces and their being dragged along the road for fifty yards. but little hopes are entertained of a major m'leod--a very fine young man; not a vestige of his face is left except his eyes.' (_bell's life_, nd september ). 'a fatal accident happened to gamble, coachman of the yeovil mail, on wednesday, caused by the leaders shying at an old oak tree. the coachman was killed on the spot, and the guard escaped with bruises. the horses started off and galloped into andover at the rate of miles an hour. the single inside passenger was not aware of anything amiss until two gentlemen, who saw the horses going at a furious rate without a driver, succeeded in stopping them just as they were turning into the george gateway.' (_times_, st february ). coachmen and guards were apt to leave too much to the honour of the horses when stopping, and it was not at all uncommon for the team to start on its journey with nobody on the box. an old coachman told lord algernon st. maur that on one night's drive he met two coaches without any driver! in ( geo. iii., c. ) it was made an offence punishable by fine to leave the team without a proper person in charge while the coach stopped. organised races between public coaches were very popular: the coachmen did not spare the horses on these occasions. this race took place in :-- 'on sunday, august th, a coach called the "patriot," belonging to the master of the "bell," leicester, drawn by four horses, started against another coach called the "defiance," from leicester to nottingham, a distance of miles, both coaches changing horses at loughborough. thousands of people from all parts assembled to witness the event, and bets to a considerable amount were depending. both coaches started exactly at o'clock, and after the severest contest ever remembered, the "patriot" arrived at nottingham first by two minutes only, performing the distance of miles in hrs. mins., carrying twelve passengers.' [illustration: _mail coaches racing: something wrong with the opposition coach painting by g. d. armour._] [illustration] mishaps were so frequent and productive of so many fatalities, to say nothing of broken limbs, that at last general outcry arose for more stringent repressive measures: and in a law ( geo. iv., c. ) was passed, making coachmen who might be guilty of 'wanton or furious driving or racing' liable to imprisonment as well as to fine, even though their proceedings were not brought to a close by overturning the coach. the new law did not make an end of accidents: on the whole there were fewer as the result of racing, but the records of time bear ample witness to lack of ordinary caution. for many years macadam and telford had been devoting their ingenuity to the task of solving the secret of road-making; it was not until that the macadam system was finally approved and adopted. then the work of remaking the roads of the kingdom was taken in hand, and the new highways, when constructed, ushered in the brief 'golden age' of coaching--say to , the mails having been transferred to the railways in the latter year. nimrod's famous essay, written in , shows in convincing fashion the difference between coaching in the olden days and at its best:-- 'may we be permitted, since we have mentioned the _arabian nights_, to make a little demand on our readers' fancy, and suppose it possible that a worthy old gentleman of this said year-- --had fallen comfortably asleep _à la dodswell_, and never awoke till monday morning in piccadilly? "what coach, your honour?" says a ruffianly-looking fellow, much like what he might have been had he lived a hundred years back. "i wish to go home to exeter," replies the old gentleman, mildly. "just in time, your honour, here she comes--them there grey horses; where's your luggage?" "don't be in a hurry," observed the stranger; "that's a gentleman's carriage." "it ain't! i tell you," says the cad; "it's the comet, and you must be as quick as lightning." _nolens volens_, the remonstrating old gentleman is shoved into the comet, by a cad at each elbow, having been three times assured his luggage is in the hind boot, and twice three times denied having ocular demonstration of the fact. 'however, he is now seated; and "what _gentleman_ is going to drive us?" is his first question to his fellow-passengers. "he is no gentleman, sir," says a person who sits opposite to him, and who happens to be a proprietor of the coach. "he has been on the comet ever since she started, and is a very steady young man." "pardon my ignorance," replies the regenerated; "from the cleanliness of his person, the neatness of his apparel, and the language he made use of, i mistook him for some enthusiastic bachelor of arts, wishing to become a charioteer after the manner of the illustrious ancients."[ ] "you must have been long in foreign parts, sir," observes the proprietor. in five minutes, or less, after the parley commenced, the wheels went round, and in another five the coach arrived at hyde park gate; but long before it got there, the worthy gentleman of (set down by his fellow-travellers for either a little cracked or an emigrant from the backwoods of america) exclaimed, "what! off the stones already?" "you have never been on the stones," observes his neighbour on his right; "no stones in london now, sir."[ ] 'in five minutes under the hour the comet arrives at hounslow, to the great delight of our friend, who by this time waxed hungry, not having broken his fast before starting. "just fifty-five minutes and thirty-seven seconds," says he, "from the time we left london!--wonderful travelling, gentlemen, to be sure, but much too fast to be safe. however, thank heaven, we are arrived at a good-looking house; and now, _waiter_, i hope you have got breakf----" before the last syllable, however, of the word could be pronounced, the worthy old gentleman's head struck the back of the coach by a jerk, which he could not account for (the fact was, three of the four fresh horses were bolters), and the waiter, the inn, and indeed hounslow itself (_terraeque urbesque recedunt_) disappeared in the twinkling of an eye. never did such a succession of doors, windows, and window-shutters pass so quickly in his review before--and he hoped they might never do so again. recovering, however, a little from his surprise--"my dear sir," said he, "you told me we were to change horses at hounslow? surely they are not so inhuman as to drive these poor animals another stage at this unmerciful rate!" "change horses, sir!" says the proprietor; "why, we changed them whilst you were putting on your spectacles, and looking at your watch. only one minute allowed for it at hounslow, and it is often done in fifty seconds by those nimble-fingered horse-keepers." "you astonish me--but really i do not like to go so fast." "oh, sir! we always spring them over these six miles. it is what we call _the hospital ground_." this alarming phrase is presently interpreted: it intimates that horses whose "backs are getting down instead of up in their work"--some "that won't hold an ounce down hill, or draw an ounce up"--others "that kick over the pole one day and over the bars the next"--in short, all the reprobates, styled in the road slang _bo-kickers_, are sent to work these six miles, because _here_ they have nothing to do but gallop--not a pebble as big as a nutmeg on the road; and so even, that it would not disturb the equilibrium of a spirit-level. 'the coach, however, goes faster and faster over the _hospital ground_, as the bo-kickers feel their legs and the collars get warm to their shoulders; and having ten outsides, the luggage of the said ten, and a few extra packages besides on the roof, she rolls rather more than is pleasant, although the centre of gravity is pretty well kept down by four not slender insides, two well-laden boots, and three huge trunks in the slide. the gentleman of the last century, however, becomes alarmed--is sure the horses are running away with the coach--declares he perceives by the shadow that there is nobody on the box, and can see the reins dangling about the horses' heels. he attempts to look out of the window, but his fellow-traveller dissuades him from doing so: "you may get a shot in your eye from the wheel. keep your head in the coach, it's all right, depend on 't. we always spring 'em over this stage." persuasion is useless; for the horses increase their speed and the worthy old gentleman looks out. but what does he see? death and destruction before his eyes? no: to his surprise he finds the coachman firm at his post, and in the act of taking a pinch of snuff from the gentleman who sits beside him on the _bench_, his horses going at the rate of a mile in three minutes at the time. "but suppose anything should break, or a linchpin should give way and let a wheel loose?" is the next appeal to the communicative but not very consoling proprietor. "nothing _can_ break, sir," is the reply; "all of the very best stuff; axletrees of the best k.q. iron, faggotted edgeways, well bedded in the timbers; and as for linchpins, we have not one about the coach. we use the best patent boxes that are manufactured. in short, sir, you are as safe in it as if you were in your bed." "bless me," exclaims the old man, "what improvements! and the roads!!!" "they are at perfection, sir," says the proprietor. "no horse walks a yard in this coach between london and exeter--all trotting ground now." "a little _galloping_ ground, i fear," whispers the senior to himself! "but who has effected all this improvement in your paving?" "an american of the name of macadam,"[ ] was the reply, "but coachmen call him the colossus of roads. great things have likewise been done in cutting through hills and altering the course of roads: and it is no uncommon thing now-a-days to see four horses trotting away merrily down hill on that very ground where they formerly were seen walking up hill." '"and pray, my good sir, what sort of horses may you have over the next stage?" "oh, sir, no more bo-kickers. it is hilly and severe ground, and requires cattle strong and staid. you'll see four as fine horses put to the coach at staines as you ever saw in a nobleman's carriage in your life." "then we shall have no more galloping--no more springing them as you term it?" "not quite so fast over the next ground," replied the proprietor; "but he will make good play over some part of it: for example, when he gets three parts down a hill he lets them loose, and cheats them out of half the one they have to ascend from the bottom of it. in short, they are half-way up it before a horse touches his collar; and we _must_ take every advantage with such a fast coach as this, and one that loads so well, or we should never keep our time. we are now to a minute; in fact the country people no longer look at the _sun_ when they want to set their clocks--they look only to the _comet_. but, depend upon it, you are quite safe; we have nothing but first-rate artists on this coach." "artist! artist!" grumbles the old gentleman, "we had no such term as that." '"i should like to see this _artist_ change horses at the next stage," resumes our ancient; "for at the last it had the appearance of magic--'presto, jack, and begone!'" "by all means; you will be much gratified. it is done with a quickness and ease almost incredible to anyone who has only read or heard of it; not a buckle or a rein is touched twice, and still all is made secure; but use becomes second nature with us. even in _my_ younger days it was always half an hour's work--sometimes more. there was--'now, ladies and gentlemen, what would you like to take? there's plenty of time, while the horses are changing, for tea, coffee, or supper; and the coachman will wait for you--won't you, mr. smith?' then mr. smith himself was in no hurry; he had a lamb about his coach for one butcher in the town, and perhaps half a calf for another, a barrel of oysters for the lawyer, and a basket of game for the parson, _all on his own account_. in short, the best wheel of the coach was his, and he could not be otherwise than accommodating." 'the coach arrives at staines, and the ancient gentleman puts his intentions into effect, though he was near being again too late; for by the time he could extract his hat from the netting that suspended it over his head, the leaders had been taken from their bars, and were walking up the yard towards their stables. on perceiving a fine thorough-bred horse led toward the coach with a twitch fastened tightly to his nose, he exclaimed, "holloa, mr. horse-keeper! you are going to put an unruly horse in the coach." "what! this here 'oss?" growls the man; "the quietest hanimal alive, sir!" as he shoves him to the near side of the pole. at this moment, however, the coachman is heard to say in somewhat of an undertone, "mind what you are about, bob; don't let him touch the roller-bolt." in thirty seconds more they are off--"the staid and steady team," so styled by the proprietor of the coach. "let 'em go! and take care of yourselves," says the artist, so soon as he is firmly seated upon his box; and this is the way they start. the near leader rears right on end; and if the rein had not been yielded to him at the instant, he would have fallen backwards on the head of the pole. the moment the twitch was taken from the nose of the thorough-bred near-wheeler, he drew himself back to the extent of his pole-chain--his forelegs stretched out before him--and then, like a lion loosened from his toil, made a snatch at the coach that would have broken two pairs of traces of . a steady and good-whipped horse, however, his partner, started the coach himself, with a gentle touch of the thong, and away they went off together. but the thorough-bred was very far from being comfortable; it was in vain that the coachman tried to soothe him with his voice, or stroked him with the crop of his whip. he drew three parts of the coach, and cantered for the first mile, and when he did settle down to his trot, his snorting could be heard by the passengers, being as much as to say, "i was not born to be a slave." in fact, as the proprietor now observed, "he had been a fair plate horse in his time, but his temper was always queer." 'after the first shock was over, the conservative of the eighteenth century felt comfortable. the pace was considerably slower than it had been over the last stage, but he was unconscious of the reason for its being diminished. it was to accommodate the queer temper of the race-horse,[ ] who, if he had not been humoured at starting, would never have settled down to his trot, but have ruffled all the rest of the team. he was also surprised, if not pleased, at the quick rate at which they were ascending hills which, in his time, he should have been asked by the coachman to have walked up--but his pleasure was short-lived; the third hill they descended produced a return of his agony. this was what is termed on the road a long fall of ground, and the coach rather pressed upon the horses. the temper of the race-horse became exhausted: breaking into a canter, he was of little use as a wheeler, and there was then nothing for it but a gallop. the leaders only wanted the signal; and the point of the thong being thrown lightly over their backs, they were off like an arrow out of a bow: but the rocking of the coach was awful, and more particularly so to the passengers on the roof. nevertheless, she was not in danger: the master-hand of the artist kept her in a direct line; and meeting the opposing ground, she steadied, and all was right. the newly-awakened gentleman, however, begins to grumble again. "pray, my good sir," says he anxiously, "do use your authority over your coachman, and _insist_ upon his putting the drag-chain on the wheel when descending the next hill." "i have no such authority," replies the proprietor. "it is true, we are now drawn by my horses, but i cannot interfere with the driving of them." "but is he not your servant?" "he is, sir; but i contract to work the coach so many miles in so many hours, and he engages to drive it, and each is subject to a fine if the time be not kept on the road. on so fast a coach as this every advantage must be taken; and if we were to drag down such hills as these, we should never reach exeter to-day." 'our friend, however, will have no more of it. he quits the coach at bagshot, congratulating himself on the safety of his limbs. yet he takes one more peep at the change, which is done with the same despatch as before; three greys and a pie-bald replacing three chestnuts and a bay--the harness beautifully clean, and the ornaments bright as the sun. not a word is spoken by the passengers, who merely look their admiration; but the laconic address of the coachman is not lost on the bystanders. "put the bay mare near wheel this evening, and the stallion _up to the cheek_," said he to his horse-keeper as he placed his right foot on the roller-bolt--_i.e._ the last step but one to the box. "how is paddy's leg?" "it's all right, sir," replied the horse-keeper. "let 'em go, then," quoth the _artist_, "and take care of yourselves." 'the worthy old gentleman is now shown into a room, and after warming his hands at the fire, rings the bell for the waiter. a well-dressed person appears, whom he of course takes for the landlord. "pray, sir," says he, "have you any _slow_ coach down this road to-day?" "why, yes, sir," replies john; "we shall have the regulator down in an hour." "just right," said our friend; "it will enable me to break my fast, which i have not done to-day." "oh, sir," observes john, "these here fast _drags_ be the ruin of us." 'tis all hurry scurry, and no gentleman has time to have nothing on the road. "what will you take, sir? mutton-chops, veal-cutlets, beef-steaks, or a fowl (to kill?)" 'at the appointed time, the regulator appears at the door. it is a strong, well-built drag, painted what is called chocolate colour, bedaubed all over with gilt letters--a bull's head on the doors, a saracen's head on the hind boot, and drawn by four strapping horses; but it wants the neatness of the other. the passengers may be, by a shade or two, of a lower order than those who had gone forward with the comet; nor, perhaps, is the coachman quite so refined as the one we have just taken leave of. he has not the neat white hat, the clean doeskin gloves, the well-cut trousers, and dapper frock; but still his appearance is respectable, and perhaps, in the eyes of many, more in character with his calling. neither has he the agility of the artist on the comet, for he is nearly double his size; but he is a strong powerful man, and might be called a pattern card of the heavy coachman of the present day--in other words, of a man who drives a coach which carries sixteen passengers instead of fourteen, and is rated at eight miles an hour instead of ten. "what room in the regulator?" says our friend to the waiter, as he comes to announce its arrival. "full inside, sir, and in front; but you'll have the gammon board all to yourself, and your luggage is in the hind boot." "gammon board! pray, what's that? do you not mean the basket?"[ ] "oh no, sir," says john, smiling; "no such thing on the road now. it is the hind-dickey, as some call it; where you'll be as comfortable as possible, and can sit with your back or your face to the coach, or _both_, if you like." "ah, ah," continues the old gentleman; "something new again, i presume." however, the mystery is cleared up; the ladder is reared to the hind wheel and the gentleman safely seated on the gammon board. 'before ascending to his place our friend has cast his eye on the team that is about to convey him to hartford bridge, the next stage on the great western road, and he perceives it to be of a different stamp from that which he had seen taken from the coach at bagshot. it consisted of four moderate-sized horses, full of power, and still fuller of condition, but with a fair sprinkling of blood; in short, the eye of a judge would have discovered something about them not very unlike galloping. "all right!" cried the guard, taking his key-bugle[ ] in his hand; and they proceeded up the village, at a steady pace, to the tune of "scots wha hae wi' wallace bled," and continued at that pace for the first five miles. "_i am landed_," thinks our friend to himself. unluckily, however, for the humane and cautious old gentleman, even the regulator was about to show tricks. although what now is called a slow coach, she is timed at eight miles in the hour through a great extent of country, and must, of course, make play where she can, being strongly opposed by hills lower down the country, trifling as these hills are, no doubt, to what they once were. the regulator, moreover, loads well, not only with passengers, but with luggage; and the last five miles of this stage, called the bridge flat, have the reputation of being the best five miles for a coach to be found at this time in england. the ground is firm; the surface undulating, and therefore favourable to draught; always dry, not a shrub being near it; nor is there a stone upon it much larger than a marble. these advantages, then, are not lost to the regulator, or made use of without sore discomposure to the solitary tenant of her gammon board. 'any one that has looked into books will very readily account for the lateral motion, or rocking, as it is termed, of a coach, being greatest at the greatest distance from the horses (as the tail of a paper kite is in motion whilst the body remains at rest); and more especially when laden as this coach was--the greater part of the weight being forward. the situation of our friend, then, was once more deplorable. the regulator takes but twenty-three minutes for these celebrated five miles, which cannot be done without "springing the cattle" now and then; and it was in one of the very best of their gallops of that day, that they were met by the coachman of the comet, who was returning with his up-coach. when coming out of rival yards, coachmen never fail to cast an eye to the loading of their opponents on the road, and now that of the natty artist of the comet experienced a high treat. he had a full view of his quondam passenger, and thus described his situation. 'he was seated with his back to the horses--his teeth set grim as death--his eyes cast down towards the ground, thinking the less he saw of his danger the better. there was what is called a top-heavy load--perhaps a ton of luggage on the roof, and it may be not _quite_ in obedience to the act of parliament standard.[ ] there were also two horses at wheel, whose strides were of rather unequal length, and this operated powerfully on the coach. in short, the lurches of the regulator were awful at the moment of the comet meeting her. a tyro in mechanics would have exclaimed, "the centre of gravity must be lost, the centrifugal force will have the better of it--_over she must go_!" 'the centre of gravity having been preserved, the coach arrived safe at hartford bridge; but the old gentleman has again had enough of it. "i will walk into devonshire," said he, as he descended from his perilous exaltation. "what did that rascally waiter mean by telling me this was a slow coach? and moreover, look at the luggage on the roof!" "only regulation height, sir," says the coachman; "we aren't allowed to have it an inch higher; sorry we can't please you, sir, but we will try and make room for you in front." "_fronti nulla fides_," mutters the worthy to himself, as he walks tremblingly into the house--adding, "i shall not give this fellow a shilling; he is dangerous." 'the regulator being off, the waiter is again applied to. "what do you charge per mile posting?" "one and sixpence, sir." "bless me! just double! let me see--two hundred miles, at two shillings per mile, postboys, turnpikes, etc., £ . this will never do. have you no coach that does not carry luggage on the top?" "oh yes, sir," replies the waiter, "we shall have one to-night that is not allowed to carry a band-box on the roof."[ ] "that's the coach for me; pray what do you call it?" "the quicksilver mail, sir; one of the best out of london--jack white and tom brown, picked coachmen, over this ground--jack white down to-night." "guarded and lighted?" "both, sir; blunderbuss and pistols in the sword-case;[ ] a lamp each side the coach, and one under the foot-board--see to pick up a pin the darkest night of the year." "very fast?" "oh no, sir, _just keeps time, and that's all_." "that's the coach for me, then," repeats our hero; "and i am sure i shall feel at my ease in it. i suppose it is what used to be called the old mercury." 'unfortunately, the devonport (commonly called the quicksilver) mail is half a mile in the hour faster than most in england, and is, indeed, one of the miracles of the road. let us then picture to ourselves our anti-reformer snugly seated in this mail, on a pitch-dark night in november. it is true she has no luggage on the roof, nor much to incommode her elsewhere; but she is a mile in the hour faster than the comet, at least three miles quicker than the regulator; and she performs more than half her journey by lamplight. it is needless to say, then, our senior soon finds out his mistake; but there is no remedy at hand, for it is the dead of the night, and all the inns are shut up. he must proceed, or be left behind in a stable. the climax of his misfortunes then approaches. 'nature being exhausted, sleep comes to his aid, and he awakes on a stage which is called the fastest on the journey--four miles of ground, and twelve minutes the time! the old gentleman starts from his seat, having dreamed the horses were running away with the coach, and so, no doubt, they might be. he is determined to convince himself of the fact, though the passengers assure him "all's right." "don't put your head out of the window," says one of them, "you will lose your hat to a certainty": but advice is seldom listened to by a terrified man, and next moment a stentorian voice is heard, crying, "stop, coachman, stop--i have lost my hat and wig!" the coachman hears him not--and in another second the broad wheels of a road waggon have for ever demolished the lost headgear.' that was the road at its best: the poetic side we have in mind when we speak of the good old days of coaching. the following passages refer equally to the 'golden age'; their very baldness has an eloquence of its own. it is true that the winter of - is conspicuous in history for the exceptionally heavy snowfall; but as nimrod has shown coaching at its best, there is no injustice in presenting these glimpses of coach travel at its worst:-- 'tabor, guard of the devonport, who left london with the mail on sunday and returned on wednesday, reports that a mile and a half from amesbury they got completely blocked. the leaders dropped down, but rose again; the near wheel-horse fell and could not be got up. the coachman procured a pair of post horses, but they could only get the wheel-horse out of the snow; it was impossible to get him on his legs. four more post horses and four waggon horses were requisitioned, and with their assistance the mail was extricated by daylight. then they travelled with the six post horses across the downs. they were again blocked near mere. about a hundred men were at this time employed a little distance off in digging out the subscription and defiance coaches. after being extricated by some labourers they resumed their progress from mere with four fresh mail-horses and two posters. between ilchester and ilminster the post horse leaders fell in a snow drift, and were run upon by the mail leaders.' (_bell's life_, january ). 'the estafette coach from manchester on sunday morning did not reach london until tuesday night, having been dug out of the snow twelve times. it was the first coach from manchester of the same day that arrived in town. the guard attributes his success to the exertions of four sailors, outside passengers, who lent a hand at every casualty.' 'a gentleman who left sheffield by the hope coach of sunday week reports that the coach did not complete its journey until saturday afternoon. between nottingham and mansfield, close to the forest, they came upon three coaches blocked in the snow, which was lying feet deep. the hope left mansfield with eight horses and was driven into nottingham with ten. they picked up a poor boy nearly perished with cold. the boy was got by a gentleman jumping down while the coach was in motion, for the coachman declared that if he came to a dead stop he would not be able to get the wheels in motion again.' (_bell's life_, th january ). highway robbery was still practised at this time, but the armed horseman with crape mask and pistols had gone out of fashion, and thefts were accomplished by craft. 'the stirling mail has been robbed of notes to the value of £ , in the following manner:--a man took his seat at stirling as an outside passenger. the mail was followed closely from stirling by a gig containing two men. when the mail arrived at kirkliston the guard stopped to take out the customary bags to leave there. the gig also stopped there, and the two men in it went into the house. the guard had left the mail box open, in which the parcels were, and the outside passenger easily abstracted the one containing the notes. he then left the coach. the gig with the two men took the queensferry road. the parcels were not missed until the mail reached edinburgh. on the queensferry road the two men were joined by their accomplice, the outside passenger. they left the gig and took a post chaise for edinburgh. they discharged the chaise before entering the city and gave the post-boy £ .' (_bell's life_, nd january ). great improvements in all matters connected with coaching were made during the first two decades of the nineteenth century: these were due to the rage for driving that prevailed about this time. the king was deeply interested in coaching, was himself no mean whip, and he set the fashion. it did not last very long. nimrod, writing in , remarks that about 'thirty to forty four-in-hand equipages were constantly to be seen about town: _one_ is stared at now.' the driving clubs held 'meets' in george the third's time much as they do at present, but the vehicles used were 'barouche landaus,' and the drive taken was much longer than that in vogue to-day. bedfont beyond hounslow, and windsor were favourite places whither the coaches--'barouche landaus'--drove in procession to dine. very particular attention was paid to dress. this was the costume in which members of the whip club, founded in as a rival to the benson, mounted their boxes on th june , in park lane, to drive to harrow:-- 'a light, drab-colour cloth coat made full, single breast with three tier of pockets, the skirt reaching to the ancles; a mother of pearl button 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 hang over the tops and down to the ancle. a hat three inches and a half deep in the crown only, and the same depth in the brim exactly. each wore a large bouquet at the breast, thus resembling the coachmen of our nobility who, on his majesty's birthday, appear in that respect so peculiarly distinguished.'[ ] grimaldi the clown, then at the zenith of his fame, burlesqued this get-up so mercilessly that a less conspicuous garb was adopted. the fifteen barouche landaus which turned out on this occasion, driven by 'men of known skill in the science of charioteering,' were well calculated to set off the somewhat conspicuous attire of the members: they were '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 meets of the driving clubs appear to have roused a spirit of ribaldry in unregenerate youth. one day in march a young etonian made his appearance in a low phaeton with a four-in-hand of donkeys, with which he brought up the rear of the procession as it drove round grosvenor and berkeley squares. _the_ driving club was the benson, which had been founded in . sir henry peyton was the last survivor of the 'noble, honourable, and respectable' drivers who composed it. thackeray described him in the last of his papers on _the four georges_ as he appeared driving the 'one solitary four-in-hand' to be seen in the london parks. he was then ( ) very old, and attracted attention as much by his dress, which was of the fashion of , as by his then unique turn-out. the benson club came to an end in . the whip club, otherwise the four horse club, came to an end in . the defiance club, for members who had been 'lately permitted to retire' from the other two, was projected in , but it does not appear to have come to anything. the richmond drag club was founded in , but it did not survive for many years; the members to the number of fifteen or sixteen used to meet at lord chesterfield's house. these were the principal clubs. some of the amateur whips of a century ago were addicted to coach matches. here is the account of such a race from the _sporting magazine_ of :-- 'mail coach match.--on thursday, may th, the london mail, horsed by mr. laud, of the new london inn, exeter, with four beautiful grey horses, and driven by mr. cave browne, of the inniskilling dragoons, started (at the sound of the bugle) from st. sydwell's for a bet of five hundred guineas against the plymouth mail, horsed by mr. phillipps, of the hotel, with four capital blacks, and driven by mr. chichester, of arlington house, which got the mail first to the post office in honiton. the bet was won easy by mr. browne. a very great concourse of people assembled on this occasion.' in mr. george seward undertook to drive a four-in-hand fifteen miles in fifty minutes. he selected the road from hyde park corner to staines, and started at six in the morning. he failed to accomplish his undertaking, but only by three minutes twenty seconds. there was more originality about the competition arranged in may between mr. charles buxton, inventor of the bit known by his name and one of the founders of the whip club, and a horse-dealer:-- 'one of our most celebrated whips charles buxton, esq., has concluded a bet of guineas with mr. thomas hall, the dealer in horses. the object of the wager is to decide which of the two is the best driver of four unruly horses. the wager is to be decided by two friends of the parties, who are to pick out eight horses from spencer's, marsden's, and white's. lords barrymore and cranley are chosen as the umpires. the horses selected are only to be those which have not been broken in. the friend of each charioteer is to pick the horses alternately until the number agreed on is selected. the parties are then to mount the box and proceed to decide the wager. the bettings already are said to be considerable. neither the scene of action nor the day when the contest is to take place are yet determined on. mr. buxton is said to be so certain of success that he has offered to double the bet.' though the law of made racing a criminal offence, the practice was one which could not be wholly put down, and on may-day the law was set at naught by popular consent, rival coaches on that day racing one another without disguise: the may-day race became an institution of the road, and seems to have been winked at by the authorities. some wonderful records were made in these contests on the macadam. thus, on st may , the independent tally ho ran from london to birmingham, miles, in hours minutes. it was not rare for a coach to perform its journey at a rate of fifteen miles an hour on may-day. we may compare this with the time made in the leicester-nottingham race of mentioned on page . it is seventy years since the carriage of the mails was transferred from coach to railway train, and there are yet living men who can remember the last journeys of the mail-coaches, some carrying little flags at half-mast, some displaying a miniature coffin, emblematic of the death of a great institution. yet the mail-coach survived until a much later date in some districts, where the line was slow to penetrate. mr. s. a. kinglake, in _baily's magazine_ of , gave an account of the oxford and cheltenham coach, which only began to carry the mails in , and made its last trip in , when the opening of a new branch line ousted this lingerer on the roads. the interregnum between the last of the old coaches and the modern era was not a very long one: indeed, taking the country as a whole, and accepting the coach as subsidiary to the railway, the old and the new overlap. modern road coaching dates from the later 'sixties, when the late duke of beaufort, with some others, started the brighton coach. this was the first of several private ventures of the same kind: their primary object was to enable the owners to enjoy the pleasure of driving a team, and the financial side of the business was not much regarded. the subscription coach was a later development, with the same object in view, pleasure rather than money-making, and the large majority of the coaches which run from london to brighton, st. albans, guildford, and other places within an easy day's journey are maintained by small syndicates of subscribers, who take turns on the box. american visitors patronise these vehicles extensively, and no doubt to their support may be traced mr. vanderbilt's venture on the brighton road. the modern coach travels quite as fast as its predecessor when required: as witness james selby's famous performance on th july . he left the white horse cellar at a.m.; arrived at the old ship, brighton, . p.m.; turned and reached town at . ; the journey out and home again being accomplished in hours minutes; part of the way between earlswood and horley he travelled at a rate of twenty miles an hour. [illustration: _modern coaching: in the show ring painting by g. d. armour._] [illustration] nor are modern horse-keepers less 'nimble fingered' than those of whom nimrod wrote. at the international horse show of miss brocklebank's grooms won the hon. adam beck's prize for 'best coach and appointments and quickest change of teams': the change was accomplished in forty-eight seconds. during james selby's brighton drive horses were changed at streatham in forty-seven seconds. the road coachmen of the present day do not aim at lightning changes of team: the work is done in leisurely fashion, and passengers enjoy the opportunity afforded them to get down for a few minutes. the four-in-hand club, founded in , for many years used to meet in the park at quarter to five in the afternoon, but the hour was changed to half-past twelve in order to avoid the inconvenience inseparable from meeting at the time when carriages are most numerous. the coaching club was founded in , and held its first meet at the marble arch in june the following year. song of the b.d.c.[ ] you ask me, gents, to sing a song, don't think me too encroaching. i won't detain you very long, with one of mine on coaching. no rivalry we have to fear, nor jealous need we be, sir, we all are friends who muster here, and in the b.d.c. sir. horace declares the greeks of old were once a driving nation; but shakespeare says 'the world's a stage'-- a cutish observation. the stage he meant, good easy man, was drawn by nine old muses; but the mews for me is the b.d.c., and that's the stage i chooses. i call this age the iron age of railways and pretension. and coaching now is in a stage of horrible declension, the day's gone by when on the fly we roll'd to alma mater, and jovial took the reins in hand of the times or regulator. those were the days when peyton's grays to bedfont led the way, sir, and villebois followed with his bays in beautiful array, sir. then spicer, too, came next in view to join the gay procession. oh! the dust we made--the cavalcade was neat beyond expression. no turnpike saw a fancy team more neat than dolphin sported, when o'er the stones with charley jones, to bedfont they resorted. few graced the box so much as cox; but there were none, i ween, sir, who hold the reins 'twixt here and staines more slap up than the dean, sir. those are the men who foremost then to coaching gave a tone, sir, and hold they will to coaching still, tho' here they stand alone, sir-- then drink to the coach, the b.d.c., sir henry and his team, sir, and may all be _blowed_ right off the road who wish to go by steam, sir. footnotes: [ ] robert poynter drove the lewes stage for thirty years without an accident. [ ] geo. iii., c. . [ ] the old gentleman's conjecture was not far wrong. at this time, , it is true fewer men of good birth occupied the box than had been the case a few years before--if we rightly interpret nimrod's own remarks on the point. when the box had been set on springs or made an integral part of the coach-body, when the roads had been made worthy of the name and fast work the rule, coach-driving became popular among men of social position. some drove for pleasure, horsing the coaches themselves, others took up driving as a profession and made good incomes thereby. these gentlemen coachmen did much to raise the standard of conduct among the professionals of humble origin. lord algernon st. maur (_driving_, badminton library) says that mr. stevenson, who was driving the brighton age in , was 'the great reformer who set a good example as regards punctuality, neatness, and sobriety.' [ ] until macadam was adopted the streets in london were cobbled or paved. [ ] john loudon macadam was a scotsman by birth. in , when fourteen years old, he was sent to the care of an uncle in new york, whence he did not return till he was twenty-six years of age; hence the mistake in describing him as 'an american.' [ ] it was not unusual for retired race-horses to end their days 'on the road.' a notable instance is that of mendoza by javelin. mendoza won eight races at newmarket in his three seasons on the turf, - - ; then the duke of leeds bought him as a hunter; and after a few seasons with hounds he made one of a team in the catterick and greta bridge mail-coach. mendoza was still at work in , but had become blind. [ ] the early coaches were equipped with a huge basket slung over the hind axle wherein passengers were carried at lower fares. [ ] only the mail-coach guard carried a horn; stage-coach guards used the key-bugle, and some were very clever performers on it. [ ] geo. iii., c. came into operation in . this enacted that on a four-horse coach baggage might be piled to a height of feet. to encourage low-hung coaches this law allowed baggage to be piled to a height of ft. in. _from the ground_. [ ] the conveyance of 'trunks, parcels, and other packages' on the roof of a mail-coach was prohibited in the postmaster-general's circular to mail contractors of th june, . as the mails increased it became impossible to enforce this regulation, and the bags were carried wherever they could be stowed. 'the druid' says of the edinburgh mail-coach: 'the heaviest night as regards correspondence was when the american mail had come in. on those occasions the bags have been known to weigh above cwt. they were contained in sacks seven feet long and were laid in three tiers across the top, so high that no guard unless he were a chang in stature could look over them ... and the waist (the seat behind the coachman) and the hind boot were filled as well.' [ ] it must be remembered that the old gentleman speaks by the light of his knowledge of nearly a century earlier, when highway robbery was very common, and it was not usual for coaches to run at night. at the period to which nimrod refers highwaymen had not entirely disappeared from the roads (william rea was hanged for this offence, th july, ), and not every stage-coach carried a guard. mail-coaches, all of which carried guards, were, of course, unknown to nimrod's old gentleman. [ ] this refers to the 'mail-coach parade,' which was first held in and for the last time in . the coaches, to the number of about twenty-five, were either new or newly painted with the royal arms on the door, the stars of each of the four orders of knighthood on the upper panel, and the name of the town whither the coach ran on the small panel over each door. coachmen and guards wore new uniforms and gentlemen used to lend their best teams--often also their coachmen, as appears from the passage quoted. a horseman rode behind each coach to make the procession longer. the 'meet' took place in lincoln's inn fields and the coaches drove to st. james's, there turning to come back to the general post office, then in lombard street. [ ] benson driving club. tandem driving [illustration: _tandem painting by g. d. armour._] [illustration] it is said, but i must confess failure to trace authority for the statement, that tandem driving was invented as a convenient and sporting method of taking the hunter to the meet. history has not handed down to fame the name of the man who first hit upon the idea of driving tandem; it was in vogue over a century ago, and at cambridge ranked as a grave offence: witness the following edict dated th march :-- 'we, the vice-chancellor and heads of colleges, do hereby order and decree that if any person or persons _in statu pupillari_ shall be found driving any tandem and shall be duly convicted thereof before the vice-chancellor, such person or persons so offending shall for the first offence be suspended from taking his degree for one whole year, or be rusticated, according to the circumstances of the case; and for the second offence be liable to such further punishment as it may appear to deserve, or be expelled the university.' extravagantly high gigs were much in favour among the 'bloods' of the day, and these were often used for tandem driving, a purpose for which they were by no means unsuitable, always provided the road was fairly level. as a matter of course, when tandems became numerous and drivers clever in handling them, races against time came into fashion. matches on the road, whether trotting in saddle or driving, were usually 'against time' for obvious reasons. on april th the famous whip, mr. buxton, backed himself to drive tandem without letting his horses break their trot, from hounslow to hare hatch, distance twenty-four miles, in two hours. his horses, however, were not well matched, and 'broke' before they had gone six miles. as breaking involved the penalty of turning the equipage round and starting afresh, and breaks were frequent, mr. buxton occupied over an hour in going ten miles and gave up, forfeiting the hundred guineas he had staked on the task. on th may a match was thus recorded in the _sporting magazine_:-- 'captain swann undertook a tandem match from ilford, seven miles over a part of epping forest. he engaged to drive miles at a trot and to back his wheels if he broke into a gallop. this happened only once in the seventh mile, which he nevertheless completed in minutes. on his return the pacing of the horses was a picture. the match was won fairly with two minutes and six seconds to spare.' a mr. houlston in the same year drove his tandem twelve miles on the winchester road in one minute thirty-nine seconds under the hour allowed. by this time tandem drivers had come to the reasonable conclusion that the turning penalty (proper enough in trotting matches, whether in shafts or saddle) was excessive for their sport, and 'backing' had been substituted therefor. any one who has had occasion to turn a tandem on the road without assistance will admit that the abolition was wise. long journeys against time were sometimes undertaken. in 'captain bethel ramsden undertook to drive tandem from theale to london, miles, in hours and minutes. the start took place at four o'clock in the morning, and in the first hour the captain did ½ miles to between twyford and hare hatch. he did in the next hour miles and upwards, and got the horses' mouths cleaned at slough. he had ½ miles to do in the last forty minutes, and performed it easily with eleven minutes to spare.' the cult of the trotting horse stood high in those days when so much travelling was done in the saddle: there are innumerable records of trotters doing their fifteen and sixteen miles on the road within the hour, sometimes under very heavy weights. mr. charles herbert's horse, in , trotted miles in minutes seconds on the highgate road, starting from st. giles' church. the road is by no means a level one, and the only advantage the horse had was the hour selected--between six and seven in the morning, when the traffic was not heavy. a famous whip of the 'thirties was mr. burke of hereford--he was also an amateur pugilist of renown, but that does not concern us here. in june he made his thirty-fifth trotting match, whereby he undertook to drive tandem forty-five miles in three hours. the course was from the staines end of sinebury common to the fifth milestone towards hampton: he did it with four and a half minutes to spare. the horses used in this match were both extraordinary trotters: the wheeler, tommy, had covered miles in hour minutes two months earlier, and the leader, gustavus, twenty-four years old, had done his miles in hour minutes. though not a tandem performance in the strict sense of the term, mr. thanes' feat on th july is worth mention. he undertook 'to drive three horses in a gig, tandem fashion, eleven miles within the hour on the trot, and to turn if either horse broke.' fortunately none of the three did break, and he did the eleven miles, on the road near maidenhead, with three minutes to spare. tandem driving seems to have gone out of fashion to a certain extent about , though some young men 'still delighted in it.' the re-establishment of the tandem club, soon after the close of the crimean war, marked a revival which made itself felt at cambridge; for on nd february the senate passed another edict, this time forbidding livery-stable keepers to let out on hire tandems or four-in-hands to undergraduates. this was confirmed in . * * * * * * transcriber's note: the illustrations which were plates in the book have been moved near to the text they illustrate. footnotes in the coaching chapter have been moved to the end of the chapter. this book contains inconsistent hyphenations. no spellings have been changed, but apparent printers' errors have been corrected. changes that have been made are: footnote "s peks" changed to "speaks", "robaery" changed to "robbery". page quotation mark added at start of "and take care of yourselves". transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible. the errata listed at the end of the book have been fixed. some minor corrections of puctuation have been made. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. bold text has been marked with =equals signs=. oe ligatures have been expanded. [illustration: "the defiance has gone minutes!"] road scrapings: coaches and coaching. [illustration: the devil amongst the tailors!] london: tinsley brothers, , catherine street, strand. . road scrapings: _coaches and coaching_. by captain m. e. haworth, author of "the silver greyhound." london: tinsley brothers, , catherine st., strand. . [_all rights reserved._] introduction. in offering these pages to the public, my object has been confined to imparting such advice, in matters connected with _coaching_, as has been suggested by long experience; whilst, in order to dissipate as much as possible the "dryness" of being told "what to do" and "how to do it," i have mingled the instruction with illustrative anecdotes and incidents, which may afford amusement to the general reader. if whilst my bars are "whistling" up the hill, and rattling down, i have been able to combine some useful hints with the amusement often to be discovered in what i have termed "scrapings of the road," my desire will be amply gratified. contents. chapter i. page the revival--magazine magnificence--death of coaching--resurrection--avoid powder--does the post pull?--summering hunters--the "lawyer's daughter"--an unexpected guest chapter ii. young coachmen--save your horses--the ribbons--the whip--a professional jehu--an amateur--paralysed fingers chapter iii. anecdotes: coachmen (friends and enemies)--roadside burial--old john's holiday--how the mail was robbed--another method--a visit from a well-known character--a wild-beast attack--carrier's fear of the supernatural--classical teams--early practice with the pickaxe--catechism capsized chapter iv. opposition--a quick change--how to do it--accident to the yeovil mail--a gallop for our lives--unconscious passengers--western whips--parliamentary obstruction chapter v. the "warwick crown prince"--"spicy jack"--poor old lal!--"go it, you cripples!"--a model horsekeeper--the coach dines here--coroner's inquest--the haunted glen--lal's funeral chapter vi. commercial-room--the bagman's tale--yes--strange company chapter vii. draught horses--the old "fly-waggon"--weight and pace--sagacity of mules--hanging on by a wheel--the refuge--hot fighting in the alps--suffocation--over at last--railway to paris chapter viii. right as the mail--proprietors and contractors--guards and coachmen--a cold foot-bath--a lawyer nonsuited--old mac--the spectre squire--an unsolved mystery chapter ix. public and private conveyances in austria and hungary--an english dragsman posed--the vienna race-meeting--gentleman "jocks"--a moral exemplified chapter x. north-country fairs--an untrained foxhunter--tempted again--extraordinary memory of the horse--satisfactory results from a latch-key chapter xi. 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! chapter xii. coaches in ireland fifty years ago--warm welcome--still-hunting--another blank day--talent and temper--the avoca coach chapter xiii. virtue and vice--sowing wild oats--they can all jump--drive down box hill--a gig across country road scrapings. sunt quos curriculo pulverem olympicum collegisse juvat. chapter i. the revival--magazine magnificence--death of coaching--resurrection--avoid powder--does the post pull?--summering hunters--the "lawyer's daughter"--an unexpected guest. to their honour be it said, that there are noblemen and gentlemen in the land, who willingly devote time, energy, and money, to keep the dust flying from the wheels of the real old stage coach. the importance of driving well, and the pleasure derivable therefrom, are both enhanced by the moral duty and responsibility involved in directing a public conveyance. the journey once advertised forms a contract which is most religiously observed, and the punctuality and precision noticeable in the coaches of the revival are among their most commendable features. this is fortunate--since elderly critics may still be seen, grouped around the door of the white horse cellars, prepared to institute invidious comparisons, and difficult to be won over to believe in anything but "the old times," when sir vincent cotton and brackenbury worked the "brighton age," when lord edward thynne piloted the "portsmouth rocket," when "gentleman dean" waggoned the bath mail, and a hundred minor celebrities glistened in the coaching sphere. although the interval between these old coaching days and the revival was a long one, the connecting-link was never entirely broken. the "how to do it" has been handed down by some of the most brilliant coachmen of the age, gentle and simple, who, although the obituary shows their ranks to have been grievously thinned, are still warm supporters of the revival, and who, by their example and practice, have restored in an amateur form a system of coaching which is quite equal (if not a little superior) to anything in the olden times. where so many excel it would be invidious to particularise, but i have seen the "oxford," the "portsmouth," the "guildford," the "brighton," the "windsor," "st. albans," and "box hill," as well as sundry other short coaches, leave the white horse cellars as perfectly appointed in every particular as anything the old coaching days could supply. coaching in england had well-nigh died a natural death--ay, and, what is worse, been buried! poor "old clarke" (supported by a noble duke, the staunchest patron of the road) fanned the last expiring spark with the "brighton age," until his health broke down and he succumbed. another coach started against him on the opposite days by kingston and ewell, called the "recherché" (a private venture), but it did not last even so long as the "age." here was the interval! the end of everything. in a coach was started to brighton called the "old times,"[ ] the property of a company composed of all the _élite_ of the coaching talent of the day. it proved a great success, and became very popular; especially, it may be added, among its own shareholders, who, being all coachmen, in turn aspired to the box--those who could, as well as those who only fancied they could. the initiated will at once understand how fatal this was to the comfort of every fresh team which came under their lash. at the end of the coaching season (october th, ) the stock was sold, and realised two-thirds more than had been invested in it. the goodwill and a large portion of the stock were purchased by chandos pole, who was afterwards joined by the duke of beaufort and "cherry angel," and these gentlemen carried on the coach for three years. the second coach started in the revival was one to beckenham and bromley, horsed and driven by charles hoare, who afterwards extended it to tunbridge wells. it was very well appointed, and justly popular. the ball once set rolling, coaching quickly became a mania. the railings of the white horse cellars were placarded with boards and handbills of all colours and dimensions: "a well-appointed four-horse coach will leave hatchett's hotel on such and such days, for nearly every provincial town within fifty miles of london." from the st may to the st september the pavement opposite to the coach-office was crowded by all the "hossy" gentlemen of the period. guards and professionals might be seen busy with the coach-ladders, arranging their passengers, especially attentive to those attired in muslin, who seemed to require as much coupling and pairing as pigeons in a dovecot. knots of gentlemen discussed the merits of this or that wheeler or leader, till, reminded by the white horse clock that time was up, they took a cursory glance at their way-bills, and, mounting their boxes, stole away to the accompaniment of "a yard of tin." a well-loaded coach with a level team properly handled, is an object which inspires even the passing crowd with a thrill of pleasurable approbation, if not a tiny atom of envy. whyte melville contended that a lady could never look so well as in a riding-habit and properly mounted. other authorities incline to the fact that the exhilarating effect produced by riding upon a drag, coupled with the opportunity of social conversation and repartee, enhances, if possible, the charms of female attractiveness. be this as it may, when the end of a journey is reached, the universal regret of the lady passengers is, not that the coachman has driven too quickly, but that the journey is not twice as long as it is. interesting as the animated scene in piccadilly during the summer months may be to those who have a taste for the road, there is another treat in store for the coaching man, afforded by a meet of the drags at the magazine during the london season on special days, of which notice is given. we do not stop to inquire if the coach was built in oxford street, park street, piccadilly, or long acre; whether the harness was made by merry or gibson; whether the team had cost a thousand guineas or two hundred pounds, but we say that the display of the whole stands unequalled and unrivalled by the rest of the world. this unbounded admiration and approval do not at all deteriorate from the merits of the well-appointed four-horse coaches leaving piccadilly every morning (sundays excepted), as there is as much difference between a stage-coach and a four-in-hand as there is between a mirror and a mopstick. horses for a road-coach should have sufficient breeding to insure that courage and endurance which enable them to travel with ease to themselves at the pace required, and if they are all of one class, or, as old jack peer used to say, "all of a mind," the work is reduced to a minimum. whereas, horses for the parade at the magazine must stand sixteen hands; and, when bitted and beared up, should not see the ground they stand upon. they must have action enough to kill them in a twelve-mile stage with a coach, even without a shooter's hill in it. i do not say this in any spirit of disparagement of the magnificent animals provided by the london dealers at the prices which such animals ought to command. i may here remind my patient reader that unless the greatest care and vigilance is exercised in driving these magazine teams, it is three to one in favour of one horse, one showy impetuous favourite, doing all the work, whilst the other three are running behind their collars, because they dare not face their bits. it's a caution to a young coachman, and spoils all the pleasure of the drive. "he's a good match in size, colour, and action, but he pulls me off the box; i've tried a tight curb and nose-band, a high port, a gag, all in vain! if i keep him and he must pull, let him pull the coach instead of my fingers; run a side-rein through his own harness-terret to his partner's tug." no amount of driving power or resin will prevent one "borer" from pulling the reins through your fingers. i hereby utterly condemn the use of anything of the sort. if your reins are new, they can be educated in the harness-room; but the rendering them sticky with composition entirely prevents the driver from exercising the "give and take" with the mouths of his team which is the key to good coachmanship. let the back of the left hand be turned well down, the fingers erect; let the whip-hand act occasionally as a pedal does to a pianoforte, and, rely upon it, you are better without resin. whyte melville, in his interesting work, "riding recollections," recites an anecdote, which i may be forgiven for quoting, as it combines both theory and instruction. "a celebrated mr. maxse, celebrated some fifteen years ago for a fineness of hand that enabled him to cross leicestershire with fewer falls than any other sportsman of fifteen stone who rode equally straight, used to display much comical impatience with the insensibility of his servants to this useful quality. he was once seen explaining to his coachman, with a silk handkerchief passed round a post. 'pull at it,' says the master. 'does it pull at you?' 'yes, sir,' answered the servant, grinning. 'slack it off then. does it pull at you now?' 'no, sir.' 'well then, you double-distilled fool, can't you see that your horses are like that post? if you don't pull at _them_, they won't pull at _you_.'" a team, if carelessly driven for a few journeys, will soon forget their good manners, and begin to lean and bore upon a coachman's hands; and when the weight of one horse's head (if he declines to carry it himself) is considered and multiplied by four, it will readily be believed that a coachman driving fifty or sixty miles daily will make it his study to reduce his own labour by getting his horses to go pleasantly and cheerfully together. there are, of course, instances which defy all the science which can be brought to bear. horses do not come to a coach because they are found too virtuous for other employment, and the fact of their being engaged with a blank character, or, at most, "has been in harness," does not inform the purchaser that they made firewood of the trap in their last situation. i do not intend this remark to be defamatory of the whole of the horses working in the coaches of the revival. the average prices obtained at the sales at the end of the season prove the contrary. many horses working in the coaches of the present day have occupied very creditable places in the hunting-field, and, should they return thither, will be found none the worse for having been summered in a stage-coach. indeed, i am of opinion that this method of summering has considerable advantages over the system so often adopted, of first inflicting the greatest pain and punishment upon the animal by blistering all round, whether he requires it or not, and then sentencing him to five months' solitary confinement in a melancholy box or very limited yard. in the first case, a horse doing a comparatively short stage, provided he is carefully driven, is always amused. his muscles and sinews are kept in action without being distressed, his diet is generous and sufficient without being inflammatory, and, though last not least, he is a constant source of pleasurable satisfaction to his owner, as well as a means of bringing him to the notice of many sporting admirers, who may materially help the average in the autumn sale. there is no doubt that horses, as a rule, enjoy coaching work, and many become good disciples to a ten-mile stage which could not be persuaded to do a stroke of work of any other description. there are many exceptions to this rule. i have found in my own experience that, when hurriedly getting together twenty or thirty horses for coaching purposes, i have been fascinated by symmetry, and perhaps by small figures, and have bought an unprofitable horse. a visit to st. martin's lane, under such circumstances, once made me possessor of the very prettiest animal i almost ever saw--a red chestnut mare, a broad front, two full intelligent eyes, with a head which would have gone easily into a pint pot, ears well set on, a long lean neck, joining to such withers and shoulders as would have shamed a derby winner, legs and feet which defied unfavourable criticism. here was a catch! and all this for eighteen guineas! nothing said, nothing written; her face was her fortune, and i thought, mine too. she's too good for the coach; she ought to ride, to carry a lady; appears a perfect lamb. i could not resist what appeared to me an opportunity which everybody except myself seemed to neglect; i bowed to the gentleman in the box, who immediately dropped his hammer, saying: "for you!" i overheard some remarks from the spectators which did not confirm my satisfaction at having invested in an animal without any character. "she knows her way here by herself;" "she won't have leather at any price," whispered another coper; but, as all evil reports are resorted to by the craft on such occasions, i did not heed them. i soon found out that my new purchase was not precisely a lamb. to mount her was impossible. she reared, bucked, kicked, plunged, and finally threw herself down; so that part of the business i gave up. i then began to put harness upon her. to this she submitted cheerfully, and, when she had stood in it for two days, i gammoned her into her place in the break, when, having planted herself, she declined to move one inch. the schoolmaster (break-horse) exercised all the patience and encouragement which such equine instructors know so well how to administer. he started the load, pulling very gently. he pulled a little across her, he backed a few inches, then leaned suddenly from her. all this being to no purpose, he tried coercion, and dragged her on, upon which, turning the whites of her innocent eyes up, she made one plunge and flung herself down. the schoolmaster looked at her reproachfully, but stood still as a mouse, in spite of her whole weight being upon his pole-chain, till she was freed. [illustration: an unexpected guest.] she was too handsome to fight about on the stones, so i determined to try another dodge; and, putting a pair of wheelers behind her, and giving her a good free partner, i put her before the bars (near-side lead). here the cross of the lamb in her was predominant, she went away, showing all the gentleness without even the skipping. i took her immediately into the crowded streets, a system i have always found most successful with those horses which require distraction, and her behaviour was perfect. i was so well satisfied, that without further trial i sent her down the road to make one of a team from sutton to reigate, where she worked steadily, and remained an excellent leader for one week, when it seemed as if a sudden inspiration reminded her that the monotony of the work, as well as the bars of the coach, should be broken by some flight of fancy. she made one tremendous jump into the air, as high as a swallow ordinarily flies in fine weather--which evolution cost me "a bar," and after a few consecutive buck-jumps went quietly away. she did not confine her romps, however, to this comparatively harmless frolic, but contrived to land from these wonderful jumps among groups of her majesty's subjects where she was least expected. on one occasion i was coming away from a change at d----d, when, at the signal to go, she jumped from the middle of the road completely through the bay-window of a tailor's shop, where several men were occupied on the board. at another time she was put to at s----n, where, the weather being oppressively hot, a party of yokels were regaling _al fresco_ round a large table under the trees. their attention was naturally attracted to the coach during the change of horses, but little did they dream that in another minute one of the leaders would be on the table before them. so, however, it was. with one bound, scattering the pipes and pewters far and wide, she landed in the middle of the board. i should have delighted in continuing my attempts to subdue the temper of this beautiful animal, especially as, once off, she made a superlatively good leader; but, where the public safety was jeopardised, i did not feel justified in further argument with the young lady, and therefore sold her to a stud company on the continent.[ ] chapter ii. young coachmen--save your horses--the ribbons--the whip--a professional jehu--an amateur--paralysed fingers. to a man who has a taste for driving, what can be more fascinating than to find himself upon the box of his own drag, with four three-parts-bred, well-matched horses before him, of which he is master? but how is this supreme pleasure to be arrived at? he may give fabulous prices for his horses, his coach and appointments may be faultless, all selected with great judgment, and still there will be moments when aching arms, paralysed fingers, and animals who seem determined to go "no how," will compel him to wish himself in any other position. in order to guard against this, i would enjoin a young beginner not to run away with the idea that because he has driven four horses without getting into trouble, or, as still more frequently occurs, because he can drive a tandem, he can be in any degree a match for a team of horses with spirit and mettle, unless he have first carefully mastered the rudiments of the ribbons. there are many self-taught men who are excellent coachmen, and who, from long habit and experience, may be as much at home, in cases of sudden difficulty, as some of the more educated; but they invariably lack a certain precautionary system which makes almost any team go well and comfortably, and reduces the chance of an accident to a minimum. there are, alas, very few preceptors of the old school, but why the present generation should not be as well able to instruct themselves as were the men of fifty years ago is to me an unexplained marvel. it is quite true that when coaching was a most important business, and when the component parties--contractors, coachmen, horsekeepers, and horses--sprang into existence, apparently for the purpose of carrying it on, there was a professional caste about the whole affair which kept it distinct and separate from all others. a proprietor was a big man, and his importance was measured by the ground he covered. there was an emulative rivalry between these gentlemen, which reflected very healthily upon the style in which their coaches were done. the contractor supplied such horses as the proprietor required to cover the ground at a given coaching price. the coachman had to keep such time as was laid down by the rules of the coach, and this was a point upon which depended much of the merit of the man. a coachman who, from an intimate knowledge of his ground, knew when to bustle and where to save his horses, was an invaluable acquisition to his employer. horses themselves will sometimes suggest a little judicious springing, by which some of the most trying hills are more easily negotiated; but there is nothing better than to keep an even pace throughout the stage, jogging up all hills, easing them at the top, and coming steady off the crown of a descent. if circumstances should arise by which the time has been stolen from the horses, let me enjoin you, in the name of the whole equine race, not to attempt to make it up by showing your expertness with the whip up the hills; this is downright cruelty; and, in nine cases out of ten, the extra exertion and nervous efforts to respond are all made by one horse more sensitive than the rest of the team. it is better to wait for time than to race after it, the latter invariably resulting in one horse being so much more baked than the others as to cause the knowing eyes around the white horse cellars to wink when you do arrive. to make my reader comfortable with his team as quickly as possible, i would here offer a few hints, which i venture to think will be found valuable to all not too proud to learn. being, then, comfortably attired, taking care that no part of his clothing approaches to tightness, supplied with a good thick shoe and gaiter, an easy (very easy) dogskin glove, taking care that the fingers are not too long (he should always be provided with a pair of woollen gloves in case of wet weather), we may safely leave supplementary garments to his own taste. having looked round his horses--a proceeding which no coachman should neglect--he walks up to the flank of the off-wheeler and takes _all_ his reins, which should have been doubled and tucked into the tug on the off-side. stepping back a pace, he separates his leading-reins, and pulls them through the terrets till he has gathered up the slack. he then slips his wheel-reins on either side of his right hand middle-finger, the near-side leading-rein over the forefinger, and the other over the wheel-rein between the fore and middle fingers of his right hand. if he changes his whip it will be laid across the cruppers of the wheelers, and must be taken up, caught, and placed in the same hand with the reins, so as to leave the left free to seize the step of the front-boot, when, by stepping on the fore-wheel, and throwing the weight of his body well before it, the walk up on the bench will be comparatively easy and graceful. having arrived there, still keeping the whip and reins in the right hand, he quickly settles his seat and apron, then shifting his reins to his left hand, in the same order which they occupied in the right, he proceeds to shorten them till he just feels the mouths of his horses. the beauty and grace of a driving-seat is to assume such a posture as does not admit of any constraint. without freedom of the wrist and arm, the whip, instead of being a most interesting plaything, will be a constant source of annoyance and difficulty to a young coachman. "it won't catch." "why not?" always because he will not let the bow of the thong swing sufficiently away from him, but tries it with a stiff arm. when once the knack is acquired it will last a lifetime, and there is no instrument the proper handling of which gives such a finish and proficiency, as a well-poised "yew" or a properly-weighted "holly." often have i been obliged to give away old favourite "crops" because mine would "catch" and others would not. a good coachman shows his proficiency as well by the manner of his getting up on the bench as by the necessary preliminaries to make a comfortable start after he is seated. a lady, who must have been a close observer, once remarked to me that a certain gentleman, who was a mutual acquaintance, must be a very careful coachman, for, when riding upon the box-seat with him, he constantly asked her to hold the whip for him, while he went through a process of what appeared to her like "plaiting the reins." there is a right way and a wrong way, and, at the risk of being a trifle wearisome, i venture to introduce a few hints for the benefit of such of my young readers as may desire to be guided in the acquirements of an art at once useful and agreeable, by tracing some of the oldest habits of the profession, and thus, in coaching parlance, picking up some of the "dodges of the road." let us attempt to follow a professional "jehu" over a stage or two of his ground. his coach loaded and passengers placed, he takes a careful look round to see that every part of his harness is in its place and properly adjusted, and, if reminded by seeing any particular horse that he had gone uncomfortably on his last journey, to endeavour to find out the cause and have it altered. i have known a horse, usually straight and pleasant in his work, all at once take to snatching the rein and run away wide of his partner, and this occasioned only by the winker-strap being too short, causing the winker to press against his frontal-bone, the apparently trifling irregularity causing so much pain as to drive him almost mad. a wheeler sometimes takes to _diving_ suddenly with his head, and almost snatching the rein out of the driver's hand. this can only be prevented by putting a bearing-rein upon him; and though this has often been censured (on the road), it has as often been condoned at the end of the stage. his inspection made, he mounts his box, according to the foregoing rules, and having given some parting instructions to his horsekeeper--"send 'old giles' down o' the off-side to-morrow, and rest the 'betsy mare,' etc. etc."--the office to start is given; when the lightest feel of their mouths (wheelers having a little the most room) and a "klick" ought to be enough to start them.[ ] nothing is such "bad form" as to start with the whip; in dismissing which latter article i would caution young coachmen against the practice of carrying it in the socket. the moment when it may be required cannot be foreseen. a well-organised team soon settles, and though for a mile or two they may appear to pull uncomfortably and not divide the work evenly, this is often occasioned merely by freshness and impatience, when presently they will settle down and go like "oil." a young friend, who lived not one hundred miles from queen's gate, once asked me to come and see a splendid team he had purchased. i was indeed struck by their appearance when they came to the door. all roans, sixteen-and-a-half hands, very well bred, decorated all over with crest and coronet. there was a small party for the drag, with, of course, some muslin on the box, and i took my place behind the driver. i very soon observed that, although they were very highly bitted, they were carrying too many guns for our coachman; and we had not proceeded far when i ventured to remark that he was going rather fast (at this moment three were cantering), and in reply my friend candidly declared "he could not hold them." "then pull them all up at once," i said promptly, "or they'll be away with you." failing in this he accepted an offer of assistance, and, taking the reins, i, not without difficulty, stopped the runaways, and effected several alterations in their couplings, bittings, and harness. i expected my friend would have resumed his post, but his hand was so paralysed that he could not grasp the reins. the explanation of this episode is twofold--firstly, the team was improperly put together; secondly, my friend discovered when we got to richmond that he had been attempting to drive in a tight wrist-band, which, next to a tight glove, is of all things to be avoided. we had had unquestionably a narrow escape from what might have been a very serious accident. when four high-couraged horses, all very green and not properly strung together, get off "the balance" with a weak coachman, it is time to look out for a soft place. after i had made this team more comfortable in their harness, and their mouths more easily reached by the coupling-reins, they became, in my hands, perfectly temperate and docile, and gave every promise of becoming a handy pleasant lot. it is a dangerous thing for a young coachman to embark with a team without somebody with him who can relieve his paralysed fingers and wrists if occasion requires; and this danger is increased tenfold if the team is composed of high-mettled cattle unused to their work or their places. i have found it very useful to condition the muscles of the arm by dumb-belling or balancing a chair upon the middle-finger of the left hand with the arm extended. i trust that the foregoing hints may not be received with disdain. how many men there are who, from mistaken self-sufficiency, go through a whole life in practising what must be very uncomfortable, merely because they have been too proud to learn the a b c of the business. without confidence--i may almost say without courage--no man can enjoy driving "a team." he will be in a constant state of fret and in apprehension of all sorts of imaginary eventualities. the misgiving that they are either going too fast or not fast enough, not working straight, won't stop the coach down hill, and a thousand other qualms, might all have been prevented by spending a few pounds at the paxton. chapter iii. anecdotes. coachmen (friends and enemies)--roadside burial--old john's holiday--how the mail was robbed--another method--a visit from a well-known character--a wild-beast attack--carrier's fear of the supernatural--classical teams--early practice with the pickaxe--catechism capsized. in the time when the only method of telegraphing was through the arms and legs of a wooden semaphore, and the only means of public locomotion the public highroad, competition for public favour carried opposition to the highest pitch, and the pace acquired by some of the fast coaches was extraordinary. when ten or fifteen minutes could be scored over the arrival of the opposition--if the "telegraph" could get in four or five minutes before the "eclipse"--it was a subject of anxious comment until this state of things was reversed. notwithstanding this, no class of men lived on better terms with each other than stage-coachmen off the bench. they were a class of men peculiar to themselves. the very fact of the trust reposed in them invested them with a superiority. many coachmen in those days were educated men and had occupied higher positions in life; but in cases where the taste existed, and the talent could be acquired, although the work was extremely hard--exposure to every change of weather, the unflagging strain upon the attention, the grave responsibility incurred by the charge of so many lives--there was something so fascinating in the work, that there were few instances of their relinquishing the ribbons except from physical incapacity. this love of the business followed them through life--and even after death--as exemplified by the following anecdote. an old coachman, who had driven the norwich mail for thirty years of his life, became at last superannuated, and retired to his native village and repose. but to the last day of his life he prepared himself at the accustomed hour to take his usual seat, being at great pains to adjust his shawl and pull on his driving-gloves, then, taking his coat upon his arm and his whip in his hand, he would shuffle down the little gravel path to the garden-gate, to await the passing of the mail. he died at the good old age of eighty-six years; but not before he had expressed his desire to be buried at the corner of the churchyard abutting upon the highroad, in order that "he might hear the coach go by." another instance of the fascination of coach-driving is to be found in the case of "old john," who drove a pair-horse coach from exeter to teignmouth and back daily, a distance of forty miles, for a period of eighteen years, without missing a single day. at last, being half-teazed, half-joked by his fellow-whips into taking a holiday, he reluctantly consented to do so. being much at a loss how to spend "a happy day," and enjoy his leisure to the full, he at length decided upon going to the coach-office and booking himself as a passenger on the opposition coach to teignmouth and back. "old john" (as he was called) never drove with lamps but once, and then he upset his coach. he always buckled his reins to the iron rail of the box before starting. the guards of the old mails were always provided with spare gear in case of accidents, as well as a tool-chest; and--though last not least--an armoury consisting of one bell-mouthed blunderbuss--a formidable weapon, which, for an all-round shot would have been as effective as a mitrailleuse, both amongst friends and enemies--two large horse-pistols (ammunition to match), and a short dirky-looking sword. there were many instances of the mails being robbed and plundered upon the road; but the success was more attributable to intrigue and stratagem than to personal daring and courage. the plan was this. an impediment is placed in the road by lacing cords across the track. the mail comes to a stop; the horses are in confusion; the guard steps down to render assistance, when one of the highwaymen immediately jumps up and secures the arms, and probably the bags, which were carried under the feet of the guard. any attempt at resistance on the part of the guard is met by threats with his own arms. the coachman being rendered powerless by the traces having been cut, in many instances (the day having been carefully selected as one of those on which the bankers' parcel travelled) mail and cargo fell a rich and easy prey to the robbers. apart from the mails being selected by highwaymen as victims of plunder, they were frequently used as co-operative vehicles in their iniquitous traffic. on one occasion when the way-bill of the dover mail bore the name of miss ----, two inside places had been booked three weeks in advance. at the hour of leaving the coach-office, two trunks covered and sewn up in the whitest linen, two dressing-cases, two carpet-bags, besides the smaller articles, baskets, reticules, wrappers, etc., had been duly stowed in the inside. presently the growl of a king charles, thrusting his head out of a muff, proclaimed the advent of another occupant of the two vacant seats. a gentlemanly-looking man, with fine open features, and what was at once written down by the old ladies as a charitable expression, much wrapped up with shawls, etc., round his neck, stepped into the mail. he caressed, admired, and noticed bess. he helped to adjust shawls, and placed the windows entirely at the disposal of the ladies, though he looked as though he might be suffocated at any moment. the conversation was animated; the stranger entering freely into all the views and opinions of his fellow-travellers--politics, agriculture, history--endorsing every opinion which they might express. both inwardly pronounced him a most charming companion, and blessed the stars which had introduced them to such society. "you reside in the neighbourhood of charlton, madam?" "yes; we have a lovely villa on the edge of blackheath." "blackheath! that is a favourite neighbourhood of mine. in fact i am going to woolwich to join my regiment this evening, and i intend to get out at blackheath to enjoy an evening stroll over the heath." "are you not afraid of being molested at night over blackheath? isn't it very lonesome?" [illustration: the lioness attacking carriers cart.] "sometimes it is lonesome, but i often meet very useful agreeable people in rambling over the heath." arrived at blackheath, the two ladies descended, and, feeling that they had established a sufficient acquaintance with the polite gentleman who had been their fellow-traveller, they invited him to partake of a cup of tea at their residence before proceeding on his journey, which invitation he gratefully accepted. as the evening wore on, a rubber of whist was proposed, the gentleman taking "dummy." after a short lapse of time, looking at his watch as by a sudden impulse, he observed that it was growing late, and he was afraid he was keeping them up. "i shall now take my leave, deeply impressed by your kind hospitality; but before i make my bow i must trouble you for your watches, chains, money, and any small articles of jewellery which you may have in the house." the ladies looked aghast, hardly able to realise the situation. their guest however remained inflexible, and having, with his own dexterous hands, cleared the tables of all articles sufficiently portable, was proceeding to ascend the stairs, when one of the ladies uttered a piercing scream. on this, he sternly assured them that silence was their only safety, whilst giving any alarm would be attended by instant death. then, having possessed himself of all the money and valuables he could command, he left the house, telling the ladies with a smile, that they had conferred a most delightful and profitable evening on mr. richard turpin. there are instances on record of attacks of other descriptions upon the royal mails. history records the strange adventure of the salisbury mail, on its journey from london to exeter in the year ----. whilst passing the neighbourhood of winterslow hut, on salisbury plain, the coachman's attention was attracted to what he at first thought was a huge calf cantering alongside of his leaders. the team at once became very fretful, and evinced such fear that the driver had some difficulty in keeping them in the road. suddenly the creature he had mistaken for a calf made a lightning spring on to the back of one of the leaders, and swinging round so as to catch it by the throat, clung like a leech to the paralysed and terrified animal. the guard displayed great presence of mind, and taking his firearms with him, ran forward and delivered a _coup de grâce_ to the attacking monster, which proved to be a lioness escaped from a travelling menagerie. this was her second exploit of the kind. she had previously pounced upon a horse drawing a carrier's cart, and killed, but not mutilated, the animal, the driver being far too much bewildered and alarmed to dream of resistance. "a team well put together is half driven," was an old and true adage, and of more certain application than many of the same character, as for example: "a bird well marked is half bagged." not a bit of it. the bird is awake, and, expecting to be flushed again, gets up much sooner than he is expected and flies awkwardly. "a bottle of physic well shaken is half taken." i trust my readers have discovered this way of diminishing the dose. in illustration of the first adage, i may mention that i had an innate love for driving, dating from so early a period as my keeping in my desk at school a well-matched team of cockchafers, until, finding them too slow for my work, i established in their place a very fashionable team of white mice, all bred on the premises. these when harnessed to a "gradus" as a break were very safe and steady. with a greek grammar or "delectus" they could fly. i inherited the love of driving from my father, who was a very good coachman; and in early days would frequently hang on a single leader to his carriage, making a "pickaxe" team, merely for the sake of initiating me in the manipulation of four reins. the promotion from donkies to ponies rather interrupted my practice; as, though we could always borrow mokes to make up a four-in-hand, it was not so easy to do so with ponies. a real stage-coach passed our gates twice each day; and for the convenience of the contractor who horsed it, a stable was built upon my father's premises. the incentive given to me by the desire to get my dismissal from my tutor in time to see the coach change horses conduced more to my classical acquirements than any other circumstance. the regularity of coach work is one of its greatest merits, and operates more upon the well-conditioning of the men, horses, and all concerned, than is usually supposed. it is a pretty sight to see a team of coach horses at a roadside change prepared and turned round, each one listening anxiously for the horn which proclaims the arrival of the coach, and the commencement for them of a ten-mile stage, which may have to be done perhaps in fifty-two minutes, with a heavy load, woolly roads, and the wind behind. this does not sound like attraction to create much pleasurable impatience; but such is the fascination of coaching work that all horses, except, of course, those underbred vulgar screws which can take delight in nothing, whatever their antecedents may have been, become so moulded into their work and places (for this is a most important feature in my text) that it perfects them for the work expected of them in every particular. bad tempers are subdued and become amiable; bad feeders become after a time so ravenous as to be able to entertain a "duck in their mess;" nervous fretful horses become bold and settled. old crab, who persistently refused to drink out of a bucket when he came here, or even to allow a stable bucket to be brought near him, has overcome all his scruples, and, to use the horsekeeper's own words: "he wun't wait for his turn, but when the bucket is 'ung on to the nose of the pump he'll go and stick his old nose in it, and begin to neigh and 'oller like anything." a coach horse, although he has apparently few opportunities of employing his intelligence to his own advantage, whose life is spent in the stable, except when taken to the forge, or to the horsepond, will evince to his employers, in spite of this monotony, some habits and tastes which, if he is indulged in them, will nearly double his value. for instance, every coach horse has a favourite place in a team, and will go well and do well in that place; and by careful watching it will soon become evident to the coachman and to the horsekeeper which is the place selected by his taste. regard to this is most important. the same animal which becomes a "lawyer," because "he won't do no more than we pay him for," and is often forgotten at the near-side wheel, and is always coming back to you if put on the off-side, or, better still, before the bars, will be straight, steady, and cheerful in his work, with a mouth you might control with a thread. this is when you have found out the place with which he is pleased and satisfied. try him on the opposite side, and you will find him laying his whole weight upon the pole, his partner on your fingers. "everything in its place and a place for everything" was a maxim constantly preached by the head-master of a certain public school, founded by one sutton; and the proof of his theory was put to the test by a strange fancy he had taken. he was watching the evolutions of a small carthusian army, under the command of a colour-sergeant of the scots guards, and observed that his first word of command was to "fall in" and "size." this was quickly done, and the effect so much tickled the doctor, that, on the following sunday morning, when his catechism class was arranged before him, he thought it would be well to impress a little of the military element into the arrangement of the boys; so he requested the young gentlemen to take their places according to their sizes. of course they were very obtuse, and could not for the life of them understand his order. even when he placed them with his own hands, there was a deal of shuffling and confusion to get back to their old places. the doctor, however, had his way, and m or n, who was a short, thick, rosy-cheeked boy, was supplanted by a tall, overgrown, sickly-looking youth of double his stature, and so on according to height, the lowest being in the centre. no. agreed to his "godfather" and "godmother" having given the name of m or n to no. ; but he could not tell why no. , when asked what his sponsors then did for him, preserved an obstinate silence, and, when much pressed, said they were both dead! in fact, arranged as the class then was, if the doctor had asked the questions in high dutch and expected the answers in hebrew, he would have got as much information; whereas, if they had kept their own places there would not have been a word in the answers omitted. chapter iv. opposition--a quick change--how to do it--accident to the yeovil mail--a gallop for our lives--unconscious passengers--western whips--parliamentary obstruction. although opposition was fierce, certain rules of etiquette and honour were most rigidly observed on the road, which rendered immunity from accidents much more general than would have been supposed. it was an understood thing that no coach should pass another actually in motion unless invited to do so by the coachman driving the leading coach at the time. the race became much more exciting in cases where there was a little diversity in the roads between two points in the destination. the change in the fast coaches, where the horsekeeper and his mate knew their business, was effected in a minute and a half; and, like everything else connected with the fast coaches, required to be done strictly according to rule. the man receiving the leader, near or off-side, seizes the rein behind the saddle or pad, and draws it out of the head-terret of the wheeler, then, doubling it several times, he passes of it through the terret, unhooks the coch-eyes the traces, and the leaders are free. though still coupled they should be accustomed to walk aside a few paces, out of the way of the coach. the horsekeeper at the heads of the wheelers should first double the rein through the terret, to prevent its being trodden upon and cut; then, by raising the end of the pole, unhook the pole-chain, which will admit of the horse standing back in his work, and enable the traces to be easily lifted off the roller-bolts, the wheelers being uncoupled before he leaves their heads. the fresh team, when brought out, should be placed behind the spot where the coach pulls up, so that they may walk straight up into their places without having to be turned round, which always entails delay. the fresh team being "in-spanned," the coachman or guard (or both) assisting in running and buckling the reins, the business is complete. however quickly the change may be effected, it behoves a coachman to look round before he takes his reins, as a very trifling omission may give rise to serious delay, if not dangerous trouble. i have known the most careful horsekeepers forget to couple the wheel-horses, which, especially in the dark, when it is more likely to happen, is an omission nothing but the greatest judgment and patience on the part of the coachman can render harmless, since most coach-teams, more frequently than not, jump forward into their work, and are not so easily stopped. it is in cases of this description that so many accidents are prevented, in the present day, by the use of that admirable invention the patent break. we are indebted to the french for this very useful appliance, and although many wheel-horses are spoiled by the too frequent use of it, the number of accidents and broken knees which are averted must be untold. to pull up a heavily-loaded coach on a descent requires strength of arm, as well as power in the wheelers, to stop it; whereas, after having stopped the coach with a good strong break, the pulling up of the horses is comparatively easy. how different from the days when we had nothing but the old skid (or slipper) and chain, which was very little used except on the heavy coaches and over the most severe pitches, on account of the loss of time occasioned by its adjustment and removal. accidents, however, are not always to be avoided by pulling-up, as i shall show by relating an incident which occurred to me many years ago in the west of england, in which nothing could have saved our limbs or necks but my having recourse to the opposite alternative, and keeping the team at the top of their speed for dear life. i was indulging in my favourite pastime and driving the "yeovil" mail. we were full inside, and there were two gentlemen besides the professional coachman, jack everett, outside. i had a little short-legged quick team, belonging to mrs. stevens, of the halfmoon, from crewkerne to chard. they were accustomed to do this ground very fast, but would not stop an ounce down the hills. the roads being hard and slippery, and, having a load, i took the precaution to put on the shoe to come down chard hill. we were swinging along merrily when suddenly the skid chain, in jumping over a stone, parted. this catastrophe allowed the coach to slip uncomfortably and suddenly upon the shoulders and cruppers of the wheelers, and one of them, being a bit of a rogue, evinced his disapprobation by giving several sudden bolting lurches and throwing himself upon the pole. in one of these evolutions more sudden and violent than the rest the pole snapped off in the futchells! here was a predicament! half-way down one of the ugliest hills in england, with a resolute frightened team and a broken pole. nothing for it but to put them along and keep them galloping. the broken pole bobbing and dancing along at the end of the chains helped me materially to do this. the leaders finding the bars at the end of the whippletree all gone mad, took the hint and went off as hard as they could lay legs to the ground. my only care was to keep them straight, and the pace so good as to prevent the coach getting upon the lock, in which case we must have gone over. [illustration: the "yeovil" mail.] it was a fearful moment, and never in all my coaching experience have i passed through such a crisis. "let 'em have it!" cries jack everett. "nothing but the pace can save us!" cries fred north, the guard. she rocked, they galloped, we shouted to encourage them. fortunately they were very evenly matched in pace. if there had been one shirk it must have been fatal. providence protected us on this occasion, and i had the good fortune to keep the pace up till we got upon a level, and then gradually stopped her, and, by way of a finale, we had a rattling good kicking match before we could get the wheelers away from the coach. i have been in many coach accidents, some of which, i regret to say, have been much more serious in their results, but i always consider that our lives were in greater jeopardy for the four or five minutes after that pole snapped than during any other epoch of my life. rarely, if ever, has there been a similar accident upon a plain open road. poles are often snapped by inexperienced coachmen getting upon the lock in attempting to turn without room, and trusting to the strength of the pole to drag the coach across the road. not a hundred yards from the place where i pulled up the mail stood the yard and premises of a working wheelwright, who improvised, in a marvellously short time, a temporary pole, and by attaching the main-bar to a chain leading from the foot-bed, and splicing it to the pole, we did not lose three-quarters of an hour by the whole _contretemps_. moreover, strange to say, until the wheelers began trying to write their names on the front-boot at the bottom of the hill, the four inside passengers were perfectly unconscious that there had been anything wrong! one of the party--a lady--remarked to me that "the mail travelled so delightfully fast that it appeared to have wings instead of wheels." when the iron monster had invaded england, and the investment of the principal towns was nearly complete, the last corner which remained to the coaches was the far west, where the business was carried on with great energy and spirit to the very last. exeter became the great centre. about seventy coaches left the city daily, sundays excepted--the "dorchester" and "london," the "falmouth," "plymouth," "bath," "launceston," and "truro" mails. the "london" mail (direct), commonly called the "quicksilver," was said to be the fastest mail in england, performing the journey (one hundred and sixty-six miles) in twenty hours, except during fogs or heavy snow. this mail was driven out of london by charles ward (now the proprietor of the paxton yard, knightsbridge), who left the white horse cellars (now the bath hotel), piccadilly, at eight every evening, until mr. chaplin shifted his booking office to the regent circus. the numerous coaches working between exeter and the west coast were principally horsed by cockrane, new london inn; pratt, old london (now the buda), and stevens, halfmoon hotel. the day and night travelling was kept up until fairly driven off by the common enemy. during the two or three years before the railway was opened this part of england became the warm corner for coaching; and all the talent of the road, having been elbowed out of other places, flocked to the west. charles and henry ward, tim carter, jack everett, bill harbridge, bill williams, and wood, not forgetting jack goodwin, the guard, who was one of the best key-buglers that ever rode behind a coach. this incursion of talent aroused the energies of some of the devonshire whips engaged at that time, m. hervey, sam granville, harry gillard, paul collyns, william skinner, etc. there were four johnsons, all first-class coachmen, sons of a tailor at marlborough, who were working up to the last days of coaching. anthony deane--or gentleman deane, as he was commonly called--drove the only mail left after the opening of the rail to plymouth--the "cornish" mail to launceston. after she was taken off the road he did not long survive, but died at okehampton. he was a fine coachman, a good nurse, and an admirable timekeeper. the "telegraph," when first put on by stevens of the halfmoon, left exeter at . a.m., breakfasted at ilminster, dined at the star at andover, and reached hyde park corner at . p.m., thus performing a journey of one hundred and sixty-six miles in fifteen hours, including stoppages. there was some encouragement to coaching in those days. a good mail was a real good property. the "quicksilver" mail and the "dorchester" mail, alone, paid the rent (twelve hundred pounds per annum) of the new london inn. the profits of the former were a thousand pounds per annum; and those of the "dorchester" two hundred pounds; the profits of the first-named being augmented by the fact of the booking office, both ways, being at exeter. the mails from london on the second of each month were always a little behind time, being so heavily laden with the magazines and periodicals. in spite of the tremendous pace at which the mails travelled, accidents were very rare. all coaches were heavily laden about christmas time with parcels and presents. on one occasion, the "defiance" from exeter, with an unreasonable top-load, was overtaken by a dense fog, and the coachman (beavis), getting off the road before he got to ilminster, was upset and the driver killed upon the spot. an eminent friend and patron of the road, mr. e. a. sanders, took the matter in hand, and collected upwards of eight hundred pounds for the widow and children, with which, as the latter grew up, he started them all in life. there were many fast coaches besides the ordinary six-insider, such as the "balloon" and "traveller," from pratt's, new london, the "defiance," a fast coach, from the clarence hotel, congleton, the "favourite" (subscription), and several others. in the year , all the exeter and london coaches were stopped by heavy snow, at mere, on the borders of salisbury plain. amongst the passengers were the late earl of devon, the bishop of exeter, mr. charles buller, and seven other members of parliament, all on their way to attend the opening of the session. they were delayed a whole week. as the london coaches were gradually knocked off by the advance of the rail, the competition upon other roads out of exeter became more rife, and the opposition warmer. chapter v. the "warwick crown prince"--"spicy jack"--poor old lal!--"go it, you cripples!"--a model horsekeeper--the coach dines here--coroner's inquest--the haunted glen--lal's funeral. the coach which i have selected by way of exemplifying my remarks was the "warwick crown prince," and, at the time i adopted it, was driven by jack everett, who was reckoned in his day to be as good a nurse, and to have fingers as fine, as anybody in the profession. he took the coach from the swan with two necks, in ladd lane, to dunstable, and there split the work with young johnson, who, though sixty years of age, had three older brothers on the bench. "spicy jack" was the beau ideal of a sporting whip. he was always dressed to the letter, though his personal appearance had been very much marred by two coach accidents, in each of which he fractured a leg. the first one having been hurriedly set a little on the bow, he wished to have the other arranged as much like it as possible; the result being that they grew very much in the form of a horse-collar. these "crook'd legs," as he called them, reduced his stature to about five feet three inches. he had a clean-shaved face, short black hair, sharp intelligent blue eyes, a very florid complexion, rather portly frame, clad in the taste of the period: a blue coat, buttons very widely apart over the region of the kidneys, looking as if they had taken their places to fight a duel, rather than belonging to the same coat. a large kersey vest of a horsecloth pattern; a startling blue fogle and breast-pin; drab overalls, tightly fitted to the ankle and instep of a wellington boot, strapped under the foot with a very narrow tan-coloured strap. the whole surmounted by a drab, napless hat, with rather a brim, producing a "slap-up" effect. when at the local race-meetings, "spicy jack" dashed on to the course in a sporting yellow mail-phaeton, his whip perpendicular, his left hand holding the reins just opposite the third button of his waistcoat from the top. driving a pair of "tits" which, though they had both chipped their knees against their front teeth, and one of them (a white one) worked in suspicious boots, produced such an impression upon the yokels that no one but "spicy jack" could come on to a racecourse in such form.[ ] all this appeared like "cheek," but it was quite the reverse; for in spite of the familiarity which was universally extended to this "sporting whip," he never forgot his place with a gentleman, and a more respectful man in his avocation did not exist. "well, jack, what are we backing?" was the salutation of a noble lord who had given him a fiver to invest to the best of his judgment. "nothing, my lord; we are not in the robbery." "how's that? we shall lose a race." "well, you see, my lord, it was all squared and the plunder divided before i could get on." nobody knew the ropes at harpenden, barnet, and st. albans, when the platers ran to amuse the public, and the public "greased the ropes," better than the waggoner of the "crown prince." this is a rest day and the "spare man" works. let us take a full load away from ladd lane. ten and four with all their luggage; roof piled, boots chock full, besides a few candle-boxes in the cellar.[ ] she groans and creaks her way through the city, carefully, yet boldly driven by our artist, and when she leaves her london team at the hyde and emerges into an open road, she steals away at her natural pace, which, from the evenness of its character, is very hard to beat. there was one coach, and only one, which could give these fast stage-coaches ten minutes and beat them over a twelve-mile stage! it was before the legislature forbade the use of dogs as animals of draught, that there dwelt upon the great north road, sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, an old pauper who was born without legs, and, being of a sporting turn of mind, had contrived to get built for himself a small simple carriage, or waggon, very light, having nothing but a board for the body, but fitted with springs, lamps, and all necessary appliances. to this cart he harnessed four fox-hounds, though to perform his quickest time he preferred three abreast. he carried nothing, and lived upon the alms of the passengers by the coaches. his team were cleverly harnessed and well matched in size and pace. his speed was terrific, and as he shot by a coach going ten or twelve miles an hour, he would give a slight cheer of encouragement to his team; but this was done in no spirit of insolence or defiance, merely to urge the hounds to their pace. arriving at the end of the stage, the passengers would find poor "old lal" hopping on his hands to the door of the hostelry, whilst his team, having walked out into the road, would throw themselves down to rest and recover their wind. for many years poor old lal continued his amateur competition with some of the fastest and best-appointed coaches on the road; his favourite ground being upon the north road, between the peacock at islington and the sugarloaf at dunstable. the latter place was his favourite haven of rest. he had selected it in consequence of a friendship he had formed with one daniel sleigh, a double-ground horsekeeper, and the only human being who was in any way enlightened as to the worldly affairs of this poor legless beggar. daniel sleigh, as the sequel will prove, richly deserved the confidence so unreservedly placed in him--a confidence far exceeding the mutual sympathies of ordinary friendship; and daniel sleigh became old lal's banker, sworn to secrecy. years went on, during which the glossy coats of lal's team on a bright december morning--to say nothing of their condition--would have humbled the pride of some of the crack kennel huntsmen of the shires. when asked how he fed his hounds, he was wont to say: "i never feed them at all. they know all the hog-tubs down the road, and it is hard if they can't satisfy themselves with somebody else's leavings." where they slept was another affair; but it would seem that they went out foraging in couples, as old lal declared that there were always two on duty with the waggon.[ ] when the poor old man required the use of his hands, it was a matter of some difficulty to keep his perpendicular, his nether being shaped like the fag-end of a farthing rushlight; and he was constantly propped up against a wall to polish the brass fittings of his harness. in this particular his turnout did him infinite credit. of course his most intimate, and indeed only friend, dan sleigh, supplied him with oil and rotten-stone when he quartered at dunstable; and brass, when once cleaned and kept in daily use, does not require much elbow-grease. lal's travelling attire was simplicity itself. his wardrobe consisted of nothing but waistcoats, and these garments, having no peg whereon to hang except the poor old man's shoulders, he usually wore five or six, of various hues; the whole topped by a long scarlet livery waistcoat. these, with a spotted shawl round his neck, and an old velvet hunting-cap upon his head, completed his costume. the seat of lal's waggon was like an inverted beehive. it would have puzzled a man with legs to be the companion of his daily journeys. these generally consisted of an eight-mile stage and back, or, more frequently, two consecutive stages of eight and ten miles. an interval of several years elapsed, during which i did not visit the great north road. when at length i did so, i hastened to inquire for my old friends, many of whom i found had disappeared from the scene--coachmen changed, retired, or dead; horsekeepers whom i had known from my boyhood, shifted, discharged, or dead. under any other circumstances than driving a coach rapidly through the air of a fine brisk autumnal morning, at the rate of eleven miles an hour, including stoppages, the answers to my inquiries would have been most depressing. dunstable was the extent of my work for that day, which afforded me the opportunity of working back on the following morning. arrived at the sugarloaf, gradually slackening my pace and unbuckling my reins, i pulled up within an inch of the place whence i had so often watched every minute particular in the actions of the finished professionals. d---- was the place at which the coach dined, and, being somewhat sharp set, i determined to dine with the coach, though i should have to spend the evening in one of the dullest provincial towns in england. i had brought a full load down. the coaches dined in those days upon the fat of the land. always one hot joint (if not two) awaited the arrival of the coach, and the twenty minutes allotted for the refreshment of the inward passenger were thoroughly utilised. a boiled round of beef, a roast loin of pork, a roast aitchbone of beef, and a boiled hand of pork with peas-pudding and parsnips, a roast goose and a boiled leg of mutton, frequently composed a _menu_ well calculated to amuse a hungry passenger for the short space allotted him. the repast concluded and the coach reloaded, i watched her ascend the hill at a steady jog till she became a mere black spot in the road. i then directed my steps to the bottom of the long range of red-brick buildings used as coach-stables, where i found old daniel sleigh still busily engaged in what he called "setting his 'osses fair." this implied the washing legs, drying flanks, and rubbing heads and ears of the team i had brought in half-an-hour ago. although the old man looked after the "in-and-out" horses, he always designated the last arrival as "my 'osses," and they consequently enjoyed the largest share of dan's attention: "bill the brewer," "betsy mare," "old giles," and "the doctor." dan sleigh was a specimen of the old-fashioned horsekeeper, a race which has now become obsolete. he had lived with mrs. nelson, who was one of the largest coach proprietors of the period, for thirty-nine years, always having charge of a double team. he rarely conversed with anybody but "his 'osses," with whom, between the h--i--ss--e--s which accompanied every action of his life, he carried on a _sotto voce_ conversation, asking questions as to what they did with them, at the other end, and agreeing with himself as to the iniquitous system of taking them out of the coach and riding them into the horsepond, then leaving them to dry whilst ben ball--the other horsekeeper--went round to the tap to have half-a-pint of beer. _o tempora! o mores!_ many of his old friends had fallen victims to this cruel treatment. a recent case had occurred in the death of old blind sal, who had worked over the same ground for thirteen years, and never required a hand put to her, either from the stable to the coach or from the coach to the stable. she caught a chill in the horsepond, and died of acute inflammation. when i interrupted old dan he was just "hissing" out his final touches, and beginning to sponge the dirt off his harness. he recognised me with a smile--a shilling smile--and the following dialogue ensued. daniel sleigh was a man who, to use his own words, "kep' 'isself to 'isself." he never went to "no public 'ouses, nor yet no churches." he had never altered his time of getting up or going to bed for forty years; and, except when he lay in the "horsepital" six weeks, through a kick from a young horse, he had never been beyond the smithy for eleven years. in any other grade of life he would have been a "recluse." his personal appearance was not engaging--high cheek-bones, small gray sunken eyes, a large mouth, and long wiry neck, with broad shoulders, a little curved by the _anno domini_; clothed always in one style, namely, a long plush vest, which might have been blue once; a pair of drab nethers, well veneered with blacking and harness paste; from which was suspended a pair of black leather leggings, meeting some thin ankle-jacks. this, with a no-coloured string, which had once been a necktie, and a catskin cap, completed his attire. my attention had been attracted to an old hound--a fox-hound--reclining at full length on his side on the pathway leading to the stables, his slumbers broken by sudden jerks of his body and twitches of his limbs, accompanied by almost inaudible little screams; leading me to suppose that this poor old hound was reviewing in his slumbers some of the scenes of his early life, and dreaming of bygone november days when he had taken part in the pursuit of some good straight-necked fox in the oakley or the grafton country. "what is that hound?" i asked. "he looks like one of poor old lal's team." "ah, that's the _last_ on 'em. they are all gone now but poor old trojan, and he gets very weak and old." when i noticed him he slowly rose, and sauntered across the yard towards a large open coachhouse, used as a receptacle for hearses and mourning-coaches. he did not respond to my advances, except by standing still and looking me in the face with the most wobegone expression possible, his deep brow almost concealing his red eyes. he was very poor, his long staring coat barely covering his protruding hips and ribs. there he stood, motionless, as if listening intently to the sad tale daniel sleigh was graphically relating. "and what has become of poor old lal?" i asked. "oh, he's left this two years or more." "whither is he gone?" "i don't know as he's gone anywheres; they took him up to the churchyard to be left till called for. you see, sir, he never 'ad no kins nor directors (executors), or anybody as cared whether they ever see him again or not. he was an honest man though a wagrant; which he never robbed nobody, nor ever had any parish relief. what money he had i used to take care of for him; and when he went away he had a matter of sixteen pounds twelve and twopence, which i kep' for him, only as he wanted now and again tenpence or a shilling to give a treat to his hounds." "where did he die?" "ah, that's what nobody knows nothing about. you see, sir, it was as this: he'd been on the road a-many years; but as he had no house in particular, nobody noticed when he came and when he went; when he laid here o' nights, he used to sleep in the hay-house. the boys in the town would come down and harness up his team and set him fair for the day. he would go away with one of the up-coaches, and not be here again for a week (perhaps more). well, there was one time, it was two years agone last march, i hadn't seen nothing of lal not for three weeks or a month; the weather was terrible rough, there was snow and hice; and the storm blowed down a-many big trees, and them as stood used to 'oller and grunt up in the pine bottom, so that i've heerd folks say that the fir-trees a-rubbing theirselves against one another, made noises a nights like a pack of hounds howling; and people were afraid to go down the pine bottom for weeks, and are now, for a matter of that. for they do say as poor old lal drives down there very often in the winter nights. well, one sunday afternoon i had just four-o'clocked my 'osses, and was a-popping a sack over my shoulders to go down to my cottage; it was sleeting and raining, and piercing cold, when who should i meet but poor old trojan. he come up, rubbed my hand with his nose, and seemed quite silly with pleasure at seeing me. now, though i've known him on and off this five or six year, i never knew him do the like before. he had a part of his harness on, which set me a thinking that he had cut and run, and perhaps left old lal in trouble. "you see, sir, what a quiet sullen dog he is. always like that, never moves hisself quickly. still, when he come to me that sunday, he was quite different; he kep' trotting along the road, and stopping a bit, then he'd look round, then come and lay hold of the sack and lead me along by it. "the next day there was another of poor old lal's team come to our place (rocket), and he had part of his breast-collar fastened to him. they were both pretty nigh starved to death. trojan he went on with these manoeuvres, always trying to 'tice me down to the road leading to the pine bottom. word was sent up and down the road by the guards and coachmen to inquire where old lal had been last seen. no tidings could be got, and strange tales got abroad. some said the hounds had killed and eaten him! some that he had been robbed and murdered! no tidings could be got. still old trojan seemed always to point the same way, and would look pleased and excited if i would only go a little way down the road towards the pine bottom with him. "many men joined together and agreed to make a search, but nothing could be found in connection with the poor old man; so they gave it up. one morning after my coach had gone, i determined to follow old trojan. the poor old dog was overjoyed, and led me right down to the pine bottom. i followed him pretty near a mile through the trees and that, until at last we come upon poor old lal's waggon. there was his seat, there was part of the harness, and there lay, stone-dead, one of the hounds. "no trace could be found of the poor old man, and folks were more puzzled than ever about his whereabouts. "it seemed as though the waggon had got set fast between the trees, and trojan and rocket had bitten themselves free, the third, a light-coloured one (a yellow one), had died. "the finding of the waggon set all the country up to search for poor old lal, but it wasn't for more'n a week after finding the waggon, that trojan and rocket pointed out by their action where to go and look for the poor old man. and he was found, but it was a long ways off from his waggon. there he lay, quite comfortable, by the side of a bank. the crowner said the hounds had given chase to something (maybe a fox crossed 'em) and clashed off the road, throw'd the poor old man off--perhaps stunned with the fall--and the hounds had persevered through the wood till the waggon got locked up in the trees. and there the poor things lay and would have died if they had not gnawed themselves out of their harness." "and what was the verdict?" "oh, there was no verdic'! they never found that." "there must have been some opinion given." "jury said he was a pauper wagrant, that he had committed accidental death, and the crowner sentenced him to be buried in the parish in which he was last seen alive." "had he any friends or relatives?" "no; he said he never had any. he had no name, only lal. old trojan has been with me ever since we followed a short square box up to the churchyard, containing the body of poor old lal, where we left it. there was nobody attended the funeral only we two. if the old dog ever wanders away for a day or two, he allers comes back more gloomier like than he looks now." the old hound had been standing in the same attitude, apparently a most attentive listener to this sad tale, and when i attempted a pat of sympathy he turned round and threaded his way through the crowd of mourning-coaches; and daniel sleigh informed me that the wreck of poor old lal's waggon had been stowed away at the back of this melancholy group. upon this the old hound usually lay. "and what about rocket?" "he was a younger and more ramblier dog. he never settled nowhere. the last i heerd of him, he had joined a pack of harriers (a trencher pack) at luton. he was kinder master of them, frequently collecting the whole pack and going a-hunting with them by hisself. he was allers wonderful fond of sport. i mind one time when a lot of boys had bolted a hotter just above the mill, and was a-hunting him with all manner of dogs, old lal happened to come along with his waggon. the whole team bolted down to the water's edge, and just at that moment the hotter gave them a view. the hue-gaze[ ] was too much for rocket. he plunged in, taking with him the waggon and the other two hounds. poor old lal bobbed up and down like a fishing-float, always keeping his head up, though before he could be poked out he was as nigh drownded as possible. and this is what makes me think rocket was the instigator of the poor old man's death. he must have caught a view of a fox, perhaps, or, at any rate, have crossed a line of scent, and bolted off the road and up through the wood, and after they had throwed the poor old man, continued the chase till the waggon got hung fast to a tree and tied them all up." "was there any wound or fracture about poor old lal's body which might have caused his death?" "none whatever; no mark, no sign of violence which could have caused his death. they do say he is often heerd 'ollering for help o' nights since he has been buried. there's a-many people won't go through the pine bottom after dark to save their lives." chapter vi. commercial-room--the bagman's tale--yes--strange company. when driving the coaches in the olden time, it frequently happened that i remained for the night at the stage from which i should take the coach back on the following day. on one of these occasions i accidentally spent the evening in the commercial-room at ----. i say "accidentally," because in all provincial hotels the bagman's room is considered sacred to commercial travellers, and i have been informed by landlords that any intrusion upon them would prove dangerous to the house's popularity. i had dined early, and, unaware of the trespass, happened to look into a long, dreary, deserted room, with "coffee-room" written upon the door; a stale number of "the illustrated news" and a well-thumbed post office directory upon the table; a very bad fire, and altogether the air of a methodist meeting-house on a weekday. i turned to another room, in which were three or four gentlemen, who appeared to be surrounded by every comfort; coats, hats, wrappers, hung in clusters against the wall, and a cheerful fire. a stout round-faced man, much marked by smallpox, dressed in a suit of tweed dittos, with an elaborate pin in his necktie resembling the dial of a good-sized watch, appeared to be the senior officer or "boss" of the party, as much in manner and bearing as he was in size. addressing a small-featured, light-haired, thin young man, dressed in black-silk waistcoat, he said in a stentorian voice: "have you done floating here, mr. ruffins?" "no, mr. staines; i've not done yet. i've quoted twice. my people won't let me sink." a third party, an older man, attired in gray, with hair to match, was busily engaged at one end of the room packing a quantity of small cases into a larger one, and continuing to hold converse with himself by means of the monosyllable "yes," differently intonated, at intervals of half-a-minute, "y-e-s--y-e-s." having finished his packing, he advanced slowly towards me, and, scanning me from head to foot, resumed his affirmative expression, but at longer intervals. "been round this way before--y-e-s? bulk or samples--yes?" in answer to his first question i informed him that i was no stranger to the place, to which he replied: "yes." desks were now locked and stowed away. the table having been cleared, the stout man advanced, stirred the fire, and rang the bell. "give your orders, gents. i am going to stand glasses round, for a slice of luck i've experienced to-day. _i_ call it luck, though it was no more than common honesty. but i was lucky in meeting an honest man instead of a rogue. when i was on this circuit six months ago i was settling a small account with one of my clients, taking a receipt for the amount, four pounds seventeen shillings. i inadvertently handed him a cheque for seventeen pounds, saying to the clerk to whom i paid it: 'you may keep the balance.' the other cheque having been paid in in due course, i was quite ignorant of the error i had made; until, on meeting the party to whom i paid it, in the street this morning, although now thrown out of employ, he handed me twelve pounds three shillings, the balance of my cheque, which i thought had been drawn for five pounds." "one bottom of brandy and two whiskies, with hot water." "draw round to the fire, sir," he continued. "though we have not met before we may often meet again. we travellers do run against each other in strange ways." (here the gray old man groaned out another "y-e-s.") "the commercial interest of this great country is entirely in our hands, and if we don't take care of ourselves it is our own fault." the smoking tumblers having been supplied, and the party seated round the fire, the conversation became gradually more brisk, chiefly led by the man in gray, whose opinion on all points seemed absolute. i was a tacit listener, understanding very little of that part of the conversation which related to business, viz.: "quoting - ths at and sliding and net;" but at length anecdotes and experience took the place of business, and proved intensely amusing. i should have enjoyed the occasion if i could have divested myself of the idea that, as regards my vocation, i was an impostor, with no right to be there. it was evident that the gray man of the "yes" had his suspicions as to my not being a member of the craft. many glances he directed at me, each accompanied by a muttered "yes." all doubts upon the subject were at length dispelled by a question from the little man in the black-silk waistcoat, mr. ruffins, who abruptly inquired: "what is your route from here? who are your clients?" "i am not here," i replied, "on any particular business, and, to own the truth, gentlemen, i doubt if i have any in this room." "excuse me, sir, did i not see you on the coach this morning?" "i came by the coach, and shall return with it to-morrow." "then we shall be fellow-travellers. i leave my trap here, and return to ---- by the coach." the gray man now commenced an anecdote, which i shall give in his own words. [illustration: "the commercial room?" "yes."] * * * * * "it was in the winter of . i was on the northern circuit, in the midst of a terrific snowfall which buried everything. "at dusk one evening the wind rose and caused the snow to drift in heaps so quickly that i lost the road. my horse became frightened, and i could scarcely induce him to proceed. i did, however, force him on till i came to a small roadside inn, at which the mail changed. "here i determined to leave my horse and trap and proceed by the coach. it was a fearful night, snow falling thickly, icy cold, and the roads almost impassable. the mail was three hours late, and when it did arrive there was question of the advisability of proceeding farther. i found at the inn a traveller who was storm-staid, and, whilst waiting in the bar-parlour for the arrival of the mail, displayed the most marked impatience, constantly breaking out into ejaculations. "'oh dear, oh dear! what a disappointment! but if i can't get there i can't. never was late before--such a lot of people too.' "i tried in vain to reconcile him to the delay. he could do nothing but lament the accident which seemed likely to prevent his keeping his appointment at durham on the following day. "as we became more intimate i condoled with him, hinting that such anxiety led me to fear that it was a matter of life and death. "'it _is_ a matter of life and death,' he exclaimed. 'if i can't get there in time, i shall be ready to hang myself.' "time wore on. the mail at length drew up, making that peculiar squeaking noise through the deep snow which indicates the heaviest draught for the horses, which were sobbing and sweating, the wet pouring in streams from their sides; the delay having been caused by the coach having got into a drift, from which it had been with difficulty extricated by a plough-team. "the change being effected, we took our places inside, and, travelling under great difficulty, we jogged on; the guard occasionally getting down to feel for the road with a stick. "i sympathised with my fellow-traveller, and encouraged him by expressing my conviction that we should arrive at durham at four a.m., instead of the usual hour, eleven p.m.; but it proved difficult to reconcile him even to this delay. "thus we passed hour after hour; the wheels of the mail groaning and squeaking through the drifted snow, and the horses frequently brought to a walk. by dint of perseverance, however, and the pluck of the coachman, we did arrive at durham at half-past four a.m., five hours late. when we alighted at the crown i was surprised to find that my fellow-traveller appeared to excite in the night-porter a sneer of disgust. turning his whole attention to _my_ luggage, he allowed the man to snatch up his own valise and depart. "'nice company you've got into,' growled boots. "'doesn't he stop here?' i asked. "'thank you, we don't accommodate gentlemen of _his_ profession. they make room for him when they want him at the county gaol.' "'who and what is he?' "'why, don't you know him? that's the hangman; and he brings that there trunk with him to take away his perquisites, which is the wearing apparel of the poor wretch he's a-going to swing off at eight o'clock this morning; and the mail being so late, he has only just saved his bacon this journey.'" * * * * * having finished his tale, the gray man looked hard at me, and again uttered his favourite "y-e-s," which this time i was half inclined to interpret into a warning to his friend that, whilst encouraging outsiders in the bagman's room, they might be entertaining an executioner unawares. travelling by public conveyances naturally leads to strange rencounters. it has often happened that wealth has been acquired, lost friends restored, estates bought and sold, etc., entirely through accidental meetings on the road. men without heirs have been known in many instances to adopt a fellow-traveller, either from the fact of finding a person possessing the same name, or from some trifling civility or sacrifice being made in their favour by a stranger during a long and perhaps irksome journey. there is no doubt people became acquainted, as a general rule, and shook off the rigid forms of etiquette--so essentially english--much more readily during the days of the coach travelling than now; but on the other hand, one may escape more quickly from objectionable fellow-travellers, from whom in the coaching days there was no escape till the end of the journey. this inconvenience was more felt on the continent than in england, where the passengers were divided into three lots, or compartments--front, back, and inside; whereas the interior of the diligence, carrying ten persons, contained barely room for each person to sit upright. i was once returning from madrid to paris, after having accomplished a riding tour through spain, visiting most of the principal towns. on quitting madrid i rode to bayonne, where, my horse having a bad sore back, i left him, and proceeded by diligence. some consternation was caused on our arrival at the hotel at bayonne by the mispronunciation of one of my travelling companions. we had lived very sparely during our riding tour, oil and garlic predominating to such a degree in all the second-class "fondas" in spain, as to prevent an english palate taking food, except he cooked it himself. as we were a party of three, this difficulty was easily got over by our taking it in turns to make the omelettes, or spatchcock a fowl at our different halting-places. this sort of diet had naturally sharpened our appetites, and even the "sniff" of a real french dinner made us ravenous. influenced by this feeling, colonel c----ll, addressing our hostess of the hôtel de france, exclaimed: "avez-vous assez, madame, parce-que j'ai beaucoup de femmes?" the poor woman looked thunderstruck. "mais, monsieur, vous m'avez rien dit de ça! où sont-elles donc ces dames?" i need not say that her notion that the colonel was a turkish pasha, travelling with his harem, was soon dispelled when we took our places at the table-d'hôte _en garçon_. chapter vii. draught horses--the old "fly-waggon"--weight and pace--sagacity of mules--hanging on by a wheel--the refuge--hot fighting in the alps--suffocation--over at last--railway to paris. the selection of horses for draught purposes should be made with a view to the pace at which they are expected to work. you may get a perfect model for harness and draught, but if he is not cut according to the pattern which is required for fast work, half his energy and good intention will be exhausted in trying to do that for which he is physically unfit. he is prevented from throwing his weight and strength into his work, because it takes him all his time to keep his place. [illustration: the old fly waggon.] in the old days of "fly-waggons,"[ ] the only means of transit for heavy goods, except by canal, the cart horse was an animal now almost extinct. he was never expected to move beyond a walk, but this walk was almost perpetual motion. he took all his food, and i may say his rest, while strolling along by day and night in the waggon. the halting-places were few and far between, and were made more for the accommodation of the few passengers who were carried in the "crate"[ ] than for the convenience of the horses. in those days the brewers and millers emulated each other in the size and condition of their horses; one constantly met in the streets of london a mountain of a horse, seventeen and a half hands high, loaded with flesh, legs like an elephant, drawing one small nine-gallon cask (perhaps empty) upon a truck. _mais tout cela est changé._ all waggons are now vans, cart horses machiners, and must trot at least six miles an hour. we now take for our model the clydesdale and the suffolk in preference to the flemish and the yorkshire. even in agricultural work the style of horses and the rate of ploughing is widely different from that of half a century ago. in this particular the afternoon of the worn-out coach horse or hunter is rendered less irksome to him than formerly, as he can more readily accommodate himself to a good fair walk than to be always snatching at the chains only to find he must come back to his partners. weight in a horse is a great element in his composition for purposes of heavy draught; but it should be taken into consideration that he has to carry that weight in addition to the work which is expected from him; and for every ounce by which he is assisted in weight, his strain in draught is increased three pounds, and so on proportionately. treating the subject of draught, there is no more practical illustration of the way in which the subject is understood by the animals themselves than is afforded by the long string of mules which are attached to carriages, both private and public, in crossing the alps. the mode of putting them together is by having two at the wheel, with a continuous long string in single file before them, often as many as seventeen or twenty. the intelligence shown by these animals in threading the side of a mountain by a zigzag road is remarkable. each mule, as he arrives at the angle, ceases to pull, apparently knowing that having turned out of the straight line the weight of his draught would be rather an impediment to progress. i write feelingly upon the instinct of the italian mules, having been once indebted to their sagacity and obedience for my escape from what might have been a very serious accident. i was travelling from turin to paris. the journey over mont cenis was then only to be performed by fell's railway, or by the road, by diligence or private carriage. i took the latter, making a contract for the posting, and not binding the _maître de poste_ to any limited number of mules for the ascent. it was in the month of december, and at the time i left susa, at five p.m., the snow was falling so thickly that by the time i had completed half the ascent, the road or track was completely obliterated. it was a beautiful moonlight night. i was lost in admiration of the manner in which the nine mules, attached to a light travelling carriage, wended their way over the trackless snow. the stupendous mountains, clothed in all the sombre grandeur of their winter attire, surged up before me, peeping, as it were, into the deep chasms beneath, on the very verge of which the mules moved cautiously along. it was wonderful to watch, where the road twisted and turned almost at right angles, the careful manner in which each animal in turn dropped out of his work till they were again in the straight running. notwithstanding the beauty of the scenery and the interest with which i watched the long string of mules, which appeared at times to be actually balancing themselves upon the narrow ledges, i was not without anxiety, partly, perhaps, on account of a friend to whom i had given a seat in my carriage. he had recently broken his leg at turin, and was taking the earliest opportunity of a safe escort to london. the driver had no more direct control over the mules than could be conveyed by his voice, though i must do him the justice to say that when he did open his mouth he did so to some purpose. his mules, however, did not often require reproof, and a short grunt, with the name garibaldi or emanuel, sufficed to make them spring forward as if they were ashamed of being named before strangers. the driver himself frequently makes short cuts across the angles of the road as he plods through the snow, leaving the mules to thread their way entirely according to their own judgment. it was on one of these occasions, when the driver loitering out of sight, perhaps to cut his tobacco, was absent somewhat longer than usual, that the mules appeared to be feeling their way with more than ordinary caution, while the uneasy motion of the carriage indicated that we were not travelling upon a plain surface. almost instinctively, i ejaculated at the top of my voice, imitating as near as i could the driver's intonation: "wo-a-a-h!" every mule stopped dead short. if they had not done so, or moved on one single inch, this incident would never have been recorded by me! opening the door of the carriage i beheld a frightful precipice, over which we were literally hanging; while, turning round in order to step out with greater caution, i found that the weight of my body perforated the lightly-packed snow, and that i could not feel the ground beneath it. had it not been for the firm grip i had of the wing of the carriage, i must inevitably have been precipitated into the abyss of snow-covered boulders many hundred feet deep below. when i had recovered my footing by clinging to the wheels of the carriage, i found that there was not more than an inch of ground between us and eternity. thus, but for the admirable patience and obedience of the mules, we must in another instant have been launched bodily down the precipice. we looked round in vain for the driver, and it was not till i had succeeded in pulling out my lame companion, and seating him in the snow, that i saw the fellow come strolling up the hill in a cloud of tobacco smoke, singing at the top of his voice one of the patois refrains. to punch his head was my first impulse; but this was soon dispelled by the duties imposed on me at this moment of peril. [illustration: over mount cenis in a mule carriage.] first, if the mules moved an inch the carriage, with baggage, etc., must have lost its balance and gone down. second, the attention required by my poor friend, who, unable to stand in consequence of his accident, sat by the roadside in the snow, praying me to seek for his crutches. third, the doubt if it would be wise to unhitch the mules from the carriage, a dangerous experiment, as i verily believe the weight of the carriage was sustained in a great measure by the traces of the wheelers. there are upon mont cenis houses of refuge, at intervals of about an english mile, occupied by people employed by the government, to render assistance and shelter to travellers who may be overtaken by snowstorms. countless lives have been rescued by means of the appliances which these afford. they are conducted upon something the same principle as our humane society. during the winter season when the snow drifts, it is no uncommon thing for travellers to be snow-staid in these refuges for eight or ten days. on the occasion of which i write the snow continued to fall thickly, and, there being wind enough to cause a drift, i was anxious to get my sick friend into one of these houses with as little delay as possible. now came the difficulty. to get the carriage back on to the road without letting it slip over the ridge required skilful engineering. the mules at the wheels hung on with exemplary perseverance. had they relaxed in the slightest degree the carriage must have taken them, and probably some more of the string, down the frightful precipice. the intelligent animals appeared to understand the situation as well as we, and scarcely needed the driver's ceaseless cautious "w-o-a-a-h! w-o-a-a-h!" i decided first upon lightening the carriage, by removal of the heavier luggage. this i did with the double view of relieving the mules from the strain they were maintaining, and of rescuing some at least of our worldly goods from impending danger. whilst thus engaged the snow continued to fall in such blinding clouds as to darken the air; and the wind drifted it, and hurried it about, half burying every article of baggage as we detached it in turn from the carriage. my next object was to rescue the carriage from its imminent peril, as being the only means of getting my lame friend to the refuge, a quarter of a mile distant. i therefore detached the string of mules from those at the wheel--the latter holding on like grim death to the carriage during the necessary delay--then, taking three from the string of single mules (there was no room for more on the road), i fastened their rope-traces round the body of the carriage, when, all being ready, a few grunts from the driver made them spring across the track and land the carriage on its side in the road. the two mules who had held on so resolutely came over also, and, from the draught becoming irregular, some confusion occurred; chiefly owing to the stupidity of the driver, who uttered in the same breath "wo-a-a-h!" and "u-u-u-p!" one being the word to stop, the other to proceed. all this occurred in the midst of heavy blinding clouds of snow, covering every article which impeded its course. having arrested the carriage in its downward course, the next thing was to get it on its perpendicular; and this we accomplished with the assistance of the same three mules which had capsized it. right glad was i to replace my poor friend in his seat. he had been suffering agony from cold whilst sitting in the snow, incapable, through his accident, to render me the least assistance. finally, i collected such of our traps as could be recovered from the snow, and, having hitched on the string anew, proceeded cautiously to the refuge. * * * * * this being the first heavy fall of snow of the winter, our arrival was rather a surprise, and found the inhabitants somewhat unprepared. it was the work, however, but of a few minutes to kindle an enormous wood fire, in front of which we soon became dry and warm. * * * * * the inmates of the refuge, who were of the peasant class, overwhelmed us with simple attentions. the supply of provisions was small and presented no great variety, comprising chiefly black bread, macaroni, dry beans, and hard sausages, with a little oil. the first night spent at the refuge was amusing from its novelty, and as we all slept in the same apartment with the piedmontese family, we had to make ourselves at home as best we could. one of the daughters, a girl of sixteen, had served a campaign in london with a tambourine as an accompaniment to her own voice and her brother's barrel-organ. the boy was about twelve, with very black eyes and a long italian chin. when addressed, his countenance relaxed into a beseeching smile, showing a set of the whitest teeth, thrusting forward his half-open palm, and jerking his long forelock with the other hand, he whimpered out: "_carità, signori, si vi piaci. signori, pauvre geen-peeg._" he had carried a guinea-pig on the top of his organ when in england, but all their property had been confiscated for arrears of rent, and they were sent home as paupers by the italian consul. * * * * * what was our horror when on the following morning we looked out upon mountains of snow, without the slightest indication of any track. our prospect of being able to proceed was doubtful enough. both our host and the muleteer returned from reconnoitring with hopeless faces. snow had been falling all night, and, until a track had been cleared, the road was quite impassable even for mules without a vehicle, and we were unfortunately so near the summit as to be beyond communication with either base. there was nothing for it but to remain where we were, and to be thankful for our escape. * * * * * the prospect of passing another night in these wretched quarters was not exhilarating; but my lame friend was so unequal to any exertion, that i did not dare (in opposition to the opinions of the driver and the padrone) to make any attempt to proceed. moreover, we were getting more accustomed to the smell of oil and garlic, with which the whole atmosphere of the refuge was impregnated. the surprise and confusion consequent upon our arrival had worn off; and we had fallen into our places more as members of the family than strangers. as the second evening advanced, i took my last look of the snowy world, and found it dismal in the extreme. the sheds and yard in which the mules were picketed were barricaded against attack from the wolves which infest these alpine ridges, two lamps being hung at either entrance as the best safeguard against these ferocious marauders, who become so bold during the winter months, as to carry away goats and sheep from beneath the very roofs of inhabited dwellings. i now turned my attention to the prospects for the night; and having arranged a comfortable shake-down with the cushions of the carriage, i stretched myself on a bench; where our late exposure to the cold, added to the anxiety of the circumstances, aided and encouraged by the heat of a superb fire composed of roots and peat, lulled me into a profound sleep. during this state of unconsciousness i travelled over miles of snow, the surface being sufficiently hard to carry my horses and sleigh without perforating it. i saw myriads of wolves and bears, which grinned and snarled at me as i passed, but did not interrupt my progress; on the contrary, they encouraged me by their gestures to proceed, always pointing onwards. it would have been well for me if i had disregarded their direction, as i flew on, urging my horses to a gallop, always ascending the hill, though i did not appear to get any higher; at length i turned upon the trackless height, out of consideration for my horses; and was about to descend into a ravine, when i found myself surrounded by hundreds of savages engaged in hot warfare. i was in the thick of the fight. no firearms, no smoke; but a great deal of yelling and screaming. i was surrounded by both sides; and though my appearance upon the field caused a momentary truce, hostilities were soon resumed, and i was struck in the chest by an arrow--which, being barbed, could not be extricated. i made great efforts to protect my lame friend from being trampled upon in the _mêlée_. no more violence was offered, and i hoped, from the more subdued tones of the contending warriors, that negotiations for a peaceful solution of the strife--whatever it might be--were taking the place of the fight. * * * * * i tried to persuade myself that i had been dreaming, and that the barbed arrow in my breast was the effect of the hard savoyard upon which i had supped; but there was the reality. there was my poor friend imploring me to keep them off his broken limb. there were the savages, yelling and disputing in unknown languages, covered by their shields, and encased in armour which looked like straw bands bound round their legs to the knee. the reader will have guessed the solution; and he is right. the savoyard and black bread upon which i supped, succeeded by the heavy sleep which was induced by the roaring fire, occasioned the dream which supplies the story. late in the night the refuge was invaded by a crowd of piedmontese peasants, who are engaged to cut passes in the snow to enable the traffic to be carried on. these gangs are hired without reference to character or conduct; consequently, when the first deep snow of the winter occurs, it brings together many opposite feuds and factions, who take this opportunity of settling, either by stiletto or by words and wrangling, all existing differences. finding the snow not sufficiently settled to proceed with their operations, they had sought the nearest refuge to their work to await the lulling of the storm, their huge wooden shovels slung across their shoulders, and the straw bands round their legs doing duty for the shields and armour of the contending savages. * * * * * the remainder of the night was passed in a dense cloud of the smoke of bad tobacco, mingled with the vapours arising from our damp visitors. i could not in common humanity leave my disabled comrade to the rough treatment of this army of road-cleaners, or i should have much preferred the outside elements, with all their severity, to the offensive atmosphere of the refuge. * * * * * the dawn of day, however, brought with it a slight change in the direction of the wind, which had very much abated in its violence, and this enabled the men of the wooden shovels to clear out and continue their work. it was not till late on the following morning that the track had been sufficiently worked out for us to proceed. we then attached our mules to a sleigh and crawled to the summit, where we left our long team and proceeded, with one pair of horses, to descend the mountain. when the snow has fallen in sufficient quantities to cover the road, carriages on wheels are abandoned, and the traffic is carried on by means of sleighs. * * * * * the descent is performed in a marvellously short time, the horses being very clever, and the driver having sufficient nerve to let them use their own discretion as to pace. * * * * * the railway terminus at st. jean de maurienne affording a good buffet, we were right glad of an opportunity of refreshing our exhausted systems with some civilised food, and, having done so, took the train to paris. chapter viii. right as the mail--proprietors and contractors--guards and coachmen--a cold foot-bath--a lawyer nonsuited--old mac--the spectre squire--an unsolved mystery. "right as the mail," is an expression which even now conveys an impression of perfection; and what indeed could have been more thoroughly adapted to the work for which it was designed than the old english mail? there was an air of solidity and importance about the royal mail to which everything gave way. the origin of the term "right as the mail," arose more from the fact that the guards (government servants) were supplied with chronometers which were compared daily at the general post office, and consequently dictated the correct time to all the clocks and watches down the road. as some of my younger readers may not have seen a stage-coach, it may be well to describe one. the weight was about one ton. it was painted red, having a royal coat-of-arms on the panel of the door. it was constructed to carry four inside and four out, having a bag or basket for luggage, the roof being reserved for heavy mail-bags. a round seat behind, covered with a skin, was for the guard, pockets for pistols being placed on either side. contracts for horsing the mails did not often change hands, though tenders were formally invited every year. nelson, shearman, and chaplin were amongst the largest contractors. the latter had at one time one thousand seven hundred horses employed in coaching. a story is told of him which proves that, whilst he was a kind and considerate master, he always kept his weather eye open. he used to dine with his coachmen once every year, when one of his toasts was "success to shouldering!"[ ] adding: "but let me catch _you_ at it!" one great source of profit to a mail was the oil which was allowed by the general post office. a mail was always expected to have its lamps lighted after sunset, moonlight or not, consequently the amount of oil "shouldered," or charged for, though not used, was considerable. [illustration: the royal mail.] it was a beautiful sight to see the mails on the king's birthday assembled at the general post office--the men all dressed in new liveries, and in most cases with new harness; the horses decorated with bouquets of flowers--making a promenade through the principal streets in the west of london. this parade did not in any way interfere with the regular work, and nearly all the night mails assembled at the general post office at eight o'clock to receive their bags. some of the western and southern mails were met by a mail-cart with their bags at their own booking offices in the west-end. the fastest mail out of london was the "devonport," commonly called the "quicksilver;" and who that ever saw can forget it, with its four chestnuts, driven by charles ward, leaving the white horse cellars at half-past eight! how it rattled through piccadilly! passing all the other mails, eight in number, and arriving first at hounslow, where they all changed horses. ward drove on to bagshot, returning with the up-mail about three a.m.; sixty miles a-night, and this for seven years. another coachman, bill harbridge, to whom i have already referred in these pages, drove the "manchester" mail for two years out of london, performing one hundred miles a-night; fifty miles down and fifty miles up. i have his own authority for saying that he used to take as much as fourteen pounds to sixteen pounds a-week in fees, the manchester merchants used to pay so well. the general post office also allowed him two guineas a-week. he was another instance of the total want of prudence, unfortunately so common to his class, and died in the workhouse. although coachmen and guards, when coaching was in its zenith, were in receipt of comfortable incomes, it is very rare that an instance is found of their having provided for a rainy day, and still more rare to find any instance of their having taken service in any railway establishment. many of the coaches, when there was not too much opposition, would earn from five pounds to six pounds a-mile per month. if corn and beans were not unusually high, three pounds a mile was said to pay. the profits of a coach were divided monthly, and all outgoings disbursed--the mails having considerable advantage from their having neither duty nor gates to pay. one of the largest sources of revenue was derived from the booking of parcels, each article being charged twopence. articles of value were registered, and paid according to the amount insured. * * * * * some years ago i was driving a fast coach in the north of england, when a singular surprise occurred to me. it was sometimes the custom to give the mail teams a rest, by letting them run over a longer stage, where they were not expected to go so fast as the mail was timed. this change had been made, on the occasion of which i write, from barnby moor. we rattled along over the eight miles of ground allotted to the mail stage, and here was their natural stop. no remark had been made to me either by the coachman or by the proprietor (who happened to be upon the coach), and who then cautioned me that the horses would want to run up to the place where the mail pulled up to change. i took precautionary measures accordingly, in order to get them by it. i had succeeded (as i thought) admirably, and, having passed the place, was looking round rather with a view of inviting a compliment from the professional coachman who was sitting behind me, when, all at once, as if shot out of a gun, the whole team bolted out of the road, and we found ourselves in the middle of a deep horsepond. this team was accustomed, when taken out of the mail, to be ridden at once into the pond to be washed. they had run cheerfully past their stable, but the temptation of the horsepond was irresistible, so in they went. there were two elderly ladies inside the coach, who screamed out loudly for help and a lifeboat. it was one of those deep roadside ponds, with a white rail round it; plenty of room to get in, but very little room to get out. here we were planted, water up to the axles, inside full, and the team, in the greatest confusion; although each horse looked satisfied that he had done the right thing, and was in no particular hurry to get out. after much splashing and pawing we got the leaders off, and, by backing her on the lock, i got the coach safely ashore; not, however, before the old ladies had got a thorough ducking. i superintended personally the administration of two glasses of hot brandy-and-water to each of the ladies who had been involuntarily subjected to a cold foot-bath. * * * * * there was so much opposition, in the days of which i am writing--forty years ago--that coach proprietors were only too anxious to make reparation in the most liberal manner for any little inconvenience to which passengers might be accidentally exposed. in this case the proprietor was present, and would readily have complied with any reasonable wish expressed by the passengers. modesty almost forbids me to mention here that, when the coach was ready to start, i was requested by the proprietor to continue to drive; which, to an amateur, and a young amateur, was no small compliment--evidently showing that our immersion in the horsepond had not been caused by any want of skill or experience on my part. * * * * * when opposition was at its height in england, every device was resorted to in order to render one coach more popular than another. advertising was carried to a very great extent, and squibs were unreservedly circulated in order to lower the prestige of the contending parties. as, for instance, notice was given that a certain coach had reduced its rate for carrying pigs and poultry; no charge would be made for children under twelve, provided they sat upon the knees of their parents, or those of some other passenger; great care was taken that "hospital linen" should be stowed _inside_. although opposition between the coaches was carried to great extremes, it never got to quite so high a pitch as amongst the postmasters, amongst whom within the last fifty years the emulation was so rife upon the north road that the horses of a private carriage would be forcibly taken off and a fresh pair attached at the red lion at barnet, and the next stage to st. albans (nine miles) performed without charge, in order to prevent the "turn" from going to the white hart, where the traveller might have partaken of a sandwich and a glass of sherry gratis. this state of things could not last long, especially as in its next phase it entailed the hiring of a staff of fighting-men to secure the employment of the red lion horses. matters having arrived at such a pitch as to cause a free fight in the highroad whenever a posting job hove in sight, the local authorities were obliged to interfere, and messrs. newman and bryant, the landlords of the two hotels, were bound over to keep the peace and abide by the regular tariff of one shilling and threepence a mile, and threepence the postboy. * * * * * the guard of the mail, apart from his being a certificated newsmonger, was held in great respect by the idlers who collected to see the mail change in every town or village through which he passed. what he said was absolute, there was no time for argument, and the few words which he addressed to the customary group afforded matter for the smoking-room for a whole evening. many trifling incidents and occurrences, by the time they had passed through a jury of gin-and-water and churchwardens, were distorted into the most terrible and tragic facts. every road has its legend, and guards of the coaches make stock-in-trade of the ghosts and supernatural appearances as it suits their opportunity. a tale may be so often repeated that, however sceptical the narrator is at first, he becomes quite ready to vouch for the whole truth of it on more intimate acquaintance. some ghosts are more profitable than others, their feats and appearances being varied in character. an old mail guard, who had served the government in that capacity for forty years, and who was in receipt of a pension of eighty pounds per annum, was in the habit of coming to london during the summer season and taking service on one of the "revival" coaches; he rode behind me for three seasons to rochester, and two to brighton, and behind chandos pole, upon that road, for many more. his anecdotes were inexhaustible; he recounted the most incredible catalogue of accidents, attacks, delays, impediments to the mails he had been on, in all of which he had played the hero's part. his quixotic triumphs over every sort of difficulty were most amusing, and not without result, as i know, on one occasion, he declined a saturday journey behind me to brighton. he had one ghost only upon this road, whose appearances, however, were so innocent and evident that he was obliged to draw largely upon his imagination, and borrow matter from other goblins, in order to make him sufficiently sensational. i give the naked tale, and leave the garnishing of "old mac" to the imagination of my readers. * * * * * upon the side of the highroad to brighton, not a hundred miles from handcross, there stands, in its own ornamental grounds, one of those very picturesque residences which is neither a villa nor a mansion, though it combined the modesty of the one with the importance of the other. the house was sufficiently retired from the road to admit of a spacious lawn studded with ornamental trees of considerable size, which gave the whole thing a park-like appearance, and, standing as it did upon an eminence, presented a generally picturesque appearance. the owner of this property was a gentleman of independent means, and of rather eccentric habits. he resided all the year round at ----, never went into society, and never entertained friends at home. many years were passed in the quiet routine of everyday life; nothing remarkable occurred except that the owner was absent daily for several hours, and could not be induced to give any explanation of whither he went, or otherwise account for his absence. when closely questioned by his wife, he used to evade the subject, and implore her not to press her inquiry upon him, as, if he were to disclose the secret, he might never be allowed to return. * * * * * time went on, and the anxiety (to say nothing of the curiosity) of the wife to solve this mysterious absence and the secrecy it involved, induced her to communicate with a private inquiry office to solve it. this step was no sooner taken than an end was put to all local evidence, by the sudden disappearance of the gentleman, without leaving the slightest clue to his whereabouts. coverts were searched, ponds dragged, rewards offered, all in vain. no word was ever heard from that day to this of the missing gentleman. the wife continued to live at ---- until her death, which occurred several years after the mysterious disappearance of her husband. and, during these years, the room which had been occupied by the gentleman, upon the ground-floor (window opening upon the lawn) was still visited on occasions by an apparition, who frequently changed his hat and gloves, leaving old ones behind, and taking those which were always neatly brushed and laid out for his use. there is a broad quick-set hedge, cut square upon the top, separating the premises from the highroad, and, walking upon this hedge, may be seen on almost any night the "spectre squire." the apparition of the squire was not seen only by a few of the neighbours, but sceptics came from long distances, and returned satisfied that they had seen (and some that they had conversed with) the phantom. an old man who kept a turnpike-gate, not a quarter of a mile from the haunted residence, assured me that he had seen him, night after night, and described it as follows: "i'd a-come in, and was sitting in the porch doorway, about _leben_ o'clock, as fur as i remember. my old 'oman she kep' 'ollering out to me: 'why don't you ope' the gate; there's a funeral a-coming?' i thought she was mazed. 'there's nobody there,' says i. well, whilst i was there i could see nothing, but the gate took and swung open of itself, and come back on the bolt, and this it did four or five times! i took and i got up and put the chain on the gate and locked it. oh dear, oh dear! down he come, and he was that angry! he walked backwards and forwards through the gate, right through the middle--that never stopped him a minute! "since that i've a-seed him scores of times doing the same thing, and he takes no notice of me, only scowling-like. "i chain and lock the gate o' nights, but i always find it open in the morning; and i can't tell how." this was one of the best-conducted ghosts i have come across; as, apart from scaring the villagers by his midnight rambles, he bore the best of characters in the neighbourhood. this house and premises to this day share the fate of others which have fallen into the hands of unexplained tenants, and are subject to visits from supernatural agents. strange noises are heard; windows, which were barred and fastened overnight, are found open in the morning. servants will not remain in the situation, and do not like to explain the cause of their wishing to leave. the turnpike-house is pulled down, as no one could be found to inhabit it. [illustration: an austrian drag.] chapter ix. public and private conveyances in austria and hungary--an english dragsman posed--the vienna race-meeting--gentleman "jocks"--a moral exemplified. all matters 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 same manner 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 in london. 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 called _coupés_, and not held in much favour with the _élite_. 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; the pole-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 sumptuous _déjeûner_, we walked round to the stables. here my anticipations were somewhat damped, as my noble host, pointing to a very long low _char-à-banc_, much upon the principle of an 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 to _hear_ the 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 a whisper 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 gentlemen riders, 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 the _attelage_, giving them all more room in their couplings and in their pole-pieces, middle bar instead of lower, and cheek to those i 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." chapter x. north-country fairs--an untrained foxhunter--tempted again--extraordinary memory of the horse--satisfactory results from a latch-key. in former 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 coach _horse_. 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 his frame, 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 come back 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 . 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 severe and 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, and it 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 him to 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 a london 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 . 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, at york. 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 . "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 career of latch-key, showing the difference between buying and selling. foaled in . sold in £ repurchased £ sold in repurchased sold in repurchased sold in repurchased ------------- £ £ ============= "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, even _now_, if a good offer came in your way!" chapter xi. 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! the coach 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 my distance. 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 remaining where 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 the _qui 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 for _you_." "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 taken before 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 with circumstantial 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 my _alibi_ when 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 followed us, 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, and _i_ had 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 with me "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 a rage, 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. chapter xii. coaches in ireland fifty years ago--warm welcome--still-hunting--another blank day--talent and temper--the avoca coach. before the reign of king bianconi in ireland, the coaching and all public conveyances were of a most primitive description.[ ] 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 rule in 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. [illustration: "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 palm against 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."[ ] "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 kilt entirely. 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 my men 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 him that 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 only _tricks_." 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 in dublin in the year , 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 fifty years 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. chapter xiii. virtue and vice--sowing wild oats--they can all jump--drive down box hill--a gig across country. the intelligence of the horse, and his judgment in hesitating to perform feats which, if attempted, must result in dangerous accidents, have afforded many proofs of equine sagacity. on the other hand there are bolters and kickers which indulge in these vices apropos to nothing, and at times when a bad accident must inevitably ensue. the worst vices of the horse are comprised in the _two_ faults i have named. "bolting" means shying, running away, shifting suddenly out of the road, or turning round short without notice. "kicking" includes all the damage that can be inflicted on man, carriage, harness, etc., by a living catapult tipped with iron. there is a third defect--one of character--denominated "sulk." this is most tiresome and trying, and, if not carefully and promptly dealt with, may never be eradicated. one thing is quite certain, that punishment will not avail. patience offers the only chance. if the weather be fine and the driver in no particular hurry, a daily paper is an excellent antidote to this evil. i knew an instance of a sulky horse being checked when he attempted to move, and forced to stand in one place almost in one position, till his owner had read through _the morning post_ (advertisements and all), taking care to rustle the paper occasionally in order to let the animal know the cause of his detention. so effectual was this remedy, that his master had only to show him a newspaper to make him start like a lamb. [illustration: "will he jump?"] if, as is sometimes the case, a horse be absolutely determined not to move, and defies all the usual methods of persuasion--holding up the fore-leg, tying whip-cord tightly round his ear, pushing at the wheel, etc.--but throws himself down as if purposing to remain there, nothing is left but to put a wisp of straw under him, and set it alight. this, albeit it sounds cruel, need not inflict the slightest injury--since the horse at once obeys the instinct of alarm and pain, and never forgets the experience; so that straw, without the match, will always be sufficient for the future. * * * * * the ready obedience to his rider's wishes, even when the horse's own judgment does not confirm them, is another proof of the animal's generous nature. we constantly hear of young men sowing wild oats, but the _récolte_ is seldom, if ever, sufficiently successful to enable them to feed their horses upon the produce. there is indeed a _morne_ silence in respect to the germinating of this seed, which suggests the inference that no crop can be expected till the grain has perished and the granary is bare! * * * * * a young friend of mine was driving his team through some unfinished streets in one of our favourite marine resorts. not being much practised in the art of "pointing his leaders" in the direction which he intended to pursue, he allowed them to continue a straight course in a road which had no egress, but was blocked at the end by a dwarf wall three feet in height. a friend on the box beside him, finding he had passed the turn by which he could have got out, called to him: "hallo! pull up, man! you can't get out, and you can't turn round." slacking his hand and fanning his wheelers, the young jehu quietly replied: "never mind; they can all _jump_." and they did all jump. no refusal. the leaders got clear over without a scratch; the wheelers, having broken the pole and splinter-bar, got over the wall, but of course fell in a confused heap, and were a good deal hurt. the gentlemen on the box were shot to a considerable distance into some "ground to be let for building purposes" which lay convenient, "rubbish" being also shot there! many of my readers may remember that during the severe frost in the year that made the fortune of murphy's almanac, mr. hunt, the successful rival of messrs. day and martin in the manufacture of blacking, drove his team and drag across the serpentine; a foolhardy feat, seeing that the serpentine was a treacherous lake, and at that time of uncertain depth, both of mud and water. * * * * * another instance, which illustrates forcibly the courage and obedience of the horse, may be in the reader's recollection. a gentleman drove his curricle and pair down box hill in surrey, a descending declivity upon which most horses would find it difficult to stand, even without a carriage. one more example i may adduce--which, had i not been an eye-witness of it, i should find it difficult to believe--illustrates the courage of the horse and the folly of the man. a dealer was showing a horse, in harness, to a customer who, after a short trial, finding that the animal was likely to suit him, inquired if he would jump. being assured that he would, the intending purchaser requested that a hurdle might be set up. another gentleman, probably irish, then assumed the vacant seat in the tilbury, and to the dealer's utter amazement the horse was dashed at the obstacle. there was no refusal; the obedient animal bounded at the hurdle (a good stiff one), was brought up by the wheels and shafts of the gig, and tumbled backwards into the vehicle, uninjured. the results to the gentlemen were less than their folly deserved--a broken collarbone apiece--sprained wrists, and various contusions, at least severe enough to confine them to their beds for several days. * * * * * i now humbly submit these my road scrapings to the reader, in the earnest hope that i may have, in some measure, cleared the way for those who are disposed to avail themselves of my suggestions, and enlivened it for those who are not. the end. charles dickens and evans, crystal palace press. footnotes: [ ] this coach was managed and driven by captain laurie and captain haworth. [ ] this mare was in the english stud-book under the name of the "lawyer's daughter." [ ] it is always desirable that the wheelers should start the load, as the leaders, if free starters, may jump into their work, and either spring a bar or bring the coach so suddenly on the wheel-horses that the trial may be too great for the weight of their heels. [ ] silver-mounted harness, with red morocco collars. [ ] heavy road parcels were frequently stowed underneath the coach upon a swinging shelf, called "the cellar." [ ] possibly tied to it. [ ] corresponding with tally-ho in fox-hunting, to announce a view. [ ] russell's "waggons took twelve days between falmouth and london, drawn by eight powerful horses--the driver riding a pony. [ ] a part of the waggon kept for passengers. [ ] the term "shouldering" referred to many short shillings which were not put upon the way-bill, consequently perquisites of coachmen and guards. [ ] so primitive was the manner in which draught-horses were used that i know an instance of horses being attached to a plough by the hair of their tails. [ ] the requisition fee for a party in those days was accompanied by the tender of a guinea to the officer in command. errata. page . for "cheny angel," _read_ "cherry angel." " . } " . } for "tenet," _read_ "terret." " . } " . for "tynemouth," _read_ "teignmouth." " . for "now the bride," _read_ "now the buda." " . for "bamby moor," _read_ "barnby moor." tinsley brothers' new publications. now ready, in vol. crown vo, price _s._ _d._ =the silver greyhound.= by martin e. haworth, late captain th rifles, queen's foreign service messenger, and m.f.h. "the charm of these pages consists in the naturalness with which they are penned, the incidents following one another as unexpectedly as they occurred in real life."--_st. james's gazette._ now ready, in vol. demy vo, with map. =among the sons of han=: six years' experience of a lady in china and formosa. by mrs. t. f. hughes. now ready, in vols. demy vo, price _s._ =the life of george iv.=, as prince of wales, regent, and king, including his letters and opinions; with a view of the men, manners, and politics of his reign. by percy fitzgerald, m. a., author of "the life of david garrick," "lives of the kembles," &c. now ready, in vol. crown vo, with an illustration, price _s._ _d._ =men we meet in the field=; or, the bullshire hounds. by a. j. bagot ("bagatelle"). now ready, in stitched wrapper, price _d._ =church and stage.= by henry spicer, author of "judicial dramas," "winged words," &c. now ready, in vols, crown vo, price _s._ =stubble farm=; or, three generations of english farmers. by the author of "ernest struggles," &c. now ready, in vols, demy vo, pages, price _s._ =berlin under the new empire=: its institutions, inhabitants, industry, monuments, museums, social life, manners, and amusements. by henry vizetelly, author of "the story of the diamond necklace," &c. illustrated with upwards of engravings from designs by german artists. now ready, in vols, crown vo, price _s._ =london town=: sketches of london life and character. by marcus fall. illustrated by harry furniss. tinsley brothers, , catherine street, strand. now ready, in one vol. demy vo, price ten shillings and sixpence, six months in meccah: an account of the mohammedan pilgrimage to meccah recently performed by an englishman professing mohammedanism. by j. f. keane (hajj mohammed amin). _at all libraries and book-sellers'._ the athenÆum says: "those orthodox geographers who were startled by the american outsider's successful walk into africa will receive a hardly less severe shock on learning that the pilgrimage to meccah has been performed by a youngster of five-and-twenty, apparently a sailor by profession, and with none of the special training enjoyed by his few predecessors.... the style of the work, if something eccentric and unconventional, is amusingly direct and natural, and the occasional digressions are as original and characteristic as the rest. his whole narrative, indeed, is a series of pictures." public opinion says: "mr. keane has given an account of everything of interest that came under his notice when in meccah during the pilgrim season - .... the precarious position of an unbeliever in any wholly mohammedan town is well known, and mr. keane appears to have run many risks; but he has managed to give us his narrative in a modest style, free from all sorts of egotism; and any tale of meccah that is within the comprehension of the general public will always find auditors." the graphic says: "it deserves to succeed; for though full of incidents which seem marvellous even to mr. keane, it is rich in local colouring.... the book is well written, and deserves to be widely read. like captain burton, mr. keane believes in the gold and precious stones of arabia." the literary world says: "his description of this place [the haram] and of the 'holy kaabah' is exceedingly full and interesting, and, were it possible, we should like to have given an extract from it. we give instead his description of meccah.... the book is exceedingly readable, and helps us to a better understanding of modern mohammedanism." the daily chronicle says: "the simplicity of the narrative precludes any idea of book-making; and the scenes described are so fresh that they will awaken considerable interest, and lead the readers to look anxiously for the fresh volume of adventure half promised by the author." john bull says: "a very entertaining book.... we have little but praise to give to his spirited narrative. he is never dull, and has given us a most graphic picture of his personal experiences when making the pilgrimage to meccah.... his account of meccah itself, and of the various pilgrims from different countries who there congregate, is full of interest." the globe says: "the book is full of interest.... the author must have mixed freely with the lower classes of asiatics, either in arabia or elsewhere, to be able to give such faithful descriptions of what passes among them when by themselves.... eminently readable." the sunday times says: "he tells his own story, and gives his own experiences, with graphic power. the book is full of interest." vanity fair says: "mr. keane's account of the pilgrimage to meccah, in the disguise of a mohammedan, is both interesting and amusing." manchester post says: "the book is a remarkable one--unpretentious, yet absorbing, and crammed full of incidents which have never before been narrated." tinsley brothers, , catherine street, strand.