STAGECOACHES.
Both by land and by water the methods of travel among the early
colonists were extremely rude. From the early days of the settlements
until the Independence of the United States the improvement was
very slow. During the seventeenth century practically all of the
long-distance traveling was by water. Schooners made regular trips
from New England to Virginia, and smaller sloops or "packets" ran to
New York from the different towns to the eastward. These vessels were
dependent, of course, upon the wind, and the length of the journey
varied greatly. Perhaps a packet might sail from New Haven to New York
in two days, but calms or contrary winds might delay the trip, and make
it a week in going from port to port.
On land, however, the facilities for travel slowly but surely improved.
An interesting account of the rudeness and hardships of New England
land journeys is furnished by the journal of Sarah Knight, who went
from Boston to New York on horseback nearly two hundred years ago. The
roads were openings in the forest, made by cutting down trees, and
were often blocked by fallen trunks. The streams that must be crossed
caused the most trouble. "We came," she wrote, "to a river which they
generally ride thro'; but I dare not venture; so the post got a ladd
and cannoo to carry me to t'other side, and he rid thro' and led my
hors. The cannoo was very small and shallow, so that when we were in
she seemed ready to take in water, which greatly terrified mee and
caused mee to be very circumspect, sitting with my hands fast on each
side, my eyes stedy, not daring so much as to lodg my tongue a hair's
breadth more on one side of my mouth than t'other, nor so much as think
on Lott's wife, for a wry thought would have oversett our wherey." For
a woman to undertake such a journey was very unusual, and after her
return she wrote with a diamond on the glass of a window these lines:
"Through many toils and many frights,
I have returned, poor Sarah Knights.
Over great rocks and many stones
God has preserved from fractured bones."
About the time that this long journey was made, carriages began to come
into use. The most common of these were the large coach, the "calash,"
and a lighter, two-wheeled vehicle, with a calash top, similar to a
chaise. But these carriages were for a time only used within the towns
themselves, where the large number of houses required the building of
better roads and streets. Comparatively few persons could afford to own
private carriages, and their use was therefore not general for many
years. Before the middle of the eighteenth century, however, carriages
became more common. Broader and better roads had been built, and longer
journeys could be made. As early as 1725, carriages had been driven
from the Connecticut River to Boston, and overland travel began to be
more customary.
The first roads that could be called suitable for carriage travel
were for the most part toll roads. Instead of being made by the towns
or counties, or by the colonies, they were built by corporations.
These companies were granted the privilege of charging toll from every
traveler over their roads for the purpose of paying a profit to the
members of the company, as well as to keep the roads in repair. In the
same way corporations built bridges, charging a small toll upon every
one who crossed them. Thus travel was improved, time was saved, and
less discomfort was caused the travelers.
[Illustration: OLD-STYLE CALASHES.]
In the eighteenth century public carriages began to come into use.
Previously if any one wished to travel by land, he found it necessary
to own or hire horses. If he made a voyage by sea, he could pay his
fare on some vessel that made the trip he wished to take. This means
of public transportation, this carrying a person or his goods for pay,
had been limited, however, to water travel. There were no regular
conveyances running from town to town by land which would carry
passengers or freight.
The town of Plymouth had been settled nearly a hundred years before
the first line of stagecoaches in any part of the country was put in
operation. This "stage wagon" ran between Boston and Bristol ferry,
where it connected with the packet line to Newport and New York. Three
years later a stage line began to run from Boston to Newport, making
one trip each way every week. The driver advertised to carry "bundles
of goods, merchandise, books, men, women, and children."
Travel was slow, much slower than seems possible to-day. The roads were
still very poor, in fact scarcely fit to be called roads. Little by
little new stage lines were established, nearly always in connection
with some packet line. Up to the middle of the eighteenth century,
however, opportunities to travel by stage were few and the time
required great. Three weeks were needed to make the trip from Boston to
Philadelphia, even under the most favorable conditions.
Less than three years before the battle of Lexington, the first
stage was run between New York and Boston. The first trip was begun
on Monday, July 13th, and the journey's end was not reached until
Saturday, July 25th. Thirteen days were thus required for a trip which
may now be made in five or six hours. As the amount of travel increased
new lines were formed, the roads were improved, and stages were run
more frequently and more rapidly. Sixty years after the first trip
was made between New York and Boston the time had been cut down from
thirteen days to one day and five hours; more than a hundred lines of
coaches were then regularly running out of Boston.
In spite, however, of every improvement, travel by stage a hundred
years ago was no simple or pleasant matter. Professor McMaster says:
"The stagecoach was little better than a huge covered box mounted on
springs. It had neither glass windows nor door nor steps nor closed
sides. The roof was upheld by eight posts which rose from the body of
the vehicle, and the body was commonly breast-high. From the top were
hung curtains of leather, to be drawn up when the day was fine and let
down and buttoned when rainy or cold. Within were four seats. Without
was the baggage. When the baggage had all been weighed and strapped on
the coach, when the horses had been attached, the eleven passengers
were summoned, and, clambering to their seats through the front of the
stage, sat down with their faces toward the driver's seat."
[Illustration: AN OLD-FASHIONED STAGECOACH.]
The coach would set out from the inn with the horses on a gallop,
which would continue until a steep hill was reached. Then would follow
the slow pacing up the hill, the gallop down again, the dragging
through a stretch of muddy road, the careful fording of a river, the
watering of the horses every few miles, and the rapid gallop up to the
next inn. Here the mail pouches would be taken out and in, perhaps a
change of coaches made or more frequently of horses only, a delay for
a little gossip, and the stage would be off again. This was all very
exhilarating and agreeable in pleasant, warm weather, but how fatiguing
in the cold and snows of winter, and even during a chilly summer storm.
These public conveyances were used only when necessary. Private
carriages were much preferred to the stagecoach, as being a more
comfortable as well as a safer mode of travel. The story is told of
one young lady who was visiting near Boston, eighty years ago. She was
very anxious to return to her home, but her father was unable to come
for her. Her mother wrote: "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
these vehicles. As soon as your papa can, you may be sure he will go or
send for you."
[Illustration: MUNROE TAVERN, LEXINGTON, MASS. (BUILT IN 1695.)]
Whether the traveler went by stage or in his private carriage, it was
necessary to stop at the inns. The taverns had a great deal to do with
making journeys pleasant or disagreeable. As a general rule, the New
England inns were kept by leading men, and in most cases the innkeeper
was required to obtain recommendations from the selectmen of the town
before he could get a license or a permission to establish and keep
the tavern. Even the smaller New England villages boasted of inns that
compared favorably with the hotels of the large towns. A Frenchman,
traveling through the United States early in this century, wrote in
highest praise of the inns of New England, whose windows were without
shutters, and whose doors had neither locks nor keys, and yet where
no harm ever came to the traveler. He admired "the great room, with
its low ceiling and neatly sanded floor; its bright pewter dishes and
stout-backed, slat-bottomed chairs ranged along its walls; its long
table; and its huge fireplace, with the benches on either side."
He had less praise for the inns of the rest of the country. The
buildings were poor, the fare was coarse, and the beds were bad. The
roofs leaked, the windows were sometimes mere openings in the wall; the
bedding was unclean and extremely uninviting.
If a traveler were compelled to stop at the Southern inns, he found
his journey far from agreeable. Fortunately for him the Southern
planter was the most hospitable of persons. "At his home strangers were
heartily welcome and nobly entertained. Some bade their slaves ask in
any traveler that might be seen passing by. Some kept servants on the
watch to give notice of every approaching horseman or of the distant
rumble of a coming coach and four." On the plantation the traveler was
always treated as a most intimate friend, and in the cheery comfort of
the mansion he forgot, for the time being, the trials and hardships of
travel by land.