Of late years, a superior class of men form our coachmen; and for this
we are mainly indebted, first, to the driving clubs, and the notice
taken of coachmen by men of fortune; and, secondly, to the boxes
being placed on springs. The latter renders it a common practice for
passengers to pay an extra shilling for the box-place, whereas formerly
a man would have given something to be any where else. We are told
that good coachmen are becoming, in proportion to their number, more
scarce every year, because, owing to the fine state of the roads,
the condition of the cattle, and the improved method of road-work,
coach-horses are so above their work, that the assistance of the driver
is seldom required. When in town, says a writer in the _Sporting
Magazine_, “I sometimes take a peep at the mails coming up to the
Gloucester Coffee-house; and such a set of spoons are, I should hope,
difficult to be found: they are all legs and wings; not one of them
has his horses in hand; and they sit on their boxes--as if they were
sitting on something else.”
Certain it is that coach-work in perfection is not to be seen a hundred
miles from the metropolis--seldom so far. The build of coaches, the
manufacture of harness, and the stamp and condition of horses are
greatly inferior in the northern counties; and as to the coachmen,
few that at all deserve the appellation. There are few things in
which knowledge of an art without execution is of less value than in
driving four-in-hand; for, although a coachman may have knowledge, it
is possible that, from natural awkwardness, he may be unable to put it
into practical effect with a neat and appropriate movement of his arms
and hands; and seldom is a certain propriety and neatness more required
than in handling the reins and whip. To make a man a good driver, there
is one requisite, and that is, what are called on the roads “hands”--a
nice faculty of touch. No man with a hard, heavy hand can ever make a
good horseman or driver. Neither will a nervous man ever be safe on a
coach-box, for presence of mind and strong nerve are there very often
called into action.
The air and manner of a coachman have been cleverly described by
some periodical writers. Let us, say they, suppose the horses put to
their coach, all ready for a start--the reins thrown across the off
wheel-horse’s loins, with the ends hanging upon the middle terret of
his pad, and the whip thrown across the backs of the wheelers.--The
coachman makes his appearance. If he be a coachman, a judge will
immediately perceive it; for, as a certain philosopher observes, “every
situation in life serves for formation of character,” and none more
so than a coachman’s. I was going to say--only let a judge see him
come out of his office, pulling on his glove; but this I will say--let
one see him walk round his horses, alter a coupling-rein, take up his
whip and reins, and mount his box, and he will at once pronounce him
a neat, or an awkward one.--The moment he has got his seat and made
his start, you are struck with the perfect mastership of his art--the
hand just over his left thigh, the arm without constraint, steady, and
with a holding command, that keeps his horses like clockwork, yet, to
a superficial observer, with reins quite loose. So firm and compact
is he, that you seldom observe any shifting, except perhaps to take
a shorter purchase for a run down hill, which he accomplishes with
confidence and skill untinctured with imprudence.
In a coachman, temper is also one of the essentials to a good
workman.--We are told of a great artist, that, having four “rum ones”
to deal with, and being unable to make them work to please him, he
threw the reins on the footboard, and exclaimed, “Now, d--n your eyes,
divide it among you, for I will be troubled with you no longer.” The
impertinences of passengers sometimes increase this irritability. In
steam-vessels, they adopt the plan of writing in large letters on the
wheel which directs the helm, “Do not talk to the helmsman.” It would
be as well in some coaches to have the same rule adopted--“Do not
babble to the coachman.”
It is not possible to obtain a better idea of a good coachman
than from the following account of one who is said to be the first
coachman in England for bad horses. “Having all his life had moderate
horses--some strong and heavy, some light and blood-like, old hunters,
old posters,--most of the teams going and returning,--their work at the
utmost stretch, always overpowering,--having also had always, besides
difference in character, weak horses to nurse,--this ordeal has worn
him down to a pattern of patience. With these, and great weight upon
severe ground, he is steady, easy, very economical in thong and cord,
very light-handed and sometimes playful.--I observed him closely, and
discovered from his remarks, as well as from what I saw, that his great
secret of keeping his nags in any thing like condition, and preserving
them when apparently worn out, is by putting them properly together,
by constantly shifting their situations, and by the use of check-reins
with remarkable judgment--by which means he brings their powers as near
to equality as possible, besides preventing the evil of boring. Indeed,
his horses all go light and airy; and though at times his hold of
necessity becomes powerful, yet, generally speaking, he takes his load
without a severe strain upon his arms.--I own it is this particular
knack which always wins me. Both in driving and riding, give me the man
who can accomplish his object with a light hand.”
The duty of a coachman is apt to injure the eyes--particularly in
cold blowing weather. He must keep his eye forward; and it is found
that the sight cannot be fixed upon any thing beyond the head of the
wheel-horses (not so far as this, in short men,) without raising the
eyelids, and consequently exposing the eyes to the weather. Six parts
of cold spring water, to one of brandy, is a good lotion when the eyes
suffer from this cause.--Coachmen should also preserve their feet and
bodies from cold. In very cold weather, the chin should be protected
by a shawl, and the knees by thick cloth knee-caps. In very severe
weather, the breast should be protected; for which purpose hare-skins
are now manufactured, and are getting into use on the road.
A coachman ought not to drive more than seventy miles a day; and, if
this is done at two starts, so much the better. The wearing of the
frame, under daily excitement, must tend to produce premature old age,
and to shorten life; and this excitement must be very considerable when
a man drives a fast coach eighty or a hundred miles a day without a
stop--particularly if his coach be strongly opposed. Coachmen who wish
to keep themselves light, take walking exercise in their hours of rest
from road-work.
As to amateur coachmen, it has been observed, that if a diet were
formed, before whom gentlemen-coachmen were to be examined previous to
their being considered safe, it would not be amiss if they were put to
the test of having the harness of four horses taken to pieces, strap
from strap, and then requested to put it together again in the presence
of the judges. There would be no hesitation in pronouncing him safe
who succeeded in this, as his experience on the road must have been
considerable. How these amateurs are trusted with the reins, coachmen
are now obliged to be careful, owing to the speed of coaches, and the
improved breed and condition of coach-horses. Hence, we see fewer
amateurs at work than formerly. It would indeed be highly culpable in
a coachman to trust the lives of passengers and his master’s property
to any one whom he did not know to be safe, or even without reflecting
that a man may be a very safe coachman with horses he knows, and a very
unsafe one on some roads with horses to which he is a stranger.
To gentlemen who wish to drive, and are really capable of doing
so, the following is recommended as not a very bad way of doing
business:--“When travelling with a coachman I do not know,” says an
amateur, “I always adopt the following plan--that is, if I wish to
work. In the first place, I never got upon a coach-box yet with any
thing like half-pay about me; such as a black handkerchief around my
neck, or in blue pantaloons; neither do I think I ever shall. I always
take care to have a good deal of drag about me:--a neat pair of boots,
and knee-caps, if cold weather: a good drab surtout--if not a poodle;
a benjamin or two about the coach, and a little of the spot about the
neck. For the first mile, I always observe a strict silence, unless
broken by coachee; but at this time he generally runs mute. He is
perhaps but just awake, or is considering about his way-bill--reckoning
his passengers, thinking what he has to do on the road, and, if a
workman, looking over his team to see if all is right. Leave him alone
for a short time, and when his mind is at ease, he will look you over
as you sit beside him. He will begin with your boots, proceeding
upwards to the crown of your hat, and if he like you, and you make a
remark or two that please him, and show you to be a judge of the art,
the first time he stops he will say--‘Now, sir, have you got your
driving gloves on; would you like to take ’em?’--I am here alluding to
country work, and not to the roads near London.”
Coachmen’s expenses on the road being heavy, should be taken into
consideration by passengers. They have their horse-keepers to pay every
week, or they will not do their best for them; and the wear and tear
of their clothes is a heavy tax on their pockets. They are satisfied,
however, with one shilling under, and two shillings for anything over,
thirty miles; and they are well entitled to that sum--more especially
when we recollect that they are liable to have empty coaches. No man,
certainly, should give them less than a shilling, and if he often
travel the same road, his money is not ill bestowed. In respectable
coaches, no great difference is now made between the fees given by in
and outside passengers, as it often happens that the latter are best
able to pay.
Guards on mail coaches are necessary appendages to the establishment;
and, that they may be equal to their duty, they go only moderate
distances--as from sixty to eighty miles, when they are relieved by
others. Those on the long stages, however, are imposed upon by their
masters; and, by being made to do more than they are equal to--many of
them two nights up for one in bed, are half their time asleep. Some go
from London to Exeter, Shrewsbury, and other places equally distant,
without stopping more than three quarters of an hour on the road,
which, in bad weather, is hard enough. Indeed, it is wonderful how with
their means they always contrive to live.
Guards are by no means useless appendages to stage coaches; for no
coach, running a long distance and in the night, should be without
one; but such guards should be provided with fire-arms in good repair.
Setting aside the idea of highway robbery, it is impossible that, in
the night, a coachman can see to the luggage on his coach,--nor indeed,
can the guard, if he be asleep, and asleep he must be a great part of
his time, if worked in the way above stated. He should not go more than
one hundred miles, and he should be paid by the proprietors. But if the
public should not be left to pay an armed guard, it is monstrous that
they should pay an unarmed one. As to mail-guards, government allows
them only a mere pittance of a few shillings a week, leaving the public
to pay them; whereas the public have nothing to do with them, and it
is the most impudent imposition that these servants of government
should be paid by persons travelling. That they carry fire-arms is
true; but it is to protect the letter-bags--property which government
is paid to protect--that they would use these arms, and not on account
of passengers. Strictly speaking, they have nothing to do with the
passengers, nor their luggage; their sole duty being to protect the
mail. As, therefore, government is paid for carrying the mails,
government, and not the public, should pay the persons who actually do
protect them.