STEAM _versus_ COACH.
_For the Table Book._
“Now there is nothing gives a man such spirits,
Leavening his blood as Cayenne doth a curry,
As going at full speed----”
_Don Juan_, c. 10. v. 72.
If the number of persons who have been killed, maimed, and disfigured
for life, in consequence of stage-coach _mishaps_, could be ascertained,
since the first establishment of steam-packets in this country, and, on
the other hand, the number who have been similarly unfortunate by
steam-boilers bursting, we should find that the stage-coach proportion
would be in the ratio of ten to one! A solitary “blow up” of a
steam-packet is “noised and proclaimed” from the Land’s End to the other
extremity of the island; while hundreds of coach-accidents, and many of
them fatal, occur, which are never heard of beyond the village, near to
which the casualty takes place, or the neighbouring ale-house. These
affairs it is to the interest of the proprietors to “hush up,” by means
of a gratuity to the injured, rather than have their property ruined by
an exposure in a court of justice. Should a poor man have a leg or an
arm broken, through the carelessness of a drunken coachman, his poverty
prevents his having recourse to law. Justice, in these cases, nine times
in ten, is entirely out of the question, and an arrangement, between him
and the proprietors, is easily effected; the unfortunate fellow rather
receiving fifty or a hundred pounds “hush money,” than bring his action,
when, perhaps, from some technical informality in the proceedings,
(should he find a lawyer willing to act for him, being _poor_,) he would
be _nonsuited_, with all the costs of both parties on his own shoulders,
and be, moreover, ruined for ever, in both purse and person. These
remarks were suggested by reading an American work, some time since, on
the above subject, from which I have extracted the following
_Stage-coach Adventures_.
INSIDE.--Crammed full of passengers--three fat, fusty, old men--a young
mother and sick child--a cross old maid--a poll-parrot--a bag of red
herrings--double-barreled gun, (which you are afraid is loaded)--and a
snarling lap-dog, in addition to yourself--awaking out of a sound nap,
with the cramp in one leg, and the other in a lady’s band-box--pay the
damage (four or five shillings) for “gallantry’s sake”--getting out in
the dark, at the half-way-house, in the hurry stepping into the return
coach, and finding yourself the next morning at the very spot you had
started from the evening before--not a breath of air--asthmatic old man,
and child with the measles--windows closed in consequence--unpleasant
smell--shoes filled with warm water--look up and find it’s the
child--obliged to bear it--no appeal--shut your eyes, and scold the
dog--pretend sleep, and pinch the child--mistake--pinch the dog, and get
bit--execrate the child in return--black looks--“no gentleman”--pay the
coachman, and drop a piece of gold in the straw--not to be found--fell
through a crevice--coachman says, “he’ll find it”--can’t--get out
yourself--gone--picked up by the ’ostler.--No time for “blowing
up”--coach off for next stage--lose your money--get in--lose your
seat--stuck in the middle--get laughed at--lose your temper--turn sulky,
and turned over in a horse-pond.
OUTSIDE.--Your eye cut out by the lash of a clumsy coachman’s whip--hat
blown off, into a pond, by a sudden gust of wind--seated between two
apprehended murderers, and a noted sheep-stealer in irons, who are being
conveyed to gaol--a drunken fellow, half asleep, falls off the coach,
and, in attempting to save himself, drags you along with him into the
mud--musical guard, and driver, “horn mad”--turned over--one leg under a
bale of cotton, the other under the coach--hands in breeches
pockets--head in a hamper of wine--lots of broken bottles _versus_
broken heads--_cut_ and run--send for surgeon--wounds dressed--lotion
and lint, four dollars--take post-chaise--get home--lay down, and laid
up.
INSIDE AND OUTSIDE.--Drunken coachman--horse sprawling--wheel off--pole
breaking, down hill--axle-tree splitting--coach overturning--winter, and
buried in the snow--one eye poked out with an umbrella, the other cut
open by the broken window--reins breaking--impudent guard--hurried at
meals--imposition of innkeepers--five minutes and a half to swallow
three and sixpennyworth of vile meat--waiter a rogue--“Like master, like
man”--half a bellyfull, and frozen to death--internal grumblings and
outward complaints--no redress--walk forward while the horses are
changing--take the wrong turning--lose yourself and lose the
coach--good-by to portmanteau--curse your ill luck--wander about in the
dark and find the inn at last--get upon the next coach going the same
road--stop at the next inn--brandy and water, hot, to keep you in
spirits--warm fire--pleasant company--heard the guard cry “All
_right_?”--run out, just in time to sing out “I’m _left_,” as the
coach turns the corner--after it “full tear”--come up with it, at
the end of a mile--get up “all in a blowze”--catch cold--sore
throat--inflammation--doctor--warm bath--fever--DIE.