Pirate Omnibuses--Their History and Tricks.
Pirate omnibusmen--the pests of the streets of London--although not
quite so numerous as once they were, continue, practically unchecked,
to defraud ladies, children, foreigners and other unsuspecting persons
whom they succeed in enticing into their travelling plunder-traps.
The disreputable doings of these rascals have been the cause of a
very large proportion of the complaints which have been made against
omnibuses during the last seventy years.
One of the secrets of Shillibeer’s early success was the care which
he took to impress upon every man he employed the importance of
politeness towards all passengers, and the seriousness with which
he regarded any breach of that rule. But, in 1839, it was noticed
that this high standard of politeness was not maintained by two or
three conductors of the new omnibuses running from Paddington to
the Bank, _viâ_ Oxford Street. They overcharged passengers, and met
any protests with a torrent of abuse. Frequently, when females only
were in the omnibus, they brought their journey to an end before they
reached their advertised destination, compelling the passengers to
walk a considerable distance after paying their fares. Shillibeer was
inundated with complaints, and at once took steps to make it known that
the omnibuses referred to were not his property, although they bore his
name and were painted and lettered in imitation of his vehicles. These
were the first pirate omnibuses. To let the public know which really
were his vehicles, Shillibeer at once had painted on them “Shillibeer’s
Original Omnibus.” In a few days the same inscription appeared on some
of the pirates with the word “not” preceding it in very small letters.
When Shillibeer started his ill-fated Greenwich omnibuses the pirates
followed in his wake, and soon made their presence known by their
impudent cheating and bullying of passengers. One night, in April,
1836, some people returning to London saw what they believed to be
one of Shillibeer’s omnibuses ready to start. They entered it and
sat down to wait until it was full. Within a quarter of an hour all
the seats were occupied. But even then the omnibus did not start,
for the conductor, in the bullying manner of his class, demanded the
fares before the journey began. The passengers, anxious to get home,
produced their money and tendered the usual fare--a shilling each. With
a volley of oaths the conductor declared that the fare that night was
eighteenpence. The passengers refused to pay the extra sixpence and
threatened to report the conductor to Shillibeer for extortion and foul
language, if he did not start the omnibus at once.
“Right away, Charlie,” the conductor shouted; but there was something
in the way he uttered those three words which gave the coachman the tip
what to do, for he drove off immediately, not towards London, but down
a back street to a deserted part of Greenwich, where he pulled up.
Again the conductor demanded eighteenpence from each person, and some
were disposed to pay it; but the people who were the first to enter
the omnibus declined most emphatically to submit to the extortion, and
prevailed upon their fellow-passengers to be equally firm. Soon some
of them wished that they had not been so firm, for when the conductor
found that he could not obtain more than the proper fare he bawled out,
“It’s no good, Charlie. Let ’em walk to London.”
The coachman got down from his box, took out his horses and went off
with them at a trot, the conductor following with the omnibus lamp in
his hand. In great indignation the passengers quitted the dark omnibus
and wended their way back to the main street, vowing to let Shillibeer
have a full account of everything that had occurred. But when on the
following day they called on Shillibeer in a body, and complained of
the men’s behaviour, they were met with the inquiry, “What was the
number of the omnibus?”
“588,” was the answer in chorus.
“Gentlemen, that is not one of my omnibuses,” Shillibeer replied; but
he experienced some difficulty in convincing the deputation that he
spoke the truth. Some of his hearers were determined not to let the
matter rest there, and when they had satisfied themselves that the
omnibus in which they had had such an unpleasant experience was not a
Shillibeer, they published abroad, on their own responsibility, that
omnibus No. 588 was a pirate. Their caution against that particular
omnibus brought forth a large number of warnings against other pirates,
and the nefarious practices of the objectionable vehicles being
proved beyond all doubt, the Government passed a second Omnibus Bill,
compelling drivers and conductors to be licensed. But legislation did
not succeed in checking to any great extent the fraudulent doings of
the pirates.
The first real check they received came, a few years later, from the
proprietors of respectably-conducted omnibuses, whose vehicles were
imitated just as Shillibeer’s had been. These proprietors were now in
a position to assert themselves, having just formed themselves into
Associations. The associated proprietors started a crusade against
pirates, and subjected them daily to a rigorous course of “nursing,”
which is not such a harmless performance as it sounds, consisting as it
does of two omnibuses working together to prevent a third from making a
profitable journey. One of the Association’s omnibuses would keep just
in front of the pirate, and the other close behind it, with the result
that, there being three omnibuses where one would have been sufficient,
none of them earned enough to pay expenses. The Associations were
quite prepared to lose money, and when the pirates understood this
they changed their tactics quickly. Whenever a pirate found it was
going to be “nursed,” it would turn off the main road and wander about
the back streets until its “nurses” had gone on. Then it would make
another start in a clear road. To render that proceeding profitless,
the Associations told off an omnibus to follow each pirate wherever it
went. The result was that two omnibuses, sometimes empty, sometimes
carrying mixed loads of amused, frightened, and indignant passengers,
were frequently to be seen careering along quiet back streets with
scarcely a yard dividing them. This state of things had existed for
a few weeks, when a pirate owner heard something which caused him
considerable uneasiness, and prompted him to keep a close watch on his
men. The following morning he witnessed his omnibus begin its daily
struggle, and eventually disappear down a side street closely followed
by its “nurse.” He then walked to a quiet little inn some three miles
away, arriving there in time to discover the rival ’busmen enjoying
themselves at a friendly game of skittles, while their omnibuses stood
empty in the road.
On one occasion a pirate scored off its opponents in a novel way.
Having made several ineffectual attempts to obtain passengers, it
started off into the country, followed by its “nurse.” When they
had travelled some miles the driver of the respectable omnibus was
surprised by seeing a gate suddenly closed in front of his horses,
preventing him from following the pirate. At the same moment a gate
clanged behind him, and, looking round, he discovered that he had been
trapped. He had, in fact, followed the pirate on to its proprietor’s
little farm. “’Ere you are, and ’ere you’ll stay,” the irate owner
declared, with many oaths; while the pirate driver, with taunting
shouts of laughter, whipped up his horses and started back to town. The
farmer omnibus-proprietor made no attempt to detain the Association’s
men, but its omnibus and horses he held prisoners until the following
morning, releasing them one hour after his own omnibus had started out.
In 1855 the London General Omnibus Company came into existence, and
had been established but a very short time when the pirates were
repainted and lettered in close imitation of its omnibuses. They have
continued to imitate them, but not always with impunity, ever since,
and many thousands of people have entered pirates firmly believing
they were the Company’s vehicles. Nine or ten years ago the pirates’
audacity in imitating the general appearance of the London General
omnibuses was at its height, and certainly the imitations of their
decoration and lettering were excellent enough to deceive all but the
very wary. Unable to paint “London General Omnibus Company, Limited,”
on their panels, they had in its place some inscription which might, at
a glance, be taken for it. The favourite one was “London General Post
Office, Lothbury.”
There are also many pirates who lure passengers into their omnibuses by
having them painted to resemble the London Road Car Company’s vehicles.
The pirate is naturally of a roving disposition, and by no means
restricts itself to one route: a “Kilburn” may be seen at Blackwall,
or a “Bayswater” at Bethnal Green. But Oxford Circus is the place best
loved by pirates, and any day of the week they can be seen walking to
and fro, ready to begin their journey as soon as they see a number of
ladies waiting on the pavement.
During shopping hours pirates are continually running to and from
Oxford Circus, but it is interesting to notice that the name of their
destination very rarely appears on them. “Regent Circus” is put up
instead, and the public having doubts as to which really is Regent
Circus, the pirates obtain passengers for both Oxford Circus and
Piccadilly Circus, and turn them out at whichever they like. It is
a great pity that the local authorities do not have the name Regent
Circus, which is still displayed at Oxford Circus, removed, for it
affords the pirate-omnibus men an excuse for painting on their vehicles
a destination which is misleading. The Oxford Street shopkeepers
should, in the interests of their customers, see to this, and,
remembering that the police stated in court a few years ago that one,
at least, of the pirate omnibuses which frequented Oxford Circus was
worked in collusion with pickpockets, insist upon a closer watch being
kept on the pests.
In the summer many pirates run to Kew Gardens on Sundays, and the
exorbitant fares they charge--they collect them on alighting--spoil
the day’s pleasure of many a poorly-paid clerk. Some pirates run on to
Hampton Court, and a trick of theirs on these occasions should always
be borne in mind. When one of them gets well beyond Richmond, and all
fares have been paid--they collect them on these vehicles soon after
crossing Richmond Bridge--a horse is supposed to fall lame, and the
coachman declares, with many expressions of regret, that he cannot go
any further. The passengers are wondering what they shall do, when
another pirate omnibus comes along. The driver of the first omnibus
calls out to the driver of the second, “You’ll take these ladies and
gentlemen on for me, won’t you, Jack?” Jack answers in the affirmative,
and the passengers change into his omnibus, quite believing that
it belongs to the same proprietor as the other. It generally does,
but, nevertheless, when they have driven on another mile or two, the
conductor comes round for fares, and, in spite of indignant protests,
they have to pay. By that time the first omnibus is back at Richmond
picking up fares for London. In the evening it will make a shorter
journey on a different road.
Two or three bullies always ride on the long-distance pirate omnibuses,
and their fellow-travellers, as a rule, have not the slightest
suspicion that they are not ordinary passengers. Of course they pay
the second fare without a murmur, and if any other passenger does not
follow their example they express great astonishment that any one could
be so mean as to attempt to _swindle_ a poor ’bus conductor. Generally
that contemptuous speech has the desired effect--the passenger submits
to being cheated. But sometimes a man is smart enough to guess that the
indignant passengers are friends of the conductor, and is rash enough
to say so. If he looks the kind of man that can be frightened, the
bullies discard their _rôle_ of being disinterested passengers, and
join the conductor in swearing at him and threatening him alternately
with personal violence and the police. Frequently those threats cause
the passenger and his friends to pay up without any further complaints;
but sometimes the bullies meet with a surprise--the passengers threaten
them. Now, the pirate conductor, although frequently a big beery-faced
fellow, is usually a cowardly cur, and his dislike of a thrashing is
exceeded only by his abhorrence of police courts and magistrates.
Therefore he changes his tone, and requests the passengers to get out
if they will not pay; and naturally they oblige him.
Decoy women are another speciality of pirate omnibuses starting for a
long Sunday run into the country. Showily dressed, these women take
their seats on top of the omnibus at its starting place with the idea
of giving an air of respectability to the vehicle. If the omnibus fills
up quickly they pretend to remember that they have left something at
home--their money perhaps--and must of course go back for it; but, if
it does not fill, they go for the ride.
A few pirates cater on Sunday mornings for the lowest of the lower
classes by running a few miles out to some suburban public-house. There
are no restrictions as to behaviour in these omnibuses. A passenger may
smoke, spit and swear, inside or out, to his heart’s content. Moreover,
he may take in with him dogs, ferrets, rats, birdcages and beer. The
conductor smokes a clay pipe and talks, with the air of an authority,
of sporting matters. Several passengers offer him drinks from their
private bottles. He accepts them all, and yet never forgets to collect
the fares inside before going on top.
A few years ago I gave the following answer, to the oft-repeated
question, “How can you tell a pirate?” “No pirates issue tickets;
therefore, before entering an omnibus, see if the conductor has a
ticket-punch or roll of tickets. If he has you may enter his ’bus
assured that it belongs to one of the London Companies or Associations.
It is not, however, suggested that _every_ omnibus which does not issue
tickets is a pirate, for Messrs. Balls Brothers’ Brixton omnibuses,[1]
and a few others, are exceptions.”
[1] Messrs. Balls Brothers adopted the ticket system on August 26, 1901.
Unfortunately, the pirate conductors read my advice, and some of them
quickly rendered it nugatory by wearing punches and holding packets of
tickets in their hands so that every one might see them. The punches
differed, however, in appearance from those used by the Companies and
Associations.
A similar dodge was very common among pirates immediately after the
great strike, when the ticket system was in its infancy and conductors
of the various companies carried rolls of paper tickets. The pirate
conductors provided themselves with ticket-rolls, but once passengers
were safe in their omnibuses they never troubled to tear off and issue
the tickets. One old lady, deceived by a pirate’s appearance, entered
it, in the belief that it was one of the London General’s omnibuses,
and ensconced herself comfortably in the far corner. After a time
the conductor entered, collected her fare and returned to the door
without giving her a ticket. For a few moments the old lady eyed him
sorrowfully. Then she said in a tone of gentle reproof, “Conductor, you
haven’t given me a ticket.”
“Want a ticket, lady?” the conductor replied cheerfully. “’Ere you are,
then; take a bloomin’ yard of ’em,” and tearing off a long string of
tickets dropped it in coils in the astonished passenger’s lap.
But the favourite reply of pirate conductors when asked for a ticket
is, “We don’t have to give tickets. We’re honest men on these ’buses.”
In conclusion, I would point out that the London General, the Road Car,
and the other Companies and Associations described in Chapter VI.,
between them cover the whole of London, and there is, therefore, not
the slightest necessity for any one to enter a pirate. All the would-be
passenger has to do is to refrain from placing the slightest reliance
on the colour of the omnibus, but to see that it bears on the panels
the name of one of the Companies or Associations which I have mentioned.
Visitors to London should take note of the fact that Christmas Eve is
the day on which pirates reap a big harvest.
PART II
_CABS_
CHAPTER I
The introduction of hackney-coaches--“The world run on
wheels”--The first hackney-coach stand and the oldest cab rank
in England--Sedan chairs introduced--Charles I. and Charles II.
prohibit hackney-coaches--Hackney-coaches and the Plague--William
Congreve--Threatened strike of hackney-coachmen--Hackney-chariots
introduced--Prince of Wales drives a hackney-coach--Licences--Funeral
coaches ply for hire in the streets--A pedometer for hackney-coaches
suggested--Dickens on hackney-coaches--Origin of the word “hackney.”
There are, at the present day, many old people who remember and speak
with affection of the old hackney-coach. They admit that it was a
lumbering thing, and that the horses were generally sorry specimens
fully qualified for the knacker’s yard; but they add, emphatically,
that no vehicles now plying for hire in the streets of London can
compare with it for cosiness and comfort. It was furnished luxuriously,
and was as comfortable as a hammock, even when travelling on roads that
would shake a modern cab to pieces before it had journeyed half a mile.
Hackney-coaches were established in London early in the seventeenth
century, and soon became so well patronised that, in 1623, the Thames
watermen, who had long enjoyed the monopoly of carrying the public,
became alarmed and complained loudly that they were being ruined.
Apparently they wished the hackney-coaches to be suppressed, but the
new vehicles were far too popular to be treated in that fashion.
John Taylor, the waterman-poet, bewailed their introduction in a
pamphlet entitled, “The world run on wheels.” He did not denounce
private coaches, his anger being aroused “only against the caterpillar
swarm of hirelings. They have undone my poor trade whereof I am a
member: and though I look for no reformation yet I expect the benefit
of an old proverb, ‘Give the losers leave to speak.’... This infernal
swarm of trade-spellers have so overrun the land that we can get no
living upon the water; for I dare truly affirm that in every day in any
term, especially if the Court be at Whitehall, they do rob us of our
livings and carry 500 fares daily from us.”
“I have heard,” he continued, “of a gentlewoman who sent her man
to Smithfield from Charing Cross to hire a coach to carry her to
Whitehall; another did the like from Ludgate Hill to be carried to see
a play at Blackfriars.”
One is tempted to believe that Taylor was exaggerating in the hope of
checking by ridicule the growing fashion for hackney-coach riding.
“It is,” he declared in the same pamphlet, “a most uneasy kind of
passage in coaches on the paved streets of London, wherein men and
women are so tost, tumbled, jumbled, rumbled, and crossing of kennels,
dunghills, and uneven ways.”
In spite of the protests of the Thames watermen and their friends,
hackney-coaches grew in popular favour. Until 1634, they stood for hire
in the yards of the principal inns, but in that year Captain Baily,
a retired mariner, made an experiment. He had four superior coaches
built, and stationed them for hire at the Maypole in the Strand, where
St. Mary’s Church now stands. The cab rank at the side of St. Mary’s
Church is, therefore, the oldest in England. Baily’s drivers, attired
in livery, were instructed as to the charges they should make for
driving people to various parts of the town. So successful was this
venture that other hackney-coachmen began to take up their stand at
the same place and carry passengers at Captain Baily’s rates. Soon the
rank became so crowded that the practice of driving slowly along the
streets plying for hire was begun by hackney-coachmen who could not
find room for their vehicles at the stand.
Garrard mentions this innovation in a letter to Lord Strafford:--
“I cannot omit to mention any new thing that comes up amongst us,
though never so trivial: here is one Captain Baily, he hath been a
sea-captain, but now lives on the land, about this city, where he tries
experiments. He hath erected, according to his ability, some four
hackney-coaches, put his men in livery, and appointed them to stand at
the Maypole in the Strand, giving them instructions at what rates to
carry men into several parts of the town, where all day they may be
had. Other hackney-men seeing this way, they flocked to the same place,
and perform their journeys at the same rate; so that sometimes there
are twenty of them together, which disperse up and down, that they
and others are to be had everywhere, as watermen are to be had by the
waterside. Everybody is much pleased with it; for, whereas, before,
coaches could not be had but at greater rates, now a man may have one
much cheaper.”
Charles I. did not, however, regard hackney-coaches with favour, and
endeavoured to check Captain Baily’s enterprise by granting to Sir
Sanders Duncomb the sole right to let on hire sedan chairs, which,
until then, were unknown in England. The patent stated:--
“Whereas the streets of our cities of London and Westminster and their
suburbs are of late so much encumbered with the unnecessary multitude
of coaches, that many of our subjects are thereby exposed to great
danger and the necessary use of carts and carriages for provisions much
hindered: and Sir Sanders Duncomb’s petition representing that in many
parts beyond sea, people are much carried in chairs that are covered,
whereby few coaches are used among them: wherefore we have granted
to him the sole privilege to use, let, or hire a number of the said
covered chairs for fourteen years.”
Sedan chairs did not prove to be formidable rivals to the
hackney-coaches, but they added considerably to the congestion of the
streets. For this congestion the hackney-coaches were blamed, and on
January 19, 1635, a proclamation was made “to restrain the multitude
and promiscuous use of coaches about London and Westminster.”
The proclamation was to the effect that “hackney-coaches were not only
a great disturbance to his Majesty, his dearest consort the Queen,
the nobility and others of place and degree in their passage through
the streets; but the streets themselves were so pestered and the
pavements so broken up, that the common passage is thereby hindered
and made dangerous; and the prices of hay, provender, etc., thereby
made exceeding dear. Wherefore we expressly command and forbid that
no hackney-coaches or hired carriages be used or suffered in London,
Westminster, or the suburbs thereof, except they be to travel at
least three miles out of the same. And also that no person shall go
in a coach to the said streets except the owner of the coach shall
constantly keep up four able horses for our service when required.”
This proclamation was either withdrawn or ignored, for in the
following year there were many hackney-coaches plying for hire in
London and Westminster, and the rivalry between hackney-coachmen and
sedan-chairmen was humorously depicted in a pamphlet entitled, “Coach
and Sedan pleasantly disputing for place and precedence.”
In 1654, Parliament limited the number of hackney-coaches in London
and Westminster to three hundred, with two horses apiece. It was also
ordained that the government and regulation of hackney-coaches should
be in the hands of the Court of Aldermen, and for the expense of
regulating them, a tax of twenty shillings a year was placed on every
vehicle.
A few months after the Restoration hackney-coaches were forbidden, by
a proclamation dated October 18, 1660, to ply for hire in the streets.
But that this edict was evaded we have the authority of the delightful
Samuel Pepys. Writing under the date of November 7 he states:--
“Notwithstanding that this was the first day of the king’s proclamation
against hackney coaches coming into the streets to stand to be hired,
yet I got one to carry me home.”
In 1661 they numbered four hundred. They were small, narrow vehicles,
drawn by two horses, on one of which sat the driver, wearing spurs
and carrying a short whip. It was found, however, that they were very
destructive to the paving-stones, and a tax of £5 a year was therefore
placed on all hackney-coaches, the money thus obtained being expended
on the repairing and cleansing of the roads.
During the Plague infected persons were frequently conveyed to the
Pest-houses in hackney-coaches. Defoe mentions this in his “Journal of
the Plague Year.” In the “Orders conceived and published by the Lord
Mayor and Alderman of the City of London, concerning the infection of
the plague, 1665,” appears the following order:--“That care be taken of
hackney-coachmen, that they may not (as some of them have been observed
to do), after carrying of infected persons to the Pest-house, and other
places, be admitted to common use, till their coaches be well aired,
and have stood unemployed by the space of five or six days after such
service.”
[Illustration: HACKNEY-COACH. ABOUT 1680.]
After the Great Fire, when the streets were widened, more commodious
vehicles came into use, the majority being disused family coaches which
had been sold cheaply by the nobility and gentry. Their coats of arms
were not removed from the panels, and such coaches as bore the heraldic
devices of the most aristocratic houses invariably received the
greatest patronage. In 1694 some masked women hired a coach decorated
with a well-known coat of arms, and went for a drive in Hyde Park.
It is recorded that their behaviour was disgraceful, and that they
deliberately insulted some very distinguished people who were riding in
their private coaches. What they said or did will never be known, but
from that day hackney-coaches were prohibited from entering Hyde Park.
In the same year a tax of £4 per annum was placed on hackney-coaches,
and the cost of a licence became £50. The licence held good for
twenty-one years. The same Act of Parliament ordained that the number
of hackney-coaches should not exceed seven hundred.
In the early part of the following year William Congreve, the poet, was
appointed a Commissioner for Licensing Hackney-Coaches, at the moderate
salary of £100 a year, and retained the position until October, 1707.
Possibly the Hackney-Coach Licence Office was not loved by Congreve,
and when he left it each day he banished all thought of it until the
morrow. The idea of writing anything about it, in all probability
never occurred to him. “Who would be interested in hearing anything
concerning that dull, wearisome office?” he might have asked had any
one made the suggestion, and possibly very few people of that day would
have troubled to read anything on the subject. But to us an account of
his duties, with some description of the hackney-coach proprietors and
drivers with whom he came into contact daily, would be of more than
ordinary interest.
Early in the eighteenth century several thieves, not sufficiently
daring to attack stage-coaches, cut through the backs of
hackney-coaches, snatched off the passengers’ wigs and decamped with
them.
In 1711 Parliament once more altered the regulations concerning
hackney-coaches. The annual tax of £4 was changed to a weekly one of
five shillings, and the number of licences was increased to eight
hundred. The fares which the hackney-coachmen were authorised to charge
were fixed at a shilling for one mile and a half, eighteenpence for two
miles, and sixpence for every additional mile or portion of a mile.
Under the new regulations hackney-coaches enjoyed almost unbroken
prosperity for over fifty years, and, on the whole, gave satisfaction
to the public. There was, however, one occasion on which they became
very unpopular. A few days prior to the coronation of George III.,
the hackney-coach and the sedan-chair men agreed that unless they
were allowed to charge greatly increased prices on Coronation day,
they would refuse to take out their coaches and chairs. This decision
created considerable indignation among people who wished to ride
but did not possess vehicles of their own, and the Lords of the
Privy Council issued a proclamation that all hackney-coachmen and
sedan-chairmen were to be out with their coaches and chairs at four
o’clock in the morning of Coronation day; they were, moreover, warned
that if they demanded more than the ordinary fares, or failed to
perform their duties properly, they would be punished with the utmost
severity. This proclamation did not have the desired effect. The men
decided to defy the authorities, and would certainly have done so had
not a well-known sedan-chair maker advised them to go to work and trust
to the generosity of the public. He assured them that he had been told
by numerous regular users of hackney-coaches and sedan-chairs that
they were perfectly willing to pay, unasked, considerably more than
the legal fares. So the men went to work, and the majority reaped a
splendid harvest. Some people declined to pay more than the usual fare,
but they were not sufficiently numerous to prevent the day being a
memorable one for hackney-coachmen.
In 1768 there were a thousand hackney-coaches licensed to stand for
hire in the streets. Of these only 175 were allowed to ply for hire on
Sundays.
By an Act of George III. a commission was formed for the management
of hackney-coaches and the receipt of duties. Stands were appointed
in various parts of London, and coachmen were forbidden to wait for
hire at any other places. Men were also licensed to water the horses
at the various stands. These men were known as “watermen,” “caddies”
or “cads,” and wore, slung round their necks, a brass label bearing
a number. Besides watering the horses they looked after them while
the coachmen drank in the taproom or slept on their boxes, and, also,
opened the coach doors and lowered the steps for hirers. Every coachman
before driving off a rank paid the waterman one halfpenny.
One clause of this Act appears, nowadays, very snobbish. It made a
hackney-coachman liable to a penalty of £5 for “not giving way to
persons of quality and gentlemen’s coaches.”
[Illustration: HACKNEY-COACH. ABOUT 1800.]
As time went on, hackney-coaches continued to increase in number,
but were never allowed to become sufficiently numerous to make
competition very keen. At the end of the eighteenth century they were
most luxurious. The majority originally cost some £700 or £800 each,
and were purchased from the brokers by hackney-coach proprietors at a
trifle above breaking-up prices, varying, according to the condition
of the vehicles, from £25 to £50. To illustrate their commodiousness,
a well-known coachbuilder, now dead, was fond of telling the following
story. When he was a youngster, he had a difference with another boy
in Old Palace Yard and proceeded to settle it in the time-honoured
British fashion, much to the delight of the hackney-coachmen on the
rank. To their intense disgust, however, an energetic member of the
newly-established police force appeared on the scene and stopped the
fight. Only for a time though, for one of the men bundled the boys into
his own hackney-coach and told them to fight it out there. They did;
the sport-loving, many-caped coachmen crowding round and watching them
through the windows.
Early in the nineteenth century a more lightly built hackney-coach,
named a “chariot,” which was introduced many years previously, became
popular. It carried two inside passengers and had room for a third
on the box seat. The driver usually rode on the near-side horse, but
some men drove from the box. In 1814 there were two hundred licensed
chariots in London, and for a few years the number increased rapidly.
Some of the chariots licensed in 1815 had accommodation for three
inside passengers.
With the young bloods of the day hackney-coachmen were great
favourites, chiefly because they looked on with marked approval while
their fares wrenched off a knocker, assaulted a policeman, or kissed a
pretty girl. Moreover, their memory was most defective when necessary.
One night a hackney-coachman was called to the British Coffee House
in Cockspur Street to take up the Prince of Wales, afterwards George
IV. The First Gentleman of Europe was in one of his lively moods and
commanded the coachman to get down and let him drive. The astonished
driver began to make excuses, but the Prince cut them short by seizing
the man and pitching him bodily through the open window into the coach.
Then, quickly mounting the box, he drove off at an exciting speed.
Questioned later as to how His Royal Highness acquitted himself, the
hackney-coachman replied, “The Prince isn’t such a bad driver. Indeed,
he drove very well for a prince; but he didn’t take the corners and
crossings careful enough for a regular jarvey.”
Hackney-coachmen prided themselves on being dashing fellows, and no
self-respecting member of the profession was ever without at least one
adoring lady-love. Just as nowadays servant-girls of all ages, sizes
and shapes, are consumed with one great desire--to have a soldier to
“walk out with,” so the girls of that class sixty to a hundred years
ago considered it the summit of happiness to be seen leaning on the arm
of a hackney-coachman. As a rule, the hackney-coachman had plenty of
girls to choose from, and, that being the case, he was naturally rather
particular about whom he selected for the honour of being allowed to
cook his meals for the remainder of his life.
Hackney-coachmen were not licensed. Any man might drive a
hackney-coach, but the proprietor, himself licensed, was held
responsible for the actions of his men. No person could obtain a
licence to possess a hackney-coach unless he was recommended by
a peer, a Member of Parliament, or some other influential being;
consequently, a large number of hackney-coach proprietors were men
who had been gentlemen’s servants. And in the interests of these men
the hackney-coach business was not allowed to become overcrowded. The
number of licence-plates issued never exceeded one thousand, in spite
of the fact that, in the early part of last century, the public were
complaining constantly that there were not sufficient hackney-coaches
plying for hire.
The hackney-coach fares were, at this period, one shilling a mile, and
sixpence extra for every additional half-mile or part of half a mile.
The waiting fare was three shillings an hour for the first three
hours, and two shillings for every additional hour or part of an hour.
For the licence-plate affixed to the vehicle the proprietor had to pay
ten shillings a week.
In compliance with a legal requirement every driver was paid a small
salary, generally nine shillings a week, but that formed a very
insignificant portion of his income, for, like the cabman of to-day,
he could keep all that he earned beyond the hire money due to the
proprietor.
Mourning coaches, commonly called “black coaches,” bore licence-plates,
and when not engaged at funerals plied for hire in the streets. The
number of these vehicles was limited, but every undertaker kept
in reserve many for which he had no licences, as, in the event of
requiring more coaches for a funeral than he possessed licences, he
had the power to go to any rank and remove from the hackney-coaches
standing there as many licence-plates as he wanted. These plates he
would affix to his unlicensed vehicles, and for the loan of each would
have to pay the hackney-coachman waiting fare.
In the first quarter of the last century, hackney-coach proprietors
were blackmailed systematically by two or three men who made a
comfortable living as common informers. One of these fellows would
stroll into a hackney-coach yard, greet the proprietor in a very
friendly way and have a chat with him on any topic of the day. The
conversation always ended, however, in one way--with a request by
the informer that the proprietor would lend him half a sovereign. In
most cases the proprietor, knowing who the man was, complied with the
request at once, and nothing more would be seen of the borrower for a
month or two. But if the proprietor refused the “loan,” he received,
in the course of a day or two, a summons for some irregularity in
connection with his drivers, his vehicles, or his horses. The informer
received one-half of every fine that was imposed. These blackmailers
flourished long after the introduction of cabs, and when at last their
nefarious business was stopped, they were succeeded by blackmailers
of another class. Strange as it may seem, forty years ago it was a
common thing for the proprietors of a large number of horses to submit
to being blackmailed by men whose duty it was to keep an eye on their
studs.
In 1822, an order was issued compelling hackney-coachmen to take
to the office of the Registrar of Licences all articles found in
their vehicles. The losers, on applying at the office, had their
property restored to them, upon payment of a small fee to be given
to the coachman. It is said, however, that valuable articles lost in
hackney-coaches were very rarely recovered; it was only minor things
that were taken to the office. Hackney-coachmen had, some years
previously, been considered an honest set of men, but they had sadly
deteriorated, as had also their vehicles. A correspondent of the
_London Magazine_, signing himself “Jehu,” gave, in 1825, the following
description of a hackney-coach:--
“A hackney-coach--fogh! Who can be a gentleman and visit in a
hackney-coach? Who can, indeed? to predicate nothing of stinking wet
straw and broken windows, and cushions on which the last dandy has
cleaned his shoes, and of the last fever it has carried to Guy’s, or
the last load of convicts transported to the hulks.”
He was also troubled about the hackney-coachmen’s extortion, and
suggested this method of checking it. “Is there any valid reason why a
hackney-coach should not have a pedometer visible to the unfortunate
freight? to be noted on entering, to be noted on exiting, as effectual
against fraudulent space as a watch is against fraudulent time, with
shillings on the dial plate where there are hours; and where there
are minutes, sixpences. It would not cost £2, it would save endless
altercations, it would save typographying a table of hackney-coach
fares, it would save a man’s money and temper, and go far towards
saving the souls of hackney-coachmen born, or to be born--and the
trouble of the commissioners. Our invention is the best of all possible
inventions, and therefore it will not be adopted.”
“Jehu” did not make a mistake--his suggestion was not adopted, and
hackney-coachmen, soured by the rivalry of the newly introduced
omnibuses and cabs, became more extortionate and abusive than ever they
had been.
A few proprietors, believing that the new vehicles were doomed to
failure, kept their hackney-coaches in good repair and made it a rule
to have respectable men for drivers, but these clean coaches were
not numerous enough to prevent hackney-coaches as a body from being
termed dirty and disreputable. In “Sketches by Boz,” Dickens gives the
following description of a hackney-coach of the early thirties:--
“There is a hackney-coach stand under the very window at which we are
writing; there is only one coach on it now, but it is a fair specimen
of the class of vehicles to which we have alluded--a great, lumbering,
square concern of a dingy yellow colour (like a bilious brunette), with
very small glasses, but very large frames; the panels are ornamented
with a faded coat of arms, in shape something like a dissected bat,
the axle-tree is red, and the majority of the wheels are green. The
box is partially covered by an old great-coat, with a multiplicity of
capes, and some extraordinary-looking clothes; and the straw, with
which the canvas cushion is stuffed, is sticking up in several places,
as if in rivalry with the hay which is peering through the chinks in
the boot. The horses, with drooping heads, and each with a mane and
tail as scanty and straggling as those of a worn-out rocking-horse,
are standing patiently on some damp straw, occasionally wincing and
rattling the harness; and, now and then, one of them lifts his mouth to
the ear of his companion, as if he were saying, in a whisper, that he
should like to assassinate the coachman. The coachman himself is in
the watering-house; and the waterman, with his hands forced into his
pockets as far as they can possibly go, is dancing the ‘double shuffle’
in front of the pump, to keep his feet warm.”
A writer in the _Monthly Magazine_ gives a less graphic but more
denunciatory account of the hackney-coaches of that period.
“Nothing in nature or art can be so abominable as those vehicles at
this hour. We are quite satisfied that, except an Englishman, who will
endure anything, no native of any climate under the sky would endure a
London hackney-coach; that an Ashantee gentleman would scoff at it; and
that an aboriginal of New South Wales would refuse to be inhumed within
its shattered and infinite squalidness. It is true that the vehicle has
its merits, if variety of uses can establish them. The hackney-coach
conveys alike the living and the dead. It carries the dying man to the
hospital, and when doctors and tax-gatherers can tantalize no more, it
carries him to Surgeons’ Hall and qualifies him to assist the ‘march of
mind’ by the section of body. If the midnight thief finds his plunder
too ponderous for his hands, the hackney-coach offers its services, and
is one of the most expert conveyances. Its other employments are many,
and equally meritorious, and doubtless society would find a vacuum in
its loss. Yet we cordially wish that the Maberley brain were set at
work upon this subject, and some substitute contrived.”
Hackney-coaches died hard. In 1841, there were four hundred plying
for hire, but before the Great Exhibition of 1851, nearly all
the proprietors who possessed sufficient capital had sold their
hackney-coaches at breaking-up prices, and started cabs. Nevertheless,
as late as 1858, hackney-coaches were to be seen occasionally in the
streets.
The origin of the word “hackney” cannot be decided. In all probability
it was derived from the old French word “_hacquenèe_,” which was
applied to horses--and sometimes coaches--let on hire. The claim that
Hackney was the first place where coaches could be hired, and gave its
name to the vehicles, does not bear investigation.
CHAPTER II
Cabs introduced into England--Restrictions placed upon them--A
comical-looking cab--Dickens on cabs--Hackney-coachmen wish to become
cabmen--The cab business a monopoly--Restrictions are removed--_The
Cab_ paper--The Boulnois cab invented--The “minibus”--The
“duobus”--Bilking--A peer’s joke.
Nearly one hundred years have elapsed since Londoners, growing
dissatisfied with the lumbering hackney-coaches plying for hire in the
metropolis, began to advocate the introduction of the _cabriolet de
place_, which for some considerable time had been exceedingly popular
in Paris. Unfortunately, the hackney-coach proprietors had been granted
the sole right of carrying people within the bills of mortality--an
area which contained the most thickly populated parts of London and
nearly all the places of entertainment--and naturally they protested
strongly against the introduction of what might prove to be formidable
rivals to their slow-travelling vehicles. But in 1805 cabriolet
promoters received a slight encouragement, Messrs. Bradshaw and
Rotch--the latter a member of Parliament--obtaining licences for nine
of their vehicles on the condition that they never entered within the
bills of mortality. In appearance the cabriolet resembled the modern
gig, and carried two people only, the driver sitting side by side
with his fare. In consequence of the limited area in which they were
allowed to ply for hire, the new vehicles attracted little attention,
but, on April 23, 1823, twelve fully-licensed cabriolets, built by Mr.
David Davies, were placed on the streets. They were announced as being
“introduced to the public in honour of his Majesty’s birthday.” These
cabriolets were a decided improvement upon their predecessors, as each
one had accommodation for two passengers. The driver, whose proximity
to his fare had proved to be the reverse of a pleasure to riders, was
relegated to a comical-looking seat built out on the off side, between
the body of the vehicle and the wheel. The hood strongly resembled a
coffin standing on end, and earned for the vehicle the nickname of
“coffin-cab.” The fore part of the hood could be lowered as required,
and there was a curtain which could be drawn across to shield the rider
from wind or rain. The fare was eightpence a mile and fourpence
for every additional half-mile or part of half a mile. Each vehicle
carried, in a leather pocket made for the purpose, a book of fares for
the convenience of hirers.
[Illustration: LONDON CAB OF 1823, WITH CURTAIN DRAWN.]
In a short time cabriolets became very popular, and a topical song of
the period contains the following verse:--
“In days of old when folks got tired,
A hackney coach or a chariot was hired;
But now along the streets they roll ye
In a _shay_ with a cover called a cabrioly.”
The French name of the vehicle was soon abbreviated to “cab,”
and, although the word was at first considered deplorably vulgar,
convenience triumphed quickly over the objections of purists.
To be able to travel cheaply and quickly was a pleasing novelty to
Londoners, but many of them lived to regret having trusted themselves
in a cab, for the drivers, proud of being able to pass hackney and
private coaches, were fond of showing their superior speed, and while
doing so frequently ran against street posts or collided with other
vehicles; and when either of these things happened, or the horse fell,
the “fare” was usually pitched forward into the road. This danger,
coupled with the difficulty of climbing into a cab, prevented old men
and women from patronising the new vehicle. They remained satisfied
with hackney-coaches, but young and middle-aged men--“dandies” and
shopmen striving to imitate them--gloried in cabs, and many of them
boasted of the number of times they had been thrown out of them.
Dickens on several occasions mentioned the cabs of this period.
Describing, in “Sketches by Boz,” morning in the streets of London, he
wrote--
“Cabs, with trunks and band-boxes between the drivers’ legs and outside
the apron, rattle briskly up and down the streets on their way to the
coach-offices or steam-packet wharfs; and the cab-drivers and hackney
coachmen who are on the stand polish up the ornamental part of their
dingy vehicles--the former wondering how people can prefer ‘them wild
beast cariwans of homnibuses to a riglar cab with a fast trotter,’ and
the latter admiring how people can trust their necks into one of ‘them
crazy cabs, when they can have a ’spectable ’ackney cotche with a pair
of ’orses as von’t run away with no vun;’ a consolation unquestionably
founded on fact, seeing that a hackney-coach horse never was known
to run at all, ‘except,’ as the smart cabman in front of the rank
observes, ‘except one, and _he_ run back’ards.”
[Illustration: THE “COFFIN-CAB.”]
“Talk of cabs!” the great novelist wrote in his article on
Hackney-Coach Stands. “Cabs are all very well in cases of expedition,
when it’s a matter of neck or nothing, life or death, your temporary
home or your long one. But, besides a cab’s lacking that gravity of
deportment which so peculiarly distinguishes a hackney-coach, let it
never be forgotten that a cab is a thing of yesterday, and that he was
never anything better. A hackney-cab has always been a hackney-cab,
from his first entry into public life; whereas a hackney-coach is a
remnant of past gentility, a victim to fashion, a hanger-on of an old
English family, wearing their arms, and, in days of yore, escorted by
men wearing their livery, stripped of his finery, and thrown upon the
world, like a once smart footman when he is no longer sufficiently
juvenile for his office, progressing lower and lower in the scale of
four-wheeled degradation, until at last it comes to--_a stand_!”
The growing popularity of the cabs soon thoroughly alarmed the
hackney-coachmen, who at first had jeered at the new vehicle and
prophesied a short career for it. They endeavoured to get their
licence-plates transferred to cabs, but were unsuccessful, for the cab
proprietors of that period were men of good social position--some
of them occupying Government appointments--and all the influence
which they could command was exerted to keep the trade in their own
hands. In spite of the protests of the hackney-coach proprietors this
monopoly existed for nearly ten years, and many of the aristocratic
cab owners amassed money rapidly. They did not believe in having a
large number of cabs, even of their own, on the streets, and for some
months there were only fifty. Afterwards the number was raised to one
hundred, and in 1831, to one hundred and fifty. In Paris in the same
year, there were nearly two thousand five hundred of them! In 1832,
when the number of London cabs reached one hundred and sixty-five, the
disgraceful monopoly was put an end to, and, all restrictions being
removed, hackney-coach proprietors were at last enabled to transfer
their licences from their coaches to cabs. In a few weeks there were
several hundred cabs, and other two-wheel vehicles, plying for hire in
the streets.
A paper called _The Cab_ was started immediately, but the title was
chosen simply to attract attention, as, although the publication
bore on the front page a small and blurred illustration of a cab,
its contents were literary odds and ends. In the “Answers to
Correspondents” column, a cabman’s MS. was declined with thanks. Its
non-publication is to be regretted.
Some months later a new cab, invented and patented by Mr. William
Boulnois, father of Mr. Edmund Boulnois, M.P., was placed on the
streets. It was a two-wheeled closed vehicle, constructed to carry
two passengers sitting face to face. The driver sat on a small and
particularly unsafe seat on the top of it, and the door was at the
back. It was, in fact, so much like the front of an omnibus that it was
well known as “the omnibus slice.” Its popular name was “the back-door
cab.” Superior people called it a “minibus.” This cab was quickly
followed by a very similar, although larger, vehicle invented by Mr.
Harvey. It was called a “duobus,” a name frequently applied to Mr.
Boulnois’s cab.
A young man of good family, who had squandered a fortune, conceived the
idea of earning his living by driving a back-door cab of his own. His
friends having supplied him with the necessary capital, he created a
sensation by appearing one morning in the Haymarket driving a superbly
fitted and splendidly horsed cab. The result of his first morning’s
work was very satisfactory, and the young cabman was in high spirits.
But driving to the stables, his horse stumbled and fell, and, taken by
surprise, the unfortunate young cabman was pitched head-first into the
road, and killed on the spot.
[Illustration: BOULNOIS’S CAB.]
But the driver’s unsafe seat was not the only weak point about the
back-door cab. The facilities it offered for alighting without paying,
soon made “bilking” a popular amusement with a certain class of people.
A somewhat rackety young peer proved, for a wager, how easy it was to
“bilk” a cabman. He hailed a cab outside his club and told the cabby
to drive him to a certain address at Hammersmith. Just before he
arrived at his destination he got out unobserved, and from a distance
watched cabby’s surprise and wrath on discovering his vehicle to be
empty. After a time the cabman started back for town, and the youthful
lord, seizing his opportunity, re-entered the cab, and shouted almost
immediately, in well-assumed anger, “Hi, you rascal! Where are you
driving me? I told you to take me to Hammersmith.” The cabman,
speechless with astonishment, turned round and made for Hammersmith
once more, only however to discover on arriving there, that his “fare”
had disappeared again. He became convinced that his cab was haunted,
and this belief was strengthened, as he drove back through Kensington
by discovering suddenly that his fare was sitting calmly in his vehicle
as if nothing had happened. Cabby did not utter a word, for he was too
frightened to address his “fare,” but drove to the club, where he had
picked him up, as quickly as possible. There the young peer alighted,
and, without the slightest explanation, paid the cabman five times his
fare.
CHAPTER III
Hansom invents a cab--Chapman designs and patents the
present hansom--Francis Moore’s vehicles--The Hansom patent
infringed--Litigation a failure--Pirate cabs called “shofuls”--The
“Clarence” or four-wheeler introduced--An unpleasant fare--The
decoration of cabs--Cabmen compelled to wear badges--The “Tribus”--The
“Curricle Tribus”--The “Quartobus.”
The prevalence of “bilking” made the back-door cab such an unprofitable
vehicle that a new style of cab became imperative.
[Illustration: THE FIRST HANSOM.]
At the close of 1834, Mr. Joseph Aloysius Hansom, the architect of the
old Birmingham Town Hall and founder of _The Builder_, patented a cab
designed by himself. The body of this vehicle was almost square and
hung in the centre of a square frame. The frame enclosed the whole of
the body, passing over and under it. The driver sat on a small seat on
the top at the front. The doors were also at the front, one on each
side of the cabby’s feet. The wheels were seven feet six inches in
height--a trifle taller than the vehicle itself--and were attached to
the sides of the frame by a pair of short axles. This extraordinary
vehicle Mr. Hansom himself drove from Hinckley in Leicestershire to
London, much to the wonder of the inhabitants of the various towns
and villages through which he passed, and to the amusement of the
stage-coach drivers and waggoners whom he met on the road. Mr. Hansom,
who was financed by Mr. William Boulnois, the inventor of the back-door
cab, also registered another cab, the body of which resembled the one
just mentioned in every respect, except that the doors were at the
sides, and passengers had to enter the vehicle _through_ the wheels,
which were without felloes, naves, and spokes, the rotary action
being produced by a somewhat complicated arrangement of zones and
friction rollers. This cab never plied for hire in the streets, but the
first-mentioned one, after the wheels had been reduced considerably in
size, and one or two minor alterations made, was thought so highly of
that a company was formed to purchase Mr. Hansom’s rights for £10,000.
An old print of this cab represents the passenger exclaiming:--
“The sweet little cherub that sits up aloft
Takes care of the fate of poor Jack.”
Not a penny of the £10,000 was, however, paid to Hansom, for it was
found, as soon as the cabs were placed on the streets, that they were
far from being perfect.
[Illustration: AN IMPROVED HANSOM.]
The only money Hansom received, directly or indirectly, from his
invention was £300, presented to him some time later for services
rendered to the company at a critical period. But although he reaped
very little pecuniary benefit from his invention, posterity has been
generous in connecting his name with a cab which is far superior to
the one which he invented. If the cab known to us as the “Hansom”
were called the “Chapman,” it would be more in accordance with
historical accuracy. Mr. John Chapman, the projector of the Great
Indian Peninsular Railway, was, when Mr. Hansom patented his cab, the
secretary of the Safety Cabriolet and Two-wheel Carriage Company. He
discovered quickly the weak points in Hansom’s cab, and, setting to
work, invented a far superior one. The driver’s seat was placed at
the back, the sliding window still in use was introduced, and the
framework under the body of the vehicle was constructed to rest on the
ground when tilted forwards or backwards. A cranked axle passing under
the body of the cab was also introduced.
This cab was patented by Mr. Chapman and Mr. Gillett, who financed him,
in December, 1836.
The company which owned Hansom’s cab purchased Messrs. Chapman and
Gillett’s patent, and in a very short time placed fifty of the new
cabs on the streets. From the first they were a great success, and for
sixty-six years they have remained in public favour. The only important
alteration made during those years was the introduction of the straight
axle, which necessitated the cutting away of the body of the cab
beneath the passenger’s seat. This improvement was made very soon after
the first Chapman or Hansom appeared on the streets. The side windows
of hansoms were, until the fifties, very small--about one foot by eight
inches.
[Illustration: FRANCIS MOORE’S VEHICLE.]
Hansom’s cab, before being improved by Chapman, bore a strong
resemblance to a vehicle of which there is an illustration in Pennant’s
“London,” published in 1790. This vehicle is represented as having
just passed under Temple Bar, on which are fixed the gruesome heads
of traitors. Knight mentions, in his work on London, having seen
a print, dated early in the nineteenth century, of a very similar
conveyance, which was described as “the carriage of the ingenious
Mr. Moore.” That the vehicle in Pennant was built by Francis Moore,
of Cheapside, a well-known coachbuilder, there can be no doubt.
The difficulty is to decide which conveyance the Pennant picture
represents. The _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for 1771 contains the following
paragraph:--“Oct. 30. One of Mr. Moore’s carts to carry the mail, upon
a new construction, was drawn to the General Post Office. The wheels
are eight feet eight inches high, and the body is hung in the same
manner as his coal carts, covered with wood, and painted green; the
driver is to sit on the top.”
Moore patented a two-wheel carriage in June, 1786, and another in
1790. The specifications of the latter show that it was hung on two
large wheels. The door, however, was at the back, and the driver had a
separate seat at the front, but not on the top of the vehicle. It is
very probable that Hansom saw Francis Moore’s carriages, and that the
cab, which has made his name a household word, was an improvement upon
the conveyance depicted in Pennant.
Hansom’s original cabs, when not plying for hire, stood on premises
which now form a part of the Baker Street Bazaar.
In 1836, hackney-coaches, “outrigger” cabriolets, and back-door cabs
were still plying for hire, but the immediate and continued success of
Chapman’s cab prompted the proprietors of those decaying vehicles to
start similar conveyances. Cabs painted and lettered in close imitation
of the new patented vehicle were soon as plentiful as the real ones.
Some proprietors, who prided themselves on being very smart, always had
the word “not” painted in very small letters before the inscription,
“Hansom’s Patent Safety,” believing that this would save them from
being prosecuted. They were mistaken, for the company made a determined
effort to protect its rights, and commenced legal proceedings against
the infringers of its patent. In every case the company was successful,
and heavy damages were awarded it, but the victories were barren ones,
for on almost every occasion the infringer of the patent turned out to
be a man of straw. So when the Company had spent £2000 in lawsuits, and
had succeeded only in obtaining payment of one fine of £500, it came to
the conclusion that the wisest thing it could do would be to refrain
in future from litigation. That was a splendid thing for the “pirate”
cabs, who now dispensed with the word “not,” and appeared similar in
every respect to the real “Hansoms,” as the Chapmans were called. When
the company took over Chapman’s cabs it had painted on them “Hansom’s
Patent Safety,” so that the public might know that the conveyances
belonged to the same firm as the cab which Hansom invented. And the
result of this absurd action on the part of the company is that Hansom
enjoys the fame which belongs by right to Chapman.
Although few people could distinguish a real hansom from its many
imitators, the Company’s drivers knew the difference, and treated
“pirate” cabs with the utmost contempt. They called them “shofuls,”
and many ingenious explanations of the origin of that word have been
published during the last fifty years. Some people declared that a
hansom closely resembled a shovel, while others explained that two
persons in a cab made it a “show full.” As a matter of fact, “shoful”
was a slang word for “counterfeit” among the lower class Jews, and
was conferred by the many Jewish employés of the Company upon those
vehicles which infringed Hansom’s or Chapman’s patent. In course of
time it became the slang term for all hansoms, but the word is now very
rarely heard.
The first four-wheeler was placed upon the streets, just as Chapman’s
cab appeared, by the General Cabriolet Conveyance Company. It was
built by Mr. David Davies, the builder of the cabriolets of 1823, was
called a “covered cab,” and carried two passengers inside and one
on the box seat. The doors were at the sides. This cab was quickly
improved upon, and the “Clarence,” our much-abused “growler,” was the
result. Lord Brougham was highly pleased with the new vehicle, and in
1840 he instructed his coachbuilder--Mr. Robinson of Mount Street--to
make him one of a superior description. Hence the brougham.
[Illustration: THE FIRST FOUR-WHEELED CAB.]
Elderly and sober-minded people showed a marked preference for riding
in clarences, and hansoms soon became considered the vehicles of
the fast and disreputable. This reputation has not been lived down
entirely, for, at the present day, there are some old ladies who
will on no account enter a hansom, and shake their heads sorrowfully
when they see their grand-daughters doing so. It must be confessed
that hansoms figured in police-court cases much more frequently than
the four-wheelers did. A well-known cab proprietor, who died a few
years ago, had, in his youth, an exceedingly unpleasant experience
while driving a hansom. One night he was hailed by two men who were
supporting between them a sailor, who was, apparently, in an advanced
state of intoxication. They placed the sailor in the cab, and then,
turning to the cabman, told him to drive to a certain quiet place some
distance away and wait for them there. They explained that they had a
brief call to make and could not take the drunken man with them, but
they would follow on in less than a quarter of an hour, and inspired
confidence by paying a portion of the fare in advance. Cabby drove
off and all went well until reaching a toll-gate. As the keeper came
out of the toll-house he caught sight of the sailor, and, thinking
that something was the matter with him, he went closer and peered into
his face. Then he ran to the horse’s head, and seizing it, exclaimed
sharply to the cabman, “Hallo! young fellow, you’ve got a stiff ’un in
there.”