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 1862, 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.