At length she was secured by a rope, and taken off in captivity. The leading horse was fearfully mangled, but survived, and was exhibited for a time, with great financial success, by the showman whose lioness had wrought the mischief. When the interest had subsided, “Pomegranate”—for that was the name of the horse—was sold. He had been foaled in 1809, and was a thoroughbred, with rather too much spirit for his owner, who had sold him out of his stable for his bad temper. The severe work in coaches of that period soon took the unruly nature out of such animals, and no complaint was made of him in his long after-career on the Brighton and Petworth stage-coach.
This exciting episode was, of course, the wonder of that age, and two coaching artists made capital out of it, in the shape of very effective plates. James Bollard was the author of one; the other was by one Sauerweid, whose name is not familiar in work of this kind.
Dark nights in wild country were fruitful in strange experiences, aided, doubtless, by the potency of the parting glass as well as by the blackness of the night and the ruggedness of the way. The adventures of Jack Creery and Joe Lord, coachman and guard of the pair-horse Lancaster and Kirkby Stephen Mail, one snowy night, form a case in point. They had the coach to themselves, for it was not good travelling weather. Creery, we are told, “felt sleepy”—a pretty way of saying he was intoxicated—and so the guard took the reins. In driving, this worthy, whose condition seems to have been only a shade better than that of his companion, wandered in the snow into a by-lane between Kirkby Stephen and Kirkby Lonsdale, and so lost his way. After floundering about for some time, he aroused Creery, and their united efforts, after alighting many times to read the signposts, brought them in the middle of the night to a village, where they were found by the aroused villagers loudly knocking at the church door, under the impression that it was a public-house. That snowstorm must have been a particularly blinding one, or the brandy at their last house of call unusually strong.
THE LIONESS ATTACKING THE EXETER MAIL, OCTOBER 20th, 1816.
After A. Sauerweid.
Not often was coaching history marked by such a gruesome incident as that which befell a coach on the Norwich Road. At Ingatestone a lady, who was the only inside passenger, was discovered to have died. Her son, travelling outside, was informed, but after some hesitation it was decided that the coach should proceed to its destination at Colchester. At Chelmsford, however, two ladies presented themselves as would-be passengers. Inside seats only were available, all the outsides being occupied. They were informed of the circumstances, and that they could therefore not be booked; but were so anxious to go by the coach that they overcame their natural scruples, and rode with the dead woman to the journey’s end.
Of winter travelling we have already heard something, and shall hear more. How it struck one contemporary with those times we may learn from a reminiscent old traveller, who, having had much experience of old coaching methods, preferred the railway age—at least in winter. Thus he recalls some of his experiences:—
“For a day and night journey the agony was, on two occasions, so intense that, although then in my youth, and hardy enough, I was obliged to get off the coach and sleep a night on the road; by which I don’t mean under the hedge, but in one of those fine old (and highly expensive) inns that then were to be found at more or less regular intervals along the great highways. Posting, generally with four horses—a highly extravagant way of travelling, but one in great favour with those who could afford it—maintained correspondingly high charges at all these houses of entertainment. It was all very well to rhapsodise over the climbing roses, the fragrant honeysuckle and the odorous jessamine that wreathed the portals of the wayside inn in summer, or to become eloquent over the roaring fire, at whose ruddy blaze you toasted your feet in winter, but you had to pay—and to pay pretty heavily—for these luxuries. I will suppose that the traveller stopped for dinner, which, if left to the landlady, generally consisted of eels, or other fresh-water fish, dressed in a variety of ways, roast fowl, lamb or mutton cutlets, bread, cheese, and celery, for which a charge of six or seven shillings was made. If the meal took place after dark, there was an additional item of two shillings or half a crown for wax lights. Then, ‘for the good of the house’ and your own certain discomfort, there was a bottle of fine crusted port (probably two days in bottle) seven shillings; or a bottle of fiery sherry, just drawn from the wood, six shillings. To all these charges must be added the waiter’s fee of one shilling or eighteenpence a head. ‘Sleeping on the road’ absolved you from some of these costs, but it was expensive in its own way. It involved tea or supper, chambermaid and boots, as well as bed and breakfast. Breakfast, with ham and eggs, three shillings; tea, with a few slices of thin bread-and-butter, eighteenpence or two shillings; a soda and brandy, eighteenpence.
“Once, in the depth of winter, I left Bramham Park, the seat of George Lane-Fox, on the Great North Road, to proceed to London, with a journey before me of 190 miles. I was well wrapped up, with enough straw round my feet to conceal a covey of partridges; still, after going about 37 miles, I felt myself so benumbed that I began to think whether it would be wise to go on, or get off and sacrifice my fare to London. Upon reaching Bawtry I felt more comfortable, the guard at Doncaster having lent me a tarpaulin lined with sheepskin; so I resolutely determined to brave the pitiless storm of snow, now whitening the ground.
“‘Half an hour for supper,’ exclaimed the waiter, as we pulled up at the ‘Crown.’ Down I got, entered the room, where there was a bright fire blazing, devoured some cold beef, drank a glass of hot brandy-and-water, and bravely went forth to face the elements. By this time the snow had increased, the wind had got up, and my heart failed. Back I rushed to the bar, ordered a bed, and remained there for the night, finishing my journey the following day.