Ramsay of Barnton was a good enough whip when the cattle were good, but he liked to choose his ground. Nightingale, the great coursing judge of that day, was the one to “take a coach through the country.” He took the horses as they came,—kickers or jibbers—and, thanks to his fine nerves and delicate handling of the ribbons, kept his time to a second.
COACHMEN
Parson Bird was also said to be “well up to his work,” and was so good-hearted a fellow that when the regular coachman from Keswick to Kendal broke his leg, he took his place for six weeks, and collected the fees for him. A story is told of a lady giving the parson-coachman half-a-crown at the end of the journey one afternoon, and being introduced to him at a ball the same evening at Kendal. He at once asked for a dance, but she was highly indignant that a coachman should so presume. However, the matter was explained, and to such satisfaction that not only did she dance, but eventually became Mrs. Bird.
Among the regular coachmen, John Reed took a very high place. He was a stout and a very silent man: all for his horses and nothing to his passengers. He drove the Glasgow Mail from Carlisle to Abington, never tasted ale or wine, and never had an accident. This was the more remarkable as Mr. Johnstone of Hallheaths, owner of Charles XII., horsed the Mail along one stage with nothing but thoroughbreds; and, had they “taken off,” not even Reed, strong-wristed though he was, could have held them in.
John Bryden was the very reverse of John Reed, and full of jollity and good stories on the box. The two Drydens were even more dashing in their style: one had the art of teaching his horses to trot when most men would have had them on the gallop; the other was a wonderful singer. Whenever the Mail reached a long ascent and he had to slacken speed, he would beguile the way with “She Wore a Wreath of Roses,” or “I Know a Flower within my Garden Growing,” in a rich tenor that would have secured him a good concert-room engagement in these times.
Another notable coachman was “Little Isaac Johnson.” He kept on the box for thirty-five years, and never had an accident. He was supreme with a kicking horse, and always took care to make him his near-side leader. When such an one was put there, he could punish him more severely, and liked to hit restive animals inside the thigh. He could “fairly wale them up,” if they continued to rebel.
The Telfers were coachmen of the same severe school, and well known over Shap way. Jem Barnes, on the other hand, was fat and lumbersome and lacked fire; so that people did say he had his sleeping-ground as well as his galloping-ground. But, one night, at least, when he was driving north over Shap Fell, there was little chance of sleeping. He had on that occasion not only to gallop at all the snow-drifts, but to put a postboy and a pair on in front. The pole-hook broke in midst of the blinding, snow-wreathed journey, and the hand of his almost namesake, Jem Byrns, the guard, was nearly frozen to the screw-wrench when he brought out a spare pole-hook and fastened it on. The snow was falling in flakes as large as crown-pieces all the while, and the only comic relief was the voice of a “heavy swell” issuing from the box seat, beneath a perfect tortoise-shell covering of capes and furs, “What are you fellows keeping me here in the cold for, and warming your own hands at the lamp?”
PEDIGREE
George Eade, another of this distinguished company, was very deaf, but with hearing enough to be cognisant of a great many objurgations from Mr. Richardson, of the “Greyhound” at Shap, for taking it out of his horses. One day Richardson came out and was particularly bland—nothing to complain of at all—but George, unable to distinguish anything, and concluding he was on the old subject, had his back up in an instant. “Hang you!” said he, “I’m not before my time; I’ll bet you £5 of it; look at my watch!”
Jack Pooley was a great character. When he retired from the box, he joined the Yeomanry and entered his horse for a cavalry plate at a race-meeting. Two of the conditions of entry were that it must never have won £50, and also must be half-bred. Some objections being raised, it became necessary to examine him before the committee. To the first question, whether his horse had ever won £50, he replied, “No, indeed! but he’s helped to lose many a fifty—he ran three years in an opposition coach.” The next question was, “What is he by, Mr. Pooley?” “By?” said Jack. “I should say he was by a shorthorn bull, he’s such a devil of a roarer.” The answers, we are told, were considered eminently satisfactory.