It is not possible to obtain a better idea of a good coachman than from the following account of one who is said to be the first coachman in England for bad horses. “Having all his life had moderate horses—some strong and heavy, some light and blood-like, old hunters, old posters,—most of the teams going and returning,—their work at the utmost stretch, always overpowering,—having also had always, besides difference in character, weak horses to nurse,—this ordeal has worn him down to a pattern of patience. With these, and great weight upon severe ground, he is steady, easy, very economical in thong and cord, very light-handed and sometimes playful.—I observed him closely, and discovered from his remarks, as well as from what I saw, that his great secret of keeping his nags in any thing like condition, and preserving them when apparently worn out, is by putting them properly together, by constantly shifting their situations, and by the use of check-reins with remarkable judgment—by which means he brings their powers as near to equality as possible, besides preventing the evil of boring. Indeed, his horses all go light and airy; and though at times his hold of necessity becomes powerful, yet, generally speaking, he takes his load without a severe strain upon his arms.—I own it is this particular knack which always wins me. Both in driving and riding, give me the man who can accomplish his object with a light hand.”
The duty of a coachman is apt to injure the eyes—particularly in cold blowing weather. He must keep his eye forward; and it is found that the sight cannot be fixed upon any thing beyond the head of the wheel-horses (not so far as this, in short men,) without raising the eyelids, and consequently exposing the eyes to the weather. Six parts of cold spring water, to one of brandy, is a good lotion when the eyes suffer from this cause.—Coachmen should also preserve their feet and bodies from cold. In very cold weather, the chin should be protected by a shawl, and the knees by thick cloth knee-caps. In very severe weather, the breast should be protected; for which purpose hare-skins are now manufactured, and are getting into use on the road.
A coachman ought not to drive more than seventy miles a day; and, if this is done at two starts, so much the better. The wearing of the frame, under daily excitement, must tend to produce premature old age, and to shorten life; and this excitement must be very considerable when a man drives a fast coach eighty or a hundred miles a day without a stop—particularly if his coach be strongly opposed. Coachmen who wish to keep themselves light, take walking exercise in their hours of rest from road-work.
As to amateur coachmen, it has been observed, that if a diet were formed, before whom gentlemen-coachmen were to be examined previous to their being considered safe, it would not be amiss if they were put to the test of having the harness of four horses taken to pieces, strap from strap, and then requested to put it together again in the presence of the judges. There would be no hesitation in pronouncing him safe who succeeded in this, as his experience on the road must have been considerable. How these amateurs are trusted with the reins, coachmen are now obliged to be careful, owing to the speed of coaches, and the improved breed and condition of coach-horses. Hence, we see fewer amateurs at work than formerly. It would indeed be highly culpable in a coachman to trust the lives of passengers and his master’s property to any one whom he did not know to be safe, or even without reflecting that a man may be a very safe coachman with horses he knows, and a very unsafe one on some roads with horses to which he is a stranger.
To gentlemen who wish to drive, and are really capable of doing so, the following is recommended as not a very bad way of doing business:—“When travelling with a coachman I do not know,” says an amateur, “I always adopt the following plan—that is, if I wish to work. In the first place, I never got upon a coach-box yet with any thing like half-pay about me; such as a black handkerchief around my neck, or in blue pantaloons; neither do I think I ever shall. I always take care to have a good deal of drag about me:—a neat pair of boots, and knee-caps, if cold weather: a good drab surtout—if not a poodle; a benjamin or two about the coach, and a little of the spot about the neck. For the first mile, I always observe a strict silence, unless broken by coachee; but at this time he generally runs mute. He is perhaps but just awake, or is considering about his way-bill—reckoning his passengers, thinking what he has to do on the road, and, if a workman, looking over his team to see if all is right. Leave him alone for a short time, and when his mind is at ease, he will look you over as you sit beside him. He will begin with your boots, proceeding upwards to the crown of your hat, and if he like you, and you make a remark or two that please him, and show you to be a judge of the art, the first time he stops he will say—‘Now, sir, have you got your driving gloves on; would you like to take ’em?’—I am here alluding to country work, and not to the roads near London.”
Coachmen’s expenses on the road being heavy, should be taken into consideration by passengers. They have their horse-keepers to pay every week, or they will not do their best for them; and the wear and tear of their clothes is a heavy tax on their pockets. They are satisfied, however, with one shilling under, and two shillings for anything over, thirty miles; and they are well entitled to that sum—more especially when we recollect that they are liable to have empty coaches. No man, certainly, should give them less than a shilling, and if he often travel the same road, his money is not ill bestowed. In respectable coaches, no great difference is now made between the fees given by in and outside passengers, as it often happens that the latter are best able to pay.
Guards on mail coaches are necessary appendages to the establishment; and, that they may be equal to their duty, they go only moderate distances—as from sixty to eighty miles, when they are relieved by others. Those on the long stages, however, are imposed upon by their masters; and, by being made to do more than they are equal to—many of them two nights up for one in bed, are half their time asleep. Some go from London to Exeter, Shrewsbury, and other places equally distant, without stopping more than three quarters of an hour on the road, which, in bad weather, is hard enough. Indeed, it is wonderful how with their means they always contrive to live.
Guards are by no means useless appendages to stage coaches; for no coach, running a long distance and in the night, should be without one; but such guards should be provided with fire-arms in good repair. Setting aside the idea of highway robbery, it is impossible that, in the night, a coachman can see to the luggage on his coach,—nor indeed, can the guard, if he be asleep, and asleep he must be a great part of his time, if worked in the way above stated. He should not go more than one hundred miles, and he should be paid by the proprietors. But if the public should not be left to pay an armed guard, it is monstrous that they should pay an unarmed one. As to mail-guards, government allows them only a mere pittance of a few shillings a week, leaving the public to pay them; whereas the public have nothing to do with them, and it is the most impudent imposition that these servants of government should be paid by persons travelling. That they carry fire-arms is true; but it is to protect the letter-bags—property which government is paid to protect—that they would use these arms, and not on account of passengers. Strictly speaking, they have nothing to do with the passengers, nor their luggage; their sole duty being to protect the mail. As, therefore, government is paid for carrying the mails, government, and not the public, should pay the persons who actually do protect them.