Many of those who had had the good fortune to drive good paying coaches, and had been thrifty, invested their savings in inns, and, in some cases, in hotels of some importance. A few, some of whom I have previously mentioned, followed the receding tide, and obtained drives upon summer coaches. One who could horse a stage was pretty sure of getting a drive on one of them, as there was frequently some difficulty in finding people to cover the middle ground. Some few took to farming, but I cannot call to mind anyone who prospered as an agriculturist.
I fear the larger part died off rapidly. They were never a long-lived class of men. Strange as it may sound, the natural healthiness of the employment tended to shorten their lives. The constant passing through the air promoted great appetites, which, for the most part were fully gratified, and this, together with insufficient exercise, produced disease. I have known some who took a good walk before or after the day's drive, who lived to a hale old age, but too many seemed to think that the driving was sufficient exercise, though it could only have been very bad teams that made it so; worse than were put to coaches of late years.
Joe Wall, who drove the Manchester "Telegraph" out of London, used to take his exercise in a very aristocratic manner, as he always kept one, and sometimes two hunters, at Hockliffe, where he left the coach, and enjoyed his love for sport, as well as getting healthy exercise, and occupying the time which would otherwise have hung heavy on his hands, and possibly might have led him into mischief. This, however, had its drawbacks, and, on one occasion, was very near leading to a difficulty of no small magnitude. He had, as usual, been out hunting, and had, unfortunately, experienced a bad fall, which incapacitated him from driving the return coach, and, at first, it seemed as if it could not find its way to London that evening, for it was not every one, even though he might call himself a coachman, who was capable of driving a coach at the pace at which the "Telegraph" was timed, on a dark winter's evening, along a road crowded with so large a number of vehicles of all descriptions as would be the case on one approaching the metropolis. As good luck, however, would have it, an efficient substitute turned up in the shape of a very able and experienced hand, who had driven equally fast coaches. A few became horse-dealers, and I knew one who was for many years the highly-valued stud-groom to the late Sir W. W. Wynn, but, if I ever heard it, I have quite forgotten what coach it was that Simpson drove. I believe he was a good coachman, but he had the misfortune, though by no fault of his own, to capsize the hound van, nearly killing that prince of huntsmen, John Walker.
I once knew a guard who had previously followed the occupation of clown in a circus. His experience there had made him active enough for anything, but he and the coachman did not, I fancy, get on very well together, as the latter used sometimes to speak of him in derision as "my fool."
CHAPTER XVII.
SOME CHARACTERS.
There was a great character who drove out of Machynlleth at that time. His name was David Lloyd, and he worked the mail between that place and Dolgelly round by Towyn and the coast. When he came to a certain long fall of ground, he would put his team into a gallop, and then, taking a small twisted horn, which he slung in a strap over his shoulder, would blow almost without ceasing, especially when it was dusk, as was more or less the case during a considerable part of the year, and, as his right hand was fully occupied with the horn, if he wanted to take a pull at the reins he made use of his foot.
It was dark for the greater part of the year before he reached the end of the journey, and, as his sight was not very good at night, he would sometimes say to his box passenger, "If you please, sir, will you tell me what is coming towards us." Perhaps the passenger after looking, would say "A cart," to which David would reply, "Then I was get out of his way;" but if the answer was "A gig," or "A carriage," he would say, "Then he was get out of my way," and would keep straight on.
Dolgelly at that time contained a few boon companions, some of whom were rather given to practical joking. One morning there happened to be on the box seat one of these gentlemen, and when they had proceeded a few miles on the road, he pulled a pill-box out of his pocket and took some of the pills. Upon seeing this, David said to him, "If you please, sir, what have you got there?" He replied, "Only a few pills, which I find very beneficial after a hard night." "Well, indeed," says David, "I had a rather heavy night; was you please give me some of them?" "All right," says he, "hold out your hand," when he poured several pills into it; and upon David asking how many he was to take, he said, "Take them all," which he did; and the sequel was, that he drove his coach to Machynlleth, but another man brought it back in the evening.
For two summers, when I was driving the Aberystwith and Kington "Cambrian," I had Ben Haslam as guard, who was also something of a character, and quite one of the old coachmen. He had driven for many years out of London on different coaches, and, like a good many others, had followed the receding tide, and had got down to Herefordshire, where coaches lingered for several years, and then on to Wales, where, at that time, railways had not penetrated.
He was full of anecdotes connected with the road, and towards autumn, when the down loads were usually very light, I would sometimes get him to sit by me on the box that he might enliven the way with some of them.