But to return to coaches proper again: one called the "Dart" used to run between Oxford and London, driven by a coachman who was commonly known by the name of "Black Will;" and one fine morning the box seat was occupied by an Oxford Don, who thought he would enjoy the air on his journey. After they had gone a short distance he addressed our friend Black Will, saying, "Are you the coachman they call Black Will?" His answer was, "Blackguards call me Black Will, but gentlemen call me Mr. Walters." It is needless to say that this shut up the Don for the remainder of the journey.
Dick Dicas drove the "Cambrian" between Llangollen and Dolgelly for several years, and one day it so happened that among the outside passengers there was a ventriloquist. As they drove along the road a man was seen walking leisurely across a field in the direction of the coach, when the ventriloquist threw his voice so as to make it appear that he was calling to it to stop. Of course, Dick pulled up, thinking he had got another passenger; but as he did not quicken his pace, he began to get impatient, for he was not a Job under any circumstances, and called out to him to "Come on," and "Do you suppose I can wait here all day for you?" At last, as he approached nearer, he said, "What do you want with me?" when friend Dick answered, "Why, you called me to stop." "I did nothing of the sort," replied the man in the field. "I tell you you did," said Dick, waxing warmer. "Well, I'm not coming with you, anyhow," said the leisurely man; whereupon there was nothing left for Dick to do but to drive on, not in the best of tempers, as may be supposed. Whether he ever knew of the trick played upon him I do not remember to have heard, but if he did find it out in time, I suspect he made it hot for the ventriloquist.
At one time Cambridge could boast of a clever poet as a coachman. Tom Cross was his name, and he drove the Lynn coach from the "Golden Cross," Charing Cross. He wrote "The Conflagration of Rome," and "Paul before Nero," and some wags among the undergraduates said the idea was given him by the fat from the bacon he was frying in the garret igniting. But be that as it may, they were very clever compositions. I fancy it was this man who published the first book on coaching which has appeared in print.
CHAPTER XVIII.
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.