In the case of a railway there would be no such chance. There they could only stop, or have an accident. One gets used to everything after a time, and, I suppose, if I had been an engine-driver, I should become so accustomed to this as to think nothing of it; but, as it was, I never felt so helpless. I cannot conceive a greater trial of nerve than to be driving at the rate of twenty miles an hour, or more, among a labyrinth of rails, and entirely dependent on other people for safety.
It is not very long ago since I saw in a newspaper an account of a pointsman being found dead in his box!
I am reminded of the hackneyed saying of an old coachman in the early days of railways: "If a coach is upset," he said, "why, there you are; but if an accident happens to a railway train, where are you?"
It is now upwards of twenty years since the last time I handled four-horse reins, and more than fifty-five since the first time, and I am not going to say that no improvements have taken place during that long period of time. Possibly some may have been found, but I must confess that those I have heard of do not appear to me to come into that category.
It is a common reply to those who stand up for old systems that they were slow. That, at any rate, can hardly be alleged in the present case, for, though I admire the very smart thing done by poor Selby between London and Brighton, I think, when we consider the fast work habitually done in coaches in days of yore, and still more on the first of May and other special occasions, it must be admitted that the pace has, to say the least, not increased. Indeed, allowing for stoppages, taking up and putting down passengers, which lost many minutes in a journey, and the heavy loads carried, by neither of which was the "Old Times" troubled, I think the Brighton feat, good as it was, has often been surpassed. The three Birmingham Tally-ho's generally had a spurt on the first of May, and more than once performed the journey of a hundred and eight miles under seven hours—the best record, I believe, in existence.
Pace, however, at last, is a relative thing, and eight or nine miles an hour on one road may be really as fast as twelve or thirteen on another. I can safely say that, though I have driven some fast coaches in my time, I never had a day of harder work to keep time than in doing eighty miles in ten hours. What with one weak team in the early part of the journey, hilly roads, a heavy load, and frequent delays for changing passengers and luggage, the last stage of nine miles had to be covered in forty-two minutes to bring us in to time and catch the train.
Before finally bidding adieu to the subject of driving, it may perhaps be allowed me to say a few words about harness and the fitting of it. Of course it hardly needs saying that a coachman ought to be familiar with every strap and buckle of it, though this intimate knowledge may be dispensed with by those who only drive their own teams, and are always waited on by one or two good and experienced servants. Indeed, from what I witnessed in Hyde Park several years ago, I have had my suspicions whether these same servants are not sometimes utilised on early mornings in training the teams, and putting them straight for the masters' driving in the afternoon. I once saw a drag brought round to the right at the Magazine without the gentleman in charge of the box touching the off-side reins with his right hand at all; and I fail to see how this could have been accomplished unless the horses were as well trained to it as circus steeds.
Still, however perfect these men may be as gentlemen's servants, their experience has not generally led them to attend very closely to the exact fitting of the harness—the collars particularly—which used often to be the plague of their lives to stage coachmen, and even might give trouble to a gentleman, if driving an extended tour. A few hints, therefore, from an old hand may perhaps not be thrown away. With horses freshly put into harness their shoulders are always liable to be rubbed, and they require the greatest care and attention; and one thing should always be insisted on in these cases, which is to wash the shoulders with cold water after work, and to leave the collars on till they have become quite dry again. But if care is necessary in the case of gentlemen's work, what must have been that required with coach horses—especially if running over long stages, with heavy loads and in hot weather. Of course, a good deal depended upon the care of the horse-keeper; but nothing he could do had any chance of keeping the shoulders sound if the collars "wobbled" which they certainly always will do if the least light can be seen between the collar and the upper part of the horse's neck. Then, again, it is most important for the collar to be the right length to suit the individual horse. One which carries his head high will require a longer one in proportion than one which carries it low, because the former position of the head has the effect of causing the windpipe to protrude. On stage-coach work we never cared so much about the weight of the collar as the fitting, and offering a fairly broad surface to the pressure. Two or three pounds extra weight in a collar is nothing compared to the comfortable fitting of it, as we ourselves know to be the case with half-a-pound or so when walking a long distance in strong boots.
If a wound should appear, after all the care that can be taken, a paste made of fullers' earth with some weak salt and water will nearly always effect a cure, if the collar is properly chambered, so as to remove all pressure from the part. In case of a shoulder showing a disposition to gall, I always carried in the hind boot two or three small pads, which I could strap on to the collar, so as to remove the pressure temporarily till it could be chambered; and any gentleman embarking on a driving tour would find this to be a good precaution to take, especially if he is going into out-of-the-way districts.