Some years ago I was driving a fast coach in the north of England, when a singular surprise occurred to me.
It was sometimes the custom to give the mail teams a rest, by letting them run over a longer stage, where they were not expected to go so fast as the mail was timed. This change had been made, on the occasion of which I write, from Barnby Moor.
We rattled along over the eight miles of ground allotted to the mail stage, and here was their natural stop. No remark had been made to me either by the coachman or by the proprietor (who happened to be upon the coach), and who then cautioned me that the horses would want to run up to the place where the mail pulled up to change. I took precautionary measures accordingly, in order to get them by it. I had succeeded (as I thought) admirably, and, having passed the place, was looking round rather with a view of inviting a compliment from the professional coachman who was sitting behind me, when, all at once, as if shot out of a gun, the whole team bolted out of the road, and we found ourselves in the middle of a deep horsepond.
This team was accustomed, when taken out of the mail, to be ridden at once into the pond to be washed. They had run cheerfully past their stable, but the temptation of the horsepond was irresistible, so in they went.
There were two elderly ladies inside the coach, who screamed out loudly for help and a lifeboat.
It was one of those deep roadside ponds, with a white rail round it; plenty of room to get in, but very little room to get out. Here we were planted, water up to the axles, inside full, and the team, in the greatest confusion; although each horse looked satisfied that he had done the right thing, and was in no particular hurry to get out.
After much splashing and pawing we got the leaders off, and, by backing her on the lock, I got the coach safely ashore; not, however, before the old ladies had got a thorough ducking.
I superintended personally the administration of two glasses of hot brandy-and-water to each of the ladies who had been involuntarily subjected to a cold foot-bath.
There was so much opposition, in the days of which I am writing—forty years ago—that coach proprietors were only too anxious to make reparation in the most liberal manner for any little inconvenience to which passengers might be accidentally exposed. In this case the proprietor was present, and would readily have complied with any reasonable wish expressed by the passengers.