I own, ’twas but a coach-and-four,
For Jupiter allows no more.”
But whether Jupiter allowed it or not, your fashionable dame had six horses put into her coach, and the more grooms in attendance upon her, the better for her reputation as a Person of Quality. There is a good story, by the way, of Swift and a hackney coach. It is told by Leigh Hunt in his essay on Coaches.
“He was going,” says Hunt, “one dark evening, to dine with some great man, and was accompanied by some other clergymen, to whom he gave their clue. They were all in their canonicals. When they arrive at the house, the coachman opens the door, and lets down the steps. Down steps the Dean, very reverend in his black robes; after him comes another personage, equally black and dignified; then another; then a fourth. The coachman, who recollects taking up no greater number, is about to put up the steps, when another clergyman descends. After giving way to this other, he proceeds with great confidence to toss them up, when lo! another comes. Well, there cannot, he thinks, be more than six. He is mistaken. Down comes a seventh, then an eighth; then a ninth; all with decent intervals; the coach in the meantime rocking as if it were giving birth to so many daemons. The coachman can conclude no less. He cries out ‘The devil! the devil!’ and is preparing to run away, when they all burst into laughter. They had gone round as they descended, and got in at the other door.”
It may be that the private coaches and chariots were rather more comfortable than the hackneys, but nothing, it seems, could equal the tortures which were inflicted upon the unfortunate passengers who were forced to ride in the public carriages.
“When our Stratford Tub,” writes Ned Ward, “by the Assistance of its Carrionly Tits of different colours, had outrun the Smoothness of the Road, and enter’d upon London-Stones, with as frightful a Rumbling as an empty Hay-Cart, our Leathern-Conveniency[39] being bound in the Braces to its good Behaviour, had no more Sway than a Funeral Hearse, or a Country-Waggon, that we were jumbled about like so many Pease in a Childs-Rattle, running, at every Kennel-Jolt, a great hazard of a Dislocation: This we endured till we were brought within White-Chappel Bars, where we Lighted from our Stubborn Caravan, with our Elbows and Shoulders as Black and Blew as a Rural Joan, that had been under the Pinches of an Angry Fairy. Our weary Limbs being rather more Tir’d than Refresh’d, by the Thumps and Tosses of our ill-contriv’d Engine, as unfit to move upon a Rugged Pavement as a Gouty Sinner is to valt o’er London Bridge, with his Boots on. For my part, said I, if this be the Pleasure of Riding in a Coach thro’ London-Streets, may those that like it enjoy it, for it has loosen’d my Joynts in so short a Passage, that I shall scarce recover my former Strength this Fortnight; and, indeed, of the two, I would rather chuse to cry Mouse-Traps for a Livelihood, than be oblig’d every day to be drag’d about Town under such uneasiness; and if the Qualities Coaches are as troublesome as this, I would not be bound to do their Pennance for their Estates. You must consider, says my Friend, you have not the right Knack of Humouring the Coaches Motion; for there is as much Art in Sitting in a coach finely, as there is in riding the Great Horse; and many a younger Brother has got a good Fortune by his Genteel Stepping in and out, when he pays a Visit to her Ladyship.”
In Fleet Street, it seems, things were very bad. “The Ratling of Coaches,” says Ward, “loud as the Cataracts of Nile Rob’d me of my Hearing, and put my Head into as much disorder as the untunable Hollows of a Rural Mob at a Country Bull-Baiting.” More trouble followed later in the day.
“Now, says my Friend, I believe we are not tired with the Labours of the Day; let us therefore Dedicate the latter part purely to our Pleasure, take a Coach and go see May-Fair. Would you have me, said I, undergo the Punishment of a Coach again, when you know I was made so great a sufferer by the last, that it made my Bones rattle in my Skin, and has brought as many Pains about me, as if troubled with Rheumatism. That was a Country Coach, says he, and only fit for the Road; but London Coaches are hung more loose to prevent your being Jolted by the Roughness of the Pavement. This Argument of my Friends prevail’d upon me, to venture my Carcase a second Time to be Rock’d in a Hackney Cradle. So we took Leave of the Temple, turn’d up without Temple-Bar, and there took Coach for the General Rendezvous aforementioned.
“By the help of a great many Slashes and Hey-ups, and after as many Jolts and Jumbles, we were dragg’d to the Fair, where our Charioteer had difficulty with his fare—the gay ladies refusing to pay, but one eventually pledging her scarf and taking his number.”
It is to be remembered that at this time, as in the last century, the hackney coaches were used much in the manner of the modern omnibus. You did not necessarily have one to yourself. The same held good with regard to the post-chaises. Advertisements were constantly appearing for a “partner.”
The uneasy motion which so disturbed Ned Ward was a matter which was receiving the attention of carriage-builders, but little enough was done. Yet in England, France and Spain, quite a number of strange machines (including one which was supposed to go without horses) were invented, and had their day, and disappeared into the lumber-room of time. Two in particular, though in the main unsuccessful, deserve mention.