Chapter V: Part 5

But the ever-increasing traffic rendered necessary a much smaller vehicle than these monstrosities for general use, and this led, somewhere about 1670, to the introduction of the _gig_. This was a French invention, which, while no doubt the logical outcome of the _brouette_, bore resemblance to the old Roman _cisium_, and led ultimately to the cabriolets, once so popular both in France and England. Certain experiments tending towards a gig had been made earlier in the century with a chair fixed to a small cart. The first successful gig was a slender, two-wheeled contrivance, “the body little more than a shell,” says Thrupp, provided with a hood “composed of three iron hoop-sticks joined in the middle to fall upwards.” It was the prototype of the _calèche_ in France, the _carriole_ of Norway, the _calesso_ of Naples, and the _volante_ of Cuba. Gozzadini describes one of them as “an affair with a curved seat fixed on two long bending shafts, placed in front on the back of the horse and behind upon the two wheels.” They were introduced into Florence, he says, in 1672, and “so increased in numbers that in a few years there were nearly a thousand in the city.” An early gig of this kind is preserved at South Kensington. It is a forlorn-looking vehicle. The body is curved, but there is no hood. The seat is absurdly small and “beneath the shafts are two long straps of leather and a windlass to tighten them—this apparatus was, no doubt, to regulate the spring of the vehicle to the road travelled over.”

The gig speedily underwent several minor changes of form. In France it was known as _calèche_[35] or _chaise_, in England, as _calash_, _calesh_, or _chaise_, in America as _shay_. Unfortunately there is small mention of them in contemporary writings, and one is left to suppose that for some time they did not, except in certain cities, prove serious rivals to the _berlins_ and other four-wheeled chariots. It may be that the _berlin_ itself was taken as a model from which these lighter carriages were evolved. You had first the big double _berlins_ for four people, then you had a _vis-à-vis_ for two or more persons facing each other. Later the front part of the carriage would be cut away for the sake of lightness. When not covered such a vehicle as this seems to have been known as a _berlingot_. Two could travel in these _berlingots_ sitting side by side, “while a third person might travel uncomfortably in front on a kind of movable seat, which was not much patronised; for it was not only dangerous, but what was much worse in the eyes of the grand court gentlemen who used them—ridiculous.” There was also evolved a smaller and narrower _berlin_ with the front cut away and capable of holding only one passenger, called the _désobligeante_. The bodies of the ordinary chaises, which seated one or two people, seem to have differed from those of the older _berlins_ in being placed partly below the frame. There were no side doors, but one at the back which opened horizontally. When and where all such changes were made, however, it is impossible to say. The accounts, such as they are, are often contradictory, and the same names used to describe what are obviously not identical carriages. But the two-wheeled gig having appeared there was nothing to prevent improvements of every conceivable sort or shape, and innumerable hybrid carriages appeared, some of which are only known by name.

There is mention of a truly remarkable calash which was tried in Dublin in 1685. Exactly who the inventor was is not known, but Sir Richard Bulkeley interested himself in the experiments, and read a paper on his carriage before the Royal Society. Evelyn was one of those who were present on this occasion.

“Sir Richard Bulkeley,” he says, “described to us a model
of a chariot he had invented which it was not possible to
overthrow in whatever uneven way it was drawn, giving us a
wonderful relation of what it had performed in that kind, for
ease, expedition, and safety; there were some inconveniences
yet to be remedied—it would not contain more than one person;
was ready to take fire every few miles; and being placed
and playing on no fewer than ten rollers, it made a most
prodigious noise, almost intolerable.”

It is to be deeply regretted that there is no print of this remarkable carriage, but further details may be found in a letter, dated May 5th, 1685, from Sir Richard Bulkeley himself.

“Sir William Petty,” he writes, “Mr. Molyneux, and I have
spent this day in making experiments with a new invented
calesh, along with the inventor thereof; ’tis he that was
in London when I was there, but he never made any of these
caleshes there, for his invention is much improv’d since he
came from thence: it is in all points different from any
machine I have ever seen: it goes on two wheels, carries one
person, and is light enough. As for its performance, though it
hangs not on braces, yet it is easier than the common coach,
both in the highway, in ploughed fields, cross the ridges,
directly and obliquely. A common coach will overturn, if one
wheel go on a superficies a foot and a half higher than that
of the other; but this will admit of the difference of three
feet and a half in height of the superficies, without
danger of overturning. We chose all the irregular banks, the
sides of ditches to run over; and I have this day seen it, at
five several times, turn over and over; that is, the wheels so
overturned as that their spokes laid parallel to the horizon,
so that one wheel laid flat over the head of him that rode in
the Calesh, and the other wheel flat under him; so much I all
but once overturned. But what I have mentioned was another
turn more, so that the wheels were again _in statu quo_, and
the horse not in the least disordered: if it should be unruly,
with the help of one pin, you disengage him from the Calesh
without any inconvenience. I myself was once overturned, and
knew it not, till I looked up, and saw the wheel flat over my
head; and, if a man went with his eyes shut, he would imagine
himself in the most smooth way, though, at the same time,
there were three feet difference in the heights of the ground
of each wheel. In fine, we have made so many, and so various
experiments, and are so well satisfied of the usefulness of
the invention, that we each of us have bespoke one; they are
not (plain) above six or eight pounds a-piece.”

Why the nobility, gentry, and worthy burgesses of England, Scotland, and Ireland did not go and do likewise, history hides from us. There is no further mention of Sir Richard’s truly remarkable carriage, and one is left to imagine that some of the Irish roads were too bad even for its freakish agility.

On the other hand, they were probably superior to the Scottish roads of the time, even those in the more civilised southern districts. “It is recorded,” says Croal, “that in 1678”—the year after the founding of the Coach and Coach-Harness Makers’ Company in London—“the difficulties in the way of rapid communication were such that an agreement was made to run a coach between Edinburgh and Glasgow, a distance of forty-four miles, which was to be drawn by six horses, and to perform the journey to Glasgow and back in six days!”

Cross-country travelling, indeed, was very bad, and the rough tracks over which the heavy stage-coaches rumbled along would have proved too much for the lighter chariots and gigs which were so popular in town. I may conclude this chapter by quoting an amusing description of such cross-country travelling at the end of the century, taken from Sir John Vanbrugh’s _Provoked Husband_. A family is going in its private coach from Yorkshire to London:—

_Lord Townley._ Mr. Moody, your servant; I am glad to see you
in London. I hope all the family is well.

_John Moody._ Thanks be praised, your honour, they are all in
pretty good heart, thof’ we have had a power of crosses upo’
the road.

_Lady Grace._ I hope my Lady has no hurt, Mr. Moody.

_John._ Noa, an’t please your ladyship, she was never in
better humour: There’s money enough stirring now.

_Manly._ What has been the matter, John?

_John._ Why, we came up in such a hurry, you mun think that
our tackle was not so tight as it should be.

_Manly._ Come, tell us all: pray how do they travel?

_John._ Why i’ the auld coach, Measter; and cause my Lady
loves to do things handsome, to be sure, she would have a
couple of cart horses clapt to th’ four old geldings, that
neighbours might see she went up to London in her coach and
six! And so Giles Joulter the ploughman rides postilion!

_Lord Townley._ And when do you expect them here, John?

_John._ Why, we were in hopes to ha’ come yesterday, an’ it
had no’ been that th’ owld wheaze-belly horse tired; and then
we were so cruelly loaden, that the two fore-wheels came crash
down at once in Waggon-Rut Lane; and there we lost four hours
’fore we could set things to rights again.

_Manly._ So they bring all their baggage with the coach then?

_John._ Ay, ay, and good store on’t there is. Why, my Lady’s
gear alone were as much as filled four portmantel trunks,
besides the great deal box that heavy Ralph and the monkey sit
on behind.

_Lady Grace._ Well, Mr. Moody, and pray how many are there
within the coach?

_John._ Why, there’s my Lady and his Worship, and the young
squoire, and Miss Jenny, and the fat lap-dog, and my lady’s
maid Mrs. Handy, and Doll Tripe the cook; that’s all. Only
Doll puked a little with riding backward, so they hoisted her
into the coach-box, and then her stomach was easy.

_Lady Grace._ Oh! I see ’em go by me. Ah! ha!

_John._ Then, you mun think, Measter, there was some stowage
for the belly, as well as th’ back too; such cargoes of plum
cake, and baskets of tongues, and biscuits and cheese, and
cold boiled beef, and then in case of sickness, bottles of
cherry-brandy, plague-water, sack, tent, and strong beer, so
plenty as made the owld coach crack again! Mercy upon ’em! and
send ’em all well to town, I say.

_Manly._ Ay! and well on’t again, John.

_John._ Ods bud! Measter, you’re a wise mon; and for that
matter, so am I. Whoam’s whoam, I say; I’m sure we got but
little good e’er we turned our backs on’t. Nothing but
mischief! Some devil’s trick or other plagued us, aw th’ day
lung. Crack goes one thing: Bawnce goes another. Woa, says
Roger. Then souse! we are all set fast in a sleugh. Whaw!
cries Miss; scream go the maids; and bawl! just as thof’ they
were struck! And so, mercy on us! this was the trade from
morning to night.

_Chapter the Sixth_

_EARLY GEORGIAN CARRIAGES_

“May the proud chariot never be my fate,
If purchased at so mean, so dear a rate.
Oh, rather give me sweet content on foot,
Wrapt in my virtue and a good surtout.”

GAY’s _Trivia_.

Few new private carriages seem to have been designed during the earlier decades of the eighteenth century, although improvements and small alterations were constantly being carried out. There is an isolated reference to a _sociable_ built apparently in Germany, and the _four-wheeled chaise_, or _chariot à l’Anglaise_, which was to be so popular thirty or forty years later, put in an appearance about this time. Of the sociable little enough can be said. The particular carriage mentioned from its small size would appear to have been built for the royal children. It was a low-hung, open carriage over a single perch, and with seats facing each other. The four-wheeled chaise was a small chariot with a wide window in front.

Gray, writing to his mother in 1739, speaks of the French chaise in which he was making the grand tour with Horace Walpole.

“The chaise,” he writes, “is a strange sort of conveyance,
of much greater use than beauty; resembling an ill-shaped
chariot, only with the door opening before instead of the
side. Three horses draw it, one between the shafts, and the
other two on each side, on one of which the postillion rides,
and drives too: This vehicle will upon occasion, go fourscore
miles a day, but Mr. Walpole, being in no hurry, chooses to
make easy journies of it, and they are easy ones indeed; for
the motion is much like that of a sedan, we go about six miles
an hour, and commonly change horses at the end of it. It is
true they are not very graceful steeds, but they go well, and
through roads which they say are bad for France, but to me
they seem gravel walks and bowling-greens; in short, it would
be the finest travelling in the world, were it not for the
inns.”

Such a chaise as Gray describes came to be known as a _diligence_, while in England the one-horse chaise was more frequently spoken of as a _one-horse chair_. Contemporary prints of carriages, however, are scarce, and for the most part show only the larger coaches.

(_From Smith’s “Concise History of English Carriages”_)]

These coaches were of two distinct patterns. There were the large square coaches of Charles II’s time, but there was also a new type of coach or chariot which had a curious backward tilt to the body. From a superficial examination of such a carriage, it would appear impossible for the seats to have been horizontal, and, indeed, one wonders why this form was adopted. The result of this backward tilt was to leave a space between the coachman’s box and the carriage-body itself. Here one of the grooms sat or sprawled as best he could. Four, five, or even six other grooms stood uncomfortably huddled together on a seat or slab at the back. These men must have added considerably to the weight of the coach, and certainly did not make travelling any swifter; but how necessary they were is shown by a letter of the period in which one nobleman’s servant in London informs another in Essex that my lord is resolved to set out. The Essex man is bidden to have “the keepers and persons who know the holes and the sloughs” ready to meet his lordship “with lanterns and long poles” to keep the coach on its way. So many accidents happened even on the shortest journeys that five or six men were necessary to put the coach aright. A road, such as we think of one now, simply did not exist. You had often to drive across fields in tracks which exceedingly heavy waggons had made. In 1703, to take another instance, the King of Spain, then in this country, was journeying from Portsmouth to Windsor. The difficulties he experienced on that occasion were recorded by one of the attendants.

“We set out at six in the morning to go to Petworth, and did
not get out of the coaches (save only when we were overturned
or stuck fast in the mire) till we arrived at our journey’s
end. ’Twas hard service for the prince to sit fourteen hours
in the coach that day without eating anything and passing
through the worst ways that I ever saw in my life; we were
thrown but once indeed in going, but both our coach, which
was the leading, and his highnesse’s body-coach would have
suffered very often if the nimble boors of Sussex had not
frequently poised it or supported it with their shoulders from
Goldalmin almost to Petworth; and the nearer we approached to
the Duke’s house the more unaccessible it seemed to be. The
last nine miles of the way cost us six hours’ time to conquer
them, and indeed we had never done it if our good master had
not several times lent us a pair of horses out of his own
coach, whereby we were enabled to trace out the way for him.”

After reading such an account, it is difficult to understand why any one preferred coach to horseback on a cross-country journey. No wonder Gay was goaded to ask:—

“Who can recount the coach’s various harms,
The legs disjointed, and the broken arms?”

“In the wide gulph,” he says in another place,

“the shatter’d coach o’erthrown
Sinks with the snorting steeds; the reins are broke,
And from the crackling axle flies the spoke.”

Yet, according to Swift, Gay was not so averse to the coach in his later years. Writing to him in 1731, the Dean says:—

“If your ramble was on horseback, I am glad of it on account
of your health; but I know your arts of patching up a journey
between stage-coaches and friends’ coaches: for you are as
arrant a cockney as any hosier in Cheapside.... You love
twelve-penny coaches too well, without considering that the
interest of a whole thousand pounds brings you but half a
crown a day.”

“A coach and six horses,” he goes on to say in another letter, “is the utmost exercise you can bear, and this only when you can fill it with such company as is best suited to avoid your taste, and how glad would you be if it could waft you in the air to avoid jolting.”

There is preserved a chariot of this period which is probably typical of a nobleman’s carriage of the time. It was built for one of the Bligh family, possibly the first Lord Darnley, about 1720. It is a small carriage, curved curiously in a fashion which recalls some of the French furniture of the period. The body is slung upon leather braces, there is a single wide perch, and there are small elbow springs under the body at the back. It is very elaborately ornamented, and still keeps some of its pristine magnificence. A curious point about the Darnley chariot, to which some people have wrongfully ascribed a much earlier date, is the length of the door, which reaches nearly a foot below the bottom of the body. A similar peculiarity is to be seen in another coach of the period which was built in 1713 for the Spanish representative at the time of the Peace of Utrecht. Here “the quarters rake towards the roof considerably, the roof over the doorway is arched upwards, the upper quarters are filled with large glasses of mirror plate glass.... The wheels have carved spokes and felloes.... There is a hammercloth cushion in front and a footboard supported by Tritons blowing horns.” Another Spanish coach, with spiral spokes and similar peculiarities, is preserved at Madrid. This elongated door seems peculiar to the period and may have followed upon a desire to hide the steps, though the lowness of the carriage made more than one or two of these unnecessary. Many of the Spanish coaches of this time, by the way, were without the coach-box, postilions only being employed—the story being that a certain Duke of Olivarez found that his coachman had heard and betrayed a State secret. There was, I believe, actually a law passed in Spain forbidding coachmen altogether.

French coaches were very resplendent. “When I was in France,” writes Addison in one of the earlier _Spectators_, “I used to gaze with great Astonishment at the Splendid Equipages and Party-Coloured Habits, of that Fantastick Nation. I was one Day in particular contemplating a Lady, that sate in a Coach adorned with gilded Cupids, and finely painted with the Loves of _Venus_ and _Adonis_. The Coach was drawn by six milk-white Horses, and loaden behind with the same Number of powder’d Footmen. Just before the Lady were a Couple of beautiful Pages that were stuck among the Harness, and, by their gay Dresses and smiling Features, looked like the elder Brothers of the little Boys that were carved and painted in every corner of the Coach.” The boys “stuck among the harness” obviously were resting in that space which was made by the back-tilting of the body.

The Viennese coaches of this time seem to have had a very great deal of glass about them, but the Turkish coaches had none. Writing home from Adrianople in 1717, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu says:—

“Designing to go [to Sophia] _incognita_, I hired a Turkish
coach. These voitures are not at all like ours, but much more
convenient for the country, the heat being so great that
glasses would be very troublesome. They are made a good deal
in the manner of the Dutch coaches, having wooden lattices
painted and gilded; the inside being painted with baskets and
nosegays of flowers, intermixed commonly with little poetical
mottoes. They are covered all over with scarlet cloth, lined
with silk, and very often richly embroidered and fringed. This
covering entirely hides the persons in them, but may be thrown
back at pleasure, and the ladies peep through the lattices.
They hold four people very conveniently, seated on cushions,
but not raised.”

(_From Smith’s “Concise History of English Carriages”_)]

They were, it would seem, mere covered waggons, and, indeed, in another place Lady Mary speaks of them as such. Turkey possessed also “open gilded chariots,” but in these the women were not allowed to drive.

Russia, too, at this time possessed coaches, and we read that Peter the Great in his trans-European journey travelled with “thirty-two four-horse carriages and four six-horse waggons.” One or two particulars are forthcoming of the royal coach-house. It contained but two coaches, with four places in each, for the use of the Empress and a smaller, low-hung carriage, painted red, for the Emperor. This was replaced in winter by a small sledge. Peter, however, was not fond of his carriage. “He never,” says Waliszewski,[36] “got into a coach, unless he was called upon to do honour to some distinguished guest, and then he always made use of Menshikof’s carriages. These were magnificent. Even when the favourite went out alone, he drove in a gilded fan-shaped coach, drawn by six horses, in crimson velvet trappings, with gold and silver ornaments; his arms crowned with a prince’s coronet, adorned the panels; lacqueys and running footmen in rich liveries ran before it; pages and musicians, dressed in velvet, and covered with gold embroideries, followed it. Six gentlemen attended it at each door, and an escort of dragoons completed the procession.”

It is difficult to conceive the appearance of this fan-shaped coach, but it must have been almost startlingly magnificent, just the kind of carriage for the Russian Buckingham.

In the imperial collection at Petersburg are preserved one or two Russian carriages of this period. “One,” says Bridges Adams, “is close, made of deal, stained black, mounted on four wheels, the windows of mica instead of glass, and the frames of common tin: the other is open, with a small machine behind of the shipwright-emperor’s invention—its purpose to determine the number of miles traversed on a journey. In the same collection,” he adds, “is the litter of Charles XII used at the battle of Pultowa.”

In England glass seems to have been reserved for the private coaches. For the commoner hackneys a substitute had been found. “For want of Glasses to our Coach,” wrote the inimitable Ned Ward in _The London Spy_, a book whose outspokenness unfortunately must, I suppose, have prevented its reprinting in modern days, “we drew up our Tin Sashes, pink’d like the bottom of a Cullender, that the Air might pass thro’ the holes, and defend us from Stifling.”

If, however, contemporary plates are singularly scarce, and the historians have little to say of the period, there is a new source of information to be tapped, at any rate in this country, in the advertisements which just now began to fill whole pages in the periodicals. Of these I may quote one or two. One deals specifically with the question of glass windows:—

“These are to give notice to all Persons that have occasions
for Coach Glasses, or Glasses for Sash Windows, that they may
be furnished with all sorts, at half the prices they were
formerly sold for.”

Twelve inches square cost half a crown, thirty-six inches two pounds ten shillings.

Other advertisements concern the coaches themselves. In Anne’s day calashes, chaizes, both two-and four-wheeled, as well as the larger chariots—these often flamboyantly decorated—were constantly for sale.

“A very fine CHAIZE,” we read, “very well Carved, gilded and
painted, and lined with Blue Velvet, and a very good HORSE for
it, are to be sold together, or apart.”

“A curious 4-Wheel SHAZE, Crane Neck’d, little the worse for
wearing, it is to be used with 1 or 2 Horses, and there is a
fine Harness for one Horse, and a Reputable Sumpture Laopard
Covering.”

Here then is mention of a four-wheeled chaise with a perch curved in front after the German fashion. Other chaises for sale had only two wheels:—

“At the Greyhound in West Smithfield is to be sold a
Two-Wheeled Chaize, with a pair of Horses well match’d: It has
run over a Bank and a Ditch 5 Foot High; and likewise through
a deep Pit within the Ring at Hide Park, in the presence of
several persons of Quality; which are very satisfied it cannot
be overturn’d with fair Driving. It is to be Lett for 7s. 6d.
a Day, with some Abatement for a longer Time.”

One is reminded of Sir Richard Bulkeley’s wonderful calash. Here was surely a rival. Calashes were now common, though precisely what the difference was between them and the two-wheel chaises I am unable to say. Indeed, there is some confusion also between the small chariots and the four-wheel chaises, and the words seem to have become interchangeable. Both came to resemble the coupé of a later day, being like a modern coach with the front part removed. Sometimes the coachman’s box was on a level with the roof, but often much lower, and sometimes altogether absent, the horses being ridden by a postilion. Probably the carriage was called a chariot when it possessed a coachman’s box, such as was used in town, and a chaise when it was absent.

It was a calash that Squire Morley of Halstead wished for, but did not obtain, in Prior’s ballad of _Down-Hall_, 1715.

“Then answer’d Squire Morley; Pray get a calash,
That in summer may burn, and in winter may splash;
I love dust and dirt; and ’tis always my pleasure,
To take with me much of the soil that I measure.

“But Matthew thought better: for Matthew thought right,
And hired a chariot so trim and so tight,
That extremes both of winter and summer might pass:
For one window was canvas, the other was glass.”

Prior evidently liked the chaises of Holland.

“While with labour assiduous due pleasure I mix,
And in one day atone for the business of six,
In a little Dutch chaise on a Saturday night,
On my left hand my Horace, a nymph on my right:
No Memoirs to compose, and no Post-boy to move,
That on Sunday may hinder the softness of love;
For her, neither visits, nor parties at tea,
Nor the long-winded cant of a dull Refugee:
This night and the next shall be hers, shall be mine,
To good or ill-fortune the third we resign:
Thus scorning the world and superior to fate,
I drive on my car in processional state.”

Another advertisement tells of a gentleman who brought a one-horse calash to an Inn near Hyde Park Corner, took away the horse ten days later, but left his carriage “as a pawn for what was due for the same.” In a while the inn-keeper was advertising the fact that unless the owner claimed it within ten days he should sell the carriage for what it would fetch. A more curious advertisement belonging to this period may be quoted in full:—

“Lost the 26th of February, about 9 a Clock at Night, between
the Angel and Crown Tavern in Threadneedle Street, and the
end of Bucklers Berry, the side door of a Chariot, Painted
Coffee Colour, with a Round Cypher in the Pannel, Lin’d with
White Cloath embos’d with Red, having a Glass in one Frame,
and White Canvas in another, with Red Strings to both Frames.
Whoever hath taken it up are desir’d to bring it to Mr.
Jacob’s a Coachmaker at the corner of St. Mary Ax near London
Wall, where they shall receive 30s. Reward if all be brought
with it; or if offer’d to be Pawn’d or Sold, desire it may be
stop’d and notice given, or if already Pawn’d or Sold, their
money again.”

At this time, if not before, it became customary for wealthy people to possess coaches used only when they were in mourning. So we have:—

“At Mr. Harrison’s, Coach Maker, in the Broadway, Westminster,
is a Mourning Coach and Harness, never used, with a whole Fore
Glass, and Two Glasses and all other Materials (the Person
being deceased); also a Mourning Chariot, being little used,
with all Materials likewise, and a Leather Body Coach, being
very fashionable with a Coafoay Lining and 4 Glasses, and
several sorts of Shazesses, at very reasonable rates.”

What these reasonable rates were does not appear, but we learn from an agreement made in 1718 between one Hodges, a job-master, and a private gentleman, the cost of hiring a complete equipage. Hodges was to maintain “a coach, chariot, and harness neat and clean, and in all manner of repair at his own charge, not including the wheels, for a consideration of five shillings and sixpence a day—this to include a pair of well-matched horses and a good, sober, honest, creditable coachman.” If extra horses were required for country work, they were to be had for half a crown the pair per day. And if the coachman should break the glass when the coach was empty, Hodges and not the private gentleman should be responsible for the damage.

From another advertisement of about the same time comes the information that the hammercloth of carriages was constantly being stolen. Ashton[37] gives three such advertisements.

“Lost off a Gentleman’s Coach Box a Crimson Coffoy Hammer
Cloth, with 2 yellow Laces about it.”

“Lost off a Gentleman’s Coach Box, a Blue Hammer Cloth,
trimm’d with a Gold colour’d Lace that is almost turn’d
yellow.”

“Lost a Red Shag Hammock Cloth, with white Silk Lace round
it, embroider’d with white and blue, and 3 Bulls Heads and a
Squirrel for the Coat of Arms.”

The etymology of this hammercloth, which was simply a covering over the coach-box, seems to have puzzled people considerably. Most coachbuilders consider that the box beneath the seat used to contain a hammer and other tools necessary in case of a breakdown, whence the name. The anonymous author of the coach-building articles in the _Carriage Builders’ and Harness-Makers’ Art Journal_ scouts this idea, and suggests that it is merely a corruption of hamper-cloth—the box or chest having originally contained a hamper of provisions. The last advertisement quoted above gives hammock-cloth, which vaguely suggests suspension of a kind. It is perhaps not a very important question.

(_From Pennant’s “London”_)]

Advertisements also mention a “_Curtin Coach for 6 People_,” and “a _Chasse marée Coach_,”[38] which was some form of covered waggon; but, unfortunately, I have not been able to discover any information about them.

The State Coaches of this time were as handsome as ever. George I, Mrs. Delaney has recorded, rode in a coach that was “covered with purple cloth; the eight horses the beautifullest creatures of their kind were cream colour”—the custom of using cream-coloured horses still obtains in the State Coach of Great Britain—“the trapping purple silk, and their manes and tails tied with purple riband.” Luttrell in his Diary for May 20th, 1707, says of a foreign coach:—

“Yesterday the Venetian Ambassadors made their public entry
thro’ this citty to Somerset House in great state and
splendour, their Coach of State embroidered with gold, and
the richest that ever was seen in England: they had two with
8 horses, and eight with 6 horses, trimm’d very fine with
ribbons, 48 footmen in blew velvet cover’d with gold lace, 24
gentlemen and pages on horseback, with feathers in their hats.”

The Venetians apparently prided themselves on a magnificent display, and four years later Swift, in one of his letters to Stella, was commenting upon their ambassador’s coach again—“the most monstrous, huge, fine, gilt thing that ever I saw,” he says of it. Every possible luxury was commandeered for these State vehicles. One of the Emperors built a coach “studded with gold” for his bride. Another’s consort rode in a carriage “covered with perfumed leather.” The wedding carriage of the first wife of the Emperor Leopold had cost 38,000 florins. But the Austrian State Imperial Coach, built in 1696, was perhaps the most gorgeous of all. Immense sums too were being spent on coaches by private individuals. Swift writes on February 6th, 1712: “Nothing has made so great a noise as one Kelson’s chariot, that cost nine hundred and thirty Pounds, the finest was ever seen. The rabble huzzaed him as much as they did Prince Eugene.” Fashion decreed six horses. “I must have Six Horses in my Coach,” says Mrs. Plotwell in the _Beau’s Duel_, “four are fit for those that have a Charge of Children, you and I shall never have any”; and in another of Mrs. Centlivre’s comedies, Lucinda says to Sir Toby Doubtful: “You’ll at least keep Six Horses, Sir Toby, for I wou’d not make a Tour in High Park with less for the World: for me thinks a pair looks like a Hackney.” Abroad even more display was made. “Two coaches,” wrote Lady Mary from Naples in 1740, “two running footmen, four other footmen, a gentleman usher, and two pages, are as necessary here as the attendance of a single servant is at London.”

Nor was carriage-driving confined to the gentry. Every retired tradesman appeared abroad in his coach and aped the noble, a matter which disturbed Sir Richard Steele, who in one of the _Tatlers_ drew attention to the truly lamentable fact that you could not possibly estimate the social position of the occupant of a coach by the appearance of his equipage.

“For the better understanding of things and persons,” he
writes, “in this general confusion, I have given directions
to all the coachmakers and coachpainters in town, to bring me
in lists of their several customers; and doubt not, but with
comparing the orders of each man, in the placing of his arms
on the door of his chariot, as well as the words, devices
and ciphers to be fixed upon them, to make a collection
which shall let us into the nature, if not the history, of
mankind, more usefully than the curiosities of any medallist
in Europe. It is high time,” he continues, “that I call in
such coaches as are in their embellishment improper for the
character of their owners. But if I find I am not obeyed
herein, and think I cannot pull down those equipages already
erected, I shall take upon me to prevent the growth of this
evil for the future, by inquiring into the pretensions of the
persons, who shall hereafter attempt to make public entries
with ornaments and decorations of their own appointment. If a
man, who believed he had the handsomest leg in this kingdom,
should take a fancy to adorn so deserving a limb with a blue
garter, he would be justly punished for offending against the
Most Noble Order; and, I think, the general prostitution of
equipage and retinue is as destructive to all distinction, as
the impertinences of one man, if permitted, would certainly be
to that illustrious fraternity.”

The temptation for display must have been great. Nothing attracted the public attention like a fine coach. In the north of Scotland, indeed, any carriage caused the profoundest astonishment.

“I was entertained,” says a contemporary writer, “with the
Surprise and Amusement of the Common People when in the year
1725 a Chariot with six monstrous great Horses arrived here
by way of the Sea Coast. An Elephant publicly exhibited
in the Streets of London could not have excited greater
admiration. One asked what the Chariot was; another, who had
seen the gentlemen alight, told the first with a Sneer at his
Ignorance, it was a great cart to carry people in, and such
like.”

And even in Johnson’s day, when there were few coaches to be found in this part of the country, though a lighter vehicle called in old account books a _cheas_ was sometimes used, public astonishment was great. Yet it was in the north of Scotland that military roads were constructed in 1726 and 1737—not particularly good roads, but very necessary—and the first of their kind.

Swift in _Apollo, or a Problem Solved_, satirised the prevailing luxury. Compared with Apollo, he says:—

“No heir upon his first appearance,
With twenty thousand pounds a year rents,
E’er drove, before he sold his land,
So fine a coach along the Strand:
The spokes, we are by Ovid told,
Were silver, and the axle gold:
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.

One, properly belonging to the seventeenth century, concerned a new steel spring, patented in 1691 by a Mr. John Green. It was thus advertised:—

“All the nobility and gentry may have the carriages of
their coaches made new or the old ones altered, after this
invention, at reasonable rates; and hackney and stage
coachmen may have licences from the Patentees, Mr. _John
Green_ and Mr. _William Dockwra_, his partner, at the rate
of 12_d._ per week, to drive the roads and streets, some of
which having this week began, and may be known from the common
coaches by the words patent Coach being over both doors in
carved letters. These coaches are so hung as to render them
easier for the passenger and less labour for the horses, the
gentleman’s coaches turning in narrow streets and lanes in as
little or less room than any French carriage with crane neck,
and not one third of the charge. The manner of the coachman’s
sitting is more convenient, and the motion like that of a
sedan, being free from the tossing and jolting to which other
coaches are liable over rough and broken roads, pavements
or kennels. These great Conveniences (besides others) are
invitation sufficient for all persons that love their own
ease and would save their horses draught, to use these sort
of carriages and no other, since these carriages need no
alteration.”

Here, in addition to the spring, there was some kind of turning head—a question which occupied the attention of designers throughout the next century, but nothing more of Mr. John Green or of his partner was heard of, and his patent coaches found few if any purchasers.

The other contrivance was a primitive form of gear invented by one James Rowe. In 1727 this Rowe wrote a book—not, however, published until 1734—called _All Sorts of Wheel Carriage, Improved_. This was a small tract “wherein is plainly made to appear, that a much less than the usual Draught of Horses, etc., will be required, in Waggons, Carts, Coaches, and all other Wheel Vehicles” by the application of small “friction wheels and pulleys.” Rowe obtained a patent for his gear and apparently applied his small wheels to the axle just within the ordinary wheels, but his own coach was probably the only one ever to be so fitted. It was felt no doubt that the whole question was one of roads rather than of carriages. Improve your roads, and the discomforts of travelling would disappear.

The British stage-coaches of this time were, according to Sir Walter Scott,

“constructed principally of a dull black leather, thickly
studded, by way of ornament, with black-headed nails tracing
out the panels; in the upper tier of which were four oval
windows, with heavy red wooden frames, and green stuff or
leathern curtains. Upon the doors, also, there appeared but
little of that gay blazonry which shines upon the numerous
quadrigae of the present time; but there were displayed in
large characters the names of the places whence the coach
started, and whither it went, stated in quaint and ancient
language. The vehicles themselves varied in shape. Sometimes
they were like a distiller’s vat; sometimes flattened, and
hung equally balanced between the immense front and back
springs; in other instances they resembled a violincello case,
which was past all comparison the most fashionable form; and
they hung in a more genteel posture, namely, inclining on
to the back springs, and giving to those who sat within the
appearance of a stiff Guy Faux, uneasily seated. The roofs
of the coaches, in most cases, rose into a swelling curve,
which was sometimes surrounded by a high iron guard.... The
coachman, and the guard, who always held his carabine ready
bent, or, as we now say, cocked upon his knee, then sat
together; not as at present, upon a close, compact varnished
seat, but over a very long and narrow boot, which passed under
a large spreading hammer cloth, hanging down on all sides, and
finished with a flowing and most luxurious fringe. Behind
the coach was the immense basket stretching far and wide
beyond the body, to which it was attached by long iron bars or
supports passing beneath it; though even these seemed scarcely
equal to the enormous weight with which they were frequently
loaded. They were, however, never very great favourites,
although their difference of price caused them frequently to
be well filled, for, as an ancient Teague observed, ‘they
got in so long after the coach, that they ought to set out a
day sooner, to be there at the same time. Arrah!’ continued
he, ‘can’t they give it the two hind wheels, and let it go
first?’ The wheels of these old carriages were large, massive,
ill-formed, and usually of a red colour; and the three horses
that were affixed to the whole machine—the foremost of which
was helped onward by carrying a huge long-legged elf of a
postillion, dressed in a cocked hat, with a large green and
gold riding coat—were all so far parted from it by the great
length of their traces, that it was with no little difficulty
that the poor animals dragged their unwieldy burthen along
the road. It groaned, and creaked, and lumbered, at every
fresh tug which they gave it, as a ship, rocking or beating
up, through a heavy sea, strains all her timbers with a
low-moaning sound, as she drives over the contending waves.”

No wonder, said Scott, that at this time people invariably made their wills before setting out on a journey of any length. The dangers were manifold and very real.

In France the stage-coaches, or _diligences_, were very similar “with large bodies, having three small windows on each side and hung by leather braces on long perch carriages, with high hind wheels and low front wheels, without any driving box and fitted with large baskets, back and front for passengers or luggage; they were drawn by five horses and driven by a postillion on the off wheeler instead of the near wheeler as in England.” One, at any rate, of these diligences had springs of a kind. Another public coach in France at this time was the _gondola_, holding ten or twelve passengers inside, these sitting sideways with one at each end, a second attempt at a kind of omnibus. Still another public vehicle popular about this time in Paris was the _coucou_. Of this weird machine Ramée says:—

“Figure a box, yellow, green, brown, red, or sky blue, open
in front, having two foul benches which had formerly been
stuffed, on which were placed six unfortunate voyagers. In the
sides it had, right and left, one or two square openings, to
give air during the day or in summer. While the interior was
sufficiently open to the world, there was built an apron in
front, framed in woodwork and covered with sheet iron. Upon
this apron was thrown a third bench, on which were seated the
driver of the _coucou_ and two passengers who were termed
_lapins_ (rabbits).”

The _coucou_ was regularly to be seen lumbering painfully along with its ten or a dozen passengers, its snail’s pace giving it the ironical name of _vigoureux_. The poorer people almost exclusively used the _coucou_, although a smart woman with her pet dog, or a gentleman who had been unable to find a place in the more aristocratic _gondola_, were occasionally to be seen in its interior sandwiched in between two peasants.

In Spain the _coucou_ found an equivalent in the _galera_, which was provided with the ubiquitous basket—a low waggon it was, with its sides formed of a number of wooden spokes at a considerable distance from each other, and having no bottom save a strip of spartum on which the trunks and packages were heaped. In Spain there were several types of cart, two-or four-wheeled, which likewise plied for passenger hire. One of these, called a _correo real_, seems to have travelled at rather a greater pace, though with even less comfort to the unfortunate passengers than the others. A century later this _correo real_ was described by Théophile Gautier, who speaks of it as “an antediluvian vehicle, of which the model could only be found in the fossil remains of Spain, immense bell-shaped wheels, with very thin spokes, considerably behind the frame, which had been painted red somewhere about the time of Isabella the Catholic; an extravagant body full of all sorts of crooked windows, and lined in the inside with small satin cushions, which may at some period have been rose-coloured, and the whole decorated with a kind of silk that was once probably of various colours.”