Chapter II: Part 2

"This day broke very rudely upon us. I never travelled before in
such a lamentable day both for weather and way, but we made shift to
ride sixteen mile that morning, to Chesterfield in Derbyshire,
passing by Bolsover Castle, belonging to the Earl of Newcastle, very
finely seated upon a high hill; and missing our way once or twice, we
rode up mountain, down dale, till we came to our inn, when we were
glad to go to bed at noon. It was impossible to ride above two mile
an hour in this stormy weather: but coming to our inn, by the
ostler's help having lifted our crampt legs off our horses, we
crawled upstairs to a fire, when in two hours' time we had so well
dried ourselves without and liquored ourselves within, that we began
to be so valiant as to think upon a second march; but inquiring after
the business, we received great discouragement, with some stories of
a moor, which they told us we must go over. We had by chance lighted
on a house that was noted for good drink and a shovel-borde table,
which had invited some Derbyshire blades that lived at Bakewell, but
were then at Chesterfield about some business, to take a
strengthening cup before they would encounter with their journey home
that night. We, hearing of them, were desirous to ride in company
with them, so as we might be conducted in this strange, mountainous,
misty, moorish, rocky, wild country; but they, having drank freely of
their ale, which inclined them something to their countrie's natural
rudeness, and the distaste they took at our swords and pistols with
which we rid, made them loth to be troubled with our companies, till
I, being more loth to lose this opportunity than the other (one of
which had voted to lie in bed the rest of the day), went into the
room and persuaded them so well, as they were willing, not only to
afford us their company, but stayed for us till we accoutred
ourselves. And so we most courageously set forward again, the
weather being not one whit better, and the way far worse; for the
great quantity of rain that fell, came down in floods from the tops
of the hills, washing down mud, and so making a bog in every valley;
the craggy ascents, the rocky unevenness of the roads, the high
peaks, and the almost perpendicular descents, that we were to ride
down: but what was worse than all this, the furious speed that our
conductors, mounted upon such good horses, used to these hills, led
us on with, put us into such an amazement, as we knew not what to do,
for our pace we rode would neither give us opportunity to speak with
them or to consult with one another, till at length a friendly bough
that had sprouted out beyond his fellows over the road, gave our file
leader such a brush of the jacket as it swept him off his horse, and
the poor jade, not caring for its master's company, ran away without
him: by this means, while some went to get his courser for him,
others had time to come up to a general _rendezvous_; and concluded
to ride more soberly: but I think that was very hard for some of
these to do. Being all up again, our light-horsed companions
thundered away, and our poor jades, I think, being afraid, as well as
their masters, to be left alone in this desolate wide country, made
so much haste as they could after them; and this pace we rid, till we
lost sight of one another. At last our leaders were so civil, when
it was almost too late, to make another halt at the top of one of the
highest hills thereabout, just before we were to go to the moor: and
I was the last that got up to them, where, missing one of my
companions who was not able to keep up with us, I was in the greatest
perplexity imaginable, and desiring them to stay awhile, I rid back
again, whooping and hallooing out to my lost friend; but no creature
could I see or hear of, till at last, being afraid I had run myself
into the same inconvenience, I turned back again towards the
mountaineers, whom when I had recovered, they told me 't was no
staying there, and 't were better to kill our horses than to be left
in those thick mists, the day now drawing to an end: and so setting
spurs to their horses, they ran down a precipice, and in a short time
we had the favour to be rained on again, for at the top of this hill
we were drencht in the clouds themselves, which came not upon us drop
by drop, but cloud after cloud came puffing over the hill as if they
themselves had been out of breath with climbing it. Here all our
tackling failed, and he that fared best was wet to the skin, these
rains soaking through the thickest lined cloak: and now we were
encountering with the wild moor, which, by the stories we had been
told of it, we might have imagined a wild bore. I am sure it made us
all grunt before we could get over it, it was such an uneven rocky
track of road, full of great holes, and at that time swells with such
rapid currents, as we had made most pitiful shift, if we had not been
accommodated with a most excellent conductor; who yet, for all his
haste, fell over his horse's head as he was plunging into some dirty
hole, but by good luck smit his face into a soft place of mud, where
I suppose he had a mouth full both of dirt and rotten stick, for he
seemed to us to spit crow's nest a good while after. Now, being
forced to abate something of their speed, I renewed my acquaintance
with two of our new companions, and made them understand how we had
left a third man behind us, not being able to ride so fast, and how
our intentions were to stay at their own town with them this night,
who now overjoyed to see an old acquaintance, were so kind and loving
that what with shaking hands, riding abreast, in this bad way, and
other expressions of their civilities, they put me in as much trouble
with their favour as before they had put me to inconvenience by their
rudeness: yet, by this means, I procured them to ride so easily as I
led my horse down the next steep hill, on the side of which lay a
vast number of huge stones, one intire stone of them being as big as
an ordinary house: some of the smaller they cut into mill-stones.
Passing the river--Derwent--which then ran with the strongest current
that ever I beheld any, we climbed over another hill, a mile up and a
mile down, and got to Bakewell a little after it was dark."

We have a few data of the speed possible in travelling on extraordinary occasions. We select one of each kind--that of the mounted express and that of the Great Lady who kept her carriage, as the extremes, so far as regards the instruments of conveyance. For a horseman can go where a wheel-carriage cannot find a track: and on the other hand, the traveller on foot can generally choose a more direct line of movement, than is practicable for the four-footed servant of man, encumbered with his rider and his furniture.

In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the herald of the king of Scotland, who, it may be supposed, carried with him a royal mandate to be first served by the livery stables, was allowed forty days to reach the Border from London, although it appears that Robert Bruce took only seven to put the Border between himself and Gloucester. But neither Bruce nor the mother of Richard II., who came in one day from Canterbury to London, can be taken as precedents of ordinary speed. For the one had received a significant hint from some friendly courtier--a pair of spurs baked in a pie--that King Edward was in high dudgeon with him, and could not dine with either appetite or good digestion, until he had seen Bruce's head: and of the Queen dowager is it not written that "she never durst tarry on the waye," for Wat Tyler was behind her, vowing vengeance upon all principalities and powers? Howbeit her majesty was so thoroughly jolted and unsettled by the "slapping pace" at which she travelled, that she had a bilious attack forthwith, and was "sore syke, and like to die."

To the difficulty of transit on roads was owing the establishment of great annual fairs, still imperfectly represented by our Wakes, Statute-fairs, and periodical assemblages of itinerant vendors of goods. These commercial re-unions are still common in the East, and still frequent in Central Europe; although in England, where every hamlet has now happily its general shop, and where the towns rival the metropolis in the splendour of gas-lamps and the glory of plate-glass windows, such Fairs have degenerated into yearly displays of giants, dwarfs, double-bodied calves, and gorgeous works in gingerbread. To our ancestors, with their simpler habits of living, supply and demand, these annual meetings served as permanent divisions of the year. The good housewife who bought her woollens and her grocery, the yeoman who chose his frieze-coat, his gay waistcoat, and the leathern integuments of his sturdy props, once only in twelve months, would compute the events of his life after the following fashion:--"It happened three months after last Bury or Chester Fair;" or, "Please Heaven, the bullocks shall be slaughtered the week before the next Statute." Nay, dates were often extracted, in the courts of justice, by the help of such periodical memoranda. The Church of Rome, with its unerring skill in absorbing and insinuating itself into all the business or pleasures of mankind, did not overlook these popular gatherings. And if the ascetic Anthony, the sturdy Christopher, or that "painful martyr," St. Bartholomew, minded earthly matters in the regions of their several beatitudes, they must have been often more scandalized than edified by the boisterous amusements of those who celebrated their respective Feasts. In these particulars, however, Ecclesiastical Rome was merely a borrower from its elder Pagan sister. The Compitalia of ancient Rome were street-fairs dedicated to the worship of local deities, and the Thirty cities of Latium held annually, on the slope of the Alban Mount, a great fair as well as a great council of Duumviri and Decuriones. To the ancient fairs of Southern Italy we are indebted for one of our oldest and most agreeable acquaintances. The swinging puppets of the Oscans were gradually confined within a portable box, and danced or gesticulated upon a miniature stage. Their dumb-show was relieved by the extemporary jests and songs of the showman, until at length, one propitious morning, some Homer or Shakspeare of the streets conceived the sublime idea of embodying these scattered rays of satire and jest in the portly person of--Mr. Punch.

The original fair of the East and mediaeval Europe was one of the most instructive and picturesque spectacles among the many gatherings of the human race. The Great Fair of Novogorod assembled, and still continues to assemble, myriads of nearly every colour and costume: and in the market of "the Sledded Russ" the small-eyed Chinese stood side by side with the ebony-complexioned native of Guinea. Among the many pictures which Sir Thomas Browne desired to see painted was "a delineation of the Great Fair of Almachara in Arabia, which, to avoid the great heat of the sun, is kept in the night, and by the light of the moon." The worthy and learned knight does not mention the Great Fair of the _Hurdwar_, in the northern part of Hindostan, where a confluence of many millions of human beings is brought together under the mixed influences of devotion and commercial business, and, dispersing as rapidly as it has been evoked, the crowd "dislimns and leaves not a wrack behind." But fairs and general enterprise and opulence are not coeval: neither do they flourish in an age of iron roads and steam-carriages. In fact, they were the results of the inconvenience attendant upon travelling. It was once easier for goods to come to customers than for customers to leave their homes in search of goods. Inland trade was heavily crippled by the badness and insecurity of the highways. The carriages in which produce was conveyed were necessarily massive and heavy in their structure, to enable them to resist the roughness of the ways. Sometimes they were engulfed in bogs, sometimes upset in dykes, and generally they rolled heavily along tracks little less uneven than the roofs of houses.

As a direct result of these obstacles to speedy locomotion, the fruits of the earth, in the winter months, when the roads were broken up or flooded, were consumed by damp and worms in one place, while a few miles further on they might have been disposed of at high prices. Turf was burned in the stoves of London, long after coals were in daily use in the northern counties; and petitions were presented to the Houses of Parliament in the reign of Henry VIII., deprecating the destruction of growing timber for the supply of hearth-fuel. Nor were these miry and uneven ways by any means exempt from toll; on the contrary, the chivalry of the Cambrian Rebecca might have been laudably exercised in clearing the thoroughfares of these unconscionable barriers. It was a costly day's journey to ride through the domain of a lord abbot or an acred baron. The bridge, the ferry, the hostelry, the causeway across the marshes, had each its several perquisite. Exportation from abroad was oftener cheaper than production at home. It answered better to import cloth from Flanders than to weave and bring it from York: and land carriage from Norwich to London was nearly as burdensome as water-carriage from Lisbon. Coals, manure, grain, minerals, and leather were transported on the backs of cattle. An ambassador going or returning from abroad was followed by as numerous a retinue as if he had ridden forth conquering and to conquer. Nor were his followers merely for state or ceremony, but indispensable to his comfort, since the horses and mules which bore his suite carried also the furniture of his bed-room and kitchen, owing to the clumsiness of wheel-carriages. If, as was sometimes the case, a great lord carried half an estate on his back, he often consumed the other half in equipping and feeding his train: and among the pleasures utterly unknown to the world for more than five thousand years is, that both peer and peasant may now travel from Middlesex to any portion of the known world with only an umbrella and carpet-bag.

We have alluded in our sketch of the earliest roads to the general character of early travelling; but a few words in connection with roads remain to be said on that subject. Travelling for pleasure--taking what our grandfathers were wont to call the _Grand Tour_--were recreations almost unknown to the ancient world. If Plato went into Egypt, it was not to ascend the Nile, nor to study the monumental pictures of a land whose history was graven on rocks, but to hold close colloquy on metaphysics or divinity with the Dean and Chapter at Memphis. The Greeks indeed, fortunately for posterity, had an incredible itch for Egyptian yarns, and no sooner had King Psammetichus given them a general invitation to the Delta, than they flocked thither from Athens and Smyrna, and Cos and Sparta, and the parts of Italy about Thurium, with their heads full of very particular questions, and often, to judge by their reports of what they heard, with ears particularly open to any answers the Egyptian clergy might please to give. Yet pleasure was not the object of their journey. Science, as themselves said, curiosity, as their enemies alleged, was the motive for their encountering perils by land and water. Indeed we recollect only three travellers, either among the Greeks or Romans, who can properly be considered as journeying for pleasure. These were Herodotus--the prince of tourists, past, present, or to come,--Paullus AEmilius, and Caesar Germanicus.

Herodotus, there is reason to suspect, did not himself penetrate far into Asia, but gathered many of his stories from the merchants and mariners who frequented the wine-shops of Ephesus and Smyrna. Considering the sources of his information, and the license of invention accorded to travellers in all ages, the Halicarnassian was reasonably sceptical: and generally warns his readers when he is going to tell them "a bouncer," by the words "so at least they told me," or "so the story goes." Paullus AEmilius travelled like a modern antiquary and connoisseur. And for beholding the master-pieces of Grecian art in their original splendour and in their proper local habitations, never had tourist better opportunities. A negotiation was pending between the Achaean League and the Roman Commonwealth; and since the preliminaries were rather dull, and Flaminius felt himself bored by the doubts and ceremonies of the delegates, he left them in the lurch to draw up their treaty, and took a holiday tour himself in the Peloponnesus. At that time not a single painting, statue, or bas-relief had been carried off to Italy. The Roman villas were decorated with the designs of Etrurian artists alone, or, at the most, had imported their sculpture and picture galleries from Thurii and Tarentum. Flaminius therefore gazed upon the entire mass of Hellenic art; and the only thing he, unfortunately for us, neglected, was to keep a journal, and provide for its being handed down to posterity.

Germanicus, who had beheld many of these marvels in the Forum and Palaces of Rome--for the Roman generals resembled the late Marshal Soult in the talent of appropriating what they admired--reserved his curiosity for Egypt alone, and traversed from Alexandria to Syene the entire valley of the Nile, listening complacently to all the legends which the priests deemed fitting to rehearse to Roman ears. He was of course treated with marked attention. Memnon's statue sounded its loudest chord at the first touch of the morning ray; the priests, in their ceremonial habiliments, read to him the inscriptions on the walls of the great Temple at Carnac--and proved to him that after all the Roman empire was no "great shakes;" since a thousand years before, Rameses III. had led more nations behind his chariot, and exacted heavier tributes of corn, wine, and oil from all who dwelt between the White Nile and the Caspian Sea. His journey however was so unprecedented a step, that it brought him into trouble with Tiberius. The Emperor was half afraid that Germanicus had some designs upon the kingdom of Egypt, and as that land happened to be the granary of Rome, the jealous autocrat thought of the possibility of short-commons and a bread-riot in the Forum. But even if the tourist had no ulterior views, the Emperor thought that it did not look like business for a proconsul to be making holiday without leave,--and he accordingly reprimanded his adopted son by letter, and scolded him in a speech to the senate. In our days the Emperor of Russia would look equally black on a field-marshal who should come without license to London for the season; and the Mandarin, who lately exhibited himself in the Chinese Junk, would do well for the future to eschew the Celestial Empire and its ports and harbours entirely,--at least if he have as much consideration for his personal comfort, as his sleek appearance indicated.

The Emperor Hadrian might have been added to the list of ancient travellers in search of the picturesque, both because he visited nearly every province of his empire, and because he expended good round sums wherever he went, in restoring, re-edifying, or beautifying the public edifices which the provincials had suffered to fall into decay. But Hadrian's journeys were primarily journeys of business; he wished, like the Czar Nicholas, to see with his own eyes how matters went on, and at times he had the felicity of catching a prefect in the very act of filling his pockets and squeezing the provincials: we cannot therefore put him to the account of those who journeyed for pleasure. Every Roman who took any part in public affairs was, in fact, a great traveller. If he served his sixteen or twenty years in the legions, and was not enrolled in the household troops, he was singularly unlucky if his company were not quartered in Asia, Africa, and the Danubian provinces. If he became praetor or consul, a provincial government awaited him at the close of his year of office; and it depended upon the billets drawn in the Senate, whether he spent a year or two on the shores of the Atlantic, or whether he kept staghounds on the frontiers of Dacia. Nearly every Roman indeed had qualified himself before he was fifty to be a candidate for the Travellers' Club; and sometimes the fine gentleman, who declined taking an active part in public affairs, found himself unexpectedly a thousand miles from home, with an imperial rescript in his portmanteau enjoining him not to return to Rome without special leave.

To such a compulsory journey was the poet Ovid condemned, apparently for his very particular attentions to the Princess Julia. His exile was a piece of ingenious cruelty. He was sent to Tomi, which was far beyond the range of all fashionable bathing-places. The climate was atrocious; the neighbourhood was worse; the wine was execrable and was often hard frozen, and eaten like a lozenge, and his only society was that of the barracks, or a few rich but unpolished corn-factors, who speculated in grain and deals on the shores of the Euxine. To write verses from morn to dewy eve was the unfortunate poet's only solace: and he sent so many reams of elegies to Rome, that his friends came at last to vote him a bore, and he was reduced, for want of fitting audience, to learn the Getic language, and read his lacrymose couplets to circles of gaping barbarians.

A few of our readers may remember the family coach in which county magnates rode in procession to church, to Quarter sessions, and on all occasions of ceremony and parade. The Landau, so fast disappearing from our streets and roads, was but a puny bantling of a vehicle in comparison with the older and more august conveyance. As the gentlemen rode on horseback, and the ladies upon pillions, on all but the great epochs of their lives, this wheeled mammoth was rarely drawn out of its cavern, the coach-house. For not even when in full dress, raised from the ground by red-heeled shoes resembling a Greek _cothurnus_, and with a cubit added to their stature by a mural battlement of hair, did the ladies of the eighteenth century disdain to jog soberly behind a booted butler with pistols in his holsters, and a Sir Cloudesley Shovel beaver on his head. {48} "We have heard an ancient matron tell of her riding nine miles to dinner behind a portly farm bailiff, and with her hair dressed like that of Madame de Maintenon, which, being interpreted, means that the locks with which nature had supplied her were further aggravated by being drawn tight over a leathern cushion--a fashion which Jonathan Oldbuck denounces as "fit only for Mahound or Termagaunt." The production of the coach was therefore the sign of a white or black day in the family calendar--inasmuch as it indicated either marriage or funeral, the approach of the Royal Judges or the execution of a state prisoner, the drawing for the militia, or a county address to both Houses of Parliament on the crying grievance of the Excise. It doubtless took some days to prepare the imperator's chariot for a Roman triumph: it must have employed nearly as many to clean and furbish the capacious body of the modern vehicle. There was moreover a whole armoury of harness to mend and polish; and as the six long-tailed Flemish horses were not often in the traces together, some time was required by them to unlearn the rustic habits of the farm-yard, and to regain the stately trot at which, where the roads would admit of it, they ordinarily proceeded. The following description of a journey to London by an M.P. of 1699 will convey to the reader a lively yet tolerably exact conception both of the glory and inconveniences of travelling in those days. It is taken from Vanbrugh's comedy of the 'Journey to London,' better known in its modern form of 'The Provoked Husband.'

"_James_. Sir, Sir, do you hear the news? They are all a-coming.

"_Uncle Richard_. Ay, Sirrah, I hear it.

"_James_. Sir, here's John Moody arrived already: he's stumping
about the streets in his dirty boots, and asking every man he meets,
if they can tell him where he may have a good lodging for a
parliament-man, till he can hire such a house as becomes him. He
tells them his lady and all the family are coming too; and that they
are so nobly attended, they care not a fig for anybody. Sir, they
have added two cart-horses to the four old geldings, because my lady
will have it said she came to town in a coach and six--heavy George
the ploughman rides postilion.

"_U. Richard_. Very well, the journey begins as it should do. Dost
know whether they bring all the children with them?

"_James_. Only Squire Humphrey and Miss Betty, Sir; the other six
are put to board at half-a-crown a week a head, with Joan Growse at
Smoke-dunghill-farm.

"_U. Richard_. The Lord have mercy upon all good folks! What work
will these people make! Dost know when they'll be here?

"_James_. John says, Sir, they'd have been here last night, but that
the old wheezy-belly horse tired, and the two fore-wheels came crash
down at once in Waggon-rut Lane. Sir, they were cruelly loaden, as I
understand: my lady herself, he says, laid on four mail trunks,
besides the great deal-box, which fat Tom sat upon behind.

"_U. Richard_. So!

"_James_. Then, within the coach there was Sir Francis, my lady, the
great fat lap-dog, Squire Humphrey, Miss Betty, my lady's maid, Mrs.
Handy, and Doll Tripe the cook; but she puked with sitting backwards,
so they mounted her into the coach-box.

"_U. Richard_. Very well.

"_James_. Then, Sir, for fear of a famine before they should get to
the baiting-place, there was such baskets of plum-cake, Dutch
gingerbread, Cheshire cheese, Naples biscuits, maccaroons, neats'
tongues and cold boiled beef; and in case of sickness, such bottles
of usquebaugh, black-cherry brandy, cinnamon-water, sack, tent, and
strong beer, as made the old coach crack again.

"_U. Richard_. Well said.

"_James_. And for defence of this good cheer and my lady's little
pearl necklace, there was the family basket-hilt sword, the great
Turkish scimitar, the old blunderbuss, a good bag of bullets, and a
great horn of gunpowder.

"_U. Richard_. Admirable!

"_James_. Then for bandboxes, they were so bepiled up--to Sir
Francis's nose, that he could only peep out at a chance hole with one
eye, as if he were viewing the country through a perspective-glass."

The "blunderbuss, Turkish scimitar, and basket-hilt sword," in the foregoing extract from Vanbrugh, point to one of the constant perils of the road--the highwaymen. Lady Wronghead was lucky in bringing her "little pearl necklace" safe to London. Turpin's scouts, a few years later, would have obtained more accurate information of the rich moveables packed in the squire's coach. But as yet Turpin and Bradshaw were not. The great road from York to London however lay always under an evil reputation. It was by this line that Jeannie Deans walked to London, and verified the remark of her sagacious host, the Boniface of Beverley, that the road would be clear of thieves when Groby Pool was thatched with pancakes--and not till then. The example of Robin Hood was, for centuries after his death, zealously followed by the more adventurous spirits of Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire, and Yorkshire; and their enterprising genius was well seconded by the fine breed of horses for which those counties were famous. For cross-country work the Leicestershire blades had no fellows; and had the Darlington Hunt existed in those days, they would doubtless have been first a-field in the morning and last on the road at night. Nor were there any reasons in their dress, demeanour, or habits, why they should not consort with the best of the shire either when riding to cover, or celebrating the triumphs of the day afterward in the squire's hall, or the ale-house. Some of these redressers of the inequalities of fortune were of excellent houses,--younger sons, who having no profession--trade would have been disgraceful in their eyes--grew weary of an unvarying round of shooting, fishing, otter-hunting, and badger-baiting, and aspired, like their common ancestor Nimrod, to be hunters of men. Others had found the discipline of a regiment unpleasant, or had been unjust serving men. In short, the road, about a century and a half ago, was the general refuge of all who, like the recruits that flocked to King David at Adullam, were in distress or discontented. Mail-coach drivers and guards travelled armed to the teeth, booted to the hips, with bandeliers across their capacious chests, and three-cornered hats which, in conjunction with their flowing horse-hair wigs, were both sword- and bullet-proof. Passengers who had any value for their lives and limbs, when they booked themselves at London for Exeter or York, provided themselves with cutlasses and blunderbusses, and kept as sharp look-out from the coach-windows as travellers in our day are wont to do in the Mexican diligences. We remember to have seen a print of the year 1769 in which the driver of the Boston mail is represented in the armed guise of Sir Hudibras. He carries a horse-pistol in his belt, and a _couteau de chasse_ slung over his shoulder, while the guard is accoutred with no less than three pistols and a basket-hilt sword, besides having a carbine strapped to his seat behind the coach. Between the coachman's feet is a small keg, which might indifferently contain "genuine Nantz" or gunpowder. One of the "insides," an ancient gentleman in a Ramilies wig, is seen through the capacious window of the coach affectionately hugging a carbine, and a yeoman on the roof is at once caressing a bull-dog, and supporting a bludgeon that might have served Dandie Dinmont himself. Yet all these precautions, offensive or defensive, were frequently of no avail: the gentlemen of the road were still better armed, or more adroit in handling their weapons. Hounslow Heath on the great western road, and Finchley Common on the great northern road, were to the wayfarers for many generations nearly as terrible as the Valley of the Shadow of Death. "The Cambridge scholars," says Mr. Macaulay, "trembled when they approached Epping Forest, even in broad daylight. Seamen who had just been paid off at Chatham were often compelled to deliver their purses at Gadshill, celebrated near a hundred years earlier by the greatest of poets as the scene of the depredations of Poins and Falstaff." The terrors of one generation become the sources of romance and amusement to later times. Four hundred years ago we should have regarded William of Deloraine as an extremely commonplace and inconvenient personage: he is now much more interesting than the armour in the Tower, or than a captain or colonel of the Guards. A century back we should have slept the more soundly for the knowledge that Jack Sheppard was securely swinging in chains; but in these piping times of peace his biography has extracted from the pockets of the public more shillings than the subject of it himself ever 'nabbed' on the king's highway. It is both interesting and instructive to observe how directly the material improvements of science act upon the moral condition of the world. As soon as amended roads admitted of more rapid movement from place to place, the vocation of the highway robber was at first rendered difficult, and in the end impossible to exercise on the greater thoroughfares. Fast horse-coaches were the first obstacle. Railways have became an insuperable impediment to "life on the road."

Charles Lamb indited one of his most pleasant essays upon the 'Decay of Beggars in the Metropolis.' In the rural districts vagrancy and mendicity still survive, in spite of constabulary forces and petty sessions. But the mendicity of the nineteenth century presents a very different spectacle from the mendicity of the seventeenth. The well-remembered beggar is no longer the guest of the parish-parson; the king's bedesmen have totally vanished; no one now supplicates for alms under a corporation-seal; nor is the mendicant regarded as second only to the packman as the general newsmonger of a neighbourhood. Who does not remember the description of foreign beggars in the 'Sentimental Journey'? Many of us have witnessed the loathsome appearance and humorous importunity of Irish mendicants. A century ago England rivalled both France and Ireland in the number of its professional beggars. In the days when travelling was mostly performed on horseback, the foot of the hills--the point where the rider drew bridle--was the station of the mendicant, and long practice enabled him to proportion his clamorous petitions to the length of the ascent. {56} The old soldier in 'Gil Blas' stood by the wayside with a carbine laid across two sticks, and solicited, or rather enforced, the alms of the passer-by, by an appeal to his fears no less than to his pity. The readers of the old drama will recall to mind the shifts and devices of the 'Jovial Beggars;'--how easily a wooden leg was slipped off and turned into a bludgeon; how inscrutable were the disguises, and how copious and expressive the slang, of the mendicant crew. Coleridge has justly described 'The Beggar's Bush' as one of the most pleasant of Fletcher's comedies; and if the Spanish novelists do not greatly belie the roads of their land, the mendicant levied his tolls on the highways as punctually as the king himself. Speed in travelling has been as prejudicial to these merry and unscrupulous gentry as acts against vagrancy or the policeman's staff. He should be a sturdy professor of his art who would pour forth his supplications on a railway platform; and Belisarius himself would hardly venture to stop a modern carriage for the chance of an _obolus_, to be flung from its window. A few of the craft indeed linger in bye-roads and infest our villages and streets; but _ichabod_!--its glory has departed; and the most humane or romantic of travellers may without scruple consign the modern collector of highway alms to the tender mercies of the next policeman and the reversion of the treadmill.

The modern highway is seldom in a direct line. A hill, a ford, or a wood sufficed to render it circuitous. All roads indeed through hilly countries were originally struck out by drivers of pack-horses, who, to avoid bogs, chose the upper ground. Roads were first made the subject of legislation in England in the sixteenth century: until then, they had been made at will and repaired at pleasure. A similar neglect of uniformity may be seen in Hungary and in Eastern Europe generally, even in the present day. The roads are made by each county, and as it depends in great measure upon the caprice or convenience of the particular proprietors or townships whether there shall be a road at all, or whether it shall be at all better than a drift-way or a bridle-track, it often happens that after bowling along for a score of miles upon a highway worthy of Macadam, the carriage of the traveller plunges into wet turf or heavy sand, merely because it has entered upon the boundary of a new county. Nay, even where the roads have been hitherto good, it often happens that the new Vicegespann, or Sheriff, a personage on whose character a good deal depends in county business, allows them to go to ruin for want of seasonable repairs. A similar irregularity was, in our own country, put a stop to in the reign of Mary, when it was enacted that each parish should maintain its own roads. A custom was borrowed from the feudal system: the lord of the manor was empowered to demand from his vassals certain portions of their labour, including the use of such rude implements as were then in use. The peasant was bound by the tenure of his holding, to aid in cutting, carting, and housing his lord's hay and corn, to repair his bridges, and to mend his roads. A portion of such services was, in the sixteenth century, transferred from the lord to the parish or the district; and the charges of repairing the highways and bridges fell upon the copyholder. He was compelled to give his labour for six days in the year, and his work was apportioned and examined by a surveyor. If this compulsory labour did not suffice, hired labour was defrayed by a parochial rate: and although the obligation is seldom enforced, yet it survives in letter in the majority of the court-rolls of our manors.

So entirely indeed was speed in travelling regarded by our ancestors as of secondary importance to safety and convenience, that even in journeying by a public coach the length of a day's journey was often determined by the vote of the passengers. The better or worse accommodation of the roadside inns was taken into account; and it was "mine host's" interest to furnish good ale and beef, since he was tolerably certain that, with such attractions within-doors, the populous and heavy-laden mail would not pass by the sign of the Angel or the Griffin. Long and ceremonious generally were the meals of our forefathers; nor did they abate one jot from their courtesies when travelling on "urgent business." On arriving at the morning or noontide baiting-place, and after mustering in the common room of the inn, the first thing to be done was to appoint a chairman, who mostly retained his post of honour during the journey. At the breakfast or dinner there was none of that indecorous hurry in eating and drinking which marks our degenerate days. Had the travellers affected such thin potations as tea and soup, there was ample time for them to cool. But they preferred the sirloin and the tankard; and that no feature of a generous reception might be wanting, the landlord would not fail to recommend his crowning cup of sack or claret. The coachman, who might now and then feel some anxiety to proceed, would yet merely admonish his fare that the day was wearing on; but his scruples would vanish before a grace-cup, and he would even connive at a proposal to take a pipe of tobacco, before the horn was permitted to summon the passengers to resume their places. Hence the great caution observable in the newspaper advertisements of coach-travelling. We have now before us an announcement of the kind, dated in the year 1751. It sets forth that, God willing, the new Expedition coach! will leave the Maid's Head, Norwich, on Wednesday or Thursday morning, at seven o'clock, and arrive at the Boar in Aldgate on the Friday or Saturday, "as shall seem good" to the majority of the passengers. It appears from the appellation of the vehicle, "the new Expedition," that such a rate of journeying was considered to be an advance in speed, and an innovation worthy of general notice and patronage. Fifty years before the same journey had occupied a week; and in 1664 Christopher Milton, the poet's brother, and afterwards one of King James II.'s justices, had taken eight-and-forty hours to go from the _Belle Sauvage_ to Ipswich! At the same period the stage-coach which ran between London and Oxford required two days for a journey which is now performed in about two hours on the Great Western line. The stage to Exeter occupied four days. In 1703, when Prince George of Denmark visited the stately mansion of Petworth, with the view of meeting Charles III. of Spain, the last nine miles of the journey took six hours. Several of the carriages employed to convey his retinue were upset or otherwise injured; and an unlucky courier in attendance complains that during fourteen hours he never once alighted, except when the coach overturned or was stuck in the mud.

Direction-posts in the seventeenth century were almost unknown. Thoresby of Leeds, the well-known antiquary, relates in his Diary, that he had well-nigh lost his way on the great north road, one of the best in the kingdom, and that he actually lost himself between Doncaster and York. Pepys, travelling with his wife in his own carriage, lost his way twice in one short hour, and on the second occasion narrowly escaped passing a comfortless night on Salisbury Plain. So late indeed as the year 1770 no material improvement had been effected in road-making. The highways of Lancashire, the county which gave to the world the earliest important railroad, were peculiarly infamous. Within the space of eighteen miles a traveller passed three carts broken down by ruts four feet deep, that even in summer floated with mud, and which were mended with large loose stones shot down at random by the surveyors. So dangerous were the Lancashire thoroughfares that one writer of the time charges all travellers to shun them as they would the devil, "for a thousand to one they break their necks or their limbs by overthrows or breaking down." In the winter season stage-coaches were laid up like so many ships during Arctic frosts, since it was impossible for any number of horses to drag them through the intervening impediments, or for any strength of wheel or perch to resist the rugged and precipitous inequalities of the roads. "For all practical purposes," as Mr. Macaulay remarks, "the inhabitants of London were further from Reading than they are now from Edinburgh, and further from Edinburgh than they are now from Vienna."

France generally is still far behind Britain in all the appurtenances of swift and easy travelling. In the eighteenth century it was relatively at par with this country. The following misadventures of Voltaire and two female companions, when on an excursion from Paris to the provinces, are thus sketched by the pen of Thomas Carlyle:--

"Figure a lean and vivid-tempered philosopher starting from Paris,
under cloud of night, during hard frost, in a large lumbering coach,
or rather waggon, compared with which indeed the generality of modern
waggons were a luxurious conveyance. With four starved and perhaps
spavined hacks, he slowly sets forth under a mountain of bandboxes.
At his side sits the wandering virago, Marquise du Chatelet, in front
of him a serving maid, with additional bandboxes, _et divers effets
de sa maitresse_. At the next stage the postilions have to be beat
up: they came out swearing. Cloaks and fur-pelisses avail little
against the January cold; 'time and hours' are the only hope. But
lo! at the tenth mile, this Tyburn coach breaks down. One
many-voiced discordant wail shrieks through the solitude, making
night hideous--but in vain: the axle-tree has given way; the vehicle
has overset, and marchionesses, chamber-maids, bandboxes, and
philosophers are weltering in inextricable chaos. The carriage was
in the stage next Nangis, about half-way to that town, when the hind
axle-tree broke, and it tumbled on the road to M. de Voltaire's side.
Madame du Chatelet and her maid fell above him, with all their
bundles and bandboxes, for these were not tied to the front but only
piled up on both hands of the maid; and so, observing the law of
gravitation and equilibrium of bodies, they rushed toward the corner
where M. de Voltaire lay squeezed together. Under so many burdens,
which half-suffocated him, he kept shouting bitterly; but it was
impossible to change place; all had to remain as it was till the two
lackeys, one of whom was hurt by the fall, could come up, with the
postilions, to disencumber the vehicle; they first drew out all the
luggage, next the women, and then M. de Voltaire. Nothing could be
got out except by the top, that is, by the coach-door, which now
opened upwards. One of the lackeys and a postilion, clambering aloft
and fixing themselves on the body of the vehicle, drew them up as
from a well, seizing the first limb that came to hand, whether arm or
leg, and then passed them down to the two stationed below, who set
them firmly on the ground."

It was not entirely for state or distinction of ranks that noblemen of yore were attended on their journeys by running footmen. A few supernumerary hands were needed in case of accidents on the road. A box of carpenters' tools formed an indispensable part of the baggage, and the accompanying lackeys were skilful in handling them, as well as in replacing the cast shoes of the horses, for many districts would not afford a Wayland Smith. The state of travelling was doubtless increased by these 'cursive appendages, bearing white wands, and decked in the gay liveries of the house which they served. In the 'Bride of Lammermoor' we have a graphic picture of these pedestrian accompaniments of the coaches of "Persons of Quality."

"The privilege of nobility in those days," says Sir Walter Scott, "had something in it impressive on the imagination: the dresses and liveries, and number of their attendants, their style of travelling, the imposing and almost warlike air of the armed men who surrounded them, placed them far above the laird who travelled with his brace of footmen; and as to rivalry from the mercantile part of the community, these would as soon have thought of imitating the state and equipage of the Sovereign. . . . Two running footmen, dressed in white, with black jockey caps, and long staves in their hands, headed the train; and such was their agility that they found no difficulty in keeping the necessary advance which the etiquette of their station required before the carriage and horsemen. Onward they came at an easy swinging trot, arguing unwearied speed in their long-breathed calling. Behind these glowing meteors, who footed it as if the avenger of blood had been behind them, came a cloud of dust, raised by riders who preceded, attended, or followed, the state-carriage."

In times when persons of quality journeyed in this stately and sumptuous fashion, it was often needful to mend the roads specially on their account. The approach of a Royal Progress, or the Lord Lieutenant of the county, was a signal for a general 'turn-out' of labourers and masons to lay gravel over the most suspicious places, and to render the bridges at least temporarily secure. Scarcely a Quarter sessions in the seventeenth century passed over without presentments from the Grand Jury against certain districts of the county; and few and favoured were the districts which escaped a good round fine from the Judges, as a set-off against the bruises and other damages which their Lordships sustained on their circuit. It was no unusual accident for the Court to be kept waiting many hours for the arrival of the Judge. Either his Lordship had been dug out of a bog, or his official wardrobe had been carried away by a bridgeless stream. Often, too, the patience of jurors was severely tried by the non-appearance of counsel. These inconveniences became more apparent after it had ceased to be the fashion for the Judges and the Bar to travel on horseback from one assize-town to another. Cowper, writing to his pedestrian friend Rose, playfully imagines that when he should attain to the dignity of the ermine, he would institute the practice of 'walking' the circuit. But equestrian circuits were long in use, and the Bar turned out as if their chase had been deer instead of John Doe and Richard Roe. When however it came to be thought indecorous for a Judge to wear jack-boots, the danger of wheel-carriages was sensibly felt by the luminaries of the law, and the periodical journeys of the votaries of Themis tended directly to the correction of ways as well as to the suppression of vice. A zealous High Sheriff or a loyal Lord Lieutenant would sometimes contribute out of his private purse to the security of the Bench: and the more enterprising towns began to think it concerned their honour that the delegates of Majesty should reach their gates scatheless and unwearied by the toils of the road.

But road-making entrusted to the separate discretion of parochial authorities was often performed in a slovenly, and always in an unsystematic, manner. In adopting a direct or a circuitous line of way innumerable predilections interfered, and parishes not rarely indulged in acrimonious controversies, especially when the time came for walking the boundaries. The dispute between broad and narrow gauges is indeed merely a modern form of a long-standing quarrel. A market-town and a seaport would naturally desire to have ample verge and room enough on their highways for the transport of grain, hides, and timber from the interior, and for carriage of cloth and manufactured or imported goods to the inland. On the other hand isolated parishes would contend that driftways were all-sufficient for their demands, and that they could house their crops or bring their flour from the mill through the same ruts which had served their forefathers. But in Charles II.'s reign, after the civil wars had given an impetus to the public mind, and while, although our foreign policy was disgraceful, and each cabinet more indecorous than its predecessor, the country at large was steadily advancing in prosperity, this lack of uniformity was acknowledged to be no longer tolerable. Compulsory labour and parochial rates, or hired labour and occasional outlays, were found alike insufficient to ensure good roads. An act was accordingly passed authorizing a small toll to pay the needful expenses. The turnpike-gate to which we are accustomed was originally a bar supported on two posts on the opposite sides of the road, and the collector sat, _sub dio_, at his seat of customs. It was long however before the advantages of this plan were acknowledged by the people. Riots, resembling the Rebecca riots, were of frequent occurrence in the less-frequented counties: the road-surveyor was as odious as the collector of the chimney-tax; the toll-bar was seen blazing at night; its guardian deemed himself fortunate to escape with a few kicks; and it was not until a much later day that a public or private coach could trundle along the roads without encountering deep and dislocating ruts, or rocking over a surface of unbroken stones. Frost and rain were more effective than the duly appointed surveyor in breaking up these rude materials, and reducing the surface to something resembling a level.