The coaches for the South and West of England, he says, started from the ‘White Horse Cellars,’ Piccadilly, which was one of the fashionable hotels of 1820, the time he treats of.
COACH CONSTRUCTION
The ‘White Bear,’ Piccadilly, he adds, was looked upon with contempt, as being the place whence only the slow coaches started. The mails and stages moved off to the accompaniment of news-vendors pushing the sale of the expensive and heavily taxed newspapers of the period, and the cries of the Jew-boys who sold oranges and cedar2 pencils on the pavement at sixpence a dozen. Once clear of town, his enthusiasm over the travel of other days finds scope, and he begins: ‘What an infinite succession of teams! What an endless vista3 of ever-changing miles of country! What a delicious sense of belonging to some select and specially4 important and adventurous5 section of humanity as we clattered6 through the streets of quiet little country towns at{27} midnight, or even at three or four o’clock in the morning; ourselves the only souls awake in all the place. What speculations7 as to the immediate8 bestowal9 and occupation of the coachman as he “left you here, sir,” in the small hours!’
Then he goes on to give a kind of gossipy history of the smart mails put on the road about 1820.
‘A new and accelerated mail-coach service was started under the title of the “Devonport Mail,” at that time the fastest in England. Its performances caused a sensation in the coaching world, and it was known in such circles as the “Quicksilver Mail.” Its early days had chanced, unfortunately, to be marked by two or three accidents, which naturally gave it an increased celebrity10.
‘And if it is considered what those men and horses were required to perform, the wonder was, not that the “Quicksilver” should have come to grief two or three times, but rather that it ever made its journey without doing so. What does the railway traveller of the present day, who sees a travelling Post Office and its huge tender, crammed11 with postal12 matter, think of the idea of carrying all that mass on one, or perhaps two, coaches? The guard, occupying his solitary13 post behind the coach on the top of the receptacle called, with reference to the constructions of still earlier days, the hinder-boot, sat on a little seat made for one, with his pistol and blunderbuss in a box in front of him. And the original notion of those who first planned the modern mail coach was that the bags containing the letters should be carried in the hinder-boot. The fore-boot, beneath the{28} driver’s box, was considered to be appropriated to the baggage of the three outside and four inside passengers, which was the Mail’s entire complement14. One of the outsiders shared the box with the driver, and two occupied the seat on the roof behind him, their backs to the horses, and facing the guard, who had a seat all to himself. The accommodation provided for these two was not of a very comfortable description. They were not, indeed, crowded, as the four who occupied a similar position on another coach often were; but they had a mere15 board to sit on, whereas the seats on the roof of an ordinary stage coach were provided with cushions. The fares by the mail were nearly always somewhat higher than those by even equally fast, or, in some cases, faster, coaches; and it seems unreasonable16, therefore, that the accommodation should have been inferior. I can only suppose that the patrons of the mail were understood to be compensated17 for its material imperfections by the superior dignity of their position. The box-seat, however, was well cushioned.
THE COACHING AGE
‘But if the despatches, which it was the mail’s business to carry, could once upon a time be contained in the hinder-boot, such soon ceased to be the case. The bulk of postal matter which had to be carried was constantly and rapidly increasing, and often as many as nine enormous sacks, which were as long as the coach was broad, were heaped upon the roof. The huge heap, three or four tiers high, was piled to a height which prevented the guard, even when standing18, from seeing or communicating with the coachman. If to these considerations the reader will add{29} the consideration of the Devon and Somerset roads, over which this top-heavy load had to be carried at twelve miles an hour, it will not seem strange that accidents should have occurred. Not that the roads were bad. They, thanks to M’Adam, were good, hard, and smooth, but the hills were numerous and steep.
‘The whole of the service was well done and admirable, and the drivers of such a coach were masters of their profession. Work hard, but remuneration good. There were fewer passengers by the mail to “remember” the coachman, but it was more uniformly full, and somewhat more was expected from a traveller by the mail. It was a splendid thing to see the beautiful teams going over their short stage at twelve miles an hour. None but good cattle in first-rate condition could do the work. A saying of old Mrs. Mountain, for many years the well-known proprietress of one of the large coaching inns in London, used to be quoted as having been addressed by her to one of her drivers: “You find whip-cord, John, and I’ll find oats.” And, as it used to be said, the measure of the corn supplied to a coach-horse was—his stomach!
‘It was a pretty sight to see the changing of the horses. There stood the fresh team, two on the off side, two on the near side, and the coach was drawn19 up with the utmost exactitude between them. Four ostlers jump to the splinter-bars and loose the traces; the reins20 have already been thrown down. The driver retains his seat, and, within the minute (more than once, within fifty seconds by the watch) the coach is again on its onward21 journey.{30}
‘Then how welcome was breakfast at an excellent old-world country inn—twenty minutes allowed. The hot tea, after your night’s drive, the fresh cream, butter, eggs, hot toast, and cold beef, and then, with your cigar alight, back to the box and off again.
‘I once witnessed on that road—not quite that road, for the “Quicksilver” took a somewhat different line—the stage of four miles between Ilchester and Ilminster done in twenty minutes, and a trace broken and mended on the road. The mending was effected by the guard almost before the coach stopped. It is a level bit of road, four miles only for the entire stage, and was performed at a full gallop22. That was done by a coach called the “Telegraph,” started some years after the “Quicksilver,” to do the distance between Exeter and London in one day. We started at 5 A.M. from Exeter and reached London between 9 and 10 that night, with time for breakfast and dinner on the road. I think the performance of the Exeter “Telegraph” was the ne plus ultra of coach-travelling. One man drove fifty miles, and then meeting the other coach on the road, changed from one box to another and drove the fifty miles back. It was tremendously hard work. “Not much work for the whip arm?” I asked a coachman. “Not much, sir; but just put your hand on my left arm.” The muscle was swollen23 to its utmost, and as hard as iron. Many people who have not tried it think it easier work to drive such a coach and such a team as this than to have to flog a dull team up to eight miles an hour.’
AN OLD MAIL-GUARD
Thomas Adolphus Trollope’s reminiscences may be{31} fitly supplemented by those of Moses James Nobbs, who died in June 1897, at the age of eighty years, and was one of the last of the mail-guards on the Exeter Road. To say that he was actually the last would be rash, for coachmen, postboys, and guards were a long-lived race, and it would not be at all surprising to learn that some ancient veterans still survive. Nobbs entered the service of the Post Office in 1836, and was transferred from the Bristol and Portsmouth to the London, Yeovil, and Exeter Mail in 1837.
Retiring at the close of 1891, he therefore saw fifty-five years’ service, and vividly24 recollected25 the time when the mails were conveyed in bags secured on the roof of the coach. At Christmas-time the load was always heavy; but although the correspondence of that season sometimes severely26 strained the capacity of the vehicle, it is not recorded that the mail had to be duplicated, as had to be done sometimes in after years when railways had superseded27 coaches.
When the Great Western Railway was opened through to Exeter in 1844 and the last mail coach on this route had been withdrawn28, Nobbs was given the superintendence of the receiving and despatching of the mails from Paddington, and often spoke29 of the extraordinary growth of the Post Office business during the railway era. At one Christmas-tide he despatched from Paddington in a single day no less than twenty tons of letters and parcels.
He had not been without his adventures. ‘We had a very sad accident,’ he says, ‘with that mail{32} on one occasion, between Whitchurch and Andover. The coach used to start from Piccadilly, where all the passengers and baggage were taken up. On this occasion the bags were brought up in a cart, as usual, and we were off in a few seconds. My coachman had been having a drinking bout1 with a friend that day, and when we had got a few miles on the road, I discovered that he was the worse for drink and that it was not safe for him to drive. So when we reached Hounslow I made him get off the box-seat; and after securing the mail-bags and putting him in my seat and strapping30 him in, I took the ribbons. At Whitchurch the coachman unstrapped himself and exchanged places with me, but we had not proceeded more than three miles when, the coach giving a jolt31 over a heap of stones, he fell between the horses, and the wheels of the coach ran over him, killing32 him on the spot. The horses, having no driver, broke into a full gallop, so, as there was no front passenger, I climbed over the roof, to gather up the reins, when I found that they had fallen among the horses’ feet and were trodden to bits. Returning over the roof, I missed my hold and fell into the road, but fortunately with no worse accident than some bruises33 and a sprained34 ankle. The horses kept on till they reached Andover, where they pulled up at the usual spot. Strange to say, no damage was done to the coach, though there was a very steep hill to go down. The “Old Exeter Mail,” which came behind our coach, found the body of my coachman on the road, and, a mile farther, picked me up.’
点击收听单词发音
1 bout | |
n.侵袭,发作;一次(阵,回);拳击等比赛 | |
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2 cedar | |
n.雪松,香柏(木) | |
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3 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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4 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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5 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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6 clattered | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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7 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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8 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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9 bestowal | |
赠与,给与; 贮存 | |
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10 celebrity | |
n.名人,名流;著名,名声,名望 | |
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11 crammed | |
adj.塞满的,挤满的;大口地吃;快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满;填入;临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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12 postal | |
adj.邮政的,邮局的 | |
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13 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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14 complement | |
n.补足物,船上的定员;补语;vt.补充,补足 | |
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15 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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16 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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17 compensated | |
补偿,报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 ); 给(某人)赔偿(或赔款) | |
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18 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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19 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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20 reins | |
感情,激情; 缰( rein的名词复数 ); 控制手段; 掌管; (成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的)保护带 | |
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21 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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22 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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23 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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24 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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25 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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27 superseded | |
[医]被代替的,废弃的 | |
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28 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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29 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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30 strapping | |
adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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31 jolt | |
v.(使)摇动,(使)震动,(使)颠簸 | |
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32 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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33 bruises | |
n.瘀伤,伤痕,擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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34 sprained | |
v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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