Volume One—Chapter One.

Travelling.

I believe that the remarks of a traveller in any country not his own, let his work be ever so trifling or badly written, will point out some peculiarity which will have escaped the notice of those who were born and reside in that country, unless they happen to be natives of that portion of it in which the circumstance alluded to was observed. It is a fact that no one knows his own country; from assuetude and, perhaps, from the feelings of regard which we naturally have for our native land, we pass over what nevertheless does not escape the eye of a foreigner. Indeed, from the consciousness that we can always see such and such objects of interest whenever we please, we very often procrastinate until we never see them at all. I knew an old gentleman who having always resided in London, every year declared his intention of seeing the Tower of London with its Curiosities. He renewed this declaration every year, put it off until the next, and has since left the world without having ever put his intention into execution.

That the Americans would cavil at portions of the first part of my work, I was fully convinced, and as there are many observations quite new to most of them, they are by them considered to be false; but the United States, as I have before observed, comprehend an immense extent of territory, with a population running from a state of refinement down to one of positive barbarism; and although the Americans travel much, they travel the well beaten paths, in which that which is peculiar is not so likely to meet the eye or even the ear. It does not, therefore, follow that because what I remark is new to many of them, that therefore it is false. The inhabitants of the cities in the United States, (and it is those who principally visit this country), know as little of what is passing in Arkansas and Alabama as a cockney does of the manners and customs of Guernsey, Jersey, and the Isle of Man.

The other day, one American lady observed that, “it was too bad of Captain Marryat to assert that ladies in America carried pigtail in their work-boxes to present to the gentlemen;” adding, “I never heard or saw such a thing in all my life.” Very possible; and had I stated that at New York, Philadelphia, Boston, or Charleston, such was the practice, she then might have been justifiably indignant. But I have been very particular in my localities, both in justice to myself and the Americans, and if they will be content to confine their animadversions to the observations upon the State to which they belong, or my general observations upon the country and government, I shall then be content; if, on the contrary, their natural vanity will not allow any remarks to be made upon the peculiarities of one portion of society without considering them as a reflection upon the whole of the Union, all I can say is that they must, and will be annoyed.

The answer made to the lady who was “wrathy” about the pigtail was, “Captain M has stated it to be a custom in one State. Have you ever been in that State?”

“No, I have not,” replied the lady, “but I have never heard of it.” So then, on a vast continent, extending almost from the Poles to the Equator, because one individual, one mere mite of creation among the millions (who are but a fraction of the population which the country will support), has not heard of what passes thousands of miles from her abode, therefore it cannot be true! Instead of cavilling, let the American read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest all that I have already said, and all that I intend to say in these volumes; and although the work was not written for them, but for my own countrymen, they will find that I have done them friendly service.

There is much comprehended in the simple word “travelling” which heads this chapter, and it is by no means an unimportant subject, as the degree of civilisation of a country, and many important peculiarities, bearing strongly upon the state of society, are to be gathered from the high road, and the variety of entertainment for man and horse; and I think that my remarks on this subject will throw as much light upon American society as will be found in any chapter which I have written.

In a country abounding as America does with rivers and railroads, and where locomotion by steam, wherever it can be applied, supersedes every other means of conveyance, it is not to be expected that the roads will be remarkably good; they are, however, in consequence of the excellent arrangements of the townships and counties, in the Eastern States, as good, and much better, than could be expected. The great objection to them is that they are not levelled, but follow the undulations of the country, so that you have a variety of short, steep ascents and descents which are very trying to the carriage-springs and very fatiguing to the traveller. Of course in a new country you must expect to fall in with the delightful varieties of Corduroy, etcetera, but wherever the country is settled, and the population sufficient to pay the expense, the roads in America may be said to be as good as under circumstances could possibly be expected. There are one or two roads, I believe, not more, which are government roads; but, in general, the expense of the roads is defrayed by the States.

But, before I enter into any remarks upon the various modes of travelling in America, it may be as well to say a few words upon the horses, which are remarkably good in the United States: they appear to be more hardy, and have much better hoofs, than ours in England; throwing a shoe therefore is not of the same consequence as it is with us, for a horse will go twenty miles afterwards with little injury. In Virginia and Kentucky the horses are almost all thorough-bred, and from the best English stock.—The distances run in racing are much longer than ours, and speed without bottom is useless.

The Americans are very fond of fast trotting horses; I do not refer to rackers, as they term horses that trot before and gallop behind, but fair trotters, and they certainly have a description of horse that we could not easily match in England. At New York, the Third Avenue, as they term it, is the general rendezvous, I once went out there mounted upon Paul Pry, who was once considered the fastest horse in America; at his full speed he performed a mile in two minutes and thirty seconds, equal to twenty-four miles per hour. He took me at this devil of a pace as far as Hell Gate; not wishing “to intrude,” I pulled up there, and went home again. A pair of horses in harness were pointed out to me who could perform the mile in two minutes fifty seconds. They use here light four-wheeled vehicles which they call wagons, with a seat in the front for two persons and room for your luggage behind; and in these wagons, with a pair of horses, they think nothing of trotting them seventy or eighty miles in a day, at the speed of twelve miles an hour; I have seen the horses come in, and they did not appear to suffer from the fatigue. You seldom see a horse bent forward, but they are all daisy cutters.

The gentlemen of New York give very high prices for fast horses; 1,000 dollars is not by any means an uncommon price. In a country where time is every thing, they put a proportionate value upon speed. Paul Pry is a tall grey horse (now thirteen years old); to look at, he would not fetch 10 pounds,—the English omnibuses would refuse him.

Talking about omnibuses, those of New York, and the other cities in America, are as good and as well regulated as those of Paris; the larger ones have four horses. Not only their omnibuses, but their hackney coaches are very superior to those in London; the latter are as clean as private carriages; and with the former there is no swearing, no dislocating the arms of poor females, hauling them from one omnibus to the other,—but civility without servility.

The American stage-coaches are such as experience has found out to be most suitable to the American roads, and you have not ridden in them five miles before you long for the delightful springing of four horses upon the level roads of England. They are something between an English stage (see note 1) and a French diligence, built with all the panels open, on account of the excessive heat of the summer months. In wet weather these panels are covered with leather aprons, which are fixed on with battons, a very insufficient protection in the winter, as the wind blows through the intermediate spaces, whistling into your ears, and rendering it more piercing than if all was open. Moreover, they are no protection against the rain or snow, both of which find their way in to you. The coach has three seats, to receive nine passengers; those on the middle seat leaning back upon a strong and broad leather brace, which runs across. This is very disagreeable, as the centre passengers, when the panels are closed, deprive the others of the light and air from the windows. But the most disagreeable feeling arises from the body of the coach not being upon springs, but hung upon leather braces running under it and supporting it on each side; and when the roads are bad, or you ascend or rapidly descend the pitches (as they term short hills) the motion is very similar to that of being tossed in a blanket, often throwing you up to the top of the coach, so as to flatten your hat—if not your head.

The drivers are very skilful, although they are generally young men—indeed often mere boys—for they soon better themselves as they advance in life. Very often they drive six in hand; and if you are upset, it is generally more the fault of the road than of the driver. I was upset twice in one half hour when I was travelling in the winter time; but the snow was very deep at the time, and no one thinks anything of an upset in America. More serious accidents do, however, sometimes happen. When I was in New Hampshire, a neglected bridge broke down, and precipitated coach, horses, and passengers into a torrent which flowed into the Connecticut river. Some of the passengers were drowned. Those who were saved, sued the township and recovered damages; but these mischances must be expected in a new country. The great annoyance of these public conveyances is, that neither the proprietor or driver consider themselves the servants of the public; a stage-coach is a speculation by which as much money is to be made as possible by the proprietors; and as the driver never expects or demands a fee from the passengers, they or their comforts are no concern of his. The proprietors do not consider that they are bound to keep faith with the public, nor do they care about any complaints.

The stages which run from Cincinnati to the eastward are very much interfered with when the Ohio river is full of water, as the travellers prefer the steam-boats; but the very moment that the water is so low on the Ohio that the steam-boats cannot ascend the river up to Wheeling, double the price is demanded by the proprietors of the coaches. They are quite regardless as to the opinion or good-will of the public; they do not care for either, all they want is their money, and they are perfectly indifferent whether you break your neck or not. The great evil arising from this state of hostility, as you may almost call it, is the disregard of life which renders travelling so dangerous in America. You are completely at the mercy of the drivers, who are, generally speaking, very good-tempered, but sometimes quite the contrary; and I have often been amused with the scenes which have taken place between them and the passengers. As for myself, when the weather permitted it, I invariably went outside, which the Americans seldom do, and was always very good friends with the drivers. They are full of local information, and often very amusing. There is, however, a great difference in the behaviour of the drivers of the mails, and coaches which are timed by the post-office, and others which are not. If beyond his time, the driver is mulcted by the proprietors; and when dollars are in the question, there is an end to all urbanity and civility.

A gentleman of my acquaintance was in a mail which was behind time, and the driver was proceeding at such a furious pace that one jerk threw a lady to the top of the coach, and the teeth of her comb entering her head, she fainted with pain. The passengers called out to the driver to stop. “What for?” “That last jerk has struck the lady, and she has fainted.” “Oh, that’s all! Well, I reckon I’ll give her another jerk, which will bring her to again.” Strange to say, he prophesied right; the next jerk was very violent, and the lady recovered her senses.

Mr E, an employé of the American government, was travelling in the state of Indiana—the passengers had slept at an inn, and the coach was ready at the door, but Mr E had not quite finished his toilet; the driver dispatched the bar-keeper for him, and Mr E sent word he would be down immediately.

“What is he about?” said the driver impatiently to the bar-keeper when he came down again.

“Cleaning his teeth.”

“Cleaning his teeth!” roared the driver, indignantly; “by the —,” and away went the horses at a gallop, leaving Mr E behind.

The other passengers remonstrated, but without avail; they told him that Mr E was charged with government despatches—he didn’t care; at last, one of them offered him a dollar if he would go back. They had proceeded more than a mile before the offer was made; the man immediately wheeled his horses round, and returned to the inn.

The Rev. Mr Reid gives an anecdote very characteristic of American stage-coach travelling, and proving how little the convenience of the public is cared for.

“When we stopped at Lowell to change horses, a female wished to secure a place onward. We were already, as the phrase is, more than full; we had nine persons, and two children, which are made to go for nothing, except in the way-bill. Our saucy driver opened the door, and addressing two men, who, with us, would have been outside passengers—‘now, I say, I want one of you to ride with me, and let a lady have your seat.’ The men felt they were addressed by a superior, but kept their places. ‘Come, I say,’ he continued, ‘you shall have a good buffalo and umbrel, and nothing will hurt you.’ Still they kept their places, and refused him. His lordship was offended, and ready to lay hands on one of them; but, checking himself, exclaimed, ‘Well, if I can’t get you out, hang it if I’ll take you on till one of you gets out.’ And there we stood for some time; and he gained his point at last, and in civiller terms, by persuading the persons on the middle seat to receive the lady; so that we had now twelve inside.”

I once myself was in a stage-coach, and found that the window glasses had been taken out; I mentioned this to the driver, as it rained in very fast—“Well, now,” replied he, “I reckon you’d better ax the proprietors; my business is to drive the coach.” And that was all the comfort I could procure. As for speaking to them about stopping, or driving slow, it is considered as an unwarrantable interference.

I recollect an Englishman at New York telling me, that when in the Eastern States, he had expressed a wish to go a little faster—“Oh,” said the driver, “you do, do you; well, wait a moment, and I’ll go faster than you like.” The fellow drove very slow where the road was good; but as soon as he came to a bad piece, he put his horses to the gallop, and, as my friend said, they were so tossed and tumbled about, that they hardly knew where they were. “Is that fast enough, Mister,” said the driver, leering in at the couch window.

As for stopping, they will stop to talk to any one on the road about the price of