Part 13

The experiment took place “abreast between the new road just by Pancras to within a small distance of Bog-house Bar.” Apparently the only advantage which the new waggon possessed was its ability to turn in a narrow road, but although Mr. Bourn not only continued to build such waggons, but also answered his opponents in two tracts, we hear little more of him. Such “rolling-carts,” however, were also made by one James Sharpe, of Leadenhall Street. Sharpe was a pushful man. He believed in his system, and apparently made those in authority see its advantages. His rollers, you learn, were cylinders of cast iron, two feet in diameter and sixteen inches broad. An iron spindle was inserted through the centre of each. Several of Sharpe’s waggons were on the roads, but although every facility was given them, they never really took the popular fancy. And indeed, they must have been uncouth monsters rattling along the roads something after the fashion of the steam-roller of ten years ago. Just about this time, too, the light-cart faction showed that it was not in the least moribund. It indited learned and highly technical articles which the newspapers found space to print with some regularity. A typical reply to such articles was inserted in the _Public Advertiser_ early in 1767:—

“There are people, I may say,” runs this most impolite retort, “a depraved Number, who write long letters upon this Subject in an ignorant Manner. Their Errors confirm Mankind of a sensible Turn what Measures ought to be taken for the Benefit of the trading Part of this Nation. The illiterate Scribblers he [the last correspondent] means to lash are those that insist upon the Necessity of Horses going at length instead of being placed abreast. The Power that draft Horses have in being placed abreast is so well known, that ’tis amazing any body is absurd enough to advance a Doctrine to the contrary. Then again, these deluded Idiots propagate, that the Loads drawn by eight Horses, having the Wheels placed nine Inches within nine, are destructive to the Roads, and that the Weight had better be divided into several narrow wheeled Carriages. Being thus destitute of Judgment upon the Subject, they do not reflect that the more Horses and Carriages the more the Expence increases, consequently that the internal Trade of this Kingdom would advance in this Article 100 per Cent. One Waggon with eight Horses in Pairs, drawing eight Ton upon the new Plan, don’t do near the Mischief that the same Weight would in two Waggons with narrow Wheels. Besides, four Horses at length cannot draw four Ton Weight. A late trifling Writer upon the Subject says, the Appearance of a broad Wheel Waggon was terrific. I think he may be pronounced a Cockney without Ceremony—a Cit that carries his Wife and Children four Miles out of Town in a Tim-Whisky, and, being most likely an aukward Driver, suffers the Squalls of his Horn-making Spouse to alarm his Dove-like Pusillanimity.”

Such a man, the article goes on to say, would surely be frightened if he saw a three-master sailing the seas, and he and his kind had better keep quiet upon a subject of which they appeared so entirely and pitiably ignorant.

The contest began to embrace wider issues than the mere wheels of waggons. It took in the whole question of wheeled carriages. It even went so far as to include a denunciation of the general policy of the Government, whose legislation, or lack of it, on this vexed question was, so the light-cart faction maintained, leading directly to an increase in the price of provisions. Nothing, apparently, was right. If waggons were constructed on principles which were as bad as they could be, so were the Stage-coaches, which also were using the public roads, though some of the controversialists seemed to forget the fact.

“We are desired,” runs a paragraph in the newspapers of this time, “to inform the Masters of Stage-Coaches, Machines, &c., that their present Method of hanging their Carriages high with a low Fore-Wheel, and the body of the Coach hung forwards with the Stems of the Box leaning likewise forwards, is all upon a ridiculous wrong Principle,—the Effect of the Stupidity of Coachmen and Wheelwrights; that if they pursue the following Regulations, they will find the same Advantage that the Nobility and Gentry have already done by adopting this Plan: Let the fore Wheels be three Feet, six, eight, or ten Inches high, the Stems of the Box upright, and admit as little Weight forward as possible upon the low Wheel; the Body of the Coach to hang low for the Convenience of Passengers, as no Benefit arises from its Hanging high to the Horses, their Advantage laying intirely upon the Height of the Fore-Wheels.”

This in its turn was argued. Then came a proposal to tax private carriages according to the number of horses used, and see whether such revenue would not counterbalance in some way the increase in the prices of provisions, which, of course, was following on this eternal wrangle of the waggons. Also there was more legislation. Some of the new regulations read curiously. “No tree or bush is to be allowed to grow or stand within fifteen feet of the center of the highway, on forfeiture of 10s. by the owner.” Cartways were to be at least twenty feet wide, and horse causeways three feet wide. No waggon with more than four horses might have wheels less than nine inches in width, and some one on horseback or on foot had to go in front of it. More criticism filled the newspapers, and more inventions appeared.

Meetings were held. One advertisement which appeared in 1767 has an agreeable air of mystery about it.

“All persons working Shod-wheel’d Carts, Waggons, Drays, &c. of all Breadths, are desired to meet at the Sun Tavern in St. Paul’s Churchyard, on Friday next, at four o’clock in the Afternoon. Enquire for No. 1.”

And more pamphlets appeared, but the roads failed to improve.

Then in 1770 another Act was passed giving privileges to the roller-carts which were denied to the ordinary waggons. “All carriages,” it ordered, “moving upon rollers the breadth of fifteen inches, are allowed to be drawn with any number of horses, or other cattle.” And, as a further inducement, such carts were to be toll-free for a year. Mr. Sharpe, of Leadenhall Street, prospered, and wrote to the papers to say so. The rollers, he maintained, were light and strong, and there was considerably less friction when they were used. And he challenged the world to disprove his statement. Whereupon an anonymous writer belonging to the rival faction—possibly Joseph Jacob, a coachbuilder who had already written against the system—entered the field, and ventured to suggest that cast iron was exceedingly brittle and not very light. Mr. Sharpe speedily replied. “The principle,” he said, and his point is of interest, “upon which rolling carriages are adopted is simply this, That, by the use of them the roads may be made smooth and hard, and by that means, _become part of the mechanism_: for thus the rollers are made to answer all the purposes of light wheels.” The anonymous writer appears to have felt the point of this argument, and was forced to retort, quite unworthily, that in any case Mr. Sharpe’s rollers were not his own ideas. “No,” replied Sharpe, “they were Mr. Daniel Bourn’s idea—a very sensible man and good mechanic, and who was also the first contriver of nine-inch broad wheels, who so long as ten or eleven years ago built a waggon on rollers at Leominster where he then lived, and brought it to the Society of Arts and Sciences in the Strand, by whom upon trial it was rejected.” The anonymous writer left it at that, but the controversy raged fiercely. It became so highly technical and apparently so interminable that somebody suggested we should all use flying machines and leave the wretched roads to look after themselves.

We may leave the war of the wheels here. The roller-carts were discarded soon afterwards, and M’Adam and his successors rendered for ever such wars unnecessary. But it must not be wholly neglected, and is a tiny chapter by itself in the history of locomotion.

We come to the curiosities.

To this period belongs the present State Coach of Great Britain—that famous “glass-coach” which Londoners had an opportunity of seeing at King George’s Coronation. Who built it is not known. Sir William Chambers, “an amateur,” as Thrupp is careful to point out, designed it in 1761 for George III. “There is come forth,” wrote Walpole to Horace Mann, “a new State Coach which has cost £8000. It is a beautiful object, though crowded with improprieties. Its supports are Tritons, not very well adapted to land carriage, and formed of palm trees, which are as little aquatic as Tritons are terrestrial. The crowd to see it on the opening of Parliament was greater than at the Coronation, and much more damage done.”

The ornamentation of the coach, indeed, is a mass of contradictions, but Sir William Chambers did no more than follow tradition. For over a century the principal State Coaches had had Tritons and other queerly inept figures, and Tritons there were in the new coach for King George. Gorgeousness was aimed at, and gorgeousness obtained. There is a detailed contemporary description of this coach which may be given with an account of the expenditure, not quite £8000 as Walpole writes, which it entailed.

“The carriage is composed of four Tritons, who support the body by cables fastened to the roots of their fins: The two placed on the front of the carriage, bear the driver on their shoulders, and are represented in the action of sounding shells to announce the approach of the monarch of the sea; and those on the back part, carry the imperial fasces, topt with tridents instead of the ancient axes. The driver’s footboard is a large scollop shell, supported by a bunch of reeds, and other marine plants. The pole represents a bundle of lances, and the wheels are imitated from those of the ancient triumphal chariots. The body of the coach is composed of eight palm-trees, which, branching out at the top, sustain the roof. The four angular trees are loaded with trophies, allusive to the victories obtained by _Britain_ during the course of the present glorious war. On the center of the roof stand three boys, representing the Genii of _England_, _Scotland_, and _Ireland_, supporting on their heads the Imperial Crown, and holding in their hands the scepter, the sword of state, and ensigns of knighthood. Their bodies are adorned with festoons of laurel, which fall from thence towards the four corners of the roof. The intervals between the palm-trees which form the body of the coach, are filled in the upper parts with plates of glass, and below with pannels adorned with paintings. On the front pannel is represented BRITANNIA seated on a throne, holding in her hand, a staff of liberty, attended by _Religion_, _Justice_, _Wisdom_, _Valour_, _Fortitude_, and _Victory_, presenting her with a garland of laurels. On the back pannel, _Neptune_ issuing from his palace, drawn by sea-horses, and attended by the Winds, the Rivers, Tritons, Naids, &c., bringing the tribute of the world to the _British_ shore. On one of the doors are represented _Mars_, _Minerva_, and _Mercury_, supporting the Imperial Crown of _Britain_; and on the other, _Industry_ and _Ingenuity_, giving a cornucopia to the Genius of _England_. The other four pannels represent the liberal _Arts_ and _Sciences_ protected; _History_ burning the implements of war. The inside of the coach is lined with Crimson Velvet richly embroidered with gold. All the wood work is triple gilt, and all the paintings highly varnished. The harness is of Crimson Velvet, adorned with buckles and other embelishments of silver gilt; and the saddle-cloths are of Blue Velvet, embroidered and fringed with gold.”

The account was as follows:—

£ s. d. Coachmaker 1673 15 0 Carver 2500 0 0 Gilder 933 14 0 Painter 315 0 0 Laceman 737 10 7 Chaser 665 4 6 Harnessmaker 385 15 0 Mercer 202 5 10-1/2 Bitt-maker 99 6 6 Millener 31 3 4 Sadler 10 16 6 Woollen-draper 4 3 6 Cover-maker 3 9 6 ——————————————— £7562 4 3-1/2

Hardly less resplendent was the Lord Mayor’s coach which had been built at a cost of over a thousand pounds in 1757, and still performs its duties at stated and regular intervals. It was in 1711 that a Lord Mayor of London had ridden for the last time on horseback in his State procession, this distinction falling to Sir Gilbert Heathcote. Since that date he has been driven in his coach. The 1757 coach was not at first the property of the corporation, but had been built by subscription amongst the aldermen, to whom it belonged until 1778, when the corporation bought it. In that year it had been repaired and repainted—the panels possibly by Cipriani, the heraldic devices by Catton, one of the original members of the Royal Academy and “coach-painter to George III.” The Lord Mayor’s coach, like many other State coaches of this date, is full of allegorical devices of ornamentation, very plutocratic, very rich, very gorgeous, and incidentally rather more comfortable to drive in than that in which the British Sovereign drives to his Coronation.

Coming to lesser matters, we have mention of a carriage which performed a remarkable feat in 1750.

“On Wednesday 29,” runs a notice of this, “at seven in the morning was decided at _Newmarket_ a remarkable wager for 1000 guineas, laid by _Theobald Taaff_, Esq., against the E. of _March_ and Lord _Eglington_, who were to provide a four-wheel carriage with a man in it to be drawn by four horses 19 miles in an hour; which was performed in 53 minutes and 27 seconds. The pole was small but lapp’d with fine wire; the perch had a plate underneath, two cords went on each side from the back carriage to the fore carriage, fastened to springs: the harness was of thin leather covered with silk; the seat, for the man to sit on, was of leather straps and covered with velvet; the axles of the wheel were brass, and had tins of oil to drop slowly for an hour. The breechens for the horses were whale-bone; the bars were small wood, straightened with steel-springs, as were most parts of the carriage, but all so light that a man could carry the whole with the harness.” Then followed the names of each of the four horses—all had riders—and “lord March’s groom sat in the carriage. Two or three other carriages had been made before, but disapproved; and several horses killed in trials—to the expence of 6 or 700_l._”

Now such a carriage—there is a print of it by Bodger—was, of course, little more than a freak. It was a mere skeleton, fragile and entirely useless as a mode of conveyance over the ordinary roads. But the knowledge of those nineteen miles covered easily within the hour must have set people thinking. Such a speed was almost incredible to those accustomed to five or six miles an hour. The carriage itself was the work of Mr. J. Wright, a coachmaker in Longacre, already becoming the home of his brother tradesmen, and it was doubtless exhibited in London. It showed what could be done, and must have opened out agreeable vistas. Twenty miles an hour was something to aim for, and with the war with France concluded, people were able and willing to give rather more attention to the peaceful arts. Amongst other things they showed a desire for strange vehicles. I have mentioned the rolling-carts; there were far queerer carriages, as we shall see, used by the gentry.

The next curiosity I may speak of was seen in the streets of London during the following year.

“An odd machine, like an English waggon, drawn by 10 horses, after the _Danish_ manner, belonging to Baron Rosencrantz, the new _Danish_ envoy, came to his house in _Cleveland Row_, St. James’s, from _Harwich_; a coachman drove it and a postilion rode upon the 4th horse.”

It suggests rather a primitive type of coach, possibly innocent of springs. What the Baron suffered during his journey through East Anglia must be left to the imagination.

Eight years later, on August 30th, 1758, another strange carriage was seen.

“This day a remarkable carriage set out from _Aldersgate-street_ for Birmingham, from which it arrived on _Thursday_ last full of passengers and baggage, without using coomb, or any oily, unctuous, or other liquid matter whatever, to the wheels or axles, its construction being such as to render all such helps useless. The inventor has caused to be engraved on the boxes of the wheels, these words, FRICTION ANNIHILATED, and is very positive that the carriage will continue to go as long and as easy, if not longer and easier, without greasing, than any of the ordinary stage-carriages will do with it: This invention, if really answerable in practice, is perhaps the must useful improvement in mechanicks that this century has produced.”

One would like to know who was the inventor of this coach, which, however, did not prosper—I doubt if it performed another journey—for it dropped out of history as suddenly as it had appeared. It would seem that the inventor was a Birmingham man. Possibly he was helped in his scheme by a very extraordinary character who lived and flourished in that town at this time—John Baskerville, successively footman, schoolmaster, graver, japanner, typefounder, and printer—a man whose beautifully printed books have hardly been excelled to this day. Baskerville had made a fortune japanning bread-baskets and the like, and now drove about the country wonderfully dressed in a coach apparently of his own design—he was a man who had to do everything for himself, and being of somewhat eccentric disposition, never did anything like anybody else—and his coach, like his house and his printing and his religious opinions, was like nothing in the world. He had a considerable idea of his own importance, and his coach was a reflection of his character. With its wonderful arms—the real Baskerville arms, to which the printer had no right whatever—it was standing until quite recently in an old barn in a field at Manton. It was thus described fifty years ago:—

“The body hangs by double straps, from the coachman’s seat under the carriage, to which they are fastened, to the frame behind.... It could be either closed or open, and when open the leather top was rolled back upon crossed straps hung from the coachman’s seat, and hooks secured to the front part of the body. The whole framework of the carriage has been elaborately carved and gilt, and the panels painted with what appears to be a brownish green, with flowers and vases, rock and shell-work, among which were numerous figures of boys and emblems. In the centre panel on each side were the arms, on the side panel the crest....”

None of the panels were identical, but all had been decorated by his workmen. “The pattern-cart of his trade,” Hutton, the Birmingham historian, calls this curiosity, which was once familiar to every village in the Midlands, and his daughter, Catherine Hutton, could remember the printer, “in his gold-laced waistcoat, and his painted chariot, each panel a picture, fresh from his own manufactory of japanned tea-boards.”

A most extraordinary conveyance appeared in London in 1771—this being “Mr. Moore’s new-invented Coal-carriage,” the wheels of which were no less than fifteen feet high.[42] A great concourse of people followed it through the streets, and no doubt applauded its ability to draw two caldrons and two sacks of coal, using only two horses abreast, “with more ease and expedition than the common carts do one caldron with three horses at length.” Unfortunately I have not been able to discover a print of this monstrous vehicle, which, like so many of the other mid-century freaks, disappeared almost at once.

To this period also belongs that wondrous _phaeton_, which in a few years threatened to become so lofty as to suggest to some ingenious artist the possibility of applying to it some pantograph arrangement whereby its seat could be raised or lowered at will. This print, called The _New Fashioned Phaeton—Sic itur ad Astra_, was published in 1776, a curious mezzotint showing a lady of fashion stepping out of a first-floor window into the seat of a phaeton which has been raised to the required height. The phaetons, indeed, seem to have been built high since their invention, and the importance of this feature must not be overlooked, when one remembers that almost every carriage, both English and foreign, was hung enormously high in the last years of the century, nine or ten steps being sometimes necessary to get inside.

Exactly when or where the phaeton was first made I cannot determine, but, like the _landau_, which has generally, though incorrectly, been considered to have been first built in 1757, it is mentioned so early as 1747 in the poem quoted at the end of the last chapter. That it was already popular with the fashionable people is shown by Tom Warton’s poem, _The Phaeton and the One Horse Chair_, which was first published in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for December, 1759. This is worth quoting in its entirety:—