Yet there is an immense traffic on this route,
which is the highway from East to West. The Americans, with all their
"smartness," have not the knack of making either good roads or good
streets. About 11 P.M. we arrived at Uniontown, 12 miles from
Brownsville. There the horses were to be changed, an operation which
took about an hour to accomplish. Three coaches were there together.
The passengers rushed out of the inn, where we had been warming
ourselves, and jumped into the coaches. Crack went the whips, off went
the horses, and round went the wheels. But, alas! while we could hear
the rattling of the other coaches, our own moved not at all! "Driver,
why don't you be off?" No answer. "Driver, push on." No reply. "Go
a-head, driver,--don't keep us here all night." No notice taken. We
began to thump and stamp. No response. At last I put my head out
through the window. There _was_ no driver; and, worse still, there were
no horses! How was this? There was no "team," we were told, for our
coach! I jumped out, and began to make diligent inquiry: one told me
one thing, and another another. At length I learned that there was a
"team" in the stable, but there was no driver disposed to go.
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